3--How a Little Sound Produced a Great Dream
Eustacia stood just within the heath, straining her eyes in thedirection of Mrs. Yeobright's house and premises. No light, sound, ormovement was perceptible there. The evening was chilly; the spot wasdark and lonely. She inferred that the guest had not yet come; and afterlingering ten or fifteen minutes she turned again towards home.
She had not far retraced her steps when sounds in front of her betokenedthe approach of persons in conversation along the same path. Soon theirheads became visible against the sky. They were walking slowly; andthough it was too dark for much discovery of character from aspect, thegait of them showed that they were not workers on the heath. Eustaciastepped a little out of the foot-track to let them pass. They weretwo women and a man; and the voices of the women were those of Mrs.Yeobright and Thomasin.
They went by her, and at the moment of passing appeared to discern herdusky form. There came to her ears in a masculine voice, Good night!
She murmured a reply, glided by them, and turned round. She could not,for a moment, believe that chance, unrequested, had brought into herpresence the soul of the house she had gone to inspect, the man withoutwhom her inspection would not have been thought of.
She strained her eyes to see them, but was unable. Such was herintentness, however, that it seemed as if her ears were performing thefunctions of seeing as well as hearing. This extension of power canalmost be believed in at such moments. The deaf Dr. Kitto was probablyunder the influence of a parallel fancy when he described his body ashaving become, by long endeavour, so sensitive to vibrations that he hadgained the power of perceiving by it as by ears.
She could follow every word that the ramblers uttered. They were talkingno secrets. They were merely indulging in the ordinary vivacious chat ofrelatives who have long been parted in person though not in soul. Butit was not to the words that Eustacia listened; she could not evenhave recalled, a few minutes later, what the words were. It was to thealternating voice that gave out about one-tenth of them--the voice thathad wished her good night. Sometimes this throat uttered Yes, sometimesit uttered No; sometimes it made inquiries about a time worn denizenof the place. Once it surprised her notions by remarking upon thefriendliness and geniality written in the faces of the hills around.
The three voices passed on, and decayed and died out upon her ear. Thusmuch had been granted her; and all besides withheld. No event could havebeen more exciting. During the greater part of the afternoon she hadbeen entrancing herself by imagining the fascination which must attenda man come direct from beautiful Paris--laden with its atmosphere,familiar with its charms. And this man had greeted her.
With the departure of the figures the profuse articulations of the womenwasted away from her memory; but the accents of the other stayed on.Was there anything in the voice of Mrs. Yeobright's son--for Clymit was--startling as a sound? No; it was simply comprehensive. Allemotional things were possible to the speaker of that good night.Eustacia's imagination supplied the rest--except the solution to oneriddle. What COULD the tastes of that man be who saw friendliness andgeniality in these shaggy hills?
On such occasions as this a thousand ideas pass through a highly chargedwoman's head; and they indicate themselves on her face; but the changes,though actual, are minute. Eustacia's features went through a rhythmicalsuccession of them. She glowed; remembering the mendacity of theimagination, she flagged; then she freshened; then she fired; then shecooled again. It was a cycle of aspects, produced by a cycle of visions.
Eustacia entered her own house; she was excited. Her grandfather wasenjoying himself over the fire, raking about the ashes and exposing thered-hot surface of the turves, so that their lurid glare irradiated thechimney-corner with the hues of a furnace.
Why is it that we are never friendly with the Yeobrights? she said,coming forward and stretching her soft hands over the warmth. I wish wewere. They seem to be very nice people.
Be hanged if I know why, said the captain. I liked the old man wellenough, though he was as rough as a hedge. But you would never havecared to go there, even if you might have, I am well sure.
Why shouldn't I?
Your town tastes would find them far too countrified. They sit in thekitchen, drink mead and elder-wine, and sand the floor to keep it clean.A sensible way of life; but how would you like it?
I thought Mrs. Yeobright was a ladylike woman? A curate's daughter, wasshe not?
Yes; but she was obliged to live as her husband did; and I supposeshe has taken kindly to it by this time. Ah, I recollect that I onceaccidentally offended her, and I have never seen her since.
That night was an eventful one to Eustacia's brain, and one which shehardly ever forgot. She dreamt a dream; and few human beings, fromNebuchadnezzar to the Swaffham tinker, ever dreamt a more remarkableone. Such an elaborately developed, perplexing, exciting dream wascertainly never dreamed by a girl in Eustacia's situation before. It hadas many ramifications as the Cretan labyrinth, as many fluctuations asthe northern lights, as much colour as a parterre in June, and was ascrowded with figures as a coronation. To Queen Scheherazade the dreammight have seemed not far removed from commonplace; and to a girl justreturned from all the courts of Europe it might have seemed not morethan interesting. But amid the circumstances of Eustacia's life it wasas wonderful as a dream could be.
There was, however, gradually evolved from its transformation scenes aless extravagant episode, in which the heath dimly appeared behind thegeneral brilliancy of the action. She was dancing to wondrous music, andher partner was the man in silver armour who had accompanied her throughthe previous fantastic changes, the visor of his helmet being closed.The mazes of the dance were ecstatic. Soft whispering came into her earfrom under the radiant helmet, and she felt like a woman in Paradise.Suddenly these two wheeled out from the mass of dancers, dived into oneof the pools of the heath, and came out somewhere into an iridescenthollow, arched with rainbows. It must be here, said the voice by herside, and blushingly looking up she saw him removing his casque to kissher. At that moment there was a cracking noise, and his figure fell intofragments like a pack of cards.
She cried aloud. O that I had seen his face!
Eustacia awoke. The cracking had been that of the window shutterdownstairs, which the maid-servant was opening to let in the day, nowslowly increasing to Nature's meagre allowance at this sickly time ofthe year. O that I had seen his face! she said again. 'Twas meant forMr. Yeobright!
When she became cooler she perceived that many of the phases of thedream had naturally arisen out of the images and fancies of the daybefore. But this detracted little from its interest, which lay in theexcellent fuel it provided for newly kindled fervour. She was at themodulating point between indifference and love, at the stage calledhaving a fancy for. It occurs once in the history of the most giganticpassions, and it is a period when they are in the hands of the weakestwill.
The perfervid woman was by this time half in love with a vision. Thefantastic nature of her passion, which lowered her as an intellect,raised her as a soul. If she had had a little more self-control shewould have attenuated the emotion to nothing by sheer reasoning, and sohave killed it off. If she had had a little less pride she might havegone and circumambulated the Yeobrights' premises at Blooms-End at anymaidenly sacrifice until she had seen him. But Eustacia did neither ofthese things. She acted as the most exemplary might have acted, beingso influenced; she took an airing twice or thrice a day upon the Egdonhills, and kept her eyes employed.
The first occasion passed, and he did not come that way.
She promenaded a second time, and was again the sole wanderer there.
The third time there was a dense fog; she looked around, but withoutmuch hope. Even if he had been walking within twenty yards of her shecould not have seen him.
At the fourth attempt to encounter him it began to rain in torrents, andshe turned back.
The fifth sally was in the afternoon it was fine, and she remained outlong, walking to the very top of the valley in which Blooms-End lay. Shesaw the white paling about half a mile off; but he did not appear. Itwas almost with heart-sickness that she came home and with a sense ofshame at her weakness. She resolved to look for the man from Paris nomore.
But Providence is nothing if not coquettish; and no sooner had Eustaciaformed this resolve than the opportunity came which, while sought, hadbeen entirely withholden.