Jude the Obscure

XI

The last pages to which the chronicler of these lives would ask thereader's attention are concerned with the scene in and out of Jude'sbedroom when leafy summer came round again.

His face was now so thin that his old friends would hardly have knownhim. It was afternoon, and Arabella was at the looking-glass curlingher hair, which operation she performed by heating an umbrella-stayin the flame of a candle she had lighted, and using it upon theflowing lock. When she had finished this, practised a dimple, andput on her things, she cast her eyes round upon Jude. He seemed tobe sleeping, though his position was an elevated one, his maladypreventing him lying down.

Arabella, hatted, gloved, and ready, sat down and waited, as ifexpecting some one to come and take her place as nurse.

Certain sounds from without revealed that the town was in festivity,though little of the festival, whatever it might have been, could beseen here. Bells began to ring, and the notes came into the roomthrough the open window, and travelled round Jude's head in a hum.They made her restless, and at last she said to herself: ”Why everdoesn't Father come?”

She looked again at Jude, critically gauged his ebbing life, as shehad done so many times during the late months, and glancing at hiswatch, which was hung up by way of timepiece, rose impatiently.Still he slept, and coming to a resolution she slipped from the room,closed the door noiselessly, and descended the stairs. The housewas empty. The attraction which moved Arabella to go abroad hadevidently drawn away the other inmates long before.

It was a warm, cloudless, enticing day. She shut the front door, andhastened round into Chief Street, and when near the theatre couldhear the notes of the organ, a rehearsal for a coming concert beingin progress. She entered under the archway of Oldgate College, wheremen were putting up awnings round the quadrangle for a ball in thehall that evening. People who had come up from the country for theday were picnicking on the grass, and Arabella walked along thegravel paths and under the aged limes. But finding this place ratherdull she returned to the streets, and watched the carriages drawingup for the concert, numerous Dons and their wives, and undergraduateswith gay female companions, crowding up likewise. When the doorswere closed, and the concert began, she moved on.

The powerful notes of that concert rolled forth through the swingingyellow blinds of the open windows, over the housetops, and into thestill air of the lanes. They reached so far as to the room in whichJude lay; and it was about this time that his cough began again andawakened him.

As soon as he could speak he murmured, his eyes still closed: ”Alittle water, please.”

Nothing but the deserted room received his appeal, and he coughedto exhaustion again--saying still more feebly: ”Water--somewater--Sue--Arabella!”

The room remained still as before. Presently he gasped again:”Throat--water--Sue--darling--drop of water--please--oh please!”

No water came, and the organ notes, faint as a bee's hum, rolled inas before.

While he remained, his face changing, shouts and hurrahs came fromsomewhere in the direction of the river.

”Ah--yes! The Remembrance games,” he murmured. ”And I here. AndSue defiled!”

The hurrahs were repeated, drowning the faint organ notes. Jude'sface changed more: he whispered slowly, his parched lips scarcelymoving:

_”Let the day perish wherein I was born, and the night in which itwas said, There is a man-child conceived.”_

(”Hurrah!”)

_”Let that day be darkness; let not God regard it from above, neitherlet the light shine upon it. Lo, let that night be solitary, let nojoyful voice come therein.”_

(”Hurrah!”)

_”Why died I not from the womb? Why did I not give up the ghost whenI came out of the belly? ... For now should I have lain still andbeen quiet. I should have slept: then had I been at rest!”_

(”Hurrah!”)

_”There the prisoners rest together; they hear not the voice of theoppressor... The small and the great are there; and the servant isfree from his master. Wherefore is light given to him that is inmisery, and life unto the bitter in soul?”_



Meanwhile Arabella, in her journey to discover what was going on,took a short cut down a narrow street and through an obscure nookinto the quad of Cardinal. It was full of bustle, and brilliantin the sunlight with flowers and other preparations for a ballhere also. A carpenter nodded to her, one who had formerly been afellow-workman of Jude's. A corridor was in course of erection fromthe entrance to the hall staircase, of gay red and buff bunting.Waggon-loads of boxes containing bright plants in full bloom werebeing placed about, and the great staircase was covered with redcloth. She nodded to one workman and another, and ascended to thehall on the strength of their acquaintance, where they were puttingdown a new floor and decorating for the dance.

