Jude the Obscure

Chapter 7

Before reading the letter he was led to suspect that its contents

were of a somewhat serious kind by catching sight of the

signature--which was in her full name, never used in her

correspondence with him since her first note:

MY DEAR JUDE,--I have something to tell you which perhaps

you will not be surprised to hear, though certainly it may

strike you as being accelerated (as the railway companies

say of their trains). Mr. Phillotson and I are to be married

quite soon--in three or four weeks. We had intended, as you

know, to wait till I had gone through my course of training

and obtained my certificate, so as to assist him, if

necessary, in the teaching. But he generously says he does

not see any object in waiting, now I am not at the training

school. It is so good of him, because the awkwardness of my

situation has really come about by my fault in getting

expelled.

Wish me joy. Remember I say you are to, and you mustn't

refuse!--Your affectionate cousin,

SUSANNA FLORENCE MARY BRIDEHEAD.

Jude staggered under the news; could eat no breakfast; and kept on

drinking tea because his mouth was so dry. Then presently he went

back to his work and laughed the usual bitter laugh of a man so

confronted. Everything seemed turning to satire. And yet, what

could the poor girl do? he asked himself: and felt worse than

shedding tears.

"O Susanna Florence Mary!" he said as he worked. "You don't know

what marriage means!"

Could it be possible that his announcement of his own marriage had

pricked her on to this, just as his visit to her when in liquor may

have pricked her on to her engagement? To be sure, there seemed to

exist these other and sufficient reasons, practical and social, for

her decision; but Sue was not a very practical or calculating person;

and he was compelled to think that a pique at having his secret

sprung upon her had moved her to give way to Phillotson's probable

representations, that the best course to prove how unfounded were the

suspicions of the school authorities would be to marry him off-hand,

as in fulfilment of an ordinary engagement. Sue had, in fact, been

placed in an awkward corner. Poor Sue!

He determined to play the Spartan; to make the best of it, and

support her; but he could not write the requested good wishes for a

day or two. Meanwhile there came another note from his impatient

little dear:

Jude, will you give me away? I have nobody else who could

do it so conveniently as you, being the only married relation

I have here on the spot, even if my father were friendly

enough to be willing, which he isn't. I hope you won't think

it a trouble? I have been looking at the marriage service in

the prayer-book, and it seems to me very humiliating that a

giver-away should be required at all. According to the

ceremony as there printed, my bridegroom chooses me of his

own will and pleasure; but I don't choose him. Somebody

GIVES me to him, like a she-ass or she-goat, or any other

domestic animal. Bless your exalted views of woman, O

churchman! But I forget: I am no longer privileged to tease

you.--Ever,

SUSANNA FLORENCE MARY BRIDEHEAD.

Jude screwed himself up to heroic key; and replied:

MY DEAR SUE,--Of course I wish you joy! And also of course

I will give you away. What I suggest is that, as you have

no house of your own, you do not marry from your school

friend's, but from mine. It would be more proper, I think,

since I am, as you say, the person nearest related to you in

this part of the world.

I don't see why you sign your letter in such a new and

terribly formal way? Surely you care a bit about me

still!--Ever your affectionate,

JUDE.

What had jarred on him even more than the signature was a little

sting he had been silent on--the phrase "married relation"--What an

idiot it made him seem as her lover! If Sue had written that in

satire, he could hardly forgive her; if in suffering--ah, that was

another thing!

His offer of his lodging must have commended itself to Phillotson

at any rate, for the schoolmaster sent him a line of warm thanks,

accepting the convenience. Sue also thanked him. Jude immediately

moved into more commodious quarters, as much to escape the espionage

of the suspicious landlady who had been one cause of Sue's unpleasant

experience as for the sake of room.

Then Sue wrote to tell him the day fixed for the wedding; and Jude

decided, after inquiry, that she should come into residence on the

following Saturday, which would allow of a ten days' stay in the city

prior to the ceremony, sufficiently representing a nominal residence

of fifteen.

