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[table=80%,#ffffff,#000000,1][tr][td]Part 1
AT MARYGREEN
"Yea, many there be that have run out of their wits for women, and become servants for their sakes. Many also have perished, have erred, and sinned, for women.... O ye men, how can it be but women should be strong, seeing they do thus?"--ESDRAS.

“是啊，确有许多人醉心于女人，神魂颠倒，不惜为了她们而当奴仆。还有许多人因女人之故身败名裂，执迷不悟，罪孽深重……啊，难道女人真是这么强大，你们男人只好让她们为所欲为？”
——艾司德拉斯
Part 1 Chapter 1
THE schoolmaster was leaving the village, and everybody seemed sorry. The miller at Cresscombe lent him the small white tilted cart and horse to carry his goods to the city of his destination, about twenty miles off, such a vehicle proving of quite sufficient size for the departing teacher's effects. For the schoolhouse had been partly furnished by the managers, and the only cumbersome article possessed by the master, in addition to the packing-case of books, was a cottage piano that he had bought at an auction during the year in which he thought of learning instrumental music. But the enthusiasm having waned he had never acquired any skill in playing, and the purchased article had been a perpetual trouble to him ever since in moving house.
The rector had gone away for the day, being a man who disliked the sight of changes. He did not mean to return till the evening, when the new school-teacher would have arrived and settled in, and everything would be smooth again.
The blacksmith, the farm bailiff, and the schoolmaster himself were standing in perplexed attitudes in the parlour before the instrument. The master had remarked that even if he got it into the cart he should not know what to do with it on his arrival at Christminster, the city he was bound for, since he was only going into temporary lodgings just at first.
A little boy of eleven, who had been thoughtfully assisting in the packing, joined the group of men, and as they rubbed their chins he spoke up, blushing at the sound of his own voice: "Aunt have got a great fuel-house, and it could be put there, perhaps, till you've found a place to settle in, sir."
"A proper good notion," said the blacksmith.
It was decided that a deputation should wait on the boy's aunt-- an old maiden resident--and ask her if she would house the piano till Mr. Phillotson should send for it. The smith and the bailiff started to see about the practicability of the suggested shelter, and the boy and the schoolmaster were left standing alone.
"Sorry I am going, Jude?" asked the latter kindly.
Tears rose into the boy's eyes, for he was not among the regular day scholars, who came unromantically close to the schoolmaster's life, but one who had attended the night school only during the present teacher's term of office. The regular scholars, if the truth must be told, stood at the present moment afar off, like certain historic disciples, indisposed to any enthusiastic volunteering of aid.
The boy awkwardly opened the book he held in his hand, which Mr. Phillotson had bestowed on him as a parting gift, and admitted that he was sorry.
"So am I," said Mr. Phillotson.
"Why do you go, sir?" asked the boy.
"Ah--that would be a long story. You wouldn't understand my reasons, Jude. You will, perhaps, when you are older."
"I think I should now, sir."
"Well--don't speak of this everywhere. You know what a university is, and a university degree? It is the necessary hallmark of a man who wants to do anything in teaching. My scheme, or dream, is to be a university graduate, and then to be ordained. By going to live at Christminster, or near it, I shall be at headquarters, so to speak, and if my scheme is practicable at all, I consider that being on the spot will afford me a better chance of carrying it out than I should have elsewhere."
The smith and his companion returned. Old Miss Fawley's fuel-house was dry, and eminently practicable; and she seemed willing to give the instrument standing-room there. It was accordingly left in the school till the evening, when more hands would be available for removing it; and the schoolmaster gave a final glance round.
The boy Jude assisted in loading some small articles, and at nine o'clock Mr. Phillotson mounted beside his box of books and other IMPEDIMENTA, and bade his friends good-bye.
"I shan't forget you, Jude," he said, smiling, as the cart moved off. "Be a good boy, remember; and be kind to animals and birds, and read all you can. And if ever you come to Christminster remember you hunt me out for old acquaintance' sake."
The cart creaked across the green, and disappeared round the corner by the rectory-house. The boy returned to the draw-well at the edge of the greensward, where he had left his buckets when he went to help his patron and teacher in the loading. There was a quiver in his lip now and after opening the well-cover to begin lowering the bucket he paused and leant with his forehead and arms against the framework, his face wearing the fixity of a thoughtful child's who has felt the pricks of life somewhat before his time. The well into which he was looking was as ancient as the village itself, and from his present position appeared as a long circular perspective ending in a shining disk of quivering water at a distance of a hundred feet down. There was a lining of green moss near the top, and nearer still the hart's-tongue fern.
He said to himself, in the melodramatic tones of a whimsical boy, that the schoolmaster had drawn at that well scores of times on a morning like this, and would never draw there any more. "I've seen him look down into it, when he was tired with his drawing, just as I do now, and when he rested a bit before carrying the buckets home! But he was too clever to bide here any longer-- a small sleepy place like this!"
A tear rolled from his eye into the depths of the well. The morning was a little foggy, and the boy's breathing unfurled itself as a thicker fog upon the still and heavy air. His thoughts were interrupted by a sudden outcry:
"Bring on that water, will ye, you idle young harlican!"
It came from an old woman who had emerged from her door towards the garden gate of a green-thatched cottage not far off. The boy quickly waved a signal of assent, drew the water with what was a great effort for one of his stature, landed and emptied the big bucket into his own pair of smaller ones, and pausing a moment for breath, started with them across the patch of clammy greensward whereon the well stood-- nearly in the centre of the little village, or rather hamlet of Marygreen.
It was as old-fashioned as it was small, and it rested in the lap of an undulating upland adjoining the North Wessex downs. Old as it was, however, the well-shaft was probably the only relic of the local history that remained absolutely unchanged. Many of the thatched and dormered dwelling-houses had been pulled down of late years, and many trees felled on the green. Above all, the original church, hump-backed, wood-turreted, and quaintly hipped, had been taken down, and either cracked up into heaps of road-metal in the lane, or utilized as pig-sty walls, garden seats, guard-stones to fences, and rockeries in the flower-beds of the neighbourhood. In place of it a tall new building of modern Gothic design, unfamiliar to English eyes, had been erected on a new piece of ground by a certain obliterator of historic records who had run down from London and back in a day. The site whereon so long had stood the ancient temple to the Christian divinities was not even recorded on the green and level grass-plot that had immemorially been the churchyard, the obliterated graves being commemorated by eighteen-penny castiron crosses warranted to last five years.

小学老师就要离开村子，人人都显得不大好受。水芹峪开磨坊的把他的白篷小货车连马都借给他，帮他把一应物件运到大约二十英里外他要去的城市。车身容积绰绰有余，老师路上不必担心。校舍家具原来由董事会配置了一部分；老师自己除了书籍，只有一种笨重东西，那是架竖式钢琴，是他当年一时心血来潮想学钢琴，在拍卖会上买到手的，以后臒蜕热劲儿慢慢过去了，一点弹琴技巧也没学好，而每逢搬家，买来的这件东西始终成了他的累赘。
教区长素来不愿意看到变动，所以整天都到外边去了。他总要到晚上才回来，因为那时新教师多半已经到校，诸事安排停当，一切也就平静如常。
铁匠、庄头和老师站在小接待室里的钢琴前面，一筹莫展的样子。老师已经表示过，就算能把它弄到车上，到了他要去的基督堂那个城市，他还是不知道拿它怎么办，因为他初来乍到，只能临时找个地方住住。
一个十一岁的男孩子正帮着扎东西，挺有心事的样子，这时走到大人这边来，趁他们摸着下巴颏的时候，大声说：“姑婆有个好大的柴房哪，你找到地方放它之前，也许能寄放在那里头吧。”他因为说话声音大，脸红了。
“这主意倒真不赖呢。”铁匠说。
于是他们决定派代表去找孩子的姑婆（住在本村的一位老姑娘），跟她商量商量，好不好把钢琴在柴房里先放放，以后费乐生先生再派人来拿。铁匠和庄头马上去看存放的地方合适不合适，孩子和老师就留在那儿站着。
“裘德，我要走啦，你心里不大好受吧？”老师亲切地问他。
孩子立刻眼泪汪汪的，因为他本来不过是在眼下这位老师任职期间上上夜校，算不得是个正规生，而只有正规生才理所当然地跟老师的生活接触密切。如果一定说真话的话，正规生这会儿都站得远远的，就像某些名垂史册的使徒那样袖手旁观，无动于衷，谁也不肯主动过来，热心帮忙。
孩子慢腾腾地翻开费乐生先生当做临别纪念送给他的那本书，承认他心里不好受。
“我也是啊。”费乐生先生说。
“先生，你干吗走呀？”
“哎——这可说来话长啦。裘德呀，你这会儿还不懂我走的道理，等你再大点，你就明白啦。”
“先生，我觉着我这会儿就懂。”
“好吧，不过你可别到处说就是啦。你懂大学是怎么回事儿吗？大学学位是怎么回事儿吗？谁要是打算在教书方面干出点名堂，缺了这个资历可不行。我的计划，也可以说我的理想吧，就是当上个大学生，以后就到教会担任圣职。住在基督堂，要么住在它附近，可以说，我就算到了最高学府啦。要是我的计划真能行得通的话，我觉得人住在当地比在别处实现计划的机会总要多得多呢。”
铁匠和他的同伴回来了。福来老小姐的柴房挺干燥，是个顶刮刮的合适地方。看意思她愿意给钢琴一隅存身之地。这一来就可以把钢琴留在学校里直到晚上，因为那时候搬它的人手就多了。老师又朝四周围看了看。
裘德帮着把小件袋上车。九点钟费乐先生上了车，坐在书籍和行李旁边，向各位朋友道别。
“裘德，我忘不川尔。”马车开走的时候，他笑着说。“别忘了，要做个好孩子；对动物跟鸟儿心要好；你能读到的书都要读。有朝一日，你到了基督堂，看在老交情分儿上，可别忘了想方设法找到我。”
货车吱吱嘎嘎地驶过草地，绕过教区长住宅的拐角就消失了。孩子回到草地边上汲水井那儿，刚才他为帮自己的恩人和老师装车，把水桶撂在那儿。他这会儿嘴唇有点颤，打开井盖，开始要放桶，不过又停住了，脑门和胳臂都靠在井架上，脸上流露出呆呆的神情，这种神情只有他那样爱想事的孩子在小小年纪过早感到人生坎坷时才会有。他往下看的那眼井的历史和村子一样古老，在他这个位置可以看得到井里像是一串串一圈圈透视画，一直到了一百英尺深处，最后形成一个波动不息的闪光的亮盘子。靠近井上端处有层青苔，再往上长着荷叶蕨。
他自言自语，声调里含有富于奇想的孩子才有的感伤味儿：“老师以前不就是这样天天早上打几十遍水吗？以后可再不会啦。我瞧见过他就是跟我一样，打累了，先不把水拎回去，一边休息会儿，一边往底下瞧。不过他人可聪明啦，怎么肯在这儿呆下去呢——这么个死气沉沉的地方啊。”
他的一滴眼泪落到井底。早晨有点雾濛濛的，他哈出来的气，好似更浓的雾，叠在了平静而沉滞的空气上面。猛然间，一声喊叫把他的心思打断了。
“你这个小懒鬼呀，你倒是把水送回来呀！”
喊叫的是个老太婆，她人已经从不远地方对着园子栅栏门的草房门里探出身子来了。孩子赶紧打个手势，表示就来，于是硬凭他那身量使得出来的最大力气，把水桶提上来，先放在地上，然后倒进自己带来的小点的水桶里，又歇了歇，透了口气，就拎着它们穿过水井所在的那片湿漉漉的草地——它大致位于村子（不如说位于马利格林的零落的村户人家）的中央。
那个村子不单地盘小，外边样式也老旧，坐落在毗连北维塞克斯郡丘陵地的一片时起时伏的高地的一个洼子里。不过老归老，旧归旧，那眼井的井身总还是当地历史上唯一一件万古如斯的陈迹。近些年，好多屋顶开天窗的草房都拆掉了，公共草地上好多树也砍伐了。特别值得一提的是，原来那座风格独特的教堂，驼峰屋顶、木构塔楼。形状古怪的斜脊，无不拆得一千二净，拆下来的东西全都敲碎了，一堆堆的，不是给小巷当铺路石，就是给猪圈砌围墙，做园子里的椅凳，当路边隔篱的护脚石，要么是给街坊的花坛堆了假山。取老教堂而代之的是某位历史遗迹摧毁者在新址上，按英国人看不惯的现代哥特式风格设计，鸠工建起的一座高大的新建筑，为此他曾天天从伦敦到马利格林打个来回。原来久已耸立的供奉基督教神祗的圣殿的原址，哪怕是在历经沧桑的教堂墓地改成的青葱平整的草坪上，也休想找到半点痕迹。剩下的只是在荡然无存的坟墓前树过的十八个便士一个、保用五年的铸铁十字架，聊供凭吊而已。
Part 1 Chapter 2
SLENDER as was Jude Fawley's frame he bore the two brimming house-buckets of water to the cottage without resting. Over the door was a little rectangular piece of blue board, on which was painted in yellow letters, "Drusilla Fawley, Baker." Within the little lead panes of the window--this being one of the few old houses left--were five bottles of sweets, and three buns on a plate of the willow pattern.
While emptying the buckets at the back of the house he could hear an animated conversation in progress within-doors between his great-aunt, the Drusilla of the sign-board, and some other villagers. Having seen the school-master depart, they were summing up particulars of the event, and indulging in predictions of his future.
"And who's he?" asked one, comparatively a stranger, when the boy entered.
"Well ye med ask it, Mrs. Williams. He's my great-nephew--come since you was last this way." The old inhabitant who answered was a tall, gaunt woman, who spoke tragically on the most trivial subject, and gave a phrase of her conversation to each auditor in turn. "He come from Mellstock, down in South Wessex, about a year ago--worse luck for 'n, Belinda" (turning to the right) "where his father was living, and was took wi' the shakings for death, and died in two days, as you know, Caroline" (turning to the left). "It would ha' been a blessing if Goddy-mighty had took thee too, wi' thy mother and father, poor useless boy! But I've got him here to stay with me till I can see what's to be done with un, though I am obliged to let him earn any penny he can. Just now he's a-scaring of birds for Farmer Troutham. It keeps him out of mischty. Why do ye turn away, Jude?" she continued, as the boy, feeling the impact of their glances like slaps upon his face, moved aside.
The local washerwoman replied that it was perhaps a very good plan of Miss or Mrs. Fawley's (as they called her indifferently) to have him with her--"to kip 'ee company in your loneliness, fetch water, shet the winder-shet-ters o' nights, and help in the bit o' baking."
Miss Fawley doubted it.... "Why didn't ye get the schoolmaster to take 'ee to Christminster wi' un, and make a scholar of 'ee," she continued, in frowning pleasantry. "I'm sure he couldn't ha' took a better one. The boy is crazy for books, that he is. It runs in our family rather. His cousin Sue is just the same-- so I've heard; but I have not seen the child for years, though she was born in this place, within these four walls, as it happened. My niece and her husband, after they were married, didn' get a house of their own for some year or more; and then they only had one till-- Well, I won't go into that. Jude, my child, don't you ever marry. 'Tisn't for the Fawleys to take that step any more. She, their only one, was like a child o' my own, Belinda, till the split come! Ah, that a little maid should know such changes!"
Jude, finding the general attention again centering on himself, went out to the bakehouse, where he ate the cake provided for his breakfast. The end of his spare time had now arrived, and emerging from the garden by getting over the hedge at the back he pursued a path northward, till he came to a wide and lonely depression in the general level of the upland, which was sown as a corn-field. This vast concave was the scene of his labours for Mr Troutham the farmer, and he descended into the midst of it.
The brown surface of the field went right up towards the sky all round, where it was lost by degrees in the mist that shut out the actual verge and accentuated the solitude. The only marks on the uniformity of the scene were a rick of last year's produce standing in the midst of the arable, the rooks that rose at his approach, and the path athwart the fallow by which he had come, trodden now by he hardly knew whom, though once by many of his own dead family.
"How ugly it is here!" he murmured.
The fresh harrow-lines seemed to stretch like the channellings in a piece of new corduroy, lending a meanly utilitarian air to the expanse, taking away its gradations, and depriving it of all history beyond that of the few recent months, though to every clod and stone there really attached associations enough and to spare-- echoes of songs from ancient harvest-days, of spoken words, and of sturdy deeds. Every inch of ground had been the site, first or last, of energy, gaiety, horse-play, bickerings, weariness. Groups of gleaners had squatted in the sun on every square yard. Love-matches that had populated the adjoining hamlet had been made up there between reaping and carrying. Under the hedge which divided the field from a distant plantation girls had given themselves to lovers who would not turn their heads to look at them by the next harvest; and in that ancient cornfield many a man had made love-promises to a woman at whose voice he had trembled by the next seed-time after fulfilling them in the church adjoining. But this neither Jude nor the rooks around him considered. For them it was a lonely place, possessing, in the one view, only the quality of a work-ground, and in the other that of a granary good to feed in.
The boy stood under the rick before mentioned, and every few seconds used his clacker or rattle briskly. At each clack the rooks left off pecking, and rose and went away on their leisurely wings, burnished like tassets of mail, afterwards wheeling back and regarding him warily, and descending to feed at a more respectful distance.
He sounded the clacker till his arm ached, and at length his heart grew sympathetic with the birds' thwarted desires. They seemed, like himself, to be living in a world which did not want them. Why should he frighten them away? They took upon more and more the aspect of gentle friends and pensioners-- the only friends he could claim as being in the least degree interested in him, for his aunt had often told him that she was not. He ceased his rattling, and they alighted anew.
"Poor little dears!" said Jude, aloud. "You SHALL have some dinner-- you shall. There is enough for us all. Farmer Troutham can afford to let you have some. Eat, then my dear little birdies, and make a good meal!"
They stayed and ate, inky spots on the nut-brown soil and Jude enjoyed their appetite. A magic thread of fellow-feeling united his own life with theirs. Puny and sorry as those lives were, they much resembled his own.
His clacker he had by this time thrown away from him, as being a mean and sordid instrument, offensive both to the birds and to himself as their friend. All at once he became conscious of a smart blow upon his buttocks, followed by a loud clack, which announced to his surprised senses that the clacker had been the instrument of offence used. The birds and Jude started up simultaneously, and the dazed eyes of the latter beheld the farmer in person, the great Troutham himself, his red face glaring down upon Jude's cowering frame, the clacker swinging in his hand.
"So it's 'Eat my dear birdies,' is it, young man? 'Eat, dear birdies,' indeed! I'll tickle your breeches, and see if you say, 'Eat, dear birdies,' again in a hurry! And you've been idling at the schoolmaster's too, instead of coming here, ha'n't ye, hey? That's how you earn your sixpence a day for keeping the rooks off my corn!"
Whilst saluting Jude's ears with this impassioned rhetoric, Troutham had seized his left hand with his own left, and swinging his slim frame round him at arm's-length, again struck Jude on the hind parts with the flat side of Jude's own rattle, till the field echoed with the blows, which were delivered once or twice at each revolution.
"Don't 'ee, sir--please don't 'ee!" cried the whirling child, as helpless under the centrifugal tendency of his person as a hooked fish swinging to land, and beholding the hill, the rick, the plantation, the path, and the rooks going round and round him in an amazing circular race. "I--I sir--only meant that--there was a good crop in the ground-- I saw 'em sow it--and the rooks could have a little bit for dinner-- and you wouldn't miss it, sir--and Mr. Phillotson said I was to be kind to 'em--oh, oh, oh!"
This truthful explanation seemed to exasperate the farmer even more than if Jude had stoutly denied saying anything at all, and he still smacked the whirling urchin, the clacks of the instrument continuing to resound all across the field and as far as the ears of distant workers-- who gathered thereupon that Jude was pursuing his business of clacking with great assiduity--and echoing from the brand-new church tower just behind the mist, towards the building of which structure the farmer had largely subscribed, to testify his love for God and man.
Presently Troutham grew tired of his punitive task, and depositing the quivering boy on his legs, took a sixpence from his pocket and gave it him in payment for his day's work, telling him to go home and never let him see him in one of those fields again.
Jude leaped out of arm's reach, and walked along the trackway weeping-- not from the pain, though that was keen enough; not from the perception of the flaw in the terrestrial scheme, by which what was good for God's birds was bad for God's gardener; but with the awful sense that he had wholly disgraced himself before he had been a year in the parish, and hence might be a burden to his great-aunt for life.
With this shadow on his mind he did not care to show himself in the village, and went homeward by a roundabout track behind a high hedge and across a pasture. Here he beheld scores of coupled earthworms lying half their length on the surface of the damp ground, as they always did in such weather at that time of the year. It was impossible to advance in regular steps without crushing some of them at each tread.
Though Farmer Troutham had just hurt him, he was a boy who could not himself bear to hurt anything. He had never brought home a nest of young birds without lying awake in misery half the night after, and often re-instating them and the nest in their original place the next morning. He could scarcely bear to see trees cut down or lopped, from a fancy that it hurt them; and late pruning, when the sap was up and the tree bled profusely, had been a positive grief to him in his infancy. This weakness of character, as it may be called, suggested that he was the sort of man who was born to ache a good deal before the fall of the curtain upon his unnecessary life should signify that all was well with him again. He carefully picked his way on tiptoe among the earthworms, without killing a single one.
On entering the cottage he found his aunt selling a penny loaf to a little girl, and when the customer was gone she said, "Well, how do you come to be back here in the middle of the morning like this?"
"I'm turned away."
"What?"
"Mr. Troutham have turned me away because I let the rooks have a few peckings of corn. And there's my wages--the last I shall ever hae!"
He threw the sixpence tragically on the table.
"Ah!" said his aunt, suspending her breath. And she opened upon him a lecture on how she would now have him all the spring upon her hands doing nothing. "If you can't skeer birds, what can ye do? There! don't ye look so deedy! Farmer Troutham is not so much better than myself, come to that. But 'tis as Job said, 'Now they that are younger than I have me in derision, whose fathers I would have disdained to have set with the dogs of my flock.' His father was my father's journeyman, anyhow, and I must have been a fool to let 'ee go to work for 'n, which I shouldn't ha' done but to keep 'ee out of mischty."
More angry with Jude for demeaning her by coming there than for dereliction of duty, she rated him primarily from that point of view, and only secondarily from a moral one.
"Not that you should have let the birds eat what Farmer Troutham planted. Of course you was wrong in that. Jude, Jude, why didstn't go off with that schoolmaster of thine to Christminster or somewhere? But, oh no-- poor or'nary child--there never was any sprawl on thy side of the family, and never will be!"
"Where is this beautiful city, Aunt--this place where Mr. Phillotson is gone to?" asked the boy, after meditating in silence.
"Lord! you ought to know where the city of Christminster is. Near a score of miles from here. It is a place much too good for you ever to have much to do with, poor boy, I'm a-thinking."
"And will Mr. Phillotson always be there?"
"How can I tell?"
"Could I go to see him?"
"Lord, no! You didn't grow up hereabout, or you wouldn't ask such as that. We've never had anything to do with folk in Christminster, nor folk in Christminster with we."
Jude went out, and, feeling more than ever his existence to be an undemanded one, he lay down upon his back on a heap of litter near the pig-sty. The fog had by this time become more translucent, and the position of the sun could be seen through it. He pulled his straw hat over his face, and peered through the interstices of the plaiting at the white brightness, vaguely reflecting. Growing up brought responsibilities, he found. Events did not rhyme quite as he had thought. Nature's logic was too horrid for him to care for. That mercy towards one set of creatures was cruelty towards another sickened his sense of harmony. As you got older, and felt yourself to be at the centre of your time, and not at a point in its circumference, as you had felt when you were little, you were seized with a sort of shuddering, he perceived. All around you there seemed to be something glaring, garish, rattling, and the noises and glares hit upon the little cell called your life, and shook it, and warped it.
If he could only prevent himself growing up! He did not want to be a man.
Then, like the natural boy, he forgot his despondency, and sprang up. During the remainder of the morning he helped his aunt, and in the afternoon, when there was nothing more to be done, he went into the village. Here he asked a man whereabouts Christminster lay.
"Christminster? Oh, well, out by there yonder; though I've never bin there-- not I. I've never had any business at such a place."
The man pointed north-eastward, in the very direction where lay that field in which Jude had so disgraced himself. There was something unpleasant about the coincidence for the moment, but the fearsomeness of this fact rather increased his curiosity about the city. The farmer had said he was never to be seen in that field again; yet Christminster lay across it, and the path was a public one. So, stealing out of the hamlet, he descended into the same hollow which had witnessed his punishment in the morning, never swerving an inch from the path, and climbing up the long and tedious ascent on the other side till the track joined the highway by a little clump of trees. Here the ploughed land ended, and all before him was bleak open down.

别看裘德•福来身子骨单薄，他可是一口气就把满满两桶水拎到了草房。草房门上方有块长方形小蓝匾，上漆黄字：多喜•福来面包房，在铅条嵌住玻璃的窗户（保留这样窗户的人家极少，这是其中之一）紧后面放着五瓶虩望，还有一个柳条图案的盘子，盛着三个小圆面包。
他在屋后把水倒完，听得见门里头他的姑婆，也就是匾上写的多喜，正跟几位乡亲聊得挺欢。她们亲眼瞧着小学教师离开，这会儿正把这件大事的种种细节往一块儿凑，还肆无忌惮地瞎猜他以后会如何如何。
“这是谁呀？”一个有点眼生的女人看见孩子进来就问。
“问得好啊，威廉太太。是我的侄孙子哟，你上回来过之后他才来的。”答话的这位老住户是个个儿又高又干瘦的婆子，什么不值一提的事，她一说就带着哭腔，还要轮流朝每个听她说话的人说上一言半语。“总在一年前吧，他打南维塞克斯南边的麦斯托过来的——命才苦呢，贝林达，”（脸往右边一转）“卡洛琳哪，你都知道呀，他爸爸住在那边儿，得了‘疟子’，两天就没啦。”（脸又转到左边）“要是全能的上帝把他跟他爹娘一块儿叫了去，那倒是挺福气呢，可怜的没点用的孩子哟！可是我把他弄到这儿来啦，跟我住一块儿，总得替他想出个办法，不过这会儿要是办得到，得先叫他赚几个钱。他刚给庄稼汉陶大赶鸟儿，省得他淘气嘛。你干吗走呀，裘德！”她接着说下去，孩子觉着她们瞄着他的眼光那么厉害，就像抽他嘴巴，想躲到旁边去。
本地那个替人洗衣服的女人接过话碴说，福来小姐（叫福来太太也行，随她们怎么称呼，她也无所谓）把他留在身边这个主意还真不赖——“给你做个伴儿，省得你一个人孤单，替你拎拎水，晚上关关百叶窗，烤面包时候也帮点忙，都行嘛。”
福来小姐可是不以为然。“你干吗不求老师带你到基督堂，也让你当学生呀？”她幸灾乐祸地挤眉弄眼，接着说， “我瞧他也找不着比你还好的喽。这孩子看书看得邪乎哪，才邪乎哪。我们家就兴这一套。他有个表姊妹，我听说也这个调调儿，不过那孩子，我没见到她有年数啦，虽说她碰巧在这儿落地，还就在这屋里头。我侄女跟她男人结婚之后，大概一年工夫还没自个儿的房子，后来总算是有了，可又——唉，别提这个啦，裘德，我的孩子哟，你可千万别结婚，福来家的人可不能再走这一步啦。他们就生了苏一个孩子，我拿她就当自个儿的一样，贝林达，后来他们俩吵散了，一个小丫头子真不该知道这些变故哟！”
裘德觉着大伙儿又把注意力集中到他身上来了，于是走到烘房，把原来准备好当早餐的那块烘糕吃了，然后攀过房后的树篱，出了园子，沿着一条小路一直朝北走，最后走到了高地中间一块朝四下铺展的凹陷的宽广而僻静的地方，原来这是撒过种的麦田。他就在这片老大的洼地上给陶大先生干活。他再往前走，到了麦田正中间。
麦田的褐色地面的四周高高隆起，似乎上与天齐，这时由于雾气迷茫，把它的实际边缘笼罩起来了，所以本来的景象也就隐没在雾中，而且使这个地方的孤寂凄凉更为深沉。点缀这刻板划一的景色的醒目东西只有那个上年堆的、至今还立在耕地上的麦垛，一看他走过来就振翅飞走的老鸹和他刚走过的那条直穿麦田的小路。谁在这条路上来往，他这会儿一点不知道，不过他确实知道他家里故世的先人中间有很多曾经走过。
“这儿真够寒碜哪。”他嘴里嘟嘟囔囔的。
新耙过的一排排条沟延伸下去，看起来就像一块新灯芯绒上边的纹路，把这一大片土地的外貌弄得一副既俗不可耐又唯利是图的样子，把它的多层次的色调抽干了，把它的全部历史也都抹掉了；其实那斑斑泥土，累累石块实实在在地尽有着剪不断的未了缘——远古以来的歌唱、欢声笑语和踏踏实实的劳作仍在经久不息地回荡。每英寸土地，不论最早开出来的还是最晚开出来的，都是当年散发着活力、狂欢、喧闹和慵倦的场地。每一码土地上都有一群群拾穗人蹲着晒太阳。在收割和人仓活动的；司歇时候，人们就把毗邻小村子组织起来，玩起找情人游戏。在把麦田同远处人工林隔开的树篱下，姑娘们不惜委身于情人，但是到了下个收获季节，他们就对姑娘们掉头不顾，正眼也不瞧一下。在古老的麦田里，何止一个汉子对娘儿们信誓旦旦，哪想到他在近边教堂里履行诺言之后，到了下个播种期，一听见她声音就发抖。不过裘德也好，他四周的老鸹也好，心里都没盛着这类事。他们只把它当成一块冷清地方，裘德一方以为它的性质纯属供人劳作，对老鸹一方来说它正好是足以填饱肚子的谷仓。
那孩子站在前面提到的麦垛下面，隔几秒就使劲摇他的哗脚板儿。只要哗脚板一响，老鸹就停止啄食，从地上飞起来，接着从容展开摩擦得如同锁子甲叶片一样晶亮的翅膀飞走了；它们转了一圈之后又飞回来，小心翼翼地防着他，随后落到稍远的地方啄食。
他摇哗啷板摇得膀子都酸痛了；到后来对于老鸹觅食愿望受到阻碍，反而同情起来。它们好像跟他一样，活在一个没人理没人要的世界里。他干吗非得把它们吓跑不可呀？它们越来越像是好脾气的朋友，等待着哺食——只有它们才能算在朋友之列，因为它们总还对他有那么点兴趣，因为姑婆不是常对他说，她对他没一点兴趣吗？他没再摇哗啷板，老鸹也就再落到田里。
“可怜的小宝贝儿哟！”裘德大声说，“你们该吃点饭啦——该吃啦。这儿够咱们大伙吃呀。庄稼汉陶大供得起你们吃呀。吃吧，吃吧，亲爱的小鸟哟，美美地吃一顿吧。”
它们就像深褐色土地上一片片黑点子，呆在那儿吃起来，裘德在一边欣赏它们的吃相。一根神奇的同病相怜的细线把他的生命和它们的生命串连起来，这些老鹊的生命无足轻重，不值怜惜，又何异于他自己的遭遇呢！
他连哗啷板儿也扔到一边儿去了，因为那是个卑鄙下贱的工具，对鸟儿和对鸟儿的朋友他自己，都是怀着无限恶意的。猛然间，他觉得屁股上挨了重重一家伙，紧跟着是哗啷啷一声响，这分明是告诉他的受了惊的感官，哗脚板儿正是作恶的工具。老鸹和裘德都吓了一大跳，后者两眼昏昏地瞧见了庄稼汉的形象，原来是伟大的陶大先生驾到了，他那张恶狠狠的脸冲着裘德蜷起来的身子，手里哗啷板儿摇来晃去的。
“这就是‘吃呀，亲爱的小鸟哟’�

[table=80%,#ffffff,#000000,1][tr][td]Part 1 Chapter 6
AT this memorable date of his life he was, one Saturday, returning from Alfredston to Marygreen about three o'clock in the afternoon. It was fine, warm, and soft summer weather, and he walked with his tools at his back, his little chisels clinking faintly against the larger ones in his basket. It being the end of the week he had left work early, and had come out of the town by a round-about route which he did not usually frequent, having promised to call at a flour-mill near Cresscombe to execute a commission for his aunt.
He was in an enthusiastic mood. He seemed to see his way to living comfortably in Christminster in the course of a year or two, and knocking at the doors of one of those strongholds of learning of which he had dreamed so much. He might, of course, have gone there now, in some capacity or other, but he preferred to enter the city with a little more assurance as to means than he could be said to feel at present. A warm self-content suffused him when he considered what he had already done. Now and then as he went along he turned to face the peeps of country on either side of him. But he hardly saw them; the act was an automatic repetition of what he had been accustomed to do when less occupied; and the one matter which really engaged him was the mental estimate of his progress thus far.
"I have acquired quite an average student's power to read the common ancient classics, Latin in particular." This was true, Jude possessing a facility in that language which enabled him with great ease to himself to beguile his lonely walks by imaginary conversations therein.
"I have read two books of the ILIAD, besides being pretty familiar with passages such as the speech of Phoenix in the ninth book, the fight of Hector and Ajax in the fourteenth, the appearance of Achilles unarmed and his heavenly armour in the eighteenth, and the funeral games in the twenty-third. I have also done some Hesiod, a little scrap of Thucydides, and a lot of the Greek Testament.... I wish there was only one dialect all the same.
"I have done some mathematics, including the first six and the eleventh and twelfth books of Euclid; and algebra as far as simple equations.
"I know something of the Fathers, and something of Roman and English history.
"These things are only a beginning. But I shall not make much farther advance here, from the difficulty of getting books. Hence I must next concentrate all my energies on settling in Christminster. Once there I shall so advance, with the assistance I shall there get, that my present knowledge will appear to me but as childish ignorance. I must save money, and I will; and one of those colleges shall open its doors to me--shall welcome whom now it would spurn, if I wait twenty years for the welcome.
"I'll be D.D. before I have done!"
And then he continued to dream, and thought he might become even a bishop by leading a pure, energetic, wise, Christian life. And what an example he would set! If his income were 5000 pounds a year, he would give away 4500 pounds in one form and another, and live sumptuously (for him) on the remainder. Well, on second thoughts, a bishop was absurd. He would draw the line at an archdeacon. Perhaps a man could be as good and as learned and as useful in the capacity of archdeacon as in that of bishop. Yet he thought of the bishop again.
"Meanwhile I will read, as soon as I am settled in Christminster, the books I have not been able to get hold of here: Livy, Tacitus, Herodotus, AEschylus, Sophocles, Aristophanes--"
"Ha, ha, ha! Hoity-toity!" The sounds were expressed in light voices on the other side of the hedge, but he did not notice them. His thoughts went on:
"--Euripides, Plato, Aristotle, Lucretius, Epictetus, Seneca, Antoninus. Then I must master other things: the Fathers thoroughly; Bede and ecclesiastical history generally; a smattering of Hebrew-- I only know the letters as yet--"
"Hoity-toity!"
"--but I can work hard. I have staying power in abundance, thank God! and it is that which tells.... Yes, Christminster shall be my Alma Mater; and I'll be her beloved son, in whom she shall be well pleased."
In his deep concentration on these transactions of the future Jude's walk had slackened, and he was now standing quite still, looking at the ground as though the future were thrown thereon by a magic lantern. On a sudden something smacked him sharply in the ear, and he became aware that a soft cold substance had been flung at him, and had fallen at his feet.
A glance told him what it was--a piece of flesh, the characteristic part of a barrow-pig, which the countrymen used for greasing their boots, as it was useless for any other purpose. Pigs were rather plentiful hereabout, being bred and fattened in large numbers in certain parts of North Wessex.
On the other side of the hedge was a stream, whence, as he now for the first time realized, had come the slight sounds of voices and laughter that had mingled with his dreams. He mounted the bank and looked over the fence. On the further side of the stream stood a small homestead, having a garden and pig-sties attached; in front of it, beside the brook, three young women were kneeling, with buckets and platters beside them containing heaps of pigs' chitterlings, which they were washing in the running water. One or two pairs of eyes slyly glanced up, and perceiving that his attention had at last been attracted, and that he was watching them, they braced themselves for inspection by putting their mouths demurely into shape and recommencing their rinsing operations with assiduity.
"Thank you!" said Jude severely.
"I DIDN'T throw it, I tell you!" asserted one girl to her neighbour, as if unconscious of the young man's presence.
"Nor I," the second answered.
"Oh, Anny, how can you!" said the third.
"If I had thrown anything at all, it shouldn't have been THAT!"
"Pooh! I don't care for him!" And they laughed and continued their work, without looking up, still ostentatiously accusing each other.
Jude grew sarcastic as he wiped his face, and caught their remarks.
"YOU didn't do it--oh no!" he said to the up-stream one of the three.
She whom he addressed was a fine dark-eyed girl, not exactly handsome, but capable of passing as such at a little distance, despite some coarseness of skin and fibre. She had a round and prominent bosom, full lips, perfect teeth, and the rich complexion of a Cochin hen's egg. She was a complete and substantial female animal--no more, no less; and Jude was almost certain that to her was attributable the enterprise of attracting his attention from dreams of the humaner letters to what was simmering in the minds around him.
"That you'll never be told," said she deedily.
"Whoever did it was wasteful of other people's property."
"Oh, that's nothing."
"But you want to speak to me, I suppose?"
"Oh yes; if you like to."
"Shall I clamber across, or will you come to the plank above here?"
Perhaps she foresaw an opportunity; for somehow or other the eyes of the brown girl rested in his own when he had said the words, and there was a momentary flash of intelligence, a dumb announcement of affinity IN POSSE between herself and him, which, so far as Jude Fawley was concerned, had no sort of premeditation in it. She saw that he had singled her out from the three, as a woman is singled out in such cases, for no reasoned purpose of further acquaintance, but in commonplace obedience to conjunctive orders from headquarters, unconsciously received by unfortunate men when the last intention of their lives is to be occupied with the feminine.
Springing to her feet, she said: "Bring back what is lying there."
Jude was now aware that no message on any matter connected with her father's business had prompted her signal to him. He set down his basket of tools, picked up the scrap of offal, beat a pathway for himself with his stick, and got over the hedge. They walked in parallel lines, one on each bank of the stream, towards the small plank bridge. As the girl drew nearer to it, she gave without Jude perceiving it, an adroit little suck to the interior of each of her cheeks in succession, by which curious and original manoeuvre she brought as by magic upon its smooth and rotund surface a perfect dimple, which she was able to retain there as long as she continued to smile. This production of dimples at will was a not unknown operation, which many attempted, but only a few succeeded in accomplishing.
They met in the middle of the plank, and Jude, tossing back her missile, seemed to expect her to explain why she had audaciously stopped him by this novel artillery instead of by hailing him.
But she, slyly looking in another direction, swayed herself backwards and forwards on her hand as it clutched the rail of the bridge; till, moved by amatory curiosity, she turned her eyes critically upon him.
"You don't think I would shy things at you?"
"Oh no."
"We are doing this for my father, who naturally doesn't want anything thrown away. He makes that into dubbin." She nodded towards the fragment on the grass.
"What made either of the others throw it, I wonder?" Jude asked, politely accepting her assertion, though he had very large doubts as to its truth.
"Impudence. Don't tell folk it was I, mind!"
"How can I? I don't know your name."
"Ah, no. Shall I tell it to you?"
"Do!"
"Arabella Donn. I'm living here."
"I must have known it if I had often come this way. But I mostly go straight along the high-road."
"My father is a pig-breeder, and these girls are helping me wash the innerds for black-puddings and such like."
They talked a little more and a little more, as they stood regarding each other and leaning against the hand-rail of the bridge. The unvoiced call of woman to man, which was uttered very distinctly by Arabella's personality, held Jude to the spot against his intention-- almost against his will, and in a way new to his experience. It is scarcely an exaggeration to say that till this moment Jude had never looked at a woman to consider her as such, but had vaguely regarded the sex as beings outside his life and purposes. He gazed from her eyes to her mouth, thence to her bosom, and to her full round naked arms, wet, mottled with the chill of the water, and firm as marble.
"What a nice-looking girl you are!" he murmured, though the words had not been necessary to express his sense of her magnetism.
"Ah, you should see me Sundays!" she said piquantly.
"I don't suppose I could?" he answered
"That's for you to think on. There's nobody after me just now, though there med be in a week or two." She had spoken this without a smile, and the dimples disappeared.
Jude felt himself drifting strangely, but could not help it. "Will you let me?"
"I don't mind."
By this time she had managed to get back one dimple by turning her face aside for a moment and repeating the odd little sucking operation before mentioned, Jude being still unconscious of more than a general impression of her appearance. "Next Sunday?" he hazarded. "To-morrow, that is?"
"Yes."
"Shall I call?"
"Yes."
She brightened with a little glow of triumph, swept him almost tenderly with her eyes in turning, and retracing her steps down the brookside grass rejoined her companions.
Jude Fawley shouldered his tool-basket and resumed his lonely way, filled with an ardour at which he mentally stood at gaze. He had just inhaled a single breath from a new atmosphere, which had evidently been hanging round him everywhere he went, for he knew not how long, but had somehow been divided from his actual breathing as by a sheet of glass. The intentions as to reading, working, and learning, which he had so precisely formulated only a few minutes earlier, were suffering a curious collapse into a corner, he knew not how.
"Well, it's only a bit of fun," he said to himself, faintly conscious that to common sense there was something lacking, and still more obviously something redundant in the nature of this girl who had drawn him to her which made it necessary that he should assert mere sportiveness on his part as his reason in seeking her-- something in her quite antipathetic to that side of him which had been occupied with literary study and the magnificent Christminster dream. It had been no vestal who chose THAT missile for opening her attack on him. He saw this with his intellectual eye, just for a short; fleeting while, as by the light of a falling lamp one might momentarily see an inscription on a wall before being enshrouded in darkness. And then this passing discriminative power was withdrawn, and Jude was lost to all conditions of things in the advent of a fresh and wild pleasure, that of having found a new channel for emotional interest hitherto unsuspected, though it had lain close beside him. He was to meet this enkindling one of the other sex on the following Sunday.
Meanwhile the girl had joined her companions, and she silently resumed her flicking and sousing of the chitterlings in the pellucid stream.
"Catched un, my dear?" laconically asked the girl called Anny.
"I don't know. I wish I had thrown something else than that!" regretfully murmured Arabella.
"Lord! he's nobody, though you med think so. He used to drive old Drusilla Fawley's bread-cart out at Marygreen, till he 'prenticed himself at Alfredston. Since then he's been very stuck up, and always reading. He wants to be a scholar, they say."
"Oh, I don't care what he is, or anything about 'n. Don't you think it, my child!"
"Oh, don't ye! You needn't try to deceive us! What did you stay talking to him for, if you didn't want un? Whether you do or whether you don't, he's as simple as a child. I could see it as you courted on the bridge, when he looked at 'ee as if he had never seen a woman before in his born days. Well, he's to be had by any woman who can get him to care for her a bit, if she likes to set herself to catch him the right way."

在他的生活值得纪念的这段日子中间，有个礼拜六下午，四点钟光景，他从阿尔夫瑞顿回马利格林。长夏中间此时正值天气晴好、温煦、轻柔，他背着工具篓子走路，大小凿子相互撞击，叮叮作响。因为是周末，他下工早，绕道出了镇子。这条路他平时不大走，这回是奉姑婆之命，前往水芹峪附近的磨坊替她办件事。
他心花怒放。他仿佛看到一两年后通向基督堂的安适稳定的生活，敲响那儿一座他梦寐以求的学术堡垒大门的道路已经在望。眼下他当然也可以凭某种身份到那儿去。但是他宁可等到他手头宽裕到可以使他信心更足的时候再走进那座城市。一想到他到现在达到的成就，他心里暖烘烘的，感到浑身发热。走着走着，他不时左瞧瞧，右望望，像要弄清楚路旁篱外乡下什么景况；不过他实际上没看到什么，因为这只是他不忙时候养成的走路习惯，这会儿又重复一回罢了。他真正念念不忘的是怎样评价他在学习方面的进步。
“我现在已经具备普通学生阅读一般古典作品的能力了，特别是拉丁文写的。”确实不错，裘德运用这种语言已经达到相当纯熟的程度，每当一个人走路的时候，为了解闷，就用这种语言流利自如地进行想象中的对话。
“《伊利亚德》好多段落，我已经很熟啦，像第九卷里头菲尼克斯的演说词。第十四卷里头赫克特同阿贾克斯的对战、第十八卷里头阿喀琉斯没有披挂就上阵和上苍赐给他甲胄。第二十三卷里葬礼上竞技的场面，在这些之外，我还念了整整两卷呢。我对赫西奥德下过些工夫，修昔底得斯的东西也略有所知了；希腊文《新约》学了好多，……我倒希望希腊文就一种方言才好咧。
“我也学了点数学，包括欧几里德的前声卷。第十一、十二卷；代数学到一次方程式。
“神父文集也略有所窥，还多少知道点罗马史和英国史。
“这些东西还只能算开了个头。在这地方搞书这么难，我不会再有很大进步啦。所以我一定得集中所有精力，想尽办法进基督堂才行啊。一住到那儿，凭着我能得到的指教，我就会进步得非常之快，再一比，我现在这么点知识，简直就是幼稚无知啦。我一定要存钱，非存不可。总会有一所学院对我敞开大门吧——会欢迎我这个它这会儿不屑一顾的人吧，为这个欢迎，哪怕等上二十年，我也干啊。
“我不当上神学博士，决不罢休。”
于是他把梦接着做下去，想着他怎么过一种纯洁无瑕、精力焕发、贤明谨慎的生活，后来居然当上了主教。他将要给世人树立何等了不起的榜样啊！如果他每年进项是五千英镑，他将通过不同方式捐出四千五百镑，剩下的（归自己）过豪华的生活。可是他转念一想，又觉着想当主教，未免太不自量了。他还是把自己定位在副主教席位上为好。也许在副主教任上，他也能跟主教一样仁爱为怀、博学强识、益世济人呢。不过他想过来想过去，又回到当主教上来了。
“一在基督堂住定了，我就要念在这儿没法搞到的书：李维、塔西陀、希罗多得斯。埃斯库洛斯、索福克勒斯、阿里斯多芬——’
“哈，哈，哈，别装熊啦！”这是从树篱另一面传出来的很小的说话声音，但是他没理会，继续往下想：
“——欧里庇得斯、柏拉图、亚里士多德、卢克莱修、埃皮克泰土斯、塞尼加。安托尼奴斯。然后要透彻了解别的著作，要熟读神父文集，要通晓比德和教会史，要懂点希伯来文——我到现在才认得几个字母——”
“别装熊啦！”
“不过我能下苦功夫。感谢上帝啊，我生来就有换而不舍的精神，取之不尽的力量。是啊，正是这样的精神和力量告诉我，基督堂必将成为我的母校，我必将是她的爱子，她必将对我满心钟爱、提携扶抱啊！”
裘德这样深思冥想着自己前程上的种种变化，不知不觉地脚步就放慢了，随后屏息而立，一动不动，目注地面，仿佛那儿有盏神灯大放光芒，照亮了他的“前途”。突然什么东西一下子猛打在他耳朵上，他人这才明白过来，原来一块又软又凉的东西打中了他，落在他脚跟前。
他一眼就瞧出来是什么玩意儿——一块肉，是闹猪身上那个形状独特的部分，乡下人用这玩意儿给靴子上油，此外它毫无用处。猪在这一带随处可见，因为北维塞克斯一些地区大量饲养肥猪。
树篱另一面是条小河，他这才头一回弄明白，搅了他梦想的轻微的说话声和笑声原来是从那边传过来的。他上了土坡，从树篱上望过去。小河更前方一点有户农家宅院，连着菜园和猪圈；它前面，河边上，有三个年轻女人跪在那儿，在水流里淘洗身边水桶和大盘子里盛着的猪下水。一对或者两对眼睛羞答答地往上瞄了一下，明白他的注意力已经被吸引过来了，而且他正盯着她们看呢，于是她们把嘴撅起来，装腔作势，一本正经地卖劲儿干那淘洗活儿。
“多谢大伙啦！”裘德气冲冲地说。
“跟你说，我可没扔哪！”一个姑娘对她旁边的姑娘声辩着，样子像没觉着有个年轻男人在那边。
“我也没扔。”第二个回答。
“哦，安妮，你敢这么说吗！”第三个说。
“我要是真扔什么，也不会是那玩意儿。”
“呸！我才不把他放眼里呢！”接着她们大笑起来，再没抬头看，还装模作样你说我，我顶你的。
裘德抹了抹脸，想好好挖苦挖苦她们，就接过她们的话碴儿：
“你没扔它——你可真没哟，才怪哪！”他朝上水一点的那个
他冲着说话的是个黑眼珠姑娘，体态丰盈，模样说不上标致，不过在不算远的距离看上去，也算有几分姿色，只是皮肤有点粗，样儿也透着俗气。她的乳房浑圆凸起，双唇饱满，牙齿齐整，脸色红润鲜活，赛似交趾母鸡下的蛋，活脱是条结实向感的母大虫——真算得毫厘不差！裘德几乎肯定了，把他耽于高尚学问的注意力引到她们的内心骚动那边去的，准是她一手干的勾当。
“这你休想知道。”她正儿八经地说。
“谁这么于，谁就是糟蹋别人的东西！”
“哎，那没关系。”
“我猜你这是想跟我聊聊吧？”
“对啦，你要是愿意就行嘛。”
“是我过河，还是你上板桥这边儿来？”
大概她料到机会来了。反正这肤色有点深的姑娘在他说话时候死盯住他眼睛不放。一时间，两个人眉来眼去，怕的是，心曲正相通，只在不言中。这样的事，裘德素来不闻不问，自然他丝毫不会事先考虑到这里边的含义。而她呢，也看出来他把她从三个人里头挑出来，无非跟类似情况下挑出个女人一样，这里边根本说不上什么深思熟聼妄要做番深交的打算；毛病就出在不幸的男人们非意识地对指挥部发下的号令一贯是无不听命，又恰在他们千不该万不该动了心，同娘儿们打交道的时候，这样的本能发生了作用。
她霍地站起来，说，“把掉在那边儿的东西拣回来吧。”
裘德心里明白，不论她父亲生意怎么样，总没什么道理鼓励她跟他套近乎。他放下篓子，拣起那块猪下脚，拿棍子拨开树篱，穿过去。两个人在河两边并排朝板桥走。姑娘到离板桥不远的地方，乘裘德没瞧见，一连着把脸颊巧妙地往里咋，她用这奇特而独到的手法，变戏法似地，在圆胖脸上弄出个地地道道的酒涡。她只要一直不停地笑下去，就能把酒涡保持不变。这造酒涡的功夫并非稀见少有，很多人都试过，不过成了功的只有极少的人。
他们在桥当中碰到一块儿。裘德把她的飞弹扔给她，似乎有意让她解释解释，她干吗不干脆跟他打招呼，一定用这样新奇的炮火拦截他。
她羞答答地朝另外的方向看，手抓住桥栏杆，身子前仰后合地摇着；到得后来，春情荡漾勾起来的好奇心，逼她转过目光，上上下下打量他。
“你不会想是我故意砸你，闹着玩儿吧？”
“没有，没有。”
“我们正给爸爸干活儿哪。他当然不愿意把什么丢了。他拿这玩意儿当油擦子。”
“我就不明白她们哪个干吗这么干？”裘德问她，挺客气地同意了她的说法，尽管他对她这说法的真实性大有怀疑。
“不要脸呗。你可千万别跟人说我砸的！”
“我怎么会呢。我还不知道你叫什么哪。”
“哦，是呀。要我告诉你吗？”
“要！”
“阿拉贝拉•邓恩。我就住这儿。”
“要是我平常走这条路，我自然认得这儿啦。不过我大都是顺大路一直走。”
“我爸爸是个养猪户。那两个女孩儿帮我洗内脏，做黑香肠什么的。”
他们靠着栏杆站着，你瞧我，我瞧你，谈谈歇歇，歇歇谈谈；女人对男人那种不出声的诱惑，在阿拉贝拉的整个品性和容色上淋漓尽致地展现出来，把裘德迷得动弹不得，这可反乎他一向的意愿——简直是违背他的意志，而这一套他从前根本没有经历过啊。直到这一刻，裘德压根儿没仔细看过女人，没有像对她那样端洋过谯，他以前模模糊糊地感到性什么的跟他的生活和志趣搭不上边儿，这样说决不是张大其词，他目不转睛地从她的眼睛看判她的双唇，再看她的乳房，又看她的裸露的圆滚滚的胳臂，带着水，湿淋淋的，水花一凉，显得皮肤红红白白，结实得犹如大理石一般。
“你真是个美人哟！”他自言自语地说，虽然根本用不着说这话来表示他感受到她的磁力。
“哦！你该到礼拜天看我，那才好呢！”她调皮地说。
“我没说我不行吧？”他答道。
“那就由你自个儿想喽。这阵子还没人追我哪。可过一两个礼拜说不定就有啦。”她说这话，不带一点笑容，酒涡也就没了。
裘德觉着怪得狠，自己一阵子晕晕惚惚的样子，虽然他力求镇定，还是不由自主。
“你让我追吗？”
“我才无所谓呢。”
这时候，她把脸掉到旁边一阵子，来个故伎重演，轻轻地而又古怪地在颊上咋出一个酒涡。而裘德这方面对她的容貌仍然只有个大概印象罢了。“那就明儿喽？”
“行啊。”
“我去找你吗？”
“当然。”
这小小得手使她喜上眉梢，转身时回眸一顾，俨然若不胜情之态，跟着她就顺着河畔草地回到同伴那儿去了。
裘德•福来把篓子背好，依然一个人走他的路，热情高涨，激动不已，可是他同时又有了茫然不解之感。他刚好对着新鲜大气猛吸了一口，以前他随便到哪儿，大气总是前后左右包着他，至于有多久，他没在意过，不过这会儿真正一呼吸大气，觉着有点让一层玻璃给挡住了。仅仅几分钟前他那么精心制订的读书、工作和做学问的计划，现在正意想不到地要垮掉，眼看要灰飞烟灭，可是他一点没知觉。
“哎，这不过闹着玩儿吧。”他心里这么想着，稍微有点意识到，那个向他卖弄风情的姑娘的品格，按常理看，似乎少了点什么，可更其明显的倒是又多了点什么，这一来他只好用解嘲的办法，把找她的理由说成是不过闹着玩就是了——殊不知她身上这一少一多，对于他全心全意致力于文学研究和到基督堂的远大理想的实现，是冰炭不相容的。她选择那样一个飞弹对他展开进攻，就足以说明她决不是给女灶神奉役的贞洁处女。以他那样心明眼亮，他分明有所觉察，但这只是一刹那而已，好比一个人借着将要熄灭的烛光，看那正被黑暗吞没的墙上铭文，只能瞬间一瞥而已。本来就短暂的分辨力悄然而逝了，因而当从未品味过的纵情放荡的欢乐逼临面前时，裘德懵懵然，对事物的真假、美丑、善恶、正邪再也无从判断，却发现了从未料到的宣泄情感的通路，虽然它一向就近在身边。他要在随后那个礼拜天跟那个挑动他的欲念的异性见面。
同时，臒兔娘回到了同伴一块儿，一声不响地在清澈水流中拍打、淘洗猪肠子。
“弄上钩儿啦，亲爱的？”叫安妮的姑娘直截了当地问。
“我也不知道啊。我倒想呢，要是起先没丢那个玩意儿，丢个别的倒好啦。”阿拉贝拉有点后悔地嘟囔着。
“老天爷！他算老几呀，你可别这么想呀。他先前在马利格林给多喜•福来赶车送面包，后来到阿尔夫瑞顿学徒去啦，一直呆在那儿，老是念书念不完，人家说他想当文人呢。”
“哎，他是老几，是怎么回子事儿，我才不在乎呢。你别当我在乎，小宝贝儿呀！”
“哎，算了吧，你用不着遮掩，诳我们哟！要是你没想打他主意，那干吗在那儿跟他聊呀聊的。你干也好，不干也好，反正他就跟个小孩儿一样不懂事儿。你在桥上吊他时候，我就看出来啦，那会于他瞧着你，就跟一辈子没见过女人一样。是喽，哪个女人要是豁出去，用个合适办法把他弄上手，能讨他喜欢，管保他一辈子算她的啦。”
Part 1 Chapter 7
THE next day Jude Fawley was pausing in his bedroom with the sloping ceiling, looking at the books on the table, and then at the black mark on the plaster above them, made by the smoke of his lamp in past months.
It was Sunday afternoon, four-and-twenty hours after his meeting with Arabella Donn. During the whole bygone week he had been resolving to set this afternoon apart for a special purpose,-- the re-reading of his Greek Testament--his new one, with better type than his old copy, following Griesbach's text as amended by numerous correctors, and with variorum readings in the margin. He was proud of the book, having obtained it by boldly writing to its London publisher, a thing he had never done before.
He had anticipated much pleasure in this afternoon's reading, under the quiet roof of his great-aunt's house as formerly, where he now slept only two nights a week. But a new thing, a great hitch, had happened yesterday in the gliding and noiseless current of his life, and he felt as a snake must feel who has sloughed off its winter skin, and cannot understand the brightness and sensitiveness of its new one.
He would not go out to meet her, after all. He sat down, opened the book, and with his elbows firmly planted on the table, and his hands to his temples began at the beginning:
(Three Greek words)
Had he promised to call for her? Surely he had! She would wait indoors, poor girl, and waste all her afternoon on account of him. There was a something in her, too, which was very winning, apart from promises. He ought not to break faith with her. Even though he had only Sundays and week-day evenings for reading he could afford one afternoon, seeing that other young men afforded so many. After to-day he would never probably see her again. Indeed, it would be impossible, considering what his plans were.
In short, as if materially, a compelling arm of extraordinary muscular power seized hold of him--something which had nothing in common with the spirits and influences that had moved him hitherto. This seemed to care little for his reason and his will, nothing for his so-called elevated intentions, and moved him along, as a violent schoolmaster a schoolboy he has seized by the collar, in a direction which tended towards the embrace of a woman for whom he had no respect, and whose life had nothing in common with his own except locality.
(Three Greek words) was no more heeded, and the predestinate Jude sprang up and across the room. Foreseeing such an event he had already arrayed himself in his best clothes. In three minutes he was out of the house and descending by the path across the wide vacant hollow of corn-ground which lay between the village and the isolated house of Arabella in the dip beyond the upland.
As he walked he looked at his watch. He could be back in two hours, easily, and a good long time would still remain to him for reading after tea.
Passing the few unhealthy fir-trees and cottage where the path joined the highway he hastened along, and struck away to the left, descending the steep side of the country to the west of the Brown House. Here at the base of the chalk formation he neared the brook that oozed from it, and followed the stream till he reached her dwelling. A smell of piggeries came from the back, and the grunting of the originators of that smell. He entered the garden, and knocked at the door with the knob of his stick.
Somebody had seen him through the window, for a male voice on the inside said:
"Arabella! Here's your young man come coorting! Mizzle, my girl!"
Jude winced at the words. Courting in such a business-like aspect as it evidently wore to the speaker was the last thing he was thinking of. He was going to walk with her, perhaps kiss her; but "courting" was too coolly purposeful to be anything but repugnant to his ideas. The door was opened and he entered, just as Arabella came downstairs in radiant walking attire.
"Take a chair, Mr. What's-your-name?" said her father, an energetic, black-whiskered man, in the same businesslike tones Jude had heard from outside.
"I'd rather go out at once, wouldn't you?" she whispered to Jude.
"Yes," said he. "We'll walk up to the Brown House and back, we can do it in half an hour."
Arabella looked so handsome amid her untidy surroundings that he felt glad he had come, and all the misgivings vanished that had hitherto haunted him.
First they clambered to the top of the great down, during which ascent he had occasionally to take her hand to assist her. Then they bore off to the left along the crest into the ridgeway, which they followed till it intersected the high-road at the Brown House aforesaid, the spot of his former fervid desires to behold Christminster. But he forgot them now. He talked the commonest local twaddle to Arabella with greater zest than he would have felt in discussing all the philosophies with all the Dons in the recently adored university, and passed the spot where he had knelt to Diana and Phoebus without remembering that there were any such people in the mythology, or that the sun was anything else than a useful lamp for illuminating Arabella's face. An indescribable lightness of heel served to lift him along; and Jude, the incipient scholar, prospective D.D., professor, bishop, or what not, felt himself honoured and glorified by the condescension of this handsome country wench in agreeing to take a walk with him in her Sunday frock and ribbons.
They reached the Brown House barn--the point at which he had planned to turn back. While looking over the vast northern landscape from this spot they were struck by the rising of a dense volume of smoke from the neighbourhood of the little town which lay beneath them at a distance of a couple of miles.
"It is a fire," said Arabella. "Let's run and see it--do! It is not far!"
The tenderness which had grown up in Jude's bosom left him no will to thwart her inclination now--which pleased him in affording him excuse for a longer time with her. They started off down the hill almost at a trot; but on gaining level ground at the bottom, and walking a mile, they found that the spot of the fire was much further off than it had seemed.
Having begun their journey, however, they pushed on; but it was not till five o'clock that they found themselves on the scene,-- the distance being altogether about half-a-dozen miles from Marygreen, and three from Arabella's. The conflagration had been got under by the time they reached it, and after a short inspection of the melancholy ruins they retraced their steps--their course lying through the town of Alfredston.
Arabella said she would like some tea, and they entered an inn of an inferior class, and gave their order. As it was not for beer they had a long time to wait. The maid-servant recognized Jude, and whispered her surprise to her mistress in the background, that he, the student "who kept hisself up so particular," should have suddenly descended so low as to keep company with Arabella. The latter guessed what was being said, and laughed as she met the serious and tender gaze of her lover--the low and triumphant laugh of a careless woman who sees she is winning her game.
They sat and looked round the room, and at the picture of Samson and Delilah which hung on the wall, and at the circular beer-stains on the table, and at the spittoons underfoot filled with sawdust. The whole aspect of the scene had that depressing effect on Jude which few places can produce like a tap-room on a Sunday evening when the setting sun is slanting in, and no liquor is going, and the unfortunate wayfarer finds himself with no other haven of rest.
It began to grow dusk. They could not wait longer, really, for the tea, they said. "Yet what else can we do?" asked Jude. "It is a three-mile walk for you."
"I suppose we can have some beer," said Arabella.
"Beer, oh yes. I had forgotten that. Somehow it seems odd to come to a public-house for beer on a Sunday evening."
"But we didn't."
"No, we didn't." Jude by this time wished he was out of such an uncongenial atmosphere; but he ordered the beer, which was promptly brought.
Arabella tasted it. "Ugh!" she said.
Jude tasted. "What's the matter with it?" he asked. "I don't understand beer very much now, it is true. I like it well enough, but it is bad to read on, and I find coffee better. But this seems all right."
"Adulterated--I can't touch it!" She mentioned three or four ingredients that she detected in the liquor beyond malt and hops, much to Jude's surprise.
"How much you know!" he said good-humouredly.
Nevertheless she returned to the beer and drank her sha

[table=80%,#ffffff,#000000,1][tr][td]Part 1 Chapter 9
IT was some two months later in the year, and the pair had met constantly during the interval. Arabella seemed dissatisfied; she was always imagining, and waiting, and wondering.
One day she met the itinerant Vilbert. She, like all the cottagers thereabout, knew the quack well, and she began telling him of her experiences. Arabella had been gloomy, but before he left her she had grown brighter. That evening she kept an appointment with Jude, who seemed sad.
"I am going away," he said to her. "I think I ought to go. I think it will be better both for you and for me. I wish some things had never begun! I was much to blame, I know. But it is never too late to mend."
Arabella began to cry. "How do you know it is not too late?" she said. "That's all very well to say! I haven't told you yet!" and she looked into his face with streaming eyes.
"What?" he asked, turning pale. "Not ... ?"
"Yes! And what shall I do if you desert me?"
"Oh, Arabella--how can you say that, my dear! You _know_ I wouldn't desert you!"
"Well then----
"I have next to no wages as yet, you know; or perhaps I should have thought of this before.... But, of course if that's the case, we must marry! What other thing do you think I could dream of doing?"
"I thought--I thought, deary, perhaps you would go away all the more for that, and leave me to face it alone!"
"You knew better! Of course I never dreamt six months ago, or even three, of marrying. It is a complete smashing up of my plans--I mean my plans before I knew you, my dear. But what are they, after all! Dreams about books, and degrees, and impossible fellowships, and all that. Certainly we'll marry: we must!"
That night he went out alone, and walked in the dark self-communing. He knew well, too well, in the secret centre of his brain, that Arabella was not worth a great deal as a specimen of womankind. Yet, such being the custom of the rural districts among honourable young men who had drifted so far into intimacy with a woman as he unfortunately had done, he was ready to abide by what he had said, and take the consequences. For his own soothing he kept up a factitious belief in her. His idea of her was the thing of most consequence, not Arabella herself, he sometimes said laconically.
The banns were put in and published the very next Sunday. The people of the parish all said what a simple fool young Fawley was. All his reading had only come to this, that he would have to sell his books to buy saucepans. Those who guessed the probable state of affairs, Arabella's parents being among them, declared that it was the sort of conduct they would have expected of such an honest young man as Jude in reparation of the wrong he had done his innocent sweetheart. The parson who married them seemed to think it satisfactory too. And so, standing before the aforesaid officiator, the two swore that at every other time of their lives till death took them, they would assuredly believe, feel, and desire precisely as they had believed, felt, and desired during the few preceding weeks. What was as remarkable as the undertaking itself was the fact that nobody seemed at all surprised at what they swore.
Fawley's aunt being a baker she made him a bride-cake, saying bitterly that it was the last thing she could do for him, poor silly fellow; and that it would have been far better if, instead of his living to trouble her, he had gone underground years before with his father and mother. Of this cake Arabella took some slices, wrapped them up in white note-paper, and sent them to her companions in the pork-dressing business, Anny and Sarah, labelling each packet _"In remembrance of good advice."_
The prospects of the newly married couple were certainly not very brilliant even to the most sanguine mind. He, a stone-mason's apprentice, nineteen years of age, was working for half wages till he should be out of his time. His wife was absolutely useless in a town-lodging, where he at first had considered it would be necessary for them to live. But the urgent need of adding to income in ever so little a degree caused him to take a lonely roadside cottage between the Brown House and Marygreen, that he might have the profits of a vegetable garden, and utilize her past experiences by letting her keep a pig. But it was not the sort of life he had bargained for, and it was a long way to walk to and from Alfredston every day. Arabella, however, felt that all these make-shifts were temporary; she had gained a husband; that was the thing-- a husband with a lot of earning power in him for buying her frocks and hats when he should begin to get frightened a bit, and stick to his trade, and throw aside those stupid books for practical undertakings.
So to the cottage he took her on the evening of the marriage, giving up his old room at his aunt's--where so much of the hard labour at Greek and Latin had been carried on.
A little chill overspread him at her first unrobing. A long tail of hair, which Arabella wore twisted up in an enormous knob at the back of her head, was deliberately unfastened, stroked out, and hung upon the looking-glass which he had bought her.
"What--it wasn't your own?" he said, with a sudden distaste for her.
"Oh no--it never is nowadays with the better class."
"Nonsense! Perhaps not in towns. But in the country it is supposed to be different. Besides, you've enough of your own, surely?"
"Yes, enough as country notions go. But in town the men expect more, and when I was barmaid at Aldbrickham----"
"Barmaid at Aldbrickham?"
"Well, not exactly barmaid--I used to draw the drink at a public-house there--just for a little time; that was all. Some people put me up to getting this, and I bought it just for a fancy. The more you have the better in Aldbrickham, which is a finer town than all your Christminsters. Every lady of position wears false hair--the barber's assistant told me so."
Jude thought with a feeling of sickness that though this might be true to some extent, for all that he knew, many unsophisticated girls would and did go to towns and remain there for years without losing their simplicity of life and embellishments. Others, alas, had an instinct towards artificiality in their very blood, and became adepts in counterfeiting at the first glimpse of it. However, perhaps there was no great sin in a woman adding to her hair, and he resolved to think no more of it.
A new-made wife can usually manage to excite interest for a few weeks, even though the prospects of the house-hold ways and means are cloudy. There is a certain piquancy about her situation, and her manner to her acquaintance at the sense of it, which carries off the gloom of facts, and renders even the humblest bride independent awhile of the real. Mrs. Jude Fawley was walking in the streets of Alfredston one market-day with this quality in her carriage when she met Anny her former friend, whom she had not seen since the wedding.
As usual they laughed before talking; the world seemed funny to them without saying it.
"So it turned out a good plan, you see!" remarked the girl to the wife. "I knew it would with such as him. He's a dear good fellow, and you ought to be proud of un."
"I am," said Mrs. Fawley quietly.
"And when do you expect?"
"Ssh! Not at all."
"What!"
"I was mistaken."
"Oh, Arabella, Arabella; you be a deep one! Mistaken! well, that's clever-- it's a real stroke of genius! It is a thing I never thought o', wi' all my experience! I never thought beyond bringing about the real thing-- not that one could sham it!"
"Don't you be too quick to cry sham! 'Twasn't sham. I didn't know."
"My word--won't he be in a taking! He'll give it to 'ee o' Saturday nights! Whatever it was, he'll say it was a trick-- a double one, by the Lord!"
"I'll own to the first, but not to the second.... Pooh-- he won't care! He'll be glad I was wrong in what I said. He'll shake down, bless 'ee--men always do. What can 'em do otherwise? Married is married."
Nevertheless it was with a little uneasiness that Arabella approached the time when in the natural course of things she would have to reveal that the alarm she had raised had been without foundation. The occasion was one evening at bedtime, and they were in their chamber in the lonely cottage by the wayside to which Jude walked home from his work every day. He had worked hard the whole twelve hours, and had retired to rest before his wife. When she came into the room he was between sleeping and waking, and was barely conscious of her undressing before the little looking-glass as he lay.
One action of hers, however, brought him to full cognition. Her face being reflected towards him as she sat, he could perceive that she was amusing herself by artificially producing in each cheek the dimple before alluded to, a curious accomplishment of which she was mistress, effecting it by a momentary suction. It seemed to him for the first time that the dimples were far oftener absent from her face during his intercourse with her nowadays than they had been in the earlier weeks of their acquaintance.
"Don't do that, Arabella!" he said suddenly. "There is no harm in it, but--I don't like to see you."
She turned and laughed. "Lord, I didn't know you were awake!" she said. "How countrified you are! That's nothing."
"Where did you learn it?"
"Nowhere that I know of. They used to stay without any trouble when I was at the public-house; but now they won't. My face was fatter then."
"I don't care about dimples. I don't think they improve a woman-- particularly a married woman, and of full-sized figure like you."
"Most men think otherwise."
"I don't care what most men think, if they do. How do you know?"
"I used to be told so when I was serving in the tap-room."
"Ah--that public-house experience accounts for your knowing about the adulteration of the ale when we went and had some that Sunday evening. I thought when I married you that you had always lived in your father's house."
"You ought to have known better than that, and seen I was a little more finished than I could have been by staying where I was born. There was not much to do at home, and I was eating my head off, so I went away for three months."
"You'll soon have plenty to do now, dear, won't you?"
"How do you mean?"
"Why, of course--little things to make."
"Oh."
"When will it be? Can't you tell me exactly, instead of in such general terms as you have used?"
"Tell you?"
"Yes--the date."
"There's nothing to tell. I made a mistake."
"What?"
"It was a mistake."
He sat bolt upright in bed and looked at her. "How can that be?"
"Women fancy wrong things sometimes."
"But--! Why, of course, so unprepared as I was, without a stick of furniture, and hardly a shilling, I shouldn't have hurried on our affair, and brought you to a half-furnished hut before I was ready, if it had not been for the news you gave me, which made it necessary to save you, ready or no.... Good God!"
"Don't take on, dear. What's done can't be undone."
"I have no more to say!"
He gave the answer simply, and lay down; and there was silence between them.
When Jude awoke the next morning he seemed to see the world with a different eye. As to the point in question he was compelled to accept her word; in the circumstances he could not have acted otherwise while ordinary notions prevailed. But how came they to prevail?
There seemed to him, vaguely and dimly, something wrong in a social ritual which made necessary a cancelling of well-formed schemes involving years of thought and labour, of foregoing a man's one opportunity of showing himself superior to the lower animals, and of contributing his units of work to the general progress of his generation, because of a momentary surprise by a new and transitory instinct which had nothing in it of the nature of vice, and could be only at the most called weakness. He was inclined to inquire what he had done, or she lost, for that matter, that he deserved to be caught in a gin which would cripple him, if not her also, for the rest of a lifetime? There was perhaps something fortunate in the fact that the immediate reason of his marriage had proved to be non-existent. But the marriage remained.