The cathedral bell close at hand was sounding for five o'clockservice.

”I should not mind having a spin there with a fellow's arm round mywaist,” she said to one of the men. ”But Lord, I must be gettinghome again--there's a lot to do. No dancing for me!”

When she reached home she was met at the door by Stagg, and one ortwo other of Jude's fellow stoneworkers. ”We are just going downto the river,” said the former, ”to see the boat-bumping. But we'vecalled round on our way to ask how your husband is.”

”He's sleeping nicely, thank you,” said Arabella.

”That's right. Well now, can't you give yourself half an hour'srelaxation, Mrs. Fawley, and come along with us? 'Twould do yougood.”

”I should like to go,” said she. ”I've never seen the boat-racing,and I hear it is good fun.”

”Come along!”

”How I WISH I could!” She looked longingly down the street. ”Waita minute, then. I'll just run up and see how he is now. Father iswith him, I believe; so I can most likely come.”

They waited, and she entered. Downstairs the inmates were absentas before, having, in fact, gone in a body to the river where theprocession of boats was to pass. When she reached the bedroom shefound that her father had not even now come.

”Why couldn't he have been here!” she said impatiently. ”He wants tosee the boats himself--that's what it is!”

However, on looking round to the bed she brightened, for she sawthat Jude was apparently sleeping, though he was not in the usualhalf-elevated posture necessitated by his cough. He had slippeddown, and lay flat. A second glance caused her to start, and shewent to the bed. His face was quite white, and gradually becomingrigid. She touched his fingers; they were cold, though his body wasstill warm. She listened at his chest. All was still within. Thebumping of near thirty years had ceased.

After her first appalled sense of what had happened, the faint notesof a military or other brass band from the river reached her ears;and in a provoked tone she exclaimed, ”To think he should die justnow! Why did he die just now!” Then meditating another moment ortwo she went to the door, softly closed it as before, and againdescended the stairs.

”Here she is!” said one of the workmen. ”We wondered if you werecoming after all. Come along; we must be quick to get a goodplace... Well, how is he? Sleeping well still? Of course, we don'twant to drag 'ee away if--”

”Oh yes--sleeping quite sound. He won't wake yet,” she saidhurriedly.

They went with the crowd down Cardinal Street, where they presentlyreached the bridge, and the gay barges burst upon their view. Thencethey passed by a narrow slit down to the riverside path--now dusty,hot, and thronged. Almost as soon as they had arrived the grandprocession of boats began; the oars smacking with a loud kiss on theface of the stream, as they were lowered from the perpendicular.

”Oh, I say--how jolly! I'm glad I've come,” said Arabella. ”And--itcan't hurt my husband--my being away.”

On the opposite side of the river, on the crowded barges, weregorgeous nosegays of feminine beauty, fashionably arrayed in green,pink, blue, and white. The blue flag of the boat club denoted thecentre of interest, beneath which a band in red uniform gave out thenotes she had already heard in the death-chamber. Collegians of allsorts, in canoes with ladies, watching keenly for ”our” boat, dartedup and down. While she regarded the lively scene somebody touchedArabella in the ribs, and looking round she saw Vilbert.

”That philtre is operating, you know!” he said with a leer. ”Shameon 'ee to wreck a heart so!”

”I shan't talk of love to-day.”

”Why not? It is a general holiday.”

She did not reply. Vilbert's arm stole round her waist, which actcould be performed unobserved in the crowd. An arch expressionoverspread Arabella's face at the feel of the arm, but she kept hereyes on the river as if she did not know of the embrace.

The crowd surged, pushing Arabella and her friends sometimes nearlyinto the river, and she would have laughed heartily at the horse-playthat succeeded, if the imprint on her mind's eye of a pale,statuesque countenance she had lately gazed upon had not sobered hera little.

