1--The Inevitable Movement Onward
The story of the deaths of Eustacia and Wildeve was told throughoutEgdon, and far beyond, for many weeks and months. All the knownincidents of their love were enlarged, distorted, touched up, andmodified, till the original reality bore but a slight resemblance to thecounterfeit presentation by surrounding tongues. Yet, upon the whole,neither the man nor the woman lost dignity by sudden death. Misfortunehad struck them gracefully, cutting off their erratic histories with acatastrophic dash, instead of, as with many, attenuating each life to anuninteresting meagreness, through long years of wrinkles, neglect, anddecay.
On those most nearly concerned the effect was somewhat different.Strangers who had heard of many such cases now merely heard of one more;but immediately where a blow falls no previous imaginings amount toappreciable preparation for it. The very suddenness of her bereavementdulled, to some extent, Thomasin's feelings; yet irrationally enough, aconsciousness that the husband she had lost ought to have been a betterman did not lessen her mourning at all. On the contrary, this factseemed at first to set off the dead husband in his young wife's eyes,and to be the necessary cloud to the rainbow.
But the horrors of the unknown had passed. Vague misgivings about herfuture as a deserted wife were at an end. The worst had once been matterof trembling conjecture; it was now matter of reason only, a limitedbadness. Her chief interest, the little Eustacia, still remained. Therewas humility in her grief, no defiance in her attitude; and when this isthe case a shaken spirit is apt to be stilled.
Could Thomasin's mournfulness now and Eustacia's serenity during lifehave been reduced to common measure, they would have touched the samemark nearly. But Thomasin's former brightness made shadow of that whichin a sombre atmosphere was light itself.
The spring came and calmed her; the summer came and soothed her; theautumn arrived, and she began to be comforted, for her little girlwas strong and happy, growing in size and knowledge every day. Outwardevents flattered Thomasin not a little. Wildeve had died intestate, andshe and the child were his only relatives. When administration had beengranted, all the debts paid, and the residue of her husband's uncle'sproperty had come into her hands, it was found that the sum waiting tobe invested for her own and the child's benefit was little less than tenthousand pounds.
Where should she live? The obvious place was Blooms-End. The old rooms,it is true, were not much higher than the between-decks of a frigate,necessitating a sinking in the floor under the new clock-case shebrought from the inn, and the removal of the handsome brass knobs on itshead, before there was height for it to stand; but, such as the roomswere, there were plenty of them, and the place was endeared to her byevery early recollection. Clym very gladly admitted her as a tenant,confining his own existence to two rooms at the top of the backstaircase, where he lived on quietly, shut off from Thomasin and thethree servants she had thought fit to indulge in now that she was amistress of money, going his own ways, and thinking his own thoughts.
His sorrows had made some change in his outward appearance; and yet thealteration was chiefly within. It might have been said that he had awrinkled mind. He had no enemies, and he could get nobody to reproachhim, which was why he so bitterly reproached himself.
He did sometimes think he had been ill-used by fortune, so far as to saythat to be born is a palpable dilemma, and that instead of men aiming toadvance in life with glory they should calculate how to retreat outof it without shame. But that he and his had been sarcastically andpitilessly handled in having such irons thrust into their souls he didnot maintain long. It is usually so, except with the sternest of men.Human beings, in their generous endeavour to construct a hypothesis thatshall not degrade a First Cause, have always hesitated to conceive adominant power of lower moral quality than their own; and, even whilethey sit down and weep by the waters of Babylon, invent excuses for theoppression which prompts their tears.
Thus, though words of solace were vainly uttered in his presence, hefound relief in a direction of his own choosing when left to himself.For a man of his habits the house and the hundred and twenty pounds ayear which he had inherited from his mother were enough to supply allworldly needs. Resources do not depend upon gross amounts, but upon theproportion of spendings to takings.
He frequently walked the heath alone, when the past seized upon himwith its shadowy hand, and held him there to listen to its tale.His imagination would then people the spot with its ancientinhabitants--forgotten Celtic tribes trod their tracks about him, and hecould almost live among them, look in their faces, and see them standingbeside the barrows which swelled around, untouched and perfect as at thetime of their erection. Those of the dyed barbarians who had chosenthe cultivable tracts were, in comparison with those who had left theirmarks here, as writers on paper beside writers on parchment. Theirrecords had perished long ago by the plough, while the works of theseremained. Yet they all had lived and died unconscious of the differentfates awaiting their relics. It reminded him that unforeseen factorsoperate in the evolution of immortality.