此后这对情人经常相会，其间又过了两个来月。可是阿拉贝拉看上去老是怏怏不乐，她无时不在盘算，期待，又不知道如何是好。
有一天她碰上江湖医生韦伯，她也跟附近一带草房人家一样，对这个骗子很了解，于是就向他倾诉自己的经历。阿拉贝拉本来愁眉苦脸的，可是他还没走，她脸上就风光起来了。当晚她如约见到裘德，不过裘德似乎很苦恼。
“我要走啦，”他对她说，“我想我得走啦。我觉着这样对咱们俩都好。我但愿压根儿没事儿才好呢！这都得怪我。不过现在改的话，还来得及啊。”
阿拉贝拉哭了。“你怎么就知道来得及呢？说得才轻巧呢。我还什么都没告诉你哪！”她涕泗滂沱，直盯着裘德的脸。
“什么？”他问，脸一白。“难道……？”
“对啦！你要是甩了我，我可怎么办呢？”
“哎，阿拉贝拉——我的亲爱的，你怎么好这么说呀？我决不会甩了你，这你知道呀！”
“那就好啦——”
“我简直连一个子儿也没挣，这你也知道；原先就该想到这一点。……不过，当然喽，要是那么回事儿，咱们就结婚好啦。你还想过我不肯这样吗？”
“想过——想过哟，亲爱的，也许你就为这个想远走高飞，留下我一个人受罪呢？”
“你起先这么想也不怪啊。六个月之前，就说三个月之前吧，我真是想都没想过结婚什么的。这下子把我的计划全给砸啦——我这是说，我认识你之前的计划，亲爱的！可这又算得了什么！做什么念书梦呀，学位梦呀，根本办不到的研究员梦呀，这个梦那个梦呀。咱们当然得结婚：咱们一定得结婚！”
当晚他一个人出门，在黑地里走来走去，自思自量。他很清楚，太清楚了，他脑子里有个难以告人的秘密：按妇道人家的标准，阿拉贝拉实在不够格。话又说回来，在乡下这地方，讲体面的小伙子中间素来是约定俗成：他要是稀里糊涂跟个女人打得火热，就像他不幸于出来的那样，就得说话算数，得承担后果。为了让自己心里舒坦点，他老是把她往好里想。有时候，他说得简单明了，他心目中的她只能算是个势所必至、理有固然的结果，倒不是因为阿拉贝拉之为阿拉贝拉。
到下个礼拜天，他们的结婚预告就公之于众了。教区里的人，个个说年轻的福来算得上头脑简单的二百五。他念了那么多书算白念啦。快把书卖了，买锅盘碗灶吧。那些大致猜出来个中奥妙的人，其中也有阿拉贝拉的爹妈，都声言像裘德那样老老实实的小伙子，他们料得到会有那样的举动，因为那就把他对不起自己那位清白无辜的心上人的事全都补救过来了。
于是他们俩站在上面说的结婚仪式的主持人面前起誓：有生之日，不论何时，他们必将一如既往几个礼拜那样终生厮守、信赖。体贴、期望，永不变心。这一套总算够怪了，可更怪的是，对于他们起的这个誓，哪个人也不觉得有什么怪。
福来的开面包房的姑婆，给他做了块喜庆蛋糕，深恶痛绝地说，她再也不会替那个可怜的蠢驴办什么事啦；要是他当初老早跟他爹娘到了阴曹地府，没叫他活着骚扰她，那真是谢天谢地啦。阿拉贝拉把蛋糕切下来几块，拿自便条纸包上，送给跟她一块儿加工猪肉的伙伴安妮和萨拉，每包上面都贴着条子：“承蒙指教，永志不忘。”
就是看事最乐观的人对新婚夫妇的前景也觉着确实不大妙。他是个石匠的学徒，十九岁，满师前拿半份工钱。妻子住在镇上，没事可干。他起初还认为他们非住在镇上不可，但是增加一向微薄的收入既然成了迫切需要，也就逼得他只好在栋房子和马利格林之间路边一个僻静地方租了间草房，这样他可以靠种菜得点收益，她的养猪的经验也可以派得上用场。不过这可不是他原来指望的那种生活啊。他每天来回一趟阿尔夫瑞顿，路挺长。阿拉贝拉呢，似乎觉得这不过一时权宜之计；反正她已经丈夫到了手；这才是真格的——一个具备赚钱能力、能给她买衣服买帽子的丈夫。到时候，他必定开始觉着有点顶不下去了，自然会紧守着他那个行当，把那些胡说八道的书本都扔到一边，脚踏实地担当起养家糊口的营生。
这样，结婚当晚，他就把她带到那个草房，舍掉了姑婆家那间老屋子——他以前在那儿为学希腊文和拉丁文下过多少苦功啊。
她刚头一回脱下长袍，他就浑身起了鸡皮疙疽。阿拉贝拉本来在后脑勺上绾了老大一个髻，这时候她把它仔仔细细解开了，随着把一大绺头发捋下来，挂在了裘德给她买的穿衣镜上。
“怎么——那不是你自个儿的头发？”他说，突然起了一种厌恶感。
“不是哟——这年头凡是像样的人，哪个不用假发啊。”
“胡说。就是城里头也不一定谁都这样，乡里更是另一码事啦。再说，你头发本来挺厚嘛，不错吧？”
“对呀，要按乡下人眼光，薀突厚的，可是城里头男人喜欢头发更厚呢，我在奥尔布里肯酒吧当招待时候——”
“在奥尔布里肯酒吧当招待？”
“也不算真正的酒吧女招待——我从前在那儿一家酒馆倒过酒，这也没几天；就是这么回事儿。有人劝我买假发，我觉着挺好玩儿，也就买了。在奥尔布里肯，你头发越多越好。就算把你的七七八八的基督堂全加到一块儿，也还跟不上它漂亮呢。那儿有身份的太太个个戴假发——理发师傅的伙计跟我说的。”
裘德觉着恶心，因为他想到就算她说的有几分是真，但是，就他平日见闻而言，有好多纯朴的姑娘想去、也去过城市，甚至还在那儿呆上好多年，可是她们的生活和衣饰依然简单朴素。也有些，唉，她们的血液里天生一股子装模作样的本能，只要瞧上一眼，就把弄虚做假学会了，学得还挺到家。话又得说回来，妇道人家添点假发，也算不上了不起的罪过呀，他拿定主意不往下想了。
大凡刚当上妻子的女人总有办法在头几个礼拜诱发人家的兴趣，哪怕日后居家过日子，琐琐碎碎弄得减色也不碍事。她这样的身份，以及她因为自觉到这样的身份而拿出来的对熟人周旋的态度，自有一种刺激意味，既把没有光彩的现实遮掩起来，甚至还能帮顶卑下的新娘暂时摆脱她的实际地位。有一天正逢集市，裘德•福来太太就满身这种气味，在阿尔夫瑞顿街上行走，猛孤丁碰上她的老朋友安妮，阿拉贝拉婚后一直没见过她。
她们照例一见面不说话，先笑一阵，就像她们用不着说，这个世界也老是逗乐的。
“这么说，那个计划还真顶用啊，有你的！”姑娘对太太说。“我就知道那一手对他管用。他可是讨人疼的好汉子，你可得拿他当回事哟。”
“我是这样。”福来太太不动声色地说。
“你什么时候——？”
“嘘！生不了啦！”
“什么！”
“我搞错啦。”
“哎，阿拉贝拉呀，阿拉贝拉；你可真有一套啊！搞错啦，嗨，真精哪——这一手可真叫绝啦！就凭我这两下子经验，我可再想不出来呀！再想不到干起来用不着真刀真熗——想不到也能玩假情假义呀！”
“你先别忙着叫这是假情假义！这可不是假情假义。我当时可没往这上边想。”
“我说——他可不会老蒙在鼓里头！逢礼拜六晚上他叫你有好受的呢！不管怎么着，他要说你这是拿他要着玩儿——干脆是两面三刀，嘿嘿！”
“说我拿他要着玩，那还可以，可决不是两面三刀。……呸——他才不在乎呢，我说我当时说错了，他还要高兴呢。慢慢地他就没事儿啦。为他祝福吧——男人还不都是一个样儿。不这样，又能怎么办？反正是结了婚，生米做成熟饭啦。”
说是这么说，临到她非把原来闹得人仰马翻、可又莫须有的把戏坦白不可的时刻，她还是心里有点七上八下。她选的时间是一个晚上要上床睡觉时候，地点是他们路边上孤零零的房子里的卧室。裘德每天下工都是走回家，这天他整整劳累了十二个钟头，在他妻子之前先歇了。她进屋时候，他已经似睡非睡，迷迷糊糊，不大觉着她就在穿衣镜前面脱衣服。
可是她有个动作却叫他完全醒过来了。她坐在那儿，镜子里的影子正对着他，他看得很清楚，她正把两个腮帮子一咋一咋的，用人工制造酒涡来过痛，这可是她的拿手好戏，令人称奇。他好像头一回觉察到她脸上的酒涡比他们认识头几个礼拜时候出现得少而又少了。
“别搞啦，阿拉贝拉！”他突然说话了。“这样不碍事，可我不爱瞧你这样。”
她脸转过来，笑起来了。“哎呀，我不知道你醒着哪，”她说，“你可太土嘤！这有什么关系呢。”
“你哪儿学来的？”
“我可没学过。我在酒馆那阵子，酒涡一天到晚都在脸上，这会儿倒不行啦。我那会儿脸胖点儿。”
“我倒不在乎酒涡不酒涡。依我看，它帮不了女人什么忙，能叫她漂亮点——特别是成了家的女人，别说长得像你这么丰满啦。”
“大多数男人想法跟你可不一样。”
“我可不管大多数男人怎么个想法，那随他们便。你怎么知道他们怎么想的？”
“我在酒馆帮工时候听人家说的。”
“是咬——那就难怪喽，那个礼拜六晚上咱们喝啤酒，你凭酒馆经验一咂就知道搀假了。我没跟你结婚时候，我一直当你没离开过你爸爸家呢。”
“你本来应该多知道点才对呢，本来应该看得出来，我要是打一下地就窝在家里头，才不会这么大方呢。家里头没什么事，我又不能一天到晚呆着不动，这才跑到外边干了三个月。”
“从这会儿起，你的事情就有得干啦，亲爱的，对不对？”
“你这是什么意思？”
“海海，就是这样啊——芝麻绿豆的事儿多着哪。”
“哦
“倒是什么时候呀？你好不好说个准日子，别老是含含糊糊，不着天不着地的？”
“要说吗？”
“对，要说——准日子。”
“没什么好说的。我全搞错啦。”
“什么？”
“搞错啦。”
他一下子在床上坐直了，两眼直勾勾地对着她。“怎么搞错啦？”
“女人家有时候胡思乱想，一厢情愿，就出了错啦。”
“可是——！唉，当然喷，当然喷，想当初我心理上没一点准备，连条家具腿也没有，简直是一文不名，要不是你跟我说了那个信儿，我觉着非救你不可，我哪儿会不管三七二十一把咱们的事儿办了，把你带到这么个半边空的房子来啊，……老天爷哟，苦哇！”
“你难受吧，亲爱的。事到如今就算啦，反正木已成舟啦。”
“我没得说哟！”
他就回答了这么一句，又躺下来，两个人没再说话。
第二天早上，他一觉醒来，似乎看这个世界的眼光跟以前不同了。至于成问题的那件事，他也无可奈何，只好听她说的那一套。既然是流俗的观点为一般人接受，他也没法自行其是，置之不理。话说回来，流俗的观点又怎么会深入人心呢？
他隐隐感到，又没想清楚，社会上通行的礼俗准有点不对头的地方。一个人不过是因为一种新的本能的一时冲动，造成了一念之差，而那种本能并不具有一丝一毫邪恶性质，充其极只能说它是意志薄弱；可是礼俗就根据这一点硬要叫他把花费多年思考和勤劳而订立的完善计划，为争取显示自己优于低等动物的机会而做的努力和为自己这一代的普遍进步献出劳作成果的心愿，通通葬送，才肯罢休。他止不住一再追问，就为了那件事，他到底干犯了哪门子天条，她又到底受了什么损害，以至于他罪有应得，把他打进了陷阱，弄得他的大后半辈子，且不说她的，落个终身残废？还好，他当初结婚的直接原因总算证明子虚乌有了，也该说是走了运吧。可是婚姻到底还是婚姻，怎么也变不了啊。
Part 1 Chapter 10
THE time arrived for killing the pig which Jude and his wife had fattened in their sty during the autumn months, and the butchering was timed to take place as soon as it was light in the morning, so that Jude might get to Alfredston without losing more than a quarter of a day.
The night had seemed strangely silent. Jude looked out of the window long before dawn, and perceived that the ground was covered with snow-- snow rather deep for the season, it seemed, a few flakes still falling.
"I'm afraid the pig-killer won't be able to come," he said to Arabella.
"Oh, he'll come. You must get up and make the water hot, if you want Challow to scald him. Though I like singeing best."
"I'll get up," said Jude. "I like the way of my own county."
He went downstairs, lit the fire under the copper, and began feeding it with bean-stalks, all the time without a candle, the blaze flinging a cheerful shine into the room; though for him the sense of cheerfulness was lessened by thoughts on the reason of that blaze--to heat water to scald the bristles from the body of an animal that as yet lived, and whose voice could be continually heard from a corner of the garden. At half-past six, the time of appointment with the butcher, the water boiled, and Jude's wife came downstairs.
"Is Challow come?" she asked.
"No."
They waited, and it grew lighter, with the dreary light of a snowy dawn. She went out, gazed along the road, and returning said, "He's not coming. Drunk last night, I expect. The snow is not enough to hinder him, surely!"
"Then we must put it off. It is only the water boiled for nothing. The snow may be deep in the valley."
"Can't be put off. There's no more victuals for the pig. He ate the last mixing o' barleymeal yesterday morning."
"Yesterday morning? What has he lived on since?"
"Nothing."
"What--he has been starving?"
"Yes. We always do it the last day or two, to save bother with the innerds. What ignorance, not to know that!"
"That accounts for his crying so. Poor creature!"
"Well--you must do the sticking--there's no help for it. I'll show you how. Or I'll do it myself--I think I could. Though as it is such a big pig I had rather Challow had done it. However, his basket o' knives and things have been already sent on here, and we can use 'em."
"Of course you shan't do it," said Jude. "I'll do it, since it must be done."
He went out to the sty, shovelled away the snow for the space of a couple of yards or more, and placed the stool in front, with the knives and ropes at hand. A robin peered down at the preparations from the nearest tree, and, not liking the sinister look of the scene, flew away, though hungry. By this time Arabella had joined her husband, and Jude, rope in hand, got into the sty, and noosed the affrighted animal, who, beginning with a squeak of surprise, rose to repeated cries of rage. Arabella opened the sty-door, and together they hoisted the victim on to the stool, legs upward, and while Jude held him Arabella bound him down, looping the cord over his legs to keep him from struggling.
The animal's note changed its quality. It was not now rage, but the cry of despair; long-drawn, slow and hopeless.
"Upon my soul I would sooner have gone without the pig than have had this to do!" said Jude. "A creature I have fed with my own hands."
"Don't be such a tender-hearted fool! There's the sticking-knife-- the one with the point. Now whatever you do, don't stick un too deep."
"I'll stick him effectually, so as to make short work of it. That's the chief thing."
"You must not!" she cried. "The meat must be well bled, and to do that he must die slow. We shall lose a shilling a score if the meat is red and bloody! Just touch the vein, that's all. I was brought up to it, and I know. Every good butcher keeps un bleeding long. He ought to be eight or ten minutes dying, at least."
"He shall not be half a minute if I can help it, however the meat may look," said Jude determinedly. Scraping the bristles from the pig's upturned throat, as he had seen the butchers do, he slit the fat; then plunged in the knife with all his might.
"'Od damn it all!" she cried, "that ever I should say it! You've over-stuck un! And I telling you all the time----"
"Do be quiet, Arabella, and have a little pity on the creature!"
"Hold up the pail to catch the blood, and don't talk!"
However unworkmanlike the deed, it had been mercifully done. The blood flowed out in a torrent instead of in the trickling stream she had desired. The dying animal's cry assumed its third and final tone, the shriek of agony; his glazing eyes riveting themselves on Arabella with the eloquently keen reproach of a creature recognizing at last the treachery of those who had seemed his only friends.
"Make un stop that!" said Arabella. "Such a noise will bring somebody or other up here, and I don't want people to know we are doing it ourselves." Picking up the knife from the ground whereon Jude had flung it, she slipped it into the gash, and slit the windpipe. The pig was instantly silent, his dying breath coming through the hole
"That's better," she said.
"It is a hateful business!" said he.
"Pigs must be killed."
The animal heaved in a final convulsion, and, despite the rope, kicked out with all his last strength. A tablespoonful of black clot came forth, the trickling of red blood having ceased for some seconds.
"That's it; now he'll go," said she. "Artful creatures-- they always keep back a drop like that as long as they can!"
The last plunge had come so unexpectedly as to make Jude stagger, and in recovering himself he kicked over the vessel in which the blood had been caught.
"There!" she cried, thoroughly in a passion. "Now I can't make any blackpot. There's a waste, all through you!"
Jude put the pail upright, but only about a third of the whole steaming liquid was left in it, the main part being splashed over the snow, and forming a dismal, sordid, ugly spectacle-- to those who saw it as other than an ordinary obtaining of meat. The lips and nostrils of the animal turned livid, then white, and the muscles of his limbs relaxed.
"Thank God!" Jude said. "He's dead."
"What's God got to do with such a messy job as a pig-killing, I should like to know!" she said scornfully. "Poor folks must live."
"I know, I know," said he. "I don't scold you."
Suddenly they became aware of a voice at hand.
"Well done, young married volk! I couldn't have carried it out much better myself, cuss me if I could!" The voice, which was husky, came from the garden-gate, and looking up from the scene of slaughter they saw the burly form of Mr. Challow leaning over the gate, critically surveying their performance.
"'Tis well for 'ee to stand there and glane!" said Arabella. "Owing to your being late the meat is blooded and half spoiled! 'Twon't fetch so much by a shilling a score!"
Challow expressed his contrition. "You should have waited a bit" he said, shaking his head, "and not have done this-- in the delicate state, too, that you be in at present, ma'am. 'Tis risking yourself too much."
"You needn't be concerned about that," said Arabella, laughing. Jude too laughed, but there was a strong flavour of bitterness in his amusement.
Challow made up for his neglect of the killing by zeal in the scalding and scraping. Jude felt dissatisfied with himself as a man at what he had done, though aware of his lack of common sense, and that the deed would have amounted to the same thing if carried out by deputy. The white snow, stained with the blood of his fellow-mortal, wore an illogical look to him as a lover of justice, not to say a Christian; but he could not see how the matter was to be mended. No doubt he was, as his wife had called him, a tender-hearted fool.
He did not like the road to Alfredston now. It stared him cynically in the face. The wayside objects reminded him so much of his courtship of his wife that, to keep them out of his eyes, he read whenever he could as he walked to and from his work. Yet he sometimes felt that by caring for books he was not escaping common-place nor gaining rare ideas, every working-man being of that taste now. When passing near the spot by the stream on which he had first made her acquaintance he one day heard voices just as he had done at that earlier time. One of the girls who had been Arabella's companions was talking to a friend in a shed, himself being the subject of discourse, possibly because they had seen him in the distance. They were quite unaware that the shed-walls were so thin that he could hear their words as he passed.
"Howsomever, 'twas I put her up to it! 'Nothing venture nothing have,' I said. If I hadn't she'd no more have been his mis'ess than I."
"'Tis my belief she knew there was nothing the matter when she told him she was ..."
What had Arabella been put up to by this woman, so that he should make her his "mis'ess," otherwise wife? The suggestion was horridly unpleasant, and it rankled in his mind so much that instead of entering his own cottage when he reached it he flung his basket inside the garden-gate and passed on, determined to go and see his old aunt and get some supper there.
This made his arrival home rather late. Arabella however, was busy melting down lard from fat of the deceased pig, for she had been out on a jaunt all day, and so delayed her work. Dreading lest what he had heard should lead him to say something regrettable to her he spoke little. But Arabella was very talkative, and said among other things that she wanted some money. Seeing the book sticking out of his pocket she added that he ought to earn more.
"An apprentice's wages are not meant to be enough to keep a wife on, as a rule, my dear."
"Then you shouldn't have had one."
"Come, Arabella! That's too bad, when you know how it came about."
"I'll declare afore Heaven that I thought what I told you was true. Doctor Vilbert thought so. It was a good job for you that it wasn't so!"
"I don't mean that," he said hastily. "I mean before that time. I know it was not your fault; but those women friends of yours gave you bad advice. If they hadn't, or you hadn't taken it, we should at this moment have been free from a bond which, not to mince matters, galls both of us devilishly. It may be very sad, but it is true."
"Who's been telling you about my friends? What advice? I insist upon you telling me."
"Pooh--I d rather not."
"But you shall--you ought to. It is mean of &#

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Part 2
AT CHRISTMINSTER
"Save his own soul he hath no star."--SWINBURNE.
"Notitiam primosque gradus vicinia fecit; Tempore crevit amor."--OVID.

“唯有他心灵，别无引路里。”——斯文朋
“比邻而居，有幸初结识，时光流转，日久爱情生。”——奥维德
Part 2 Chapter 1
THE next noteworthy move in Jude's life was that in which he appeared gliding steadily onward through a dusky landscape of some three years' later leafage than had graced his courtship of Arabella, and the disruption of his coarse conjugal life with her. He was walking towards Christminster City, at a point a mile or two to the south-west of it.
He had at last found himself clear of Marygreen and Alfredston: he was out of his apprenticeship, and with his tools at his back seemed to be in the way of making a new start--the start to which, barring the interruption involved in his intimacy and married experience with Arabella, he had been looking forward for about ten years.
Jude would now have been described as a young man with a forcible, meditative, and earnest rather than handsome cast of countenance. He was of dark complexion, with dark harmonizing eyes, and he wore a closely trimmed black beard of more advanced growth than is usual at his age; this, with his great mass of black curly hair, was some trouble to him in combing and washing out the stone-dust that settled on it in the pursuit of his trade. His capabilities in the latter, having been acquired in the country, were of an all-round sort, including monumental stone-cutting, gothic free-stone work for the restoration of churches, and carving of a general kind. In London he would probably have become specialized and have made himself a "moulding mason," a "foliage sculptor"-- perhaps a "statuary."
He had that afternoon driven in a cart from Alfredston to the village nearest the city in this direction, and was now walking the remaining four miles rather from choice than from necessity, having always fancied himself arriving thus.
The ultimate impulse to come had had a curious origin-- one more nearly related to the emotional side of him than to the intellectual, as is often the case with young men. One day while in lodgings at Alfredston he had gone to Marygreen to see his old aunt, and had observed between the brass candlesticks on her mantlepiece the photograph of a pretty girlish face, in a broad hat with radiating folds under the brim like the rays of a halo. He had asked who she was. His grand-aunt had gruffly replied that she was his cousin Sue Bridehead, of the inimical branch of the family; and on further questioning the old woman had replied that the girl lived in Christminster, though she did not know where, or what she was doing.
His aunt would not give him the photograph. But it haunted him; and ultimately formed a quickening ingredient in his latent intent of following his friend the school master thither.
He now paused at the top of a crooked and gentle declivity, and obtained his first near view of the city. Grey-stoned and dun-roofed, it stood within hail of the Wessex border, and almost with the tip of one small toe within it, at the northernmost point of the crinkled line along which the leisurely Thames strokes the fields of that ancient kingdom. The buildings now lay quiet in the sunset, a vane here and there on their many spires and domes giving sparkle to a picture of sober secondary and tertiary hues.
Reaching the bottom he moved along the level way between pollard willows growing indistinct in the twilight, and soon confronted the outmost lamps of the town--some of those lamps which had sent into the sky the gleam and glory that caught his strained gaze in his days of dreaming, so many years ago. They winked their yellow eyes at him dubiously, and as if, though they had been awaiting him all these years in disappointment at his tarrying, they did not much want him now.
He was a species of Dick Whittington whose spirit was touched to finer issues than a mere material gain. He went along the outlying streets with the cautious tread of an explorer. He saw nothing of the real city in the suburbs on this side. His first want being a lodging he scrutinized carefully such localities as seemed to offer on inexpensive terms the modest type of accommodation he demanded; and after inquiry took a room in a suburb nicknamed "Beersheba," though he did not know this at the time. Here he installed himself, and having had some tea sallied forth.
It was a windy, whispering, moonless night. To guide himself he opened under a lamp a map he had brought. The breeze ruffled and fluttered it, but he could see enough to decide on the direction he should take to reach the heart of the place.
After many turnings he came up to the first ancient mediaeval pile that he had encountered. It was a college, as he could see by the gateway. He entered it, walked round, and penetrated to dark corners which no lamplight reached. Close to this college was another; and a little further on another; and then he began to be encircled as it were with the breath and sentiment of the venerable city. When he passed objects out of harmony with its general expression he allowed his eyes to slip over them as if he did not see them.
A bell began clanging, and he listened till a hundred-and-one strokes had sounded. He must have made a mis-take, he thought: it was meant for a hundred.
When the gates were shut, and he could no longer get into the quadrangles, he rambled under the walls and doorways, feeling with his fingers the contours of their mouldings and carving. The minutes passed, fewer and fewer people were visible, and still he serpentined among the shadows, for had he not imagined these scenes through ten bygone years, and what mattered a night's rest for once? High against the black sky the flash of a lamp would show crocketed pinnacles and indented battlements. Down obscure alleys, apparently never trodden now by the foot of man, and whose very existence seemed to be forgotten, there would jut into the path porticoes, oriels, doorways of enriched and florid middle-age design, their extinct air being accentuated by the rottenness of the stones. It seemed impossible that modern thought could house itself in such decrepit and superseded chambers.
Knowing not a human being here, Jude began to be impressed with the isolation of his own personality, as with a self-spectre, the sensation being that of one who walked but could not make himself seen or heard. He drew his breath pensively, and, seeming thus almost his own ghost, gave his thoughts to the other ghostly presences with which the nooks were haunted.
During the interval of preparation for this venture, since his wife and furniture's uncompromising disappearance into space, he had read and learnt almost all that could be read and learnt by one in his position, of the worthies who had spent their youth within these reverend walls, and whose souls had haunted them in their maturer age. Some of them, by the accidents of his reading, loomed out in his fancy disproportionately large by comparison with the rest. The brushings of the wind against the angles, buttresses, and door-jambs were as the passing of these only other inhabitants, the tappings of each ivy leaf on its neighbour were as the mutterings of their mournful souls, the shadows as their thin shapes in nervous movement, making him comrades in his solitude. In the gloom it was as if he ran against them without feeling their bodily frames.
The streets were now deserted, but on account of these things he could not go in. There were poets abroad, of early date and of late, from the friend and eulogist of Shakespeare down to him who has recently passed into silence, and that musical one of the tribe who is still among us. Speculative philosophers drew along, not always with wrinkled foreheads and hoary hair as in framed portraits, but pink-faced, slim, and active as in youth; modern divines sheeted in their surplices, among whom the most real to Jude Fawley were the founders of the religious school called Tractarian; the well-known three, the enthusiast, the poet, and the formularist, the echoes of whose teachings had influenced him even in his obscure home. A start of aversion appeared in his fancy to move them at sight of those other sons of the place, the form in the full-bottomed wig, statesman rake, reasoner and sceptic; the smoothly shaven historian so ironically civil to Christianity; with others of the same incredulous temper, who knew each quad as well as the faithful, and took equal freedom in haunting its cloisters.
He regarded the statesmen in their various types, men of firmer movement and less dreamy air; the scholar, the speaker, the plodder; the man whose mind grew with his growth in years, and the man whose mind contracted with the same.
The scientists and philologists followed on in his mind-sight in an odd impossible combination, men of meditative faces, strained foreheads, and weak-eyed as bats with constant research; then official characters--such men as governor-generals and lord-lieutenants, in whom he took little interest; chief-justices and lord chancellors, silent thin-lipped figures of whom he knew barely the names. A keener regard attached to the prelates, by reason of his own former hopes. Of them he had an ample band--some men of heart, others rather men of head; he who apologized for the Church in Latin; the saintly author of the Evening Hymn; and near them the great itinerant preacher, hymn-writer, and zealot, shadowed like Jude by his matrimonial difficulties.
Jude found himself speaking out loud, holding conversations with them as it were, like an actor in a melodrama who apostrophizes the audience on the other side of the footlights; till he suddenly ceased with a start at his absurdity. Perhaps those incoherent words of the wanderer were heard within the walls by some student or thinker over his lamp; and he may have raised his head, and wondered what voice it was, and what it betokened. Jude now perceived that, so far as solid flesh went, he had the whole aged city to himself with the exception of a belated townsman here and there, and that he seemed to be catching a cold.
A voice reached him out of the shade; a real and local voice:
"You've been a-settin' a long time on that plinth-stone, young man. What med you be up to?"
It came from a policeman who had been observing Jude without the latter observing him.
Jude went home and to bed, after reading up a little about these men and their several messages to the world from a book or two that he had brought with him concerning the sons of the university. As he drew towards sleep various memorable words of theirs that he had just been conning seemed spoken by them in muttering utterances; some audible, some unintelligible to him. One of the spectres (who afterwards mourned Christminster as "the home of lost causes," though Jude did not remember this) was now apostrophizing her thus:
"Beautiful city! so venerable, so lovely, so unravaged by the fierce intellectual life of our century, so serene! ... Her ineffable charm keeps ever calling us to the true goal of all of us, to the ideal, to perfection."
Another voice was that of the Corn Law convert, whose phantom he had just seen in the quadrangle with a great bell. Jude thought his soul might have been shaping the historic words of his master-speech:
"Sir, I may be wrong, but my impression is that my duty towards a country threatened with famine requires that that which has been the ordinary remedy under all similar circumstances should be resorted to now, namely, that there should be free access to the food of man from whatever quarter it may come.... Deprive me of office to-morrow, you can never deprive me of the consciousness that I have exercised the powers committed to me from no corrupt or interested motives, from no desire to gratify ambition, for no personal gain."
Then the sly author of the immortal Chapter on Christianity: "How shall we excuse the supine inattention of the Pagan and philosophic world, to those evidences (miracles) which were presented by Omnipotence? ... The sages of Greece and Rome turned aside from the awful spectacle, and appeared unconscious of any alterations in the moral or physical government of the world."
Then the shade of the poet, the last of the optimists:
How the world is made for each of us! . . . . . . . . . . . And each of the Many helps to recruit The life of the race by a general plan.
Then one of the three enthusiasts he had seen just now, the author of the APOLOGIA:
"My argument was ... that absolute certitude as to the truths of natural theology was the result of an assemblage of concurring and converging probabilities ... that probabilities which did not reach to logical certainty might create a mental certitude."
The second of them, no polemic, murmured quieter things:
Why should we faint, and fear to live alone, Since all alone, so Heaven has will'd, we die?
He likewise heard some phrases spoken by the phantom with the short face, the genial Spectator:
"When I look upon the tombs of the great, every motion of envy dies in me; when I read the epitaphs of the beautiful, every inordinate desire goes out; when I meet with the grief of parents upon a tombstone, my heart melts with compassion; when I see the tombs of the parents themselves, I consider the vanity of grieving for those whom we must quickly follow."
And lastly a gentle-voiced prelate spoke, during whose meek, familiar rhyme, endeared to him from earliest childhood, Jude fell asleep:
Teach me to live, that I may dread The grave as little as my bed. Teach me to die ...
He did not wake till morning. The ghostly past seemed to have gone, and everything spoke of to-day. He started up in bed, thinking he had overslept himself and then said:
"By Jove--I had quite forgotten my sweet-faced cousin, and that she's here all the time! ... and my old schoolmaster, too." His words about his schoolmaster had, perhaps, less zest in them than his words concerning his cousin.

裘德采取了他有生以来的又一次值得注意的行动。在瞑色四合、暮野沉沉中，他迈着矫健而轻快的步子，一往直前。从他最初同阿拉贝拉调情到鄙俗的婚姻生活的最后破裂，其间已三历寒暑。如今又到了枝繁叶茂、绿满人间的时节。他正朝基督堂城走去，到了离城西南面一二英里的地方。
他同马利格林和阿尔夫瑞顿的缘分终于结束。他已经学徒期满，这会儿背着工具，像是正走在开辟新生活的起点的途程上——不算他同阿拉贝拉两情缱绻和婚姻生活造成的中断，他对这新起点企盼之殷约有十年之久。
单单形容他这会儿一表人材是不够的，他的神采更其表明他是个刚强自信、好学深思、诚挚严肃的青年。脸上皮色颇深，恰好配上非常合适的黑眼睛；留着修得很齐整的小胡子，而这个年龄的人却很少胡子长得这么冲；黑胡子加上浓密的黑鬈发，做手艺时落上石粉，梳洗起来就很费事了。他在乡下学的石活儿，样样俱全，包括錾各类石碑，修复教堂易切石雕刻，以及一般镌刻。他若是在伦敦，经过努力，大概会专精一门，或当上“造型石匠”，或成为“叶簇雕刻匠”，说不定还做个“雕像师”哩。
那天下午，他在阿尔夫瑞顿坐上四轮运货小马车，按上边说的方向，到了离基督堂最近的村子，这会儿正在走剩下的四英里路，倒不是因为只好这么走，而是他宁愿走，因为他一直想象着有那么一天步行到基督堂。
他终于决定到基督堂有个奇怪的诱因，它同情感方面的关系大大超过了同求知方面的关系，而类似情形，年轻人当中说来并不鲜见。原来他住在阿尔夫瑞顿时候，有一天回马利格林看望老姑婆，注意到壁炉搁板上，铜烛台之间，摆着一张面貌眣丽的少女的相片：她戴着宽边帽，帽缘缀着圆褶，宛如圣洁的光环。他问这是谁。姑婆没好气地回他说，是他一个表姊妹苏•柏瑞和，是那个终年不安生的家门的。他再往下问，姑婆说她人是在基督堂，至于住在哪儿，干什么，她一点不知道。
她不肯把相片给他。不过他心里一直想来想去，这件事终于成了他久已怀着的到基督堂追步他那位老师和朋友的心愿的快速催化剂。
这会儿他正从一条曲折小径走上那个不算陡的斜坡，到了顶上就停下来。这是他头一回从近处观览基督堂景色。灰石头造的、房顶是深褐色的这座城市，同维塞克斯郡界毗连，人语相闻；在透迄的边界线极北端一点上，它的小小脚尖伸到了郡里，泰晤士河就打那儿从容不迫地流经古代王国的田野。基督堂的建筑物在残照中意态安详，许许多多塔尖和圆顶上都露出风信旗，为一幅本来用简净素雅的第二色调和第三色调绘就的图画涂上了闪光点。
他下到坡脚，跟着上了条平坦的道路，截梢柳树夹道而立，暮色苍茫，树影渐见模糊。再往前走，他很快就迎面望见城市边缘的路灯，其中有些盏迎着天空，只见光色溶溶，略显淡彩。在那么多年前，在他对基督堂梦想神驰的日子中，它们不是紧紧吸住过他的紧张的凝望吗？不过这会儿它们似乎露出了犹豫不决，对他眨巴着黄眼睛，像是表示它们本来多少年盼望他负发来学，可是屡屡失望，这会儿不怎么想他来了。
他本属狄克•惠廷顿一流人，他内心为之感动的并非纯属物质方面的满足，而更其是纯粹、美好的事物。他沿着城市外围走下去，步步小心，犹如探测者那样不敢轻忽大意。但是眼前最要紧的事还是先找到落脚地方，于是他留心察看什么地段能向他提供既适合他需要、租金又不高的普通房子。经过一再打听，总算在一个外号 “别是巴”的郊区租到一间屋子，至于这个外号，他当时并不知道。他就在那儿安顿下来，喝了点茶，又出去转了。
那晚上没月亮，风声飒飒，人语悄悄。他在路灯底下展开了随身带着的地图，想弄清楚怎么走法。风吹得地图忽上忽下，一折一弯，不过他到底尽量弄明白了走哪个方向，才到得了市中心。
转了好多个弯儿，他总算遇到一座巍峨的中古时代建筑，根据大门判断，是所学院。进去之后，他到处走，甚至深入到路灯照不到的昏暗角落。紧边上还有一所学院；稍远点又是一所；这样他就让古老庄严的城市的气息和情调包围起来，开始有了充实之感。他只要经过跟它整体形象不相谐调的东西，就有意掉开眼光，像是根本没看见它们。
钟当当响起来，他侧耳细听，一共数了一百零一下，心想大概听错了，准是敲了一百下。
学院大门都关上了，他别再想进哪个学院的四方院，只好在院墙外面。大门左右转悠，摸摸墙上凸起的线纹和雕饰的外缘。一分钟一分钟过去了，人越来越少，他仍然在重重墙影中流连不已。以往十年他不是一直在憧憬着这会儿的情景吗？就算整夜不眠不休，也不过这么一回，又算得了什么呀？一盏路灯倏地闪亮，在黑暗的天空衬托下，把卷叶雕装饰的哥特式尖塔和锯齿形垛谍映得形容毕呈。那些幽晦的夹道现在显然根本没人踩过一脚，大概也没人想到它们的存在吧，而那些按中古样式设计而又加以充实、增华的圆柱门廊。凸窗和门道却朝窄窄小道挤了进去，它们的败象本就明显，却又因石头久经剥蚀的累累痕迹，更为突出。这类老朽不堪、落伍于时代的高堂深院，竟然有近代思想安家落户，看来怎么可能呢？
他在这地方一个人也不认识，所以一时生出孑然一身、遗世独立之感，仿佛就剩下他一个魂灵了。这种感觉，大凡在一个人独自走路，没法叫谁瞧见。听见时，就免不了。他觉着难受，不由得透了口气，既然他这会儿跟孤魂差不多了，他就忍不住朝那些隐在深处转悠的游魂琢磨起来。
自从他妻于远走高飞，还有那些家具，全同他一刀两断，再也不见踪迹之后，他在准备这次大胆行动过程中间，凡他的条件允许下能找来阅读和研究的卓越人物的著作，他无不—一阅读和研究过。他们就是在那令人肃然起敬的高墙之内度过了青年时代，及至老成持重的年纪，他们的心还是眷念故地，依依不舍。读书时，他不期然而遇到了某些人，他们在他的想象中显得比其他人的形象远为鲜明高大。这时夜风掠过屋角、扶壁和门柱，仿佛这些此地仅有的居民飘忽而过；常春藤相叠的叶子窸窣作响，仿佛他们的凄怆的幽灵正隅隅细语；重重阴影仿佛他们的单薄的身形在局促不安地走动，成了他在孤独中的同志。他好像在昏暗中同他们撞个正着，但是摸不着、碰不到他们的实在的形体。
街头阒寂，而他却因为有了这样的感触，不想回到住所。这儿有古往今来、五湖四海的诗人，从莎士比亚的朋友和榆扬者到晚近弃世、归于沉默的那位人物，还有那位至今健在、在侪辈中以韵律流美而见称的先生。思辨哲学家信步而来，他们可不像装在框子里的肖像那样一概满额皱纹、须发皤然，而是红光满面，高挑身材，行动灵活。现代神学家身穿法衣，最让裘德•福来感到如见其人的莫如号称讲册派的创始人，响当当三位大人物：热心派、诗人、公式派，他们的教诲哪怕在他住过的穷乡僻壤也响起了回应，对他发生过影响。他的幻觉从他们身上陡地一转，一眼瞧见了此地另一类子孙，顿生厌恶之感，其中一个披散着假发，集政治家。浪荡子、善辩者与怀疑派于一身；另一个是脸刮得于干净净的历史家，他对基督教彬彬有礼，其实暗含着讥讽；此外还有跟他们一样的怀疑一切的人物，他们也可以像虔诚的教徒那样，随心所欲地在四方院走廊徜徉。
他还瞧见形形色色的政治家，他们行事果决，难为幻想所动；还有学问家、演说家、事务主义者；有的人随着年事见长，胸襟益见开阔；有的人在同一境况下，胸襟反渐趋狭隘。
在他的幻觉的视界中，跟着出现了难得一见的科学家与语言学家古里古怪地混在一起的群落。他们的神态显着不停地深思冥想，脑门上挤满皱纹，视力因成年累月从事研究已经弱似蝙蝠。接下来是殖民地总督和各郡钦差大臣一类官场人物，他对他们毫无兴趣可言；再有就是首席法官和身兼上议院议长的大法官，这伙人嘴唇薄薄的，不爱说话，他也只略知其名而已。由于他一向抱有的志向，他对于高级神职人员倒薀哇察得分外仔细，这帮子他道得出一大串——有些人仁爱为怀，有些人理智处事。一位用拉丁文写文章为国教辩护；一位是赞美诗《夕颂》的圣人般的写作者；挨着他们的是那位伟大的巡回布道师，赞美诗写作者和热心家，他跟裘德一样深为不如意的婚姻所苦。
裘德这时候才发觉自己就像跟他们交谈着一样，情不自禁地把心里想的什么全说出来了，这情形类乎一名情节趣剧的演员对着脚灯那边的观众喋喋不休。他一醒悟过来自己够多荒唐，就吓了一跳，立刻刹住不说了。也许有个学院里的学生或思考者正在灯下用功，听见了他这个漫游者的断断续续的话吧，不免抬起头来，奇怪究竟什么人在说话，他说的又是什么意思。裘德这会儿也看出来，除了稀稀落落几个迟归的市民，再没有别的有血有肉的活人，不禁感到这座古老城市成了他一个人的天下，同时觉得自己有点着了凉似的。
有个声音从暗地里传过来，倒是真正活人的本地口音。
“小伙子，你呆在柱石那儿老半天啦，你倒是想干啥呀？”
这是个警察说的，他一直在注意裘德，后者却没瞧见他。
裘德回家了。他来这儿时候就带来了一两本书，是专讲那个大学的子子孙孙的，睡觉之前翻看了点关于他们生平的记载和几段他们给世人的启示。他迷迷糊糊要睡着的时候，好像刚才默记下来的若干值得一记的语句又由他们自己亲口嘟嘟囔囔说出来了，有听得清楚的，有听起来不好懂的。幽灵之一（他后来痛惜基督堂城“此方土地，大道沦丧”，不过这话裘德想不起来就是了）这会儿大声点着那城市名字说：
“美丽的城市啊，那样古色古香，那样高雅纯洁，历经我们这个世纪精神生活的激烈纷争，依然那样安然无恙，那样宠辱不惊！……她那无法解释的神奇力量始终号召我们去追求我们大家共有的真正目标，去实现理想，达到尽善尽美的地步。”
另一个声音发自那位始而拥护、继而反对《谷物法》的政治家，裘德在那个有大钟的四方院见过他的魂灵，当他是一直在推敲他那篇演说里最精彩的有历史意义的字句呢：
“议长阁下，我也许错了，但是我的立场是：在国家遭受饥荒威胁的时刻，我责无旁贷，要求现在必须采取在任何类似情况下通常要采取的救济手段，也就是让任何人从任何可能的途径自由取得粮食……你们明天就解除我的职务好了，可是你们绝对剥夺不了我的信念：我行使赋予我的权力，决不是出自邪恶的或者私利的动机，决不是出自实现个人野心的欲望，决不为了取得个人的好处。”
接下来是在书里写下不朽的《基督教》篇章的那位不动声色。意在言外的作者：“异教徒和哲学家对万能的上帝展示的种种证据（奇迹）漠然视之，采取不闻不问的态度，我们该怎样为他们开脱。……希腊罗马的往哲先贤对于警世奇迹不予理睬，看来应归之于他们对统驭精神和物质的权威力量的变化、更迭，懵懂无知。”
随后是一位诗人的幽灵，他是最后一位乐观主义者：
世界就是这样为我脽凸成！
……
众庶悉应依照计划总体
不惜为充实人类的延续效力。
下面是他刚见过的三位热心派之一，也就是《为我一生而辩》的作者：
“我的观点是……自然神学的真理所以具有绝对可信性是多方同时存在的或然性趋同归一的总结果……或然性固然没达到必然性，但可以给思想导出实际可信性。”
第二位热心派不喜欢辩论，他嘟嘟囔囔地说出些不怎么引人注意的话：
我们何必为独个儿活着怕得心惊胆战，
既然上苍的旨意，只好独个儿死了算？
他也听见那位生来洼心脸的幽灵，和蔼可亲的“旁观者”说出来的几句：
“我一见伟大人物独瘗墓中，所有妒羡之心顿时化为乌有；我一见红粉佳人的墓志题名，所有淫邪之念不禁瓦解冰消；我一见为人父母者在墓碑旁哀哀欲绝，就感同身受，不胜同情；我一见父母的坟墓，就思量为我们必将很快随之而去的人痛哭流涕之为虚妄。”
最后那位声音和悦的主教开口了，裘德在孩提时期就听惯了那些柔婉的调子，感到非常亲切，听着听着就酣然入睡了：
教我怎么活，我就不怕
把坟墓当成我的床。
教我怎么死……
他一觉睡到大天光，夜来出没的鬼魂已悄然离去，明明白白又是一天了。他一骨碌从床上坐起来，心想怎么睡过了头呢，跟着就说：
“哎呀呀——我倒把个甜脸蛋的表姊妹忘得一千二净啦，她倒是无时无刻不在这儿啊！还有从前的老师，他也在这儿呀。”不过他提到老师的口气大概不像提到表妹时那么饱含着热情。
Part 2 Chapter 2
NECESSARY meditations on the actual, including the mean bread-and-cheese question, dissipated the phantasmal for a while, and compelled Jude to smother high thinkings under immediate needs. He had to get up, and seek for work, manual work; the only kind deemed by many of its professors to be work at all.
Passing out into the streets on this errand he found that the colleges had treacherously changed their sympathetic countenances: some were pompous; some had put on the look of family vaults above ground; something barbaric loomed in the masonries of all. The spirits of the great men had disappeared.
The numberless architectural pages around him he read, naturally, less as an artist-critic of their forms than as an artizan and comrade of the dead handicraftsmen whose muscles had actually executed those forms. He examined the mouldings, stroked them as one who knew their beginning, said they were difficult or easy in the working, had taken little or much time, were trying to the arm, or convenient to the tool.
What at night had been perfect and ideal was by day the more or less defective real. Cruelties, insults, had, he perceived, been inflicted on the aged erections. The condition of several moved him as he would have been moved by maimed sentient beings. They were wounded, broken, sloughing off their outer shape in the deadly struggle against years, weather, and man.
The rottenness of these historical documents reminded him that he was not, after all, hastening on to begin the morning practically as he had intended. He had come to work, and to live by work, and the morning had nearly gone. It was, in one sense, encouraging to think that in a place of crumbling stones there must be plenty for one of his trade to do in the business of renovation. He asked his way to the workyard of the stone-mason whose name had been given him at Alfredston; and soon heard the familiar sound of the rubbers and chisels.
The yard was a little centre of regeneration. Here, with keen edges and smooth curves, were forms in the exact likeness of those he had seen abraded and time-eaten on the walls. These were the ideas in modern prose which the lichened colleges presented in old poetry. Even some of those antiques might have been called prose when they were new. They had done nothing but wait, and had become poetical. How easy to the smallest building; how impossible to most men.
He asked for the foreman, and looked round among the new traceries, mullions, transoms, shafts, pinnacles, and battlements standing on the bankers half worked, or waiting to be removed. They were marked by precision, mathematical straightness, smoothness, exactitude: there in the old walls were the broken lines of the original idea; jagged curves, disdain of precision, irregularity, disarray.
For a moment there fell on Jude a true illumination; that here in the stone yard was a centre of effort as worthy as that dignified by the name of scholarly study within the noblest of the colleges. But he lost it under stress of his old idea. He would accept any employment which might be offered him on the strength of his late employer's recommendation; but he would accept it as a provisional thing only. This was his form of the modern vice of unrest.
Moreover he perceived that at best only copying, patching and imitating went on here; which he fancied to be owing to some temporary and local cause. He did not at that time see that mediaevalism was as dead as a fern-leaf in a lump of coal; that other developments were shaping in the world around him, in which Gothic architecture and its associations had no place. The deadly animosity of contemporary logic and vision towards so much of what he held in reverence was not yet revealed to him.
Having failed to obtain work here as yet he went away, and thought again of his cousin, whose presence somewhere at hand he seemed to feel in wavelets of interest, if not of emotion. How he wished he had that pretty portrait of her! At last he wrote to his aunt to send it. She did so, with a request, however, that he was not to bring disturbance into the family by going to see the girl or her relations. Jude, a ridiculously affectionate fellow, promised nothing, put the photograph on the mantel-piece, kissed it--he did not know why--and felt more at home. She seemed to look down and preside over his tea. It was cheering--the one thing uniting him to the emotions of the living city.
There remained the schoolmaster--probably now a reverend parson. But he could not possibly hunt up such a respectable man just yet; so raw and unpolished was his condition, so precarious were his fortunes. Thus he still remained in loneliness. Although people moved round him he virtually saw none. Not as yet having mingled with the active life of the place it was largely non-existent to him. But the saints and prophets in the window-tracery, the paintings in the galleries, the statues, the busts, the gargoyles, the corbel-heads--these seemed to breathe his atmosphere. Like all new comers to a spot on which the past is deeply graven he heard that past announcing itself with an emphasis altogether unsuspected by, and even incredible to, the habitual residents.
For many days he haunted the cloisters and quadrangles of the colleges at odd minutes in passing them, surprised by impish echoes of his own footsteps, smart as the blows of a mallet. The Christminster "sentiment," as it had been called, ate further and further into him; till he probably knew more about those buildings materially, artistically, and historically, than any one of their inmates.
It was not till now, when he found himself actually on the spot of his enthusiasm, that Jude perceived how far away from the object of that enthusiasm he really was. Only a wall divided him from those happy young contemporaries of his with whom he shared a common mental life; men who had nothing to do from morning till night but to read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest. Only a wall-- but what a wall!
Every day, every hour, as he went in search of labour, he saw them going and coming also, rubbed shoulders with them, heard their voices, marked their movements. The conversation of some of the more thoughtful among them seemed oftentimes, owing to his long and persistent preparation for this place, to be peculiarly akin to his own thoughts. Yet he was as far from them as if he had been at the antipodes. Of course he was. He was a young workman in a white blouse, and with stone-dust in the creases of his clothes; and in passing him they did not even see him, or hear him, rather saw through him as through a pane of glass at their familiars beyond. Whatever they were to him, he to them was not on the spot at all; and yet he had fancied he would be close to their lives by coming there.
But the future lay ahead after all; and if he could only be so fortunate as to get into good employment he would put up with the inevitable. So he thanked God for his health and strength, and took courage. For the present he was outside the gates of everything, colleges included: perhaps some day he would be inside. Those palaces of light and leading; he might some day look down on the world through their panes.
At length he did receive a message from the stone-mason's yard-- that a job was waiting for him. It was his first encouragement, and he closed with the offer promptly.
He was young and strong, or he never could have executed with such zest the undertakings to which he now applied himself, since they involved reading most of the night after working all the day. First he bought a shaded lamp for four and six-pence, and obtained a good light. Then he got pens, paper, and such other necessary books as he had been unable to obtain elsewhere. Then, to the consternation of his landlady, he shifted all the furniture of his room--a single one for living and sleeping--rigged up a curtain on a rope across the middle, to make a double chamber out of one, hung up a thick blind that no-body should know how he was curtailing the hours of sleep, laid out his books, and sat down.
Having been deeply encumbered by marrying, getting a cottage, and buying the furniture which had disappeared in the wake of his wife, he had never been able to save any money since the time of those disastrous ventures, and till his wages began to come in he was obliged to live in the narrowest way. After buying a book or two he could not even afford himself a fire; and when the nights reeked with the raw and cold air from the Meadows he sat over his lamp in a great-coat, hat, and woollen gloves.
From his window he could perceive the spire of the cathedral, and the ogee dome under which resounded the great bell of the city. The tall tower, tall belfry windows, and tall pinnacles of the college by the bridge he could also get a glimpse of by going to the staircase. These objects he used as stimulants when his fai

[table=80%,#ffffff,#000000,1][tr][td]Part 2 Chapter 4
HE was a handy man at his trade, an all-round man, as artizans in country-towns are apt to be. In London the man who carves the boss or knob of leafage declines to cut the fragment of moulding which merges in that leafage, as if it were a degradation to do the second half of one whole. When there was not much Gothic moulding for Jude to run, or much window-tracery on the bankers, he would go out lettering monuments or tombstones, and take a pleasure in the change of handiwork.
The next time that he saw her was when he was on a ladder executing a job of this sort inside one of the churches. There was a short morning service, and when the parson entered Jude came down from his ladder, and sat with the half-dozen people forming the congregation, till the prayer should be ended, and he could resume his tapping. He did not observe till the service was half over that one of the women was Sue, who had perforce accompanied the elderly Miss Fontover thither.
Jude sat watching her pretty shoulders, her easy, curiously nonchalant risings and sittings, and her perfunctory genuflexions, and thought what a help such an Anglican would have been to him in happier circumstances. It was not so much his anxiety to get on with his work that made him go up to it immediately the worshipers began to take their leave: it was that he dared not, in this holy spot, confront the woman who was beginning to influence him in such an indescribable manner. Those three enormous reasons why he must not attempt intimate acquaintance with Sue Bridehead, now that his interest in her had shown itself to be unmistakably of a sexual kind, loomed as stubbornly as ever. But it was also obvious that man could not live by work alone; that the particular man Jude, at any rate, wanted something to love. Some men would have rushed incontinently to her, snatched the pleasure of easy friendship which she could hardly refuse, and have left the rest to chance. Not so Jude--at first.
But as the days, and still more particularly the lonely evenings, dragged along, he found himself, to his moral consternation, to be thinking more of her instead of thinking less of her, and experiencing a fearful bliss in doing what was erratic, informal, and unexpected. Surrounded by her influence all day, walking past the spots she frequented, he was always thinking of her, and was obliged to own to himself that his conscience was likely to be the loser in this battle.
To be sure she was almost an ideality to him still. Perhaps to know her would be to cure himself of this unexpected and unauthorized passion. A voice whispered that, though he desired to know her, he did not desire to be cured.
There was not the least doubt that from his own orthodox point of view the situation was growing immoral. For Sue to be the loved one of a man who was licensed by the laws of his country to love Arabella and none other unto his life's end, was a pretty bad second beginning when the man was bent on such a course as Jude purposed. This conviction was so real with him that one day when, as was frequent, he was at work in a neighbouring village church alone, he felt it to be his duty to pray against his weakness. But much as he wished to be an exemplar in these things he could not get on. It was quite impossible, he found, to ask to be delivered from temptation when your heart's desire was to be tempted unto seventy times seven. So he excused himself. "After all," he said, "it is not altogether an EROTOLEPSY that is the matter with me, as at that first time. I can see that she is exceptionally bright; and it is partly a wish for intellectual sympathy, and a craving for loving-kindness in my solitude." Thus he went on adoring her, fearing to realize that it was human perversity. For whatever Sue's virtues, talents, or ecclesiastical saturation, it was certain that those items were not at all the cause of his affection for her.
On an afternoon at this time a young girl entered the stone-mason's yard with some hesitation, and, lifting her skirts to avoid draggling them in the white dust, crossed towards the office.
"That's a nice girl," said one of the men known as Uncle Joe.
"Who is she?" asked another.
"I don't know--I've seen her about here and there. Why, yes, she's the daughter of that clever chap Bridehead who did all the wrought ironwork at St. Silas' ten years ago, and went away to London afterwards. I don't know what he's doing now--not much I fancy--as she's come back here."
Meanwhile the young woman had knocked at the office door and asked if Mr. Jude Fawley was at work in the yard. It so happened that Jude had gone out somewhere or other that afternoon, which information she received with a look of disappointment, and went away immediately. When Jude returned they told him, and described her, whereupon he exclaimed, "Why--that's my cousin Sue!"
He looked along the street after her, but she was out of sight. He had no longer any thought of a conscientious avoidance of her, and resolved to call upon her that very evening. And when he reached his lodging he found a note from her-- a first note--one of those documents which, simple and commonplace in themselves, are seen retrospectively to have been pregnant with impassioned consequences. The very unconsciousness of a looming drama which is shown in such innocent first epistles from women to men, or VICE VERSA, makes them, when such a drama follows, and they are read over by the purple or lurid light of it, all the more impressive, solemn, and in cases, terrible.
Sue's was of the most artless and natural kind. She addressed him as her dear cousin Jude; said she had only just learnt by the merest accident that he was living in Christminster, and reproached him with not letting her know. They might have had such nice times together, she said, for she was thrown much upon herself, and had hardly any congenial friend. But now there was every probability of her soon going away, so that the chance of companionship would be lost perhaps for ever.
A cold sweat overspread Jude at the news that she was going away. That was a contingency he had never thought of, and it spurred him to write all the more quickly to her. He would meet her that very evening, he said, one hour from the time of writing, at the cross in the pavement which marked the spot of the Martyrdoms.
When he had despatched the note by a boy he regretted that in his hurry he should have suggested to her to meet him out of doors, when he might have said he would call upon her. It was, in fact, the country custom to meet thus, and nothing else had occurred to him. Arabella had been met in the same way, unfortunately, and it might not seem respectable to a dear girl like Sue. However, it could not be helped now, and he moved towards the point a few minutes before the hour, under the glimmer of the newly lighted lamps.
The broad street was silent, and almost deserted, although it was not late. He saw a figure on the other side, which turned out to be hers, and they both converged towards the crossmark at the same moment. Before either had reached it she called out to him:
"I am not going to meet you just there, for the first time in my life! Come further on."
The voice, though positive and silvery, had been tremulous. They walked on in parallel lines, and, waiting her pleasure, Jude watched till she showed signs of closing in, when he did likewise, the place being where the carriers' carts stood in the daytime, though there was none on the spot then.
"I am sorry that I asked you to meet me, and didn't call," began Jude with the bashfulness of a lover. "But I thought it would save time if we were going to walk."
"Oh--I don't mind that," she said with the freedom of a friend. "I have really no place to ask anybody in to. What I meant was that the place you chose was so horrid--I suppose I ought not to say horrid-- I mean gloomy and inauspicious in its associations.... But isn't it funny to begin like this, when I don't know you yet?" She looked him up and down curiously, though Jude did not look much at her.
"You seem to know me more than I know you," she added.
"Yes--I have seen you now and then."
"And you knew who I was, and didn't speak? And now I am going away!"
"Yes. That's unfortunate. I have hardly any other friend. I have, indeed, one very old friend here somewhere, but I don't quite like to call on him just yet. I wonder if you know anything of him--Mr. Phillotson? A parson somewhere about the county I think he is."
"No--I only know of one Mr. Phillotson. He lives a little way out in the country, at Lumsdon. He's a village schoolmaster."
"Ah! I wonder if he's the same. Surely it is impossible! Only a schoolmaster still! Do you know his Christian name-- is it Richard?"
"Yes--it is; I've directed books to him, though I've never seen him."
"Then he couldn't do it!"
Jude's countenance fell, for how could he succeed in an enterprise wherein the great Phillotson had failed? He would have had a day of despair if the news had not arrived during his sweet Sue's presence, but even at this moment he had visions of how Phillotson's failure in the grand university scheme would depress him when she had gone.
"As we are going to take a walk, suppose we go and call upon him?" said Jude suddenly. "It is not late."
She agreed, and they went along up a hill, and through some prettily wooded country. Presently the embattled tower and square turret of the church rose into the sky, and then the school-house. They inquired of a person in the street if Mr. Phillotson was likely to be at home, and were informed that he was always at home. A knock brought him to the school-house door, with a candle in his hand and a look of inquiry on his face, which had grown thin and careworn since Jude last set eyes on him.
That after all these years the meeting with Mr. Phillotson should be of this homely complexion destroyed at one stroke the halo which had surrounded the school-master's figure in Jude's imagination ever since their parting. It created in him at the same time a sympathy with Phillotson as an obviously much chastened and disappointed man. Jude told him his name, and said he had come to see him as an old friend who had been kind to him in his youthful days.
"I don't remember you in the least," said the school-master thoughtfully. "You were one of my pupils, you say? Yes, no doubt; but they number so many thousands by this time of my life, and have naturally changed so much, that I remember very few except the quite recent ones."
"It was out at Marygreen," said Jude, wishing he had not come.
"Yes. I was there a short time. And is this an old pupil, too?"
"No--that's my cousin.... I wrote to you for some grammars, if you recollect, and you sent them?"
"Ah--yes!--I do dimly recall that incident."
"It was very kind of you to do it. And it was you who first started me on that course. On the morning you left Marygreen, when your goods were on the waggon, you wished me good-bye, and said your scheme was to be a university man and enter the Church-- that a degree was the necessary hall-mark of one who wanted to do anything as a theologian or teacher."
"I remember I thought all that privately; but I wonder I did not keep my own counsel. The idea was given up years ago."
"I have never forgotten it. It was that which brought me to this part of the country, and out here to see you to-night."
"Come in," said Phillotson. "And your cousin, too."
They entered the parlour of the school-house, where there was a lamp with a paper shade, which threw the light down on three or four books. Phillotson took it off, so that they could see each other better, and the rays fell on the nervous little face and vivacious dark eyes and hair of Sue, on the earnest features of her cousin, and on the schoolmaster's own maturer face and figure, showing him to be a spare and thoughtful personage of five-and-forty, with a thin-lipped, somewhat refined mouth, a slightly stooping habit, and a black frock coat, which from continued frictions shone a little at the shoulder-blades, the middle of the back, and the elbows.
The old friendship was imperceptibly renewed, the schoolmaster speaking of his experiences, and the cousins of theirs. He told them that he still thought of the Church sometimes, and that though he could not enter it as he had intended to do in former years he might enter it as a licentiate. Meanwhile, he said, he was comfortable in his present position, though he was in want of a pupil-teacher.
They did not stay to supper, Sue having to be indoors before it grew late, and the road was retraced to Christminster. Though they had talked of nothing more than general subjects, Jude was surprised to find what a revelation of woman his cousin was to him. She was so vibrant that everything she did seemed to have its source in feeling. An exciting thought would make her walk ahead so fast that he could hardly keep up with her; and her sensitiveness on some points was such that it might have been misread as vanity. It was with heart-sickness he perceived that, while her sentiments towards him were those of the frankest friendliness only, he loved her more than before becoming acquainted with her; and the gloom of the walk home lay not in the night overhead, but in the thought of her departure.
"Why must you leave Christminster?" he said regretfully. "How can you do otherwise than cling to a city in whose history such men as Newman, Pusey, Ward, Keble, loom so large!"
"Yes--they do. Though how large do they loom in the history of the world? ... What a funny reason for caring to stay! I should never have thought of it!" She laughed.
"Well--I must go," she continued. "Miss Fontover, one of the partners whom I serve, is offended with me, and I with her; and it is best to go."
"How did that happen?"
"She broke some statuary of mine."
"Oh? Wilfully?"
"Yes. She found it in my room, and though it was my property she threw it on the floor and stamped on it, because it was not according to her taste, and ground the arms and the head of one of the figures all to bits with her heel--a horrid thing!"
"Too Catholic-Apostolic for her, I suppose? No doubt she called them popish images and talked of the invocation of saints."
"No.... No, she didn't do that. She saw the matter quite differently."
"Ah! Then I am surprised!"
"Yes. It was for quite some other reason that she didn't like my patron-saints. So I was led to retort upon her; and the end of it was that I resolved not to stay, but to get into an occupation in which I shall be more independent."
"Why don't you try teaching again? You once did, I heard."
"I never thought of resuming it; for I was getting on as an art-designer."
"DO let me ask Mr. Phillotson to let you try your hand in his school? If you like it, and go to a training college, and become a first-class certificated mistress, you get twice as large an income as any designer or church artist, and twice as much freedom."
"Well--ask him. Now I must go in. Good-bye, dear Jude! I am so glad we have met at last. We needn't quarrel because our parents did, need we?"
Jude did not like to let her see quite how much he agreed with her, and went his way to the remote street in which he had his lodging.
To keep Sue Bridehead near him was now a desire which operated without regard of consequences, and the next evening he again set out for Lumsdon, fearing to trust to the persuasive effects of a note only. The school-master was unprepared for such a proposal.
"What I rather wanted was a second year's transfer, as it is called," he said. "Of course your cousin would do, personally; but she has had no experience. Oh--she has, has she? Does she really think of adopting teaching as a profession?"
Jude said she was disposed to do so, he thought, and his ingenious arguments on her natural fitness for assisting Mr. Phillotson, of which Jude knew nothing whatever, so influenced the schoolmaster that he said he would engage her, assuring Jude as a friend that unless his cousin really meant to follow on in the same course, and regarded this step as the first stage of an apprenticeship, of which her training in a normal school would be the second stage, her time would be wasted quite, the salary being merely nominal.
The day after this visit Phillotson received a letter from Jude, containing the information that he had again consulted his cousin, who took more and more warmly to the idea of tuition; and that she had agreed to come. It did not occur for a moment to the schoolmaster and recluse that Jude's ardour in promoting the arrangement arose from any other feelings towards Sue than the instinct of co-operation common among members of the same family.