She arrived by the ten o'clock train on the day aforesaid, Jude not

going to meet her at the station, by her special request, that he

should not lose a morning's work and pay, she said (if this were

her true reason). But so well by this time did he know Sue that the

remembrance of their mutual sensitiveness at emotional crises might,

he thought, have weighed with her in this. When he came home to

dinner she had taken possession of her apartment.

She lived in the same house with him, but on a different floor, and

they saw each other little, an occasional supper being the only meal

they took together, when Sue's manner was something like that of a

scared child. What she felt he did not know; their conversation was

mechanical, though she did not look pale or ill. Phillotson came

frequently, but mostly when Jude was absent. On the morning of the

wedding, when Jude had given himself a holiday, Sue and her cousin

had breakfast together for the first and last time during this

curious interval; in his room--the parlour--which he had hired for

the period of Sue's residence. Seeing, as women do, how helpless he

was in making the place comfortable, she bustled about.

"What's the matter, Jude?" she said suddenly.

He was leaning with his elbows on the table and his chin on his

hands, looking into a futurity which seemed to be sketched out on the

tablecloth.

"Oh--nothing!"

"You are 'father', you know. That's what they call the man who gives

you away."

Jude could have said "Phillotson's age entitles him to be called

that!" But he would not annoy her by such a cheap retort.

She talked incessantly, as if she dreaded his indulgence in

reflection, and before the meal was over both he and she wished they

had not put such confidence in their new view of things, and had

taken breakfast apart. What oppressed Jude was the thought that,

having done a wrong thing of this sort himself, he was aiding and

abetting the woman he loved in doing a like wrong thing, instead of

imploring and warning her against it. It was on his tongue to say,

"You have quite made up your mind?"

After breakfast they went out on an errand together moved by a mutual

thought that it was the last opportunity they would have of indulging

in unceremonious companionship. By the irony of fate, and the

curious trick in Sue's nature of tempting Providence at critical

times, she took his arm as they walked through the muddy street--a

thing she had never done before in her life--and on turning the

corner they found themselves close to a grey perpendicular church

with a low-pitched roof--the church of St. Thomas.

"That's the church," said Jude.

"Where I am going to be married?"

"Yes."

"Indeed!" she exclaimed with curiosity. "How I should like to go in

and see what the spot is like where I am so soon to kneel and do it."

Again he said to himself, "She does not realize what marriage means!"

He passively acquiesced in her wish to go in, and they entered by

the western door. The only person inside the gloomy building was

a charwoman cleaning. Sue still held Jude's arm, almost as if she

loved him. Cruelly sweet, indeed, she had been to him that morning;

but his thoughts of a penance in store for her were tempered by an

ache:

... I can find no way

How a blow should fall, such as falls on men,

Nor prove too much for your womanhood!

They strolled undemonstratively up the nave towards the altar

railing, which they stood against in silence, turning then and

walking down the nave again, her hand still on his arm, precisely

like a couple just married. The too suggestive incident, entirely

of her making, nearly broke down Jude.

"I like to do things like this," she said in the delicate voice of an

epicure in emotions, which left no doubt that she spoke the truth.

"I know you do!" said Jude.

"They are interesting, because they have probably never been done

before. I shall walk down the church like this with my husband in

about two hours, shan't I!"

"No doubt you will!"

"Was it like this when you were married?"

"Good God, Sue--don't be so awfully merciless! ... There, dear one,

I didn't mean it!"

"Ah--you are vexed!" she said regretfully, as she blinked away an

access of eye moisture. "And I promised never to vex you! ... I

suppose I ought not to have asked you to bring me in here. Oh, I

oughtn't! I see it now. My curiosity to hunt up a new sensation

always leads me into these scrapes. Forgive me! ... You will, won't

you, Jude?"

The appeal was so remorseful that Jude's eyes were even wetter than

hers as he pressed her hand for Yes.

