IV
Cheerfulness Again Asserts Itself at Blooms-End,and Clym Finds His Vocation
Anybody who had passed through Blooms-End about eleven o'clock on themorning fixed for the wedding would have found that, while Yeobright'shouse was comparatively quiet, sounds denoting great activity camefrom the dwelling of his nearest neighbour, Timothy Fairway. It waschiefly a noise of feet, briskly crunching hither and thither overthe sanded floor within. One man only was visible outside, and heseemed to be later at an appointment than he had intended to be, forhe hastened up to the door, lifted the latch, and walked in withoutceremony.
The scene within was not quite the customary one. Standing about theroom was the little knot of men who formed the chief part of theEgdon coterie, there being present Fairway himself, Grandfer Cantle,Humphrey, Christian, and one or two turf-cutters. It was a warm day,and the men were as a matter of course in their shirtsleeves, exceptChristian, who had always a nervous fear of parting with a scrap ofhis clothing when in anybody's house but his own. Across the stout oaktable in the middle of the room was thrown a mass of striped linen,which Grandfer Cantle held down on one side, and Humphrey on theother, while Fairway rubbed its surface with a yellow lump, his facebeing damp and creased with the effort of the labour.
"Waxing a bed-tick, souls?" said the newcomer.
"Yes, Sam," said Grandfer Cantle, as a man too busy to waste words."Shall I stretch this corner a shade tighter, Timothy?"
Fairway replied, and the waxing went on with unabated vigour. "'Tisgoing to be a good bed, by the look o't," continued Sam, after aninterval of silence. "Who may it be for?"
"'Tis a present for the new folks that's going to set uphousekeeping," said Christian, who stood helpless and overcome by themajesty of the proceedings.
"Ah, to be sure; and a valuable one, 'a b'lieve."
"Beds be dear to fokes that don't keep geese, bain't they, MisterFairway?" said Christian, as to an omniscient being.
"Yes," said the furze-dealer, standing up, giving his forehead athorough mopping, and handing the beeswax to Humphrey, who succeededat the rubbing forthwith. "Not that this couple be in want of one, but'twas well to show 'em a bit of friendliness at this great racketingvagary of their lives. I set up both my own daughters in one whenthey was married, and there have been feathers enough for another inthe house the last twelve months. Now then, neighbours, I think wehave laid on enough wax. Grandfer Cantle, you turn the tick the rightway outwards, and then I'll begin to shake in the feathers."
When the bed was in proper trim Fairway and Christian brought forwardvast paper bags, stuffed to the full, but light as balloons, and beganto turn the contents of each into the receptacle just prepared. Asbag after bag was emptied, airy tufts of down and feathers floatedabout the room in increasing quantity till, through a mishap ofChristian's, who shook the contents of one bag outside the tick,the atmosphere of the room became dense with gigantic flakes, whichdescended upon the workers like a windless snowstorm.
"I never saw such a clumsy chap as you, Christian," said GrandferCantle severely. "You might have been the son of a man that's neverbeen outside Blooms-End in his life for all the wit you have. Reallyall the soldiering and smartness in the world in the father seems tocount for nothing in forming the nater of the son. As far as thatchiel Christian is concerned I might as well have stayed at home andseed nothing, like all the rest of ye here. Though, as far as myselfis concerned, a dashing spirit has counted for sommat, to be sure!"
"Don't ye let me down so, father; I feel no bigger than a ninepinafter it. I've made but a bruckle hit, I'm afeard."
"Come, come. Never pitch yerself in such a low key as that,Christian; you should try more," said Fairway.
"Yes, you should try more," echoed the Grandfer with insistence, as ifhe had been the first to make the suggestion. "In common conscienceevery man ought either to marry or go for a soldier. 'Tis a scandalto the nation to do neither one nor t'other. I did both, thank God!Neither to raise men nor to lay 'em low--that shows a poor do-nothingspirit indeed."
"I never had the nerve to stand fire," faltered Christian. "But as tomarrying, I own I've asked here and there, though without much fruitfrom it. Yes, there's some house or other that might have had aman for a master--such as he is--that's now ruled by a woman alone.Still it might have been awkward if I had found her; for, d'ye see,neighbours, there'd have been nobody left at home to keep downfather's spirits to the decent pitch that becomes a old man."