裘德干他本行已经得心应手，成了样样能的全村，大凡乡镇手艺人都能做到这地步。在伦敦，雕刻石叶簇的叶梭的匠人就不屑錾净浮雕中边边角角，仿佛一干整个作品的次要部分就有损身价。裘德要是没多少錾净浮雕的活儿干，或者工作台上也没窗棂格一类可刻，就去凿纪念碑，或者给墓碑镌字，换个活儿，他倒也自得其乐。
他第二次见到她时候，正在一个教堂里边站在梯子上干诸如此类的活儿。教堂要做早礼拜，牧师一进来，他就从梯子下来，凑到总共半打会众中间坐下来。要等祈祷完了，他才好敲敲打打。礼拜做到一半，他才发现苏坐在妇女一边，她是因为迫不得已，才陪方道悟小姐来的。
裘德坐在那儿盯着她那好看的双肩，也盯着她随随便便、心不在焉得奇怪的起起坐坐的动作，还有她勉勉强强、敷衍了事的屈膝下跪的姿势。他一边心里想，要是他的处境比现在适意，这样一位圣公会教友归了他，那该是多么大的帮助呀。教徒一开始离开，他立刻往梯子上爬，倒不是他急着把活赶完，而是因为他不敢在这神圣场合同那位正在以说不清的方式影响着他的女性直接面对面。既然他对苏•柏瑞和的兴趣千真万确是因为她是异性，那么原来不容他存心设法同她过从密切的三条重大理由还是跟以前一样虎视耽耽，不得回避。不过一个人也不能单靠干活活着，这也用不着说，何况像他这样异乎寻常的人，无论如何，爱情方面总得有个出路。有些人可能二话不说，干脆往苏那儿跑，先下手为强，利用她不好意思回绝的态度，一享同她轻松愉快地交朋友之乐，至于下文如何，只有大知道。这一手裘德干不来——开头干不来。
但薀妄了一天又一天，尤其薀妄了一个又一个更难熬的孤寂的晚上，裘德却发现他对她的思念非但没减少，反而更厉害，而且还十了起先没想干的。反常而不正当的事，从中得到酣畅的快感，这一切叫他在道德上惶惶不安。她的影响这样成天价缠着他，一走过她常去的地方，他就想她没个完。他只好承认在这场搏斗中，他的良心很可能是个输家。
说真的，她至今只能算他的玄想虚构的产物。也许认识她倒能治好他的违乎常情、有悖正道的情欲，不过有个小小声音说，他固然很想认识她，但他却并不很热心治好他的病。
按他本人一贯信守的正统观点，他的情况正朝道德败坏变，是毫无疑义的。因为一个已经由国家法律授权爱阿拉贝拉到死的男人，不能再随便爱别的女人；而且像裘德这样的人正在极力追求自己的目标，竟然要另寻新欢，也确实恶劣不堪。他的负罪感是那么深刻实在，有一天他跟往常一样独自一人在邻近一个乡村教堂干活的时候，感到非祈祷不足以克服自己的弱点，因为这是他对上帝的责任。但是尽管他想是极想这方面做个好榜样，怎奈他还是祈祷不下去。他发现，你内心深处的欲望既然十之八九非受到诱惑不可，你就是恳求上帝把你从诱惑中拯救出来，也肯定没门儿。他就这样给自己找到了托词。“反正我这回跟上回就是不一样，”他说，“这回根本同色情狂不沾边。我看得出来她聪明过人，也有一部分是希望精神方面得到共鸣，再就是能在孤寂中受到温情眷顾。”于是他继续对她顶礼膜拜，不敢承认这是死心塌地，明知故犯。说苏德性、才情怎么好，说她信教信得怎么五体投地，总而言之，这些花言巧语，都不成其为他对她一片痴情的缘由。
正好这时候，有个下午，一个年轻姑娘有点犹豫不决地进了石匠作坊，撩着裙子，免得沾上白粉末，她穿过场子，往管事房走去。
“这妞儿不错嘛！”一个人称乔爷的说。
“她是谁呀？”又一个问。
“我不知道——我在好些地方瞧见过她。哦，对啦，是那个精明汉子柏瑞和的女儿呀，十年前他在圣•西拉教堂，把所有难干的铁活儿全揽过来啦。我也不知道她回这儿时候，他干什么——我看他不一定混得怎么得意吧。”
同时，年轻女人敲了敲管事房的门，打听裘德•福来先生在不在这儿干活儿。有点不巧，他下午出门到什么地方去了。她一听这回答，露出失望的样子，立刻走了。裘德回来，他们就把这事跟他说了，还把她形容了一下，裘德一听，就大喊大叫的：“哎呀——是我表亲苏呀！”
他沿街追她，她已经走得没影了。他可再不想什么他凭良心得避开她呀，决定当晚就找她。他回到住所，发现门上别着一张她写的条子——第一张条子，是那些文件中一份，它们本身简简单单、平淡无奇，可是一到后来带着思往怀旧的心情去看，就会发现其中孕育着种种充满了炽热情感的后果。女人最早写给男人的，抑或男人最早写给女人的这样一些信，有时候原本率性而为，真心实意，不过从中却可见一出大戏初露端倪，只是戏中人浑然不觉，待到剧情深入展开，那时候在激情的紫红或火红的光焰中重温这些书信，由于当初浑然不觉，就感到它们特别动人，特别充满了神圣感，其中有些情事也特别惊心动魄。
苏这个便条便是纯出自然、胸无渣滓一类，她称他亲爱的表亲裘德，怪他怎么没告诉她。她说，因为她平常只好独来独往，几乎没什么志趣相投的朋友，他们要是聚在一块儿，准是很有意思。不过她现在十之八九很快就走了，所以相处的机会也许永远失去了。
裘德一知道她要走的消息，直冒冷汗。再想不到会这样节外生枝，他只好马上给她写信。他说当天晚上一定跟她见面，时间在写信后一个钟头，地点在人行道上纪念殉道者遇难地方的那个十字架标志。
他把信交给一个男孩送去以后又后悔了。他下笔匆忙，竟然提出在街上见面，而他理应说他要登门见她才对。其实，乡下习惯就是这样约个地方见面，他以前也不知道还有什么别的妙招。他头一回跟阿拉贝拉的不幸见面不也是这么回事。不过他这样对苏这位可亲可爱的姑娘恐怕太失礼吧。可是这会儿也无法可想了，于是他在约好的时间之前几分钟，在刚亮起的路灯光下，朝那个地点走去。
宽阔的街道静悄悄，几乎没有人迹，虽然时间并不晚。他瞧见街对面晃过一个人影，随即看出来果然是她。他们从街两边同时向十字架标志靠拢，还没走到它跟前，她就大声向他招呼：
“我才不想在这么个地点跟你见面哪，这是我一辈子头回跟你见面啊！往前走吧。”
她的声音果决、清脆，却有点发颤。他们在街两边并排往前走，裘德候着她那边的表示，一看到她有走过来的意思，就马上迎过去了。那地方白天停两轮运货小车子，不过那会儿一辆也没有。
“我请你到这儿见面，没去找你，实在对不起。”裘德开始说话，态度忸怩像个情人。
“哦——没什么。”她像朋友那样落落大方。“我实在也没个地方招待人。我的意思是你选的这个地方叫人不舒服——我看也不该说不舒服，我是说这地方，还有跟它连着的事儿，叫人难受，怪不吉利的。……不过我还没认识你，就这么开头不是滑稽吗？”她好奇地上下打量着他，但是裘德没怎么看她。
“你像是认识我了，要比我早吧？”
“对啦——我瞧见过你几回呢。”
“那你知道我是谁啦，干吗不说话呢？这会儿我要离开这地方啦。”
“是啊。这太不幸啦。我在这儿实在没朋友。也算有的话，是位年纪挺大的朋友，住在这儿哪个地方。我这会儿还没定规去找他呢。他叫费乐生先生，他的情况你知道不知道？我想他是郡里哪个地方的牧师。”
“不知道——我倒是听说过有位费乐生先生。他住在乡下，就是拉姆登，离这儿挺近。他是乡村小学老师。”
“怎么！他还是老样儿，真怪啦！绝对不可能！还是个老师！你还知道他教名——是里查吧？”
“不错，是里查；我派过书给他，不过我压根儿没见过他。”
“那他是一事无成喽！”
裘德顿时黯然失色，因为连了不起的费乐生都失败了的事业，他凭什么能成功呢？要不是他听到这个消息时候，他的甜密的苏就近在身边，他准叫绝望压倒了。但就是他这一刻想象到的费乐生上大学的宏伟计划失败的情景，到苏走后也还是要叫他垂头丧气。
“咱们反正是散步，索性去看看他，好不好？”裘德突然说。“天还不算晚。”
她表示同意。他们往前走，先上了小山，又穿过林木佳胜的郊区，一会儿就看见矗向天空的教堂的有垛谍的高楼和正方形塔楼，随后到了小学校舍。他们向街上一个人打听费乐生先生是否在家，回答说他总是在家。他们一敲门，他就到校门口来了，手持蜡烛，脸上的神气表示你们是干什么来的？自从裘德上一回细瞧过他之后，他的脸显然消瘦了，苍老了。
隔了那么多年，他得以重晤费乐生先生，看见他那份失意样子，一下子就把他心目中费乐生头上的光轮打碎了，同时激起了他对这位备受煎熬和痛感失望的人的同情。裘德告诉他自己的姓名，说他现在是来看望他这位老朋友，他童年时曾蒙他关切爱护。
“我一点也不记得啦。”老师一边想一边说。“你是说你是我的学生，对吧？当然是啦，这没什么疑问；不过我这辈子到了这会儿，学生已经成千上万啦，他们自然变得很厉害，除了最近这些学生，我差不多都想不起来啦。”
“那是你在马利格林的时候。”裘德说，但愿自己没来。
“不错，我在那儿呆过很短一段时间。这位也是老学生？”
“不是——是我表亲。……要是你再回想一下，大概能想起来我给你写过信，跟你要文法书，你不是给我寄来了吗？”
“哦——对啦！这我倒还有点影子。”
“你办了这件事，太谢谢啦。你是第一位鼓励我走这条路的。你离开马利格林那天上午，跟我说了再见，说你的计划是当上大学毕业生，进教会——说谁想在事业上干出点名堂，不论当神学家还是当教师，学位总是万不可少的资历。”
“我记得自己心里是这么想的，不过我就不明白怎么会连自己的计划都说给人家听呢。我这个想法放弃好多年啦。”
“我可始终没忘呢。就是这回事儿把我引到这地方来的，还到这儿来看望你。”
“请进吧，”费乐生说，“请令表亲也进来吧。”
他们进了学校小会客室，那儿有一盏带罩子的灯，光线投在三四本书上，费乐生把灯罩下掉，这样他们彼此可以看得比较清楚。灯光照到了苏的神经质的小脸蛋和生机勃发的黑眼睛以及黑头发上；照到她表亲严肃端谨的神态上；也照到老师更老成的脸庞和体态上，看得出他有四十五岁，身材瘦削，富于思想；薄薄的嘴唇，轮廓优雅，习惯哈着腰，穿一件礼服呢大衣，因为磨来磨去，肩头、背部和肘部都有点发亮了。
旧时的友谊不知不觉地恢复了，老师讲了他个人经历，那两个表亲也讲了自己的。他对他们说，他有时候还有进教会的念头；尽管做不到像从前设想那样进教会，还可以凭一名无牧师资格的传道者进去。他说，他对如今这个职位也还感到惬意，不过目前缺个边学边教的小先生。
他们没留下吃饭，苏必须在不太晚之前回到住处，因为他们回基督堂还得走一大段路。虽然他们一路谈的都是无关紧要的普通事，然而裘德却因为发现了这位表亲流露出那么多在他还不了解的女性本色而为之一惊。她感受快、变化急，似乎不管干什么都是感情用事。一个令人兴奋的想法就能叫她走得飞快，他简直跟不上她；她对若干事情表现出来的神经过敏，难免被人误解为轻狂、浮躁。他心知她对他的感情全属最坦率的友爱之情，而他却比认识她之前更爱她，因此他感到非常苦闷；回家路上他心头沉重，不是夜空幽暗引起的，而是因为想到她即将离去。
“你干吗一定离开基督堂？”他带着遗憾意味说，“这个城市历史上出了纽门、普赛、沃德和奇伯尔那样赫赫有名的大人物哪，你不愿意呆下去，那你舍此不图还能有什么出息？”
“你说得不错——这些人的确是那么回事儿。可是他们在世界史上能算赫赫有名吗？呆在这儿，就是为这个，这道理未免太可笑啦！”她笑起来了。
“啊——我非走不可。”她接着说。“方道悟小姐，就是我帮活的那个，把我气坏了，我也把她气坏了，所以顶好一走了之。”
“出什么事啦？”
“她把我的石膏像砸碎啦。”
“哦？故意吗？”
“故意干的。她在我屋里发现了它们，虽然那是我的财产，她硬给摔到地上，拿脚踩，就因为它们不合她的调调儿。一个像的胳臂跟脑袋，她用脚后跟碾得稀碎——太叫人恶心啦！”
“我想，她嫌这些天主教味儿——教皇派味儿太厉害了吧？毫无疑问，她管这叫教皇派的像，还要大讲特讲呢，你这是什么拜神求福喽。”
“不对。……才不对呢。她倒没那么干呢。这可完全不一样，是另一码事。”
“哈！那我可就觉着太怪啦！”
“是啊。她就是因为完全不是那么回事，才恨我的守护神哪。所以我才气得顶她。吵完了，我就决定再不呆下去啦，不过还得找事于，要干就干个我人比较独立的。”
“那你干吗不试试教书呢？我听说你干过一回。”
“我压根儿没想过再教书；因为我已经当了工艺设计师啦。”
“那我一定跟费乐生说说，让你在他的学校里试试本事好啦。要是你愿意干，再上个师范学院，就成了有合格证书的一级女教师啦，这比你现在当设计师或者教会工艺师什么的，收入要多一倍呢，自由也成倍增加啦。”
“那好吧——你就跟他说好啦。我得进去了。再见，裘德！咱们到底还是见面啦，我太高兴啦，咱们用不着因为父母吵架也吵架吧，对不对？”
裘德不想叫她看出来他究竟同意了多少，转到他这边路上，便径自走向那条偏僻的街上自己的住所。把苏•柏瑞和留在离他不远的地方，这是他心里老在盘算的念头，后果如何是在所不计的。第二天晚上他又去了拉姆登，因为他担心光凭一纸短信不会起到说服作用。小学老师对这个建议思想上没一点准备。
“我想要的人是所谓的第二年调动，就是教过了一年再调动。”他说。“从令表亲本人条件看，她当然担任得了，不过她什么经验也没有。哦——她有经验，对吧？她是不是真想选教书这门当职业呢？”
裘德说他认为她的确有意从事这类工作；他连编带诌地强调她天生具备了给费乐生先生当助手的适应能力；其实他对她这方面情况毫无所知，不过经他这么一花言巧语，倒把老师心说活了，说他愿意聘请她，并且以朋友资格向裘德郑重表示，如果他的表亲并不是真正愿意走这条路，也不想把这一步当做学习期间第一阶段，尔后进师范学院接受培训为第二阶段，那么她的时间就将白白浪费，况且薪水云云也不过有名无实而已。
这次造访的第二天，费乐生接到裘德一封信，内中说到他已经再次同他的表亲仔细斟酌过了，她从事教学工作的心越来越积极，同意到费乐生那儿工作。那位老师和隐士万万没料到裘德之所以这样极力撺掇这件好事，除了出于一家人天生来就相互照顾的本能，还对苏怀有什么别的感情。
Part 2 Chapter 5
THE schoolmaster sat in his homely dwelling attached to the school, both being modern erections; and he looked across the way at the old house in which his teacher Sue had a lodging. The arrangement had been concluded very quickly. A pupil-teacher who was to have been transferred to Mr. Phillotson's school had failed him, and Sue had been taken as stop-gap. All such provisional arrangements as these could only last till the next annual visit of H.M. Inspector, whose approval was necessary to make them permanent. Having taught for some two years in London, though she had abandoned that vocation of late, Miss Bridehead was not exactly a novice, and Phillotson thought there would be no difficulty in retaining her services, which he already wished to do, though she had only been with him three or four weeks. He had found her quite as bright as Jude had described her; and what master-tradesman does not wish to keep an apprentice who saves him half his labour?
It was a little over half-past eight o'clock in the morning and he was waiting to see her cross the road to the school, when he would follow. At twenty minutes to nine she did cross, a light hat tossed on her head; and he watched her as a curiosity. A new emanation, which had nothing to do with her skill as a teacher, seemed to surround her this morning. He went to the school also, and Sue remained governing her class at the other end of the room, all day under his eye. She certainly was an excellent teacher.
It was part of his duty to give her private lessons in the evening, and some article in the Code made it necessary that a respectable, elderly woman should be present at these lessons when the teacher and the taught were of different sexes. Richard Phillotson thought of the absurdity of the regulation in this case, when he was old enough to be the girl's father; but he faithfully acted up to it; and sat down with her in a room where Mrs. Hawes, the widow at whose house Sue lodged, occupied herself with sewing. The regulation was, indeed, not easy to evade, for there was no other sitting-room in the dwelling.
Sometimes as she figured--it was arithmetic that they were working at-- she would involuntarily glance up with a little inquiring smile at him, as if she assumed that, being the master, he must perceive all that was passing in her brain, as right or wrong. Phillotson was not really thinking of the arithmetic at all, but of her, in a novel way which somehow seemed strange to him as preceptor. Perhaps she knew that he was thinking of her thus.
For a few weeks their work had gone on with a monotony which in itself was a delight to him. Then it happened that the children were to be taken to Christminster to see an itinerant exhibition, in the shape of a model of Jerusalem, to which schools were admitted at a penny a head in the interests of education. They marched along the road two and two, she beside her class with her simple cotton sunshade, her little thumb cocked up against its stem; and Phillotson behind in his long dangling coat, handling his walking-stick genteelly, in the musing mood which had come over him since her arrival. The afternoon was one of sun and dust, and when they entered the exhibition room few people were present but themselves. The model of the ancient city stood in the middle of the apartment, and the proprietor, with a fine religious philanthropy written on his features, walked round it with a pointer in his hand, showing the young people the various quarters and places known to them by name from reading their Bibles, Mount Moriah, the Valley of Jehoshaphat, the City of Zion, the walls and the gates, outside one of which there was a large mound like a tumulus, and on the mound a little white cross. The spot, he said, was Calvary.
"I think," said Sue to the schoolmaster, as she stood with him a little in the background, "that this model, elaborate as it is, is a very imaginary production. How does anybody know that Jerusalem was like this in the time of Christ? I am sure this man doesn't."
"It is made after the best conjectural maps, based on

[table=80%,#ffffff,#000000,1][tr][td]Part 2 Chapter 6
JUDE'S old and embittered aunt lay unwell at Marygreen, and on the following Sunday he went to see her--a visit which was the result of a victorious struggle against his inclination to turn aside to the village of Lumsdon and obtain a miserable interview with his cousin, in which the word nearest his heart could not be spoken, and the sight which had tortured him could not be revealed.
His aunt was now unable to leave her bed, and a great part of Jude's short day was occupied in making arrangements for her comfort. The little bakery business had been sold to a neighbour, and with the proceeds of this and her savings she was comfortably supplied with necessaries and more, a widow of the same village living with her and ministering to her wants. It was not till the time had nearly come for him to leave that he obtained a quiet talk with her, and his words tended insensibly towards his cousin.
"Was Sue born here?"
"She was--in this room. They were living here at that time. What made 'ee ask that?"
"Oh--I wanted to know."
"Now you've been seeing her!" said the harsh old woman. "And what did I tell 'ee?"
"Well--that I was not to see her."
"Have you gossiped with her?"
"Yes."
"Then don't keep it up. She was brought up by her father to hate her mother's family; and she'll look with no favour upon a working chap like you--a townish girl as she's become by now. I never cared much about her. A pert little thing, that's what she was too often, with her tight-strained nerves. Many's the time I've smacked her for her impertinence. Why, one day when she was walking into the pond with her shoes and stockings off, and her petticoats pulled above her knees, afore I could cry out for shame, she said: 'Move on, Aunty! This is no sight for modest eyes!'"
"She was a little child then."
"She was twelve if a day."
"Well--of course. But now she's older she's of a thoughtful, quivering, tender nature, and as sensitive as--"
"Jude!" cried his aunt, springing up in bed. "Don't you be a fool about her!"
"No, no, of course not."
"Your marrying that woman Arabella was about as bad a thing as a man could possibly do for himself by trying hard. But she's gone to the other side of the world, and med never trouble you again. And there'll be a worse thing if you, tied and bound as you be, should have a fancy for Sue. If your cousin is civil to you, take her civility for what it is worth. But anything more than a relation's good wishes it is stark madness for 'ee to give her. If she's townish and wanton it med bring 'ee to ruin."
"Don't say anything against her, Aunt! Don't, please!"
A relief was afforded to him by the entry of the companion and nurse of his aunt, who must have been listening to the conversation, for she began a commentary on past years, introducing Sue Bridehead as a character in her recollections. She described what an odd little maid Sue had been when a pupil at the village school across the green opposite, before her father went to London--how, when the vicar arranged readings and recitations, she appeared on the platform, the smallest of them all, "in her little white frock, and shoes, and pink sash"; how she recited "Excelsior," "There was a sound of revelry by night," and "The Raven"; how during the delivery she would knit her little brows and glare round tragically, and say to the empty air, as if some real creature stood there--
"Ghastly, grim, and ancient Raven, wandering from the Nightly shore, Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"
"She'd bring up the nasty carrion bird that clear," corroborated the sick woman reluctantly, "as she stood there in her little sash and things, that you could see un a'most before your very eyes. You too, Jude, had the same trick as a child of seeming to see things in the air."
The neighbour told also of Sue's accomplishments in other kinds:
"She was not exactly a tomboy, you know; but she could do things that only boys do, as a rule. I've seen her hit in and steer down the long slide on yonder pond, with her little curls blowing, one of a file of twenty moving along against the sky like shapes painted on glass, and up the back slide without stopping. All boys except herself; and then they'd cheer her, and then she'd say, 'Don't be saucy, boys,' and suddenly run indoors. They'd try to coax her out again. But 'a wouldn't come."
These retrospective visions of Sue only made Jude the more miserable that he was unable to woo her, and he left the cottage of his aunt that day with a heavy heart. He would fain have glanced into the school to see the room in which Sue's little figure had so glorified itself; but he checked his desire and went on.
It being Sunday evening some villagers who had known him during his residence here were standing in a group in their best clothes. Jude was startled by a salute from one of them:
"Ye've got there right enough, then!"
Jude showed that he did not understand.
"Why, to the seat of l'arning--the 'City of Light' you used to talk to us about as a little boy! Is it all you expected of it?"
"Yes; more!" cried Jude.
"When I was there once for an hour I didn't see much in it for my part; auld crumbling buildings, half church, half almshouse, and not much going on at that."
"You are wrong, John; there is more going on than meets the eye of a man walking through the streets. It is a unique centre of thought and religion-- the intellectual and spiritual granary of this country. All that silence and absence of goings-on is the stillness of infinite motion--the sleep of the spinning-top, to borrow the simile of a well-known writer."
"Oh, well, it med be all that, or it med not. As I say, I didn't see nothing of it the hour or two I was there; so I went in and had a pot o' beer, and a penny loaf, and a ha'porth o' cheese, and waited till it was time to come along home. You've j'ined a college by this time, I suppose?"
"Ah, no!" said Jude. "I am almost as far off that as ever."
"How so?"
Jude slapped his pocket.
"Just what we thought! Such places be not for such as you-- only for them with plenty o' money."
"There you are wrong," said Jude, with some bitterness. "They are for such ones!"
Still, the remark was sufficient to withdraw Jude's attention from the imaginative world he had lately inhabited, in which an abstract figure, more or less himself, was steeping his mind in a sublimation of the arts and sciences, and making his calling and election sure to a seat in the paradise of the learned. He was set regarding his prospects in a cold northern light. He had lately felt that he could not quite satisfy himself in his Greek--in the Greek of the dramatists particularly. So fatigued was he sometimes after his day's work that he could not maintain the critical attention necessary for thorough application. He felt that he wanted a coach-- a friend at his elbow to tell him in a moment what sometimes would occupy him a weary month in extracting from unanticipative, clumsy books.
It was decidedly necessary to consider facts a little more closely than he had done of late. What was the good, after all, of using up his spare hours in a vague labour called "private study" without giving an outlook on practicabilities?
"I ought to have thought of this before," he said, as he journeyed back. "It would have been better never to have embarked in the scheme at all than to do it without seeing clearly where I am going, or what I am aiming at.... This hovering outside the walls of the colleges, as if expecting some arm to be stretched out from them to lift me inside, won't do! I must get special information."
The next week accordingly he sought it. What at first seemed an opportunity occurred one afternoon when he saw an elderly gentleman, who had been pointed out as the head of a particular college, walking in the public path of a parklike enclosure near the spot at which Jude chanced to be sitting. The gentleman came nearer, and Jude looked anxiously at his face. It seemed benign, considerate, yet rather reserved. On second thoughts Jude felt that he could not go up and address him; but he was sufficiently influenced by the incident to think what a wise thing it would be for him to state his difficulties by letter to some of the best and most judicious of these old masters, and obtain their advice.
During the next week or two he accordingly placed himself in such positions about the city as would afford him glimpses of several of the most distinguished among the provosts, wardens, and other heads of houses; and from those he ultimately selected five whose physiognomies seemed to say to him that they were appreciative and far-seeing men. To these five he addressed letters, briefly stating his difficulties, and asking their opinion on his stranded situation.
When the letters were posted Jude mentally began to criticize them; he wished they had not been sent. "It is just one of those intrusive, vulgar, pushing, applications which are so common in these days," he thought. "Why couldn't I know better than address utter strangers in such a way? I may be an impostor, and idle scamp, a man with a bad character, for all that they know to the contrary.... Perhaps that's what I am!"
Nevertheless, he found himself clinging to the hope of some reply as to his one last chance of redemption. He waited day after day, saying that it was perfectly absurd to expect, yet expecting. While he waited he was suddenly stirred by news about Phillotson. Phillotson was giving up the school near Christminster, for a larger one further south, in Mid-Wessex. What this meant; how it would affect his cousin; whether, as seemed possible, it was a practical move of the schoolmaster's towards a larger income, in view of a provision for two instead of one, he would not allow himself to say. And the tender relations between Phillotson and the young girl of whom Jude was passionately enamoured effectually made it repugnant to Jude's tastes to apply to Phillotson for advice on his own scheme.
Meanwhile the academic dignitaries to whom Jude had written vouchsafed no answer, and the young man was thus thrown back entirely on himself, as formerly, with the added gloom of a weakened hope. By indirect inquiries he soon perceived clearly what he had long uneasily suspected, that to qualify himself for certain open scholarships and exhibitions was the only brilliant course. But to do this a good deal of coaching would be necessary, and much natural ability. It was next to impossible that a man reading on his own system, however widely and thoroughly, even over the prolonged period of ten years, should be able to compete with those who had passed their lives under trained teachers and had worked to ordained lines.
The other course, that of buying himself in, so to speak, seemed the only one really open to men like him, the difficulty being simply of a material kind. With the help of his information he began to reckon the extent of this material obstacle, and ascertained, to his dismay, that, at the rate at which, with the best of fortune, he would be able to save money, fifteen years must elapse before he could be in a position to forward testimonials to the head of a college and advance to a matriculation examination. The undertaking was hopeless.
He saw what a curious and cunning glamour the neighbourhood of the place had exercised over him. To get there and live there, to move among the churches and halls and become imbued with the GENIUS LOCI, had seemed to his dreaming youth, as the spot shaped its charms to him from its halo on the horizon, the obvious and ideal thing to do. "Let me only get there," he had said with the fatuousness of Crusoe over his big boat, "and the rest is but a matter of time and energy." It would have been far better for him in every way if he had never come within sight and sound of the delusive precincts, had gone to some busy commercial town with the sole object of making money by his wits, and thence surveyed his plan in true perspective. Well, all that was clear to him amounted to this, that the whole scheme had burst up, like an iridescent soap-bubble, under the touch of a reasoned inquiry. He looked back at himself along the vista of his past years, and his thought was akin to Heine's:
Above the youth's inspired and flashing eyes I see the motley mocking fool's-cap rise!
Fortunately he had not been allowed to bring his disappointment into his dear Sue's life by involving her in this collapse. And the painful details of his awakening to a sense of his limitations should now be spared her as far as possible. After all, she had only know a little part of the miserable struggle in which he had been engaged thus unequipped, poor, and unforeseeing.
He always remembered the appearance of the afternoon on which he awoke from his dream. Not quite knowing what to do with himself, he went up to an octagonal chamber in the lantern of a singularly built theatre that was set amidst this quaint and singular city. It had windows all round, from which an outlook over the whole town and its edifices could be gained. Jude's eyes swept all the views in succession, meditatively, mournfully, yet sturdily. Those buildings and their associations and privileges were not for him. From the looming roof of the great library, into which he hardly ever had time to enter, his gaze travelled on to the varied spires, halls, gables, streets, chapels, gardens, quadrangles, which composed the ensemble of this unrivalled panorama. He saw that his destiny lay not with these, but among the manual toilers in the shabby purlieu which he himself occupied, unrecognized as part of the city at all by its visitors and panegyrists, yet without whose denizens the hard readers could not read nor the high thinkers live.
He looked over the town into the country beyond, to the trees which screened her whose presence had at first been the support of his heart, and whose loss was now a maddening torture. But for this blow he might have borne with his fate. With Sue as companion he could have renounced his ambitions with a smile. Without her it was inevitable that the reaction from the long strain to which he had subjected himself should affect him disastrously. Phillotson had no doubt passed through a similar intellectual disappointment to that which now enveloped him. But the schoolmaster had been since blest with the consolation of sweet Sue, while for him there was no consoler.
Descending to the streets, he went listlessly along till he arrived at an inn, and entered it. Here he drank several glasses of beer in rapid succession, and when he came out it was night. By the light of the flickering lamps he rambled home to supper, and had not long been sitting at table when his landlady brought up a letter that had just arrived for him. She laid it down as if impressed with a sense of its possible importance, and on looking at it Jude perceived that it bore the embossed stamp of one of the colleges whose heads he had addressed. "ONE--at last!" cried Jude.
The communication was brief, and not exactly what he had expected; though it really was from the master in person. It ran thus:
"BIBLIOLL COLLEGE.
"SIR,--I have read your letter with interest; and, judging from your description of yourself as a working-man, I venture to think that you will have a much better chance of success in life by remaining in your own sphere and sticking to your trade than by adopting any other course. That, therefore, is what I advise you to do. Yours faithfully, "T. TETUPHENAY. "To Mr. J. FAWLEY, Stone-mason."
This terribly sensible advice exasperated Jude. He had known all that before. He knew it was true. Yet it seemed a hard slap after ten years of labour, and its effect upon him just now was to make him rise recklessly from the table, and, instead of reading as usual, to go downstairs and into the street. He stood at a bar and tossed off two or three glasses, then unconsciously sauntered along till he came to a spot called The Fourways in the middle of the city, gazing abstractedly at the groups of people like one in a trance, till, coming to himself, he began talking to the policeman fixed there.
That officer yawned, stretched out his elbows, elevated himself an inch and a half on the balls of his toes, smiled, and looking humorously at Jude, said, "You've had a wet, young man."
"No; I've only begun," he replied cynically.
Whatever his wetness, his brains were dry enough. He only heard in part the policeman's further remarks, having fallen into thought on what struggling people like himself had stood at that crossway, whom nobody ever thought of now. It had more history than the oldest college in the city. It was literally teeming, stratified, with the shades of human groups, who had met there for tragedy, comedy, farce; real enactments of the intensest kind. At Fourways men had stood and talked of Napoleon, the loss of America, the execution of King Charles, the burning of the Martyrs, the Crusades, the Norman Conquest, possibly of the arrival of Caesar. Here the two sexes had met for loving, hating, coupling, parting; had waited, had suffered, for each other; had triumphed over each other; cursed each other in jealousy, blessed each other in forgiveness.
He began to see that the town life was a book of humanity infinitely more palpitating, varied, and compendious than the gown life. These struggling men and women before him were the reality of Christminster, though they knew little of Christ or Minster. That was one of the humours of things. The floating population of students and teachers, who did know both in a way, were not Christminster in a local sense at all.
He looked at his watch, and, in pursuit of this idea, he went on till he came to a public hall, where a promenade concert was in progress. Jude entered, and found the room full of shop youths and girls, soldiers, apprentices, boys of eleven smoking cigarettes, and light women of the more respectable and amateur class. He had tapped the real Christminster life. A band was playing, and the crowd walked about and jostled each other, and every now and then a man got upon a platform and sang a comic song.
The spirit of Sue seemed to hover round him and prevent his flirting and drinking with the frolicsome girls who made advances-- wistful to gain a little joy. At ten o'clock he came away, choosing a circuitous route homeward to pass the gates of the college whose head had just sent him the note.
The gates were shut, and, by an impulse, he took from his pocket the lump of chalk which as a workman he usually carried there, and wrote along the wall:
"I HAVE UNDERSTANDING AS WELL AS YOU; I AM NOT INFERIOR TO YOU: YEA, WHO KNOWETH NOT SUCH THINGS AS THESE?"--Job xii. 3.

裘德的一辈子含辛茹苦的老姑婆在马利格林病倒了，他在下面那个礼拜天去看望她。他本想去趟拉姆登村，忍痛跟他的表亲做一次长谈，借此向她一吐积愫，不过这也很难启口，再说他那天晚上看到的令他极感痛苦的情景，他也只能秘而不宣。他探视站婆正是胜利地克服了原来打算的结果。
他姑婆下不了床，他在那儿短短一天中，绝大部分时间都忙活着种种安排，好让她舒服点。小面包房已经转让给一家邻居。有了变卖所得，加上平时积蓄，她完全用不着为日常吃穿用发愁，再说还有位同村寡妇跟她一块儿过，照她的意思服侍她。到他快走的时候，他才抽出点空跟姑婆安安静静说会子话。他没头没脑地扯到了苏身上。
“苏是在这儿生的吧？”
“对啦——就在这间屋里头。他们那会儿就住在这儿。你问这干吗？”
“哦——我想知道知道。”
“那你一定是跟她常来常往喽！”严厉的老太婆说，“我跟你说什么来着？”
“哎——我没跟她常来常往。”
“你跟她聊过吧？”
“聊过。”
“那你就算了吧。她爸爸把她带大了，就是教她恨她妈娘家人。你这么个干苦活儿的，她才看不上眼呢——她这会儿成了城里派头的姑娘啦。我压根儿都是随她去。不听话的小丫头，老是那么个样儿，还神经兮兮的。就为她顶嘴，我敲了她多少回呀。有那么一天，她连鞋带袜子一脱，就下到塘里去啦，裙子都拉到磕膝头上边。我臊得还没喊出来，她就说：‘姑婆，你一边儿去吧。这可不是讲规矩的人瞧的哟！’”
“她那会儿还是小孩儿哪。”
“怎么说也十二岁啦。”
“就是呀。不过她这会儿人大啦，她人心思细，见事快，脾气好，敏感得就跟——”
“裘德呀！”他始婆大声喊出来，在床上硬挺了一下。“你可别为她再犯糊涂吧！”
“没有，没有，当然没有。”
“你娶了那个叫阿拉贝拉的娘儿们，真算是男人变着法儿干出来的坏事哟。可她这会儿总算到天那边去啦，再不会跟你纠缠啦。你是叫人捆死了的，你要是不知好歹在苏身上打主意，那你干的事儿还要坏哪。表妹妹对你客客气气，你就有礼还礼，也跟她客客气气。亲戚跟亲戚好心好意，可你一过这条线，那你就是为她疯得找死啦。她要是跟城里人一样流里流气，那你就算毁啦。”
“姑婆，别说她坏话吧！别说啦，行吧！”这时候姑婆那位女伴和护理进来了，裘德这才下了台。她准是听见他们的谈话来着，因为她谈起好多年前的旧事来了，讲到她记得的苏•柏瑞和是个什么样的小女孩儿。她说，她爸爸上伦敦之前，她就在草场对面的村办小学上学，接着形容她是个多么古怪精灵的小丫头——那年教区长办了回朗诵和背诵会，她怎么穿着小白罩衫、矮帮鞋，系着粉红带子上了讲台，比谁都小；她怎么背《再高、再高》、《深夜里欢声雷动》和《大老鸹》；背的时候怎么小眉毛拧着，难过地朝四处眨巴眼儿，对着半空里说话，真像那儿有个大老鸹：
“狰狞怕人的大老鸹，你从夜茫茫的海岸出发游荡，
告诉我你那堂皇的名字是什么，在永夜的冥国的榜上！”
“她系着粉红带子什么的站在那儿，把吃臭烂肉的脏老鸹真演活啦。”病老太婆也只好跟着帮腔。“她简直就跟真瞧见老鸹似的。裘德呀，你小时候也会来这一套呢，眼朝上望，对着半天空，跟真瞧见什么一样。”
那位邻居又讲了些苏别的趣事。
“她可不是个调皮鬼，你也知道。可是她平常干的事儿，只有男娃儿才干得出来呢。那回我瞧见她嗖地蹦到那边塘里头，跟着一滑就滑得老远的，小崽发随风飘着。那一串有二十个娃儿，她也是一个，他们一气往塘那头滑，滑过来滑过去，没个停，上边顶着天，样儿就像在玻璃上。那里头就她一个女娃儿，他们都给她叫好。她说，‘男娃儿呀，别那么骚不唧儿的！’抽冷子就跑家里去了。他们想法要把她哄出来，她可不干啦。”
她们回想起来的苏的形象反倒让裘德心里更难过，因为他再休想向她求爱了。离开姑婆的小房子时候，他心里沉甸甸的，很想顺路到那个小学，瞧瞧她小小身影呆过的教室，她在那儿曾大放异彩，但是他克制了这个欲望，继续往前走。
因为是礼拜天晚上，有些人穿着顶好的衣服站在一块儿，他住在村里时候，他们都认识他。其中一位挺客气地跟他打招呼，他倒吓了一跳。
“你总算到了那边啦，对吧？”
裘德露出来没明白他说的意思。
“哎呀，就是那个讲学问的老窝子嘛——你还是孩子时候不就常跟我们讲那个‘光明之城’嘛！那儿都跟你想的一样吧？”
“是呀，还不止我想的哪！”裘德大声说。
“我有回在那儿呆了一个钟头，我这人可没看到多少东西；全是破旧的老大楼哇，一半儿教堂，一半儿善堂，简直没什么活气儿啊。”
“你错啦，约翰；你要是随便在街上逛逛，两只眼就看不出来什么。那儿的活气儿才足哪。它是天下有一无二的思想和宗教的中心哪——存着这个国家学问和精神的大仓库啊。那儿干什么都静悄悄，不那么人来人往闹哄哄的，万有运行，无声无息嘛——借个有名作家打的比方吧，好比陀螺转，瞧着就跟没转一样。”
“哦，好啦，大概是那么回事儿吧，可也不一定那么回事儿，所以我才进了馆子，要了一缸子啤酒、一便士面包、半便士干酪，待到该回家时候才走。我想你到这会儿准是上成了大学吧？”
“哎，没哪！”裘德说。“我离它还远着呢，简直跟从前没两样。”
“怎么搞的？”
裘德拍了拍口袋。
“果然不出所料啊！那地方可不是为你这号人开的——是专门给手里大把大把钱的人开的啊。”
“这你又错啦。”裘德说，嘴里硬，心里难受。“就是为我这号人开的呀！”
乡亲的这番议论按理足以给他指点迷津，叫他从新近陷进去的太虚幻境猛醒回头：那儿有个脱离现实的小人物，说起来不就是他嘛，一门心思要高攀艺术与科学的崇高圣境，邑勉以求，务必在大学问家的乐园中博得一席之地。现在乡亲说得这么露骨了，不容他不好好看看自己的前景如何。就拿近的来说吧，他就觉着对希腊文、特别是希腊文剧作的理解程度，连自己也不满意。每天干完活儿，有时候真累得慌，简直没法保持钻研、分析所不可少的注意力，以求透彻了解。他深深感到没有导师绝对不行——需要一位近在身边的朋友，碰上深文奥义、艰涩难解的著作，就是费一个月精力还是苦于索解的时候，能给他提示要领，使他能对问题豁然贯通，掌握精要。
他不能再这样沉湎于空想了，考虑考虑现实情况是绝对必要的。他以前把他的空闲时间一味用在含混的所谓“个人钻研”上，不看一下实效，到头来究竟有什么收获？
“我早就该这样想啦，”他在回家路上说，“我说要按学习计划来，可是方向既不明，目标又不准，那还不如根本不靠什么计划呢。我老是这么在学院外头瞎转悠，仿佛里头真会伸出胳臂，把我举起来，放到里头去，可哪儿有这门子好事呀！我得找到专门的路道才行哪。”
下个礼拜他就按自己的设想开展活动。有天下午似乎机会来了，一位风度高雅的老先生，人家讲他是某学院院长，正在一块花园似的私人界地上的公用小路散步，正好离裘德坐的地方挺近。老先生走近了一点，裘德心急地盯着他脸看。老先生倒是慈眉善目、能替人着想的样子，不过也透着内向，不大爱搭理人。裘德转念一想，还是不宜冒昧上前跟他搭话。不过这回跟他照个面，虽说事出偶然，对他却大有启发：他想倘若他能给几位德高望重、博学强识的老院长写信，陈述自己的困难，征求他们的意见，倒也不失为聪明之举。
下边一两个礼拜，他心里揣着这个主意到城里他认为适宜的地方呆着，便于有机会见到些超群迈众的院长、学监和其他学院负责人之流；最后他算挑中了五位，按人心不同、各如其面的相法，他们都透着目光如炬、慧眼识人；于是他向五位发了信，简述自己种种困难，请求他们对他在这种难乎为继的状况下何去何从，惠予指教。
信付邮后，裘德思想上又开始觉得这事情办得不妥，但愿那些信都没寄到才好。“这年头到处都是乱拉关系、爱出风头、言行粗鄙的家伙，乱写什么申请信，我怎么会不知道不应该给素昧平生的人这样写信呢？他们总不免往坏里头想，认为我是个招摇撞骗的家伙、好吃懒做的饭桶、生来心术不正的东西……也许我还真是那号人呢。”
尽管这样，他还是始终抱着收到回信的希望，把这看成他起死回生的最后机会。他等了一天又一天，嘴里说再盼着回信可太荒唐了，心里还是盼个没完。就在他等信的工夫，无意中听到费乐生的消息，一下子弄得他心乱如麻。费乐生要推掉基督堂城外那所小学，转到更往南去的中维塞克斯一所大点的小学。这究竟是怎么回事？对他的表亲有什么影响？是不是老师因为现在要担负两个人而不是一个人的生活而采取的切实可行的步骤？看来可能是这么回事儿，可他不想就这么肯定。费乐生跟他自己心坎上供养的年轻姑娘之间那层情好关系叫他极为反感，其结果是他决不会为学习计划向费乐生讨教。
同时，学术界名人仍然没给裘德回音，这年轻人只好跟以前一样全靠自己解决问题。但是，希望如此渺茫弄得他心情更加郁闷。他用了间接办法去打听有什么出路，很快就搞清楚了：让他长期疑虑、惴惴不安的事情，只有靠他取得领取奖学金和助学金资格，才是他唯一能走的光明之路。但是，要达到这个目的，非得接受大量的指导不可，此外要有一些生而具备的才干。另一个问题是，靠自订的程序从事自学的人，无论涉猎多广多深，哪怕持续不断花上十年苦功，要想同在训练有素的教师指导下过着学习生活，而且为取得合格条件早经努力的那些人进行竞争，并指望取得成功，那也是谈何容易啊。
还有一条路，姑且这么说吧，就是用“捐班”办法弄到资格，对他这样人倒不失为实实在在的公开的道路，困难只限于物质方面。他按照自己得到的资料开始核计物质方面的障碍有多大规模，最后计算的结果令他心灰意冷，因为就算他财运极为亨通，有能力按一定比率攒钱，其间也将历尽十五年光阴，方能博得向学院院长呈缴个人全面鉴定的正式证明的机会和参加入学考试的资格。所以采取这条道路在他也毫无希望可言。
他看透了这地方对他施展的迷幻术够多迷离惝忄兄而诡谲多端。想当年它就凭它在天际的一片光景对他展示了魔力，他这个做梦的青年就上了钩，一心想到它那儿，一心想在它那儿生活，一心想在学院和教堂中间徜徉，一心想儒染所谓“地方精神”，认为这一切都是彰明较著、要悉心毕力以赴的理想。“只要我到了那儿，”他就像克鲁索那样大言不惭地对他的大船说，“下边什么事就看我的时间精力啦。”如果他当初根本没陷进这假象充斥之地，不慑于它的外观与空谈，而是到热闹繁忙的商业城市去，凭自己的精明强干，以赚钱发财为目标，脚踏实地来评估自己的计划，无论怎么样，一切都会胜强百倍啊。唉，这一比较，事情也就显得十分亮堂。学习计划受到了理性的检验，也就跟五光十色的肥皂泡一样，一下子炸碎了。他回顾以往多年自己的足迹，感触独深，正应了海涅说的话：
在那年轻人的富于灵感而炯炯有神的双眸的上空，
我瞧见身披彩衣、装腔作势的愚人帽在晃动。
所幸的是，他以前没机会把亲爱的苏也牵扯进他这一败涂地的境遇，没给她的生活注入失望。而且他终于明白过来自身本来就有的种种条件限制，而这个痛苦的觉醒过程现在不该让她了解。对他从前如何在妙手空空、一贫如洗、前途难卜的条件下所进行的惨痛的斗争，她毕竟所知有限。
他永远忘不了那个下午他从梦中醒来的光景，当时他恍恍惚惚，不知怎么才好，于是走进了圆形会堂。它是这有异常动人风貌的独特城市的独特建筑，顶上是带天窗的八角形阁楼，每面均有窗户，从那儿可纵览全城和它的巍峨建筑。裘德登上了阁楼，凭窗骋目，景色一望无余。他心绪万千，悲愤填膺，同时屹然不屈，崇楼杰阁以及与它脽拓联着的事物与特权，根本与他无缘。他凝视从前没工夫一顾的宏大图书馆浮现在空中的房顶，而随着阳光照临之处又是林林总总的尖塔、学院、山墙、街衢、礼拜堂和四方院，这一切构成了举世无双的风光，犹如气势磅礴的大合奏。他看明白他的命运不是寄托在这些东西上，而是留在自己身在其内的劳动者中间，同他们一块儿在自己也寄居的穷街陋巷中安身立命。尽管观光者和颂扬者根本不承认它们是城市本身一部分，然而若没有那儿的栖居者，勤奋的读书人固然读不成书，高尚的思想家也活不下去。
他的目光越过城区，投向远处的乡间，葱笼的林木挡住了他的视线，把她掩蔽起来了。原先她的音容笑貌成了他的心灵的依靠，而同她的睽离却变成令人发狂的精神折磨。对于这一重打击，他或许可以诿之于命该如此，勉能承受。有苏同他形影相依，不论他的野心落到什么样的结局，他总可付之一笑。而没有苏，他长期承受的身心过度紧张所产生的反应势必对他造成悲惨后果。费乐生以前求知问道无疑也曾碰到他所尝到的那样闭门羹而痛感失望。然而小学教师如今有了甜蜜的苏，这就使他得了安慰，也有了福。而他又有谁来安慰呢！
他从阁楼下来，到了街上，无精打采地往前走，到了一个客店前面，就进去了。他很快一连喝了三杯啤酒，出来时候已是掌灯时分，在闪烁的路灯光下，悠悠荡荡地回家吃晚饭。在桌子旁边没坐多大一会儿，房东太太给他送来一封刚到的信。她放信的时候，脸上煞有介事地一副预感发生大事的神气。裘德一看，上面有个学院的钢印，他曾经向该院院长发过信。“着啊——最后总算来了一个啦！”裘德大声喊道。
信的内容简短，跟他盼望已久的内容未免南辕北辙，不过的确是以院长个人名义寄来的。内容写的是：
石匠 J．福来先生：
接读大函，甚感兴趣。据你所述，得悉你为工人。现不揣冒昧，奉告如次：你似应谨守本业，一以贯之，则成功机会必不负苦心人，较另择高就稗益良多。鄙见如此，谨覆。
T．太徒弗奈于圣书学院
这个意见真是洞明世态，人情人理极了，但是裘德却大为恼火。他本来明知是这么回事，也知道它说的是大实话，可是他感到这是对他的十年辛苦狠狠揍了一巴掌。这下子影响实在太大了，他一气之下，什么都不顾了，猛地从桌边挺起身子，不是照平常那样看书，而是朝楼下跑。他上了街，站在一个吧台旁边，稀里糊涂地三杯酒一饮而尽，然后稀里糊涂地往前走，一直走到城市中部一个叫四路口的地方，昏昏沉沉地盯着一群人，神不守舍。后来他清醒过来了，开始跟站岗的警察搭起话来。
警察打了个阿欠，伸了伸胳臂肘，脚后跟往一块儿一磕，长了一英寸半，觉着挺有味儿地望着裘德，说：“小伙子，你醉了吧？”
“没醉，还早着呢。”他故意说俏皮话。
不管他这会儿多软弱，他脑子倒是完全没有乱。警察下边说的话，他只听见了一两句。他苦苦思索，多少像他这样百般苦斗的人站在这十字路口上，从来也没人搭理过。路口的历史比城里最古老的学院的历史还悠久呢。一点也不假，在它那儿着实看得到历代古人阴魂不散，成群结队，挤挤撞撞；他们会聚在那儿，演出过喜剧、悲剧和笑剧；那可是真人真事，真刀真熗的表演，激烈紧张到了无以复加的程度。人们当年站在四路口，大谈特谈拿破仑怎样胜利和失败呀，美洲怎样沦于敌手呀，查理王怎样被处决呀，殉教者怎样受火刑呀，十字军怎样跨海东征呀，诺曼底的威廉怎样征服呀，说不定还要讲到恺撒怎样挥师长驱直入，兵临城下呢。多少男男女女在这儿凑到一块儿，相爱了，反目了；成婚了，仳离了；你等着我，我念着你；你因我吃苦，我为你受罪；你占我上风，我压你气势；吃起醋来，就你骂我不得好死，我咒你不得超生，然后又回心转意，和好如初，但求上天保佑，有福同享。
他开始认识到市井生活是一部人性的万宝全书，它搏动有力，生生不息；它变化多端，花样百出；它小中见大，粗中有细；这样一看，市井生活比长袍先生的学院生活真是无限地高明啊。他前面这些为生活苦苦挣扎的男男女女才是基督堂的真正本色，虽然他们简直不知道什么“基督”呀，或什么“堂”。事情往往就这么令人忍俊不禁，这也是其一。至于那流动不居的学生和导师脽吞然从他们的角度对“基督”或“堂”自有一番见解，可那完全不是当地原汁原味的基督堂。
他看看表；为了印证他的观感，一直走下去，进了一家大众娱乐厅，里边有个不设座位的音乐会正在演奏。裘德一进去，就瞧见屋里到处是铺子的小伙计。大姑娘、丘八大爷、学徒、叼着香烟的十一岁的娃儿们、还算体面人家的出来想打野食的轻挑娘儿们。真正的基督堂生活啊，他算是人门啦。乐队奏着曲子，大群人转来转去，你推我操。一会儿隔一会儿，汉子们跑上去，唱个凑趣逗乐的歌儿。
但是苏的精灵似乎老跟着他，不许他跟风骚的小妞儿调情、喝酒；她们直往他这边儿凑，变着法儿要在他身上找点乐子。七点钟一到，他就走了，宁肯绕个大圈子往家走，为的是经过给他写信的院长的学院的大门。
大门关着。冲动之下，他从口袋里掏出当工人的总是随身带着的笔，顺着院墙一挥而就：
“我也有聪明，与你们一样，并非不及你们；你们所说的，
谁不知道呢？”
——《约伯记》第十二章第三节
Part 2 Chapter

[table=80%,#ffffff,#000000,1][tr][td]Part 3
AT MELCHESTER
"For there was no other girl, O bridegroom, like her!"--SAPPHO (H.T. Wharton).

“啊，新郎，何尝有姑娘才貌堪比伊人！”
——萨芙（H.T.沃顿）
Part 3 Chapter 1
IT was a new idea--the ecclesiastical and altruistic life as distinct from the intellectual and emulative life. A man could preach and do good to his fellow-creatures without taking double-firsts in the schools of Christminster, or having anything but ordinary knowledge. The old fancy which had led on to the culminating vision of the bishopric had not been an ethical or theological enthusiasm at all, but a mundane ambition masquerading in a surplice. He feared that his whole scheme had degenerated to, even though it might not have originated in, a social unrest which had no foundation in the nobler instincts; which was purely an artificial product of civilization. There were thousands of young men on the same self-seeking track at the present moment. The sensual hind who ate, drank, and lived carelessly with his wife through the days of his vanity was a more likable being than he.
But to enter the Church in such an unscholarly way that he could not in any probability rise to a higher grade through all his career than that of the humble curate wearing his life out in an obscure village or city slum--that might have a touch of goodness and greatness in it; that might be true religion, and a purgatorial course worthy of being followed by a remorseful man.
The favourable light in which this new thought showed itself by contrast with his foregone intentions cheered Jude, as he sat there, shabby and lonely; and it may be said to have given, during the next few days, the COUP DE GRACE to his intellectual career--a career which had extended over the greater part of a dozen years. He did nothing, however, for some long stagnant time to advance his new desire, occupying himself with little local jobs in putting up and lettering headstones about the neighbouring villages, and submitting to be regarded as a social failure, a returned purchase, by the half-dozen or so of farmers and other country-people who condescended to nod to him.
The human interest of the new intention--and a human interest is indispensable to the most spiritual and self-sacrificing-- was created by a letter from Sue, bearing a fresh postmark. She evidently wrote with anxiety, and told very little about her own doings, more than that she had passed some sort of examination for a Queen's Scholarship, and was going to enter a training college at Melchester to complete herself for the vocation she had chosen, partly by his influence. There was a theological college at Melchester; Melchester was a quiet and soothing place, almost entirely ecclesiastical in its tone; a spot where worldly learning and intellectual smartness had no establishment; where the altruistic feeling that he did possess would perhaps be more highly estimated than a brilliancy which he did not.
As it would be necessary that he should continue for a time to work at his trade while reading up Divinity, which he had neglected at Christminster for the ordinary classical grind, what better course for him than to get employment at the further city, and pursue this plan of reading? That his excessive human interest in the new place was entirely of Sue's making, while at the same time Sue was to be regarded even less than formerly as proper to create it, had an ethical contradictoriness to which he was not blind. But that much he conceded to human frailty, and hoped to learn to love her only as a friend and kinswoman.
He considered that he might so mark out his coming years as to begin his ministry at the age of thirty--an age which much attracted him as being that of his exemplar when he first began to teach in Galilee. This would allow him plenty of time for deliberate study, and for acquiring capital by his trade to help his aftercourse of keeping the necessary terms at a theological college.
Christmas had come and passed, and Sue had gone to the Melchester Normal School. The time was just the worst in the year for Jude to get into new employment, and he had written suggesting to her that he should postpone his arrival for a month or so, till the days had lengthened. She had acquiesced so readily that he wished he had not proposed it-- she evidently did not much care about him, though she had never once reproached him for his strange conduct in coming to her that night, and his silent disappearance. Neither had she ever said a word about her relations with Mr. Phillotson.
Suddenly, however, quite a passionate letter arrived from Sue. She was quite lonely and miserable, she told him. She hated the place she was in; it was worse than the ecclesiastical designer's; worse than anywhere. She felt utterly friendless; could he come immediately?--though when he did come she would only be able to see him at limited times, the rules of the establishment she found herself in being strict to a degree. It was Mr. Phillotson who had advised her to come there, and she wished she had never listened to him.
Phillotson's suit was not exactly prospering, evidently; and Jude felt unreasonably glad. He packed up his things and went to Melchester with a lighter heart than he had known for months.
This being the turning over a new leaf he duly looked about for a temperance hotel, and found a little establishment of that description in the street leading from the station. When he had had something to eat he walked out into the dull winter light over the town bridge, and turned the corner towards the Close. The day was foggy, and standing under the walls of the most graceful architectural pile in England he paused and looked up. The lofty building was visible as far as the roofridge; above, the dwindling spire rose more and more remotely, till its apex was quite lost in the mist drifting across it.
The lamps now began to be lighted, and turning to the west front he walked round. He took it as a good omen that numerous blocks of stone were lying about, which signified that the cathedral was undergoing restoration or repair to a considerable extent. It seemed to him, full of the superstitions of his beliefs, that this was an exercise of forethought on the part of a ruling Power, that he might find plenty to do in the art he practised while waiting for a call to higher labours.
Then a wave of warmth came over him as he thought how near he now stood to the bright-eyed vivacious girl with the broad forehead and pile of dark hair above it; the girl with the kindling glance, daringly soft at times--something like that of the girls he had seen in engravings from paintings of the Spanish school. She was here-- actually in this Close--in one of the houses confronting this very west facade.
He went down the broad gravel path towards the building. It was an ancient edifice of the fifteenth century, once a palace, now a training-school, with mullioned and transomed windows, and a courtyard in front shut in from the road by a wall. Jude opened the gate and went up to the door through which, on inquiring for his cousin, he was gingerly admitted to a waiting-room, and in a few minutes she came.
Though she had been here such a short while, she was not as he had seen her last. All her bounding manner was gone; her curves of motion had become subdued lines. The screens and subtleties of convention had likewise disappeared. Yet neither was she quite the woman who had written the letter that summoned him. That had plainly been dashed off in an impulse which second thoughts had somewhat regretted; thoughts that were possibly of his recent self-disgrace. Jude was quite overcome with emotion.
"You don't--think me a demoralized wretch--for coming to you as I was-- and going so shamefully, Sue?"
"Oh, I have tried not to! You said enough to let me know what had caused it. I hope I shall never have any doubt of your worthiness, my poor Jude! And I am glad you have come!"
She wore a murrey-coloured gown with a little lace collar. It was made quite plain, and hung about her slight figure with clinging gracefulness. Her hair, which formerly she had worn according to the custom of the day was now twisted up tightly, and she had altogether the air of a woman clipped and pruned by severe discipline, an under-brightness shining through from the depths which that discipline had not yet been able to reach.
She had come forward prettily, but Jude felt that she had hardly expected him to kiss her, as he was burning to do, under other colours than those of cousinship. He could not perceive the least sign that Sue regarded him as a lover, or ever would do so, now that she knew the worst of him, even if he had the right to behave as one; and this helped on his growing resolve to tell her of his matrimonial entanglement, which he had put off doing from time to time in sheer dread of losing the bliss of her company.
Sue came out into the town with him, and they walked and talked with tongues centred only on the passing moments. Jude said he would like to buy her a little present of some sort, and then she confessed, with something of shame, that she was dreadfully hungry. They were kept on very short allowances in the college, and a dinner, tea, and supper all in one was the present she most desired in the world. Jude thereupon took her to an inn and ordered whatever the house afforded, which was not much. The place, however, gave them a delightful opportunity for a TETE-A-TETE, nobody else being in the room, and they talked freely.
She told him about the school as it was at that date, and the rough living, and the mixed character of her fellow-students, gathered together from all parts of the diocese, and how she had to get up and work by gas-light in the early morning, with all the bitterness of a young person to whom restraint was new. To all this he listened; but it was not what he wanted especially to know--her relations with Phillotson. That was what she did not tell. When they had sat and eaten, Jude impulsively placed his hand upon hers; she looked up and smiled, and took his quite freely into her own little soft one, dividing his fingers and coolly examining them, as if they were the fingers of a glove she was purchasing.
"Your hands are rather rough, Jude, aren't they?" she said.
"Yes. So would yours be if they held a mallet and chisel all day."
"I don't dislike it, you know. I think it is noble to see a man's hands subdued to what he works in.... Well, I'm rather glad I came to this training-school, after all. See how independent I shall be after the two years' training! I shall pass pretty high, I expect, and Mr. Phillotson will use his influence to get me a big school."
She had touched the subject at last. "I had a suspicion, a fear," said Jude, "that he--cared about you rather warmly, and perhaps wanted to marry you."
"Now don't be such a silly boy!"
"He has said something about it, I expect."
"If he had, what would it matter? An old man like him!"
"Oh, come, Sue; he's not so very old. And I know what I saw him doing
"Not kissing me--that I'm certain!"
"No. But putting his arm round your waist."
"Ah--I remember. But I didn't know he was going to."
"You are wriggling out if it, Sue, and it isn't quite kind!"
Her ever-sensitive lip began to quiver, and her eye to blink, at something this reproof was deciding her to say.
"I know you'll be angry if I tell you everything, and that's why I don't want to!"
"Very well, then, dear," he said soothingly. "I have no real right to ask you, and I don't wish to know."
"I shall tell you!" said she, with the perverseness that was part of her. "This is what I have done: I have promised--I have promised--that I will marry him when I come out of the training-school two years hence, and have got my certificate; his plan being that we shall then take a large double school in a great town--he the boys' and I the girls'-- as married school-teachers often do, and make a good income between us."
"Oh, Sue! ... But of course it is right--you couldn't have done better!"
He glanced at her and their eyes met, the reproach in his own belying his words. Then he drew his hand quite away from hers, and turned his face in estrangement from her to the window. Sue regarded him passively without moving.
"I knew you would be angry!" she said with an air of no emotion whatever. "Very well--I am wrong, I suppose! I ought not to have let you come to see me! We had better not meet again; and we'll only correspond at long intervals, on purely business matters!"
This was just the one thing he would not be able to bear, as she probably knew, and it brought him round at once. "Oh yes, we will," he said quickly. "Your being engaged can make no difference to me whatever. I have a perfect right to see you when I want to; and I shall!"
"Then don't let us talk of it any more. It is quite spoiling our evening together. What does it matter about what one is going to do two years hence!"
She was something of a riddle to him, and he let the subject drift away. "Shall we go and sit in the cathedral?" he asked, when their meal was finished.
"Cathedral? Yes. Though I think I'd rather sit in the railway station," she answered, a remnant of vexation still in her voice. "That's the centre of the town life now. The cathedral has had its day!"
"How modern you are!"
"So would you be if you had lived so much in the Middle Ages as I have done these last few years! The cathedral was a very good place four or five centuries ago; but it is played out now ... I am not modern, either. I am more ancient than mediaevalism, if you only knew."
Jude looked distressed.
"There--I won't say any more of that!" she cried. "Only you don't know how bad I am, from your point of view, or you wouldn't think so much of me, or care whether I was engaged or not. Now there's just time for us to walk round the Close, then I must go in, or I shall be locked out for the night."
He took her to the gate and they parted. Jude had a conviction that his unhappy visit to her on that sad night had precipitated this marriage engagement, and it did anything but add to his happiness. Her reproach had taken that shape, then, and not the shape of words. However, next day he set about seeking employment, which it was not so easy to get as at Christminster, there being, as a rule, less stone-cutting in progress in this quiet city, and hands being mostly permanent. But he edged himself in by degrees. His first work was some carving at the cemetery on the hill; and ultimately he became engaged on the labour he most desired-- the cathedral repairs, which were very extensive, the whole interior stonework having been overhauled, to be largely replaced by new. It might be a labour of years to get it all done, and he had confidence enough in his own skill with the mallet and chisel to feel that it would be a matter of choice with himself how long he would stay.
The lodgings he took near the Close Gate would not have disgraced a curate, the rent representing a higher percentage on his wages than mechanics of any sort usually care to pay. His combined bed and sitting-room was furnished with framed photographs of the rectories and deaneries at which his landlady had lived as trusted servant in her time, and the parlour downstairs bore a clock on the mantelpiece inscribed to the effect that it was presented to the same serious-minded woman by her fellow-servants on the occasion of her marriage. Jude added to the furniture of his room by unpacking photographs of the ecclesiastical carvings and monuments that he had executed with his own hands; and he was deemed a satisfactory acquisition as tenant of the vacant apartment.
He found an ample supply of theological books in the city book-shops, and with these his studies were recommenced in a different spirit and direction from his former course. As a relaxation from the Fathers, and such stock works as Paley and Butler, he read Newman, Pusey, and many other modern lights. He hired a harmonium, set it up in his lodging, and practised chants thereon, single and double.

