Jude the Obscure Thomas Hardy (read after .txt) đ
- Author: Thomas Hardy
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âWellâ âWardour Castle. And then we can do Fonthill if we likeâ âall in the same afternoon.â
âWardour is Gothic ruinsâ âand I hate Gothic!â
âNo. Quite otherwise. It is a classic buildingâ âCorinthian, I think; with a lot of pictures.â
âAhâ âthat will do. I like the sound of Corinthian. Weâll go.â
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 Sueâs 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 portersâ âBâyour leave!â the screaming of the trainsâ âeverything 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.
âThatâs a good intention wasted!â 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 oneâs 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 dayâs 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 halfway on their journey they crossed a main road running due east and westâ âthe old road from London to Landâs 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 motherâs 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.
âA nice little cottage,â said Jude.
âO, I donât know about the niceness. I shall have to thatch it soon, and where the thatch is to come from I canât tell, for straw do get that dear, that âtwill soon be cheaper to cover your house wiâ chainey plates than thatch.â
They sat resting, and the shepherd came in. âDonât âee mind I,â he said with a deprecating wave of the hand; âbide here as long as ye will. But mid you be thinking oâ getting back to Melchester tonight by train? Because youâll never do it in this world, since you donât know the lie of the country. I donât mind going with ye some oâ the ways, but even then the train mid be gone.â
They started up.
âYou can bide here, you know, over the nightâ âcanât âem, mother? The place is welcome to ye. âTis hard lying, rather, but volk may do worse.â He turned to Jude and asked privately: âBe you a married couple?â
âHshâ âno!â said Jude.
âOâ âI meant nothing baâdyâ ânot I! Well then, she can go into motherâs room, and you and I can lie in the outer chimmer after theyâve gone through. I can call ye soon enough to catch the first train back. Youâve lost this one now.â
On consideration they decided to close with this offer, and drew up and shared with the shepherd and his mother the boiled bacon and greens for supper.
âI rather like this,â said Sue, while their entertainers were clearing away the dishes. âOutside all laws except gravitation and germination.â
âYou only think you like it; you donât: you are quite a product of civilization,â said Jude, a recollection of her engagement reviving his soreness a little.
âIndeed I am not, Jude. I like reading and all that, but I crave to get back to the life of my infancy and its freedom.â
âDo you remember it so well? You seem to me to have nothing unconventional at all about you.â
âO,
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