"Now we'll hurry away, and I won't do it any more!" she continued

humbly; and they came out of the building, Sue intending to go

on to the station to meet Phillotson. But the first person they

encountered on entering the main street was the schoolmaster himself,

whose train had arrived sooner than Sue expected. There was nothing

really to demur to in her leaning on Jude's arm; but she withdrew her

hand, and Jude thought that Phillotson had looked surprised.

"We have been doing such a funny thing!" said she, smiling candidly.

"We've been to the church, rehearsing as it were. Haven't we, Jude?"

"How?" said Phillotson curiously.

Jude inwardly deplored what he thought to be unnecessary frankness;

but she had gone too far not to explain all, which she accordingly

did, telling him how they had marched up to the altar.

Seeing how puzzled Phillotson seemed, Jude said as cheerfully as he

could, "I am going to buy her another little present. Will you both

come to the shop with me?"

"No," said Sue, "I'll go on to the house with him"; and requesting

her lover not to be a long time she departed with the schoolmaster.

Jude soon joined them at his rooms, and shortly after they prepared

for the ceremony. Phillotson's hair was brushed to a painful

extent, and his shirt collar appeared stiffer than it had been for

the previous twenty years. Beyond this he looked dignified and

thoughtful, and altogether a man of whom it was not unsafe to predict

that he would make a kind and considerate husband. That he adored

Sue was obvious; and she could almost be seen to feel that she was

undeserving his adoration.

Although the distance was so short he had hired a fly from the Red

Lion, and six or seven women and children had gathered by the door

when they came out. The schoolmaster and Sue were unknown, though

Jude was getting to be recognized as a citizen; and the couple were

judged to be some relations of his from a distance, nobody supposing

Sue to have been a recent pupil at the training school.

In the carriage Jude took from his pocket his extra little

wedding-present, which turned out to be two or three yards of white

tulle, which he threw over her bonnet and all, as a veil.

"It looks so odd over a bonnet," she said. "I'll take the bonnet

off."

"Oh no--let it stay," said Phillotson. And she obeyed.

When they had passed up the church and were standing in their places

Jude found that the antecedent visit had certainly taken off the edge

of this performance, but by the time they were half-way on with the

service he wished from his heart that he had not undertaken the

business of giving her away. How could Sue have had the temerity to

ask him to do it--a cruelty possibly to herself as well as to him?

Women were different from men in such matters. Was it that they

were, instead of more sensitive, as reputed, more callous, and less

romantic; or were they more heroic? Or was Sue simply so perverse

that she wilfully gave herself and him pain for the odd and mournful

luxury of practising long-suffering in her own person, and of being

touched with tender pity for him at having made him practise it? He

could perceive that her face was nervously set, and when they reached

the trying ordeal of Jude giving her to Phillotson she could hardly

command herself; rather, however, as it seemed, from her knowledge of

what her cousin must feel, whom she need not have had there at all,

than from self-consideration. Possibly she would go on inflicting

such pains again and again, and grieving for the sufferer again and

again, in all her colossal inconsistency.

Phillotson seemed not to notice, to be surrounded by a mist which

prevented his seeing the emotions of others. As soon as they had

signed their names and come away, and the suspense was over, Jude

felt relieved.

The meal at his lodging was a very simple affair, and at two o'clock

they went off. In crossing the pavement to the fly she looked back;

and there was a frightened light in her eyes. Could it be that Sue

had acted with such unusual foolishness as to plunge into she knew

not what for the sake of asserting her independence of him, of

retaliating on him for his secrecy? Perhaps Sue was thus venturesome

with men because she was childishly ignorant of that side of their

natures which wore out women's hearts and lives.

When her foot was on the carriage-step she turned round, saying that

she had forgotten something. Jude and the landlady offered to get

it.

"No," she said, running back. "It is my handkerchief. I know where

I left it."

Jude followed her back. She had found it, and came holding it in her

hand. She looked into his eyes with her own tearful ones, and her

lips suddenly parted as if she were going to avow something. But she

went on; and whatever she had meant to say remained unspoken.