进教会为他人谋福和勤学问为自身进取本是风马牛不相及的两回事：这就是裘德现在形成的新见解。一个人就算没在基督堂的学院得过双优，或者只有一般常识，别无他长，他照样可以布道传经，为自己的同类做好事。他原先的梦想是力争扶摇直上，以有朝一日荣登主教宝座为一生光辉的顶点，其实那不过是用宗教法衣伪装起来的凡夫俗子的野心罢了，哪儿谈得上积德行善，宏扬圣教的热忱。他现在很担心自己原来的计划，不论立意如何，已经堕落到钻社会空子，以求个人发迹，因为它根本不是以高尚信念为基础，纯属人类文明制造的一类赝品。眼下不是正有成千上万的青年一心在谋求私利的道路上奔竞征逐吗？倒是那“食、色，性也”的乡下当长工的，只管酒足饭饱，胡乱跟老婆睡热炕头，终年浑浑噩噩过日子，还要比他叫人多几分好感呢。
但是，如果他不以学者之身进教会，他肯定毕生不得跻身高级神职，充其极不过在偏僻乡村和城市贫民窟当个默默无闻的副牧师，朝夕奔忙，了此一生——不过这也许另具一种高尚品格，可以称之为名副其实的宗教吧，对于一个已追悔过去、天良发现的人，更不失为一条涤净灵魂污浊的道路。
他坐在那儿固然一副孤单寒酸相，但是这种有益的启示展现了他的新思想与旧意图之间的强烈对比，使他深受鼓舞。无妨说，以后若干天，他终于对以往十二年中占了大部分时间的求知生活做了彻底的清算。不过，此后相当一段时间，他却无所作为，停滞不前，没有把新理想积极向前推进，而是一天到晚在邻近村子就地忙着錾墓碑、镌碑文之类零活儿，甘心让六七个庄稼汉和老乡把他当个被社会甩掉的失败分子、卖不出去的废品，赏脸跟他打打招呼。
他的新意图也夹进了对人的情趣（连四大皆空。舍身殉道的人物也难免有对人的情趣），而这又是苏的来信一手制造的，信封上有个新地点邮戳。显然她因挂念他才写信，对自己究竟干什么语焉不详，只讲了通过什么考试，取得女王助学金，即将去麦尔切斯特一所进修学校上学，以取得她选择的职业所必备的资格云云——说实在的，她之做这样的选择不无他一份功劳。麦尔切斯特有所神学院；麦尔切斯特又是恬静宁谧的地方，差不多处处充满基督教气息，令人尘虑顿消，心旷神。冶，在那样的地方可没有卖弄世上风行的学问和聪明的地盘；他现在有心舍己为人，在当地或许比他所缺少的才华更受人尊重。
他在基督堂时专心致志于一般古典著作，对神学有所忽视，现在当然须在这方面补读才是，不过他也不能不继续干自己那行。那么到稍远的城市找职业，同时把这项读书计划付诸实现，岂不是一举两得的好办法？至于说他因新地方所引起的对人的情趣过于浓厚，究其所以，苏难礋筒咎，因为她恰在此时兴此事端，比之以往，就更不相宜。就他本身而言，与此有关的伦理道德方面的矛盾性质，他并非视而不见，不过他又承认人类固有的弱点在所难免，他希望做到能在朋友和表亲关系范围内爱她就好。
他考虑今后这样划分自己的岁月：三十岁开始自己的传教事业——这个年纪对他颇有吸引力，因为先圣就是这个年纪头一次在加利利开始布道。这样他既可以有充裕时间潜心研究，又能靠手艺赚到足够的钱，以备他日支应在神学院修完各学期的必修课。
圣诞节来了又过去了，苏已到麦尔切斯特入学。然而对裘德来说，这恰好是一年里顶难找到工作的季节，于是他写信给苏，表示大概得推迟个把月才能到麦尔切斯特，因为到彼时天就长了。她随即表示同意，不过这又叫他后悔不迭，不该提那个意见——显然她拿他不当回事儿，虽说她压根儿没对他那晚上到她那儿，之后又偷偷溜走的古怪行为加以责备。她跟费乐生的关系，她也压根儿只字不提。
但是没想到她又来了封情真意挚的信。她告诉他，她觉得很孤独、很忧伤。她讨厌她呆的地方，它比她当过圣器设计师的地方还糟，比什么地方都糟。她感受不到一丁点友爱之情。他能不能马上就来呢？——不过就算他来了，她也只能在限定时间内跟他见面。她认为学校种种规定太严，与自己格格不入。原来是费乐生先生力促她到这地方，早知如此，她当初决不会听他的话。
显而易见，费乐生的求婚过程不见得一帆风顺。裘德因此而幸灾乐祸地感到高兴。于是他束装就道，前往麦尔切斯特，心情比前几个月轻松多了。
他的生活至此翻开了新篇，所以特意要住不卖酒的旅馆，结果在通往车站的路上找到一家，门面不大，条件合适。吃了点东西，他就出了旅馆，在冬日阴凄的光芒下走上市桥，转个弯，朝大教堂的界园走去。那天雾濛濛的，他在那座在英国以精美绝伦著称的建筑学杰作的围墙外止步不前，举目观赏。气势恢宏的大教堂的屋脊分明可见，其上塔楼身影则越往上越模糊，最后塔尖就在飘动的雾中隐没。
街灯这时亮起来了，他转到大教堂正西面，走了个来回。那儿堆放着很多大块石头，说明大教堂正在进行全面修复或大面积整修，他感到这是个好兆头。他现在信仰里的迷信色彩很浓，以为这正是统驭万方的神明力量有心预先安排，以便在他等着从事更高一筹的劳动时候，先把他熟练的那行的大堆活儿给他干。
他不由得想到臒兔娘，她目光莹澈，前额广洁，额上乌发堆云，洋溢着欢快活泼的青春气息；她顾盼之间，自然流露着明亮的温柔，令人心醉，那意态叫他想起看过的西班牙派铜版画上的女郎。她这会儿离他站的地方够多近啊，想到这里，一股暖流通过了他的全身。她就在这儿啊，绝对在这界园之内啊，就在正对大教堂的西前脸的房子中间的一座里边啊。
他顺着宽阔的石铺甬道向那座十五世纪的古老壮观的大楼走去。它原先是王宫，如今成了进修学校，上面装有直棂窗和横槅窗，楼前是大院，围墙把外面的道路界开。裘德开了界园大门，走到楼门，打听他的表亲，人家把他轻手轻脚引进接待室。几分钟后，她进来了。
虽然她到那地方为时甚暂，但与他上次所见大为改观，以往轻快活泼的风度完全不见了，原来的切娜多姿转为板滞生硬。往常她对习俗虚与委蛇，巧妙周旋，绝不形诸词色，此时也同样见不到了。然而她又不完全是那位写信召他前来的女人。那封信显然是她一时冲动，不暇细择，仓促落笔的，过后一想，又有点后悔莫及，而她之作如此想，恐怕跟他前次自己造孽、丑态百出大有关系。想到这里，裘德不禁方寸大乱。
“苏，你不会因为我上回到你那儿那个狼狈样——又那样不要脸地溜掉，把我当成堕落的坏蛋吧？”
“哦，我可是费了好大劲儿才不那么想呢！你已经跟我说了怎么回事，说也说够了。我的亲爱的裘德，我希望从今以后再不会对你高尚的情操发生怀疑啦！你来了，我多高兴啊！”
她穿着带小花边领子的深绛色长袍，这件衣服做得朴实无华，恰好紧裹住她那苗条的腰身，分外显得淡雅宜人。她以前头发是按通行样式梳的，现在紧紧绾成个髻，整个神态表明她是个经过严厉纪律约束与调教的女人。但纪律无法管到她内心深处，潜在的灵性依然放出光芒。
她款款走过来，姿态美妙。裘德本来心急火燎地要吻她，但感到她不大会让他吻，他们只能守着表亲规矩，不可逾越。他的确看不出来苏有哪一点把他看成情人的迹象，或者以后会这样。既然她已了解他的最差一面，就算他有权得为情人，那也办不到了；不过这也有好处，可以促使他的决心下得越来越大，一定把他的一团糟的婚姻状况向她说个明白，而他先前所以一再延迟，就是因为实在怕失去同她相处的无穷乐趣。
她跟他一块儿走到市内，一路上谈个不停，无非是些闲杂话。裘德说他想买件小礼物送她，她却有点不好意思地表示她实在饿得慌。她们在学校只靠那么点津贴过日子，她这会儿极想得到的礼物就是把正餐、茶点和晚餐并起来，大吃一顿。裘德把她带到一家小客店，凡能上桌的东西都要到了，其实也没多少样。不过屋子里没人，倒给他们提供了称心的促膝交谈的机会。
她给他讲了那阵子学校的状况：简陋的生活条件，从主教区四面八方聚到一起的同学，各色人等，良莠不齐，以及她如何一大早起床，在汽灯下用功。说话时带着年轻人初次尝到从未经过的约束而引起的满腹牢骚。他只是听，一声不响；不过他特别想知道她跟费乐生的关系，这方面她什么也没提。在他们吃个不停的中间，裘德一时动情，把手放在她手上，她抬起头来，微微一笑，很自然地把他的手放在自己的柔软的小手上，掰开他的指头，不动声色地细细察看，仿佛它们是她正要买的手套的指头部分。
“裘德，你手真够粗的，对吧？”她说。
“对啊，你要是手指头天天抓锤子、凿子，也要这么粗啊。”
“我可不是不喜欢这样，这你明白。我认为一个人因为干活，手指头那样粗，你一看就觉着多高尚……好啦，我到了这个学校，心里还算高兴。两年一过，你就看见我独立到了什么程度！我的毕业成绩一定相当不错，费乐生先生要利用各方面关系，替我弄个大点小学教。”
她终于接触到这个话题。“我以前有点怀疑，有点不放心，”裘德说：“他待你这么热乎，怕是想跟你结婚吧。”
“别这样瞎七瞎八好吧。”
“我看他准是提过啦。”
“就是提了，又怎么样？他那么老大不小的。”
“哦，得了吧，苏，他年纪还不算大。我知道我瞧见过他干什么来着——”
“总不是吻我吧——这我敢打保票！”
“不是。不过他拿胳臂搂着你的腰来着。”
“哎——这我倒记得。可是我当时不知道他要这样。”
“你别这么兜圈子，一点不沾边，苏，你这样可不好啊。”
她的一向敏感的嘴唇颤动起来，眼睛开始一眨一眨的，这表示她为了这样的责难，忍不住要说什么。
“我知道我要是什么都跟你说了，你准生气，所以我才不想跟你说。”
“好啦，好啦，亲爱的，”裘德宽慰她，“我根本无权过问，再说我也不想知道。”
“我一定跟你说！”她说，表现出与生俱来的桀骛不驯。“我干的就是这个：我答应过——答应过，两年之后，我打师范学校毕业，拿到文凭，就嫁给他。他计划在大城市找个规模大的男女生合校的小学——他管男生，我管女生——结了婚的小学老师夫妇都这么办，这一来我们的收入就可观了。”
“哦，苏啊！……不过这当然合适不过喽——你这么着太好啦。”
他倏地瞧了她一眼，两下里眼光一对，他话里没说的意思，由眼睛说出来了。接着他把手从她手上抽出来，不高兴地掉开脸不看她，对着窗户。苏可是纹丝没动，只是冷冷地看他。
“我知道你准生气！”苏说，脸上看不出来感情变化。“那好吧——我看我还是错啦！我根本不该要你上这儿来看我。咱们顶好以后别见面；隔一大段时间写写信就行啦，信里纯粹谈点不痛不痒的官腔就行啦！”
这话正好触到他的痛处，大概她心里也知道，于是他又立刻把脸掉过来。“哦，对呀，咱们就这么办，”他挺麻利地说，“你订不订婚在我反正都一样。我完全有权利来看你，什么时想来看，就来看。我一定这样！”
“那咱们就别往下谈这个啦。这晚上，咱们在一块儿好好的，这一下给砸啦。两年之后，到底干什么，谁说得准呢！”
对他来说，她可是不大容易猜透的，他也就把这个题目撂开了。“咱们上大教堂那儿坐坐，好不好？”吃完饭，他问道。
“大教堂？好吧。不过我宁可上火车站坐坐。”她答道，声音里还留有一丝不快之意。“那地方现在是城市生活的中心呢。大教堂兴旺日子过去啦。”
“瞧你可真够新派的！”
“你要是跟我一样，前几年在中世纪过了那么久，你也要这个样啊！四五个世纪以前，大教堂的确是非常好的地方，可是这会儿它的戏唱完啦。……我倒算不上什么新派。我比古老的中世纪还古老，你但凡懂得就好啦。”
裘德露出难受样子。
“算啦——我决不再说这话啦！”她大声说。“现在问题是，按你的看法，你并不知道我有多坏，要不然你就不会为我想了那么多，也不会为我订了婚还是没订婚，心里老嘀咕。现在咱们绕着界园走过去吧，正好是时候，等下我就得进去，要不然整夜都给钞在外头啦。”
他陪她到了大门，就跟她分手了。裘德深信准是那个可悲的夜晚，他对她的讨厌的骚扰促成了那个婚约。就他而言，也就成了他的不幸。所以她是用这种形式责怪他，而非形诸言语。尽管如此，第二天他仍然着手找工作，这可不像在基督堂那么容易，在那座宁谧的城市，凿石之声罕闻，而且这方面人手大多是长期雇用的。不过他还是想方设法慢慢挤了进去，先是在山岗上墓园找到镌刻活儿，最后人家还薀屯了他去干他一心想干的活儿——大教堂修复工程，规模很大，内部所有石头作品都要大修，基本上更新。
要完成大教堂修复工程大概要花好几年时间，他对自己运用锤子和凿子的本领信心十足，因此他认为干长干短，都看他自己怎么选择。
他在界园大门附近的住处，要按副牧师的身份，面子上也过得去，租金占他的工钱的比例，要比一般干技术活的师傅通常愿意出的高一截。他那间兼做卧室和起坐室的屋子里原来摆着教区长和大教长住宅的加了框子的照片，女房东当年是这两处的管家，在里边住过。楼下客厅的壁炉搁板上放着一口钟，上面刻的字说明它是当时与这个正派女人同事的仆人在她结婚时送的礼品。裘德也把自己的包打开，取出自己亲手制作的教会装饰用石刻作品和纪念碑的照片，与原来的陈设并列。房东认为他租了这间空屋子确实不错，是位令人满意的房客。
他发现市内书店大量供应神学读物。有别于从前的路子，如今他是按新精神和新方向重新开始学习。他读了《神父文集》和诸如佩利和巴特勒的大部头著作；作为调剂，又改读纽门、普赛和其他近代著名人士的著作。他还租了架小风琴摆在家里，用它练习弹奏单、复式重唱的圣歌。
Part 3 Chapter 2
"TO-MORROW is our grand day, you know. Where shall we go?"
"I have leave from three till nine. Wherever we can get to and come back from in that time. Not ruins, Jude--I don't care for them."
"Well--Wardour Castle. And then we can do Fonthill if we like-- all in the same afternoon."
"Wardour is Gothic ruins--and I hate Gothic!"
"No. Quite otherwise. It is a classic building--Corinthian, I think; with a lot of pictures."
"Ah--that will do. I like the sound of Corinthian. We'll go."
Their conversation had run thus some few weeks later, and next morning they prepared to start. Every detail of the outing was a facet reflecting a sparkle to Jude, and he did not venture to meditate on the life of inconsistency he was leading. His Sue's conduct was one lovely conundrum to him; he could say no more.
There duly came the charm of calling at the college door for her; her emergence in a nunlike simplicity of costume that was rather enforced than desired; the traipsing along to the station, the porters' "B'your leave!," the screaming of the trains-- everything formed the basis of a beautiful crystallization. Nobody stared at Sue, because she was so plainly dressed, which comforted Jude in the thought that only himself knew the charms those habiliments subdued. A matter of ten pounds spent in a drapery-shop, which had no connection with her real life or her real self, would have set all Melchester staring. The guard of the train thought they were lovers, and put them into a compartment all by themselves.
"That's a good intention wasted!" said she.
Jude did not respond. He thought the remark unnecessarily cruel, and partly untrue.
They reached the park and castle and wandered through the picture-galleries, Jude stopping by preference in front of the devotional pictures by Del Sarto, Guido Reni, Spagnoletto, Sassoferrato, Carlo Dolci, and others. Sue paused patiently beside him, and stole critical looks into his face as, regarding the Virgins, Holy Families, and Saints, it grew reverent and abstracted. When she had thoroughly estimated him at this, she would move on and wait for him before a Lely or Reynolds. It was evident that her cousin deeply interested her, as one might be interested in a man puzzling out his way along a labyrinth from which one had one's self escaped.
When they came out a long time still remained to them and Jude proposed that as soon as they had had something to eat they should walk across the high country to the north of their present position, and intercept the train of another railway leading back to Melchester, at a station about seven miles off. Sue, who was inclined for any adventure that would intensify the sense of her day's freedom, readily agreed; and away they went, leaving the adjoining station behind them.
It was indeed open country, wide and high. They talked and bounded on, Jude cutting from a little covert a long walking-stick for Sue as tall as herself, with a great crook, which made her look like a shepherdess. About half-way on their journey they crossed a main road running due east and west--the old road from London to Land's End. They paused, and looked up and down it for a moment, and remarked upon the desolation which had come over this once lively thoroughfare, while the wind dipped to earth and scooped straws and hay-stems from the ground.
They crossed the road and passed on, but during the next half-mile Sue seemed to grow tired, and Jude began to be distressed for her. They had walked a good distance altogether, and if they could not reach the other station it would be rather awkward. For a long time there was no cottage visible on the wide expanse of down and turnip-land; but presently they came to a sheepfold, and next to the shepherd, pitching hurdles. He told them that the only house near was his mother's and his, pointing to a little dip ahead from which a faint blue smoke arose, and recommended them to go on and rest there.
This they did, and entered the house, admitted by an old woman without a single tooth, to whom they were as civil as strangers can be when their only chance of rest and shelter lies in the favour of the householder.
"A nice little cottage," said Jude.
"Oh, I don't know about the niceness. I shall have to thatch it soon, and where the thatch is to come from I can't tell, for straw do get that dear, that 'twill soon be cheaper to cover your house wi' chainey plates than thatch."
They sat resting, and the shepherd came in. "Don't 'ee mind I," he said with a deprecating wave of the hand "bide here as long as ye will. But mid you be thinking o' getting back to Melchester to-night by train? Because you'll never do it in this world, since you don't know the lie of the country. I don't mind going with ye some o' the ways, but even then the train mid be gone."
They started up.
"You can bide here, you know, over the night--can't 'em, Mother? The place is welcome to ye. 'Tis hard lying, rather, but volk may do worse." He turned to Jude and asked privately: "Be you a married couple?"
"Hsh--no!" said Jude.
"Oh--I meant nothing ba'dy--not I! Well then, she can go into Mother's room, and you and I can lie in the outer chimmer after they've gone through. I can call ye soon enough to catch the first train back. You've lost this one now."
On consideration they decided to close with this offer, and drew up and shared with the s

[table=80%,#ffffff,#000000,1][tr][td]Part 3 Chapter 6
MEANWHILE a middle-aged man was dreaming a dream of great beauty concerning the writer of the above letter. He was Richard Phillotson, who had recently removed from the mixed village school at Lumsdon near Christminster, to undertake a large boys' school in his native town of Shaston, which stood on a hill sixty miles to the south-west as the crow flies.
A glance at the place and its accessories was almost enough to reveal that the schoolmaster's plans and dreams so long indulged in had been abandoned for some new dream with which neither the Church nor literature had much in common. Essentially an unpractical man, he was now bent on making and saving money for a practical purpose--that of keeping a wife, who, if she chose, might conduct one of the girls' schools adjoining his own; for which purpose he had advised her to go into training, since she would not marry him offhand.
About the time that Jude was removing from Marygreen to Melchester, and entering on adventures at the latter place with Sue, the schoolmaster was settling down in the new school-house at Shaston. All the furniture being fixed, the books shelved, and the nails driven, he had begun to sit in his parlour during the dark winter nights and re-attempt some of his old studies-- one branch of which had included Roman-Britannic antiquities-- an unremunerative labour for a national school-master but a subject, that, after his abandonment of the university scheme, had interested him as being a comparatively unworked mine; practicable to those who, like himself, had lived in lonely spots where these remains were abundant, and were seen to compel inferences in startling contrast to accepted views on the civilization of that time.
A resumption of this investigation was the outward and apparent hobby of Phillotson at present--his ostensible reason for going alone into fields where causeways, dykes, and tumuli abounded, or shutting himself up in his house with a few urns, tiles, and mosaics he had collected, instead of calling round upon his new neighbours, who for their part had showed themselves willing enough to be friendly with him. But it was not the real, or the whole, reason, after all. Thus on a particular evening in the month, when it had grown quite late-- to near midnight, indeed--and the light of his lamp, shining from his window at a salient angle of the hill-top town over infinite miles of valley westward, announced as by words a place and person given over to study, he was not exactly studying.
The interior of the room--the books, the furniture, the schoolmaster's loose coat, his attitude at the table, even the flickering of the fire, bespoke the same dignified tale of undistracted research--more than creditable to a man who had had no advantages beyond those of his own making. And yet the tale, true enough till latterly, was not true now. What he was regarding was not history. They were historic notes, written in a bold womanly hand at his dictation some months before, and it was the clerical rendering of word after word that absorbed him.
He presently took from a drawer a carefully tied bundle of letters, few, very few, as correspondence counts nowadays. Each was in its envelope just as it had arrived, and the handwriting was of the same womanly character as the historic notes. He unfolded them one by one and read them musingly. At first sight there seemed in these small documents to be absolutely nothing to muse over. They were straightforward, frank letters, signed "Sue B--"; just such ones as would be written during short absences, with no other thought than their speedy destruction, and chiefly concerning books in reading and other experiences of a training school, forgotten doubtless by the writer with the passing of the day of their inditing. In one of them--quite a recent note-- the young woman said that she had received his considerate letter, and that it was honourable and generous of him to say he would not come to see her oftener than she desired (the school being such an awkward place for callers, and because of her strong wish that her engagement to him should not be known, which it would infallibly be if he visited her often). Over these phrases the school-master pored. What precise shade of satisfaction was to be gathered from a woman's gratitude that the man who loved her had not been often to see her? The problem occupied him, distracted him.
He opened another drawer, and found therein an envelope, from which he drew a photograph of Sue as a child, long before he had known her, standing under trellis-work with a little basket in her hand. There was another of her as a young woman, her dark eyes and hair making a very distinct and attractive picture of her, which just disclosed, too, the thoughtfulness that lay behind her lighter moods. It was a duplicate of the one she had given Jude, and would have given to any man. Phillotson brought it half-way to his lips, but withdrew it in doubt at her perplexing phrases: ultimately kissing the dead pasteboard with all the passionateness, and more than all the devotion, of a young man of eighteen.
The schoolmaster's was an unhealthy-looking, old-fashioned face, rendered more old-fashioned by his style of shaving. A certain gentlemanliness had been imparted to it by nature, suggesting an inherent wish to do rightly by all. His speech was a little slow, but his tones were sincere enough to make his hesitation no defect. His greying hair was curly, and radiated from a point in the middle of his crown. There were four lines across his forehead, and he only wore spectacles when reading at night. It was almost certainly a renunciation forced upon him by his academic purpose, rather than a distaste for women, which had hitherto kept him from closing with one of the sex in matrimony.
Such silent proceedings as those of this evening were repeated many and oft times when he was not under the eye of the boys, whose quick and penetrating regard would frequently become almost intolerable to the self-conscious master in his present anxious care for Sue, making him, in the grey hours of morning, dread to meet anew the gimlet glances, lest they should read what the dream within him was.
He had honourably acquiesced in Sue's announced wish that he was not often to visit her at the training school; but at length, his patience being sorely tried, he set out one Saturday afternoon to pay her an unexpected call. There the news of her departure-- expulsion as it might almost have been considered--was flashed upon him without warning or mitigation as he stood at the door expecting in a few minutes to behold her face; and when he turned away he could hardly see the road before him.
Sue had, in fact, never written a line to her suitor on the subject, although it was fourteen days old. A short reflection told him that this proved nothing, a natural delicacy being as ample a reason for silence as any degree of blameworthiness.
They had informed him at the school where she was living, and having no immediate anxiety about her comfort his thoughts took the direction of a burning indignation against the training school committee. In his bewilderment Phillotson entered the adjacent cathedral, just now in a direly dismantled state by reason of the repairs. He sat down on a block of freestone, regardless of the dusty imprint it made on his breeches; and his listless eyes following the movements of the workmen he presently became aware that the reputed culprit, Sue's lover Jude, was one amongst them.
Jude had never spoken to his former hero since the meeting by the model of Jerusalem. Having inadvertently witnessed Phillotson's tentative courtship of Sue in the lane there had grown up in the younger man's mind a curious dislike to think of the elder, to meet him, to communicate in any way with him; and since Phillotson's success in obtaining at least her promise had become known to Jude, he had frankly recognized that he did not wish to see or hear of his senior any more, learn anything of his pursuits, or even imagine again what excellencies might appertain to his character. On this very day of the schoolmaster's visit Jude was expecting Sue, as she had promised; and when therefore he saw the school master in the nave of the building, saw, moreover, that he was coming to speak to him, he felt no little embarrassment; which Phillotson's own embarrassment prevented his observing.
Jude joined him, and they both withdrew from the other workmen to the spot where Phillotson had been sitting. Jude offered him a piece of sackcloth for a cushion, and told him it was dangerous to sit on the bare block.
"Yes; yes," said Phillotson abstractedly, as he reseated himself, his eyes resting on the ground as if he were trying to remember where he was. "I won't keep you long. It was merely that I have heard that you have seen my little friend Sue recently. It occurred to me to speak to you on that account. I merely want to ask about her."
"I think I know what!" Jude hurriedly said. "About her escaping from the training school, and her coming to me?"
"Yes."
"Well"--Jude for a moment felt an unprincipled and fiendish wish to annihilate his rival at all cost. By the exercise of that treachery which love for the same woman renders possible to men the most honourable in every other relation of life, he could send off Phillotson in agony and defeat by saying that the scandal was true, and that Sue had irretrievably committed herself with him. But his action did not respond for a moment to his animal instinct; and what he said was, "I am glad of your kindness in coming to talk plainly to me about it. You know what they say?--that I ought to marry her."
"What!"
"And I wish with all my soul I could!"
Phillotson trembled, and his naturally pale face acquired a corpselike sharpness in its lines. "I had no idea that it was of this nature! God forbid!"
"No, no!" said Jude aghast. "I thought you understood? I mean that were I in a position to marry her, or someone, and settle down, instead of living in lodgings here and there, I should be glad!"
What he had really meant was simply that he loved her.
"But--since this painful matter has been opened up--what really happened?" asked Phillotson, with the firmness of a man who felt that a sharp smart now was better than a long agony of suspense hereafter. "Cases arise, and this is one, when even ungenerous questions must be put to make false assumptions impossible, and to kill scandal."
Jude explained readily; giving the whole series of adventures, including the night at the shepherd's, her wet arrival at his lodging, her indisposition from her immersion, their vigil of discussion, and his seeing her off next morning.
"Well now," said Phillotson at the conclusion, "I take it as your final word, and I know I can believe you, that the suspicion which led to her rustication is an absolutely baseless one?"
"It is," said Jude solemnly. "Absolutely. So help me God!"
The schoolmaster rose. Each of the twain felt that the interview could not comfortably merge in a friendly discussion of their recent experiences, after the manner of friends; and when Jude had taken him round, and shown him some features of the renovation which the old cathedral was undergoing, Phillotson bade the young man good-day and went away.
This visit took place about eleven o'clock in the morning; but no Sue appeared. When Jude went to his dinner at one he saw his beloved ahead of him in the street leading up from the North Gate, walking as if no way looking for him. Speedily overtaking her he remarked that he had asked her to come to him at the cathedral, and she had promised.
"I have been to get my things from the college," she said-- an observation which he was expected to take as an answer, though it was not one. Finding her to be in this evasive mood he felt inclined to give her the information so long withheld.
"You have not seen Mr. Phillotson to-day?" he ventured to inquire.
"I have not. But I am not going to be cross-examined about him; and if you ask anything more I won't answer!"
"It is very odd that--" He stopped, regarding her.
"What?"
"That you are often not so nice in your real presence as you are in your letters!"
"Does it really seem so to you?" said she, smiling with quick curiosity. "Well, that's strange; but I feel just the same about you, Jude. When you are gone away I seem such a coldhearted----"
As she knew his sentiment towards her Jude saw that they were getting upon dangerous ground. It was now, he thought, that he must speak as an honest man.
But he did not speak, and she continued: "It was that which made me write and say--I didn't mind your loving me--if you wanted to, much!"
The exultation he might have felt at what that implied, or seemed to imply, was nullified by his intention, and he rested rigid till he began: "I have never told you----"
"Yes you have," murmured she.
"I mean, I have never told you my history--all of it."
"But I guess it. l know nearly."
Jude looked up. Could she possibly know of that morning performance of his with Arabella; which in a few months had ceased to be a marriage more completely than by death? He saw that she did not.
"I can't quite tell you here in the street," he went on with a gloomy tongue. "And you had better not come to my lodgings. Let us go in here."
The building by which they stood was the market-house, it was the only place available; and they entered, the market being over, and the stalls and areas empty. He would have preferred a more congenial spot, but, as usually happens, in place of a romantic field or solemn aisle for his tale, it was told while they walked up and down over a floor littered with rotten cabbage-leaves, and amid all the usual squalors of decayed vegetable matter and unsaleable refuse. He began and finished his brief narrative, which merely led up to the information that he had married a wife some years earlier, and that his wife was living still. Almost before her countenance had time to change she hurried out the words,
"Why didn't you tell me before!"
"I couldn't. It seemed so cruel to tell it."
"To yourself, Jude. So it was better to be cruel to me!"
"No, dear darling!" cried Jude passionately. He tried to take her hand, but she withdrew it. Their old relations of confidence seemed suddenly to have ended, and the antagonisms of sex to sex were left without any counter-poising predilections. She was his comrade, friend, unconscious sweetheart no longer; and her eyes regarded him in estranged silence.
"I was ashamed of the episode in my life which brought about the marriage," he continued. "I can't explain it precisely now. I could have done it if you had taken it differently!"
"But how can I?" she burst out. "Here I have been saying, or writing, that-- that you might love me, or something of the sort!--just out of charity-- and all the time--oh, it is perfectly damnable how things are!" she said, stamping her foot in a nervous quiver.
"You take me wrong, Sue! I never thought you cared for me at all, till quite lately; so I felt it did not matter! Do you care for me, Sue?--you know how I mean?--I don't like 'out of charity' at all!"
It was a question which in the circumstances Sue did not choose to answer.
"I suppose she--your wife--is--a very pretty woman even if she's wicked?" she asked quickly.
"She's pretty enough, as far as that goes."
"Prettier than I am, no doubt!"
"You are not the least alike. And I have never seen her for years.... But she's sure to come back--they always do!"
"How strange of you to stay apart from her like this!" said Sue, her trembling lip and lumpy throat belying her irony. "You, such a religious man. How will the demi-gods in your Pantheon--I mean those legendary persons you call saints-- intercede for you after this? Now if I had done such a thing it would have been different, and not remarkable, for I at least don't regard marriage as a sacrament. Your theories are not so advanced as your practice!"
"Sue, you are terribly cutting when you like to be--a perfect Voltaire! But you must treat me as you will!"
When she saw how wretched he was she softened, and trying to blink away her sympathetic tears said with all the winning reproachfulness of a heart-hurt woman: "Ah--you should have told me before you gave me that idea that you wanted to be allowed to love me! I had no feeling before that moment at the railway-station, except--" For once Sue was as miserable as he, in her attempts to keep herself free from emotion, and her less than half-success.
"Don't cry, dear!" he implored.
"I am--not crying--because I meant to--love you; but because of your want of--confidence!"
They were quite screened from the market-square without, and he could not help putting out his arm towards her waist. His momentary desire was the means of her rallying. "No, no!" she said, drawing back stringently, and wiping her eyes. "Of course not! It would be hypocrisy to pretend that it would be meant as from my cousin; and it can't be in any other way."
They moved on a dozen paces, and she showed herself recovered. It was distracting to Jude, and his heart would have ached less had she appeared anyhow but as she did appear; essentially large-minded and generous on reflection, despite a previous exercise of those narrow womanly humours on impulse that were necessary to give her sex.
"I don't blame you for what you couldn't help," she said, smiling. "How should I be so foolish? I do blame you a little bit for not telling me before. But, after all, it doesn't matter. We should have had to keep apart, you see, even if this had not been in your life."
"No, we shouldn't, Sue! This is the only obstacle."
"You forget that I must have loved you, and wanted to be your wife, even if there had been no obstacle," said Sue, with a gentle seriousness which did not reveal her mind. "And then we are cousins, and it is bad for cousins to marry. And--I am engaged to somebody else. As to our going on together as we were going, in a sort of friendly way, the people round us would have made it unable to continue. Their views of the relations of man and woman are limited, as is proved by their expelling me from the school. Their philosophy only recognizes relations based on animal desire. The wide field of strong attachment where desire plays, at least, only a secondary part, is ignored by them--the part of--who is it?-- Venus Urania."
Her being able to talk learnedly showed that she was mistress of herself again; and before they parted she had almost regained her vivacious glance, her reciprocity of tone, her gay manner, and her second-thought attitude of critical largeness towards others of her age and sex.
He could speak more freely now. "There were several reasons against my telling you rashly. One was what I have said; another, that it was always impressed upon me that I ought not to marry--that I belonged to an odd and peculiar family-- the wrong breed for marriage."
"Ah--who used to say that to you?"
"My great-aunt. She said it always ended badly with us Fawleys."
"That's strange. My father used to say the same to me!"
They stood possessed by the same thought, ugly enough, even as an assumption: that a union between them, had such been possible, would have meant a terrible intensification of unfitness--two bitters in one dish.
"Oh, but there can't be anything in it!" she said with nervous lightness. "Our family have been unlucky of late years in choosing mates-- that's all."
And then they pretended to persuade themselves that all that had happened was of no consequence, and that they could still be cousins and friends and warm correspondents, and have happy genial times when they met, even if they met less frequently than before. Their parting was in good friendship, and yet Jude's last look into her eyes was tinged with inquiry, for he felt that he did not even now quite know her mind.

与此同时，有个中年人正在上面那个写信的女人身上做着非凡的美梦。他就是里查•费乐生。前不久他从基督堂附近的拉姆登男女合校的乡村小学迁回本乡沙氏顿，在一所规模较大的男生小学任教。该镇坐落在一个山崖上，拉直了算，两地相距六十英里。
只要对那地方和周遭一切瞧上一眼，就足以了解那位老师已经把他长期热中的计利和梦想通通放弃了，取而代之的是个新梦想，不过这新梦想无论同教会，还是同文学都一点不沾边。他天生不善料理实际生活，现在却为一个一个全属实际的目标，也就是为了养得起一个妻子而挣钱和攒钱。她要是愿意，还可以管理紧挨着他的小学的一所女校。正是出自这个打算，他才劝说她去进修，何况她并不准备匆匆忙忙跟他结婚。
大约在裘德从马利格林移居麦尔切斯特，并且在那儿同苏一起闹出风波的那段时间，老师也在沙氏顿新任小学的新校舍安顿停当。他修理了所有家具，把书籍一一插在书架上，钉好了钉子。一切就绪之后，在昏暗的寒冬夜晚，他开始坐在小会客室里，重理旧业，再做研究，其中一项就是罗马占领时期的不列颠古文物；一位国立小学教师为这门学问耗费精力固然换不来任何报酬，但他从放弃上大学的宏愿后就乐此不疲了。相对来说，这个领域还是到那时尚未开采的矿藏。对于类似他那样的人，住在那样偏僻闭塞的地方，古文物遗址可谓俯拾皆是，研究起来，日积月累，必定会对那个时期的文明做出新论断，与流行见解大异其趣，足以令人耳目一新。
从表面看，费乐生重做调查研究无疑是他目前的业余爱好——他可以独来独往，深入到遍布着湿地埂路、水道和坟冢的旷野荒郊；可以闭门玩赏收集到的古陶、陈瓦和各色镶嵌物；他还可以以此为冠冕堂皇的理由，不必挨家挨户去拜访邻居，虽然左邻右舍都表示过愿和他友好来往。然而这毕竟不是他的真正理由，也不是全部理由。只要看看那个月与平常不大相同的某个晚上，就会恍然大悟。沙氏顿在山崖上，下面是西向绵亘无垠的山谷，他的窗户开在镇上一个凸出的犄角地方，时间已近半夜，灯光依然射到窗外，仿佛申明此处有人还在埋头研究。其实满不是那么回事，他什么也没研究。
那间居室的内部——书籍、教师的宽松的外套，他伏案的姿势，甚至炉火的跳动，在展示着一个始终孜孜兀兀、研究不辍的庄严过程，再看他苦心孤诣，全无优越条件可资依傍，那就更非难能可贵一语所能尽。不过这个过程虽然到前些日子是真实可信的，此刻却大谬不然了，因为他心无旁骛的不在于历史本身，而是一份由他口述，并由一只刚健的女性之手记录下来的，于他有历史意义的记录。他这会儿正对着字字清晰的笔记发呆。
随后他从一个抽屉里拿出一叠细心扎好的信件，若拿这年头通信频繁的标准比较，为数未免少得可怜。所有信的内件依然装在信到时的原来信封里，信上笔迹一如那份有历史意义的笔记，具有相同的女性特点。他一份份打开，看得津津有味。乍一看，也许觉得这些小小的一张纸实在不像有什么叫人咂摸不完的东西。它们写得简单明了、直言不讳，信未署名“苏•柏——”；属于那类短时间分别后所写的信，看完了就顺手撕掉。至于内容主要不外乎谈些进修学校上课情况等等的经验，写信人那天一写完肯定把它们忘得一于二净。其中有一封才到，那位年轻的女人说她已经收到他那封体谅人的信，既然他以后将依她的愿望避免常去学校看望她，足证他为人宽厚，令人感佩。（学校这地方对来访者多有刁难，她非常希望她同他订婚一事不要走露风声，如果他频频来访，难免喧腾众口。）这些话，老师揣摩来揣摩去。女人不让爱她的男人常去看她，还因为他答应了，感激不尽，要是他该满意的话，到底哪一桩该满意呢？这个问题在他是个问葫芦，难解其中奥妙。
他拉开另一个抽屉，从中找着一个信封，打里面抽出苏孩子时一张相片，是老早以前他还不认识她时候拍的；她手里拿着小篮子，站在凉棚底下，还有一张，她已经长成年轻的女人了，黑眼睛黑头发使她在照片上显得别具风韵，非常美丽，在她的轻松愉快的气质中，多思虑的习性已灼然可见。这张相片跟她给裘德的一样，她也可以把它随便赠给别人。费乐生拿着它往唇边送，才送到一半就停了，因为他对她说的费解的话还满腹狐疑，无奈何只吻了吻贴相片的纸版，吻时一往情深，就连十八岁小伙子那种倾心相爱劲儿，也不免逊色。
老师的脸不怎么健康，显得老气横秋，又因为胡子留的样式，也就愈显老气了。他赋性耿介，有君子之风，一言一行必求光明磊落，无愧于心。他说话有点慢吞吞，但口气诚恳，间有打顿，却无伤大雅。头发鬈曲，渐见灰白，从头顶中部向周遭披开。前额有四条皱纹，晚上看书才戴眼镜。他并非对女人无动于衷，而是刻意学问而不得不敛情自抑，情形大概如此，所以他迄今未同哪个女人缔结良缘。
当他不在男孩子眼皮底下时，像那样默不作声的举动已重复多次，习以为常了。一向腼腆的老师现在正因苏的态度惴惴不安，孩子们打量他时，眼睛一扫，尖得像穿透了他的心，老是叫他受不了，弄得他天天一大早就想避开他们锥子样的目光，唯恐他们琢磨出他梦中也没忘的心事。
他慷慨同意苏表明的愿望之后，就不常去进修学校看苏了；到后来，他的耐心已经耗尽，再也熬不下去，于是在一个礼拜六上午出发去找她，给她个措手不及。他在校门口等了几分钟，待她出来；但是里边传出来她已经离校——也无妨认为被开除——的消息。由于事前没得到预告或讽示，弄得他顿时晕头转向。他转身就走，几乎连眼前的道路都认不出来了。
实际上，尽管她出事已有两礼拜之久，她却连一行也没写给她的求婚者。他前思后想了一下，觉得她没告诉他还说明不了什么，她因为自己不免有该受指责的地方，以女人天生面嫩好强而论，保持沉默也在情理之中，不足好奇。
学校的人已经把她的去向告诉他；眼下既然还不必为她的生活条件担忧，他就转而把满腔怒火发泄到进修学校委员会身上。费乐生六神无主，不觉走进了旁边的大教堂。因为那儿正修复，拆得乱七八糟，他也顾不得屁股沾上脏印子，就坐到一块易切石上，两眼无神，随着工人动作转，猛然间看出来其中就有那众口一词的罪魁祸首，苏的情人裘德。
裘德打从他在耶路撒冷模型旁边见过他从前崇拜的这位人物之后，再没跟他说过话。事有凑巧，他目睹了费乐生在有边篱的小路上试探着对苏做了求爱的动作，从此这年轻人心里对他滋生了异乎寻常的恶感，不愿想到他，也不愿见到他，不愿跟他互通音问。而且在他知道费乐生至少赢得她的许诺之后，他索性承认此后决不愿见到那位长辈或者听到他什么事，也不想知道他治学方面的进展，甚至连他的人品也不再想象有什么过人之处。老师来找苏，正好是他跟她约好、等她来的那天。所以他一瞧见老师坐在大教堂的中殿上，而且看出来他正走过来要跟他说话，觉得非常尴尬。费乐生自己也很尴尬，反倒没看出裘德怎么样。
裘德过到他这边来，两个人躲开别的工人，走到费乐生刚坐过的地方，裘德递给他一块帆布当垫子，告诉他坐在光石头上有危险。
“是，是。”费乐生一边坐下来，一边心不在焉地说，眼睛盯着地面，仿佛要极力想起来他这会儿究竟是在哪儿。“我耽误不了你多大工夫。因为听说你近来见过我的小朋友苏，就是为这个。我想就这件事跟你谈谈。我不过是想问问——她怎么啦？”
“我想我都知道！”裘德急忙说。“是她离开进修学校、到我这儿来的事吧？”
“就是。”
“好吧；”——裘德一刹那突然冒出一股伤天害理、心狠手辣的冲动，要不惜一切把他的情敌一举毁掉。男子汉素常为人处世光明磊落，豪迈大方，可是一跟人争起同一个女人的爱情，就变得阴贼忍刻，不惜狠下毒手。裘德只要说一句丑闻一点不假，苏已经跟他跟定了，就可以把费乐生打得一败涂地，终生受罪。不过他的行动在这一刹那却没有跟上他的动物本能；他说的却是：“你跟我直截了当地说这事，这番好意我领了。你知道她们怎么说的？——顶好是我跟她结婚。”
“什么！”
“我也是巴不得如愿以偿呢！”
费乐生浑身哆嗦起来，他的脸天生苍白，这一刻上面的线条变得死人般僵硬刻板了。“我可一点没想到事情闹到了这个地步哟！上帝不答应哟！”
“不是这么回事，不是这么回事呀。”裘德吓得直说。“我还当你听懂了呢！我这意思是，要是按我这会儿的处境，能跟她或是别的女人结了婚，成了家，安居乐业，用不着东跑西颠，老换地方住，那我就觉着太美啦！”
他真正的意思不过是说他爱她而已。
“可是——这么叫人受不了的事情既然闹开了——它到底是怎么回事呢？”费乐生问，这时他表现出男子汉的镇定果决，因为与其长期担惊害怕，受尽煎熬，不如爽爽快快，一了百了。“大凡出了事，就如同这个，就顾不得器量狭小，只好刨根问底，弄个水落石出，才好攻破谣言，消灭丑闻。”
裘德很快解释了一遍；把那次奇特的历程从头到尾都介绍了，包括他们那晚上怎么会呆在牧羊人家里；她怎么浑身湿透了，到了他的住处；她怎么因为泡了水，泡得生了病；他们俩怎么几乎通宵达旦地讨论不休；第二天早晨他怎么送她上火车。
“好极啦，”听完之后费乐生说，“我看你是把底都交啦，我知道你说的是可信的，也认为她们瞎猜疑，逼她退了学，绝对没道理。”
“没道理。”裘德十分严肃地说。“绝对没道理。上帝可以做证。”
老师站起来。他们两个心里都明白，经过这番交谈，他们再不能以朋友身份彼此心安理得地讨论他们近来的经历了。于是裘德领着他到处走了走，指给他看大教堂正在全面修复的特色，然后费乐生向年轻人告别，自己走了。
费乐生找到他大概在上午十一点，但是苏始终没露面。裘德一点钟去吃饭，忽然在通往“北门”的街上瞧见他心爱的女人正在他前面，看不出来一点要找他的意思。他赶紧快步追上去，说他原先就要她上大教堂他那儿去，她也答应过。
“我是到学校取东西。”她说——这句话虽然算不上回答，她却盼着他当回答就行了。他一看她这样答非所问，躲躲闪闪，觉得这会儿已经到时候了，非得把他长久避而不谈的情况说给她听不可。
“难道你今天没瞧见费乐生先生？”他乍着胆子质问她。
“没瞧见。我可不是来叫人盘问他的事的，你要是再问什么，我是决不答理！”
“那可太奇啦——”他停下来，盯着她。
“什么奇不奇？”
“你平常在人前可不像信里那样讨喜哪！”
“你真觉着这样！”她微笑着说，带出来一闪而过的想弄明白的意思。“唉，这可真怪啦，可是裘德呀，我可觉着待你始终一个样呢。你只要一走，我就觉着像那么个无情无义的——”
她既然知道他对她的感情，他深深感到此时此刻他们正滑向一失足成千古恨的深渊。他一个堂堂正正男子汉，一定得把一切都讲个一清二楚才行。
但是他没说出来，而她却接着说：“就因为我那么想，我才写，才说——你爱我，我没什么不愿意的——你想爱就爱吧，怎么爱都行！”
按说她话里的含义，或者似乎这样的意思，本当叫他欣喜欲狂，可是他已经胸有成竹，就把这样的情感压灭了。他本立在那儿，没有动静，半天才说：
“我还压根儿没跟你说——”
“你说过啦。”她嘟囔着。
“我的意思是，我压根儿没把我的历史——全部历史告诉你。”
“不过我猜到啦。”
裘德抬头看；难道她竟然听说过他那个早晨跟阿拉贝拉上演的那出戏；那几个月后比当事人死亡还彻底失败的婚姻？他看出来她并不知道。
“我在街上不便跟你都说。”他接着说，声音闷闷的。“再说你还是别到我住的地方为好。咱们就到这里边去好啦。”
他们站的地方旁边有座建筑物，是个市场，他们只好凑合着在那儿呆呆，于是进去了。那时已经下市，摊位和场区空空的，没什么人。他当然也想找个比较合适的地方，无奈跟通常情形一样，既没有充满浪漫情调的郊野，也没有气度庄严的教堂走廊做背景，只好踩着狼藉满地的烂苞菜叶子，在大堆腐烂变味的蔬菜和卖不掉的破烂东西之间来回转悠。一边走，他一边谈自己的经历。从开头到说完，不多几句，无非他早几年娶了老婆，眼下她还活着。她脸上还没变色，就马上迸出一句：
“你干吗早不跟我说！”
“我办不到。讲这事儿似乎太残酷。”
“那是对你残酷哟，裘德！对我要是残酷，那反倒好！”
“不对，你这么说不对，亲爱的宝贝儿！”裘德动情地大声说。他要拉她手，可她把手缩了回来。他们原来历时已久的推心置腹的关系猝然终止了，剩下的不过是男女之间无以缓和，也难以迁就的对抗情绪。她再也不成其为他的同志、朋友和生来就是他的心上人了。
“我这辈子闹出来的这段婚姻，我觉得真丢人哪。”他继续说。‘我这会儿也没法说明。要是你对这件事换个看法，我倒好说明白。”
“我怎么能换个看法呢？”她一下子发作了。“我不是一直写，一直说——你可以爱我，或者这类话嘛。——这全是发慈悲，为你好呀——到头来——啊，样样事一团糟，真恨死人哪！”她说，又急义气，神经质地哆嗦起来，直跺脚。
“苏呀，你错会我的意思啦！我压根儿就没想到你对我有意，到最近才明白过来，所以我觉得没关系。——你对我有意，还是大概这样呢，苏呀？——你明白我这话什么意思吧？我可不喜欢你说什么‘发慈悲，做好事’这样话！”
这个问题，当下的情势也不容苏回答。
“我想她——你那位夫人——就算她人不正派吧——也是个——挺漂亮的女人吧？”
“要说的话，她还够漂亮的。”
“比我漂亮，那没错啦。”
“你跟她完全是两码事呀。这几年我一直没见过她……不过她总是要回来的，她们这类人向来是这样！”
“你对她这么甩手不管，也太少见啦！”她说，故作讥讽，实则嘴唇颤动，喉头哽咽。“你，还是个信教信得诚的人呢。你那个万神殿里托生为人的神仙——我是指你称之为圣人的那伙传奇人物——知道这件事，该怎么样替你打圆场呢？哪，要是我干了这样事儿，那可就不一样，我根本不当回事，因为我至少没把结婚当圣礼。你那套理论可跟不上你实践那么进步哟！”
“苏呀，你一想当个——十足的伏尔泰，嘴就跟刀子一样厉害！反正你怎么待我，都随你便！”
她看见他难过到那种地步，心也就软下来了，眨眨眼睛把眼泪眨掉，然后带着个伤透了心的女人的得理不饶人的气势说：“哎——你——想到求我爱你，就应该先把那件事跟我说才对！在火车站那回子之前，我还没那样感觉呢，除了——”这回苏可是跟他一样悲伤起来，虽然她极力要控制自己的感情，还是不大能奏效。
“别哭啦，亲爱的！”他恳求着。
“我——没哭呀——因为我本来就——不爱你呀——倒是因为你对我——不信任哪！”
市场外面的广场完全把他们遮住了，他情不自禁地把胳臂伸到她腰那儿。他一刹那的欲望反而做成了她振作起来、借题发挥的机会。“不行，不行！”她板着脸往后一退，擦了擦眼泪。“既然口口声声咱们是表亲，这么一装腔作势就透着虚伪啦；不管怎么着，是表亲就没门儿。”
他们往前走了十多步光景，这时她显得镇静如常了。裘德却让她刚才那下于弄得要发狂。要是她没来那一套，随便她怎么样，他的心也不会那么痛楚，其实她那样的表现无非一时冲动，因为她也跟别的女人一样，受不得半点委屈，所以才大发脾气，要说是女人，本来在所难免；可是她这人心胸宽、度量大，凡事一经多方考虑，是不会苛求于人的。
“你当初办不到的事，我才不怪你呢。”她说，破涕为笑。“我

[table=80%,#ffffff,#000000,1][tr][td]Part 3 Chapter 9
ON the morrow between nine and half-past they were journeying back to Christminster, the only two occupants of a compartment in a third-class railway-carriage. Having, like Jude, made rather a hasty toilet to catch the train, Arabella looked a little frowsy, and her face was very far from possessing the animation which had characterized it at the bar the night before. When they came out of the station she found that she still had half an hour to spare before she was due at the bar. They walked in silence a little way out of the town in the direction of Alfredston. Jude looked up the far highway.
"Ah ... poor feeble me!" he murmured at last.
"What?" said she.
"This is the very road by which I came into Christminster years ago full of plans!"
"Well, whatever the road is I think my time is nearly up, as I have to be in the bar by eleven o'clock. And as I said, I shan't ask for the day to go with you to see your aunt. So perhaps we had better part here. I'd sooner not walk up Chief Street with you, since we've come to no conclusion at all."
"Very well. But you said when we were getting up this morning that you had something you wished to tell me before I left?"
"So I had--two things--one in particular. But you wouldn't promise to keep it a secret. I'll tell you now if you promise? As an honest woman I wish you to know it.... It was what I began telling you in the night--about that gentleman who managed the Sydney hotel." Arabella spoke somewhat hurriedly for her. "You'll keep it close?"
"Yes--yes--I promise!" said Jude impatiently. "Of course I don't want to reveal your secrets."
"Whenever I met him out for a walk, he used to say that he was much taken with my looks, and he kept pressing me to marry him. I never thought of coming back to England again; and being out there in Australia, with no home of my own after leaving my father, I at last agreed, and did."
"What--marry him?"
"Yes."
"Regularly--legally--in church?"
"Yes. And lived with him till shortly before I left. It was stupid, I know; but I did! There, now I've told you. Don't round upon me! He talks of coming back to England, poor old chap. But if he does, he won't be likely to find me."
Jude stood pale and fixed.
"Why the devil didn't you tell me last, night!" he said.
"Well--I didn't.... Won't you make it up with me, then?"
"So in talking of 'your husband' to the bar gentlemen you meant him, of course--not me!"
"Of course.... Come, don't fuss about it."
"I have nothing more to say!" replied Jude. "I have nothing at all to say about the--crime--you've confessed to!"
"Crime! Pooh. They don't think much of such as that over there! Lots of 'em do it.... Well, if you take it like that I shall go back to him! He was very fond of me, and we lived honourable enough, and as respectable as any married couple in the colony! How did I know where you were?"
"I won't go blaming you. I could say a good deal; but perhaps it would be misplaced. What do you wish me to do?"
"Nothing. There was one thing more I wanted to tell you; but I fancy we've seen enough of one another for the present! I shall think over what you said about your circumstances, and let you know."
Thus they parted. Jude watched her disappear in the direction of the hotel, and entered the railway station close by. Finding that it wanted three-quarters of an hour of the time at which he could get a train back to Alfredston, he strolled mechanically into the city as far as to the Fourways, where he stood as he had so often stood before, and surveyed Chief Street stretching ahead, with its college after college, in picturesqueness unrivalled except by such Continental vistas as the Street of Palaces in Genoa; the lines of the buildings being as distinct in the morning air as in an architectural drawing. But Jude was far from seeing or criticizing these things; they were hidden by an indescribable consciousness of Arabella's midnight contiguity, a sense of degradation at his revived experiences with her, of her appearance as she lay asleep at dawn, which set upon his motionless face a look as of one accurst. If he could only have felt resentment towards her he would have been less unhappy; but he pitied while he contemned her.
Jude turned and retraced his steps. Drawing again towards the station he started at hearing his name pronounced-- less at the name than at the voice. To his great surprise no other than Sue stood like a vision before him--her look bodeful and anxious as in a dream, her little mouth nervous, and her strained eyes speaking reproachful inquiry.
"Oh, Jude--I am so glad--to meet you like this!" she said in quick, uneven accents not far from a sob. Then she flushed as she observed his thought that they had not met since her marriage.
They looked away from each other to hide their emotion, took each other's hand without further speech, and went on together awhile, till she glanced at him with furtive solicitude. "I arrived at Alfredston station last night, as you asked me to, and there was nobody to meet me! But I reached Marygreen alone, and they told me Aunt was a trifle better. I sat up with her, and as you did not come all night I was frightened about you-- I thought that perhaps, when you found yourself back in the old city, you were upset at--at thinking I was--married, and not there as I used to be; and that you had nobody to speak to; so you had tried to drown your gloom--as you did at that former time when you were disappointed about entering as a student, and had forgotten your promise to me that you never would again. And this, I thought, was why you hadn't come to meet me!"
"And you came to hunt me up, and deliver me, like a good angel!"
"I thought I would come by the morning train and try to find you--in case-- in case----"
"I did think of my promise to you, dear, continually! I shall never break out again as I did, I am sure. I may have been doing nothing better, but I was not doing that--I loathe the thought of it."
"I am glad your staying had nothing to do with that. But," she said, the faintest pout entering into her tone, "you didn't come back last night and meet me, as you engaged to!"
"I didn't--I am sorry to say. I had an appointment at nine o'clock-- too late for me to catch the train that would have met yours, or to get home at all."
Looking at his loved one as she appeared to him now, in his tender thought the sweetest and most disinterested comrade that he had ever had, living largely in vivid imaginings, so ethereal a creature that her spirit could be seen trembling through her limbs, he felt heartily ashamed of his earthliness in spending the hours he had spent in Arabella's company. There was something rude and immoral in thrusting these recent facts of his life upon the mind of one who, to him, was so uncarnate as to seem at times impossible as a human wife to any average man. And yet she was Phillotson's. How she had become such, how she lived as such, passed his comprehension as he regarded her to-day.
"You'll go back with me?" he said. "There's a train just now. I wonder how my aunt is by this time.... And so, Sue, you really came on my account all this way! At what an early time you must have started, poor thing!"
"Yes. Sitting up watching alone made me all nerves for you, and instead of going to bed when it got light I started. And now you won't frighten me like this again about your morals for nothing?"
He was not so sure that she had been frightened about his morals for nothing. He released her hand till they had entered the train,-- it seemed the same carriage he had lately got out of with another-- where they sat down side by side, Sue between him and the window. He regarded the delicate lines of her profile, and the small, tight, applelike convexities of her bodice, so different from Arabella's amplitudes. Though she knew he was looking at her she did not turn to him, but kept her eyes forward, as if afraid that by meeting his own some troublous discussion would be initiated.
"Sue--you are married now, you know, like me; and yet we have been in such a hurry that we have not said a word about it!"
"There's no necessity," she quickly returned.
"Oh well--perhaps not.... But I wish"
"Jude--don't talk about ME--I wish you wouldn't!" she entreated. "It distresses me, rather. Forgive my saying it! ... Where did you stay last night?"
She had asked the question in perfect innocence, to change the topic. He knew that, and said merely, "At an inn," though it would have been a relief to tell her of his meeting with an unexpected one. But the latter's final announcement of her marriage in Australia bewildered him lest what he might say should do his ignorant wife an injury.
Their talk proceeded but awkwardly till they reached Alfredston. That Sue was not as she had been, but was labelled "Phillotson," paralyzed Jude whenever he wanted to commune with her as an individual. Yet she seemed unaltered--he could not say why. There remained the five-mile extra journey into the country, which it was just as easy to walk as to drive, the greater part of it being uphill. Jude had never before in his life gone that road with Sue, though he had with another. It was now as if he carried a bright light which temporarily banished the shady associations of the earlier time.
Sue talked; but Jude noticed that she still kept the conversation from herself. At length he inquired if her husband were well.
"O yes," she said. "He is obliged to be in the school all the day, or he would have come with me. He is so good and kind that to accompany me he would have dismissed the school for once, even against his principles--for he is strongly opposed to giving casual holidays-- only I wouldn't let him. I felt it would be better to come alone. Aunt Drusilla, I knew, was so very eccentric; and his being almost a stranger to her now would have made it irksome to both. Since it turns out that she is hardly conscious I am glad I did not ask him."
Jude had walked moodily while this praise of Phillotson was being expressed. "Mr. Phillotson obliges you in everything, as he ought," he said.
"Of course."
"You ought to be a happy wife."
"And of course I am."
"Bride, I might almost have said, as yet. It is not so many weeks since I gave you to him, and----"
"Yes, I know! I know!" There was something in her face which belied her late assuring words, so strictly proper and so lifelessly spoken that they might have been taken from a list of model speeches in "The Wife's Guide to Conduct." Jude knew the quality of every vibration in Sue's voice, could read every symptom of her mental condition; and he was convinced that she was unhappy, although she had not been a month married. But her rushing away thus from home, to see the last of a relative whom she had hardly known in her life, proved nothing; for Sue naturally did such things as those.
"Well, you have my good wishes now as always, Mrs. Phillotson."
She reproached him by a glance.
"No, you are not Mrs. Phillotson," murmured Jude. "You are dear, free Sue Bridehead, only you don't know it! Wifedom has not yet squashed up and digested you in its vast maw as an atom which has no further individuality."
Sue put on a look of being offended, till she answered, "Nor has husbandom you, so far as I can see!"
"But it has!" he said, shaking his head sadly.
When they reached the lone cottage under the firs, between the Brown House and Marygreen, in which Jude and Arabella had lived and quarrelled, he turned to look at it. A squalid family lived there now. He could not help saying to Sue: "That's the house my wife and I occupied the whole of the time we lived together. I brought her home to that house."
She looked at it. "That to you was what the school-house at Shaston is to me."
"Yes; but I was not very happy there as you are in yours."
She closed her lips in retortive silence, and they walked some way till she glanced at him to see how he was taking it. "Of course I may have exaggerated your happiness--one never knows," he continued blandly.
"Don't think that, Jude, for a moment, even though you may have said it to sting me! He's as good to me as a man can be, and gives me perfect liberty-- which elderly husbands don't do in general.... If you think I am not happy because he's too old for me, you are wrong."
"I don't think anything against him--to you dear."
"And you won't say things to distress me, will you?"
"I will not."
He said no more, but he knew that, from some cause or other, in taking Phillotson as a husband, Sue felt that she had done what she ought not to have done.
They plunged into the concave field on the other side of which rose the village--the field wherein Jude had received a thrashing from the farmer many years earlier. On ascending to the village and approaching the house they found Mrs. Edlin standing at the door, who at sight of them lifted her hands deprecatingly. "She's downstairs, if you'll believe me!" cried the widow. "Out o' bed she got, and nothing could turn her. What will come o't I do not know!"
On entering, there indeed by the fireplace sat the old woman, wrapped in blankets, and turning upon them a countenance like that of Sebastiano's Lazarus. They must have looked their amazement, for she said in a hollow voice:
"Ah--sceered ye, have I! I wasn't going to bide up there no longer, to please nobody! 'Tis more than flesh and blood can bear, to be ordered to do this and that by a feller that don't know half as well as you do your-self! ... Ah--you'll rue this marrying as well as he!" she added, turning to Sue. "All our family do-- and nearly all everybody else's. You should have done as I did, you simpleton! And Phillotson the schoolmaster, of all men! What made 'ee marry him?"
"What makes most women marry, Aunt?"
"Ah! You mean to say you loved the man!"
"I don't meant to say anything definite."
"Do ye love un?"
"Don't ask me, Aunt."
"I can mind the man very well. A very civil, honourable liver; but Lord!-- I don't want to wownd your feelings, but--there be certain men here and there that no woman of any niceness can stomach. I should have said he was one. I don't say so NOW, since you must ha' known better than I--but that's what I SHOULD have said!"
Sue jumped up and went out. Jude followed her, and found her in the outhouse, crying.
"Don't cry, dear!" said Jude in distress. "She means well, but is very crusty and queer now, you know."
"Oh no--it isn't that!" said Sue, trying to dry her eyes. "I don't mind her roughness one bit."
"What is it, then?"
"It is that what she says is--is true!"
"God--what--you don't like him?" asked Jude.
"I don't mean that!" she said hastily. "That I ought-- perhaps I ought not to have married!"
He wondered if she had really been going to say that at first. They went back, and the subject was smoothed over, and her aunt took rather kindly to Sue, telling her that not many young women newly married would have come so far to see a sick old crone like her. In the afternoon Sue prepared to depart, Jude hiring a neighbour to drive her to Alfredston.
"I'll go with you to the station, if you'd like?" he said.
She would not let him. The man came round with the trap, and Jude helped her into it, perhaps with unnecessary attention, for she looked at him prohibitively.
"I suppose--I may come to see you some day, when I am back again at Melchester?" he half-crossly observed.
She bent down and said softly: "No, dear--you are not to come yet. I don't think you are in a good mood."
"Very well," said Jude. "Good-bye!"
"Good-bye!" She waved her hand and was gone.
"She's right! I won't go!" he murmured.
He passed the evening and following days in mortifying by every possible means his wish to see her, nearly starving himself in attempts to extinguish by fasting his passionate tendency to love her. He read sermons on discipline, and hunted up passages in Church history that treated of the Ascetics of the second century. Before he had returned from Marygreen to Melchester there arrived a letter from Arabella. The sight of it revived a stronger feeling of self-condemnation for his brief return to her society than for his attachment to Sue.
The letter, he perceived, bore a London postmark instead of the Christminster one. Arabella informed him that a few days after their parting in the morning at Christminster, she had been surprised by an affectionate letter from her Australian husband, formerly manager of the hotel in Sydney. He had come to England on purpose to find her; and had taken a free, fully-licensed public, in Lambeth, where he wished her to join him in conducting the business, which was likely to be a very thriving one, the house being situated in an excellent, densely populated, gin-drinking neighbourhood, and already doing a trade of 200 pounds a month, which could be easily doubled.
As he had said that he loved her very much still, and implored her to tell him where she was, and as they had only parted in a slight tiff, and as her engagement in Christminster was only temporary, she had just gone to join him as he urged. She could not help feeling that she belonged to him more than to Jude, since she had properly married him, and had lived with him much longer than with her first husband. In thus wishing Jude good-bye she bore him no ill-will, and trusted he would not turn upon her, a weak woman, and inform against her, and bring her to ruin now that she had a chance of improving her circumstances and leading a genteel life.

第二天早上九点到九点半之间，他们又坐火车返回基督堂，两个人占了三等车厢的一个隔间。阿拉贝拉因为要赶火车，草草梳洗了一下，样子有点邋遢，脸比起头天晚上在酒吧时候容光焕发。生气盎然，简直判若两人。出站时，她才知道离酒吧上班还有半个钟头。他们不言不语走了一段路，到了市外。路是通到阿尔夫瑞顿的，裘德朝着远处的大道张望。
“哎……我这个没用处的可怜东西哟！”他看完了嘴里直嘟囔。
“怎么回事？”她问。
“我当初上基督堂就走的这条路，还满脑子宏图大略呢！”
“算了吧，管它什么路不路，我得十一点到酒吧上班呢，这会儿快到了。我跟你说过了，我不会请假跟你一块儿去看你姑婆。我看咱们顶好就在这儿散了。反正什么也没商量好，我这会儿得赶快离开你，别一块儿往大成街那边走。”
“那好吧。不过早上起床的时候，你不是有点事想在我走之前跟我说吗？”
“我是要说——两件事——一件得特别说说。不过你是不会答应替我守秘密的。我这会儿就说，你答应不答应守秘密？因为我是个老实巴交的女人，才想着告诉你这件事。昨儿个晚上我已经开了个头了——就是那位在悉尼开旅馆的先生。”阿拉贝拉说话显得比平常有点急。“你嘴能紧吗？”
“好啦，好啦——我答应就是啦！”裘德不耐烦地说。“我当然不想把你的秘密捅出去。”
“这么说吧，我跟他一约着到外头散步，他就老是说我模样长得俊，把他迷住啦，死盯着要我嫁他。我压根儿没想回英国，可我人远在澳洲，离开我爸爸之后，又没个自个儿的家，最后我还是答应嫁给他啦。”
“什么——嫁给他啦？”
“对啦。”
“在教堂里头，按正式手续，按法律规定嫁给他吗？”
“对啦。我回来之前一直跟他一块儿过。这事儿办得有点稀里糊涂，我也知道。哪，我全告诉你啦。你可别给抖露出去呀！他说他要回英国呢，可怜的老不死的。他要是真回来，也不大能找着我。”
裘德怔怔地站着，脸发白。
“见鬼喽！你昨晚上干吗不讲呀？”他说。
“唉——我没……那你不打算跟我摆摆平喽？”
“这么说你跟酒吧客人说的‘你男人’就是指他喽，当然——不是指我。”
“当然不指你。……得啦，别这么大惊小怪的。”
“我还有什么可说的！”裘德回嘴说。“你招认了这个——罪——我还有什么可说呀！”
“罪！呸！他们那边才不把这个当回事呢！……好吧，你要是这么个看法，我干脆就回他那儿去。他才喜欢我呢，我脽妄得体面极了，跟殖民地别的明媒正娶的夫妻一样，人家才看得起哪！再说我怎么知道你先前在哪儿？”
“我用不着训你啦。我要是说，有一大堆话要说呢。不过说了也许全是对牛弹琴。你希望我干什么？”
“什么也不叫你干。本来还有件事要告诉你，可我觉着咱们见这回面已经够了。你也讲了你这会儿的情形，我要考虑考虑，以后告诉你吧。”
他们就这样散了。裘德看着她往旅馆的那个方向消失以后，就进了旁边的火车站，看看还得等三刻钟，回阿尔夫瑞顿的火车才能开过来，于是茫茫然晃悠到城里，一直晃到四路口，跟从前常伫立它前面一样，又站住谛视向前延展的大成街，但见街旁学院林立，美轮美奂，如临画境，普天下也只有热内褵同苑大街的大陆风的景色差堪媲美。那些崇楼杰阁在清晨的空气中，线条分外明晰，宛如绘好了的建筑底图。但是看归看，裘德其实对它们视而不见，心里也没什么批评的意思。因为他还让半夜里同阿拉贝拉的肌肤之欢以及黎明时看到她横陈大睡的姿态的那种说不出的感觉纠缠着，因而不由得产生了自甘堕落之恨，而正是这种感觉把那些实在的建筑物遮挡起来了。他脸上木然，显出负罪的表情。如果他能把一切都归罪于她，倒也罢了，可以少难受点。怎奈他此时不只瞧不起她，他还怜悯她。
裘德掉头往回走，快到车站的时候，忽然听见有人喊他的名字，他大吃一惊——惊的不只是有人喊他名字，更是喊他名字的那个声音。果然不错，真是个苏啊，他是太意外了，只见她如幻影般站在他面前——神情犹如梦中身临险境，又惊慌又焦急，双唇微颤，眼睛睁得大大的，分明表现出既有怨意，又有责难。
“哦，裘德呀——这样见到你，我真高兴啊！”她急促地说，声音起伏不定，如泣如诉。打她婚后，他们从未见过面，这会儿她要看他思想有什么变化，不期然而脸红了。
他们俩都朝别处看，好把自己的感情掩藏。他们相互拉着手，没再说别的；等到往前走了会儿，她才惴惴不安地偷看了他一眼。“我按你说的，昨天晚上到了阿尔夫瑞顿，可那儿没人接我呀！不过我还是一个人到了马利格林，人家跟我说姑婆的病稍微见好点。我坐着陪了她一夜；因为你没来，我一直不放心——我当时想你又回到那个呆过的城市，不免想到 ——我结婚了——心里头就怪乱的；我人不在那地方，你连个说话的人也没有；这么着，你又想借酒浇愁吧——跟上回你因为当不上大学生失了望一样，也就把从前答应我决不再犯的话忘光啦……我当时想这一定是你没来接我的缘故啊。”
“所以你就像心慈的天使，想方设法来找我，要把我救出来！”
“我当时就想坐早班车来，要想法把你找到——怕万一——万一……”
“亲爱的，我答应你的话，我始终没忘啊！我现在敢保我决不会再跟从前一样突然犯毛病啦。比那还好的事，我大概也做不到，可是那样的事也不会再干啦——一想到它，我就恶心极啦。”
“你呆在城里，没干那样事，我才高兴呢。不过，”她说，话里捎带着点难以察觉的不快，“你昨晚上没按约好的回来接我呀！”
“我没做到——真对不起。晚上九点我跟人有个约会——太晚了，想赶上那趟车接你，要么直接回马利格林，都不行啦。”
他看着他所爱的女人这会儿的样子，在他的温柔的心中把她这个人世间对他来说最甜蜜、最无私。D的人引为同志，而她主要生活在一个充满灵性的幻想世界中。她有如天仙化人，纯净明洁，她的灵魂就在自己肢体上颤动。一想到他自己竟然同阿拉贝拉同床共枕，那么龌龊下流，不由得羞愧难当。他要是把他刚刚所做所为直戳进她心里，他就是十足的恬不知耻的恶棍啦。她这人摈绝欢爱，脱弃凡俗，有时看起来殆难嫁与常人，做个通达人情的妻子，然而她又的的确确是费乐生的妻子。她怎么会成了这个样？而她成了这个样又怎么生活下去？他瞧着此时此刻的她，对个中奥妙殊难索解。
“你跟我回去好不好？”他说，“火车等等就到了。我还不知道姑婆这会儿怎么样。……苏呀，你是为我跑了这么多路啊。你得起多早动身啊，可怜的孩子！”
“是哟。一个人坐在那儿看姑婆，我一心都想着你怎么啦。我根本没睡过，天一亮就动身了。以后你不会再平白无故地乱来，弄得我担惊害怕吧！”
裘德倒不一定认为她所以担惊害怕，完全是因为他平白无故地乱来。上车之前，他才把她的手松开——他先前跟另外那个人好像也坐的这节车箱。他们并排坐着，苏坐在他和车窗之间。他打量着她的侧影，线条是那么精致优雅。她穿的是紧身衣，胸部绷得紧紧的，凸起的部分小小的，像是苹果，同阿拉贝拉丰满硕大的胸部大异其趣。他看着她，她却没转过脸来，眼睛一直朝前看，仿佛怕一跟他四目相对，就免不了惹起一番令人烦恼的争端。
“苏啊——你这会儿跟我一样结了婚啦，可咱们一直忙手忙脚的，这件事咱们还没顾得上谈哪！”
“没有谈的必要！”她很快顶回去。
“哦，嗬——也许没……可是我希望——”
“裘德——别谈我好吧——我希望你别提啦！”她恳求着。“一提这事，我就难受。我不该说这个话，你就担待着吧！……，你昨天在哪儿过的夜呀？”
她这样问纯属无心，无非想借此换个话题。他心里明白，所以另说了句，“在客店里过的。”按说他要是把意外遇到另外那个人的事告诉她，心里倒要舒坦些，但是那个人既然最后已经讲明白在澳洲结了婚，他反而觉着为难，唯恐他无论怎么说，都不免对他那个无知无识的妻子有所损害。
他们一路谈着，就到了阿尔夫瑞顿，不过谈来谈去总是不自然。苏非复过去可比了，她的名字冠上了“费乐生”这个标签，即使他一心想把她当成独立的个人跟她谈谈心，这一来，也叫他泄了气，难以启齿。然而她似乎依然故我，没有变化——不过对这他也讲不出个所以然。现在还剩下往乡下走的五英里路，大部分是上坡路，走起来跟坐车一样不方便。裘德这辈子是头一回跟苏一块儿走这条路，从前他是跟另外那个人一块儿走的。这会儿他仿佛举着一盏明灯，暂时把阴暗的过去驱散了。
她还在说话；但是裘德注意到她仍然设法避免提到她自己。最后他就问她的丈夫情况如何。
“哦，是啊。”她说。“他成天价拴在学校里头，脱不开身，要不然就跟我一块儿来啦。他这人心才好哪，老替人家想，为着陪我来，连他自己立的规矩也顾不得了，只好请回假——因为他一向是坚决反对请假，还是我把他劝住了。我觉着一个人来倒好些。多喜姑婆这个人我知道，脾气特古怪。她等于不认识他，那就把两边都弄得别别扭扭的。既然她神志不清，我倒高兴他没来啊。”
裘德一边听着这番对费乐生的夸奖，一边闷闷不乐地往前走。“费乐生先生凡是该为你想的，处处都替你想周到啦。”他说。
“可不是嘛。”
“你准是位快活的太太喽。”
“那还用说嘛。”
“新娘子呀，到现在，我大概还该这么称呼吧。我把你交给他到现在还没几个礼拜吧，再说——”
“好啦，我知道！我知道！”她脸上臒蜕子神气跟她刚说出来的理直气壮的话不太搭配，因为她刚才说得那么有板有眼，那么于干巴巴，就如同把《家庭主妇指南》里的模范语言照本宣科了一遍。裘德深知苏说话声音每一点颤动都有其含义，他能解读她心清变化的每一点迹象。她结婚固然不到一个月，但她是不快活的，这一点他深信不疑。不过单凭她仓促离家，远道而来，同这辈子几乎不相识的亲戚诀别，也证明不了什么道理；因为她做起这样的事来自自然然，也跟做别的事一样。
“好啦，费乐生太太，请你接受我这会儿是、也永远是对你的良好祝愿吧。”
她瞪了他一眼，表示责怪。
“不是呀，你不是费乐生太太。”裘德嘟囔着。“你是亲爱的、独立不羁的苏•柏瑞和呀，你自己还没明白呢！相夫持家之道好比其大无比的牛胃，还没把你这个微不足道的东西吞噬消化，临了让你没了自己的个性呢。”
苏装出气恼的样子，然后她回答说：“照我看，当家作主的为夫之道也没把你——”
“可是它的确弄得我没个性啦！”他说，伤心地摇摇头。
他们走到了棕房子和马利格林之间冷杉下，裘德和阿拉贝拉一同生活过、争吵过的孤零零的小房子，他这时掉过头来看它。那儿住着一个挺穷苦的人家。他忍不住对苏说：“我跟妻子一块儿过的那阵子，一直住那个房子里头。我从她家把她带过来的。”
她瞧着房子。“那房子跟你的关系如同小学校舍跟我的关系。”
“那倒是不错，不过我当初住在那儿，可不像你这会儿在家里那么快活！”
她闭着嘴，以沉默表示不以为然。他们又往前走了一段路，这时她又对他看着，想弄明白他对她这样的态度有什么反应。“当然我也许把你这会儿的快活说得过分了——这谁又知道呢。”他淡淡地说下去。
“裘德，就算你说这样的话是刺我，你也别再往这上头想好吧。他对我不错，凡是按男人该做的，他都做到了，也给了我充分的活动自由——年纪大的男人一般做不到这地步。……要是你认为他年纪太大，对我不合适，我就不快活，那你就错啦。”
“亲爱的，我可没想说他什么坏话——没想对你说呀。”
“那你就别再说叫我难过的事好吧，行不行？”
他没再说什么，不过他知道，总是有什么原因让苏感到她选择费乐生做丈夫，是做了件不该做的事动
他们下降到低洼处的麦田，它的一侧上面就是马利格林村——裘德多年前就在这块麦田里让庄稼汉陶大抽打过。他们爬上坡子，朝村里走，快到姑婆家的时候，看见艾林太太站在门口。她一瞧见他们，就把手举起来，似乎表示他们来得不合时宜。“她下楼啦，信不信你们看就是了！”寡妇嚷嚷着。“她硬是下了床，怎么劝也不行。我真不知道要出什么事哪！”
他们进门的时候，老太婆的确坐在壁炉边上，身上裹着毯子，脸掉过来对着他们看，那张脸活像塞巴斯蒂亚诺画的拉萨路的脸。他们准是露出惊讶的神气，因为她用虚弱的声音说：
“唉——我把你们吓着啦！我可要在这儿呆长了，才不想让人家心里高兴哪！我可不想找个不懂事的，知道的还没你一半多，把你折腾来折腾去的，哪个身子骨吃得消哟！唉，你就要跟他一样后悔这个婚姻啦！”她转过脸来，对苏接着说，“咱们家的人全这样——别的人也差不多哟！你就得像我这么着才行哪，你这个傻丫头！何况你又是那么百里挑一地找了那个小学老师费乐生！你嫁给他倒是图什么呀？”
“姑婆，难道大多数女人嫁人都是为图什么？”
“唉！你这是想说你爱那个男人！”
“我什么明明白白的话都没说。”
“那你是爱他喽？”
“别问我啦，姑婆。”
“那男人我记得挺清楚。是个挺斯文、也挺体面的人物；不过老天爷哟！——我不是要伤你的感情，不过到处都有那么些男人，什么讨人疼的女人都吃不消。我本来想说他就是一个。我这会儿就不说啦，因为你大概知道得比我清楚啦——不过这也是我早该说的呀！”
她跳起来，跑出了屋子。裘德跟着她出去，在披子里找到她，她哭了。
“别哭啦，亲爱的！”裘德痛苦地说，“她本意还是好的，不过她这会儿粗里粗气、怪里怪气就是啦，你知道。”
“哦，不是——不是那么回事。”苏说，想擦干眼泪。“她粗不粗，我一点不在乎。”
“那又为什么呢？”
“因为她说的是实话！”
“上帝啊——怎么——你不喜欢他？”裘德问。
“我不是那个意思！”她脱口而出。“我顶好——也许顶好没结婚！”
他怀疑她原来是不是真想说出这样的话。他们回到屋子里，原来谈的事算过去了。姑婆对苏相当亲热，对她说，刚结婚的年轻女人难得像她这么老远地来看一个生了病的讨厌的老家伙。苏要在下午离开，裘德便找了一位邻居赶车送她到阿尔夫瑞顿。
“要是你愿意，我跟你一块儿到车站好吧？”他说。
她不愿他去。邻居赶着马车过来了，裘德扶她上了车，也许这样显得过分热心吧，因为她看看他，示意他不该这样。
“我打算——我回麦尔切斯特以后，哪天去看看你，你看行吧？”他悻悻地说。
她俯下身来，温柔地说：“不行，亲爱的——你想来，可还不是时候。我觉得你现在心情不怎么好。”
“就是啦。”裘德说。“再见！”
“再见！”她摇摇手就走了。
“她说得不错！我不该去！”他嘟囔着。
那天晚上和以后几大，他死命压制自己要想去看她的愿望。为了存心扼杀使他神魂颠倒的爱情，把这种愿望消灭于无形中，他差点没把自己饿垮。他诵读自律训条，还专门捡出教会史讲述第二世纪苦行主义的篇章来学习。他还没从马利格林回麦尔切斯特，就收到阿拉贝拉的一封信。他一看到信，就为自己裹进了她那个世界而良心受到谴责，要比他因恋恋于苏而自责更为强烈。
他一眼看出来信上盖的不是基督堂邮戳，而是伦敦的。阿拉贝拉告诉他，他们俩那天早晨在基督堂分手后没几天，她很意外地收到先前在悉尼一家旅馆当经理的澳洲丈夫的亲切的来信。他是专门到英国来找她的，在兰贝斯地方开了家有全份营业执照、便于经营的酒馆，盼望她到他那儿，一块儿做生意，以后酒馆大概会生意兴隆，因为它地处人烟稠密，爱喝金酒的头等居民区，现在一个月生意已经做到两百镑，往后不用费劲就能加一倍。
因为那个人说他至今还非常爱她，求她告诉他她在什么地方，再说他们分手不过因为小吵小闹，而她在基督堂干的活儿也不过临时性质，所以经他一劝，就上他那儿去了。她总不免觉得她跟他的关系比跟裘德的近乎多了，因为她是明媒正娶嫁他的，在一块儿过的日子也比跟头一个丈夫长得多。她这样向裘德表示各奔前程，决不是对他抱有恶感，也完全相信他不会跟她这软弱无能的女人过不去，不会给她到处宣扬，不会在她现在刚有个机会改善境遇，过上体面生活的时候，把她毁掉。
Part 3 Chapter 10
JUDE returned to Melchester, which had the questionable recommendation of being only a dozen and a half miles from his Sue's now permanent residence. At first he felt that this nearness was a distinct reason for not going southward at all; but Christminster was too sad a place to bear, while the proximity of Shaston to Melchester might afford him the glory of worsting the Enemy in a close engagement, such as was deliberately sought by the priests and virgins of the early Church, who, disdaining an ignominious flight from temptation, became even chamber-partners with impunity. Jude did not pause to remember that, in the laconic words of the historian, "insulted Nature sometimes vindicated her rights" in such circumstances.
He now returned with feverish desperation to his study for the priesthood-- in the recognition that the single-mindedness of his aims, and his fidelity to the cause, had been more than questionable of late. His passion for Sue troubled his soul; yet his lawful abandonment to the society of Arabella for twelve hours seemed instinctively a worse thing-- even though she had not told him of her Sydney husband till afterwards. He had, he verily believed, overcome all tendency to fly to liquor-- which, indeed, he had never done from taste, but merely as an escape from intolerable misery of mind. Yet he perceived with despondency that, taken all round, he was a man of too many passions to make a good clergyman; the utmost he could hope for was that in a life of constant internal warfare between flesh and spirit the former might not always be victorious.
As a hobby, auxiliary to his readings i

[table=80%,#ffffff,#000000,1][tr][td]Part 4
AT SHASTON
"Whoso prefers either Matrimony or other Ordinance before the Good of Man and the plain Exigence of Charity, let him profess Papist, or Protestant, or what he will, he is no better than a Pharisee."-- J. Milton.