The fun on the water reached the acme of excitement; there wereimmersions, there were shouts: the race was lost and won, the pinkand blue and yellow ladies retired from the barges, and the peoplewho had watched began to move.

”Well--it's been awfully good,” cried Arabella. ”But I think I mustget back to my poor man. Father is there, so far as I know; but Ihad better get back.”

”What's your hurry?”

”Well, I must go... Dear, dear, this is awkward!”

At the narrow gangway where the people ascended from the riversidepath to the bridge the crowd was literally jammed into one hotmass--Arabella and Vilbert with the rest; and here they remainedmotionless, Arabella exclaiming, ”Dear, dear!” more and moreimpatiently; for it had just occurred to her mind that if Jude werediscovered to have died alone an inquest might be deemed necessary.

”What a fidget you are, my love,” said the physician, who, beingpressed close against her by the throng, had no need of personaleffort for contact. ”Just as well have patience: there's no gettingaway yet!”

It was nearly ten minutes before the wedged multitude movedsufficiently to let them pass through. As soon as she got upinto the street Arabella hastened on, forbidding the physician toaccompany her further that day. She did not go straight to herhouse; but to the abode of a woman who performed the last necessaryoffices for the poorer dead; where she knocked.

”My husband has just gone, poor soul,” she said. ”Can you come andlay him out?”

Arabella waited a few minutes; and the two women went along, elbowingtheir way through the stream of fashionable people pouring out ofCardinal meadow, and being nearly knocked down by the carriages.

”I must call at the sexton's about the bell, too,” said Arabella.”It is just round here, isn't it? I'll meet you at my door.”

By ten o'clock that night Jude was lying on the bedstead at hislodging covered with a sheet, and straight as an arrow. Through thepartly opened window the joyous throb of a waltz entered from theball-room at Cardinal.

Two days later, when the sky was equally cloudless, and the airequally still, two persons stood beside Jude's open coffin in thesame little bedroom. On one side was Arabella, on the other theWidow Edlin. They were both looking at Jude's face, the worn oldeyelids of Mrs. Edlin being red.

”How beautiful he is!” said she.

”Yes. He's a 'andsome corpse,” said Arabella.

The window was still open to ventilate the room, and it being aboutnoontide the clear air was motionless and quiet without. From adistance came voices; and an apparent noise of persons stamping.

”What's that?” murmured the old woman.

”Oh, that's the Doctors in the theatre, conferring Honorary degreeson the Duke of Hamptonshire and a lot more illustrious gents of thatsort. It's Remembrance Week, you know. The cheers come from theyoung men.”

”Aye; young and strong-lunged! Not like our poor boy here.”

An occasional word, as from some one making a speech, floated fromthe open windows of the theatre across to this quiet corner, at whichthere seemed to be a smile of some sort upon the marble featuresof Jude; while the old, superseded, Delphin editions of Virgil andHorace, and the dog-eared Greek Testament on the neighbouring shelf,and the few other volumes of the sort that he had not parted with,roughened with stone-dust where he had been in the habit of catchingthem up for a few minutes between his labours, seemed to pale to asickly cast at the sounds. The bells struck out joyously; and theirreverberations travelled round the bed-room.

Arabella's eyes removed from Jude to Mrs. Edlin. ”D'ye think shewill come?” she asked.

”I could not say. She swore not to see him again.”

”How is she looking?”

”Tired and miserable, poor heart. Years and years older than whenyou saw her last. Quite a staid, worn woman now. 'Tis the man--shecan't stomach un, even now!”

”If Jude had been alive to see her, he would hardly have cared forher any more, perhaps.”

”That's what we don't know... Didn't he ever ask you to send forher, since he came to see her in that strange way?”

”No. Quite the contrary. I offered to send, and he said I was notto let her know how ill he was.”

”Did he forgive her?”

”Not as I know.”

”Well--poor little thing, 'tis to be believed she's found forgivenesssomewhere! She said she had found peace!

”She may swear that on her knees to the holy cross upon her necklacetill she's hoarse, but it won't be true!” said Arabella. ”She'snever found peace since she left his arms, and never will again tillshe's as he is now!”