Winter again came round, with its winds, frosts, tame robins, andsparkling starlight. The year previous Thomasin had hardly beenconscious of the season's advance; this year she laid her heart open toexternal influences of every kind. The life of this sweet cousin, herbaby, and her servants, came to Clym's senses only in the form of soundsthrough a wood partition as he sat over books of exceptionally largetype; but his ear became at last so accustomed to these slight noisesfrom the other part of the house that he almost could witness thescenes they signified. A faint beat of half-seconds conjured up Thomasinrocking the cradle, a wavering hum meant that she was singing the babyto sleep, a crunching of sand as between millstones raised the pictureof Humphrey's, Fairway's, or Sam's heavy feet crossing the stone floorof the kitchen; a light boyish step, and a gay tune in a high key,betokened a visit from Grandfer Cantle; a sudden break-off in theGrandfer's utterances implied the application to his lips of a mug ofsmall beer, a bustling and slamming of doors meant starting to go tomarket; for Thomasin, in spite of her added scope of gentility, led aludicrously narrow life, to the end that she might save every possiblepound for her little daughter.
One summer day Clym was in the garden, immediately outside the parlourwindow, which was as usual open. He was looking at the pot-flowers onthe sill; they had been revived and restored by Thomasin to the state inwhich his mother had left them. He heard a slight scream from Thomasin,who was sitting inside the room.
O, how you frightened me! she said to someone who had entered. Ithought you were the ghost of yourself.
Clym was curious enough to advance a little further and look in at thewindow. To his astonishment there stood within the room Diggory Venn,no longer a reddleman, but exhibiting the strangely altered hues ofan ordinary Christian countenance, white shirt-front, light floweredwaistcoat, blue-spotted neckerchief, and bottle-green coat. Nothing inthis appearance was at all singular but the fact of its great differencefrom what he had formerly been. Red, and all approach to red, wascarefully excluded from every article of clothes upon him; for what isthere that persons just out of harness dread so much as reminders of thetrade which has enriched them?
Yeobright went round to the door and entered.
I was so alarmed! said Thomasin, smiling from one to the other. Icouldn't believe that he had got white of his own accord! It seemedsupernatural.
I gave up dealing in reddle last Christmas, said Venn. It was aprofitable trade, and I found that by that time I had made enough totake the dairy of fifty cows that my father had in his lifetime. Ialways thought of getting to that place again if I changed at all, andnow I am there.
How did you manage to become white, Diggory? Thomasin asked.
I turned so by degrees, ma'am.
You look much better than ever you did before.
Venn appeared confused; and Thomasin, seeing how inadvertently she hadspoken to a man who might possibly have tender feelings for her still,blushed a little. Clym saw nothing of this, and added good-humouredly--
What shall we have to frighten Thomasin's baby with, now you havebecome a human being again?
Sit down, Diggory, said Thomasin, and stay to tea.
Venn moved as if he would retire to the kitchen, when Thomasin said withpleasant pertness as she went on with some sewing, Of course you mustsit down here. And where does your fifty-cow dairy lie, Mr. Venn?
At Stickleford--about two miles to the right of Alderworth, ma'am,where the meads begin. I have thought that if Mr. Yeobright would liketo pay me a visit sometimes he shouldn't stay away for want of asking.I'll not bide to tea this afternoon, thank'ee, for I've got something onhand that must be settled. 'Tis Maypole-day tomorrow, and the Shadwaterfolk have clubbed with a few of your neighbours here to have a pole justoutside your palings in the heath, as it is a nice green place. Vennwaved his elbow towards the patch in front of the house. I have beentalking to Fairway about it, he continued, and I said to him thatbefore we put up the pole it would be as well to ask Mrs. Wildeve.
I can say nothing against it, she answered. Our property does notreach an inch further than the white palings.
But you might not like to see a lot of folk going crazy round a stick,under your very nose?
I shall have no objection at all.
Venn soon after went away, and in the evening Yeobright strolled as faras Fairway's cottage. It was a lovely May sunset, and the birch treeswhich grew on this margin of the vast Egdon wilderness had put on theirnew leaves, delicate as butterflies' wings, and diaphanous as amber.Beside Fairway's dwelling was an open space recessed from the road, andhere were now collected all the young people from within a radius of acouple of miles. The pole lay with one end supported on a trestle,and women were engaged in wreathing it from the top downwards withwild-flowers. The instincts of merry England lingered on here withexceptional vitality, and the symbolic customs which tradition hasattached to each season of the year were yet a reality on Egdon. Indeed,the impulses of all such outlandish hamlets are pagan still--in thesespots homage to nature, self-adoration, frantic gaieties, fragments ofTeutonic rites to divinities whose names are forgotten, seem in some wayor other to have survived mediaeval doctrine.
Yeobright did not interrupt the preparations, and went home again. Thenext morning, when Thomasin withdrew the curtains of her bedroom window,there stood the Maypole in the middle of the green, its top cutting intothe sky. It had sprung up in the night, or rather early morning, likeJack's bean-stalk. She opened the casement to get a better view of thegarlands and posies that adorned it. The sweet perfume of the flowershad already spread into the surrounding air, which, being free fromevery taint, conducted to her lips a full measure of the fragrancereceived from the spire of blossom in its midst. At the top of thepole were crossed hoops decked with small flowers; beneath these came amilk-white zone of Maybloom; then a zone of bluebells, then of cowslips,then of lilacs, then of ragged-robins, daffodils, and so on, till thelowest stage was reached. Thomasin noticed all these, and was delightedthat the May revel was to be so near.