人若一味听命于婚姻法律及其他诏令，置道德真谛与仁爱至情于不顾，纵其以教皇派、新教派或其他名号自居，实则与法利赛无异。J．密尔顿
Part 4 Chapter 1
SHASTON, the ancient British Palladour,
From whose foundation first such strange reports arise,
(as Drayton sang it), was, and is, in itself the city of a dream. Vague imaginings of its castle, its three mints, its magnificent apsidal abbey, the chief glory of South Wessex, its twelve churches, its shrines, chantries, hospitals, its gabled freestone mansions-- all now ruthlessly swept away--throw the visitor, even against his will, into a pensive melancholy, which the stimulating atmosphere and limitless landscape around him can scarcely dispel. The spot was the burial-place of a king and a queen, of abbots and abbesses, saints and bishops, knights and squires. The bones of King Edward "the Martyr," carefully removed hither for holy preservation, brought Shaston a renown which made it the resort of pilgrims from every part of Europe, and enabled it to maintain a reputation extending far beyond English shores. To this fair creation of the great Middle-Age the Dissolution was, as historians tell us, the death-knell. With the destruction of the enormous abbey the whole place collapsed in a general ruin: the Martyr's bones met with the fate of the sacred pile that held them, and not a stone is now left to tell where they lie.
The natural picturesqueness and singularity of the town still remain; but strange to say these qualities, which were noted by many writers in ages when scenic beauty is said to have been unappreciated, are passed over in this, and one of the queerest and quaintest spots in England stands virtually unvisited to-day.
It has a unique position on the summit of a steep and imposing scarp, rising on the north, south, and west sides of the borough out of the deep alluvial Vale of Blackmoor, the view from the Castle Green over three counties of verdant pasture--South, Mid, and Nether Wessex-- being as sudden a surprise to the unexpectant traveller's eyes as the medicinal air is to his lungs. Impossible to a railway, it can best be reached on foot, next best by light vehicles; and it is hardly accessible to these but by a sort of isthmus on the north-east, that connects it with the high chalk table-land on that side.
Such is, and such was, the now world-forgotten Shaston or Palladour. Its situation rendered water the great want of the town; and within living memory, horses, donkeys and men may have been seen toiling up the winding ways to the top of the height, laden with tubs and barrels filled from the wells beneath the mountain, and hawkers retailing their contents at the price of a halfpenny a bucketful.
This difficulty in the water supply, together with two other odd facts, namely, that the chief graveyard slopes up as steeply as a roof behind the church, and that in former times the town passed through a curious period of corruption, conventual and domestic, gave rise to the saying that Shaston was remarkable for three consolations to man, such as the world afforded not elsewhere. It was a place where the churchyard lay nearer heaven than the church steeple, where beer was more plentiful than water, and where there were more wanton women than honest wives and maids. It is also said that after the Middle Ages the inhabitants were too poor to pay their priests, and hence were compelled to pull down their churches, and refrain altogether from the public worship of God; a necessity which they bemoaned over their cups in the settles of their inns on Sunday afternoons. In those days the Shastonians were apparently not without a sense of humour.
There was another peculiarity--this a modern one--which Shaston appeared to owe to its site. It was the resting-place and headquarters of the proprietors of wandering vans, shows, shooting-galleries, and other itinerant concerns, whose business lay largely at fairs and markets. As strange wild birds are seen assembled on some lofty promontory, meditatively pausing for longer flights, or to return by the course they followed thither, so here, in this cliff-town, stood in stultified silence the yellow and green caravans bearing names not local, as if surprised by a change in the landscape so violent as to hinder their further progress; and here they usually remained all the winter till they turned to seek again their old tracks in the following spring.
It was to this breezy and whimsical spot that Jude ascended from the nearest station for the first time in his life about four o'clock one afternoon, and entering on the summit of the peak after a toilsome climb, passed the first houses of the aerial town; and drew towards the school-house. The hour was too early; the pupils were still in school, humming small, like a swarm of gnats; and he withdrew a few steps along Abbey Walk, whence he regarded the spot which fate had made the home of all he loved best in the world. In front of the schools, which were extensive and stone-built, grew two enormous beeches with smooth mouse-coloured trunks, as such trees will only grow on chalk uplands. Within the mullioned and transomed windows he could see the black, brown, and flaxen crowns of the scholars over the sills, and to pass the time away he walked down to the level terrace where the abbey gardens once had spread, his heart throbbing in spite of him.
Unwilling to enter till the children were dismissed he remained here till young voices could be heard in the open air, and girls in white pinafores over red and blue frocks appeared dancing along the paths which the abbess, prioress, subprioress, and fifty nuns had demurely paced three centuries earlier. Retracing his steps he found that he had waited too long, and that Sue had gone out into the town at the heels of the last scholar, Mr. Phillotson having been absent all the afternoon at a teachers' meeting at Shottsford.
Jude went into the empty schoolroom and sat down, the girl who was sweeping the floor having informed him that Mrs. Phillotson would be back again in a few minutes. A piano stood near-- actually the old piano that Phillotson had possessed at Marygreen-- and though the dark afternoon almost prevented him seeing the notes Jude touched them in his humble way, and could not help modulating into the hymn which had so affected him in the previous week.
A figure moved behind him, and thinking it was still the girl with the broom Jude took no notice, till the person came close and laid her fingers lightly upon his bass hand. The imposed hand was a little one he seemed to know, and he turned.
"Don't stop," said Sue. "I like it. I learnt it before I left Melchester. They used to play it in the training school."
"I can't strum before you! Play it for me."
"Oh well--I don't mind."
Sue sat down, and her rendering of the piece, though not remarkable, seemed divine as compared with his own. She, like him, was evidently touched-- to her own surprise--by the recalled air; and when she had finished, and he moved his hand towards hers, it met his own half-way. Jude grasped it-- just as he had done before her marriage.
"It is odd," she said, in a voice quite changed, "that I should care about that air; because----"
"Because what?"
"I am not that sort--quite."
"Not easily moved?"
"I didn't quite mean that."
"Oh, but you ARE one of that sort, for you are just like me at heart!"
"But not at head."
She played on and suddenly turned round; and by an unpremeditated instinct each clasped the other's hand again.
She uttered a forced little laugh as she relinquished his quickly. "How funny!" she said. "I wonder what we both did that for?"
"I suppose because we are both alike, as I said before."
"Not in our thoughts! Perhaps a little in our feelings."
"And they rule thoughts.... Isn't it enough to make one blaspheme that the composer of that hymn is one of the most commonplace men I ever met!"
"What--you know him?"
"I went to see him."
"Oh, you goose--to do just what I should have done! Why did you?"
"Because we are not alike," he said drily.
"Now we'll have some tea," said Sue. "Shall we have it here instead of in my house? It is no trouble to get the kettle and things brought in. We don't live at the school you know, but in that ancient dwelling across the way called Old-Grove Place. It is so antique and dismal that it depresses me dreadfully. Such houses are very well to visit, but not to live in-- I feel crushed into the earth by the weight of so many previous lives there spent. In a new place like these schools there is only your own life to support. Sit down, and I'll tell Ada to bring the tea-things across."
He waited in the light of the stove, the door of which she flung open before going out, and when she returned, followed by the maiden with tea, they sat down by the same light, assisted by the blue rays of a spirit-lamp under the brass kettle on the stand.
"This is one of your wedding-presents to me," she said, signifying the latter.
"Yes," said Jude.
The kettle of his gift sang with some satire in its note, to his mind; and to change the subject he said, "Do you know of any good readable edition of the uncanonical books of the New Testament? You don't read them in the school I suppose?"
"Oh dear no!--'twould alarm the neighbourhood.... Yes, there is one. I am not familiar with it now, though I was interested in it when my former friend was alive. Cowper's APOCRYPHAL GOSPELS."
"That sounds like what I want." His thoughts, however reverted with a twinge to the "former friend"--by whom she meant, as he knew, the university comrade of her earlier days. He wondered if she talked of him to Phillotson.
"The Gospel of Nicodemus is very nice," she went on to keep him from his jealous thoughts, which she read clearly, as she always did. Indeed when they talked on an indifferent subject, as now, there was ever a second silent conversation passing between their emotions, so perfect was the reciprocity between them. "It is quite like the genuine article. All cut up into verses, too; so that it is like one of the other evangelists read in a dream, when things are the same, yet not the same. But, Jude, do you take an interest in those questions still? Are you getting up APOLOGETICA?"
"Yes. I am reading Divinity harder than ever."
She regarded him curiously.
"Why do you look at me like that?" said Jude.
"Oh--why do you want to know?"
"I am sure you can tell me anything I may be ignorant of in that subject. You must have learnt a lot of everything from your dear dead friend!"
"We won't get on to that now!" she coaxed. "Will you be carving out at that church again next week, where you learnt the pretty hymn?"
"Yes, perhaps."
"That will be very nice. Shall I come and see you there? It is in this direction, and I could come any afternoon by train for half an hour?"
"No. Don't come!"
"What--aren't we going to be friends, then, any longer, as we used to be?"
"No."
"I didn't know that. I thought you were always going to be kind to me!"
"No, I am not."
"What have I done, then? I am sure I thought we two---- " The TREMOLO in her voice caused her to break off.
"Sue, I sometimes think you are a flirt," said he abruptly.
There was a momentary pause, till she suddenly jumped up; and to his surprise he saw by the kettle-flame that her face was flushed.
"I can't talk to you any longer, Jude!" she said, the tragic contralto note having come back as of old. "It is getting too dark to stay together like this, after playing morbid Good Friday tunes that make one feel what one shouldn't! ... We mustn't sit and talk in this way any more. Yes--you must go away, for you mistake me! I am very much the reverse of what you say so cruelly--Oh, Jude, it WAS cruel to say that! Yet I can't tell you the truth--I should shock you by letting you know how I give way to my impulses, and how much I feel that I shouldn't have been provided with attractiveness unless it were meant to be exercised! Some women's love of being loved is insatiable; and so, often, is their love of loving; and in the last case they may find that they can't give it continuously to the chamber-officer appointed by the bishop's licence to receive it. But you are so straightforward, Jude, that you can't understand me! ... Now you must go. I am sorry my husband is not at home."
"Are you?"
"I perceive I have said that in mere convention! Honestly I don't think I am sorry. It does not matter, either way, sad to say!"
As they had overdone the grasp of hands some time sooner, she touched his fingers but lightly when he went out now. He had hardly gone from the door when, with a dissatisfied look, she jumped on a form and opened the iron casement of a window beneath which he was passing in the path without. "When do you leave here to catch your train, Jude?" she asked.
He looked up in some surprise. "The coach that runs to meet it goes in three-quarters of an hour or so."
"What will you do with yourself for the time?"
"Oh--wander about, I suppose. Perhaps I shall go and sit in the old church."
"It does seem hard of me to pack you off so! You have thought enough of churches, Heaven knows, without going into one in the dark. Stay there."
"Where?"
"Where you are. I can talk to you better like this than when you were inside.... It was so kind and tender of you to give up half a day's work to come to see me! ... You are Joseph the dreamer of dreams, dear Jude. And a tragic Don Quixote. And sometimes you are St. Stephen, who, while they were stoning him, could see Heaven opened. Oh, my poor friend and comrade, you'll suffer yet!"
Now that the high window-sill was between them, so that he could not get at her, she seemed not to mind indulging in a frankness she had feared at close quarters.
"I have been thinking," she continued, still in the tone of one brimful of feeling, "that the social moulds civilization fits us into have no more relation to our actual shapes than the conventional shapes of the constellations have to the real star-patterns. I am called Mrs. Richard Phillotson, living a calm wedded life with my counterpart of that name. But I am not really Mrs. Richard Phillotson, but a woman tossed about, all alone, with aberrant passions, and unaccountable antipathies.... Now you mustn't wait longer, or you will lose the coach. Come and see me again. You must come to the house then."
"Yes!" said Jude. "When shall it be?"
"To-morrow week. Good-bye--good-bye!" She stretched out her hand and stroked his forehead pitifully--just once. Jude said good-bye, and went away into the darkness.
Passing along Bimport Street he thought he heard the wheels of the coach departing, and, truly enough, when he reached the Duke's Arms in the Market Place the coach had gone. It was impossible for him to get to the station on foot in time for this train, and he settled himself perforce to wait for the next-- the last to Melchester that night.
He wandered about awhile, obtained something to eat; and then, having another half-hour on his hands, his feet involuntarily took him through the venerable graveyard of Trinity Church, with its avenues of limes, in the direction of the schools again. They were entirely in darkness. She had said she lived over the way at Old-Grove Place, a house which he soon discovered from her description of its antiquity.
A glimmering candlelight shone from a front window, the shutters being yet unclosed. He could see the interior clearly-- the floor sinking a couple of steps below the road without, which had become raised during the centuries since the house was built. Sue, evidently just come in, as standing with her hat on in this front parlour or sitting-room, whose walls were lined with wainscoting of panelled oak reaching from floor to ceiling, the latter being crossed by huge moulded beams only a little way above her head. The mantelpiece was of the same heavy description, carved with Jacobean pilasters and scroll-work. The centuries did, indeed, ponderously overhang a young wife who passed her time here.
She had opened a rosewood work-box, and was looking at a photograph. Having contemplated it a little while she pressed it against her bosom, and put it again in its place.
Then becoming aware that she had not obscured the windows she came forward to do so, candle in hand. It was too dark for her to see Jude without, but he could see her face distinctly, and there was an unmistakable tearfulness about the dark, long-lashed eyes.
She closed the shutters, and Jude turned away to pursue his solitary journey home. "Whose photograph was she looking at?" he said. He had once given her his; but she had others, he knew. Yet it was his, surely?
He knew he should go to see her again, according to her invitation. Those earnest men he read of, the saints, whom Sue, with gentle irreverence, called his demi-gods, would have shunned such encounters if they doubted their own strength. But he could not. He might fast and pray during the whole interval, but the human was more powerful in him than the Divine.

沙氏顿，古代不列颠的帕拉都，诚如德列顿所吟咏的：
一自建置始，多少奇闻异说流布于世。
不论过去，还是现在，它始终是一座梦幻般城市。它拥有过自己的一切：城堡、三所造币厂、以南维塞克斯的主要光荣见称的壮丽的半圆式大教堂、十二座教堂、圣贤凤歌祷堂、医院，以及筑有山墙的沙石府邸——历史无情，这一切至今已完全夷为平地。游客登临，抚今追昔，往往不胜怅惘。气象令人神驰，极目景象无际，却仍难以排解这种情绪。此地还曾是一位国王和一位王后，许多院。庵的住持和女住持，许多圣者和主教、骑士和侍从的安葬之地。当年“殉国者”爱德华的遗骸曾为人小心谨慎地移葬于此，以示崇敬，并得垂诸久远。欧洲各地的朝拜者于是纷至沓来，沙氏顿因此而声名大振，远播英国本土之外。然而史家告诉我们，“大消解” 给伟大中世纪这份杰作敲响了丧钟。规模宏伟的大教堂既经摧毁，荡然无遗，整个地方也随之土崩瓦解，沦为废墟。“殉国者”的遗骸只落得跟奉祀它的陵寝一同化为乌有，如今竟无片石残垒遗留，以昭示其故址所在。
这市镇天然美景如画，迥绝独出，至今风貌不异曩时。说来也怪，据说在以往人们不解欣赏风景美的时代，它的特色倒颇为许多作家瞩目，而沿至今日，英国这块最罕见、最富奇趣的地方依然受到冷落，实际上无人光顾。
它位于一个险峻雄奇的悬崖之巅，举世无双。它的北、南。西三面从冲积层丰厚的布莱摩谷拔地而起，形成自治市区。从“城堡草地”远眺，维塞克斯三郡风光尽收眼底。思想上没准备的游客骋目所及，迥出意表，正如他不期然而饱吸令人神旺的空气，那样为之惊叹不已。这地方无法通火车，上下最好是依靠足力，其次算生轻便马车，但也只能走东北面那条同白垩质台地相联接的羊肠小道，此外别无坦途。
从古至今，这就是为世人遗忘的帕拉都转变成的沙氏顿。它的地势造成它终年缺水，居民只好到山下井里打水，装满大桶小桶，再由驴马驮运或由人背，从蜿蜒的山路爬上绝顶。再由小贩沿街叫卖，一桶水半个便士。此情此景，人们自是身历不忘。
除了缺水造成的困难，还有两件咄咄怪事。一是主要的教堂墓地如同屋顶一样往上斜，坡度很陡；再就是早年市镇经历过一个离奇的尼俗两界腐化不堪的时期，由此有了这样的顺口溜：沙氏顿，地方好，给男人，三宗宝，啥个地方也比不了。这三宗宝指的是：按教堂墓地的地形上天国比从教堂的尖阁去还近；啤酒的供应比水还足；淫荡的女人比忠实的妻子和贞洁的姑娘还多。据说中世纪之后，当地居民穷到了养不起牧师的程度，只好把教堂推倒，从此永远取消了对上帝的集体礼拜；又因为他们做出这样的事是出于不得已，于是每逢礼拜天下午就坐在小酒店的靠背椅上，一边举杯痛饮，一边长吁短叹。足见那些年沙氏顿人不乏幽默感。
沙氏顿另有一个特色——这却是近代的——要归功于它的地利。赶大篷车走江湖的、搭棚子推销货品的、开打靶场的，以及到处赶庙会集市做生意的行商游贩，一律到这地方歇脚，把它当成各行各业的宿营地。人们时常看见奇怪的野鸟翔集在高耸入云的崖角上，暂时停在那儿，默默思考着究竟是飞往更远的地方，还是按习惯的路线折回故地。而在这悬崖之镇上，同时停着许许多多标着异乡人姓名的大篷车，黄黄绿绿，呆头呆脑，大气不出，仿佛眼前景物变得太剧烈，吓得它们连一步也没法朝前挪了。它们通常在这地方过冬，来春再从旧路回去跑生意。
某个下午四点钟光景，裘德从距沙氏顿最近的火车站，平生第一次走上这天风浩浩、神秘莫测的地方；经过一番非常吃力的攀登，总算到达了绝顶，先经过这凌空矗立的市镇的头一排房子，接着就拖着步子走向小学校舍。时间太早，还没放学，小学生的声音嗡嗡的，有如一大群蚊子，他顺着大教堂路往回走了几步，端详着命运为他在这世界上最爱的人安排的居家所在。校舍是石头砌的，面积很大。门前有两棵高大的山毛榉，树干光洁，呈灰褐色。这类树大抵长在白垩质高地上。他看得见直棂窗里面窗台上方小学生的脑壳，黑头发、棕头发、淡黄头发都有。为了消磨时间，他就往下走到平地，这原是大教堂花园旧址。他此刻不由自主地兴奋得心直跳。
他不想在学生放学前进学校，所以一直呆在那儿；后来听见了说话的琅琅童声在空中荡漾，只见女孩们穿着红蓝两色上衣，外罩白围巾，蹦蹦跳跳地走过三个世纪前尼庵堂主、住持、副住持、女执事和三十个女尼看破世情、修真养性的地方。待他往回走时，才明白等的时间太多，在最后一个学生离校之后，苏也紧跟着到镇上去了。整个下午费乐生都不在校，到沙津开教师会。
裘德进了没人的教室，坐下来。正在扫地的姑娘告诉他费乐生太太几分钟后就回来。离他不远地方有架钢琴——其实就是费乐生当年在马利格林买的旧钢琴，虽然到了下午这时已经昏暗，看不大清楚键，裘德还是乍着胆子试弹了弹，忍不住转奏起上礼拜那么感动他的那首赞美诗来。
一个人影在他身后晃动，他原以为是那个拿笤帚的姑娘，也就没注意，后来那个人走近了，把她的手轻轻放在他按低音键的手上。这压上来的手小小的，似曾相识，于是他转过身来。
“往下弹吧。”苏说。“我喜欢它。我在麦尔切斯特那阵子，学过这个曲子。进修学校的人时常弹它。”
“我可不能在你面前献丑啊！还是你给我弹吧。”
“哦，呢——这我倒不在乎。”
苏坐下来，她对这个曲子的表现，固然算不上出色，但同裘德弹奏的效果一比，却显得气度庄严。她也跟他一样，显而易见因旧曲重弹而感动——在她自己反而觉得意外。她刚弹完，裘德就把手向她的手伸过去，才伸到一半地方，就跟她过来接的手碰到一块儿。裘德把她的手握紧，像她婚前那样。
“这可怪啦，”她说，声音完全变了，“我居然喜欢起那个情调啦；因为——”
“因为什么？”
“因为我不是那类人——绝对不是啊。”
“是说不轻易感动吗？”
“我不完全是那个意思。”
“哦，不过你就是那类人，因为你的心灵的感受同我一样啊！”
“不过头脑的活动并不一样。”
苏又往下弹，突然转过身来。由于意想不到的冲动，他们再次握起手来。
她把他的手很快放开了，低声地笑出来，不过显出抑制。“多可笑！”她说。“我真搞不清咱们干吗这样。”
“我想这是因为咱们是一个模子出来的，我以前就说过。”
“咱们的思想可不是一个模子。或许情感方面有那么点。”
“不过情感支配思想啊。哪个想得到，给这首赞美诗谱曲的，居然是我碰到的顶俗鄙的人，这难道不亵渎神明吗！”
“怎么——你认识他？”
“我去找过他。”
“哎，你这个呆鹅——这样的事，只有我才干得出来！你干吗这么干呢？”
“因为咱们俩不一样嘛！”他冷冷地说。
“好啦，咱们该喝点茶啦。”苏说。“咱们不必到我家去，就在这儿喝好不好？把水壶跟茶具拿过来也不费事。我们没住在学校，住在路对面那个又老又旧的房子里，名字叫葛庐。它真是老掉了牙，又那么阴凄凄的，弄得心情坏透了。那样的房子要是参观参观还不错，住人可不行——从前住过多少辈的人，我觉得他们加起来的分量把我给压到地底下去啦。在学校这类新地方住，只要你自个儿的生命撑得住就行。坐下吧，我叫阿代把茶具拿过来。”
他坐在火炉的亮光中等着，她出去之前就把炉门拉开了。女仆拿着茶具随着她回来，于是他们都坐在同样的炉光中。放在炉架上的铜壶底下的酒精灯发出的蓝色火苗，使炉光的亮度增加了。
“你送给我的结婚礼物，这是其中之一。”她说，指着铜壶。
他当做礼物的铜壶现在唱出来的调子使他感到有点讽刺意味；他想换个话题，就说，“你知道不知道《新约》各篇之外，还有什么杂出的好版本值得读读？我想你在学校时候，不看这类书吧？”
“哦，才不会看呢——不然就把方近左右的人全惊动啦。有倒是有一本。我以前那位朋友在世的时候，我对它挺感兴趣，这会儿对它的内容已经不甚了了。就是考伯那部《经外福音大全》。”
“这倒像我要的东西。”他尽管这么说，可是“从前那位朋友”这个说法让他觉得刺心。他知道她说的是她从前那位大学生同志。他不禁揣摩她究竟跟费乐生说没说过这件事。
“妮柯得摩福音》挺有意思。”她接下去说，想把他的嫉妒心岔开，因为她对他这种心理看得很清楚，而且一向看得很清楚。在他们谈着与他们本身无关的闲话的同时，他们的感情却正在进行另一番无声的谈话，两心交融，完美谐和。“这是本足以乱真的著作。全书也分列章节，注意节奏韵律，所以这本书跟福音派教徒念的别的福音书没什么两样。你就像在梦里念着，说是念一样东西吧，可又不完全一样。裘德，难道你对那类问题还有兴趣吗？你不是正精读《为我一生而辩》？”
“不错，我还在念神学书，比以前更用功。”
她看着他，显出好奇的意思。
“你干吗这么瞧着我？”裘德说。
“哦——你干吗要知道？”
“我敢说你在这方面一定能告诉我至今我大概一无所知的道理。你从那位故世的亲密朋友那儿大概什么都学到了！”
“咱们别没完没了谈这个啦！”她想用委婉的口气功住他。‘你下礼拜还上那个教堂吗？还到你学那首好听的赞美诗的地方去吗？”
“还要去，大概是这样。”
“那太好啦。我上那儿去看你好不好？按这么个方向走没错儿吧，随便我哪个下午坐半个钟头火车去都成吧？”
“不成。你别来。”
“怎么啦——咱们以后不交朋友啦？不像咱们以前那样啦？”
“不像以前那样啦。”
“我倒还不知道呢。我老想着你对我的心总那么好啊！”
“我这会儿不那样啦。”
“那我到底有什么错处呀？我敢说我心里老念叨着咱们俩——”她说话中间的颤音，把她的话打断了。
“苏，我有时候当你是卖弄风情的女人。”他突如其来地说。
一刹那停顿，跟着她忽地蹦起来。他借着酒精灯光看见她脸涨得通红，不禁吓了一跳。
“我不能再跟你说下去啦，裘德！”她说，饱含着从前就有的悲怆的女低音。“弹了那样病态的耶稣受难日的曲子，叫人觉着做了不妥当的事，天又黑透了，咱们怎么还这样呆在一块儿呢！……咱们不好再这么坐着谈下去啦！哎——你得走啦，因为你错看了我啦！你话说得那么绝情，可是我这人跟你说的是南辕北辙啊——哦，裘德呀，说那样的话真是太绝情啦！可是我也不便把实情一五一十说给你听——要是我告诉你我一切怎么听凭冲动支配，我多么深切感到如果天生丽质不能颠倒众生，那就不必来到世上，一定叫你震惊。有些女人并不因为有人爱她，她的爱情就此满足了；这样一来，常常是她爱上了人，她的爱情也还是得不到满足。结果是，她们可能发现自己对那承主教大人之命而为一家之主的人没法继续爱下去。不过，裘德，你是这么直心眼儿，你没法一下子就懂我的意思！好啦，你该走啦。我丈夫没在家，我觉着这样说不过去！”
“你真觉着说不过去？”
“我自己有数，我这么说无非是从俗！说老实话，我可不认为什么过得去过不去的。这算得了什么，不管怎么着，一说都叫人难过。”
他们两个先前握着手的时间既然太长了点，所以他走的时候，她只碰了碰他的手指头。他刚出门，她就一副不满意的神情，往板凳上一跳，把一扇窗户的铁格子推开了，而裘德正从外面小路走过窗下。“裘德，你什么时候离开这儿赶火车？”
他往上一瞧，吃了一惊。“大概还有三刻钟吧，公共马车才去迎火车。”
“那你这段时间怎么消磨呢？”
“哦——我看随便转转就行啦。大概到老教堂坐坐吧。”
“我就这么把你打发走了，未免太狠心喽！你钻教堂该钻腻啦，天哪，别再摸黑进教堂吧。就呆在这儿吧。”
“哪儿呀？”
“你这会儿呆的地方呀。这么着，我跟你说话，可以比你在学校里头自在啦。你耽误半天来看我，你待我心多好多细啊！亲爱的裘德，你就是老做梦的约瑟啊。是一生悲剧的堂•吉河德啊。你有时候就是圣•司提反，别人拿石头砸他的时候，他还能看得见天国的门打开哪。哦，我的可怜的朋友和同志，你的苦还在后头呢！”
高高的窗台既然把他们隔开了，他也就无从接近她，看来她不再像在近处相处那么拘谨，而是坦然无忌，似想把衷曲一吐为快。“我一直想着，”她接着说，话里充满感情，“文明把咱们硬塞进它设定的社会模子里，可咱们的实际形象跟模子毫不相干，这道理就像咱们常见的满天星斗，它们的样子不等于星座的真正的形状。人家管我叫里查•费乐生太太，我跟叫那个名字的对方在一块儿过平静的夫妇生活。可是我根本不是什么里查•费乐生太太，而是一个不然一身，让人摆弄、调教的女人。既是情欲为正理所不容，嫌忌又有口难明……现在你别再等啦，要不然你就误了公共马车啦。你再来看我吧。你一定再来看我啊，到时候你要到家里来。”
“好，好！”裘德说，“什么时候呢？”
“从明天算，就过一个礼拜好啦。再见——再见！”她把手伸出来，带着怜爱之情抚摸他的前额——只摸了一下。裘德说过再会，就走进沉沉黑夜。
他沿比波街走着，听见了公共马车的轮声，等他赶到集市广场的公爵别业，公共马车果然已经出发了。要想靠步行及时赶到火车站是办不到的，他只好随遇而安，等下一趟公共马车——那是往麦尔切斯特的最后一班。
他随便转悠了一会儿，弄了点东西吃。当时还剩下半个钟头闲着没事，没想到身不由己竟然径直穿过历史悠久的三一教堂的墓地和它的菩提树夹道的林荫路，又朝学校方向去了。学校漆黑一片。她说住在葛庐老宅，按她形容的古旧风貌，他很快找到了那所房子。
一道闪烁的烛光从前窗射出来，百叶窗还没关上。屋内情景看得清清楚楚——地面要比房子外面的道路低两个台阶，这是因为房子造好后又过了几百年，路已经填高许多。显而易见，苏刚进屋子，戴着帽子，还没卸装。她站在房子前部小会客室或起坐室里，墙壁四周，从地上到天花板，镶满了橡木壁板，预制好的粗壮的横梁承接着天花板，只比她的头略高些。壁炉台板也是同样结实厚重的款式，刻着詹姆士一世时代的方柱和经卷。毫不含糊，几个世纪沉重地悬在年轻妻子头上，而她就在那儿消磨光阴。
她打开一个花梨木针线盒，看着一张照片。全神贯注了一会儿，就把它贴在胸前，随后又放回原处。
这时她才想到窗户还没挡好，就手持蜡烛，移步窗前做这件事。天太黑了，她看不见外边的裘德，但是他却把她的脸看得一清二楚，她那双长长睫毛覆着的黑眼睛分明珠泪盈眶，一点也没看错。
她关上了百叶窗。裘德转身离开，独自寂寂走上归途。“她看的照片是谁的？”他说。他有一回把自己的照片给了她；不过她也有别人的呀。不过那准是他的照片，错不了吧？
他深知必得按她的嘱咐去看她。他所研读的真诚不苟的学问大家，那些圣贤人物，也就是苏曾以轻松的调侃形容为高于人的次神，要是缺乏对自身力量的自信的话，准会回避这样的接触。但是他办不到。他自然可以在见不到苏的那段时间禁食、祈祷，克抑欲念，无奈他身上的人性终究比身外的神力更强大啊。
Part 4 Chapter 2
HOWEVER, if God disposed not, woman did. The next morning but one brought him this note from her:
Don't come next week. On your own account don't! We were too free, under the influence of that morbid hymn and the twilight. Think no more than you can help of SUSANNA FLORENCE MARY.
The disappointment was keen. He knew her mood, the look of her face, when she subscribed herself at length thus. But whatever her mood he could not say she was wrong in her view. He replied:
I acquiesce. You are right. It is a lesson in renunciation which I suppose I ought to learn at this season. JUDE
He despatched the note on Easter Eve, and there seemed a finality in their decisions. But other forces and laws than theirs were in operation. On Easter Monday morning he received a message from the Widow Edlin, whom he had directed to telegraph if anything serious happened:
Your aunt is sinking. Come at once.
He threw down his tools and went. Three and a half hours later he was crossing the downs about Marygreen, and presently plunged into the concave field across which the short cut was made to the village. As he ascended on the other side a labouring man, who had been watching his approach from a gate across the path, moved uneasily, and prepared to speak. "I can see in his face that she is dead," said Jude. "Poor Aunt Drusilla!"
It was as he had supposed, and Mrs. Edlin had sent out the man to break the news to him.
"She wouldn't have knowed 'ee. She lay like a doll wi' glass eyes; so it didn't matter that you wasn't here," said he.
Jude went on to the house, and in the afternoon, when everything was done, and the layers-out had finished their beer, and gone, he sat down alone in the silent place. It was absolutely necessary to communicate with Sue, though two or three days earlier they had agreed to mutual severance. He wrote in the briefest terms:
Aunt Drusilla is dead, having been taken almost suddenly. The funeral is on Friday afternoon.
He remained in and about Marygreen through the intervening days, went out on Friday morning to see that the grave was finished, and wondered if Sue would come. She had not written, and that seemed to signify rather that she would come than that she would not. Having timed her by her only possible train, he locked the door about mid-day, and crossed the hollow field to the verge of the upland by the Brown House, where he stood and looked over the vast prospect northwards, and over the nearer landscape in which Alfredston stood. Two miles behind it a jet of white steam was travelling from the left to the right of the picture.
There was a long time to wait, even now, till he would know if she had arrived. He did wait, however, and at last a small hired vehicle pulled up at the bottom of the hill, and a person alighted, the conveyance going back, while the passenger began ascending the hill. He knew her; and she looked so slender to-day that it seemed as if she might be crushed in the intensity of a too passionate embrace-- such as it was not for him to give. Two-

[table=80%,#ffffff,#000000,1][tr][td]Part 4 Chapter 4
PHILLOTSON was sitting up late, as was often his custom, trying to get together the materials for his long-neglected hobby of Roman antiquities. For the first time since reviving the subject he felt a return of his old interest in it. He forgot time and place, and when he remembered himself and ascended to rest it was nearly two o'clock.
His preoccupation was such that, though he now slept on the other side of the house, he mechanically went to the room that he and his wife had occupied when he first became a tenant of Old-Grove Place, which since his differences with Sue had been hers exclusively. He entered, and unconsciously began to undress.
There was a cry from the bed, and a quick movement. Before the schoolmaster had realized where he was he perceived Sue starting up half-awake, staring wildly, and springing out upon the floor on the side away from him, which was towards the window. This was somewhat hidden by the canopy of the bedstead, and in a moment he heard her flinging up the sash. Before he had thought that she meant to do more than get air she had mounted upon the sill and leapt out. She disappeared in the darkness, and he heard her fall below.
Phillotson, horrified, ran downstairs, striking himself sharply against the newel in his haste. Opening the heavy door he ascended the two or three steps to the level of the ground, and there on the gravel before him lay a white heap. Phillotson seized it in his arms, and bringing Sue into the hall seated her on a chair, where he gazed at her by the flapping light of the candle which he had set down in the draught on the bottom stair.
She had certainly not broken her neck. She looked at him with eyes that seemed not to take him in; and though not particularly large in general they appeared so now.
She pressed her side and rubbed her arm, as if conscious of pain; then stood up, averting her face, in evident distress at his gaze.
"Thank God--you are not killed! Though it's not for want of trying-- not much hurt I hope?"
Her fall, in fact, had not been a serious one, probably owing to the lowness of the old rooms and to the high level of the ground without. Beyond a scraped elbow and a blow in the side she had apparently incurred little harm.
"I was asleep, I think!" she began, her pale face still turned away from him. "And something frightened me--a terrible dream--I thought I saw you--" The actual circumstances seemed to come back to her, and she was silent.
Her cloak was hanging at the back of the door, and the wretched Phillotson flung it round her. "Shall I help you upstairs?" he asked drearily; for the significance of all this sickened him of himself and of everything.
"No thank you, Richard. I am very little hurt. I can walk."
"You ought to lock your door," he mechanically said, as if lecturing in school. "Then no one could intrude even by accident."
"I have tried--it won't lock. All the doors are out of order."
The aspect of things was not improved by her admission. She ascended the staircase slowly, the waving light of the candle shining on her. Phillotson did not approach her, or attempt to ascend himself till he heard her enter her room. Then he fastened up the front door, and returning, sat down on the lower stairs, holding the newel with one hand, and bowing his face into the other. Thus he remained for a long long time-- a pitiable object enough to one who had seen him; till, raising his head and sighing a sigh which seemed to say that the business of his life must be carried on, whether he had a wife or no, he took the candle and went upstairs to his lonely room on the other side of the landing.
No further incident touching the matter between them occurred till the following evening, when, immediately school was over, Phillotson walked out of Shaston, saying he required no tea, and not informing Sue where he was going. He descended from the town level by a steep road in a north-westerly direction, and continued to move downwards till the soil changed from its white dryness to a tough brown clay. He was now on the low alluvial beds
Where Duncliffe is the traveller's mark, And cloty Stour's a-rolling dark.
More than once he looked back in the increasing obscurity of evening. Against the sky was Shaston, dimly visible
On the grey-topp'd height Of Paladore, as pale day wore Away... (1)
The new-lit lights from its windows burnt with a steady shine as if watching him, one of which windows was his own. Above it he could just discern the pinnacled tower of Trinity Church. The air down here, tempered by the thick damp bed of tenacious clay, was not as it had been above, but soft and relaxing, so that when he had walked a mile or two he was obliged to wipe his face with his handkerchief.
Leaving Duncliffe Hill on the left he proceeded without hesitation through the shade, as a man goes on, night or day, in a district over which he has played as a boy. He had walked altogether about four and a half miles
Where Stour receives her strength, From six cleere fountains fed, (2)
when he crossed a tributary of the Stour, and reached Leddenton-- a little town of three or four thousand inhabitants-- where he went on to the boys' school, and knocked at the door of the master's residence.
(1) William Barnes. (2) Drayton.
A boy pupil-teacher opened it, and to Phillotson's inquiry if Mr. Gillingham was at home replied that he was, going at once off to his own house, and leaving Phillotson to find his way in as he could. He discovered his friend putting away some books from which he had been giving evening lessons. The light of the paraffin lamp fell on Phillotson's face-- pale and wretched by contrast with his friend's, who had a cool, practical look. They had been schoolmates in boyhood, and fellow-students at Wintoncester Training College, many years before this time.
"Glad to see you, Dick! But you don't look well? Nothing the matter?"
Phillotson advanced without replying, and Gillingham closed the cupboard and pulled up beside his visitor.
"Why you haven't been here--let me see--since you were married? I called, you know, but you were out; and upon my word it is such a climb after dark that I have been waiting till the days are longer before lumpering up again. I am glad you didn't wait, however."
Though well-trained and even proficient masters, they occasionally used a dialect-word of their boyhood to each other in private.
"I've come, George, to explain to you my reasons for taking a step that I am about to take, so that you, at least, will understand my motives if other people question them anywhen-- as they may, indeed certainly will.... But anything is better than the present condition of things God forbid that you should ever have such an experience as mine!"
"Sit down. You don't mean--anything wrong between you and Mrs. Phillotson?"
"I do.... My wretched state is that I've a wife I love who not only does not love me, but--but Well, I won't say. I know her feeling! I should prefer hatred from her!"
"Ssh!"
"And the sad part of it is that she is not so much to blame as I. She was a pupil-teacher under me, as you know, and I took advantage of her inexperience, and toled her out for walks, and got her to agree to a long engagement before she well knew her own mind. Afterwards she saw somebody else, but she blindly fulfilled her engagement."
"Loving the other?"
"Yes; with a curious tender solicitude seemingly; though her exact feeling for him is a riddle to me--and to him too, I think-- possibly to herself. She is one of the oddest creatures I ever met. However, I have been struck with these two facts; the extraordinary sympathy, or similarity, between the pair. He is her cousin, which perhaps accounts for some of it. They seem to be one person split in two! And with her unconquerable aversion to myself as a husband, even though she may like me as a friend, 'tis too much to bear longer. She has conscientiously struggled against it, but to no purpose. I cannot bear it--I cannot! I can't answer her arguments--she has read ten times as much as I. Her intellect sparkles like diamonds, while mine smoulders like brown paper.... She's one too many for me!"
"She'll get over it, good-now?"
"Never! It is--but I won't go into it--there are reasons why she never will. At last she calmly and firmly asked if she might leave me and go to him. The climax came last night, when, owing to my entering her room by accident, she jumped out of window--so strong was her dread of me! She pretended it was a dream, but that was to soothe me. Now when a woman jumps out of window without caring whether she breaks her neck or no, she's not to be mistaken; and this being the case I have come to a conclusion: that it is wrong to so torture a fellow-creature any longer; and I won't be the inhuman wretch to do it, cost what it may!"
"What--you'll let her go? And with her lover?"
"Whom with is her matter. I shall let her go; with him certainly, if she wishes. I know I may be wrong--I know I can't logically, or religiously, defend my concession to such a wish of hers, or harmonize it with the doctrines I was brought up in. Only I know one thing: something within me tells me I am doing wrong in refusing her. I, like other men, profess to hold that if a husband gets such a so-called preposterous request from his wife, the only course that can possibly be regarded as right and proper and honourable in him is to refuse it, and put her virtuously under lock and key, and murder her lover perhaps. But is that essentially right, and proper, and honourable, or is it contemptibly mean and selfish? I don't profess to decide. I simply am going to act by instinct, and let principles take care of themselves. If a person who has blindly walked into a quagmire cries for help, I am inclined to give it, if possible."
"But--you see, there's the question of neighbours and society-- what will happen if everybody----"
"Oh, I am not going to be a philosopher any longer! I only see what's under my eyes."
"Well--I don't agree with your instinct, Dick!" said Gillingham gravely. "I am quite amazed, to tell the truth, that such a sedate, plodding fellow as you should have entertained such a craze for a moment. You said when I called that she was puzzling and peculiar: I think you are!"
"Have you ever stood before a woman whom you know to be intrinsically a good woman, while she has pleaded for release--been the man she has knelt to and implored indulgence of?"
"I am thankful to say I haven't."
"Then I don't think you are in a position to give an opinion. I have been that man, and it makes all the difference in the world, if one has any manliness or chivalry in him. I had not the remotest idea--living apart from women as I have done for so many years--that merely taking a woman to church and putting a ring upon her finger could by any possibility involve one in such a daily, continuous tragedy as that now shared by her and me!"
"Well, I could admit some excuse for letting her leave you, provided she kept to herself. But to go attended by a cavalier-- that makes a difference."
"Not a bit. Suppose, as I believe, she would rather endure her present misery than be made to promise to keep apart from him? All that is a question for herself. It is not the same thing at all as the treachery of living on with a husband and playing him false.... However, she has not distinctly implied living with him as wife, though I think she means to.... And to the best of my understanding it is not an ignoble, merely animal, feeling between the two: that is the worst of it; because it makes me think their affection will be enduring. I did not mean to confess to you that in the first jealous weeks of my marriage, before I had come to my right mind, I hid myself in the school one evening when they were together there, and I heard what they said. I am ashamed of it now, though I suppose I was only exercising a legal right. I found from their manner that an extraordinary affinity, or sympathy, entered into their attachment, which somehow took away all flavour of grossness. Their supreme desire is to be together--to share each other's emotions, and fancies, and dreams."
"Platonic!"
"Well no. Shelleyan would be nearer to it. They remind me of-- what are their names--Laon and Cythna. Also of Paul and Virginia a little. The more I reflect, the more ENTIRELY I am on their side!"
"But if people did as you want to do, there'd be a general domestic disintegration. The family would no longer be the social unit."
"Yes--I am all abroad, I suppose!" said Phillotson sadly. "I was never a very bright reasoner, you remember.... And yet, I don't see why the woman and the children should not be the unit without the man."
"By the Lord Harry!--Matriarchy! ... Does SHE say all this too?"
"Oh no. She little thinks I have out-Sued Sue in this-- all in the last twelve hours!"
"It will upset all received opinion hereabout. Good God-- what will Shaston say!"
"I don't say that it won't. I don't know--I don't know! ... As I say, I am only a feeler, not a reasoner."
"Now," said Gillingham, "let us take it quietly, and have something to drink over it." He went under the stairs, and produced a bottle of cider-wine, of which they drank a rummer each. "I think you are rafted, and not yourself," he continued. "Do go back and make up your mind to put up with a few whims. But keep her. I hear on all sides that she's a charming young thing."
"Ah yes! That's the bitterness of it! Well, I won't stay. I have a long walk before me."
Gillingham accompanied his friend a mile on his way, and at parting expressed his hope that this consultation, singular as its subject was, would be the renewal of their old comradeship. "Stick to her!" were his last words, flung into the darkness after Phillotson; from which his friend answered "Aye, aye!"
But when Phillotson was alone under the clouds of night, and no sound was audible but that of the purling tributaries of the Stour, he said, "So Gillingham, my friend, you had no stronger arguments against it than those!"
"I think she ought to be smacked, and brought to her senses-- that's what I think!" murmured Gillingham, as he walked back alone.
The next morning came, and at breakfast Phillotson told Sue:
"You may go--with whom you will. I absolutely and unconditionally agree."
Having once come to this conclusion it seemed to Phillotson more and more indubitably the true one. His mild serenity at the sense that he was doing his duty by a woman who was at his mercy almost overpowered his grief at relinquishing her.
Some days passed, and the evening of their last meal together had come-- a cloudy evening with wind--which indeed was very seldom absent in this elevated place. How permanently it was imprinted upon his vision; that look of her as she glided into the parlour to tea; a slim flexible figure; a face, strained from its roundness, and marked by the pallors of restless days and nights, suggesting tragic possibilities quite at variance with her times of buoyancy; a trying of this morsel and that, and an inability to eat either. Her nervous manner, begotten of a fear lest he should be injured by her course, might have been interpreted by a stranger as displeasure that Phillotson intruded his presence on her for the few brief minutes that remained.
"You had better have a slice of ham or an egg, or something with your tea? You can't travel on a mouthful of bread and butter."
She took the slice he helped her to; and they discussed as they sat trivial questions of housekeeping, such as where he would find the key of this or that cupboard, what little bills were paid, and what not.
"I am a bachelor by nature, as you know, Sue," he said, in a heroic attempt to put her at her ease. "So that being without a wife will not really be irksome to me, as it might be to other men who have had one a little while. I have, too, this grand hobby in my head of writing 'The Roman Antiquities of Wessex,' which will occupy all my spare hours."
"If you will send me some of the manuscript to copy at any time, as you used to, I will do it with so much pleasure!" she said with amenable gentleness. "I should much like to be some help to you still--as a--friend."
Phillotson mused, and said: "No, I think we ought to be really separate, if we are to be at all. And for this reason, that I don't wish to ask you any questions, and particularly wish you not to give me information as to your movements, or even your address.... Now, what money do you want? You must have some, you know."
"Oh, of course, Richard, I couldn't think of having any of your money to go away from you with! I don't want any either. I have enough of my own to last me for a long while, and Jude will let me have----"
"I would rather not know anything about him, if you don't mind. You are free, absolutely; and your course is your own."
"Very well. But I'll just say that I have packed only a change or two of my own personal clothing, and one or two little things besides that are my very own. I wish you would look into my trunk before it is closed. Besides that I have only a small parcel that will go into Jude's portmanteau."
"Of course I shall do no such thing as examine your luggage! I wish you would take three-quarters of the household furniture. I don't want to be bothered with it. I have a sort of affection for a little of it that belonged to my poor mother and father. But the rest you are welcome to whenever you like to send for it."
"That I shall never do."
"You go by the six-thirty train, don't you? It is now a quarter to six."
"You ... You don't seem very sorry I am going, Richard!"
"Oh no--perhaps not."
"I like you much for how you have behaved. It is a curious thing that directly I have begun to regard you as not my husband, but as my old teacher, I like you. I won't be so affected as to say I love you, because you know I don't, except as a friend. But you do seem that to me!"
Sue was for a few moments a little tearful at these reflections, and then the station omnibus came round to take her up. Phillotson saw her things put on the top, handed her in, and was obliged to make an appearance of kissing her as he wished her good-bye, which she quite understood and imitated. From the cheerful manner in which they parted the omnibus-man had no other idea than that she was going for a short visit.
When Phillotson got back into the house he went upstairs and opened the window in the direction the omnibus had taken. Soon the noise of its wheels died away. He came down then, his face compressed like that of one bearing pain; he put on his hat and went out, following by the same route for nearly a mile. Suddenly turning round he came home.
He had no sooner entered than the voice of his friend Gillingham greeted him from the front room.
"I could make nobody hear; so finding your door open I walked in, and made myself comfortable. I said I would call, you remember."
"Yes. I am much obliged to you, Gillingham, particularly for coming to-night."
"How is Mrs.----"
"She is quite well. She is gone--just gone. That's her tea-cup, that she drank out of only an hour ago. And that's the plate she--" Phillotson's throat got choked up, and he could not go on. He turned and pushed the tea-things aside.
"Have you had any tea, by the by?" he asked presently in a renewed voice.
"No--yes--never mind," said Gillingham, preoccupied. "Gone, you say she is?"
"Yes.... I would have died for her; but I wouldn't be cruel to her in the name of the law. She is, as I understand, gone to join her lover. What they are going to do I cannot say. Whatever it may be she has my full consent to."
There was a stability, a ballast, in Phillotson's pronouncement which restrained his friend's comment. "Shall I--leave you?" he asked.
"No, no. It is a mercy to me that you have come. I have some articles to arrange and clear away. Would you help me?"
Gillingham assented; and having gone to the upper rooms the schoolmaster opened drawers, and began taking out all Sue's things that she had left behind, and laying them in a large box. "She wouldn't take all I wanted her to," he continued. "But when I made up my mind to her going to live in her own way I did make up my mind."
"Some men would have stopped at an agreement to separate."
"I've gone into all that, and don't wish to argue it. I was, and am, the most old-fashioned man in the world on the question of marriage-- in fact I had never thought critically about its ethics at all. But certain facts stared me in the face, and I couldn't go against them."
They went on with the packing silently. When it was done Phillotson closed the box and turned the key.
"There," he said. "To adorn her in somebody's eyes; never again in mine!"

费乐生很想把他一向爱好而又搁置颇久的古罗马文物资料加以整理，而他往往工作到夜深。自他恢复那个课题的研究，他第一次深深感到自己的兴趣不减曩时，以致把时间和地方全都忘了，快到凌晨两点，他才想起该上楼歇息。
从他租住葛庐老宅那时起，他一直和妻子同宿一室，及至跟苏龃龉，屋子就归她一人住了，他自己改住房子另一头的一间。他做完了研究，第一件事是回屋子睡觉，懵里懵懂地进了他们原来合住的房间，自自然然地开始脱衣服。
床上突地发出一声喊，接着猛然一动。小学老师还没来得及弄明白到了什么地方，只见苏迷迷糊糊地坐起来，惊恐地死瞪着眼，紧接着从床靠窗户那一侧蹦到地上，想躲开他。床篷子差不多把窗户都遮住了，一霎间他听到她推上窗子的声音。他刚以为她大概是想换换空气，谁知她已经跨上窗沿跳了出去，消失在黑暗中。他听到她落地声。
费乐生吓昏了，马上往楼下跑，忙中头猛撞到楼梯柱子上。他把笨重的大门打开，上了够得着地面的两三层台阶，看到石子铺的路上有堆白东西。费乐生连忙把它抱起来，弄进前厅，把苏放到椅上。他原先在楼梯最下一级的风口那儿放了只蜡烛，这会儿他就在摇曳不定的烛光中死死盯着她。
苏的脖子没摔断。她看着他，目光茫然，似乎没看见他；她眼睛虽然平时不见得特别大，但那会儿却显得这样。她按了按一边的肋骨，又揉揉脖子，像是觉着那些地方疼，随后站起身来，掉开脸，显然是因为他目不转睛地看她，使她感到痛苦。
“谢天谢地——你算是没摔死！不过你不是不想死。——我希望你伤不重，是吧？”
她其实摔得不厉害，这大概是因为外面地面比老房子地面高的缘故。除了肘部擦伤和头一边垫了一下，显然没吃什么大亏。
“我想我那会儿正睡着呢！”她开了口，苍白的脸还是闪开他。“也不知道怎么吓醒了——是个恶梦吧——我觉着瞧见了你——”她仿佛想起来当时的实际情景，没往下说。
她的大衣挂在门后面，心里非常不是滋味的费乐生把它拿过来，给她披上。“我帮你上楼好不好？”他郁郁不快地问。出了这样的事意味着什么，他肚子里有数，不由得对自己、对一切都感到恶心。
“不必啦，谢谢你，里查。我没怎么伤着，自个儿能走。”
“你应该把门锁上。”他老腔老调地说，像平时在学校上课一样。“那就没人无意中闯进去啦。”
“我试过——锁不上。所有的门全走形啦。”
她尽管承认他说得对，这会儿也于事无补。她慢慢上了楼，摇曳的烛光照着她。费乐生没跟着她，也没想上楼。等她进了屋子，把门扣紧，他就往靠下边的楼梯上一坐，一只手抓着柱子，一只手扶着脸。他就这样呆了很长很长时间——谁要是看见他，难免把他看成地地道道的软弱无能之辈。他最后把头抬起来，叹了口气，仿佛是说，别管他有没有妻子，他这辈子的事业一定要进行下去。他拿起蜡烛上楼，走向楼梯口他自己孤身一人呆的屋子。
到了那一天晚上，这件事并没在他们中间再引起风波。放学以后，费乐生说他不想吃茶点，也没告诉苏去什么地方，就离开了沙氏顿。他先从西北向的斜陡的坡路下了镇子，又继续往下走，一直走到白色干硬的土壤变成坚实的褐色粘土，这就是到了地势低平的冲积层：
那儿有敦克里夫山做行旅界志，
飘满黄水莲的斯陶河沉郁地流过。
他几次回望人晚渐浓的暮色。沙氏顿背倚长空，半隐半现
在帕拉都的昏茫的绝顶上，
正值惨淡的白昼幽幽逝去……
镇上刚刚点灯，稳定的灯光从窗户射出来，仿佛正注视他，而其中一扇窗户就是他自己的啊。他正好在那扇窗户上方认出了三一教堂的尖形的塔楼。山下的空气，由于受到厚实而潮湿的粘土层的调节，和山上不同，柔和而且令人感到舒畅，虽然他只走了一两英里，这时也要拿手绢擦擦脸。
他撇开左首敦克里夫山，在茫茫夜色中毫不迟疑地一路向前，就像一个大人不论白天还是夜晚走过他小时候玩的地方一样。到此他一共走了四英里半。
靠那儿六股山泉的哺育
斯陶河获得了她的生命力。
他已跨过斯陶河的一条支流，到了列登顿——一个只有三四千人的小镇，又从那儿走到一所男生小学，敲了敲老师家的门。
一个小先生开了门，费乐生问季令安先生在不在家，他说在，立刻回到屋子里，让费乐生一个人去想法找他。费乐生看到他的朋友正把刚在夜校上课用的几本书放到一边。油灯光照到费乐生脸上——同他的朋友脸上沉着冷静、讲究实际的神态一比，显得他苍白而憔悴。小时候，他们是同学，好多年前还是温顿斯特进修学院的同窗。
“你来了，太好啦，狄克！不过你脸色怎么不大好呀！没什么大不了的事吧？”
费乐生往前走了几步，没回答，季令安把书橱关上，坐到他旁边。
“我看，你打结了婚，就没来过吧？你知道吧，我去找过你，你出去了；天黑了，上山才够呛呢，所以我打算天长时候再慢慢上去，不过你倒没等到那时候就来了，我真高兴。”
他们俩虽然都是受过良好培训，工作起来得心应手的老师，彼此私下交谈，有时还不免带上小时候的土话。
“乔治，我现在打算采取个步骤，我这回来就是向你解释一下这样做的道理。往后要是啥人啥时候怀疑我这样做的动机——可能这样，也的确会这样，那么，至少你是理解我的……不过我这会儿的处境算最糟啦。老天爷决不会答应你以后有这样的经历！”
“坐下吧，你不是说——你跟费乐生太太有什么不对劲儿吧？”
“我就是说这个……我这会儿处境所以糟糕。就是因为有个妻子，我爱她，可是她不单不爱我，还——还，唉，不说啦。我了解她的感情！我觉着她这样还不如恨我呢！”
“嘘！”
“事情所以叫人苦恼正因为她跟我一样没什么错处。她本来是我手下的小先生，这你是知道的，我利用她没经验，拖着她走，想法逗她答应跟我订长期的婚约，她当时怎么想的，连她自个儿也说不上来。后来她又碰上另一个人，不过她还是稀里糊涂地履行了婚约。”
“爱上别人啦？”
“对！要从表面上看嘛，那个爱劲儿很特别，很多情，很热火，不过她对他的感情到底怎么回事，在我还是个闷萌芦——我看对那个人也是个问葫芦吧——说不定连她自个儿也一样。照我碰到的最古怪的人里头，她得算一个。不过有两件事还是叫我印象特深，一个是这一对有一种非同一般的同情，或者说同感共鸣。他是她表亲，这大概有关系。他们仿佛一个人分了两半。再有就是对我这个做丈夫的嫌弃，她想压，压不下去，显然她还是喜欢我做个朋友；长此以往，实在叫人受不了。她本着良知，进行了斗争，压制自己的反感，可没啥用。我没法忍下去啦——我没法受啦！我也没法把她提出来的论据驳倒——她读的书有我的十倍呢。她的智力像钻石一样闪闪发光，我的智力像牛皮纸着了火，干冒烟……她比我强得太多啦！”
“她过一阵子会好吧。”
“绝对不会！这是——不过我不想细谈啦——其所以绝对不会有好些原因。最后她态度既平和又坚决地问我，她究竟能不能离开我，到他那边去。昨天夜里，事情到了高潮，我自己糊里糊涂进了她屋子，她打开窗户一下子跳出去了——她怕我怕到了这么厉害的程度！她假装说是做梦才那样，其实只是叫我宽心。现在一个女人连死活都不管，硬从窗户往外跳，那她心里怎么回事不是一清二楚，再也弄不错嘛！是这么回事，我得出了结论，再把这个同类这样折磨下去是错误的；我不是个没人心的坏种，可不能再这样下去了，不论牺牲多大都不要紧！”
“怎么——你想叫她一走了之？上她情人那儿去？”
“她跟谁，是她的事。我打算让她走。要按她的意思，肯定是跟他。我这样办，我也知道大概是错了——我知道无论按我的逻辑，还是按教理，对她这种愿望让步是没法辩解的，也没法跟把我从小培养到大的主义调和一致。唯有一件事，我很清楚：我内心的声音对我说，我要是对她加以拒绝，那就犯了错误。当然我现在也可以像别的男人那样公开表示：做丈夫的听见妻子提出这种所谓肾清道理的要求，唯一可以视为正当、合理而又体面的办法就是把她的要求打回去，干脆关她的禁闭，也许连她的情人也宰了。不过从本质上说，这能算正当、合理、体面呢，还是叫人恶心的卑鄙下流、自私自利？孰是孰非，我不来判断。不过我是靠本能行事，原则云云就不必管了。假定有个人一不留神掉到泥塘里头，大声喊救命，只要我办得到，我一定救他。”
“可是——怎么说呢，还有左邻右舍跟社会的问题——那要出什么事呀，要是人人——”
“哎，我可不想再充道学家啦！我瞧只瞧眼皮子底下的事。”
“唉——我可不赞成你那个本能，狄克！”季令安郑重其事地说，“讲实在的，你这人素来沉着老练，遇事不慌不躁，怎么一阵子居然张皇失措呢。太叫我意外啦。我那会儿在你那儿，你说她这人难以捉摸，与众不同，我看你倒真是这样啊！”
“有个女人，你知道她品性纯良，她向你苦苦哀求把她放走，你以前有没有在这样的女人前面站着过？你是不是那个男人，她跪在你面前，求你开恩？”
“我可没那样的运气，当过那样的男人。”
“那我就认为你没根据提高见。我就是那个男人。谁要是有点大丈夫气概，或者行侠仗义的心肠，事情也就大变样啦。我那么多年没沾过女人，——压根儿没想到，只要把个女人带到教堂，给她手指头戴上戒指，就完全可以把个人拴在没日没夜、没完没了的悲剧里，就如同她跟我这会儿一块儿受的那样。”
“唉，你让她离开你，要是她一个人过，用这些托词，我倒许认可，可是她跟一个浪荡子凑到一块儿——那可就另一码事啦。”
“根本不是那么回事。照我看，她宁可忍受眼前痛苦，也决不会在强迫之下同他分开，这又怎么说？这都是看她自己的心愿。至于说要手段，继续跟丈夫过，欺骗他，把他蒙在鼓里，这可完全不是那么回事……不过她至今也没明确表示跟他一块儿过，就是他妻子，虽然我认为她有这个意思……再说，我也算看得一清二楚啦，他们俩的感情不是那类卑鄙下流、纯属动物性质的感情；糟也糟在这个地方，因为我觉得这样一来，他们的爱情一定会天长地久，永不会变啦。这会儿还可以跟你讲明白，我刚结婚叫人羡慕的头几个礼拜，我的心还没平静如常，有个晚上他们俩一块儿呆在学校里，我就躲在一边，听他们说话。我这会儿觉着惭愧，不过当时我觉得我不过行使法律赋予的权利就是啦。我发现他们的亲呢中间深深隐藏着一种非同一般的契合，或者说同情吧，它把一切粗鄙气息都扫得一干二净。他们至高无上的愿望就是厮守在一起——把彼此的情感、幻觉和梦想交融共享。”
“柏拉图式恋爱嘛！”
“唉，不是。说雪莱式的倒更近乎事实。他们那样子叫我想起了——什么名字呀——莱昂和希娜吧。也有点保尔和维吉尼亚的味道。我越往深里想，就越朝他们一边倒啦。”
“要是别人全照你这么干，那不是家庭普遍大散伙吗？家庭就算不上社会单位啦。”
“是啊——我想我是太离谱啦！”费乐生伤心地说，“我向来在推理方面不高明，你总没忘吧。然而我不明白，何以没有男人、女人跟孩子就成不了社会单位。”
“不得了喽！——母系社会喽！……她是不是也说过这一套呀？”
“哦，没有。她还想不到，这方面我比苏还苏呢——就在这二十四个钟头里，我思想转了弯啦！”
“这可要在这一方搞得人心大乱、舆论大哗呀。老天爷——沙氏顿该怎么说呢！”
“它怎么说三道四，我说不上来，我也不知道——我啥也不知道！……我不是说了嘛，我无非是直感，一推论就不行。”
“现在，”季令安说，“咱们把这个放放，先喝点。”他从楼下拿来瓶苹果酒，他们一个人喝了一大杯。他继续说，“我看你是昏了头啦，跟你平常一点不像。你回去先拿定主意，她怎么犯毛病，都得忍住，就是千万别让她走。我听见人人都夸她是俏实的小妞儿呢。”
“是啊，一点不错啊，就因为这样才叫人特别难受！好啦，我该走啦，回去还有好长一段路呢。”
季令安陪他朋友走了一英里。尽管谈的东西太离奇，他还是希望就此恢复昔年他们推心置腹的友谊。“盯住她别放！”这是他最后一句话，飘荡在费乐生身后的夜空。他的朋友回了句“好，好！”就算了。
但是在那满天乌云、四野无声，唯有斯陶河支流水声潺潺清晰可辨的夜里，费乐生踽踽独行的时候，他说，‘季令安，我的朋友，我看你也只好这样说说，再也拿不出什么更有力的论据来驳我啦。”
“我看得把她足足敲打敲打，叫她明白过来才行呢——我认为这才是好办法！”季令安独自一边往回走，一边嘟嘟囔囔的。
第二天早晨到来了，吃早饭时，费乐生对苏说：
“你可以走啦——随便跟哪个人一块儿都行。我绝对同意，无条件同意。”
费乐生一旦得出这个结论，他就越来越觉得这个结论是无可置疑地正确。他正对一个靠他发慈悲的女人克尽责任，这叫他渐见超脱，有宁静之感，把他原来因纵她而去而引起的悲苦冲淡了。
又过了些天，到了他们最后一次一块儿用餐的晚上，风高云暗，耸立崖顶的乡镇的天气很少不这样。她珊娜走进小客厅用茶点时的神情；她的柔若无骨的苗条腰身；她因日夜不停地焦灼而由圆见长的脸庞；异常苍白的脸色，和由此所表现的与她的风华正茂、无忧无虑的年纪绝不相容的种种悲剧可能性；她东吃一口，西吃一口，却实际上一点吃不下去的无奈——这一切的一切在他是何等刻骨铭心，难以磨灭啊。她的态度躇踌不安，本来是担心他会因她的行动而受到损害，然而在不知内情的局外人看来，恐怕要把这种表现错解成她不高兴他在剩下的几分钟还打扰她。
“你还是喝点茶，就着片火腿，要么鸡蛋，别的东西也好吧？就那么一口黄油面包，这趟路哪能顶事啊。”
她接过他递过来的那片火腿。他们坐着拉扯些家常琐事，什么他在哪儿可以找到柜子的钥匙啦，哪些账还清了、哪些没还啦，等等。
“我这人天生是个打光棍的命，你知道，苏。”他说，故意做得爽气，免得她不自在。“所以没有妻子，确实不会混不下去，不会像别人一阵子有过妻子那样。再说，我的爱好又广又深，一直想把‘维塞克斯郡的古罗马文物’写出来，光这个就把我的业余时间全占满啦。”
“要是照从前那样，你什么时候送点稿子给�

[table=80%,#ffffff,#000000,1][tr][td]Part 5
AT ALDBRICKHAM AND ELSEWHERE
"Thy aerial part, and all the fiery parts which are mingled in thee, though by nature they have an upward tendency, still in obedience to the disposition of the universe they are over-powered here in the compound mass the body."--M. ANTONINUS (Long).

