Jude the Obscure

Chapter 5

In the course of a month or two after the receipt of the books

Jude had grown callous to the shabby trick played him by the dead

languages. In fact, his disappointment at the nature of those

tongues had, after a while, been the means of still further

glorifying the erudition of Christminster. To acquire languages,

departed or living in spite of such obstinacies as he now knew them

inherently to possess, was a herculean performance which gradually

led him on to a greater interest in it than in the presupposed patent

process. The mountain-weight of material under which the ideas lay

in those dusty volumes called the classics piqued him into a dogged,

mouselike subtlety of attempt to move it piecemeal.

He had endeavoured to make his presence tolerable to his crusty

maiden aunt by assisting her to the best of his ability, and the

business of the little cottage bakery had grown in consequence. An

aged horse with a hanging head had been purchased for eight pounds at

a sale, a creaking cart with a whity-brown tilt obtained for a few

pounds more, and in this turn-out it became Jude's business thrice a

week to carry loaves of bread to the villagers and solitary cotters

immediately round Marygreen.

The singularity aforesaid lay, after all, less in the conveyance

itself than in Jude's manner of conducting it along its route.

Its interior was the scene of most of Jude's education by "private

study." As soon as the horse had learnt the road and the houses

at which he was to pause awhile, the boy, seated in front, would

slip the reins over his arm, ingeniously fix open, by means of a

strap attached to the tilt, the volume he was reading, spread the

dictionary on his knees, and plunge into the simpler passages from

Caesar, Virgil, or Horace, as the case might be, in his purblind

stumbling way, and with an expenditure of labour that would have made

a tender-hearted pedagogue shed tears; yet somehow getting at the

meaning of what he read, and divining rather than beholding the

spirit of the original, which often to his mind was something else

than that which he was taught to look for.

The only copies he had been able to lay hands on were old Delphin

editions, because they were superseded, and therefore cheap. But,

bad for idle schoolboys, it did so happen that they were passably

good for him. The hampered and lonely itinerant conscientiously

covered up the marginal readings, and used them merely on points of

construction, as he would have used a comrade or tutor who should

have happened to be passing by. And though Jude may have had little

chance of becoming a scholar by these rough and ready means, he was

in the way of getting into the groove he wished to follow.

While he was busied with these ancient pages, which had already been

thumbed by hands possibly in the grave, digging out the thoughts

of these minds so remote yet so near, the bony old horse pursued

his rounds, and Jude would be aroused from the woes of Dido by the

stoppage of his cart and the voice of some old woman crying, "Two

to-day, baker, and I return this stale one."

He was frequently met in the lanes by pedestrians and others without

his seeing them, and by degrees the people of the neighbourhood

began to talk about his method of combining work and play (such they

considered his reading to be), which, though probably convenient

enough to himself, was not altogether a safe proceeding for other

travellers along the same roads. There were murmurs. Then a private

resident of an adjoining place informed the local policeman that the

baker's boy should not be allowed to read while driving, and insisted

that it was the constable's duty to catch him in the act, and

take him to the police court at Alfredston, and get him fined for

dangerous practices on the highway. The policeman thereupon lay in

wait for Jude, and one day accosted him and cautioned him.

As Jude had to get up at three o'clock in the morning to heat the

oven, and mix and set in the bread that he distributed later in the

day, he was obliged to go to bed at night immediately after laying

the sponge; so that if he could not read his classics on the highways

he could hardly study at all. The only thing to be done was,

therefore, to keep a sharp eye ahead and around him as well as he

could in the circumstances, and slip away his books as soon as

anybody loomed in the distance, the policeman in particular. To do

that official justice, he did not put himself much in the way of

Jude's bread-cart, considering that in such a lonely district the

chief danger was to Jude himself, and often on seeing the white tilt

over the hedges he would move in another direction.

On a day when Fawley was getting quite advanced, being now about

sixteen, and had been stumbling through the "Carmen S culare," on

his way home, he found himself to be passing over the high edge of

the plateau by the Brown House. The light had changed, and it was

the sense of this which had caused him to look up. The sun was going

down, and the full moon was rising simultaneously behind the woods in

the opposite quarter. His mind had become so impregnated with the

poem that, in a moment of the same impulsive emotion which years

before had caused him to kneel on the ladder, he stopped the horse,

alighted, and glancing round to see that nobody was in sight, knelt

down on the roadside bank with open book. He turned first to the

shiny goddess, who seemed to look so softly and critically at his

doings, then to the disappearing luminary on the other hand, as he

began:

"Phoebe silvarumque potens Diana!"

The horse stood still till he had finished the hymn, which Jude

repeated under the sway of a polytheistic fancy that he would never

have thought of humouring in broad daylight.

Reaching home, he mused over his curious superstition, innate or

acquired, in doing this, and the strange forgetfulness which had led

to such a lapse from common sense and custom in one who wished, next

to being a scholar, to be a Christian divine. It had all come of

reading heathen works exclusively. The more he thought of it the

more convinced he was of his inconsistency. He began to wonder

whether he could be reading quite the right books for his object

in life. Certainly there seemed little harmony between this pagan

literature and the medi val colleges at Christminster, that

ecclesiastical romance in stone.

Ultimately he decided that in his sheer love of reading he had taken

up a wrong emotion for a Christian young man. He had dabbled in

Clarke's Homer, but had never yet worked much at the New Testament

in the Greek, though he possessed a copy, obtained by post from a

second-hand bookseller. He abandoned the now familiar Ionic for a

new dialect, and for a long time onward limited his reading almost

entirely to the Gospels and Epistles in Griesbach's text. Moreover,

on going into Alfredston one day, he was introduced to patristic

literature by finding at the bookseller's some volumes of the

Fathers which had been left behind by an insolvent clergyman of the

neighbourhood.

As another outcome of this change of groove he visited on Sundays all

the churches within a walk, and deciphered the Latin inscriptions on

fifteenth-century brasses and tombs. On one of these pilgrimages he

met with a hunch-backed old woman of great intelligence, who read

everything she could lay her hands on, and she told him more yet

of the romantic charms of the city of light and lore. Thither he

resolved as firmly as ever to go.

But how live in that city? At present he had no income at all. He

had no trade or calling of any dignity or stability whatever on which

he could subsist while carrying out an intellectual labour which

might spread over many years.

What was most required by citizens? Food, clothing, and shelter.

An income from any work in preparing the first would be too meagre;

for making the second he felt a distaste; the preparation of the

third requisite he inclined to. They built in a city; therefore he

would learn to build. He thought of his unknown uncle, his cousin

Susanna's father, an ecclesiastical worker in metal, and somehow

medi val art in any material was a trade for which he had rather a

fancy. He could not go far wrong in following his uncle's footsteps,

and engaging himself awhile with the carcases that contained the

scholar souls.

As a preliminary he obtained some small blocks of freestone, metal

not being available, and suspending his studies awhile, occupied his

spare half-hours in copying the heads and capitals in his parish

church.

There was a stone-mason of a humble kind in Alfredston, and as

soon as he had found a substitute for himself in his aunt's little

business, he offered his services to this man for a trifling wage.

Here Jude had the opportunity of learning at least the rudiments of

freestone-working. Some time later he went to a church-builder in

the same place, and under the architect's direction became handy at

restoring the dilapidated masonries of several village churches round

about.

Not forgetting that he was only following up this handicraft as

a prop to lean on while he prepared those greater engines which

he flattered himself would be better fitted for him, he yet was

interested in his pursuit on its own account. He now had lodgings

during the week in the little town, whence he returned to Marygreen

village every Saturday evening. And thus he reached and passed his

nineteenth year.