When afternoon came people began to gather on the green, and Yeobrightwas interested enough to look out upon them from the open window ofhis room. Soon after this Thomasin walked out from the door immediatelybelow and turned her eyes up to her cousin's face. She was dressedmore gaily than Yeobright had ever seen her dressed since the time ofWildeve's death, eighteen months before; since the day of her marriageeven she had not exhibited herself to such advantage.
How pretty you look today, Thomasin! he said. Is it because of theMaypole?
Not altogether. And then she blushed and dropped her eyes, which hedid not specially observe, though her manner seemed to him to be ratherpeculiar, considering that she was only addressing himself. Could it bepossible that she had put on her summer clothes to please him?
He recalled her conduct towards him throughout the last few weeks, whenthey had often been working together in the garden, just as they hadformerly done when they were boy and girl under his mother's eye. Whatif her interest in him were not so entirely that of a relative as it hadformerly been? To Yeobright any possibility of this sort was a seriousmatter; and he almost felt troubled at the thought of it. Every pulse ofloverlike feeling which had not been stilled during Eustacia's lifetimehad gone into the grave with her. His passion for her had occurred toofar on in his manhood to leave fuel enough on hand for another fireof that sort, as may happen with more boyish loves. Even supposing himcapable of loving again, that love would be a plant of slow and labouredgrowth, and in the end only small and sickly, like an autumn-hatchedbird.
He was so distressed by this new complexity that when the enthusiasticbrass band arrived and struck up, which it did about five o'clock, withapparently wind enough among its members to blow down his house, hewithdrew from his rooms by the back door, went down the garden, throughthe gate in the hedge, and away out of sight. He could not bear toremain in the presence of enjoyment today, though he had tried hard.
Nothing was seen of him for four hours. When he came back by the samepath it was dusk, and the dews were coating every green thing. Theboisterous music had ceased; but, entering the premises as he did frombehind, he could not see if the May party had all gone till he hadpassed through Thomasin's division of the house to the front door.Thomasin was standing within the porch alone.
She looked at him reproachfully. You went away just when it began,Clym, she said.
Yes. I felt I could not join in. You went out with them, of course?
No, I did not.
You appeared to be dressed on purpose.
Yes, but I could not go out alone; so many people were there. One isthere now.
Yeobright strained his eyes across the dark-green patch beyond thepaling, and near the black form of the Maypole he discerned a shadowyfigure, sauntering idly up and down. Who is it? he said.
Mr. Venn, said Thomasin.
You might have asked him to come in, I think, Tamsie. He has been verykind to you first and last.
I will now, she said; and, acting on the impulse, went through thewicket to where Venn stood under the Maypole.
It is Mr. Venn, I think? she inquired.
Venn started as if he had not seen her--artful man that he was--andsaid, Yes.
Will you come in?
I am afraid that I--
I have seen you dancing this evening, and you had the very best of thegirls for your partners. Is it that you won't come in because you wishto stand here, and think over the past hours of enjoyment?
Well, that's partly it, said Mr. Venn, with ostentatious sentiment.But the main reason why I am biding here like this is that I want towait till the moon rises.
To see how pretty the Maypole looks in the moonlight?
No. To look for a glove that was dropped by one of the maidens.
Thomasin was speechless with surprise. That a man who had to walksome four or five miles to his home should wait here for such a reasonpointed to only one conclusion--the man must be amazingly interested inthat glove's owner.
Were you dancing with her, Diggory? she asked, in a voice whichrevealed that he had made himself considerably more interesting to herby this disclosure.
No, he sighed.
And you will not come in, then?
Not tonight, thank you, ma'am.
Shall I lend you a lantern to look for the young person's glove, Mr.Venn?
O no; it is not necessary, Mrs. Wildeve, thank you. The moon will risein a few minutes.
Thomasin went back to the porch. Is he coming in? said Clym, who hadbeen waiting where she had left him.
He would rather not tonight, she said, and then passed by him into thehouse; whereupon Clym too retired to his own rooms.
When Clym was gone Thomasin crept upstairs in the dark, and, justlistening by the cot, to assure herself that the child was asleep, shewent to the window, gently lifted the corner of the white curtain, andlooked out. Venn was still there. She watched the growth of the faintradiance appearing in the sky by the eastern hill, till presentlythe edge of the moon burst upwards and flooded the valley with light.Diggory's form was now distinct on the green; he was moving about in abowed attitude, evidently scanning the grass for the precious missingarticle, walking in zigzags right and left till he should have passedover every foot of the ground.
How very ridiculous! Thomasin murmured to herself, in a tone which wasintended to be satirical. To think that a man should be so silly as togo mooning about like that for a girl's glove! A respectable dairyman,too, and a man of money as he is now. What a pity!
At last Venn appeared to find it; whereupon he stood up and raised it tohis lips. Then placing it in his breastpocket--the nearest receptacle toa man's heart permitted by modern raiment--he ascended the valley in amathematically direct line towards his distant home in the meadows.