“你身具气成分及诸火成分，混生而呈上逸之势，奈因寓于浑成之本体，受制于宇宙之大法，不得不循从，所以力绌而不果。”——M．安托尼奴斯（朗）
Part 5 Chapter 1
How Gillingham's doubts were disposed of will most quickly appear by passing over the series of dreary months and incidents that followed the events of the last chapter, and coming on to a Sunday in the February of the year following.
Sue and Jude were living in Aldbrickham, in precisely the same relations that they had established between themselves when she left Shaston to join him the year before. The proceedings in the law-courts had reached their consciousness, but as a distant sound and an occasional missive which they hardly understood.
They had met, as usual, to breakfast together in the little house with Jude's name on it, that he had taken at fifteen pounds a year, with three-pounds-ten extra for rates and taxes, and furnished with his aunt's ancient and lumbering goods, which had cost him about their full value to bring all the way from Marygreen. Sue kept house, and managed everything.
As he entered the room this morning Sue held up a letter she had just received.
"Well; and what is it about?" he said after kissing her.
"That the decree NISI in the case of Phillotson VERSUS Phillotson and Fawley, pronounced six months ago, has just been made absolute."
"Ah," said Jude, as he sat down.
The same concluding incident in Jude's suit against Arabella had occurred about a month or two earlier. Both cases had been too insignificant to be reported in the papers, further than by name in a long list of other undefended cases.
"Now then, Sue, at any rate, you can do what you like!" He looked at his sweetheart curiously.
"Are we--you and I--just as free now as if we had never married at all?"
"Just as free--except, I believe, that a clergyman may object personally to remarry you, and hand the job on to somebody else."
"But I wonder--do you think it is really so with us? I know it is generally. But I have an uncomfortable feeling that my freedom has been obtained under false pretences!"
"How?"
"Well--if the truth about us had been known, the decree wouldn't have been pronounced. It is only, is it, because we have made no defence, and have led them into a false supposition? Therefore is my freedom lawful, however proper it may be?"
"Well--why did you let it be under false pretences? You have only yourself to blame," he said mischievously.
"Jude--don't! You ought not to be touchy about that still. You must take me as I am."
"Very well, darling: so I will. Perhaps you were right. As to your question, we were not obliged to prove anything. That was their business. Anyhow we are living together."
"Yes. Though not in their sense."
"One thing is certain, that however the decree may be brought about, a marriage is dissolved when it is dissolved. There is this advantage in being poor obscure people like us-- that these things are done for us in a rough and ready fashion. It was the same with me and Arabella. I was afraid her criminal second marriage would have been discovered, and she punished; but nobody took any interest in her--nobody inquired, nobody suspected it. If we'd been patented nobilities we should have had infinite trouble, and days and weeks would have been spent in investigations."
By degrees Sue acquired her lover's cheerfulness at the sense of freedom, and proposed that they should take a walk in the fields, even if they had to put up with a cold dinner on account of it. Jude agreed, and Sue went up-stairs and prepared to start, putting on a joyful coloured gown in observance of her liberty; seeing which Jude put on a lighter tie.
"Now we'll strut arm and arm," he said, "like any other engaged couple. We've a legal right to."
They rambled out of the town, and along a path over the low-lying lands that bordered it, though these were frosty now, and the extensive seed-fields were bare of colour and produce. The pair, however, were so absorbed in their own situation that their surroundings were little in their consciousness.
"Well, my dearest, the result of all this is that we can marry after a decent interval."
"Yes; I suppose we can," said Sue, without enthusiasm.
"And aren't we going to?"
"I don't like to say no, dear Jude; but I feel just the same about it now as I have done all along. I have just the same dread lest an iron contract should extinguish your tenderness for me, and mine for you, as it did between our unfortunate parents."
"Still, what can we do? I do love you, as you know, Sue."
"I know it abundantly. But I think I would much rather go on living always as lovers, as we are living now, and only meeting by day. It is so much sweeter--for the woman at least, and when she is sure of the man. And henceforward we needn't be so particular as we have been about appearances."
"Our experiences of matrimony with others have not been encouraging, I own," said he with some gloom; "either owing to our own dissatisfied, unpractical natures, or by our misfortune. But we two----"
"Should be two dissatisfied ones linked together, which would be twice as bad as before.... I think I should begin to be afraid of you, Jude, the moment you had contracted to cherish me under a Government stamp, and I was licensed to be loved on the premises by you--Ugh, how horrible and sordid! Although, as you are, free, I trust you more than any other man in the world."
"No, no--don't say I should change!" he expostulated; yet there was misgiving in his own voice also.
"Apart from ourselves, and our unhappy peculiarities, it is foreign to a man's nature to go on loving a person when he is told that he must and shall be that person's lover. There would be a much likelier chance of his doing it if he were told not to love. If the marriage ceremony consisted in an oath and signed contract between the parties to cease loving from that day forward, in consideration of personal possession being given, and to avoid each other's society as much as possible in public, there would be more loving couples than there are now. Fancy the secret meetings between the perjuring husband and wife, the denials of having seen each other, the clambering in at bedroom windows, and the hiding in closets! There'd be little cooling then."
"Yes; but admitting this, or something like it, to be true, you are not the only one in the world to see it, dear little Sue. People go on marrying because they can't resist natural forces, although many of them may know perfectly well that they are possibly buying a month's pleasure with a life's discomfort. No doubt my father and mother, and your father and mother, saw it, if they at all resembled us in habits of observation. But then they went and married just the same, because they had ordinary passions. But you, Sue, are such a phantasmal, bodiless creature, one who--if you'll allow me to say it-- has so little animal passion in you, that you can act upon reason in the matter, when we poor unfortunate wretches of grosser substance can't."
"Well," she sighed, "you've owned that it would probably end in misery for us. And I am not so exceptional a woman as you think. Fewer women like marriage than you suppose, only they enter into it for the dignity it is assumed to confer, and the social advantages it gains them sometimes--a dignity and an advantage that I am quite willing to do without."
Jude fell back upon his old complaint--that, intimate as they were, he had never once had from her an honest, candid declaration that she loved or could love him. "I really fear sometimes that you cannot," he said, with a dubiousness approaching anger. "And you are so reticent. I know that women are taught by other women that they must never admit the full truth to a man. But the highest form of affection is based on full sincerity on both sides. Not being men, these women don't know that in looking back on those he has had tender relations with, a man's heart returns closest to her who was the soul of truth in her conduct. The better class of man, even if caught by airy affectations of dodging and parrying, is not retained by them. A Nemesis attends the woman who plays the game of elusiveness too often, in the utter contempt for her that, sooner or later, her old admirers feel; under which they allow her to go unlamented to her grave."
Sue, who was regarding the distance, had acquired a guilty look; and she suddenly replied in a tragic voice: "I don't think I like you to-day so well as I did, Jude!"
"Don't you? Why?"
"Oh, well--you are not nice--too sermony. Though I suppose I am so bad and worthless that I deserve the utmost rigour of lecturing!"
"No, you are not bad. You are a dear. But as slippery as an eel when I want to get a confession from you."
"Oh yes I am bad, and obstinate, and all sorts! It is no use your pretending I am not! People who are good don't want scolding as I do.... But now that I have nobody but you, and nobody to defend me, it is very hard that I mustn't have my own way in deciding how I'll live with you, and whether I'll be married or no!"
"Sue, my own comrade and sweetheart, I don't want to force you either to marry or to do the other thing--of course I don't! It is too wicked of you to be so pettish! Now we won't say any more about it, and go on just the same as we have done; and during the rest of our walk we'll talk of the meadows only, and the floods, and the prospect of the farmers this coming year."
After this the subject of marriage was not mentioned by them for several days, though living as they were with only a landing between them it was constantly in their minds. Sue was assisting Jude very materially now: he had latterly occupied himself on his own account in working and lettering headstones, which he kept in a little yard at the back of his little house, where in the intervals of domestic duties she marked out the letters full size for him, and blacked them in after he had cut them. It was a lower class of handicraft than were his former performances as a cathedral mason, and his only patrons were the poor people who lived in his own neighbourhood, and knew what a cheap man this "Jude Fawley: Monumental Mason" (as he called himself on his front door) was to employ for the simple memorials they required for their dead. But he seemed more independent than before, and it was the only arrangement under which Sue, who particularly wished to be no burden on him, could render any assistance.

在上一章所叙种种变化后，接下来的几个月沉闷单调，没有波澜起伏，但是季令安对费乐生的决定所持的怀疑，到次年二月一个礼拜天，就在须臾间廓清了。
苏和裘德这时住在奥尔布里肯，他们之间的关系跟她从沙氏顿来同他相聚时建立的相比，一切照旧。法庭的诉讼程序犹如远方传来的声音，时有所闻而已，至于间或送达的法律文书，他们看了也不大明白。
他们住在一座标着裘德名牌的小房子里，平常都是早饭时候见面。裘德一年得出十五镑房租，外加三镑十先令房捐，家里摆着他姑婆的古老笨重的家具，单为把它们从马利格林运过来的花费就抵得上它们的全部价值。苏管家，料理一切。
那个早上，他一进屋子就瞧见苏手上拿着一封信，是她才收到的。
“呃，这里头是什么玩意儿？”他吻了苏之后说。
“是费乐生诉费乐生和福来一案的最后判决书，六个月以前公告过，现在已经到期，判决刚刚生效。”
“啊。”裘德说着就坐下来。
裘德诉阿拉贝拉离婚案大约一两个月之前也有了同样结果。两案实在无足重轻，所以报章不屑报道，只在一长串无异议案件表上公布一下姓名就算了。
“苏，你现在总算可以想干什么就干什么啦！”他看着心爱的人，带着好奇的神气。
“咱们——你跟我这么一来是不是跟压根儿没结过婚一样自由呢？”
“一样自由——我看，就差一样，牧师也许拒绝由他本人给你主持婚礼，让给别人替他办吧。”
“不过我还是没明白——你真是觉着咱们就那么自由吗？我大致知道是自由了。可是我心里直嘀咕，因为我这自由是靠欺诈弄到手的。”
“怎么这么说呢？”
“呃——人家要是知道咱们的实情，决不会把判决公告出来。就因为咱们一点没为自己辩护，让他们做了错误的推断，认为理当如此，对不对？不管程序多正当，难道我这自由就合乎法律的规定吗？”
“哎——你先头干吗用欺诈取得自由呢？这只好怪你自己喽。”他说，故意怄她。
“裘德——别这么说！你大可不必为这个瞎生气。我是怎么样就怎么样，你别把我看错了。”
“好啦，好啦，亲亲，我听命就是啦。你大概对吧。至于你那个问题，咱们本来无需去表示什么，该怎么办是他们的事儿。反正咱们在一块儿过啦。”
“话是这么说，不过他们的判决的含义不是这个意思。”
“有一点总是确定无疑的。别管判决怎么来的，反正该判离婚就判了离婚。拿咱们这样出不了头的穷人说，碰上这样的事也有好处——反正按现成规章给咱们草草一办就行了。我跟阿拉贝拉的事也一样。我原来还担心她第二次犯了法的婚姻一旦叫人发现了，要受惩罚呢；可是谁对她也没兴趣，没人去查问，也没人起疑心。咱们要是有封号的贵族，那麻烦可就无尽无休了，一调查就是多少天，多少个礼拜。”
苏自己也跟她情人一样因获得自由而慢慢感到心情舒畅，于是提出到野外散步，尽管晚上免不了吃冷饭。裘德也赞成。她上楼打扮了一下，穿上一件艳丽的长袍来纪念她的自由。裘德一看她这样，也打了条色调明快的领带。
“现在咱们可以挽着胳臂大摇大摆地走啦，”他说，“就跟别的订了婚的两口子一样。咱们现在有合法权利这样做啦。”
他们慢慢腾腾地出了市区，顺着一条小路走。路两边的洼地全结了霜，广阔的麦田已经下了种，庄稼还没露头，还是原来干巴巴的泥土颜色。不过这一对情人全心沉浸在他们自己这会儿所处的情境里，周围的景物在他们的意识里占不到地位。
“啊，我的最亲爱的，既然有了这么个结果，再到个适当时间，咱们就可以结婚啦。”
“是啊，我看咱们可以结婚啦。”苏说，没表现出热情。
“那咱们要不要就办呢？”
“我可不想说别这样，亲爱的裘德；不过我这会儿的感觉，还跟我以前经历的一样。我还跟以前一样怕，怕的是一份铁一般的契约就把你对我的柔情、我对你的柔情，全给葬送了，落得跟咱们不幸的爹妈的下场一样。”
“那要是这样，咱们又能怎么办呢？你知道，苏，我是真真爱你呀。”
“我知道得心里快盛不下啦。可是我觉着宁可咱们老接着情人那样过下去，一天见一回就行啦。那样要甜蜜得多呢——至少女人是这个感觉，只要她觉着这个男人靠得住就行。往后咱们也就用不着老是为出头露面费心思啦。”
“要说按咱们跟别人的结婚经验，的确叫人心灰意冷，这我也有数。”他说，略显颓丧。“要不是因为咱们生来不知足，不实际，就是因为咱们命不好。不过咱们两个——”
“要是两个都不知足，又凑到一块儿，那不是比以前还雪上加霜吗？我想着，一朝你靠着政府大印，按契约把我据为己有，我呢，按“只限店内”特许条件承你错爱，我一定害怕起来了，裘德——噢，这多可怕、多肮脏啊！固然你现在随心所欲，谁也管不着，我对你可比对谁都信赖哪。”
“对，对——你可不能说我会变心！”他急着阻止她往下说，不过他声音也带着几分疑虑。
“撇开咱们自己、咱们倒霉的乖僻不说吧，如果谁要是对一个男人说他应该受某某，要当她的情人，按男人的天性，那就背道而驰了，他再也不会把那个人爱下去了。如果人家叫他别爱，那么他爱那个人的缘分可能还大得多呢。要是结婚仪式，包括起誓签约，说从当天起，他们双方相爱到此为止，又由于双方都成了对方的人，要尽量留在各自小天地而避免在公开场合相伴露面，那一来相亲相爱的夫妻准比现在多了。你就好好想想吧，那发了假誓的丈夫和妻子该怎么偷偷约会呀，不许他们见面，那就逾窗入室，藏身柜子，共度良宵！这样他们的爱情就不会冷下去了。”
“你说得不错。不过就算你看到情况会这样，或者大致这样，说实话，你也不是唯一有这种看法的人，亲爱的小苏啊。人们接连不断地结婚是因为他们抗不住自然的力量，尽管其中很多人心里完全有数，为了得到一个月的快乐，可能要拿一辈子受罪做代价。我爹我妈，你爹你妈，要是也有跟咱们一样的观察事物的习惯，毫无疑问，也看得明白。无奈他们还是照结婚不误，因为他们都有普通的情欲。可是你呢，苏啊，你空灵有如幻影，飘渺若无肉身，是这般生灵，你若容我说，我就说你简直就没有出自动物本能的情欲，所以你所作所为一概听命于理性，而我们这些粗劣坯子造出来的可怜而又不幸的浊物可办不到啊。”
“唉，”她叹口气，“你也承认咱们要是结婚，结局大概也挺惨。我倒不是你想象的那么一个一万里头也挑个出来的女人。不过真想结婚的女人比你设想的少得多，她们所以走这一步，不过自以为有了个身份，有时候也能得到在社会上的好处——而我是我行我素，不管什么身份与好处。”
裘德的思想禁不住回到他耿耿于怀的事情上——他脽吞然关系亲热，可他连一回也没听她诚实而恳挚地表白过，说她爱他，或她能爱他。“我的确有时候挺害怕你不爱我。”他说，那疑心近乎生气。“你就是这么一字不提。我知道，女人都从别的女人那儿学，千万别对男人把实话说尽。但是最高形式的情深意切的爱的基础正是双方毫无保留的真诚。那类女人，因为她们不是男人，不知道他回顾以往跟女人柔情缱绻之时，他感到最贴心的总是言行表现出真心的那个女人。素性好的男人固然一时让假假真真的柔情一擒一纵，可是他们并不会老让她们摆布。一个好玩欲擒故纵、藏头露尾手腕的女人，早晚受到报应，自食其果，让原来对她倾心相与的男人鄙视；他们也因此看着她走向绝路，而不会为之动容，流涕。”
苏正目注远处，脸上显出内愧，突然她以伤感的口气回应说：“我觉着今儿个不像先头那么喜欢你啦，裘德！”
“你不喜欢？这是为什么？”
“哦，我讨厌——你老是说教。不过我想我这么坏，这么下作，活该你劈头盖脸教训一通！”
“不是这么回事儿，你不坏。你是个叫人疼的。不过我一想听你说真心话，你就跟鳗鱼一样滑。”
“啊，我就是又坏又不讲理，坏到家啦。你捧我，说我不坏，那没用！品性好的人不像我这样招人骂！……不过我现在既然没别人，只有你，也没别人替我说话，你要是不许我按自己的方式决定怎么跟你一块儿过，决定跟还是不跟你结婚，那我就觉着苦不堪言啦！”
“苏啊，你是我的同志，是我的心上人哪，我才不想勉强你结婚或者干这个于那个——我绝对不会那样！你这么乱发脾气，实在太要不得！现在咱们别谈这个啦，还是照以前一样，该怎么样，就怎么样。咱们还有一段时间散散步，就谈谈牧场呀，流水呀，往后这一年的年景呀，好啦。”
以后几天他们没再提结婚这个题目，不过他们住在一块儿，中间只隔个楼梯平台，心里免不了老揣着这件事。苏现在给裘德帮的忙倒挺实在的，他如今一心扑在干活上，在墓碑上凿字。房后边有个小院子，他把石头都放在里边。苏做完家务事，一有空，就帮他把字母按大小描好，等他镌好，再上墨。他这个手艺比从前当大教堂的石匠要下一等，他的主顾都是住在方近左右的穷人，他们都认识这个“石匠裘德•福来：专凿纪念碑”（他自己前门上有这个招牌），干活要价低。他们需要为亡人立个简单的纪念物，就找他。但是他如今看来比以前更不必俯仰由人了。苏特别不愿意成他的累赘，她能帮他忙的也只能在这方面插得上手。
Part 5 Chapter 2
IT was an evening at the end of the month, and Jude had just returned home from hearing a lecture on ancient history in the public hall not far off. When he entered, Sue, who had been keeping indoors during his absence, laid out supper for him. Contrary to custom she did not speak. Jude had taken up some illustrated paper, which he perused till, raising his eyes, he saw that her face was troubled.
"Are you depressed, Sue?" he said.
She paused a moment. "I have a message for you," she answered.
"Somebody has called?"
"Yes. A woman." Sue's voice quavered as she spoke, and she suddenly sat down from her preparations, laid her hands in her lap, and looked into the fire. "I don't know whether I did right or not!" she continued. "I said you were not at home, and when she said she would wait, I said I thought you might not be able to see her."
"Why did you say that, dear? I suppose she wanted a headstone. Was she in mourning?"
"No. She wasn't in mourning, and she didn't want a headstone; and I thought you couldn't see her." Sue looked critically and imploringly at him.
"But who was she? Didn't she say?"
"No. She wouldn't give her name. But I know who she was--I think I do! It was Arabella!"
"Heaven save us! What should Arabella come for? What made you think it was she?"
"Oh, I can hardly tell. But I know it was! I feel perfectly certain it was--by the light in her eyes as she looked at me. She was a fleshy, coarse woman."
"Well--I should not have called Arabella coarse exactly, except in speech, though she may be getting so by this time under the duties of the public house. She was rather handsome when I knew her."
"Handsome! But yes!--so she is!"
"I think I heard a quiver in your little mouth. Well, waiving that, as she is nothing to me, and virtuously married to another man, why should she come troubling us?"
"Are you sure she's married? Have you definite news of it?"
"No--not definite news. But that was why she asked me to release her. She and the man both wanted to lead a proper life, as I understood."
"Oh Jude--it was, it WAS Arabella!" cried Sue, covering her eyes with her hand. "And I am so miserable! It seems such an ill omen, whatever she may have come for. You could not possibly see her, could you?"
"I don't really think I could. It would be so very painful to talk to her now--for her as much as for me. However, she's gone. Did she say she would come again?"
"No. But she went away very reluctantly."
Sue, whom the least thing upset, could not eat any supper, and when Jude had finished his he prepared to go to bed. He had no sooner raked out the fire, fastened the doors, and got to the top of the stairs than there came a knock. Sue instantly emerged from her room, which she had but just entered.
"There she is again!" Sue whispered in appalled accents.
"How do you know?"
"She knocked like that last time."
They listened, and the knocking came again. No servant was kept in the house, and if the summons were to be responded to one of them would have to do it in person. "I'll open a window," said Jude. "Whoever it is cannot be expected to be let in at this time."
He accordingly went into his bedroom and lifted the sash. The lonely street of early retiring workpeople was empty from end to end save of one figure--that of a woman walking up and down by the lamp a few yards off.
"Who's there?" he asked.
"Is that Mr. Fawley?" came up from the woman, in a voice which was unmistakably Arabella's.
Jude replied that it was.
"Is it she?" asked Sue from the door, with lips apart.
"Yes, dear," said Jude. "What do you want, Arabella?" he inquired.
"I beg your pardon, Jude, for disturbing you," said Arabella humbly. "But I called earlier--I wanted particularly to see you to-night, if I could. I am in trouble, and have nobody to help me!"
"In trouble, are you?"
"Yes."
There was a silence. An inconvenient sympathy seemed to be rising in Jude's breast at the appeal. "But aren't you married?" he said.
Arabella hesitated. "No, Jude, I am not," she returned. "He wouldn't, after all. And I am in great difficulty. I hope to get another situation as barmaid soon. But it takes time, and I really am in great distress because of a sudden responsibility that's been sprung upon me from Australia; or I wouldn't trouble you--believe me I wouldn't. I want to tell you about it."
Sue remained at gaze, in painful tension, hearing every word, but speaking none.
"You are not really in want of money, Arabella?" he asked, in a distinctly softened tone.
"I have enough to pay for the night's lodging I have obtained, but barely enough to take me back again."
"Where are you living?"
"In London still." She was about to give the address, but she said, "I am afraid somebody may hear, so I don't like to call out particulars of myself so loud. If you could come down and walk a little way with me towards the Prince Inn, where I am staying to-night, I would explain all. You may as well, for old time's sake!"
"Poor thing! I must do her the kindness of hearing what's the matter, I suppose," said Jude in much perplexity. "As she's going back to-morrow it can't make much difference."
"But you can go and see her to-morrow, Jude! Don't go now, Jude!" came in plaintive accents from the doorway. "Oh, it is only to entrap you, I know it is, as she did before! Don't go, dear! She is such a low-passioned woman-- I can see it in her shape, and hear it in her voice!
"But I shall go," said Jude. "Don't attempt to detain me, Sue. God knows I love her little enough now, but I don't want to be cruel to her." He turned to the stairs.
"But she's not your wife!" cried Sue distractedly. "And I----"
"And you are not either, dear, yet," said Jude.
"Oh, but are you going to her? Don't! Stay at home! Please, please stay at home, Jude, and not go to her, now she's not your wife any more than I!"
"Well, she is, rather more than you, come to that," he said, taking his hat determinedly. "I've wanted you to be, and I've waited with the patience of Job, and I don't see that I've got anything by my self-denial. I shall certainly give her something, and hear what it is she is so anxious to tell me; no man could do less!"
There was that in his manner which she knew it would be futile to oppose. She said no more, but, turning to her room as meekly as a martyr, heard him go down-stairs, unbolt the door, and close it behind him. With a woman's disregard of her dignity when in the presence of nobody but herself, she also trotted down, sobbing articulately as she went. She listened. She knew exactly how far it was to the inn that Arabella had named as her lodging. It would occupy about seven minutes to get there at an ordinary walking pace; seven to come back again. If he did not return in fourteen minutes he would have lingered. She looked at the clock. It was twenty-five minutes to eleven. He MIGHT enter the inn with Arabella, as they would reach it before closing time; she might get him to drink with her; and Heaven only knew what disasters would befall him then.
In a still suspense she waited on. It seemed as if the whole time had nearly elapsed when the door was opened again, and Jude appeared.
Sue gave a little ecstatic cry. "Oh, I knew I could trust you!-- how good you are!"--she began.
"I can't find her anywhere in this street, and I went out in my slippers only. She has walked on, thinking I've been so hard-hearted as to refuse her requests entirely, poor woman. I've come back for my boots, as it is beginning to rain."
"Oh, but why should you take such trouble for a woman who has served you so badly!" said Sue in a jealous burst of disappointment.
"But, Sue, she's a woman, and I once cared for her; and one can't be a brute in such circumstances."
"She isn't your wife any longer!" exclaimed Sue, passionately excited. "You MUSTN'T go out to find her! It isn't right! You CAN'T join her, now she's a stranger to you. How can you forget such a thing, my dear, dear one!"
"She seems much the same as ever--an erring, careless, unreflecting fellow-creature," he said, continuing to pull on his boots. "What those legal fellows have been playing at in London makes no difference in my real relations to her. If she was my wife while she was away in Australia with another husband she's my wife now."
"But she wasn't! That's just what I hold! There's the absurdity!-- Well--you'll come straight back, after a few minutes, won't you, dear? She is too low, too coarse for you to talk to long, Jude, and was always!"
"Perhaps I am coarse too, worse luck! I have the germs of every human infirmity in me, I verily believe--that was why I saw it was so preposterous of me to think of being a curate. I have cured myself of drunkenness I think; but I never know in what new form a suppressed vice will break out in me! I do love you, Sue, though I have danced attendance on you so long for such poor returns! All that's best and noblest in me loves you, and your freedom from everything that's gross has elevated me, and enabled me to do what I should never have dreamt myself capable of, or any man, a year or two ago. It is all very well to preach about self-control, and the wickedness of coercing a woman. But I should just like a few virtuous people who have condemned me in the past, about Arabella and other things, to have been in my tantalizing position with you through these late weeks!--they'd believe, I think, that I have exercised some little restraint in always giving in to your wishes--living here in one house, and not a soul between us."
"Yes, you have been good to me, Jude; I know you have, my dear protector."
"Well--Arabella has appealed to me for help. I must go out and speak to her, Sue, at least!"
"I can't say any more!--Oh, if you must, you must!" she said, bursting out into sobs that seemed to tear her heart. "I have nobody but you, Jude, and you are deserting me! I didn't know you were like this--I can't bear it, I can't! If she were yours it would be different!"
"Or if you were."
"Very well then--if I must I must. Since you will have it so, I agree! I will be. Only I didn't mean to! And I didn't want to marry again, either! ... But, yes--I agree, I agree! I do love you. I ought to have known that you would conquer in the long run, living like this!"
She ran across and flung her arms round his neck. "I am not a cold-natured, sexless creature, am I, for keeping you at such a distance? I am sure you don't think so! Wait and see! I do belong to you, don't I? I give in!"
"And I'll arrange for our marriage to-morrow, or as soon as ever you wish."
"Yes, Jude."
"Then I'll let her go," said he, embracing Sue softly. "I do feel that it would be unfair to you to see her, and perhaps unfair to her. She is not like you, my darling, and never was: it is only bare justice to say that. Don't cry any more. There; and there; and there!" He kissed her on one side, and on the other, and in the middle, and rebolted the front door.
The next morning it was wet.
"Now, dear," said Jude gaily at breakfast; "as this is Saturday I mean to call about the banns at once, so as to get the first publishing done to-morrow, or we shall lose a week. Banns will do? We shall save a pound or two."
Sue absently agreed to banns. But her mind for the moment was running on something else. A glow had passed away from her, and depression sat upon her features.
"I feel I was wickedly selfish last night!" she murmured. "It was sheer unkindness in me--or worse--to treat Arabella as I did. I didn't care about her being in trouble, and what she wished to tell you! Perhaps it was really something she was justified in telling you. That's some more of my badness, I suppose! Love has its own dark morality when rivalry enters in-- at least, mine has, if other people's hasn't.... I wonder how she got on? I hope she reached the inn all right, poor woman."
"Oh yes: she got on all right," said Jude placidly.
"I hope she wasn't shut out, and that she hadn't to walk the streets in the rain. Do you mind my putting on my waterproof and going to see if she got in? I've been thinking of her all the morning."
"Well--is it necessary? You haven't the least idea how Arabella is able to shift for herself. Still, darling, if you want to go and inquire you can."
There was no limit to the strange and unnecessary penances which Sue would meekly undertake when in a contrite mood; and this going to see all sorts of extraordinary persons whose relation to her was precisely of a kind that would have made other people shun them was her instinct ever, so that the request did not surprise him.
"And when you come back," he added, "I'll be ready to go about the banns. You'll come with me?"
Sue agreed, and went off under cloak and umbrella letting Jude kiss her freely, and returning his kisses in a way she had never done before. Times had decidedly changed. "The little bird is caught at last!" she said, a sadness showing in her smile.
"No--only nested," he assured her.
She walked along the muddy street till she reached the public house mentioned by Arabella, which was not so very far off. She was informed that Arabella had not yet left, and in doubt how to announce herself so that her predecessor in Jude's affections would recognize h

[table=80%,#ffffff,#000000,1][tr][td]Part 5 Chapter 4
THEIR next and second attempt thereat was more deliberately made, though it was begun on the morning following the singular child's arrival at their home.
Him they found to be in the habit of sitting silent, his quaint and weird face set, and his eyes resting on things they did not see in the substantial world.
"His face is like the tragic mask of Melpomene," said Sue. "What is your name, dear? Did you tell us?"
"Little Father Time is what they always called me. It is a nickname; because I look so aged, they say."
"And you talk so, too," said Sue tenderly. "It is strange, Jude, that these preternaturally old boys almost always come from new countries. But what were you christened?"
"I never was."
"Why was that?"
"Because, if I died in damnation, 'twould save the expense of a Christian funeral."
"Oh--your name is not Jude, then?" said his father with some disappointment.
The boy shook his head. "Never heerd on it."
"Of course not," said Sue quickly; "since she was hating you all the time!"
"We'll have him christened," said Jude; and privately to Sue: "The day we are married." Yet the advent of the child disturbed him.
Their position lent them shyness, and having an impression that a marriage at a superintendent registrar's office was more private than an ecclesiastical one, they decided to avoid a church this time. Both Sue and Jude together went to the office of the district to give notice: they had become such companions that they could hardly do anything of importance except in each other's company.
Jude Fawley signed the form of notice, Sue looking over his shoulder and watching his hand as it traced the words. As she read the four-square undertaking, never before seen by her, into which her own and Jude's names were inserted, and by which that very volatile essence, their love for each other, was supposed to be made permanent, her face seemed to grow painfully apprehensive. "Names and Surnames of the Parties"--(they were to be parties now, not lovers, she thought). "Condition"--(a horrid idea)--"Rank or Occupation"--"Age"--"Dwelling at"--"Length of Residence"--"Church or Building in which the Marriage is to be solemnized"-- "District and County in which the Parties respectively dwell."
"It spoils the sentiment, doesn't it!" she said on their way home. "It seems making a more sordid business of it even than signing the contract in a vestry. There is a little poetry in a church. But we'll try to get through with it, dearest, now."
"We will. 'For what man is he that hath betrothed a wife and hath not taken her? Let him go and return unto his house, lest he die in the battle, and another man take her.' So said the Jewish law-giver."
"How you know the Scriptures, Jude! You really ought to have been a parson. I can only quote profane writers!"
During the interval before the issuing of the certificate Sue, in her housekeeping errands, sometimes walked past the office, and furtively glancing in saw affixed to the wall the notice of the purposed clinch to their union. She could not bear its aspect. Coming after her previous experience of matrimony, all the romance of their attachment seemed to be starved away by placing her present case in the same category. She was usually leading little Father Time by the hand, and fancied that people thought him hers, and regarded the intended ceremony as the patching up of an old error.
Meanwhile Jude decided to link his present with his past in some slight degree by inviting to the wedding the only person remaining on earth who was associated with his early life at Marygreen--the aged widow Mrs. Edlin, who had been his great-aunt's friend and nurse in her last illness. He hardly expected that she would come; but she did, bringing singular presents, in the form of apples, jam, brass snuffers, an ancient pewter dish, a warming-pan, and an enormous bag of goose feathers towards a bed. She was allotted the spare room in Jude's house, whither she retired early, and where they could hear her through the ceiling below, honestly saying the Lord's Prayer in a loud voice, as the Rubric directed.
As, however, she could not sleep, and discovered that Sue and Jude were still sitting up--it being in fact only ten o'clock-- she dressed herself again and came down, and they all sat by the fire till a late hour--Father Time included; though, as he never spoke, they were hardly conscious of him.
"Well, I bain't set against marrying as your great-aunt was," said the widow. "And I hope 'twill be a jocund wedding for ye in all respects this time. Nobody can hope it more, knowing what I do of your families, which is more, I suppose, than anybody else now living. For they have been unlucky that way, God knows."
Sue breathed uneasily.
"They was always good-hearted people, too--wouldn't kill a fly if they knowed it," continued the wedding guest. "But things happened to thwart 'em, and if everything wasn't vitty they were upset. No doubt that's how he that the tale is told of came to do what 'a did--if he WERE one of your family."
"What was that?" said Jude.
"Well--that tale, ye know; he that was gibbeted just on the brow of the hill by the Brown House--not far from the milestone between Marygreen and Alfredston, where the other road branches off. But Lord, 'twas in my grandfather's time; and it medn' have been one of your folk at all."
"I know where the gibbet is said to have stood, very well," murmured Jude. "But I never heard of this. What--did this man--my ancestor and Sue's-- kill his wife?"
"'Twer not that exactly. She ran away from him, with their child, to her friends; and while she was there the child died. He wanted the body, to bury it where his people lay, but she wouldn't give it up. Her husband then came in the night with a cart, and broke into the house to steal the coffin away; but he was catched, and being obstinate, wouldn't tell what he broke in for. They brought it in burglary, and that's why he was hanged and gibbeted on Brown House Hill. His wife went mad after he was dead. But it medn't be true that he belonged to ye more than to me."
A small slow voice rose from the shade of the fireside, as if out of the earth: "If I was you, Mother, I wouldn't marry Father!" It came from little Time, and they started, for they had forgotten him.
"Oh, it is only a tale," said Sue cheeringly.
After this exhilarating tradition from the widow on the eve of the solemnization they rose, and, wishing their guest good-night, retired.
The next morning Sue, whose nervousness intensified with the hours, took Jude privately into the sitting-room before starting. "Jude, I want you to kiss me, as a lover, incorporeally," she said, tremulously nestling up to him, with damp lashes. "It won't be ever like this any more, will it! I wish we hadn't begun the business. But I suppose we must go on. How horrid that story was last night! It spoilt my thoughts of to-day. It makes me feel as if a tragic doom overhung our family, as it did the house of Atreus."
"Or the house of Jeroboam," said the quondam theologian.
"Yes. And it seems awful temerity in us two to go marrying! I am going to vow to you in the same words I vowed in to my other husband, and you to me in the same as you used to your other wife; regardless of the deterrent lesson we were taught by those experiments!"
"If you are uneasy I am made unhappy," said he. "I had hoped you would feel quite joyful. But if you don't, you don't. It is no use pretending. It is a dismal business to you, and that makes it so to me!"
"It is unpleasantly like that other morning--that's all," she murmured. "Let us go on now."
They started arm in arm for the office aforesaid, no witness accompanying them except the Widow Edlin. The day was chilly and dull, and a clammy fog blew through the town from "Royal-tower'd Thame." On the steps of the office there were the muddy foot-marks of people who had entered, and in the entry were damp umbrellas Within the office several persons were gathered, and our couple perceived that a marriage between a soldier and a young woman was just in progress. Sue, Jude, and the widow stood in the background while this was going on, Sue reading the notices of marriage on the wall. The room was a dreary place to two of their temperament, though to its usual frequenters it doubtless seemed ordinary enough. Law-books in musty calf covered one wall, and elsewhere were post-office directories, and other books of reference. Papers in packets tied with red tape were pigeon-holed around, and some iron safes filled a recess, while the bare wood floor was, like the door-step, stained by previous visitors.
The soldier was sullen and reluctant: the bride sad and timid; she was soon, obviously, to become a mother, and she had a black eye. Their little business was soon done, and the twain and their friends straggled out, one of the witnesses saying casually to Jude and Sue in passing, as if he had known them before: "See the couple just come in? Ha, ha! That fellow is just out of gaol this morning. She met him at the gaol gates, and brought him straight here. She's paying for everything."
Sue turned her head and saw an ill-favoured man, closely cropped, with a broad-faced, pock-marked woman on his arm, ruddy with liquor and the satisfaction of being on the brink of a gratified desire. They jocosely saluted the outgoing couple, and went forward in front of Jude and Sue, whose diffidence was increasing. The latter drew back and turned to her lover, her mouth shaping itself like that of a child about to give way to grief:
"Jude--I don't like it here! I wish we hadn't come! The place gives me the horrors: it seems so unnatural as the climax of our love! I wish it had been at church, if it had to be at all. It is not so vulgar there!"
"Dear little girl," said Jude. "How troubled and pale you look!"
"It must be performed here now, I suppose?"
"No--perhaps not necessarily."
He spoke to the clerk, and came back. "No--we need not marry here or anywhere, unless we like, even now," he said. "We can be married in a church, if not with the same certificate with another he'll give us, I think. Anyhow, let us go out till you are calmer, dear, and I too, and talk it over."
They went out stealthily and guiltily, as if they had committed a misdemeanour, closing the door without noise, and telling the widow, who had remained in the entry, to go home and await them; that they would call in any casual passers as witnesses, if necessary. When in the street they turned into an unfrequented side alley where they walked up and down as they had done long ago in the market-house at Melchester.
"Now, darling, what shall we do? We are making a mess of it, it strikes me. Still, ANYTHING that pleases you will please me."
"But Jude, dearest, I am worrying you! You wanted it to be there, didn't you?"
"Well, to tell the truth, when I got inside I felt as if I didn't care much about it. The place depressed me almost as much as it did you-- it was ugly. And then I thought of what you had said this morning as to whether we ought."
They walked on vaguely, till she paused, and her little voice began anew: "It seems so weak, too, to vacillate like this! And yet how much better than to act rashly a second time.... How terrible that scene was to me! The expression in that flabby woman's face, leading her on to give herself to that gaol-bird, not for a few hours, as she would, but for a lifetime, as she must. And the other poor soul--to escape a nominal shame which was owing to the weakness of her character, degrading herself to the real shame of bondage to a tyrant who scorned her--a man whom to avoid for ever was her only chance of salvation.... This is our parish church, isn't it? This is where it would have to be, if we did it in the usual way? A service or something seems to be going on."
Jude went up and looked in at the door. "Why--it is a wedding here too," he said. "Everybody seems to be on our tack to-day."
Sue said she supposed it was because Lent was just over, when there was always a crowd of marriages. "Let us listen," she said, "and find how it feels to us when performed in a church."
They stepped in, and entered a back seat, and watched the proceedings at the altar. The contracting couple appeared to belong to the well-to-do middle class, and the wedding altogether was of ordinary prettiness and interest. They could see the flowers tremble in the bride's hand, even at that distance, and could hear her mechanical murmur of words whose meaning her brain seemed to gather not at all under the pressure of her self-consciousness. Sue and Jude listened, and severally saw themselves in time past going through the same form of self-committal.
"It is not the same to her, poor thing, as it would be to me doing it over again with my present knowledge," Sue whispered. "You see, they are fresh to it, and take the proceedings as a matter of course. But having been awakened to its awful solemnity as we have, or at least as I have, by experience, and to my own too squeamish feelings perhaps sometimes, it really does seem immoral in me to go and undertake the same thing again with open eyes. Coming in here and seeing this has frightened me from a church wedding as much as the other did from a registry one.... We are a weak, tremulous pair, Jude, and what others may feel confident in I feel doubts of-- my being proof against the sordid conditions of a business contract again!"
Then they tried to laugh, and went on debating in whispers the object-lesson before them. And Jude said he also thought they were both too thin-skinned-- that they ought never to have been born--much less have come together for the most preposterous of all joint ventures for THEM--matrimony.
His betrothed shuddered; and asked him earnestly if he indeed felt that they ought not to go in cold blood and sign that life-undertaking again?" It is awful if you think we have found ourselves not strong enough for it, and knowing this, are proposing to perjure ourselves," she said.
"I fancy I do think it--since you ask me," said Jude. "Remember I'll do it if you wish, own darling." While she hesitated he went on to confess that, though he thought they ought to be able to do it, he felt checked by the dread of incompetency just as she did-- from their peculiarities, perhaps, because they were unlike other people. "We are horribly sensitive; that's really what's the matter with us, Sue!" he declared.
"I fancy more are like us than we think!"
"Well, I don't know. The intention of the contract is good, and right for many, no doubt; but in our case it may defeat its own ends because we are the queer sort of people we are-- folk in whom domestic ties of a forced kind snuff out cordiality and spontaneousness."
Sue still held that there was not much queer or exceptional in them: that all were so. "Everybody is getting to feel as we do. We are a little beforehand, that's all. In fifty, a hundred, years the descendants of these two will act and feel worse than we. They will see weltering humanity still more vividly than we do now, as
Shapes like our own selves hideously multiplied,
and will be afraid to reproduce them."
"What a terrible line of poetry! ... though I have felt it myself about my fellow-creatures, at morbid times."
Thus they murmured on, till Sue said more brightly:
"Well--the general question is not our business, and why should we plague ourselves about it? However different our reasons are we come to the same conclusion; that for us particular two, an irrevocable oath is risky. Then, Jude, let us go home without killing our dream! Yes? How good you are, my friend: you give way to all my whims!"
"They accord very much with my own."
He gave her a little kiss behind a pillar while the attention of everybody present was taken up in observing the bridal procession entering the vestry; and then they came outside the building. By the door they waited till two or three carriages, which had gone away for a while, returned, and the new husband and wife came into the open daylight. Sue sighed.
"The flowers in the bride's hand are sadly like the garland which decked the heifers of sacrifice in old times!"
"Still, Sue, it is no worse for the woman than for the man. That's what some women fail to see, and instead of protesting against the conditions they protest against the man, the other victim; just as a woman in a crowd will abuse the man who crushes against her, when he is only the helpless transmitter of the pressure put upon him."
"Yes--some are like that, instead of uniting with the man against the common enemy, coercion." The bride and bridegroom had by this time driven off, and the two moved away with the rest of the idlers. "No--don't let's do it," she continued. "At least just now."
They reached home, and passing the window arm in arm saw the widow looking out at them. "Well," cried their guest when they entered, "I said to myself when I zeed ye coming so loving up to the door, 'They made up their minds at last, then!'"
They briefly hinted that they had not.
"What--and ha'n't ye really done it? Chok' it all, that I should have lived to see a good old saying like 'marry in haste and repent at leisure' spoiled like this by you two! 'Tis time I got back again to Marygreen-- sakes if tidden--if this is what the new notions be leading us to! Nobody thought o' being afeard o' matrimony in my time, nor of much else but a cannon-ball or empty cup-board! Why when I and my poor man were married we thought no more o't than of a game o' dibs!"
"Don't tell the child when he comes in," whispered Sue nervously. "He'll think it has all gone on right, and it will be better that he should not be surprised and puzzled. Of course it is only put off for reconsideration. If we are happy as we are, what does it matter to anybody?"

他们对下一步，也就是第二次去办结婚手续的设想着实商量了一番，当然是在那个古怪孩子来家之后才开始的。
他们发现孩子习惯坐着不吱声，脸上老是那么一副怪里怪气、莫测高深的表情，两眼老定在他在现实世界中其实看不见的东西上。
“他的脸活像麦尔波门的悲剧面具。”苏说。“你叫什么，亲爱的？你还没告诉我们哪。”
“我叫时光小老爹，他们一直这么叫我。这是个外号；他们都说，我长得那么老气。”
“你说话也老气啊。”苏温柔地说。“裘德，这些因为早熟而显着老气的孩子差不多都是从新成立的国家那边过来的，你说怪不怪？你受没受过洗礼呀？”
“压根儿没受过洗。”
“怎么回事呢？”
“因为我早晚得死，不受洗就省了按基督徒下葬的钱啦。”
“哦，照这么说，你就不叫裘德喽？”他父亲说，带点失望的样子。
孩子摇摇头。“压根儿没听说过什么裘德。”
“当然没听说过，”苏忙着说，“因为她无时无刻不恨你呀！”
。“咱们得给他受洗。”裘德说；然后悄悄对苏说：“就在咱们结婚那天好啦。”他说是这样说，可是这孩子的光临实在叫他心里烦。
他们眼下这种状况弄得他们不好意思同人接触。他们以前在督察登记处见过人家办喜事，不像在教堂里办那么张扬；因为有这么个印象，于是他们决定这一回避开教堂。苏和裘德双双去到区登记处申请办理结婚手续——他们现在是如此情意泱洽的伴侣，可谓形影不离，所以无论什么要紧事，要办都得一块儿办。
裘德•福来在结婚登记表上签字，苏站在他身后，望着他的手一笔一划地写。她念了念那份她从未见过的四四方方的表格，上面已经填好了她自己跟裘德的姓名，原来靠了这么一张表格，他们的冷冷热热、起伏不定的爱情就可以变得天长地久呢。她神色一时显得非常不安而且痛苦。“双方姓名——（她心想他们是“双方”，不是热恋的情人）”——“生活状况”——（问得太他妈恶心啦）——“身份或职业”——“年龄”——“住址”——“居住时间”——“举行结婚仪式的教堂或场所” ——“双方各自居住的区县。”
“这太倒胃口拉，太倒胃口啦。”苏在回家的路上说。“这简直比在法衣室签婚约还作践人哪。教堂里头总还有点诗歌啊。不过咱们还是尽量想法过这道关吧，亲爱的。”
“咱们一定要过。‘谁要定了妻，尚未迎娶，他可以回家去，恐怕他阵亡，别人去娶。’犹太立法人就这么说过了。”
“你对《圣经》真是烂熟于胸啊，裘德！你真配当牧师呢。我可只能引用世俗作家的东西！”
在结婚证没发下来那段时间，苏为家务出去办事，有时路过登记处，就偷偷看一眼墙上贴的他们两个行将百年好合的通告。她实在看不下去。她从前有过结婚的经历，如今又把她放进这个框子里，他们的相亲相爱之情，纵然百般风流，也全给一笔冲销了。同时她平常都牵着时光小老爹，设想别人一定把他当成她的孩子，把这回想举行的婚礼当成弥补老错误造成的大漏子的机会。
同时裘德决定多多少少得把他的现在和过去联结起来，所以他邀了眼下唯一在世的、跟他在马利格林的童年生活有关系的人来参加他们的婚礼，这就是年迈的艾林太太，她以前既是他姑婆的朋友，又曾在她最后一次得病期间服侍过她。他并不怎么指望她来，谁知她果真来了，还带来奇奇怪怪的礼物，其中有苹果、果酱、铜蜡烛剪子、旧锡铸盘子、汤婆子和一大包填床垫的鹅毛。他们把她安置在家里的一间空屋子，她进去之后很早就歇了，诚心地按礼拜仪程高诵主祷文。
可是，她睡不着，一发现苏和裘德还没睡（实际上才十点钟），又把衣服穿好了，到楼下来。大家都坐在壁炉旁边，直到夜深，时光老爹也跟他们在一块儿，他不说话，他们简直把他这个人都忘了。
“唉，我可不像你姑婆那么反对结婚。”寡妇说。“我真盼你们俩这档子婚事，称心如意。现在活着的人，像我那么知道你们两家家底的，一个也没啦。所以也没谁再这么希望啦。这全因为你们家的人从前这方面不走运哪。”
苏的呼吸不自然起来。
“他们这些人向来是心慈面软，要是他们知道，就连个苍蝇也不愿意弄死。”参加婚礼的女客继续说着。“可什么事碰巧都跟他们作对，要是事情一不顺心，心里就乱成一团，无疑是因为这样，他才出了事，传下来这么个故事——不过他是不是你们家的人，这也难说。”
“是怎么回事？”裘德说。
“唉——这个故事，你该知道嘛；他就是在棕房子旁边山头上上了绞架的，离马利格林到阿尔夫瑞顿路上那块里程碑不远，还有条路从那儿岔出去。不过，老天爷啊，这还是我爷爷那会儿的事儿呢；再说他也不一定就是你们家的人。”
“绞架立的地方，我倒知道。”裘德咕哝着。“不过这件事儿，我可压根儿没听说过。那个人——我和苏祖宗辈的——干了什么，是不是把他妻子杀啦？”
“也不全是那么回事儿。她跑啦，带着孩子到她朋友那儿去啦；她在朋友家那会儿，孩子死了。他想把尸首要回去，葬在他们家里人一个地方，可是她不干。有天晚上，她男人就赶辆车来了，硬闯进那家房子，把棺材偷走了；可他给逮住了，倔强得很呢，死也不肯说干吗闯民宅。他们就按盗窃罪把他收拾了，他就是为这个在棕房子小山上给吊起来，绞死的。他死了以后，他女人也疯了。不过说他是你们家里人，大概不是真的，就像跟我不沾边一样。”
从炉边发出来一个又小又慢的说话声音，仿佛从地里冒出来的：“妈，我要是你，才不跟爸爸结婚呢！”这是时光老爹说的，他们一下子愣住了，因为他们早把他忘掉了。
“哦，这不过是讲故事嘛。”苏挺有兴致地说。
在他们举行婚礼前夕，寡妇给他们讲起这般令人为之激动的传说之后，他们都站起来，向客人道了晚安，各自回房歇了。
第二天早上，苏的精神紧张程度有增无减，她在动身之前把裘德悄悄拉进起坐室。“裘德，我要你吻我，要像情人那样吻我，要打心里吻我。”她说，哆哆嗦嗦，偎依着他，睫毛沾着泪花。“以后再也不会这样吻我啦！我但愿咱们没开始办这件事才好呢。昨晚上讲的那个故事太吓人啦！我今天结婚的心思都给搞糟啦。听了它，我觉着咱们家就跟埃特里乌斯府一样，脱不开悲剧性的厄运！”
“要不就跟耶罗波安府一样。”前神学研究者说。
“是啊！咱们两个去结婚恐怕太操切啦！我得对着你起誓，誓词跟我对从前那个丈夫起的一样，你呢，对我起誓，也跟先前对你那位夫人起的没两样。咱们已经有过一番试验，得到了教人猛省的教训，可咱们还是不管不顾！”
“你心里这么七上八下，弄得我也扫兴了。”他说。“我原来还当你一定欢天喜地呢。不过你不喜欢就不喜欢，假装喜欢又有什么意思！你觉着为这件事心里压抑，连带着叫我也觉着压抑啦！”
“这跟从前那个上午一样，叫人不痛快——就是这么回事。”她咕哝着。“现在咱们就去吧。”
他们挽着胳臂，开始往前面说过的那个登记处走，除了艾林寡妇，没别的证人陪着。天凄冷。沉暗，从“殿宇巍峨的泰晤士河”上吹过来浓重的湿雾，飘在整个市区上。登记处台阶上留着进去的人的泥脚印，过厅里放着湿漉漉的雨伞。处里头有几个人凑在一块儿，我们这对情人一眼看见一个大兵跟一个年轻女人正在履行结婚程序。苏、裘德和寡妇都站在后首地方，苏看着墙上的结婚通告。这间屋子在它的常客眼里是平平常常的，可是按他们两个脾性，就成了沉闷阴郁的地方了。一面墙从上到下摆的是小牛皮封面已经发霉的法律书籍，另外的地方放着邮政业务指南和其他参考书。用红带子扎好的卷宗放满了分格的文件架，有几个铁制保险柜嵌在墙里边，没上漆的地板也跟台阶一样，叫来过的客人的脚踩脏了。
那个兵沉着脸，一副不情愿的样子，新娘却显得凄楚可怜，又羞又怕，一只眼睛已经给打青，显而易见，她很快就要做母亲。他们短短的手续一会儿办完了，两个人跟他们的朋友散散落落地走了出去。其中有个证人仿佛认识苏和裘德的样子，走过他们旁边时，信口对他们说：“瞧见刚才进来的那对儿吗？哈哈！那家伙今儿早上才从监狱放出来。她上监狱门口接他的，把他直接带到这儿来了。她可要赔上整个家当哟。”
苏转过头来，只见一个丑陋不堪的男人，头发剪得短短的，挽着一个大扁麻子脸的女人；那女人喝得满脸通红，再加上就要所愿得偿，一副得意的样子。他脽椭模怪样地向出去的那对行礼，然后朝裘德和苏前面走过来。但是苏已经越来越气绥，直往后退，转到她的情人身边，小嘴就像个孩子难过得要哭出来的样子。
“裘德——我不想在这儿呆下去啦！但愿咱们没上这儿来哟！这地方真叫我心惊肉跳；咱们的爱情到了峰巅，可这地方未免太合不到一块儿啦！要是非办不可，我想就上教堂去办吧。那儿总不会这么俗不可耐！”
“亲爱的小姑娘，”裘德说，“你瞧瞧你显着多烦恼，都没血色啦！”
“我看，到这地步，非得在这儿表演一番不可吗？”
“那倒不一定吧。”
他去找办事员谈了谈就回来了。“不一定在这儿办，——咱们真要结婚的话，哪怕现在，这儿也好，别处也好，都行，全看咱们自个儿的意思。”裘德说。“咱们可以上教堂结婚，要是现在这个证不好用，他可以给咱们另发一个，我看是这样。不管怎么着，你先定定心，我也定定心，然后咱们再商量商量好啦。”
他们像犯了什么罪似的，揣着鬼胎，蹑手蹑脚，溜了出去，关门时候连点声音都没有。随后跟过厅里的寡妇说，她先回家等他们；又说要是一定要有证人，他们临时随便找过路人就行。到了街上，他脽褪意找了个平常少人走的巷子，就像当年在麦尔切斯特市场那样，在那儿来回兜圈子。
“亲亲，现在咱们怎么办好呀？搞得个乱七八糟啦，我也没个主意啦。不过，随便怎么样，只要你喜欢，我就喜欢。”
“可是，裘德，最亲爱的，我真叫你苦恼啦！你原来就想在那儿办了，对不对？”
“唉，说实在的，我一进去，就觉着不对劲儿。那地方叫你泄气，我也跟你差不多——多难看哪。后来我就想你早上说的，咱们到底该不该办结婚。”
他们没有目的地往前走，后来她站住了，又用她原来的细小嗓音说起来：“这件事，咱们这么拿不定主意，也未免显得太没魄力！话说回来，这又比稀里糊涂再来个第二回要强得多。……刚才那个场面，我觉着太可怕啦！那个臃肿不堪的女人脸上是怎么个表情啊，她认定了跟那个囚犯，那可不是几个钟头，是要跟他一辈子呢。再说那个可怜的女人——就因为她性格软弱，做了所谓可耻的事，想洗刷掉，就不惜糟蹋自己，嫁给那个不拿她当人的暴君，那才是真正洗不掉的耻辱啊。只有永远躲开那个人，她才有得救的唯一机会啊……这是咱们这个教区的教堂吧，对不对？咱们要是按普通路子办，就在这儿吧？里头好像做礼拜，还是干什么呢。”
裘德走过去，探头往门里瞧。“哈——这儿也举行婚礼哪。”他说。“今天似乎人人都踩着咱们脚印干哪。”
苏说她猜想这是因为四旬斋刚过去，一到这时候总是大群大群人结婚。“咱们去听听吧。”她说。“倒看看教堂里结婚是个什么感觉。”
他们进了教堂，找了后排位子坐下，看着祭坛前正在进行的婚礼。那订了婚约的一对，样子像是富裕的中产阶级中人，婚礼也是习见那样非常漂亮，很吸引人。他们即使在稍远地方，也看得出来新娘捧着的花直抖，听得见她呆呆地嘴里咕噜着什么，其中究竟有什么意义，似乎她一点没动脑筋，根本不知所云。苏跟裘德听着听着，各自看到了当年他们自己履行过的同样作茧自缚的仪式。
“可怜的东西，她的感受当然跟我不一样，我是有过经验，再来第二回。”她悄悄地说。“你看，他们初次品味，还把这一套当成天经地义。可像咱们这样，或者至少像我这样，有过经验，终于明白过来这样做的严重性。也许我有这样的吹毛求疵的习气，有时候更不免这种感觉，我要是明知故犯，再来这么一次，那我的内心真是不道德啦。进来之后，看了这一套，真叫我心里发怵，我觉着教堂里婚礼和登记处里没什么两样。……裘德呀，咱们这一对儿意志薄弱，前怕狼，后怕虎，没个准稿子，别人也许挺自信的事情，我可是大感怀疑——我一定抵制那个叫人恶心的第二份买卖式契约！”
于是他们不自然地笑了笑，继续议论眼前这场现身说法。裘德说他也觉得他们俩都太神经过敏——根本不该落生人世间，更何况还要凑到一块儿采取对他们来说可谓荒谬绝伦的冒险行动——结成婚姻了。他的未婚妻打了个冷战，跟着顶真地问，他是不是自始就觉得他们不该不管死活，签那个卖身契呢？“要是你认为咱们已经心中有数，承受不了这东西，而且明知如此了，还要提出来咱们去口是心非地发假誓，这实在叫人捉摸不透啊。”
“既然你问我，我就说吧，我倒是真这么想的。”裘德说。“可是你别忘了，亲爱的，只有你愿意我才办哪。”乘着她犹豫，他就进一步承认，他固然认为这件事他们该当办得到，不过他跟她一样，心有余而气不足，胆战心惊，所以到头来还是虎头蛇尾——大概因为他们生性乖僻，跟别人都不一样吧。“咱们太神经过敏啦；关键就在这个地方，苏啊！”他一口气说完了。
“我可是想，像咱们这样的人，比咱们想的还要多呢！”
“呃，这我就不知道了。订婚约的本意没什么不好，对好多人也合适，这是没什么疑问的；不过碰到咱们这种情形，婚约原来的宗旨就适得其反了，因为咱们薀椭里怪气那种人，家庭关系一带上强迫性质，什么夫妻和美，相依为命就全告吹了。”
苏仍然坚持自己的意见：他们并没什么古怪或特别地方，别的人跟他们一样。“所有的人慢慢地都会跟咱们的感觉一样。咱们不过稍微走在前面一点。再过五十年、一百年，如今这一对的子孙，行动起来，感觉起来，比咱们还厉害呢。他们将来看待这纷杂扰攘的人间比咱们这会儿要透彻得多啦，好比说
像咱们这样的形体造孽一样不断
繁殖，而且他们将来也没胆子再把他们生出来。”
“这句诗太可怕啦！……不过我在灰溜溜的时候对自己的同类也有同感。”
他们继续唧唧咕咕，后来苏说得比较豁达了：
“唉——这一般的问题跟咱们有什么关系，何必为它自寻烦恼？咱们俩说的道理尽管不大一样，得出来的结论还不是一回事！咱们这两个特殊人物，要是起了誓又取消不了，那就到了绝境啦。所以，裘德，咱们还是回家，别把咱们的好梦砸了吧！你说好不好，我的朋友；不管我怎么异想天开，你都是听我的！”
“我自己也一样异想天开，跟你大致不差。”
这时在场的人正集中注意力看着一伙人拥着新娘进了法衣室，他躲在一根柱子后面轻轻吻了她一下，然后走出教堂。他们在教堂门口等着，一直等到两三辆马车去而复回，新婚夫妻走到了光大化日之下。苏叹了口气。
“新娘手里那捧花的可怜样儿，真像古时候当祭品的小母牛身上装饰的花环！”
“苏，话得说回来。女人也不见得比男人倒霉到哪儿。这一点，有些女人没法明白，她们不是反对她们所处的社会环境，而是反对另一方的男人，其实他们也是受害者；这就像在拥挤的人群里头，一个女人因为男人撞了她，就开口伤人，殊不知那个男人也还是让人推搡得无法可想，代人受过啊。”
“是喽——这个比方倒有点像。不去跟男人联合起来对付共同的敌人，反对社会的压制，反而跟男人过不去。”这时新娘新郎已经上了马车走了，他们也就跟别的闲人一齐散掉。“不行，咱们不能那么办。”她接着说。“至少现在不行。”
他们到了家，挽着胳臂从窗口走过，瞧见寡妇在窗里望着他们。“哎呀，”他们一进门，客人就大声说，“我一瞧见你们那个热乎劲儿往门这边来，心里说，‘他们总算一块石头落了地啦！’”
他们用了三言两语表示没有。
“怎么——你们真没办？该死该死，我再想不到活到如今，眼瞧着老话说的‘急结婚，慢后悔’在你们手里泡汤啦！我该回马利格林啦——算怎么回事呀。新派的想法就这样折腾咱们吗？我那会儿哪有人怕结婚哪，除了怕炮弹，怕没隔宿粮，还怕什么！我跟我那口子一结了婚，什么也不想，就跟玩过了打拐子一样啊！”
“孩子来了，什么也别跟他说。”苏心情紧张地说。“他准是想什么都顺顺当当的。顶好别让他觉着奇怪，想不明白。当然，现在这么着，也不过是往后推一推，再考虑考虑。只要咱们快快乐乐的，跟张三李四又有什么相干。”
Part 5 Chapter 5
THE purpose of a chronicler of moods and deeds does not require him to express his personal views upon the grave controversy above given. That the twain were happy--between their times of sadness--was indubitable. And when the unexpected apparition of Jude's child in the house had shown itself to be no such disturbing event as it had looked, but one that brought into their lives a new and tender interest of an ennobling and unselfish kind, it rather helped than injured their happiness.
To be sure, with such pleasing anxious beings as they were, the boy's coming also brought with it much thought for the future, particularly as he seemed at present to be singularly deficient in all the usual hopes of childhood. But the pair tried to dismiss, for a while at least, a too strenuously forward view.
There is in Upper Wessex an old town of nine or ten thousand souls; the town may be called Stoke-Barehills. It stands with its gaunt, unattractive, ancient church, and its new red brick suburb, amid the open, chalk-soiled cornlands, near the middle of an imaginary triangle which has for its three corners the towns of Aldbrickham and Wintoncester, and the important military station of Quartershot. The great w

[table=80%,#ffffff,#000000,1][tr][td]Part 5 Chapter 6
THE unnoticed lives that the pair had hitherto led began, from the day of the suspended wedding onwards, to be observed and discussed by other persons than Arabella. The society of Spring Street and the neighbourhood generally did not understand, and probably could not have been made to understand, Sue and Jude's private minds, emotions, positions, and fears. The curious facts of a child coming to them unexpectedly, who called Jude "Father," and Sue "Mother," and a hitch in a marriage ceremony intended for quietness to be performed at a registrar's office, together with rumours of the undefended cases in the law-courts, bore only one translation to plain minds.
Little Time--for though he was formally turned into "Jude," the apt nickname stuck to him--would come home from school in the evening, and repeat inquiries and remarks that had been made to him by the other boys; and cause Sue, and Jude when he heard them, a great deal of pain and sadness.
The result was that shortly after the attempt at the registrar's the pair went off--to London it was believed--for several days, hiring somebody to look to the boy. When they came back they let it be understood indirectly, and with total indifference and weariness of mien, that they were legally married at last. Sue, who had previously been called Mrs. Bridehead now openly adopted the name of Mrs. Fawley. Her dull, cowed, and listless manner for days seemed to substantiate all this.
But the mistake (as it was called) of their going away so secretly to do the business, kept up much of the mystery of their lives; and they found that they made not such advances with their neighbours as they had expected to do thereby. A living mystery was not much less interesting than a dead scandal.
The baker's lad and the grocer's boy, who at first had used to lift their hats gallantly to Sue when they came to execute their errands, in these days no longer took the trouble to render her that homage, and the neighbouring artizans' wives looked straight along the pavement when they encountered her.
Nobody molested them, it is true; but an oppressive atmosphere began to encircle their souls, particularly after their excursion to the show, as if that visit had brought some evil influence to bear on them. And their temperaments were precisely of a kind to suffer from this atmosphere, and to be indisposed to lighten it by vigorous and open statements. Their apparent attempt at reparation had come too late to be effective.
The headstone and epitaph orders fell off: and two or three months later, when autumn came, Jude perceived that he would have to return to journey-work again, a course all the more unfortunate just now, in that he had not as yet cleared off the debt he had unavoidably incurred in the payment of the law-costs of the previous year.
One evening he sat down to share the common meal with Sue and the child as usual. "I am thinking," he said to her, "that I'll hold on here no longer. The life suits us, certainly; but if we could get away to a place where we are unknown, we should be lighter hearted, and have a better chance. And so I am afraid we must break it up here, however awkward for you, poor dear!"
Sue was always much affected at a picture of herself as an object of pity, and she saddened.
"Well--I am not sorry," said she presently. "I am much depressed by the way they look at me here. And you have been keeping on this house and furniture entirely for me and the boy! You don't want it yourself, and the expense is unnecessary. But whatever we do, wherever we go, you won't take him away from me, Jude dear? I could not let him go now! The cloud upon his young mind makes him so pathetic to me; I do hope to lift it some day! And he loves me so. You won't take him away from me?"
"Certainly I won't, dear little girl! We'll get nice lodgings, wherever we go. I shall be moving about probably--getting a job here and a job there."
"I shall do something too, of course, till--till Well, now I can't be useful in the lettering it behoves me to turn my hand to something else."
"Don't hurry about getting employment," he said regretfully. "I don't want you to do that. I wish you wouldn't, Sue. The boy and yourself are enough for you to attend to."
There was a knock at the door, and Jude answered it. Sue could hear the conversation:
"Is Mr. Fawley at home? ... Biles and Willis the building contractors sent me to know if you'll undertake the relettering of the ten commandments in a little church they've been restoring lately in the country near here."
Jude reflected, and said he could undertake it.
"It is not a very artistic job," continued the messenger. "The clergyman is a very old-fashioned chap, and he has refused to let anything more be done to the church than cleaning and repairing."
"Excellent old man!" said Sue to herself, who was sentimentally opposed to the horrors of over-restoration.
"The Ten Commandments are fixed to the east end," the messenger went on, "and they want doing up with the rest of the wall there, since he won't have them carted off as old materials belonging to the contractor in the usual way of the trade."
A bargain as to terms was struck, and Jude came indoors. "There, you see," he said cheerfully. "One more job yet, at any rate, and you can help in it--at least you can try. We shall have all the church to ourselves, as the rest of the work is finished."
Next day Jude went out to the church, which was only two miles off. He found that what the contractor's clerk had said was true. The tables of the Jewish law towered sternly over the utensils of Christian grace, as the chief ornament of the chancel end, in the fine dry style of the last century. And as their framework was constructed of ornamental plaster they could not be taken down for repair. A portion, crumbled by damp, required renewal; and when this had been done, and the whole cleansed, he began to renew the lettering. On the second morning Sue came to see what assistance she could render, and also because they liked to be together.
The silence and emptiness of the building gave her confidence, and, standing on a safe low platform erected by Jude, which she was nevertheless timid at mounting, she began painting in the letters of the first Table while he set about mending a portion of the second. She was quite pleased at her powers; she had acquired them in the days she painted illumined texts for the church-fitting shop at Christminster. Nobody seemed likely to disturb them; and the pleasant twitter of birds, and rustle of October leafage, came in through an open window, and mingled with their talk.
They were not, however, to be left thus snug and peaceful for long. About half-past twelve there came footsteps on the gravel without. The old vicar and his churchwarden entered, and, coming up to see what was being done, seemed surprised to discover that a young woman was assisting. They passed on into an aisle, at which time the door again opened, and another figure entered--a small one, that of little Time, who was crying. Sue had told him where he might find her between school-hours, if he wished. She came down from her perch, and said, "What's the matter, my dear?"
"I couldn't stay to eat my dinner in school, because they said----" He described how some boys had taunted him about his nominal mother, and Sue, grieved, expressed her indignation to Jude aloft. The child went into the churchyard, and Sue returned to her work. Meanwhile the door had opened again, and there shuffled in with a businesslike air the white-aproned woman who cleaned the church. Sue recognized her as one who had friends in Spring Street, whom she visited. The church-cleaner looked at Sue, gaped, and lifted her hands; she had evidently recognized Jude's companion as the latter had recognized her. Next came two ladies, and after talking to the charwoman they also moved forward, and as Sue stood reaching upward, watched her hand tracing the letters, and critically regarded her person in relief against the white wall, till she grew so nervous that she trembled visibly.
They went back to where the others were standing, talking in undertones: and one said--Sue could not hear which--"She's his wife, I suppose?"
"Some say Yes: some say No," was the reply from the charwoman.
"Not? Then she ought to be, or somebody's--that's very clear!"
"They've only been married a very few weeks, whether or no."
"A strange pair to be painting the Two Tables! I wonder Biles and Willis could think of such a thing as hiring those!"
The churchwarden supposed that Biles and Willis knew of nothing wrong, and then the other, who had been talking to the old woman, explained what she meant by calling them strange people.
The probable drift of the subdued conversation which followed was made plain by the churchwarden breaking into an anecdote, in a voice that everybody in the church could hear, though obviously suggested by the present situation:
"Well, now, it is a curious thing, but my grandfather told me a strange tale of a most immoral case that happened at the painting of the Commandments in a church out by Gaymead-- which is quite within a walk of this one. In them days Commandments were mostly done in gilt letters on a black ground, and that's how they were out where I say, before the owld church was rebuilded. It must have been somewhere about a hundred years ago that them Commandments wanted doing up just as ours do here, and they had to get men from Aldbrickham to do 'em. Now they wished to get the job finished by a particular Sunday, so the men had to work late Saturday night, against their will, for overtime was not paid then as 'tis now. There was no true religion in the country at that date, neither among pa'sons, clerks, nor people, and to keep the men up to their work the vicar had to let 'em have plenty of drink during the afternoon. As evening drawed on they sent for some more themselves; rum, by all account. It got later and later, and they got more and more fuddled, till at last they went a-putting their rum-bottle and rummers upon the communion table, and drawed up a trestle or two, and sate round comfortable and poured out again right hearty bumpers. No sooner had they tossed off their glasses than, so the story goes they fell down senseless, one and all. How long they bode so they didn't know, but when they came to themselves there was a terrible thunder-storm a-raging, and they seemed to see in the gloom a dark figure with very thin legs and a curious voot, a-standing on the ladder, and finishing their work. When it got daylight they could see that the work was really finished, and couldn't at all mind finishing it themselves. They went home, and the next thing they heard was that a great scandal had been caused in the church that Sunday morning, for when the people came and service began, all saw that the Ten Commandments wez painted with the "nots" left out. Decent people wouldn't attend service there for a long time, and the Bishop had to be sent for to reconsecrate the church. That's the tradition as I used to hear it as a child. You must take it for what it is wo'th, but this case to-day has reminded me o't, as I say."
The visitors gave one more glance, as if to see whether Jude and Sue had left the "nots" out likewise, and then severally left the church, even the old woman at last. Sue and Jude, who had not stopped working, sent back the child to school, and remained without speaking; till, looking at her narrowly, he found she had been crying silently.
"Never mind, comrade!" he said. "I know what it is!"
"I can't BEAR that they, and everybody, should think people wicked because they may have chosen to live their own way! It is really these opinions that make the best intentioned people reckless, and actually become immoral!"
"Never be cast down! It was only a funny story."
"Ah, but we suggested it! I am afraid I have done you mischief, Jude, instead of helping you by coming!"
To have suggested such a story was certainly not very exhilarating, in a serious view of their position. However, in a few minutes Sue seemed to see that their position this morning had a ludicrous side, and wiping her eyes she laughed.
"It is droll, after all," she said, "that we two, of all people, with our queer history, should happen to be here painting the Ten Commandments! You a reprobate, and I--in my condition.... O dear!" ... And with her hand over her eyes she laughed again silently and intermittently, till she was quite weak.
"That's better," said Jude gaily. "Now we are right again, aren't we, little girl!"
"Oh but it is serious, all the same!" she sighed as she took up the brush and righted herself. "But do you see they don't think we are married? They WON'T believe it! It is extraordinary!"
"I don't care whether they think so or not," said Jude. "I shan't take any more trouble to make them."
They sat down to lunch--which they had brought with them not to hinder time-- and having eaten it were about to set to work anew when a man entered the church, and Jude recognized in him the contractor Willis. He beckoned to Jude, and spoke to him apart.
"Here--I've just had a complaint about this," he said, with rather breathless awkwardness. "I don't wish to go into the matter-- as of course I didn't know what was going on--but I am afraid I must ask you and her to leave off, and let somebody else finish this! It is best, to avoid all unpleasantness. I'll pay you for the week, all the same."
Jude was too independent to make any fuss; and the contractor paid him, and left. Jude picked up his tools, and Sue cleansed her brush. Then their eyes met.
"How could we be so simple as to suppose we might do this!" said she, dropping to her tragic note. "Of course we ought not-- I ought not--to have come!"
"I had no idea that anybody was going to intrude into such a lonely place and see us!" Jude returned. "Well, it can't be helped, dear; and of course I wouldn't wish to injure Willis's trade-connection by staying." They sat down passively for a few minutes, proceeded out of the church, and overtaking the boy pursued their thoughtful way to Aldbrickham.
Fawley had still a pretty zeal in the cause of education, and, as was natural with his experiences, he was active in furthering "equality of opportunity" by any humble means open to him. He had joined an Artizans' Mutual Improvement Society established in the town about the time of his arrival there; its members being young men of all creeds and denominations, including Churchmen, Congregationalists, Baptists, Unitarians, Positivists, and others-- agnostics had scarcely been heard of at this time--their one common wish to enlarge their minds forming a sufficiently close bond of union. The subscription was small, and the room homely; and Jude's activity, uncustomary acquirements, and above all, singular intuition on what to read and how to set about it-- begotten of his years of struggle against malignant stars--had led to his being placed on the committee.
A few evenings after his dismissal from the church repairs, and before he had obtained any more work to do, he went to attend a meeting of the aforesaid committee. It was late when he arrived: all the others had come, and as he entered they looked dubiously at him, and hardly uttered a word of greeting. He guessed that something bearing on himself had been either discussed or mooted. Some ordinary business was transacted, and it was disclosed that the number of subscriptions had shown a sudden falling off for that quarter. One member--a really well-meaning and upright man-- began speaking in enigmas about certain possible causes: that it behoved them to look well into their constitution; for if the committee were not respected, and had not at least, in their differences, a common standard of CONDUCT, they would bring the institution to the ground. Nothing further was said in Jude's presence, but he knew what this meant; and turning to the table wrote a note resigning his office there and then.
Thus the supersensitive couple were more and more impelled to go away. And then bills were sent in, and the question arose, what could Jude do with his great-aunt's heavy old furniture, if he left the town to travel he knew not whither? This, and the necessity of ready money, compelled him to decide on an auction, much as he would have preferred to keep the venerable goods.
The day of the sale came on; and Sue for the last time cooked her own, the child's, and Jude's breakfast in the little house he had furnished. It chanced to be a wet day; moreover Sue was unwell, and not wishing to desert her poor Jude in such gloomy circumstances, for he was compelled to stay awhile, she acted on the suggestion of the auctioneer's man, and ensconced herself in an upper room, which could be emptied of its effects, and so kept closed to the bidders. Here Jude discovered her; and with the child, and their few trunks, baskets, and bundles, and two chairs and a table that were not in the sale, the two sat in meditative talk.
Footsteps began stamping up and down the bare stairs, the comers inspecting the goods, some of which were of so quaint and ancient a make as to acquire an adventitious value as art. Their door was tried once or twice, and to guard themselves against intrusion Jude wrote "Private" on a scrap of paper, and stuck it upon the panel.
They soon found that, instead of the furniture, their own personal histories and past conduct began to be discussed to an unexpected and intolerable extent by the intending bidders. It was not till now that they really discovered what a fools' paradise of supposed unrecognition they had been living in of late. Sue silently took her companion's hand, and with eyes on each other they heard these passing remarks-- the quaint and mysterious personality of Father Time being a subject which formed a large ingredient in the hints and innuendoes. At length the auction began in the room below, whence they could hear each familiar article knocked down, the highly prized ones cheaply, the unconsidered at an unexpected price.
"People don't understand us," he sighed heavily. "I am glad we have decided to go."
"The question is, where to?"
"It ought to be to London. There one can live as one chooses."
"No--not London, dear! I know it well. We should be unhappy there."
"Why?"
"Can't you think?"
"Because Arabella is there?"
"That's the chief reason."
"But in the country I shall always be uneasy lest there should be some more of our late experience. And I don't care to lessen it by explaining, for one thing, all about the boy's history. To cut him off from his past I have determined to keep silence. I am sickened of ecclesiastical work now; and I shouldn't like to accept it, if offered me!"
"You ought to have learnt classic. Gothic is barbaric art, after all. Pugin was wrong, and Wren was right. Remember the interior of Christminster Cathedral--almost the first place in which we looked in each other's faces. Under the picturesqueness of those Norman details one can see the grotesque childishness of uncouth people trying to imitate the vanished Roman forms, remembered by dim tradition only."
"Yes--you have half-converted me to that view by what you have said before. But one can work, and despise what one does. I must do something, if not church gothic."
"I wish we could both follow an occupation in which personal circumstances don't count," she said, smiling up wistfully. "I am as disqualified for teaching as you are for ecclesiastical art. You must fall back upon railway stations, bridges, theatres, music-halls, hotels--everything that has no connection with conduct."
"I am not skilled in those.... I ought to take to bread-baking. I grew up in the baking business with aunt, you know. But even a baker must be conventional, to get customers."
"Unless he keeps a cake and gingerbread stall at markets and fairs, where people are gloriously indifferent to everything except the quality of the goods."
Their thoughts were diverted by the voice of the auctioneer: "Now this antique oak settle--a unique example of old English furniture, worthy the attention of all collectors!"
"That was my great-grandfather's," said Jude. "I wish we could have kept the poor old thing!"
One by one the articles went, and the afternoon passed away. Jude and the other two were getting tired and hungry, but after the conversation they had heard they were shy of going out while the purchasers were in their line of retreat. However, the later lots drew on, and it became necessary to emerge into the rain soon, to take on Sue's things to their temporary lodging.
"Now the next lot: two pairs of pigeons, all alive and plump-- a nice pie for somebody for next Sunday's dinner!"
The impending sale of these birds had been the most trying suspense of the whole afternoon. They were Sue's pets, and when it was found that they could not possibly be kept, more sadness was caused than by parting from all the furniture. Sue tried to think away her tears as she heard the trifling sum that her dears were deemed to be worth advanced by small stages to the price at which they were finally knocked down. The purchaser was a neighbouring poulterer, and they were unquestionably doomed to die before the next market day.
Noting her dissembled distress Jude kissed her, and said it was time to go and see if the lodgings were ready. He would go on with the boy, and fetch her soon.
When she was left alone she waited patiently, but Jude did not come back. At last she started, the coast being clear, and on passing the poulterer's shop, not far off, she saw her pigeons in a hamper by the door. An emotion at sight of them, assisted by the growing dusk of evening, caused her to act on impulse, and first looking around her quickly, she pulled out the peg which fastened down the cover, and went on. The cover was lifted from within, and the pigeons flew away with a clatter that brought the chagrined poulterer cursing and swearing to the door.
Sue reached the lodging trembling, and found Jude and the boy making it comfortable for her. "Do the buyers pay before they bring away the things?" she asked breathlessly.
"Yes, I think. Why?"
"Because, then, I've done such a wicked thing!" And she explained, in bitter contrition.
"I shall have to pay the poulterer for them, if he doesn't catch them," said Jude. "But never mind. Don't fret about it, dear."
"It was so foolish of me! Oh why should Nature's law be mutual butchery!"
"Is it so, Mother?" asked the boy intently.
"Yes!" said Sue vehemently.
"Well, they must take their chance, now, poor things," said Jude. "As soon as the sale-account is wound up, and our bills paid, we go."
"Where do we go to?" asked Time, in suspense.
"We must sail under sealed orders, that nobody may trace us.... We mustn't go to Alfredston, or to Melchester, or to Shaston, or to Christminster. Apart from those we may go anywhere."
"Why mustn't we go there, Father?"
"Because of a cloud that has gathered over us; though 'we have wronged no man, corrupted no man, defrauded no man!' Though perhaps we have 'done that which was right in our own eyes.'"

这对情人的生活本来没人注意，但从他们的婚礼中止后，不单阿拉贝拉，而且其他人也开始对他脽哇察和议论。清泉街的公众和左邻右舍一般不理解，恐怕也无法让他们理解苏和裘德难与外人道的心理、感情、境遇和恐惧。他们的事也着实令人莫名其妙：家里突然来了个孩子，还管裘德叫“爸爸”，管苏叫“妈妈”；他们为图清静省事才上登记处办结婚，可又当场变卦，临时取消。此外在离婚官司中没出庭声辩，也引起流言蜚语。这一切叫头脑简单的人只能有一种解释。
时光小老爹（他已正式改名‘嚷德”，但这个恰如其分的外号始终纠缠着他）晚上放学到家之后，就把别的男孩子盯着他问个不了和他们说的难听话，学给他们听。苏非常痛苦和伤心。裘德听着，心情也一样。
结果是，这对情人在取消登记处婚礼后没多久，外出了几天（人家认为去了伦敦），雇了个人照应孩子。回来以后他们用一种间接方式使别人了解他们已依法成婚，态度显得无所谓，也不起劲。从前人家称苏为柏瑞和太太，现在苏就公开用福来太太这名字了。有好些天，她样子闷闷不乐、局促不安、无精打采，看来也足以证实确有这回事。
不过他们这样行踪诡秘地去办理婚事，在别人眼里实在是个不智之举，因为这一来反而增添了他们的生活的神秘性。他们自己也发现这一着并没收效，不像设想的那样改进他们同邻居的关系。近在眼前的神秘勾起人的兴趣决不亚于已成过去的丑闻。
面包房的小把戏和杂货店的小伙计从前送货上门，一见苏，顿时殷勤地举帽行礼，如今也免掉了。住在左右的手艺人的老婆每逢碰上她，就两眼直勾勾朝前看，从人行道走过去，只当没瞧见她。
谁也没故意找他们岔子，这也是实情。但是他们的精神世界开始陷入令人窒息的气氛的包围，在他们远路参观展览会之后尤其如此，似乎那次参观使他们有了某种邪恶影响。他们的禀性本来容易在这样气氛中感受伤害，但又不肯直言不讳地表态，以求缓解这种气氛。他们显然也曾打算多方弥缝，无奈为时已晚，难以奏效。
凿墓碑、镌墓志的生意日渐其少，两三个月过去，秋天到了，裘德心里很清楚他非再去打零活不可，因为他上年为支付诉讼费不得已而欠下的债务尚未还清，而这时候走这条路无非雪上加霜。
有天晚上，他跟平常一样跟苏和孩子一块儿吃饭。“我在考虑，”他对她说，“在这儿是撑不下去了。当然这儿的生活很适合咱们。不过咱们要是离开这儿，换个没人认识的地方，心里头总要舒坦点，机会也多点吧。我看咱们这儿的家非拆了不可，这一来你可就受罪了，可怜的，亲爱的！”
苏每逢人家把她形容成叫人怜悯的对象，就倍感刺激，所以她听了很伤心。
“呃——我没什么难受的。”她立刻说。“这儿的人看我的那个样儿，大叫我气闷啦。再说维持这个家，还有家具，本来为孩子跟我才添这笔开销，你自己根本用不着，都是多余的。可是不管咱们干什么，上哪儿去，你总不会把我跟孩子分开吧，亲爱的裘德？我这会儿可不能放他走呀。孩子稚嫩的心灵上一片乌云，我老替他难受；我真盼着哪天把乌云吹散啊！他又这么恋恋着我。你不会让孩子跟我分开吧？”
“我当然不会，亲爱的小姑娘。不管咱们到哪儿，咱们都要搞个像样的地方住。我大概得到处奔波了——今天这儿干干，明天那儿干干。”
“我也得做点事，当然要到——到……呃，现在描字的事，我还插不上手，别的事占着手，不忙又不行。”
“你先别急着找事。”他带着歉意说。“我不想让你于那个活儿。我希望你别干，苏。你把孩子跟自个儿照料好就够你忙啦。”
这时听见有人敲门，裘德出来应付。苏听得到他们的谈话。
“福来先生在家吗？……拜•威营造厂最近正修一个小教堂，就在离这儿不远的乡下，他们打发我来问问，你还能接那儿重描《十诫》的活儿。”
裘德考虑了一下，说他可以接。
“这活儿也用不着多高的手艺。”捎信的人说。“牧师是个顶拘礼的老派，他只要把教堂洗洗刷刷，修修补补，别的全不许干。”
“这老头真是个大好人。”苏自言自语，她对整修教堂过事雕琢的种种可怕结果一向抱有反感。
“十诫文就装在东厢上，”来人接着说，“他们想把它放在墙上跟别的东西一块儿施工，按这行老规矩，拆下来的旧东西都归营造商收去，可牧师怎么也不干，不准他们下掉运走，也就只好这么办了。”
他们把干活条件敲定后，裘德又回到屋里。“哪，你瞧。”他乐滋滋地说。“天无绝人之路，还是有活儿可干，你也能帮一手了——起码可以试试。等别的修缮活儿一了，教堂就全归咱们一家包啦。”
第二天裘德前往不过两英里外的教堂，他看了看，营造厂职员所言果然不虚。犹太法律凛凛然俯临有基督教典雅格调的圣器，是圣坛末端的主要装饰，属于上世纪那种工艺精良而缺乏生气的风格。又因它们的整体边框是用装饰性石膏做成，所以不好取下来修理，其中一部分已因受潮而发泡开裂，需要完全更换；等这个活儿于完了，全部边框也清洗干净，他这才开始把字重描。第二天上午苏来看看她能帮什么忙，不过她来了也是因为他们老喜欢呆在一块儿。
教堂里不闻人声，不见人影，她心里很踏实。裘德原来搭好一个比较矮点的脚手架，挺安全的，不过她一往架子上爬，还是有点胆怯。她开始给第一块字版上色，裘德就着手修补第二块字版的另一部分；从前她给基督堂教会圣物店画经文插图时就学会了这类技巧。这时候看来不大可能有人来打扰他们。众鸟欢悦的啁啾和十月叶丛的窸窣从打开的窗户飘进来，同他们的谈话交织在一起。
殊不知他们感受到的宁静畅适却好景不长。大概十二点半光景，外面石子路上有了脚步声，年事已高的教区长和教堂管事进来了，他们要看看现在干什么，没想到瞧见个年轻女人在帮活，好像吃了一惊。他们又往前走，进了座位中间的走道，门这时又打开了，闪进个一个人——小小的身形，原来是小时光，哭哭啼啼的。苏已经跟他说了，他中午课间要找她，就到什么地方。她从架子上下来，问他，“什么事呀，我的宝贝儿？”
“我没法在学校里头吃饭啦，因为他们说——”他就把几个孩子怎么臭他、说他妈是叫着玩儿的，不是真的，一五一十说了一遍。苏听了很难过，就向高处的裘德表示非常气愤。孩子到教堂墓地去了，她又上去干活儿。门这时再次打开，进来了一个系着白围裙的女人，是打扫教堂的，满脸正经的样子。苏认得她，这女人在清泉街有朋友，苏也曾去看望过她们。这打扫教堂的女人一看见苏，就一发愣，手抬抬，没错儿，她认出来裘德这个同伴，就像苏也认出她来。接着来了两位女士，她们跟打扫女工说了几句话，朝前走来，上上下下、仔仔细细打量靠在白墙上撑着身子的苏。后来她让她们看得紧张得不得了，明显地发起抖来。
她们又回身走到前面来的人站的地方，压着嗓门说话，一个说——苏听不出来是哪个——“她是他老婆吧，我想？”
“有人说是，有人说不是。”这是女杂工在答腔。
“不是？不是还行吗？要不然就是别人的——这一清二楚嘛！”
“是也好，不是也好，他们反正结婚才几个礼拜。”
“这么不明不白的一对，居然涂十诫！我就不懂拜•威厂怎么想得起来用这样的人！”
教堂管事表示拜尔和威利斯厂子没听到不对的地方，接着那个跟老太婆说话的女人解释了一下她管他们叫不明不白的人是什么意思。
他们先是压着嗓子嘀嘀咕咕，勉强听得出来，后来教堂管事猛孤了地讲起一桩奇怪的传说，嗓门大得教堂里头的人都听得清清楚楚，显而易见是由眼前这个情景引出来的。“我爷爷当年给我讲过一个奇怪的故事，真是邪恶到顶啦，这会儿听起来还叫人莫名其妙呢。这事就出在该密得近边上教堂给十诫上色的时候。那年头，十诫差不多都是黑底描金，我说的那个地方也这样，当时老教堂还没拆了重造。大概一百年前不定哪天吧，他们想把十诫好好修修，跟咱们这会儿一样，这件事他们得上奥尔布里肯找人于。他们很想在预定好的礼拜天之前能完工，做工的也只好捺住性子在礼拜六于到三更半夜，那会儿跟现在不一样，加班不加钱。那年头哪儿有什么真正信教的人哪，不管是乡下牧师、管事，还是老百姓全一样。过了晌午，教区长要叫他们于下去，就得让他们喝个够。天快黑了，他们自个儿又想法子弄了些酒来；没说的，全是兰姆酒。天越来越晚了，他们也醉得越来越厉害了，到后来索性连酒瓶带杯子一齐放到圣餐台上，搬过来一两条板凳，舒舒服服地围台子一坐，一大缸一大缸地开怀畅饮。把杯子里的酒喝光了，个个都倒下来了，人事不知啦，传说就是这样。究竟他们人事不知有多大工夫，他们自个儿一点儿不知道。不过他们全醒过来的时候，正是疾风暴雨，电闪雷鸣，在昏天黑地里好像看见个黑不唧的人形，腿细得很，脚也怪特别的，站在梯子上，替他们赶活儿。等天亮了，他们一瞧，果然活干完了，可他们根本想不起来是自个儿把活儿干完了的。然后他们就回家了，以后就听说那个晚上教堂里出了个骇人听闻的怪事儿，原来礼拜天早上，大伙儿到了教堂，也开始做礼拜了，忽然间瞧见上好色的十诫上边的“不”字全漏下了。正派人好久好久没去做礼拜，没办法，只好把主教请来，再为教堂向上天祈祷一回。我孩子时候常听说这个传说。实不实，你们自个儿想就是啦，不过就是这会儿的光景，把我给提醒啦。”
来人又对他们俩瞄了一眼，仿佛要看看裘德和苏是不是也照样把“不”字抹掉。他们一个接一个离开了教堂，后来连老女人也走了。裘德和苏原来没有把活儿停下来，现在就把孩子打发回学校，两个人始终没说一句话；等等他仔细一瞧她，才发现她没出声地哭着。
“别管它吧，同志！”他说。“我看才不值得管它呢。”
“他们，个个都是，因为人家想按自己的方式生活，就把人家糟蹋得一塌糊涂，我真受不了啊！就这样嚼舌根，难怪逼得心地高尚的人走投无路，结果就堕落下去，这真是一点不假啊。”
“你千万别为这个泄气，这只算是个笑话！”
“这可是对着咱们说的呀！裘德，我想我来了，帮了个倒忙，倒叫你受屈啦！”
要是按他们的处境来认真一想，他们惹得别人讲那样的故事，当然不是滋味。不过几分钟以后，苏似乎明白过来这个上午的情况确有其滑稽的一面，也就擦了擦眼睛，破涕为笑了。
“芸芸众生，偏偏咱们这两个经历这么奇特，凑巧又上这儿来给十诫上色，也真可谓滑天下之稽啦！你让上帝抛弃了，我呢，按我的情形……哦，亲爱的！”她用手捂起眼睛，又没出声笑着，笑笑停停，直到笑累了才停下来。
“这不就说对了嘛。”裘德开心地说。“咱们这会儿还不是恢复了原状吗，小姑娘！”
“哦，不过到底挺严重啊！”她叹口气，同时拿起刷子，站稳了。“难道你还没明白，他们不承认咱们结了婚？他们决不肯相信！这太离谱啦！”
“他们怎么想，

[table=80%,#ffffff,#000000,1][tr][td]Part 6
AT CHRISTMINSTER AGAIN
"... And she humbled her body greatly, and all the places of her joy she filled with her torn hair."-- ESTHER (Apoc.).
"There are two who decline, a woman and I, And enjoy our death in the darkness here." --R. BROWNING.

……她乃极力作践自己的身体，扯下头发，填满往昔欢娱之地。——《以斯帖记•补》
两个人，一个女人和我，身心交瘁，在茫茫黑暗中尝味生命的寂灭。——R．勃朗宁
Part 6 Chapter 1
ON their arrival the station was lively with straw-hatted young men, welcoming young girls who bore a remarkable family likeness to their welcomers, and who were dressed up in the brightest and lightest of raiment.
"The place seems gay," said Sue. "Why--it is Remembrance Day!--Jude--how sly of you--you came to-day on purpose!"
"Yes," said Jude quietly, as he took charge of the small child, and told Arabella's boy to keep close to them, Sue attending to their own eldest. "I thought we might as well come to-day as on any other."
"But I am afraid it will depress you!" she said, looking anxiously at him up and down.
"Oh, I mustn't let it interfere with our business; and we have a good deal to do before we shall be settled here. The first thing is lodgings."
Having left their luggage and his tools at the station they proceeded on foot up the familiar street, the holiday people all drifting in the same direction. Reaching the Fourways they were about to turn off to where accommodation was likely to be found when, looking at the clock and the hurrying crowd, Jude said: "Let us go and see the procession, and never mind the lodgings just now? We can get them afterwards."
"Oughtn't we to get a house over our heads first?" she asked.
But his soul seemed full of the anniversary, and together they went down Chief Street, their smallest child in Jude's arms, Sue leading her little girl, and Arabella's boy walking thoughtfully and silently beside them. Crowds of pretty sisters in airy costumes, and meekly ignorant parents who had known no college in their youth, were under convoy in the same direction by brothers and sons bearing the opinion written large on them that no properly qualified human beings had lived on earth till they came to grace it here and now.
"My failure is reflected on me by every one of those young fellows," said Jude. "A lesson on presumption is awaiting me to-day!-- Humiliation Day for me! ... If you, my dear darling, hadn't come to my rescue, I should have gone to the dogs with despair!"
She saw from his face that he was getting into one of his tempestuous, self-harrowing moods. "It would have been better if we had gone at once about our own affairs, dear," she answered. "I am sure this sight will awaken old sorrows in you, and do no good!"
"Well--we are near; we will see it now," said he.
They turned in on the left by the church with the Italian porch, whose helical columns were heavily draped with creepers, and pursued the lane till there arose on Jude's sight the circular theatre with that well-known lantern above it, which stood in his mind as the sad symbol of his abandoned hopes, for it was from that outlook that he had finally surveyed the City of Colleges on the afternoon of his great meditation, which convinced him at last of the futility of his attempt to be a son of the university.
To-day, in the open space stretching between this building and the nearest college, stood a crowd of expectant people. A passage was kept clear through their midst by two barriers of timber, extending from the door of the college to the door of the large building between it and the theatre.
"Here is the place--they are just going to pass!" cried Jude in sudden excitement. And pushing his way to the front he took up a position close to the barrier, still hugging the youngest child in his arms, while Sue and the others kept immediately behind him. The crowd filled in at their back, and fell to talking, joking, and laughing as carriage after carriage drew up at the lower door of the college, and solemn stately figures in blood-red robes began to alight. The sky had grown overcast and livid, and thunder rumbled now and then.
Father Time shuddered. "It do seem like the Judgment Day!" he whispered.
"They are only learned doctors," said Sue.
While they waited big drops of rain fell on their heads and shoulders, and the delay grew tedious. Sue again wished not to stay.
"They won't be long now," said Jude, without turning his head.
But the procession did not come forth, and somebody in the crowd, to pass the time, looked at the facade of the nearest college, and said he wondered what was meant by the Latin inscription in its midst. Jude, who stood near the inquirer, explained it, and finding that the people all round him were listening with interest, went on to describe the carving of the frieze (which he had studied years before), and to criticize some details of masonry in other college fronts about the city.
The idle crowd, including the two policemen at the doors, stared like the Lycaonians at Paul, for Jude was apt to get too enthusiastic over any subject in hand, and they seemed to wonder how the stranger should know more about the buildings of their town than they themselves did; till one of them said: "Why, I know that man; he used to work here years ago-- Jude Fawley, that's his name! Don't you mind he used to be nicknamed Tutor of St. Slums, d'ye mind?--because he aimed at that line o' business? He's married, I suppose, then, and that's his child he's carrying. Taylor would know him, as he knows everybody."
The speaker was a man named Jack Stagg, with whom Jude had formerly worked in repairing the college masonries; Tinker Taylor was seen to be standing near. Having his attention called the latter cried across the barriers to Jude: "You've honoured us by coming back again, my friend!"
"An' you don't seem to have done any great things for yourself by going away?"
Jude assented to this also.
"Except found more mouths to fill!" This came in a new voice, and Jude recognized its owner to be Uncle Joe, another mason whom he had known.
Jude replied good-humouredly that he could not dispute it; and from remark to remark something like a general conversation arose between him and the crowd of idlers, during which Tinker Taylor asked Jude if he remembered the Apostles' Creed in Latin still, and the night of the challenge in the public house.
"But Fortune didn't lie that way?" threw in Joe. "Yer powers wasn't enough to carry 'ee through?"
"Don't answer them any more!" entreated Sue.
"I don't think I like Christminster!" murmured little Time mournfully, as he stood submerged and invisible in the crowd.
But finding himself the centre of curiosity, quizzing, and comment, Jude was not inclined to shrink from open declarations of what he had no great reason to be ashamed of; and in a little while was stimulated to say in a loud voice to the listening throng generally:
"It is a difficult question, my friends, for any young man-- that question I had to grapple with, and which thousands are weighing at the present moment in these uprising times-- whether to follow uncritically the track he finds himself in, without considering his aptness for it, or to consider what his aptness or bent may be, and re-shape his course accordingly. I tried to do the latter, and I failed. But I don't admit that my failure proved my view to be a wrong one, or that my success would have made it a right one; though that's how we appraise such attempts nowadays--I mean, not by their essential soundness, but by their accidental outcomes. If I had ended by becoming like one of these gentlemen in red and black that we saw dropping in here by now, everybody would have said: 'See how wise that young man was, to follow the bent of his nature!' But having ended no better than I began they say: 'See what a fool that fellow was in following a freak of his fancy!'
"However it was my poverty and not my will that consented to be beaten. It takes two or three generations to do what I tried to do in one; and my impulses--affections--vices perhaps they should be called-- were too strong not to hamper a man without advantages; who should be as cold-blooded as a fish and as selfish as a pig to have a really good chance of being one of his country's worthies. You may ridicule me--I am quite willing that you should-- I am a fit subject, no doubt. But I think if you knew what I have gone through these last few years you would rather pity me. And if they knew"--he nodded towards the college at which the dons were severally arriving--"it is just possible they would do the same."
"He do look ill and worn-out, it is true!" said a woman.
Sue's face grew more emotional; but though she stood close to Jude she was screened.
"I may do some good before I am dead--be a sort of success as a frightful example of what not to do; and so illustrate a moral story," continued Jude, beginning to grow bitter, though he had opened serenely enough. "I was, perhaps, after all, a paltry victim to the spirit of mental and social restlessness that makes so many unhappy in these days!"
"Don't tell them that!" whispered Sue with tears, at perceiving Jude's state of mind. "You weren't that. You struggled nobly to acquire knowledge, and only the meanest souls in the world would blame you!"
Jude shifted the child into a more easy position on his arm, and concluded: "And what I appear, a sick and poor man, is not the worst of me. I am in a chaos of principles-- groping in the dark--acting by instinct and not after example. Eight or nine years ago when I came here first, I had a neat stock of fixed opinions, but they dropped away one by one; and the further I get the less sure I am. I doubt if I have anything more for my present rule of life than following inclinations which do me and nobody else any harm, and actually give pleasure to those I love best. There, gentlemen, since you wanted to know how I was getting on, I have told you. Much good may it do you! I cannot explain further here. I perceive there is something wrong somewhere in our social formulas: what it is can only be discovered by men or women with greater insight than mine--if, indeed, they ever discover it-- at least in our time. 'For who knoweth what is good for man in this life?--and who can tell a man what shall be after him under the sun?'"
"Hear, hear," said the populace.
"Well preached!" said Tinker Taylor. And privately to his neighbours: "Why, one of them jobbing pa'sons swarming about here, that takes the services when our head reverends want a holiday, wouldn't ha' discoursed such doctrine for less than a guinea down? Hey? I'll take my oath not one o' 'em would! And then he must have had it wrote down for 'n. And this only a working-man!"
As a sort of objective commentary on Jude's remarks there drove up at this moment with a belated doctor, robed and panting, a cab whose horse failed to stop at the exact point required for setting down the hirer, who jumped out and entered the door. The driver, alighting, began to kick the animal in the belly.
"If that can be done," said Jude, "at college gates in the most religious and educational city in the world, what shall we say as to how far we've got?"
"Order!" said one of the policemen, who had been engaged with a comrade in opening the large doors opposite the college. "Keep yer tongue quiet, my man, while the procession passes." The rain came on more heavily, and all who had umbrellas opened them. Jude was not one of these, and Sue only possessed a small one, half sunshade. She had grown pale, though Jude did not notice it then.
"Let us go on, dear," she whispered, endeavouring to shelter him. "We haven't any lodgings yet, remember, and all our things are at the station; and you are by no means well yet. I am afraid this wet will hurt you!"
"They are coming now. Just a moment, and I'll go!" said he.
A peal of six bells struck out, human faces began to crowd the windows around, and the procession of heads of houses and new doctors emerged, their red and black gowned forms passing across the field of Jude's vision like inaccessible planets across an object glass.
As they went their names were called by knowing informants, and when they reached the old round theatre of Wren a cheer rose high.
"Let's go that way!" cried Jude, and though it now rained steadily he seemed not to know it, and took them round to the theatre. Here they stood upon the straw that was laid to drown the discordant noise of wheels, where the quaint and frost-eaten stone busts encircling the building looked with pallid grimness on the proceedings, and in particular at the bedraggled Jude, Sue, and their children, as at ludicrous persons who had no business there.
"I wish I could get in!" he said to her fervidly. "Listen--I may catch a few words of the Latin speech by staying here; the windows are open."
However, beyond the peals of the organ, and the shouts and hurrahs between each piece of oratory, Jude's standing in the wet did not bring much Latin to his intelligence more than, now and then, a sonorous word in UM or IBUS.
"Well--I'm an outsider to the end of my days!" he sighed after a while. "Now I'll go, my patient Sue. How good of you to wait in the rain all this time--to gratify my infatuation! I'll never care any more about the infernal cursed place, upon my soul I won't! But what made you tremble so when we were at the barrier? And how pale you are, Sue!"
"I saw Richard amongst the people on the other side."
"Ah--did you!"
"He is evidently come up to Jerusalem to see the festival like the rest of us: and on that account is probably living not so very far away. He had the same hankering for the university that you had, in a milder form. I don't think he saw me, though he must have heard you speaking to the crowd. But he seemed not to notice."
"Well--suppose he did. Your mind is free from worries about him now, my Sue?"
"Yes, I suppose so. But I am weak. Although I know it is all right with our plans, I felt a curious dread of him; an awe, or terror, of conventions I don't believe in. It comes over me at times like a sort of creeping paralysis, and makes me so sad!"
"You are getting tired, Sue. Oh--I forgot, darling! Yes, we'll go on at once."
They started in quest of the lodging, and at last found something that seemed to promise well, in Mildew Lane-- a spot which to Jude was irresistible--though to Sue it was not so fascinating--a narrow lane close to the back of a college, but having no communication with it. The little houses were darkened to gloom by the high collegiate buildings, within which life was so far removed from that of the people in the lane as if it had been on opposite sides of the globe; yet only a thickness of wall divided them. Two or three of the houses had notices of rooms to let, and the newcomers knocked at the door of one, which a woman opened.
"Ah--listen!" said Jude suddenly, instead of addressing her.
"What?"
"Why the bells--what church can that be? The tones are familiar."
Another peal of bells had begun to sound out at some distance off.
"I don't know!" said the landlady tartly. "Did you knock to ask that?"
"No; for lodgings," said Jude, coming to himself.
The householder scrutinized Sue's figure a moment. "We haven't any to let," said she, shutting the door.
Jude looked discomfited, and the boy distressed. "Now, Jude," said Sue, "let me try. You don't know the way."
They found a second place hard by; but here the occupier, observing not only Sue, but the boy and the small children, said civilly, "I am sorry to say we don't let where there are children"; and also closed the door.
The small child squared its mouth and cried silently, with an instinct that trouble loomed. The boy sighed. "I don't like Christminster!" he said. "Are the great old houses gaols?"
"No; colleges," said Jude; "which perhaps you'll study in some day."
"I'd rather not!" the boy rejoined.
"Now we'll try again," said Sue. "I'll pull my cloak more round me.... Leaving Kennetbridge for this place is like coming from Caiaphas to Pilate! ... How do I look now, dear?"
"Nobody would notice it now," said Jude.
There was one other house, and they tried a third time. The woman here was more amiable; but she had little room to spare, and could only agree to take in Sue and the children if her husband could go elsewhere. This arrangement they perforce adopted, in the stress from delaying their search till so late. They came to terms with her, though her price was rather high for their pockets. But they could not afford to be critical till Jude had time to get a more permanent abode; and in this house Sue took possession of a back room on the second floor with an inner closet-room for the children. Jude stayed and had a cup of tea; and was pleased to find that the window commanded the back of another of the colleges. Kissing all four he went to get a few necessaries and look for lodgings for himself.
When he was gone the landlady came up to talk a little with Sue, and gather something of the circumstances of the family she had taken in. Sue had not the art of prevarication, and, after admitting several facts as to their late difficulties and wanderings, she was startled by the landlady saying suddenly:
"Are you really a married woman?"
Sue hesitated; and then impulsively told the woman that her husband and herself had each been unhappy in their first marriages, after which, terrified at the thought of a second irrevocable union, and lest the conditions of the contract should kill their love, yet wishing to be together, they had literally not found the courage to repeat it, though they had attempted it two or three times. Therefore, though in her own sense of the words she was a married woman, in the landlady's sense she was not.
The housewife looked embarrassed, and went down-stairs. Sue sat by the window in a reverie, watching the rain. Her quiet was broken by the noise of someone entering the house, and then the voices of a man and woman in conversation in the passage below. The land-lady's husband had arrived, and she was explaining to him the incoming of the lodgers during his absence.
His voice rose in sudden anger. "Now who wants such a woman here? and perhaps a confinement! ... Besides, didn't I say I wouldn't have children? The hall and stairs fresh painted, to be kicked about by them! You must have known all was not straight with 'em--coming like that. Taking in a family when I said a single man."
The wife expostulated, but, as it seemed, the husband insisted on his point; for presently a tap came to Sue's door, and the woman appeared.
"I am sorry to tell you, ma'am," she said, "that I can't let you have the room for the week after all. My husband objects; and therefore I must ask you to go. I don't mind your staying over to-night, as it is getting late in the afternoon; but I shall be glad if you can leave early in the morning."
Though she knew that she was entitled to the lodging for a week, Sue did not wish to create a disturbance between the wife and husband, and she said she would leave as requested. When the landlady had gone Sue looked out of the window again. Finding that the rain had ceased she proposed to the boy that, after putting the little ones to bed, they should go out and search about for another place, and bespeak it for the morrow, so as not to be so hard-driven then as they had been that day.
Therefore, instead of unpacking her boxes, which had just been sent on from the station by Jude, they sallied out into the damp though not unpleasant streets, Sue resolving not to disturb her husband with the news of her notice to quit while he was perhaps worried in obtaining a lodging for himself. In the company of the boy she wandered into this street and into that; but though she tried a dozen different houses she fared far worse alone than she had fared in Jude's company, and could get nobody to promise her a room for the following day. Every householder looked askance at such a woman and child inquiring for accommodation in the gloom.
"I ought not to be born, ought I?" said the boy with misgiving.
Thoroughly tired at last Sue returned to the place where she was not welcome, but where at least she had temporary shelter. In her absence Jude had left his address; but knowing how weak he still was she adhered to her determination not to disturb him till the next day.

他们到了基督堂车站，只见那儿非常热闹。一大群戴草帽的小伙子来来往往；他们是来迎姑娘们的；她们的长相，同欢迎者活脱是一个模子出来的，足见是一家人。她们个个盛装艳服，绚丽夺目，尽态极妍。
“这地方一派喜庆气氛嘛。”苏说。“对啦——今天是寄思日啊，——裘德，你可真刁呀——你是存心拣这个日子来呀！”
“就是。”裘德沉住气说。他一边把最小的孩子抱起来，一边嘱咐阿拉贝拉的孩子要紧挨着他们，苏则照料他们两个生的头一个孩子。
“我想过啦，反正早也是来，晚也是来，不如今天来。”
“可是我怕这一天叫你不痛快呢。”她说，一边不安地上上下下地打量他。
“我决不会让这个打搅咱们的正事；咱们还没在这儿定下来，好多事得办哪，头一件想办的就是找地方住啊。”
他们把行李和他的工具寄放在车站上，然后步行前往熟悉的大街；休假的人一窝蜂似地拥到同一个方向。他们一家人先走到四路口，想转到可能找得到住处的地方。裘德看了看钟和匆忙过往的人群，就说，“咱们这会儿别惦记着找房子，先看看游行好不好？”
“咱们总得先找到托身地方，不是吗？”她问。
但是裘德的全部心神似乎都贯注在那个周年纪念上了，于是他们一块儿顺大成街走下去。裘德抱着顶小的孩子，苏牵着自己的小女儿，阿拉贝拉的孩子不言不语，心事很重地走在旁边。一大群打扮得花枝招展的俏丽姊妹和她们的年轻时候没上过大学，一窍不通、百依百顺的爹娘，由既当兄长又当儿子的小伙子保驾，也朝着同一个方向走。小伙子个个脸上神气活现，像是写着世上本皆属草昧之人，赖有他们多方调教，这才开化，臻于文明之域，云云。
“这些小伙子个个神气十足，正好反衬着我的失败啊。”裘德说。“我今天来，就是为领略一番自命不凡带来的教训——今天是我的“受辱日”啊！我的亲亲，要不是你把我挽救了，我也许因为绝望而彻底完蛋啦！”
她从他脸上的表情看出来，他又陷入异常剧烈地痛惜自己的心境。“亲爱的，咱们顶好还是马上办自己的事情。”她答道。“我知道这儿的情景又勾起你旧的创痛，这可不好！”
“呃——咱们快走到了；就要看见啦。”他说。
他们从左首拐过那座有意大利式门廊、螺旋纹立柱上攀满藤蔓的教堂；随即穿过巷子，一直走到那赫然在望的、因屋顶有灯笼形天窗而遐迩驰名的圆形会堂。在他的内心深处，那个天窗就是他忍痛绝念于前程的表征，因为当年他曾在一个下午在那儿临窗眺望大学城，思绪万千，百感交集，终于醒悟过来，他力求成为大学的儿子的企图，无非是枉费心机。
今天，在那建筑物与教堂之间的空地上，麇集着来看游行的人群。两行大栏杆把他们从中间隔开，留出一条通道，从学院大门一直延伸到学院和会堂之间的大楼门前。
“就是这地方——等会儿他们就过来啦！”裘德忽然兴奋起来，大声说。尽管他怀里抱着孩子，他还是拼命往前挤，苏则带着两个孩子紧跟着，他们好不容易才挤到一个紧靠隔离栏的位置。他们剩下的空档立刻让人填上了。这时马车一辆挨一辆在学院侧门前停住，上面下来身穿血红大袍的大人物，道貌岸然，迈着四方步，看热闹的人也就议论开了，要贫嘴，放声大笑。天空已经阴下来，灰沉沉的，时不时听见隐隐雷声。
时光老爹打了个冷战。“真像最后审判日呀！”他小声嘀咕。
“别瞎说，他们不过是有学问的博士就是啦。”苏说。
他们还是往下等，大雨点子这时劈头盖脸掉下来，队伍仍旧迟迟不来，人群不耐烦起来。苏又表示别再等了。
“一会儿就过来了。”裘德说，头也没回一下。
但是游行队伍的影子还看不见。有人为了消磨时间，就朝着最近便的学院的正面望，说他闹不明白中间部位刻的拉丁文什么意思。裘德正好站在那人旁边，就把意思给他讲了讲；他一看周围人都很感兴趣地听着，又把墙壁饰条的刻工解释了一下（他多年前研究过这类东西），还批评了城里另一所学院的前脸的石活的某些细部。
那群候等着的人，其中还有两个站在学院大门口的警察，都呆呆地看着他，仿佛吕高尼人在看保罗，因为裘德不论碰到什么可谈的题目，总是谈兴大发，滔滔不绝；那些人不免觉得他特别，心想怎么这个异乡人知道的东西居然比住在本地的人知道得还多；后来有个人说：“嗨，我认得这小子，前些年他常在这儿干活，没错儿！你们全忘啦，大伙儿不是给他起过外号，管他叫‘圣棚户区布道师’吗？——因为他就想干这一行嘛。我猜他后来结婚成家了，抱着自个儿的孩子哪。泰勒总认得出来他吧，因为他谁都认识。”
说这话的人名叫杰克•司太格，裘德从前跟他一块儿修过学院的石活；补锅匠泰勒站得很近，他们看得见。他一听别人提他名字，就隔着栅栏大声对裘德说：“你瞧得起咱们爷们，大驾又回来啦，我的朋友！”
裘德点点头。
“你打这儿走了，好像也没多大出息，对吧？”
裘德对这句话也表示肯定。
“就是多了几个嘴要喂喽！”这个说话声音刚才没听见过。裘德听出来是乔爷，也是他早先认识的一位石匠。
裘德兴致勃勃地回答说他可没法跟他辩这一点；大家七嘴八舌，像是他跟这伙没事于的人开谈话会，补锅匠泰勒问他忘没忘那晚上在酒馆里人家激他背使佳信经的事儿。
“不过命运女神没叫你生来于那行子，对吧？”乔爷插嘴说。“我看凭你这块料，于那行子还够不上吧？”
“别再跟他们说啦。”苏恳求着。
“我真讨厌基督堂！”小时光垂头丧气地咕噜着，他比周围的人矮一截，站在那儿看不出来。
裘德可不然，他一看自己成了大家好奇、奚落和议论的中心，再也不肯善罢甘休，一定要把他自觉并没愧对世人的地方讲出个道理。稍过了会儿，他就情绪昂奋，高声对着他所有的听众说起来。
“列位，这是个随便哪个年轻人也难以回答的问题——是我当初全力以赴，想把它回答出来的问题，也是眼下成千上万的青年在当前这个奋进的时代不断地反复思考的问题——究竟是完全不顾自己是否适合，不加批判地跟着前人足迹亦步亦趋呢，还是按着自个儿才智所宜，志趣所在，选定进取的方向？我力求走后一条路，失败了。可我不承认我一失败就表示我的见解是错误的；我一成功，我的见解就对啦——虽说如今这年头，咱们全是按成败论英雄。我这是指不看那些愿望的内涵是不是健全合理，单单计较一时的偶然结果。咱们刚才瞧见穿红袍子、黑袍子的爷们驾到此地啦，就假定我总算成了其中哪一位那样吧，人人就会说：‘瞧哇，那小子才聪明哪，他就是按性之所好走过来的！’可是一瞧见我从头到尾一事无成，依然故我，就说，‘瞧哇，那小子想瞎猫碰死耗子，真是个大笨蛋！’
“说真的，我是因为穷，不是意志不坚才输的。我极力想要我这辈子干成的事儿，可得两三辈人才成呢；我的冲劲儿——我的执著精神——也许可以叫我的毛病吧，反而叫一个生来不具备优越条件的人进退失据，适得其反啦。只有鱼一样冷血、猪一样自私的人才有上佳机缘，成了他的国家的栋梁之材。你们笑话我好啦，我也挺愿意你们笑话，无疑我是个该让人笑话的东西。不过你们要是知道我这些年怎么挣扎过来的，你们反倒要可怜可怜我啦。要是他们也知道”——他朝着师尊们陆续到达的学院那边点点头——“说不定他们也一样可怜可怜吧。”
“他这人真是病啦，垮啦，真是的！”一个女人嘟囔着。
苏脸上显得感情更为激动，不过她人紧挨着裘德，就给遮掩起来了。
“我死之前，还可以办件好事，也算我有了成绩吧，这就是叫人知道什么事千万别干，拿我当个叫人寒心的例子，也好当个教育人的故事说说。”裘德继续说下去，虽然他开头说的时候，还算心平气和，这会儿却悲愤起来。“眼下思想和社会方面惶惶不安的精神面貌弄得好多人都陷入苦闷啦，我呢，说到底，就是这种状况的一个微不足道的牺牲品啊！”
“你别跟他们说这些吧。”苏含着泪小声说，因为她深知裘德此时的心境。“你从前不是那样的人。你从前是怀着高尚的宗旨，为追求学问而奋斗，只有那些卑鄙的家伙才贬低你！”
裘德把抱着的孩子换了个位置，好省点劲，接着就把话说完了：“我这会儿又病又穷，可是这还不是我顶糟的地方。因为我这会儿脑子里的信仰成了一团乱麻——黑里瞎摸，找不着头绪。做事靠本能，无所取则。八九年前我到这儿的时候，我的思想坚定，条理分明，但是后来它们陆陆续续逃之夭夭啦。越到后来，我就越对自己没信心。我怀疑我如今还有什么能算得上人生大义，我只剩了下边两条心愿：于己无害，于人无伤；再有是真正做到让我最爱的人快乐。各位先生，既然你们都想知道我是怎么混过来的，我已经—一奉告啦。但愿对诸位有好处！到此为止，我也不能往下说啦。依我看，咱们社会这套规范准是哪儿出了岔子，这可得靠比我目光深远锐利的男男女女去探明究竟——假定他们真能做到。‘因为谁知道什么于他有益呢？谁能告诉他身居日光之下有什么事呢？’”
“好哇，好哇。”众人不约而同地说。
“讲得真不赖呀！”补锅匠泰勒说，又悄悄地跟紧边上的人说，‘明阿哈，那些吃牧师饭的成群凑到这一带来了，里头有一个趁着咱们的当家牧师想休假，就替他带着做礼拜，要是捞不到一个几尼，他大概不肯这样讲道吧？你看呢？我敢起誓，他们那帮子里头谁也讲不来。再说他们大概得先把要说的写下来才行。这小子讲得这么好，可是个工人哪！”
恰好这时候有辆马车赶过来了，里面坐着一位喘吁吁的身穿大袍的博士，无奈辕马不听使唤，没在雇车人要停的地方停住，只见博士从车里跳出来，径直奔进了学院大门。车夫纵身跳下车座，开始往那畜牲肚子上踢，这个光景倒像为裘德一番讲话做了客观注脚。
“要是这世界上最信教、最尊重教育的城市，”裘德说，“要是在学院大门口这儿，连这类事都于得出来，那咱们还有多大出息，还有谁说得清呢？”
“别吵！”一个警察说，他刚跟一位同志忙着打开学院对面几个大门。“伙计，游行队伍过来的时候，你闭上嘴好吧。”雨下得更大了，带着伞的人都把伞撑起来。苏只带了把小伞，晴雨两用的。她的脸色显得苍白，不过裘德当时没注意到。
“亲爱的，咱们还是走吧。”她低声说，尽量不让他淋着。“别忘了，咱们还没找到地方住呢，东西还放在车站，再说你身上也没好利落呢，我害怕一淋湿了，你又要病啦！”
“队伍过来了。稍等一会儿，我看了就走！”他说。
一时间六钟齐响和鸣，好多人的脸挤到了窗口上，而院长和新博士们也露面了，他们穿着红色和黑色大袍的形体好似可望而不可及的行星通过望远镜的物镜一般，从裘德的视野中倏忽而过。
在他们行进时，认识他们的好事之徒一一点出了他们的名字，等他们走到伦恩造的老圆形会堂，人群就欢呼起来。
“咱们往那边走！”裘德大声说。雨下个不停，但他似乎丝毫没觉察到，带着一家绕到会堂那边。他们站在为减少车轮的不谐调的噪声而铺垫地面的干草上，那儿有许多经过霜雪剥蚀而显得古意盎然的半身雕像，它们环列在会堂周围，冷眼旁观正在进行的仪式——神情恹恹而阴沉，特别在望着浑身淋得透湿的裘德、苏和他们的孩子的时候，好像觉得他们非常滑稽：到这儿来，本来无所事事，何必多此一举。
“但愿我也能参加进去啊！”他热切而认真地说。“听吧，我呆在这儿，可以听得见拉丁文讲演的几个词儿，窗户都开着哪！”
但是，除了风琴奏出的和谐的乐音和每次讲演中间的喊声和欢呼，裘德只间或听到um或ibus的铿锵之声，绝少拉丁文传到他脑际，白白站在雨地里。
“唉——我就是活到死，也只好置身门外啦！”稍后他叹了口气。“现在我要走啦，我的能忍让的苏啊。你始终在雨里等着，你心多好啊——就为的是让我做一场春梦！我以后决不会再念叨这鬼地方啦，绝对不念叨啦！可是刚才咱们在隔栏边上，你怎么那样抖呀？苏，你脸色多苍白哟！”
“我瞧见里查来着，就在对面那群人里头。”
“啊——真的？”
“他显然也跟咱们这伙人一样，到耶路撒冷来瞧瞧节日的盛况。这么着，他住的地方大概离这儿不怎么远。他从前也像你死乞白赖地要上大学，不过表面上没那么火辣辣就是啦。我看他没瞧见我；虽然他总会听见你跟大伙儿说话，不过不像怎么注意。”
“呃——不注意就不注意吧。你现在不会为他牵肠挂肚吧，苏？”
“不会啦，不会啦。不过我这个人太软弱，我固然知道咱们所有打算都对，可是我怪得很，老觉着怕他。我不在乎什么习俗不习俗，可这样怕他还是跟尊重习俗或者惧怕习俗有关系，就仿佛受了瘫痪病侵袭，慢慢，慢慢，越来越厉害，心里真难过！”
“你这会儿挺累啦，苏。哦——我倒忘了，亲亲！好，咱们马上走吧。”
于是他们动身去找住的地方，最后在霉巷找到了，看上去挺称心的，这地点对裘德特别有诱惑力，但是苏觉得巷子窄，又在学院后墙根上，只不通学院就是了。学院的高楼大厦把小房子的光挡住，弄得昏暗得很：学院里的生活同居民的生活竟是天渊之别，犹如彼此各处地球的一端，其实只是一堵厚墙之隔罢了。有两三处房子贴着有屋子出租的帖子，他们新来乍到，就敲了敲一家的门。一个女人应声出来，把门开了。
“啊——听啊！”裘德突然说，他却没跟她搭话。
“什么？”
“钟声啊！是哪个教堂的钟声呢？怪熟的。”
在稍远地方又响起了众钟和鸣。
“我不懂！”女房东用挖苦的口气说。‘你敲门就为这个？”
“不是，是要租房子。”裘德说，又回过神来。
房东对苏的外形仔细打量了一下。“我没屋子租。”说着把门一下关上。
裘德很狼狈，大孩子怪难受。“啊，裘德，”苏说，“我试试看吧。你干这类事不行。”
他们又在附近找了第二家；但是房东不仅观察了苏，还观察大小孩子，很斯文地说，“对不起，有孩子的人家，我不租。”也把门关了。
顶小的孩子噘着嘴，不出声地哭起来，本能使他感到碰上了麻烦事。大男孩叹口气。“我讨厌死基督堂啦！”他说。“那些又大又旧的房子是监狱吧？”
“不是，是学院，”裘德说，“也许有那么一天，你也在里头念书呢。”
“我才不想哪。”大孩子回了一句。
“咱们再试试瞧，”苏说，“我把大衣裹得紧点。……离开肯尼桥到这地方就跟该亚发去见彼拉多似的……亲爱的，你看我现在这样儿如何？”
“现在就不会有人注意你了。”裘德说。
还有一处房子招租，他们就试第三次。女房东倒也和善，不过她空出的屋子很小，如果苏的丈夫能到别处去，她就答应让苏和孩子住进来。他们找房子已经耽误了，到这么晚还没找到，只好接受这样的安排。他们跟她商量租用条件；虽然

[table=80%,#ffffff,#000000,1][tr][td]Part 6 Chapter 3
SUE was convalescent, though she had hoped for death, and Jude had again obtained work at his old trade. They were in other lodgings now, in the direction of Beersheba, and not far from the Church of Ceremonies-- Saint Silas.
They would sit silent, more bodeful of the direct antagonism of things than of their insensate and stolid obstructiveness. Vague and quaint imaginings had haunted Sue in the days when her intellect scintillated like a star, that the world resembled a stanza or melody composed in a dream; it was wonderfully excellent to the half-aroused intelligence, but hopelessly absurd at the full waking; that the first cause worked automatically like a somnambulist, and not reflectively like a sage; that at the framing of the terrestrial conditions there seemed never to have been contemplated such a development of emotional perceptiveness among the creatures subject to those conditions as that reached by thinking and educated humanity. But affliction makes opposing forces loom anthropomorphous; and those ideas were now exchanged for a sense of Jude and herself fleeing from a persecutor.
"We must conform!" she said mournfully. "All the ancient wrath of the Power above us has been vented upon us. His poor creatures, and we must submit. There is no choice. We must. It is no use fighting against God!"
"It is only against man and senseless circumstance," said Jude.
"True!" she murmured. "What have I been thinking of! I am getting as superstitious as a savage! ... But whoever or whatever our foe may be, I am cowed into submission. I have no more fighting strength left; no more enterprise. I am beaten, beaten! ... 'We are made a spectacle unto the world, and to angels, and to men!' I am always saying that now."
"I feel the same!"
"What shall we do? You are in work now; but remember, it may only be because our history and relations are not absolutely known.... Possibly, if they knew our marriage had not been formalized they would turn you out of your job as they did at Aldbrickham!"
"I hardly know. Perhaps they would hardly do that. However, I think that we ought to make it legal now--as soon as you are able to go out."
"You think we ought?"
"Certainly."
And Jude fell into thought. "I have seemed to myself lately," he said, "to belong to that vast band of men shunned by the virtuous-- the men called seducers. It amazes me when I think of it! I have not been conscious of it, or of any wrongdoing towards you, whom I love more than myself. Yet I am one of those men! I wonder if any other of them are the same purblind, simple creatures as I? ... Yes, Sue--that's what I am. I seduced you.... You were a distinct type--a refined creature, intended by Nature to be left intact. But I couldn't leave you alone!"
"No, no, Jude!" she said quickly. "Don't reproach yourself with being what you are not. If anybody is to blame it is I."
"I supported you in your resolve to leave Phillotson; and without me perhaps you wouldn't have urged him to let you go."
"I should have, just the same. As to ourselves, the fact of our not having entered into a legal contract is the saving feature in our union. We have thereby avoided insulting, as it were, the solemnity of our first marriages."
"Solemnity?" Jude looked at her with some surprise, and grew conscious that she was not the Sue of their earlier time.
"Yes," she said, with a little quiver in her words, "I have had dreadful fears, a dreadful sense of my own insolence of action. I have thought--that I am still his wife!"
"Whose?"
"Richard's."
"Good God, dearest!--why?"
"Oh I can't explain! Only the thought comes to me."
"It is your weakness--a sick fancy, without reason or meaning! Don't let it trouble you."
Sue sighed uneasily.
As a set-off against such discussions as these there had come an improvement in their pecuniary position, which earlier in their experience would have made them cheerful. Jude had quite unexpectedly found good employment at his old trade almost directly he arrived, the summer weather suiting his fragile constitution; and outwardly his days went on with that monotonous uniformity which is in itself so grateful after vicissitude. People seemed to have forgotten that he had ever shown any awkward aberrancies: and he daily mounted to the parapets and copings of colleges he could never enter, and renewed the crumbling freestones of mullioned windows he would never look from, as if he had known no wish to do otherwise.
There was this change in him; that he did not often go to any service at the churches now. One thing troubled him more than any other; that Sue and himself had mentally travelled in opposite directions since the tragedy: events which had enlarged his own views of life, laws, customs, and dogmas, had not operated in the same manner on Sue's. She was no longer the same as in the independent days, when her intellect played like lambent lightning over conventions and formalities which he at that time respected, though he did not now.
On a particular Sunday evening he came in rather late. She was not at home, but she soon returned, when he found her silent and meditative.
"What are you thinking of, little woman?" he asked curiously.
"Oh I can't tell clearly! I have thought that we have been selfish, careless, even impious, in our courses, you and I. Our life has been a vain attempt at self-delight. But self-abnegation is the higher road. We should mortify the flesh--the terrible flesh--the curse of Adam!"
"Sue!" he murmured. "What has come over you?"
"We ought to be continually sacrificing ourselves on the altar of duty! But I have always striven to do what has pleased me. I well deserved the scourging I have got! I wish something would take the evil right out of me, and all my monstrous errors, and all my sinful ways!"
"Sue--my own too suffering dear!--there's no evil woman in you. Your natural instincts are perfectly healthy; not quite so impassioned, perhaps, as I could wish; but good, and dear, and pure. And as I have often said, you are absolutely the most ethereal, least sensual woman I ever knew to exist without inhuman sexlessness. Why do you talk in such a changed way? We have not been selfish, except when no one could profit by our being otherwise. You used to say that human nature was noble and long-suffering, not vile and corrupt, and at last I thought you spoke truly. And now you seem to take such a much lower view!"
"I want a humble heart; and a chastened mind; and I have never had them yet!"
"You have been fearless, both as a thinker and as a feeler, and you deserved more admiration than I gave. I was too full of narrow dogmas at that time to see it."
"Don't say that, Jude! I wish my every fearless word and thought could be rooted out of my history. Self-renunciation--that's everything! I cannot humiliate myself too much. I should like to prick myself all over with pins and bleed out the badness that's in me!"
"Hush!" he said, pressing her little face against his breast as if she were an infant. "It is bereavement that has brought you to this! Such remorse is not for you, my sensitive plant, but for the wicked ones of the earth--who never feel it!"
"I ought not to stay like this," she murmured, when she had remained in the position a long while.
"Why not?"
"It is indulgence."
"Still on the same tack! But is there anything better on earth than that we should love one another?"
"Yes. It depends on the sort of love; and yours--ours is the wrong."
"I won't have it, Sue! Come, when do you wish our marriage to be signed in a vestry?"
She paused, and looked up uneasily. "Never," she whispered.
Not knowing the whole of her meaning he took the objection serenely, and said nothing. Several minutes elapsed, and he thought she had fallen asleep; but he spoke softly, and found that she was wide awake all the time. She sat upright and sighed.
"There is a strange, indescribable perfume or atmosphere about you to-night, Sue," he said. "I mean not only mentally, but about your clothes, also. A sort of vegetable scent, which I seem to know, yet cannot remember."
"It is incense."
"Incense?"
"I have been to the service at St. Silas', and I was in the fumes of it."
"Oh--St. Silas'."
"Yes. I go there sometimes."
"Indeed. You go there!"
"You see, Jude, it is lonely here in the weekday mornings, when you are at work, and I think and think of--of my--" She stopped till she could control the lumpiness of her throat. "And I have taken to go in there, as it is so near."
"Oh well--of course, I say nothing against it. Only it is odd, for you. They little think what sort of chiel is amang them!"
"What do you mean, Jude?"
"Well--a sceptic, to be plain."
"How can you pain me so, dear Jude, in my trouble! Yet I know you didn't mean it. But you ought not to say that."
"I won't. But I am much surprised!"
"Well--I want to tell you something else, Jude. You won't be angry, will you? I have thought of it a good deal since my babies died. I don't think I ought to be your wife--or as your wife-- any longer."
"What? ... But you ARE!"
"From your point of view; but--"
"Of course we were afraid of the ceremony, and a good many others would have been in our places, with such strong reasons for fears. But experience has proved how we misjudged ourselves, and overrated our infirmities; and if you are beginning to respect rites and ceremonies, as you seem to be, I wonder you don't say it shall be carried out instantly? You certainly ARE my wife, Sue, in all but law. What do you mean by what you said?"
"I don't think I am!"
"Not? But suppose we HAD gone through the ceremony? Would you feel that you were then?"
"No. I should not feel even then that I was. I should feel worse than I do now."
"Why so--in the name of all that's perverse, my dear?"
"Because I am Richard's."
"Ah--you hinted that absurd fancy to me before!"
"It was only an impression with me then; I feel more and more convinced as time goes on that--I belong to him, or to nobody."
"My good heavens--how we are changing places!"
"Yes. Perhaps so."
Some few days later, in the dusk of the summer evening, they were sitting in the same small room down-stairs, when a knock came to the front door of the carpenter's house where they were lodging, and in a few moments there was a tap at the door of their room. Before they could open it the comer did so, and a woman's form appeared.
"Is Mr. Fawley here?"
Jude and Sue started as he mechanically replied in the affirmative, for the voice was Arabella's.
He formally requested her to come in, and she sat down in the window bench, where they could distinctly see her outline against the light; but no characteristic that enabled them to estimate her general aspect and air. Yet something seemed to denote that she was not quite so comfortably circumstanced, nor so bouncingly attired, as she had been during Cartlett's lifetime.
The three attempted an awkward conversation about the tragedy, of which Jude had felt it to be his duty to inform her immediately, though she had never replied to his letter.
"I have just come from the cemetery," she said. "I inquired and found the child's grave. I couldn't come to the funeral-- thank you for inviting me all the same. I read all about it in the papers, and I felt I wasn't wanted.... No--I couldn't come to the funeral," repeated Arabella, who, seeming utterly unable to reach the ideal of a catastrophic manner, fumbled with iterations. "But I am glad I found the grave. As 'tis your trade, Jude, you'll be able to put up a handsome stone to 'em."
"I shall put up a headstone," said Jude drearily.
"He was my child, and naturally I feel for him."
"I hope so. We all did."
"The others that weren't mine I didn't feel so much for, as was natural."
"Of course."
A sigh came from the dark corner where Sue sat.
"I had often wished I had mine with me," continued Mrs. Cartlett. "Perhaps 'twouldn't have happened then! But of course I didn't wish to take him away from your wife."
"I am not his wife," came from Sue.
The unexpectedness of her words struck Jude silent.
"Oh, I beg your pardon, I'm sure," said Arabella. "I thought you were!"
Jude had known from the quality of Sue's tone that her new and transcendental views lurked in her words; but all except their obvious meaning was, naturally, missed by Arabella. The latter, after evincing that she was struck by Sue's avowal, recovered herself, and went on to talk with placid bluntness about "her" boy, for whom, though in his lifetime she had shown no care at all, she now exhibited a ceremonial mournfulness that was apparently sustaining to the conscience. She alluded to the past, and in making some remark appealed again to Sue. There was no answer: Sue had invisibly left the room.
"She said she was not your wife?" resumed Arabella in another voice. "Why should she do that?"
"I cannot inform you," said Jude shortly.
"She is, isn't she? She once told me so."
"I don't criticize what she says."
"Ah--I see! Well, my time is up. I am staying here to-night, and thought I could do no less than call, after our mutual affliction. I am sleeping at the place where I used to be barmaid, and to-morrow I go back to Alfredston. Father is come home again, and I am living with him."
"He has returned from Australia?" said Jude with languid curiosity.
"Yes. Couldn't get on there. Had a rough time of it. Mother died of dys--what do you call it--in the hot weather, and Father and two of the young ones have just got back. He has got a cottage near the old place, and for the present I am keeping house for him."
Jude's former wife had maintained a stereotyped manner of strict good breeding even now that Sue was gone, and limited her stay to a number of minutes that should accord with the highest respectability. When she had departed Jude, much relieved, went to the stairs and called Sue--feeling anxious as to what had become of her.
There was no answer, and the carpenter who kept the lodgings said she had not come in. Jude was puzzled, and became quite alarmed at her absence, for the hour was growing late. The carpenter called his wife, who conjectured that Sue might have gone to St. Silas' church, as she often went there.
"Surely not at this time o' night?" said Jude. "It is shut."
"She knows somebody who keeps the key, and she has it whenever she wants it."
"How long has she been going on with this?"
"Oh, some few weeks, I think."
Jude went vaguely in the direction of the church, which he had never once approached since he lived out that way years before, when his young opinions were more mystical than they were now. The spot was deserted, but the door was certainly unfastened; he lifted the latch without noise, and pushing to the door behind him, stood absolutely still inside. The prevalent silence seemed to contain a faint sound, explicable as a breathing, or a sobbing, which came from the other end of the building. The floor-cloth deadened his footsteps as he moved in that direction through the obscurity, which was broken only by the faintest reflected night-light from without.
High overhead, above the chancel steps, Jude could discern a huge, solidly constructed Latin cross--as large, probably, as the original it was designed to commemorate. It seemed to be suspended in the air by invisible wires; it was set with large jewels, which faintly glimmered in some weak ray caught from outside, as the cross swayed to and fro in a silent and scarcely perceptible motion. Underneath, upon the floor, lay what appeared to be a heap of black clothes, and from this was repeated the sobbing that he had heard before. It was his Sue's form, prostrate on the paving.
"Sue!" he whispered.
Something white disclosed itself; she had turned up her face.
"What--do you want with me here, Jude?" she said almost sharply. "You shouldn't come! I wanted to be alone! Why did you intrude here?"
"How can you ask!" he retorted in quick reproach, for his full heart was wounded to its centre at this attitude of hers towards him. "Why do I come? Who has a right to come, I should like to know, if I have not! I, who love you better than my own self--better-- far better--than you have loved me! What made you leave me to come here alone?"
"Don't criticize me, Jude--I can't bear it!--I have often told you so. You must take me as I am. I am a wretch--broken by my distractions! I couldn't BEAR it when Arabella came--I felt so utterly miserable I had to come away. She seems to be your wife still, and Richard to be my husband!"
"But they are nothing to us!"
"Yes, dear friend, they are. I see marriage differently now. My babies have been taken from me to show me this! Arabella's child killing mine was a judgement--the right slaying the wrong. What, WHAT shall I do! I am such a vile creature-- too worthless to mix with ordinary human beings!"
"This is terrible!" said Jude, verging on tears. "It is monstrous and unnatural for you to be so remorseful when you have done no wrong!"
"Ah--you don't know my badness!"
He returned vehemently: "I do! Every atom and dreg of it! You make me hate Christianity, or mysticism, or Sacerdotalism, or whatever it may be called, if it's that which has caused this deterioration in you. That a woman-poet, a woman-seer, a woman whose soul shone like a diamond--whom all the wise of the world would have been proud of, if they could have known you-- should degrade herself like this! I am glad I had nothing to do with Divinity--damn glad--if it's going to ruin you in this way!"
"You are angry, Jude, and unkind to me, and don't see how things are."
"Then come along home with me, dearest, and perhaps I shall. I am overburdened--and you, too, are unhinged just now." He put his arm round her and lifted her; but though she came, she preferred to walk without his support.
"I don't dislike you, Jude," she said in a sweet and imploring voice. "I love you as much as ever! Only--I ought not to love you--any more. Oh I must not any more!"
"I can't own it."
"But I have made up my mind that I am not your wife! I belong to him--I sacramentally joined myself to him for life. Nothing can alter it!"
"But surely we are man and wife, if ever two people were in this world? Nature's own marriage it is, unquestionably!"
"But not Heaven's. Another was made for me there, and ratified eternally in the church at Melchester."
"Sue, Sue--affliction has brought you to this unreasonable state! After converting me to your views on so many things, to find you suddenly turn to the right-about like this--for no reason whatever, confounding all you have formerly said through sentiment merely! You root out of me what little affection and reverence I had left in me for the Church as an old acquaintance.... What I can't understand in you is your extraordinary blindness now to your old logic. Is it peculiar to you, or is it common to woman? Is a woman a thinking unit at all, or a fraction always wanting its integer? How you argued that marriage was only a clumsy contract-- which it is--how you showed all the objections to it-- all the absurdities! If two and two made four when we were happy together, surely they make four now? I can't understand it, I repeat!"
"Ah, dear Jude; that's because you are like a totally deaf man observing people listening to music. You say 'What are they regarding? Nothing is there.' But something is."
"That is a hard saying from you; and not a true parallel! You threw off old husks of prejudices, and taught me to do it; and now you go back upon yourself. I confess I am utterly stultified in my estimate of you."
"Dear friend, my only friend, don't be hard with me! I can't help being as I am, I am convinced I am right-- that I see the light at last. But oh, how to profit by it!"
They walked along a few more steps till they were outside the building and she had returned the key. "Can this be the girl," said Jude when she came back, feeling a slight renewal of elasticity now that he was in the open street; "can this be the girl who brought the pagan deities into this most Christian city?--who mimicked Miss Fontover when she crushed them with her heel?--quoted Gibbon, and Shelley, and Mill? Where are dear Apollo, and dear Venus now!"
"Oh don't, don't be so cruel to me, Jude, and I so unhappy!" she sobbed. "I can't bear it! I was in error--I cannot reason with you. I was wrong--proud in my own conceit! Arabella's coming was the finish. Don't satirize me: it cuts like a knife!"
He flung his arms round her and kissed her passionately there in the silent street, before she could hinder him. They went on till they came to a little coffee-house. "Jude," she said with suppressed tears, "would you mind getting a lodging here?"
"I will--if, if you really wish? But do you? Let me go to our door and understand you."
He went and conducted her in. She said she wanted no supper, and went in the dark upstairs and struck a light. Turning she found that Jude had followed her, and was standing at the chamber door. She went to him, put her hand in his, and said "Good-night."
"But Sue! Don't we live here?"
"You said you would do as I wished!"
"Yes. Very well! ... Perhaps it was wrong of me to argue distastefully as I have done! Perhaps as we couldn't conscientiously marry at first in the old-fashioned way, we ought to have parted. Perhaps the world is not illuminated enough for such experiments as ours! Who were we, to think we could act as pioneers!"
"I am so glad you see that much, at any rate. I never deliberately meant to do as I did. I slipped into my false position through jealousy and agitation!"
"But surely through love--you loved me?"
"Yes. But I wanted to let it stop there, and go on always as mere lovers; until----"
"But people in love couldn't live for ever like that!"
"Women could: men can't, because they--won't. An average woman is in this superior to an average man--that she never instigates, only responds. We ought to have lived in mental communion, and no more."
"I was the unhappy cause of the change, as I have said before! ... Well, as you will! ... But human nature can't help being itself."
"Oh yes--that's just what it has to learn--self-mastery."
"I repeat--if either were to blame it was not you but I."
"No--it was I. Your wickedness was only the natural man's desire to possess the woman. Mine was not the reciprocal wish till envy stimulated me to oust Arabella. I had thought I ought in charity to let you approach me-- that it was damnably selfish to torture you as I did my other friend. But I shouldn't have given way if you hadn't broken me down by making me fear you would go back to her.... But don't let us say any more about it! Jude, will you leave me to myself now?"
"Yes.... But Sue--my wife, as you are!" he burst out; "my old reproach to you was, after all, a true one. You have never loved me as I love you--never--never! Yours is not a passionate heart--your heart does not burn in a flame! You are, upon the whole, a sort of fay, or sprite-- not a woman!"
"At first I did not love you, Jude; that I own. When I first knew you I merely wanted you to love me. I did not exactly flirt with you; but that inborn craving which undermines some women's morals almost more than unbridled passion--the craving to attract and captivate, regardless of the injury it may do the man--was in me; and when I found I had caught you, I was frightened. And then--I don't know how it was-- I couldn't bear to let you go--possibly to Arabella again--and so I got to love you, Jude. But you see, however fondly it ended, it began in the selfish and cruel wish to make your heart ache for me without letting mine ache for you."
"And now you add to your cruelty by leaving me!"
"Ah--yes! The further I flounder, the more harm I do!"
"O Sue!" said he with a sudden sense of his own danger. "Do not do an immoral thing for moral reasons! You have been my social salvation. Stay with me for humanity's sake! You know what a weak fellow I am. My two arch-enemies you know-- my weakness for womankind and my impulse to strong liquor. Don't abandon me to them, Sue, to save your own soul only! They have been kept entirely at a distance since you became my guardian-angel! Since I have had you I have been able to go into any temptations of the sort, without risk. Isn't my safety worth a little sacrifice of dogmatic principle? I am in terror lest, if you leave me, it will be with me another case of the pig that was washed turning back to his wallowing in the mire!"
Sue burst out weeping. "Oh, but you must not, Jude! You won't! I'll pray for you night and day!"
"Well--never mind; don't grieve," said Jude generously. "I did suffer, God knows, about you at that time; and now I suffer again. But perhaps not so much as you. The woman mostly gets the worst of it in the long run!"
"She does."
"Unless she is absolutely worthless and contemptible. And this one is not that, anyhow!"
Sue drew a nervous breath or two. "She is--I fear! ... Now Jude--good-night,--please!"
"I mustn't stay?--Not just once more? As it has been so many times-- O Sue, my wife, why not!"
"No--no--not wife! ... I am in your hands, Jude--don't tempt me back now I have advanced so far!"
"Very well. I do your bidding. I owe that to you, darling, in penance for how I overruled it at the first time. My God, how selfish I was! Perhaps--perhaps I spoilt one of the highest and purest loves that ever existed between man and woman! ... Then let the veil of our temple be rent in two from this hour!"
He went to the bed, removed one of the pair of pillows thereon, and flung it to the floor.
Sue looked at him, and bending over the bed-rail wept silently. "You don't see that it is a matter of conscience with me, and not of dislike to you!" she brokenly murmured. "Dislike to you! But I can't say any more--it breaks my heart--it will be undoing all I have begun! Jude--good-night!"
"Good-night," he said, and turned to go.
"Oh but you shall kiss me!" said she, starting up. "I can't--bear!"
He clasped her, and kissed her weeping face as he had scarcely ever done before, and they remained in silence till she said, "Good-bye, good-bye!" And then gently pressing him away she got free, trying to mitigate the sadness by saying: "We'll be dear friends just the same, Jude, won't we? And we'll see each other sometimes--yes!--and forget all this, and try to be as we were long ago?"
Jude did not permit himself to speak, but turned and descended the stairs.

苏虽然痛不欲生，但她的健康日有起色，裘德也在老本行找到了工作。她们如今已迁到别是巴一带的一个寓所，离仪式派圣•西拉教堂不远。
他们每每枯坐，相对无言，固然苦于事事拂逆，处处无情，但在他们的遭遇中包含的敌意尤令他们懔于来日大难方临。往日苏的灵性本像袩外般闪亮，她不断纵情邀游于虚无飘渺的奇幻想象中。她把世界想象为梦中写成的一首诗或梦中谱就的一段旋律；在如梦似醒的朦胧中，这样的意境显得美妙无比，但一经醒觉，在光天化日下，就是荒唐无稽了。她想象造物主实行他的意旨有如梦游者自发行动，无为无不为，不像圣哲贤士那样苦心筹思，煞费周章；他为尘寰设定种种条件时，似乎万万没想到芸芸众生竟然要让能思想、受教育的人类所造成的环境所左右，以致他们在情感方面发展到如此细腻敏锐的程度。历经磨难，困苦颠连，不免把敌对力量夸大，仿佛面对着噬人的人形怪兽，因而她原有的思想到此急转直下，而为她本人和裘德逃避迫害的紧迫感所替代了。
“咱们得听从天意啊！”她沉痛地说。“巍巍上苍把亘古至今的天谴神罚一齐降在咱们这两个下界子民身上啦，咱们只好乖乖认命，不能再道天行事啦。咱们只好这样。违抗上帝没有用啊。”
“谁违抗上帝来着？咱们反抗的无非是人，是愚昧的环境。”
“一点不错！”她咕哝着。“我都想了些什么呀！我变啦，跟野蛮人一样迷信啦！……可是不管咱们的敌人是人还是物，反正吓得我服服帖帖啦。我一点战斗力都没啦，一点儿豁着干的胆量也没啦；我败啦，败啦！‘我们成了一台戏，给世人和天使都看了！’现在我念来念去没个完。”
“我也有同感啊！”
“咱们还要干什么？你现在是有活儿可干；可别忘了，这大概是因为他们还不全了解咱们的历史跟关系！……说不定，他们一知道咱们的婚姻没经过法律手续，就跟奥尔布里肯那帮子人一样，把你开掉啦！”
“这我也说不上来。他们不一定就那么干吧。我倒是想咱们现在该把婚姻关系合法化——一到你能出去的时候，咱们就办吧。”
“你是想咱们该这么办？”
“当然。”
跟着裘德骤然想起心事来了。“我新近一直琢磨我算怎么回事儿。”他说。“有那么一帮子人，正人君子都避之唯恐不及，他们就叫做诱奸者，我看我得算他们里头的一员吧。我一这么想，就浑身直冒冷汗！我一向没意识到那类人，也没意识到我做过什么对不起你的事，我爱你胜过自己，可我的确是那类人的一分子哪！我还不知道他们里头有没有我这样蠢头蠢脑、简单无识的货色呢？……对啦，苏呀，我是那么回事呀。我把你诱奸了……你从前是超凡出众——是玲珑剔透的妙人儿，大自然老想着你保持完美无瑕，不受到损伤。可我不想让你洁身自好，白璧无玷！”
“你说得不对，不对，裘德！”她赶紧说。“你根本不是那么回事，别瞎怪自己。要怪都得怪我。”
“你从前决定离开费乐生，我给你撑腰；要是没我，你大概不会盯着他非让你走不可。”
“不管怎么着，我反正要走。至于说咱们俩，既然没订过法定契约，咱们的结合倒大有好处，非同小可呢。因为这一来，可以说咱们避免了头一回那样亵渎婚姻的神圣性啦。”
“神圣性？”他有点吃惊地瞧着她，开始意识到她不是早先相处的那个苏了。
“不错。”她说，一字一句说出来，声音都有点抖抖的。“我害怕，怕得不得了，以前我目空一切，胆大妄为，太可怕啦。我也想过——我，我这会儿还是他妻子！”
“谁的？”
“里查的。”
“哎呀呀，最亲爱的——这是从何说起呢？”
“哦，我没法说明白，反正这么想就是了。”
“这是因为你人太虚弱——病了才胡思乱想的，没道理，也没意义！别为这搞得心烦意乱吧。”
苏很不自在地叹了口气。
他们的经济状况已经有所好转，在他们早先生活中若能这样，他们自然觉得称心如意；不过现在这种状况对他们诸如此类的讨论也还是起了制约作用。裘德刚到基督堂时候，说来意想不到，立刻在老本行找到了怪不错的差使。夏天的气候于他的单薄体质也很适宜；表面上看，在频频动荡之后，他能日复一日过上稳定的生活，的确值得庆幸。看来别人已经忘了他从前种种不堪的胡作非为了。他每天能进到他永远不能入学的学院，跨在屋顶下短垣和护墙上面，把他永远休想从里面往外望的直棂窗的石框更换。他于起活来那么起劲，就像除此之外，他压根儿没起过要干什么别的事的念头。
而他的内心正是此时发生了变化：他不再上教堂做礼拜了。不过有件事却又让他深感不安，原来惨剧发生后，他和苏在精神领域已经分道扬镳。种种遭际把他对人生、法律、习俗和教义各方面的视野扩大了，可是同一情况对苏的观点却没起同样作用。苏非复当年那样精神独立了，那时她的灵性犹如闪电般倏然明亮，把他当初一味尊崇、而如今不予一顾的习俗、礼法映照得原形毕露。
有个礼拜天晚上很特别，他回家迟些，苏却没在家，不过没多久她就回来了，他见她不言不语，若有所思。
“你又想什么啦，小女人？”他好奇地问。
“哦，我没法说清楚。我觉得你跟我，咱们做人行事一向是没头没脑，自私自利，甚至是邪魔外道的。咱们的生活但求自乐，不计其他。但是舍己为人才是高尚的道路啊。咱们应该摒弃肉欲——可怕的肉欲——叫亚当受到惩罚的肉欲。”
“苏，”他咕哝着，“你这是见了鬼吧？”
“咱们要不断地在本分的祭坛上拿自己当供品！而我历来是从心所欲，就干自己高兴的，理所当然，我该受天罚，并不冤枉。我希望有一种力量

[table=80%,#ffffff,#000000,1][tr][td]Part 6 Chapter 6
THE place was the door of Jude's lodging in the out-skirts of Christminster--far from the precincts of St. Silas' where he had formerly lived, which saddened him to sickness. The rain was coming down. A woman in shabby black stood on the doorstep talking to Jude, who held the door in his hand.
"I am lonely, destitute, and houseless--that's what I am! Father has turned me out of doors after borrowing every penny I'd got, to put it into his business, and then accusing me of laziness when I was only waiting for a situation. I am at the mercy of the world! If you can't take me and help me, Jude, I must go to the workhouse, or to something worse. Only just now two undergraduates winked at me as I came along. 'Tis hard for a woman to keep virtuous where there's so many young men!"
The woman in the rain who spoke thus was Arabella, the evening being that of the day after Sue's remarriage with Phillotson.
"I am sorry for you, but I am only in lodgings," said Jude coldly.
"Then you turn me away?"
"I'll give you enough to get food and lodging for a few days."
"Oh, but can't you have the kindness to take me in? I cannot endure going to a public house to lodge; and I am so lonely. Please, Jude, for old times' sake!"
"No, no," said Jude hastily. "I don't want to be reminded of those things; and if you talk about them I shall not help you."
"Then I suppose I must go!" said Arabella. She bent her head against the doorpost and began sobbing.
"The house is full," said Jude. "And I have only a little extra room to my own--not much more than a closet--where I keep my tools, and templates, and the few books I have left!"
"That would be a palace for me!"
"There is no bedstead in it."
"A bit of a bed could be made on the floor. It would be good enough for me."
Unable to be harsh with her, and not knowing what to do, Jude called the man who let the lodgings, and said this was an acquaintance of his in great distress for want of temporary shelter.
"You may remember me as barmaid at the Lamb and Flag formerly?" spoke up Arabella. "My father has insulted me this afternoon, and I've left him, though without a penny!"
The householder said he could not recall her features. "But still, if you are a friend of Mr. Fawley's we'll do what we can for a day or two--if he'll make himself answerable?"
"Yes, yes," said Jude. "She has really taken me quite unawares; but I should wish to help her out of her difficulty." And an arrangement was ultimately come to under which a bed was to be thrown down in Jude's lumber-room, to make it comfortable for Arabella till she could get out of the strait she was in-- not by her own fault, as she declared--and return to her father's again.
While they were waiting for this to be done Arabella said: "You know the news, I suppose?"
"I guess what you mean; but I know nothing."
"I had a letter from Anny at Alfredston to-day. She had just heard that the wedding was to be yesterday: but she didn't know if it had come off."
"I don't wish to talk of it."
"No, no: of course you don't. Only it shows what kind of woman----"
"Don't speak of her I say! She's a fool! And she's an angel, too, poor dear!"
"If it's done, he'll have a chance of getting back to his old position, by everybody's account, so Anny says. All his well-wishers will be pleased, including the bishop himself."
"Do spare me, Arabella."
Arabella was duly installed in the little attic, and at first she did not come near Jude at all. She went to and fro about her own business, which, when they met for a moment on the stairs or in the passage, she informed him was that of obtaining another place in the occupation she understood best. When Jude suggested London as affording the most likely opening in the liquor trade, she shook her head. "No--the temptations are too many," she said. "Any humble tavern in the country before that for me."
On the Sunday morning following, when he breakfasted later than on other days, she meekly asked him if she might come in to breakfast with him, as she had broken her teapot, and could not replace it immediately, the shops being shut.
"Yes, if you like," he said indifferently.
While they sat without speaking she suddenly observed: "You seem all in a brood, old man. I'm sorry for you."
"I am all in a brood."
"It is about her, I know. It's no business of mine, but I could find out all about the wedding--if it really did take place-- if you wanted to know."
"How could you?"
"I wanted to go to Alfredston to get a few things I left there. And I could see Anny, who'll be sure to have heard all about it, as she has friends at Marygreen."
Jude could not bear to acquiesce in this proposal; but his suspense pitted itself against his discretion, and won in the struggle. "You can ask about it if you like," he said. "I've not heard a sound from there. It must have been very private, if--they have married."
"I am afraid I haven't enough cash to take me there and back, or I should have gone before. I must wait till I have earned some."
"Oh--I can pay the journey for you," he said impatiently. And thus his suspense as to Sue's welfare, and the possible marriage, moved him to dispatch for intelligence the last emissary he would have thought of choosing deliberately.
Arabella went, Jude requesting her to be home not later than by the seven o'clock train. When she had gone he said: "Why should I have charged her to be back by a particular time! She's nothing to me--nor the other neither!"
But having finished work he could not help going to the station to meet Arabella, dragged thither by feverish haste to get the news she might bring, and know the worst. Arabella had made dimples most successfully all the way home, and when she stepped out of the railway carriage she smiled. He merely said "Well?" with the very reverse of a smile.
"They are married."
"Yes--of course they are!" he returned. She observed, however, the hard strain upon his lip as he spoke.
"Anny says she has heard from Belinda, her relation out at Marygreen, that it was very sad, and curious!"
"How do you mean sad? She wanted to marry him again, didn't she? And he her!"
"Yes--that was it. She wanted to in one sense, but not in the other. Mrs. Edlin was much upset by it all, and spoke out her mind at Phillotson. But Sue was that excited about it that she burnt her best embroidery that she'd worn with you, to blot you out entirely. Well--if a woman feels like it, she ought to do it. I commend her for it, though others don't." Arabella sighed. "She felt he was her only husband, and that she belonged to nobody else in the sight of God A'mighty while he lived. Perhaps another woman feels the same about herself, too!" Arabella sighed again.
"I don't want any cant!" exclaimed Jude.
"It isn't cant," said Arabella. "I feel exactly the same as she!"
He closed that issue by remarking abruptly: "Well--now I know all I wanted to know. Many thanks for your information. I am not going back to my lodgings just yet." And he left her straightway.
In his misery and depression Jude walked to well-nigh every spot in the city that he had visited with Sue; thence he did not know whither, and then thought of going home to his usual evening meal. But having all the vices of his virtues, and some to spare, he turned into a public house, for the first time during many months. Among the possible consequences of her marriage Sue had not dwelt on this.
Arabella, meanwhile, had gone back. The evening passed, and Jude did not return. At half-past nine Arabella herself went out, first proceeding to an outlying district near the river where her father lived, and had opened a small and precarious pork-shop lately.
"Well," she said to him, "for all your rowing me that night, I've called in, for I have something to tell you. I think I shall get married and settled again. Only you must help me: and you can do no less, after what I've stood 'ee."
"I'll do anything to get thee off my hands!"
"Very well. I am now going to look for my young man. He's on the loose I'm afraid, and I must get him home. All I want you to do to-night is not to fasten the door, in case I should want to sleep here, and should be late."
"I thought you'd soon get tired of giving yourself airs and keeping away!"
"Well--don't do the door. That's all I say."
She then sallied out again, and first hastening back to Jude's to make sure that he had not returned, began her search for him. A shrewd guess as to his probable course took her straight to the tavern which Jude had formerly frequented, and where she had been barmaid for a brief term. She had no sooner opened the door of the "Private Bar" than her eyes fell upon him-- sitting in the shade at the back of the compartment, with his eyes fixed on the floor in a blank stare. He was drinking nothing stronger than ale just then. He did not observe her, and she entered and sat beside him.
Jude looked up, and said without surprise: "You've come to have something, Arabella? ... I'm trying to forget her: that's all! But I can't; and I am going home." She saw that he was a little way on in liquor, but only a little as yet.
"I've come entirely to look for you, dear boy. You are not well. Now you must have something better than that." Arabella held up her finger to the barmaid. "You shall have a liqueur-- that's better fit for a man of education than beer. You shall have maraschino, or curacao dry or sweet, or cherry brandy. I'll treat you, poor chap!"
"I don't care which! Say cherry brandy.... Sue has served me badly, very badly. I didn't expect it of Sue! I stuck to her, and she ought to have stuck to me. I'd have sold my soul for her sake, but she wouldn't risk hers a jot for me. To save her own soul she lets mine go damn! ... But it isn't her fault, poor little girl-- I am sure it isn't!"
How Arabella had obtained money did not appear, but she ordered a liqueur each, and paid for them. When they had drunk these Arabella suggested another; and Jude had the pleasure of being, as it were, personally conducted through the varieties of spirituous delectation by one who knew the landmarks well. Arabella kept very considerably in the rear of Jude; but though she only sipped where he drank, she took as much as she could safely take without losing her head--which was not a little, as the crimson upon her countenance showed.
Her tone towards him to-night was uniformly soothing and cajoling; and whenever he said "I don't care what happens to me," a thing he did continually, she replied, "But I do very much!" The closing hour came, and they were compelled to turn out; whereupon Arabella put her arm round his waist, and guided his unsteady footsteps.
When they were in the streets she said: "I don't know what our landlord will say to my bringing you home in this state. I expect we are fastened out, so that he'll have to come down and let us in."
"I don't know--I don't know."
"That's the worst of not having a home of your own. I tell you, Jude, what we had best do. Come round to my father's-- I made it up with him a bit to-day. I can let you in, and nobody will see you at all; and by to-morrow morning you'll be all right."
"Anything--anywhere," replied Jude. "What the devil does it matter to me?"
They went along together, like any other fuddling couple, her arm still round his waist, and his, at last, round hers; though with no amatory intent; but merely because he was weary, unstable, and in need of support.
"This--is th' Martyrs'--burning-place," he stammered as they dragged across a broad street. "I remember--in old Fuller's HOLY STATE-- and I am reminded of it--by our passing by here--old Fuller in his HOLY STATE says, that at the burning of Ridley, Doctor Smith-- preached sermon, and took as his text 'THOUGH I GIVE MY BODY TO BE BURNED, AND HAVE NOT CHARITY, IT PROFITETH ME NOTHING.'-- Often think of it as I pass here. Ridley was a----"
"Yes. Exactly. Very thoughtful of you, deary, even though it hasn't much to do with our present business."
"Why, yes it has! I'm giving my body to be burned! But--ah you don't understand!--it wants Sue to understand such things! And I was her seducer--poor little girl! And she's gone-- and I don't care about myself! Do what you like with me! ... And yet she did it for conscience' sake, poor little Sue!"
"Hang her!--I mean, I think she was right," hiccuped Arabella. "I've my feelings too, like her; and I feel I belong to you in Heaven's eye, and to nobody else, till death us do part! It is--hic--never too late--hic to mend!"
They had reached her father's house, and she softly unfastened the door, groping about for a light within.
The circumstances were not altogether unlike those of their entry into the cottage at Cresscombe, such a long time before. Nor were perhaps Arabella's motives. But Jude did not think of that, though she did.
"I can't find the matches, dear," she said when she had fastened up the door. "But never mind--this way. As quiet as you can, please."
"It is as dark as pitch," said Jude.
"Give me your hand, and I'll lead you. That's it. Just sit down here, and I'll pull off your boots. I don't want to wake him."
"Who?"
"Father. He'd make a row, perhaps."
She pulled off his boots. "Now," she whispered, "take hold of me-- never mind your weight. Now--first stair, second stair"
"But,--are we out in our old house by Marygreen?" asked the stupefied Jude. "I haven't been inside it for years till now! Hey? And where are my books? That's what I want to know?"
"We are at my house, dear, where there's nobody to spy out how ill you are. Now--third stair, fourth stair--that's it. Now we shall get on."

地点是裘德在基督堂郊区的住家的门前——离他原先住的圣•西拉教堂一带很远；那地方叫他痛心疾首，他只得搬走。雨在下。一个穿着破旧黑衫裙的女人站在门口台阶上，正跟裘德说话，裘德一只手把着门。
“我这会儿孤苦伶仃，穷得光光的，连家也没有——落到这个份儿上！爸爸把我的钱都掏走了，做生意，还骂我是懒虫，我是等着活儿于呢。他就把我赶到街上来了。我这会儿只好靠老天爷了。裘德，要是你不肯帮帮忙，把我收下，我只好上救济院了，要不就得上更坏的地方。刚才我路上走的时候，就有两个大学生直朝我飞眼呢。这儿有那么多小伙子，女人要是不下水，难得很哪。”
雨里说这些话的女人是阿拉贝拉，晚上是苏又跟费乐生结婚的那天晚上。
“我替你难受，不过我这会儿也只算有个落脚地方。”裘德毫无兴致地说。
“那你是赶我走喽？”
“我要给你点钱，够你几天吃住的。”
“哦，难道你就不能发点善心，让我进去吗？再去找酒馆住，我真吃不消了；我真薀吐苦伶什哪。裘德，看老面子，总行吧！”
“你别说这个。”裘德赶紧说。“我可不想你再提那些事；你要是唠叨这些，那我就一点忙也不帮。”
“这么说，我非走不可啦！”阿拉贝拉说。她把头抵在门框上，哭哭啼啼的。
“这房子全住满了，我住的那间之外，还有个小间，比柜子大不了多少——我在那儿放工具、模板，还有几本剩下来的书！”
“拿我说，那比得上王宫啦！”
“里头没床。”
“打地铺就行了。这对我就好得不得了啦。”
裘德既不能对她忍心不管，又不知道怎么办，只好把房东叫来，跟他说，这是他一个熟人，临时要找个地方住，急得不得了。
“你大概还记得我从前在羊羔和旗子酒店当女招待吧。”阿拉贝拉插进来说。“我爸爸今儿下午臭骂我一顿，我就躲出来了，身上一个大钱也没有！”
房东说他想不起来她从前模样。“不过算啦，既然你是福来先生的朋友，咱们就凑合着让你住一两天——不过他愿不愿意担保呢？”
“行，行，我担保。”裘德说。“她猛孤丁地到这儿来，我真一点不知道；不过我想还是先帮她过难关吧。”他们终于商定了，抬来一张床，勉强把它塞进裘德堆东西的小房间，也尽量叫阿拉贝拉住得舒服点，直到她能够摆脱困境——照她说，这不是她的过错——再回她父亲家。
就在他们等着放好床的时候，阿拉贝拉说：“我想你听到消息了，是吧？”
“我猜得出来你指什么；不过我一无所知。”
“今儿我接到阿尔夫瑞顿安妮的信。她也是刚听说婚礼定在昨儿个的；不过她不知道真办了没有。”
“我不想谈这事。”
“你不想谈，是呀，你当然不想谈喽。这正好表明什么样的女人——”
“我说你别提她行不行！她是个糊涂虫，可也是个天使，可怜的亲爱的！”
“要是真办了的话，旁人都说他就有机会回到老位子上去了，安妮信里这么说的。凡是给他帮腔的人都称了愿，里头还有主教呢。”
“你饶了我吧，阿拉贝拉。”
阿拉贝拉不失时机地在小阁楼里安顿下来。开头她并不去接近裘德。她出出进进办自己的事。他们偶然在楼梯上或通道里碰上，她就告诉他，她正忙着在她顶熟的那行找位子。裘德向她建议，伦敦大概是酒店生意最吃香的地方，她摇摇头，“不行——那地方歪门邪道太多啦，”她说，“我还是在乡下不起眼的酒馆先找个事儿，那以后再说吧。”
下面那个礼拜天早上，裘德早饭比平常吃得晚点，她低声下气地问她好不好过来跟他一块儿吃早饭，因为她把茶壶摔了，那会儿铺子还没开门，没法买一个。
“行啊，你愿意就行。”他不在意地说。
他们坐着没说话，突然她开口撩他了，“老家伙，你看着一肚子心事嘛。我真替你难受。”
“我是一肚子心事。”
“想必是为她喽，我知道。这我管不着，不过他们要是真办了婚礼，前前后后我大概都能打听得到——只要你想知道就行。”
“你怎么打听得到？”
“我原来就想上阿尔夫瑞顿，把丢在那儿的几样东西取来。我见得到安妮，婚礼的事儿，她准什么都听说了，因为她在马利格林有朋友。”
裘德固然不会冒然对这样的建议表示同意，但是他对苏念念不忘的心情压倒了他平素的审慎周详，占了上风。‘你要是愿意的话，那就打听打听好啦。”他说。“我到这会儿还没打那边听到什么信呢。要是——他们真结了婚，大概也没怎么张扬。”
“我手里恐怕没那么多现钱够打个来回的，要不然我早就去了。我先得赚点钱再说吧。”
“哦——我可以给你出路费。”他烦躁地说。因为他对苏的境遇和可能的婚事老悬着心，这就促使他派了个最不相宜的使者去打听消息，而他若是深思熟虑，断乎不会取中这样的人选。
在裘德请她务必坐七点钟以前火车到家之后，阿拉贝拉就走了。她一走，他就说：“我何必特意给她规定个时间要她回来！她跟我有什么关系！另外那个又有什么关系！”
但是他干完活之后，情不自禁地去车站迎阿拉贝拉，心急火燎地赶到那儿，好听她带来的消息，想知道最糟糟到什么程度。阿拉贝拉在回家路上没完没了咋酒窝，咋得尽善尽美。她一出车厢就笑了。他只说出来“呃？”，一脸晦气。
“他们成婚啦。”
“成婚啦——他们当然成婚喽！”他回了一句。可是她看得明白，他说话时候嘴唇绷得极不自然。
“安妮说她是听马利格林的亲戚贝林达说的，真是又惨又怪哪！”
“你说惨，指什么？她要跟他再结婚，不是这回事吗？他不也要这样嘛！”
“对——是这么回事。她一个心是结婚，还有一个心是不想结婚。这件事儿把艾林太太闹得都六神无主啦，她干脆把她的心事跟费乐生先生说了。可是苏为这档子事太激动啦，连从前跟你在一块儿穿的绣花睡衣都烧啦，要把你一笔勾销。呢——女人要是怎么想，就该怎么办。我倒挺佩服她，可别人不这么看。”阿拉贝拉叹了口气。“她认为他是她唯一丈夫，只要他活着，在万能的上帝眼里，她不归另外哪个人。说不定还有别的女人也想到自个儿跟她一样哪！”阿拉贝拉又叹了口气。
“我可不想听这套假仁假义！”裘德大喊大叫的。
“不是假仁假义，”阿拉贝拉说。“我想的就是跟她一样。”
他出其不意地说了下面几句，就把这个局面刹住了：“行啦——该知道的，我这会儿全知道啦！多谢你把消息告诉我。我这会儿还不想回住的地方。”说完了，把她撂一边，扬长而去。
裘德愁肠百结，意气消沉。他把从前跟苏一起走过的地方差不多走个遍；后来他也不知道还往哪儿去好，就想回去吃那顿定时的晚饭。不过他这人品德固然不错，毛病也颇不少，有些还挺顽固，所以他转身到了一家酒馆，多少个月来这还是头一回。苏对于她结婚可能造成的种种后果中间这一点，可没用心好好想过。
在同一时间，阿拉贝拉却回去了。到了晚上该歇的时间，还不见裘德转来。九点半，阿拉贝拉又出去了，她先去离河边一个挺偏僻的地方，她父亲就住在那儿，新近开了个勉强混的猪肉铺。
“嗨，”她对他说，“那晚上你把我骂了个够，因为我有事要跟你说，我不记恨又来啦。我就要结婚安家了。有件事，你可得帮忙；我替你忙活过了，这个情你得还。”
“只要你滚了，我干什么都行。”
“那好吧。我马上去找我那个小伙子。我怕他胡来，得把他带家里来。回来得晚，今儿晚上我要你办的，就是别闩门，我大概要在这儿睡。”
“我就想得到，没几天你就腻了，在外边混不下去啦！”
“好啦——别闩门，我就是这句话。”
她紧接着往外跑，先奔到裘德的住处，弄明白他的确没回来，然后开始搜寻他。她灵机一动，猜到他大概去向，就直奔裘德从前常照顾的那个酒馆，她在那儿也干过几天女招待。她一开“包间”的门，就看到他——在厢座后首的灯影里坐着，两眼无神，盯着地上。他刚喝的啤酒没别的酒劲大。他并没朝她望，于是她走进去，往他旁边一坐。
裘德抬头一看，一点也不觉着怪地说，‘你是来喝点吧，阿拉贝拉？……我正恨不得把她忘了呢；非这样不可啊！可是我办不到啊！我要回家啦。”她知道他稍微有点醉，不过也就是那么一点，不怎么样。
“我来就是为找到你呀，亲爱的孩子。你身体不舒服。这会儿你该喝点比这好的。”阿拉贝拉朝女招待往上一伸指头。“你得来点利古酒，有学问的人喝这个比喝啤酒更对路。你还可以来马拉奇诺，也可以要干古拉索、甜古拉索，要樱桃白兰地也行。”
“我才不管什么酒呢！就来樱桃白兰地吧。……苏待我真坏啊，太坏啦。我可万没想到苏这样！我一直守住她，她也该守住我啊！我为她连灵魂都卖了，她可不肯狠下心为我卖一点啊！她为救自己的灵魂，宁可叫我灵魂下地狱哟！……不过这也不是她的过错啊，可怜的小姑娘哪——我敢说不是她的过错！”
阿拉贝拉究竟怎么弄到钱，这不清楚，反正她给他们各要了一杯利古酒；裘德呢，好像在这个五花八门的酒国里，有个老马识途的人给他指路，有点乐不可支的样子。阿拉贝拉喝起来老是落在他后边挺远的；不过他大口喝的时候，她尽管小口抿，还是多少以她完全不上脑子为限，可还是喝了不少，上了脸，红红的。
她那晚上对他一直甜言蜜语，温存体贴。只要他说出来，而又不断地说，“我才不在乎倒什么霉呢。”她就答话，“我可在乎啊。”酒馆关门时间到了，他们只好出去；阿拉贝拉乘势搂住他的腰，带着他摇摇晃晃往前走。
到了街上，阿拉贝拉说，“我可不知道，我要是把你这个样儿带回家，房东不定怎么说呢。我倒愿意咱们给关在外边，省得他下来开门让咱们进去了。”
“我不知道——我不知道。”
“你连个家都没有，这就糟透啦。我跟你说，裘德，咱们有个顶好的解决办法。就上我爸爸家里去——今儿个我算跟他讲和了。我能把你带进去，谁也看不见；明儿早上你人就回醒过来啦。”
“怎么办都行——上哪儿都行。”裘德回答说。“这他妈的算得了什么？”
他们一块儿往前走，像一般喝醉的夫妇那样，她还是胳臂搂着他的腰，后来他也搂起她来了，当然并非半点出自爱意，只是因为他困倦，走不稳，得靠着东西。
“这——是殉教者——给烧死的地方呀。”他们拖拖拉拉地跨过一条很宽的大街时，他结结巴巴地说。“我记得——老弗勒那本《圣诫》里头——一过这儿——我就想起来啦——老弗勒在《圣诫》里头说，在黎德利上火刑那会儿——史密斯博士——就讲起道来啦，就拿这样的经文开篇啦——‘又舍己身叫人焚烧，却没有爱，仍然于我无益。’——我一到这儿，老是想起来。黎德利是个——”
“对啦。一点不错。你这人思想才深呢，亲爱的，话说回来，这跟咱们这会儿的事儿可不相干哪。”
“什么话，怎么不相干！我现在正舍身给人烧哪！可是——唉——你一点不懂啊！——这类事，只有苏才懂呢！我是她的诱奸者哟——可怜的小姑娘！她走啦——我也不管自己是什么下场啦！你想怎么收拾我都行！……可她做事是本着良心哪！可怜的小苏啊！”
“去她的吧！——我是说，我觉着她做得对呢。”阿拉贝拉直打嗝。“我也有我的感情，跟她的一样；所以我觉着，老天爷眼里头，我就是你的人，不是别的什么人的，不到咱们死，不分开！俗话说——嗝——只要改——嗝——什么时候都不晚！”
他们到了她父亲的房子。她轻轻推开门，在屋里摸索着，找火柴。这会儿的情景同已经年深日久的那回进水芹峪小房子的情景简直没两样。阿拉贝拉的动机怕也没两样吧。尽管裘德没往这上面想，她可是想到了呢。
“我找不着火柴，亲爱的。”她闩k门以后说。“不过没关系——就这么走吧。你可千万别出声，来吧。”
“真是黑咕隆咚啊。”裘德说。
“把手递给我，我领着你。就这样，就坐在这儿，我要给你脱靴子。我不想吵醒他。”
“吵醒谁呀？”
“爸爸。吵醒了，他大概要混闹一阵子呢。”
她给他脱了靴子。“哪，”她小声说，‘靠紧了我——别怕压得重。哪，一碰，两蹬——”
“可是——咱们这是不是到那个靠着马利格林的老屋子呀？”迷迷糊糊的裘德问。“到现在多年啦，我没到过里头呢！嗨，我的书放在哪儿呀？我就是想知道。”
“咱们是在我家里头，亲爱的，这儿谁也别想偷瞧你病成什么样儿。哪——三磴，四磴——好嘛，咱们就这样上去。”
Part 6 Chapter 7
ARABELLA was preparing breakfast in the downstairs back room of this small, recently hired tenement of her father's. She put her head into the little pork-shop in front, and told Mr. Donn it was ready. Donn, endeavouring to look like a master pork-butcher, in a greasy blue blouse, and with a strap round his waist from which a steel dangled, came in promptly.
"You must mind the shop this morning," he said casually. "I've to go and get some inwards and half a pig from Lumsdon, and to call elsewhere. If you live here you must put your shoulder to the wheel, at least till I get the business started!"
"Well, for to-day I can't say." She looked deedily into his face. "I've got a prize upstairs."
"Oh? What's that?"
"A husband--almost."
"No!"
"Yes. It's Jude. He's come back to me."
"Your old original one? Well, I'm damned!"
"Well, I always did like him, that I will say."
"But how does he come to be up there?" said Donn, humour-struck, and nodding to the ceiling.
"Don't ask inconvenient questions, Father. What we've to do is to keep him here till he and I are--as we were."
"How was that?"
"Married."
"Ah.... Well it is the rummest thing I ever heard of-- marrying an old husband again, and so much new blood in the world! He's no catch, to my thinking. I'd have had a new one while I was about it."
"It isn't rum for a woman to want her old husband back for respectability, though for a man to want his old wife back--well, perhaps it is funny, rather!" And Arabella was suddenly seized with a fit of loud laughter, in which her father joined more moderately.
"Be civil to him, and I'll do the rest," she said when she had recovered seriousness. "He told me this morning that his head ached fit to burst, and he hardly seemed to know where he was. And no wonder, considering how he mixed his drink last night. We must keep him jolly and cheerful here for a day or two, and not let him go back to his lodging. Whatever you advance I'll pay back to you again. But I must go up and see how he is now, poor deary."
Arabella ascended the stairs, softly opened the door of the first bedroom, and peeped in. Finding that her shorn Samson was asleep she entered to the bedside and stood regarding him. The fevered flush on his face from the debauch of the previous evening lessened the fragility of his ordinary appearance, and his long lashes, dark brows, and curly back hair and beard against the white pillow completed the physiognomy of one whom Arabella, as a woman of rank passions, still felt it worth while to recapture, highly important to recapture as a woman straitened both in means and in reputation. Her ardent gaze seemed to affect him; his quick breathing became suspended, and he opened his eyes.
"How are you now, dear?" said she. "It is I--Arabella."
"Ah!--where--oh yes, I remember! You gave me shelter.... I am stranded--ill--demoralized--damn bad! That's what I am!"
"Then do stay here. There's nobody in the house but father and me, and you can rest till you are thoroughly well. I'll tell them at the stoneworks that you are knocked up."
"I wonder what they are thinking at the lodgings!"
"I'll go round and explain. Perhaps you had better let me pay up, or they'll think we've run away?"
"Yes. You'll find enough money in my pocket there."
Quite indifferent, and shutting his eyes because he could not bear the daylight in his throbbing eye-balls, Jude seemed to doze again. Arabella took his purse, softly left the room, and putting on her outdoor things went off to the lodgings she and he had quitted the evening before.
Scarcely half an hour had elapsed ere she reappeared round the corner, walking beside a lad wheeling a truck on which were piled all Jude's household possessions, and also the few of Arabella's things which she had taken to the lodging for her short sojourn there. Jude was in such physical pain from his unfortunate break-down of the previous night, and in such mental pain from the loss of Sue and from having yielded in his half-somnolent state to Arabella, that when he saw his few chattels unpacked and standing before his eyes in this strange bedroom, intermixed with woman's apparel, he scarcely considered how they had come there, or what their coming signalized.
"Now," said Arabella to her father downstairs, "we must keep plenty of good liquor going in the house these next few days. I know his nature, and if he once gets into that fearfully low state that he does get into sometimes, he'll never do the honourable thing by me in this world, and I shall be left in the lurch. He must be kept cheerful. He has a little money in the savings bank, and he has given me his purse to pay for anything necessary. Well, that will be the licence; for I must have that ready at hand, to catch him the moment he's in the humour. You must pay for the liquor. A few friends, and a quiet convivial party would be the thing, if we could get it up. It would advertise the shop, and help me too."
"That can be got up easy enough by anybody who'll afford victuals and drink.... Well yes--it would advertise the shop-- that's true."
Three days later, when Jude had recovered somewhat from the fearful throbbing of his eyes and brain, but was still considerably confused in his mind by what had been supplied to him by Arabella during the interval-- to keep him, jolly, as she expressed it--the quiet convivial gathering, suggested by her, to wind Jude up to the striking point, took place.
Donn had only just opened his miserable little pork and sausage shop, which had as yet scarce any customers; nevertheless that party advertised it well, and the Donns acquired a real notoriety among a certain class in Christminster who knew not the colleges, nor their works, nor their ways. Jude was asked if he could suggest any guest in addition to those named by Arabella and her father, and in a saturnine humour of perfect recklessness mentioned Uncle Joe, and Stagg, and the decayed auctioneer, and others whom he remembered as having been frequenters of the well-known tavern during his bout therein years before. He also suggested Freckles and Bower o' Bliss. Arabella took him at his word so far as the men went, but drew the line at the ladies.
Another man they knew, Tinker Taylor, though he lived in the same street, was not invited; but as he went homeward from a late job on the evening of the party, he had occasion to call at the shop for trotters. There were none in, but he was promised some the next morning. While making his inquiry Taylor glanced into the back room, and saw the guests sitting round, card-playing, and drinking, and otherwise enjoying themselves at Donn's expense. He went home to bed, and on his way out next morning wondered how the party went off. He thought it hardly worth while to call at the shop for his provisions at that hour, Donn and his daughter being probably not up, if they caroused late the night before. However, he found in passing that the door was open, and he could hear voices within, though the shutters of the meat-stall were not down. He went and tapped at the sitting-room door, and opened it.
"Well--to be sure!" he said, astonished.
Hosts and guests were sitting card-playing, smoking, and talking, precisely as he had left them eleven hours earlier; the gas was burning and the curtains drawn, though it had been broad daylight for two hours out of doors.
"Yes!" cried Arabella, laughing. "Here we are, just the same. We ought to be ashamed of ourselves, oughtn't we! But it is a sort of housewarming, you see; and our friends are in no hurry. Come in, Mr. Taylor, and sit down."
The tinker, or rather reduced ironmonger, was nothing loath, and entered and took a seat. "I shall lose a quarter, but never mind," he said. "Well, really, I could hardly believe my eyes when I looked in! It seemed as if I was flung back again into last night, all of a sudden."
"So you are. Pour out for Mr. Taylor."
He now perceived that she was sitting beside Jude, her arm being round his waist. Jude, like the rest of the company, bore on his face the si

[table=80%,#ffffff,#000000,1][tr][td]Part 6 Chapter 9
ON the platform stood Arabella. She looked him up and down.
"You've been to see her?" she asked.
"I have," said Jude, literally tottering with cold and lassitude.
"Well, now you'd best march along home."
The water ran out of him as he went, and he was compelled to lean against the wall to support himself while coughing.
"You've done for yourself by this, young man," said she. "I don't know whether you know it."
"Of course I do. I meant to do for myself."
"What--to commit suicide?"
"Certainly."
"Well, I'm blest! Kill yourself for a woman."
"Listen to me, Arabella. You think you are the stronger; and so you are, in a physical sense, now. You could push me over like a nine-pin. You did not send that letter the other day, and I could not resent your conduct. But I am not so weak in another way as you think. I made up my mind that a man confined to his room by inflammation of the lungs, a fellow who had only two wishes left in the world, to see a particular woman, and then to die, could neatly accomplish those two wishes at one stroke by taking this journey in the rain. That I've done. I have seen her for the last time, and I've finished myself--put an end to a feverish life which ought never to have been begun!"
"Lord--you do talk lofty! Won't you have something warm to drink?"
"No thank you. Let's get home."
They went along by the silent colleges, and Jude kept stopping.
"What are you looking at?"
"Stupid fancies. I see, in a way, those spirits of the dead again, on this my last walk, that I saw when I first walked here!"
"What a curious chap you are!"
"I seem to see them, and almost hear them rustling. But I don't revere all of them as I did then. I don't believe in half of them. The theologians, the apologists, and their kin the metaphysicians, the high-handed statesmen, and others, no longer interest me. All that has been spoilt for me by the grind of stern reality!"
The expression of Jude's corpselike face in the watery lamplight was indeed as if he saw people where there was nobody. At moments he stood still by an archway, like one watching a figure walk out; then he would look at a window like one discerning a familiar face behind it. He seemed to hear voices, whose words he repeated as if to gather their meaning.
"They seem laughing at me!"
"Who?"
"Oh--I was talking to myself! The phantoms all about here, in the college archways, and windows. They used to look friendly in the old days, particularly Addison, and Gibbon, and Johnson, and Dr. Browne, and Bishop Ken"
"Come along do! Phantoms! There's neither living nor dead hereabouts except a damn policeman! I never saw the streets emptier."
"Fancy! The Poet of Liberty used to walk here, and the great Dissector of Melancholy there!"
"I don't want to hear about 'em! They bore me."
"Walter Raleigh is beckoning to me from that lane--Wycliffe-- Harvey--Hooker--Arnold--and a whole crowd of Tractarian Shades"
"I DON'T WANT to know their names, I tell you! What do I care about folk dead and gone? Upon my soul you are more sober when you've been drinking than when you have not!"
"I must rest a moment," he said; and as he paused, holding to the railings, he measured with his eye the height of a college front. "This is old Rubric. And that Sarcophagus; and Up that lane Crozier and Tudor: and all down there is Cardinal with its long front, and its windows with lifted eyebrows, representing the polite surprise of the university at the efforts of such as I."
"Come along, and I'll treat you!"
"Very well. It will help me home, for I feel the chilly fog from the meadows of Cardinal as if death-claws were grabbing me through and through. As Antigone said, I am neither a dweller among men nor ghosts. But, Arabella, when I am dead, you'll see my spirit flitting up and down here among these!"
"Pooh! You mayn't die after all. You are tough enough yet, old man."
It was night at Marygreen, and the rain of the afternoon showed no sign of abatement. About the time at which Jude and Arabella were walking the streets of Christminster homeward, the Widow Edlin crossed the green, and opened the back door of the schoolmaster's dwelling, which she often did now before bedtime, to assist Sue in putting things away.
Sue was muddling helplessly in the kitchen, for she was not a good housewife, though she tried to be, and grew impatient of domestic details.
"Lord love 'ee, what do ye do that yourself for, when I've come o' purpose! You knew I should come."
"Oh--I don't know--I forgot! No, I didn't forget. I did it to discipline myself. I have scrubbed the stairs since eight o'clock. I MUST practise myself in my household duties. I've shamefully neglected them!"
"Why should ye? He'll get a better school, perhaps be a parson, in time, and you'll keep two servants. 'Tis a pity to spoil them pretty hands."
"Don't talk of my pretty hands, Mrs. Edlin. This pretty body of mine has been the ruin of me already!"
"Pshoo--you've got no body to speak of! You put me more in mind of a sperrit. But there seems something wrong to-night, my dear. Husband cross?"
"No. He never is. He's gone to bed early."
"Then what is it?"
"I cannot tell you. I have done wrong to-day. And I want to eradicate it.... Well--I will tell you this--Jude has been here this afternoon, and I find I still love him--oh, grossly! I cannot tell you more."
"Ah!" said the widow. "I told 'ee how 'twould be!"
"But it shan't be! I have not told my husband of his visit; it is not necessary to trouble him about it, as I never mean to see Jude any more. But I am going to make my conscience right on my duty to Richard--by doing a penance--the ultimate thing. I must!"
"I wouldn't--since he agrees to it being otherwise, and it has gone on three months very well as it is."
"Yes--he agrees to my living as I choose; but I feel it is an indulgence I ought not to exact from him. It ought not to have been accepted by me. To reverse it will be terrible--but I must be more just to him. O why was I so unheroic!"
"What is it you don't like in him?" asked Mrs. Edlin curiously.
"I cannot tell you. It is something ... I cannot say. The mournful thing is, that nobody would admit it as a reason for feeling as I do; so that no excuse is left me."
"Did you ever tell Jude what it was?"
"Never."
"I've heard strange tales o' husbands in my time," observed the widow in a lowered voice. "They say that when the saints were upon the earth devils used to take husbands' forms o' nights, and get poor women into all sorts of trouble. But I don't know why that should come into my head, for it is only a tale.... What a wind and rain it is to-night! Well-- don't be in a hurry to alter things, my dear. Think it over."
"No, no! I've screwed my weak soul up to treating him more courteously-- and it must be now--at once--before I break down!"
"I don't think you ought to force your nature. No woman ought to be expected to."
"It is my duty. I will drink my cup to the dregs!"
Half an hour later when Mrs. Edlin put on her bonnet and shawl to leave, Sue seemed to be seized with vague terror.
"No--no--don't go, Mrs. Edlin," she implored, her eyes enlarged, and with a quick nervous look over her shoulder.
"But it is bedtime, child."
"Yes, but--there's the little spare room--my room that was. It is quite ready. Please stay, Mrs. Edlin!--I shall want you in the morning."
"Oh well--I don't mind, if you wish. Nothing will happen to my four old walls, whether I be there or no."
She then fastened up the doors, and they ascended the stairs together.
"Wait here, Mrs. Edlin," said Sue. "I'll go into my old room a moment by myself."
Leaving the widow on the landing Sue turned to the chamber which had been hers exclusively since her arrival at Marygreen, and pushing to the door knelt down by the bed for a minute or two. She then arose, and taking her night-gown from the pillow undressed and came out to Mrs. Edlin. A man could be heard snoring in the room opposite. She wished Mrs. Edlin good-night, and the widow entered the room that Sue had just vacated.
Sue unlatched the other chamber door, and, as if seized with faintness, sank down outside it. Getting up again she half opened the door, and said "Richard." As the word came out of her mouth she visibly shuddered.
The snoring had quite ceased for some time, but he did not reply. Sue seemed relieved, and hurried back to Mrs. Edlin's chamber. "Are you in bed, Mrs. Edlin?" she asked.
"No, dear," said the widow, opening the door. "I be old and slow, and it takes me a long while to un-ray. I han't unlaced my jumps yet."
"I--don't hear him! And perhaps--perhaps --"
"What, child?"
"Perhaps he's dead!" she gasped. "And then--I should be FREE, and I could go to Jude! ... Ah--no--I forgot HER--and God!"
"Let's go and hearken. No--he's snoring again. But the rain and the wind is so loud that you can hardly hear anything but between whiles."
Sue had dragged herself back. "Mrs. Edlin, good-night again! I am sorry I called you out." The widow retreated a second time.
The strained, resigned look returned to Sue's face when she was alone. "I must do it--I must! I must drink to the dregs!" she whispered. "Richard!" she said again.
"Hey--what? Is that you, Susanna?"
"Yes."
"What do you want? Anything the matter? Wait a moment." He pulled on some articles of clothing, and came to the door. "Yes?"
"When we were at Shaston I jumped out of the window rather than that you should come near me. I have never reversed that treatment till now-- when I have come to beg your pardon for it, and ask you to let me in."
"Perhaps you only think you ought to do this? I don't wish you to come against your impulses, as I have said."
"But I beg to be admitted." She waited a moment, and repeated, "I beg to be admitted! I have been in error--even to-day. I have exceeded my rights. I did not mean to tell you, but perhaps I ought. I sinned against you this afternoon."
"How?"
"I met Jude! I didn't know he was coming. And----"
"Well?"
"I kissed him, and let him kiss me."
"Oh--the old story!"
"Richard, I didn't know we were going to kiss each other till we did!"
"How many times?"
"A good many. I don't know. I am horrified to look back on it, and the least I can do after it is to come to you like this."
"Come--this is pretty bad, after what I've done! Anything else to confess?"
"No." She had been intending to say: "I called him my darling love." But, as a contrite woman always keeps back a little, that portion of the scene remained untold. She went on: "I am never going to see him any more. He spoke of some things of the past: and it overcame me. He spoke of--the children. But, as I have said, I am glad-- almost glad I mean--that they are dead, Richard. It blots out all that life of mine!"
"Well--about not seeing him again any more. Come--you really mean this?" There was something in Phillotson's tone now which seemed to show that his three months of remarriage with Sue had somehow not been so satisfactory as his magnanimity or amative patience had anticipated.
"Yes, yes!"
"Perhaps you'll swear it on the New Testament?"
"I will."
He went back to the room and brought out a little brown Testament. "Now then: So help you God!"
She swore.
"Very good!"
"Now I supplicate you, Richard, to whom I belong, and whom I wish to honour and obey, as I vowed, to let me in."
"Think it over well. You know what it means. Having you back in the house was one thing--this another. So think again."
"I have thought--I wish this!"
"That's a complaisant spirit--and perhaps you are right. With a lover hanging about, a half-marriage should be completed. But I repeat my reminder this third and last time."
"It is my wish! ... O God!"
"What did you say 'O God' for?"
"I don't know!"
"Yes you do! But ..." He gloomily considered her thin and fragile form a moment longer as she crouched before him in her night-clothes. "Well, I thought it might end like this," he said presently. "I owe you nothing, after these signs; but I'll take you in at your word, and forgive you."
He put his arm round her to lift her up. Sue started back.
"What's the matter?" he asked, speaking for the first time sternly. "You shrink from me again?--just as formerly!"
"No, Richard--I I--was not thinking----"
"You wish to come in here?"
"Yes."
"You still bear in mind what it means?"
"Yes. It is my duty!"
Placing the candlestick on the chest of drawers he led her through the doorway, and lifting her bodily, kissed her. A quick look of aversion passed over her face, but clenching her teeth she uttered no cry.
Mrs. Edlin had by this time undressed, and was about to get into bed when she said to herself: "Ah--perhaps I'd better go and see if the little thing is all right. How it do blow and rain!"
The widow went out on the landing, and saw that Sue had disappeared. "Ah! Poor soul! Weddings be funerals 'a b'lieve nowadays. Fifty-five years ago, come Fall, since my man and I married! Times have changed since then!"

月台上站着阿拉贝拉。她上上下下地打量着他。
“你算是见过她啦？”她问。
“见过啦。”裘德说，他又冷又累，简直站不住了。
“行啊，那你就撒开腿把家回吧。”
他一走动，身上直往下淌水；跟着咳嗽起来，只好靠着墙，撑住自己。
“小伙子，你这是作死啊。”她说。“我纳闷你知道不知道？”
“当然知道。我就是作死。”
“怎么——想自杀？”
“一点不错。”
“唉，该算我倒了霉！为个女人，你居然肯自杀。”
“你听着，阿拉贝拉。你自以为比我强，讲体力，你的确比我强。你能一下子就把我撂倒。前几天你没把信寄走，对你这样的行为，我很气，可是无可奈何。不过掉个角度看，我可不像你想的那么弱。我已经想透了，一个男人害肺病，弄得足不出户，这家伙只剩下两个心愿：他要去见一个与众不同的女人，然后死了拉倒。他在雨里出趟远门，岂不是于干脆脆，一举两得，偿了心愿。我就这么干了，最后见了她一面，也了掉自己——把这条害痨病的命送掉。这条命原本不该生下来。”
“天哪——你还真能说大话！你是不是来点热的喝喝？”
“谢谢，不必啦。咱们就回家吧。”
他们一路走过了一座座阒无声息的学院，裘德老是走走停停。
“你这会儿净瞧什么？”
“见到鬼啦。我从前头一回在这儿走，就瞧见了那些死人的魂灵，这会儿走最后一回，好像又瞧见它们啦。”
“你这家伙可真怪！”
“我好像瞧见他们了，好像听见他们窸窸窣窣的声音了。不过我现在可不像从前崇拜他们那帮子了。他们里头总有一半，我是一点也不信了。什么神学家、护教派、他们的近亲玄学派、强悍的政治家等等，再也引不起我的兴趣来。严酷的现实这块磨盘替我把所有这些人物都碾碎了。”
在带着水汽的灯光下，裘德脸上那种僵死般的表情的确像在没人的地方见到了人。好几回他在拱廊边上站着不动，就像看见什么人走过来，接着又对一扇窗户望，似乎想在窗户后面找到一个熟捻的面孔。他又像听到了说话声；自己把那些话说了又说，似乎想弄懂他们的意思。
“他们好像都在笑我哪！”
“谁呀？”
“哎——我这是跟自个儿说话呀！鬼全凑在一块儿啦，拱廊里头、窗户里头都是。想当年他们透着多友好啊，特别是艾逖生、吉本、约翰生、布朗博士，克恩主教——”
“走你的吧！什么鬼不鬼的！这儿前后左右没活的，也没死的，就他妈个警察！我还没瞧见过街上这么冷冷清清没个人呢！”
“想想瞧啊！那位沤歌自由的诗人从前老在这儿徘徊，那位了不起的忧郁病的剖析大家就在那边！”
“你别跟我啰嗦这些，腻死我啦！”
“沃尔特•罗利正在那个巷子对我招手呢——威克利夫——哈维——胡克尔——安诺德——好多个讲册派鬼魂——”
“我跟你说，我不想听那些名字！我干吗管死人？我敢起誓，你没完没了喝酒的时候，脑子比你不喝的时候还清楚点！”
“我得歇会儿啦，”他说，停下来，手抓着栏杆，眼睛对着一座座学院的正面，测算它们的高度。“这是丹书；那是石棺；顺那个巷子往前就是权杖和都锋；再往前一直走，就是红衣主教，正面很宽，它的窗媚全往上挑着，表示大学一看到居然有我这样努力向学的人，不禁文诌诌惊讶起来。”
“跟我来吧，我来请你的客！”
“好哇！那就可以帮我走到家啦，因为这会儿我觉着红衣主教大草场那边吹过来的冷雾跟死神利爪似地钳得我紧紧的。死死的。我就跟安提戈尼说的一样，我人里不算人，鬼里不算鬼。不过，阿拉贝拉，我一死了，你就瞧得见我的魂儿在那群魂儿里头飘上飘下的。”
“屁话！照这样你还有得活呢。你的劲儿还足得很，老伙计。”
马利格林已经入夜，从下午起，雨势未见减弱。大致在裘德和阿拉贝拉在基督堂街上往家走的时候，艾林寡妇穿过草地，开了小学教师住宅的后门，她常常这样，在就寝前来帮苏收拾东西。
苏在厨房里忙东忙西，手脚不停，不知怎么好，虽然她一心想当个好当家的，可是她办不到，而且开始对琐碎的家务事感到厌烦。
“老天爷，你这是怎么啦，你干吗自个儿干哪，我不是为这个才来嘛！你又不是不知道我要来。”
“哦——我不知道——我忘啦！——不对，不是忘了，我没忘！我这是家务事练练手。我八点以后就把楼梯擦了。家务事，我得尽本分，得练出来。我不能不管不顾的，叫人看不上眼！”
“你这是怎么啦？他以后大概搞得到好点学校干，说不定到时候还当上牧师呢，那样你就有两个仆人好使唤呢。你这双好看的手要是糟蹋了，太可惜啦。”
“你别提我手好看吧，艾林太太。我这好看的肉身还不是成了祸根吗？”
“胡说——你别说什么肉身不肉身的。我心眼里头，你是个精灵啊。不过你今儿晚上显着有点不对劲儿，亲爱的。爷们找碴儿吗？”
“没有，他向来不找碴儿。他老早就睡啦。我今天做了错事，非得连根拔不可……好吧，我得告诉你——裘德下午来过啦，我觉着我还是爱他——哦，大错特错啊！我真没法跟你往下说啦。”
“啊！”寡妇说。“我不是跟你说过早晚还是这么回事嘛！”
“不过总不该那样啊！我还没跟我丈夫提他来过；因为我以后决不会再跟裘德见面，我拿这件事烦他就不必了。不过按我对里查的本分，我还是要做到问心无愧才行——我要表示回心转意——就那么一件事啦。我得那样才行。”
“我看你可不能那样——因为他答应过你怎么都行，再说这三个月过来不是挺好嘛！”
“不错——他答应过我按自己意思过；可是我觉着硬强着他听我的，未免太出格了。我不该那么接受下来。要是全变过来，那一定很可怕——不过我应该对他公平点。唉，我怎么这么胆小如鼠啊！”
“究竟他什么地方，你不喜欢呢？”艾林太太好奇地问。
“这不好跟你说。总有点事情……不好说，顶叫人烦恼不过的是，别管我自个儿觉着怎么样，人家反正认为你毫无道理，所以就是我再有理，也有口难分了。”
“这事儿，你以前跟裘德说过没有？”
“绝对没有。”
“我年轻时候听人讲过爷们的奇怪事儿。”寡妇压低了声音，煞有介事地说。“他们说，世间一有圣人在，邪鬼到晚上就托在爷们身上，这样那样把个可怜的人揉搓得不得了。这会儿我也不明白怎么一下子想起来了，总因为是个传说吧。今儿晚上又刮风又下雨，真厉害！呃——你可别急急忙忙变卦呀，亲爱的。你可得好好想想。”
“不行，不行！我已经硬逼着我这没出息的软骨头对他要以礼相待啦——现在只好这样啦——马上就办——乘着我还没垮下来！”
“我看你千万别拗着性子来。哪个女人也不该这样。”
“这是我的本分哪。我要把苦酒喝干了才罢休。”
半个钟头以后，艾林太太戴好帽子，披上围巾要走了，苏好像感到了莫名的恐惧。
“别——别——别走，艾林太太。”她央告着，眼睛睁得老大，迅速而又紧张地朝她身后望。
“可是到睡觉时候啦，孩子。”
“是到了，不过这儿还有间小屋子空着——是我自个儿的屋子。里头什么都齐全。请你留下来吧，艾林太太！——明天早晨我要你在。”
“哦，呃——你愿意这样，我倒没问题，反正我那个穷家破业老屋子出不了漏子。”
跟着她把门都关紧了，她们一块儿上了楼。
“你就在这儿等等，艾林太太，”苏说，“我一个人上我老屋子里去一下。”
苏让寡妇呆在楼梯平台上，自己转身进了她到马利格林以来一直归她独用的卧室；她把门关好了，就在床边跪倒，大概一两分钟光景；然后站起来，拿起枕头上的睡衣换上，又出去找艾林太太。这时可以听得见对面卧室里一个男人的鼾声。她向艾林太太道了晚安，寡妇就进了她刚让出来的屋子。
苏刚拉起另一间卧室的门搭子，一阵晕，一屁股坐到了门外地上。她又站起来，然后把门开了一半，说了声“里查”；话一出口，显然浑身哆嗦了一下。
鼾声停了一阵子，可是他没答话。苏似乎心放下来了，赶忙回到艾林太太的卧室。“你睡啦，艾林太太？”她问。
“还没呢，亲爱的，”寡妇说，把门开了。“老啦，手脚不灵便啦，光脱衣服就得老半天。我紧身还没解开呢。”
“我——没听见他说话！也许——也许——”
“也许什么，孩子？”
“也许死了吧！”她上气不接下气地说。“那一来——我可就解脱啦，我就能上裘德那儿去啦！……唉——不行啊——我把她给忘啦——把上帝给忘啦！”
“咱们听听去吧。不对——他还打呼噜呢。不过风大、雨大。唿啦唿啦的，两下搀合到一块儿，你就不大听得出来了。”
苏勉勉强强地往后退。“艾林太太，我再道声晚安。又把你叫出来，太对不起啦。”寡妇第二次回到屋里。
苏一个人的时候，脸上又恢复了极为紧张、一拼到底的神情。“我不这样不行——不这样不行！我不喝完这苦酒决不行。”她小声说。“里查！”她又喊了声。
“哎——什么？是你吗，苏珊娜？”
“是我。”
“你要干什么？有事吗？等一下。”他顺手抄起一件衣服穿上，走到门口。“有事吗？”
“从前咱们住在沙氏顿的时候，我不想让你沾我，我宁可跳楼。到这会儿，我还是这么对你，没变过来——我现在来是为了前边的事求你原谅，求你让我进屋里去。”
“你大概是一时间想到该这样办吧？我早说过了，我并不想让你拗着本心上我这儿来。”
“可我这是来求你让我进去。”她稍停了停，又说了一遍。“我这是来求你让我进去！我错到如今了——何况今天又做了错事。我越轨啦。我本来不打算跟你说，但是我还是得说。今天下午，我做了对不起你的事。”
“怎么啦？”
“我见到裘德啦！我原先不知道他要到这儿来。还——”
“呃？”
“我吻了他，还让他吻了我。”
“哦——老戏一出嘛！”
“里查，我怎么也没想到我跟他会接吻，后来可真这样啦！”
“吻了多少回？”
“好多好多回。我也搞不清了。我回头再一想，真是毛骨悚然。事情一过去，我起码得像现在这样上你这儿来。”
“唉——我总算尽力而为，对得起你了，这一来就太不成话啦！还有什么要坦白吗？”
“没啦！”她心里一直想说“我还叫他亲爱的情人来着”。可是她也跟那种悔罪的女人一样，总是留一手，并没把这部分真情道出来。她接着说，“往后我是绝对不再见他了。他提到些从前的事情，我就把持不住了。他提到——孩子。不过，我以前说过了，他们死了，我倒高兴——我意思是简直有点高兴，里查。因为那么一来，我那段生活就给抹掉啦！”
“呃——往后不再见他。哈——你真有这个意思？”费乐生这会儿说话的口气多少流露出不满，因为他感到同她再次结婚以来三个月，他这么宽宏大量，或者说抑情制欲，并没得到好报。
“是这个意思，是这个意思！”
“恐怕你得按着《新约》立誓，行不行？”
“我立誓。”
他回身进了屋子，又拿着一本棕皮小本《新约》出来。“现在立吧：愿上帝助你！”
她立了誓。
“很好！”
“照我从前结婚起的誓，里查，我属于你，我愿敬重你、服从你，现在我恳求你让我进去。”
“你得好好考虑考虑。这样做有什么意义，你不是不知道。我要你回这个家是一码事——可叫你进来又另一码事。所以你还是想想吧。”
“我想过了——我就想这样！”
“这倒是一心讨人喜欢喽——说不定你做对了。有个情人老在旁边打转转，半拉个婚姻成什么话，总得地地道道、圆圆满满才成哪。不过我还是得提醒你，这是第三次，也是最后一次。”
“这是我心甘情愿！……哦，上帝哟！”
“你干吗说“我，上帝哟！’？”
“我不知道！”
“你就是知道！不过……”她穿着睡衣，在他面前蜷缩着，他阴沉地审视她那纤弱的身形。“呃，我也想过，事情大概是这么个结局。”他随即这样说。“在你种种表现之后，我是不欠你什么情了。不过你说了这些话，我还是要信你的，而且原谅你。”
他抱住她，把她举高。苏吓得一缩。
“怎么回事？”他头一回疾颜厉色地说话。“你还是躲我？——跟从前一样？”
“不是，里查——我——我——没想到——”
“你不是自愿上我这儿来吗？”
“是。
“你没忘这样做有什么意义吗？”
“没忘。这是我的本分。”
他把烛台放在五斗橱上，带着她穿过门廊，把她举高了，吻她。她脸上立刻冒出来极为厌恶的表情，但是她咬紧牙关，一声没吭。
艾林太太此刻已脱了衣服，就要上床睡了。她自言自语：“啊——也许我顶好还是看看这小东西怎么样啦。风多大，雨多大哟！”
寡妇出了屋子，走到楼梯平台，一看苏已不在。“唉，可怜的乖乖呀！我看这年头婚礼成了丧礼啦！一到秋天，我跟我那口子结婚就五十五年啦！打那时候，世道人心可大变啦！”
Part 6 Chapter 10
DESPITE himself Jude recovered somewhat, and worked at his trade for several weeks. After Christmas, however, he broke down again.
With the money he had earned he shifted his lodgings to a yet more central part of the town. But Arabella saw that he was not likely to do much work for a long while, and was cross enough at the turn affairs had taken since her remarriage to him. "I'm hanged if you haven't been clever in this last stroke!" she would say, "to get a nurse for nothing by marrying me!"
Jude was absolutely indifferent to what she said, and indeed, often regarded her abuse in a humorous light. Sometimes his mood was more earnest, and as he lay he often rambled on upon the defeat of his early aims.
"Every man has some little power in some one direction," he would say. "I was never really stout enough for the stone trade, particularly the fixing. Moving the blocks always used to strain me, and standing the trying draughts in buildings before the windows are in always gave me colds, and I think that began the mischief inside. But I felt I could do one thing if I had the opportunity. I could accumulate ideas, and impart them to others. I wonder if the founders had such as I in their minds--a fellow good for nothing else but that particular thing? ... I hear that soon there is going to be a better chance for such helpless students as I was. There are schemes afoot for making the university less exclusive, and extending its influence. I don't know much about it. And it is too late, too late for me! Ah--and for how many worthier ones before me!"
"How you keep a-mumbling!" said Arabella. "I should have thought you'd have got over all that craze about books by this time. And so you would, if you'd had any sense to begin with. You are as bad now as when we were first married."
On one occasion while soliloquizing thus he called her "Sue" unconsciously.
"I wish you'd mind who you are talking to!" said Arabella indignantly. "Calling a respectable married woman by the name of that--" She remembered herself and he did not catch the word.
But in the course of time, when she saw how things were going, and how very little she had to fear from Sue's rivalry, she had a fit of generosity. "I suppose you want to see your--Sue?" she said. "Well, I don't mind her coming. You can have her here if you like."
"I don't wish to see her again."
"Oh--that's a change!"
"And don't tell her anything about me--that I'm ill, or anything. She has chosen her course. Let her go!"
One day he received a surprise. Mrs. Edlin came to see him, quite on her own account. Jude's wife, whose feelings as to where his affections were centred had reached absolute indifference by this time, went out, leaving the old woman alone with Jude. He impulsively asked how Sue was, and then said bluntly, remembering what Sue had told him: "I suppose they are still only husband and wife in name?"
Mrs. Edlin hesitated. "Well, no--it's different now. She's begun it quite lately--all of her own free will."
"When did she begin?" he asked quickly.
"The night after you came. But as a punishment to her poor self. He didn't wish it, but she insisted."
"Sue, my Sue--you darling fool--this is almost more than I can endure! ... Mrs. Edlin--don't be frightened at my rambling-- I've got to talk to myself lying here so many hours alone-- she was once a woman whose intellect was to mine like a star to a benzoline lamp: who saw all MY superstitions as cobwebs that she could brush away with a word. Then bitter affliction came to us, and her intellect broke, and she veered round to darkness. Strange difference of sex, that time and circumstance, which enlarge the views of most men, narrow the views of women almost invariably. And now the ultimate horror has come--her giving herself like this to what she loathes, in her enslavement to forms! She, so sensitive, so shrinking, that the very wind seemed to blow on her with a touch of deference.... As for Sue and me when we were at our own best, long ago--when our minds were clear, and our love of truth fearless--the time was not ripe for us! Our ideas were fifty years too soon to be any good to us. And so the resistance they met with brought reaction in her, and recklessness and ruin on me! ... There--this, Mrs. Edlin, is how I go on to myself continually, as I lie here. I must be boring you awfully."
"Not at all, my dear boy. I could hearken to 'ee all day."
As Jude reflected more and more on her news, and grew more restless, he began in his mental agony to use terribly profane language about social conventions, which started a fit of coughing. Presently there came a knock at the door downstairs. As nobody answered it Mrs. Edlin herself went down.
The visitor said blandly: "The doctor." The lanky form was that of Physician Vilbert, who had been called in by Arabella.
"How is my patient at present?" asked the physician.
"Oh bad--very bad! Poor chap, he got excited, and do blaspeam terribly, since I let out some gossip by accident--the more to my blame. But there-- you must excuse a man in suffering for what he says, and I hope God will forgive him."
"Ah. I'll go up and see him. Mrs. Fawley at home?"
"She's not in at present, but she'll be here soon."
Vilbert went; but though Jude had hitherto taken the medicines of that skilful practitioner with the greatest indifference whenever poured down his throat by Arabella, he was now so brought to bay by events that he vented his opinion of Vilbert in the physician's face, and so forcibly, and with such striking epithets, that Vilbert soon scurried downstairs again. At the door he met Arabella, Mrs. Edlin having left. Arabella inquired how he thought her husband was now, and seeing that the doctor looked ruffled, asked him to take something. He assented.
"I'll bring it to you here in the passage," she said. "There's nobody but me about the house to-day."
She brought him a bottle and a glass, and he drank.
Arabella began shaking with suppressed laughter. "What is this, my dear?" he asked, smacking his lips.
"Oh--a drop of wine--and something in it." Laughing again she said: "I poured your own love-philtre into it, that you sold me at the agricultural show, don't you re-member?"
"I do, I do! Clever woman! But you must be prepared for the consequences." Putting his arm round her shoulders he kissed her there and then.
"Don't don't," she whispered, laughing good-humouredly. "My man will hear."
She let him out of the house, and as she went back she said to herself: "Well! Weak women must provide for a rainy day. And if my poor fellow upstairs do go off--as I suppose he will soon-- it's well to keep chances open. And I can't pick and choose now as I could when I was younger. And one must take the old if one can't get the young."

尽管裘德不想活下去，但是他身体却有几分起色，还干了几个礼拜老本行的活。不想圣诞节一过，他又病情恶化，卧床不起。
他用干活赚的钱，搬到离城中心更近的地方。但是阿拉贝拉已经心中有数，他不大可能再干多少活，就算干，也长不了。她因为跟他第二次结婚之后事事不遂心，就没碴找碴，拿他出气。“你最后玩的这一手，要是不算精，那我才该死呢！”她常常说。“你凭娶了我，一个子儿不花，就弄到个护士啦！”
随她怎么说，裘德一概充耳不闻，时常拿她的诡淬开心解闷。有时他的态度郑重点，就躺在床上，絮絮叨叨谈自己如何少年立志，一事无成，话里不胜牢骚。
“不论谁，总是某个方面有点小聪明。”他常常说。“要说我干石作这行，实在压根儿没那个笨力气，特别遇到安装的时候不行。搬呀抬呀，大块石头，老是累得要命；窗子没装好，我人就站在飕飕的风口上，老是着凉，我想我这病就是那么作下的。可是，要是有机会，有件事我能干得很好。在思想方面，我能积少成多，有独到地方，还能把思想传布给别人。我不知道那些创建学院的人想没想到世上还有我这号人——这家伙别的不行，可另有专长哪！我听说，不用多久，我这样得不到帮助的学生就有好点的机会了。说是有些方案订出来了，以后大学就不那么保守封闭了，要把它的影响扩大了。究竟如何，我还不得而知。再说，就算这样，拿我说，也太晚、太晚啦！啊——在我前头还有那么多比我更有价值的人哪，对他们来说不是更晚了吗！”
“你干吗老这么碎嘴子！”阿拉贝拉说。“到了这地步，我还当你的书迷全吹了呢。你要是一上来就懂得人情世故，你早就不这样了。我看你这会儿没出息的样儿，跟咱们头回结婚那会儿没两样。”
有一回，他这样念念有辞的时候，无意中管她叫“苏”。
“你难道不明白你这是跟谁说话！”阿拉贝拉愤愤不平地说。“把明媒正娶的夫人，居然叫出来那个——”她