"And you've your work cut out to do that, my son," said GrandferCantle smartly. "I wish that the dread of infirmities was not sostrong in me!--I'd start the very first thing tomorrow to see theworld over again! But seventy-one, though nothing at home, is a highfigure for a rover... Ay, seventy-one, last Candlemasday. Gad, I'dsooner have it in guineas than in years!" And the old man sighed.
"Don't you be mournful, Grandfer," said Fairway. "Empt some morefeathers into the bed-tick, and keep up yer heart. Though ratherlean in the stalks you be a green-leaved old man still. There's timeenough left to ye yet to fill whole chronicles."
"Begad, I'll go to 'em, Timothy--to the married pair!" said GranferCantle in an encouraged voice, and starting round briskly. "I'll goto 'em tonight and sing a wedding song, hey? 'Tis like me to do so,you know; and they'd see it as such. My 'Down in Cupid's Gardens' waswell liked in four; still, I've got others as good, and even better.What do you say to my
She cal'-led to' her love' From the lat'-tice a-bove, 'O come in' from the fog'-gy fog'-gy dew'.'
"'Twould please 'em well at such a time! Really, now I come to think ofit, I haven't turned my tongue in my head to the shape of a real goodsong since Old Midsummer night, when we had the 'Barley Mow' at theWoman; and 'tis a pity to neglect your strong point where there's fewthat have the compass for such things!"
"So 'tis, so 'tis," said Fairway. "Now gie the bed a shake down.We've put in seventy pound of best feathers, and I think that's asmany as the tick will fairly hold. A bit and a drap wouldn't be amissnow, I reckon. Christian, maul down the victuals from corner-cupboardif canst reach, man, and I'll draw a drap o' sommat to wet it with."
They sat down to a lunch in the midst of their work, feathers around,above, and below them; the original owners of which occasionally cameto the open door and cackled begrudgingly at sight of such a quantityof their old clothes.
"Upon my soul I shall be chokt," said Fairway when, having extracted afeather from his mouth, he found several others floating on the mug asit was handed round.
"I've swallered several; and one had a tolerable quill," said Samplacidly from the corner.
"Hullo--what's that--wheels I hear coming?" Grandfer Cantle exclaimed,jumping up and hastening to the door. "Why, 'tis they back again: Ididn't expect 'em yet this half-hour. To be sure, how quick marryingcan be done when you are in the mind for't!"
"O yes, it can soon be DONE," said Fairway, as if something should beadded to make the statement complete.
He arose and followed the Grandfer, and the rest also went to thedoor. In a moment an open fly was driven past, in which sat Venn andMrs. Venn, Yeobright, and a grand relative of Venn's who had comefrom Budmouth for the occasion. The fly had been hired at the nearesttown, regardless of distance and cost, there being nothing on EgdonHeath, in Venn's opinion, dignified enough for such an event when sucha woman as Thomasin was the bride; and the church was too remote for awalking bridal-party.
As the fly passed the group which had run out from the homestead theyshouted "Hurrah!" and waved their hands; feathers and down floatingfrom their hair, their sleeves, and the folds of their garments atevery motion, and Grandfer Cantle's seals dancing merrily in thesunlight as he twirled himself about. The driver of the fly turneda supercilious gaze upon them; he even treated the wedded pairthemselves with something like condescension; for in what otherstate than heathen could people, rich or poor, exist who were doomedto abide in such a world's end as Egdon? Thomasin showed no suchsuperiority to the group at the do
or, fluttering her hand as quicklyas a bird's wing towards them, and asking Diggory, with tears in hereyes, if they ought not to alight and speak to these kind neighbours.Venn, however, suggested that, as they were all coming to the house inthe evening, this was hardly necessary.
After this excitement the saluting party returned to their occupation,and the stuffing and sewing were soon afterwards finished, whenFairway harnessed a horse, wrapped up the cumbrous present, and droveoff with it in the cart to Venn's house at Stickleford.
Yeobright, having filled the office at the wedding service whichnaturally fell to his hands, and afterwards returned to the house withthe husband and wife, was indisposed to take part in the feasting anddancing that wound up the evening. Thomasin was disappointed.
"I wish I could be there without dashing your spirits," he said. "ButI might be too much like the skull at the banquet."
"No, no."
"Well, dear, apart from that, if you would excuse me, I should beglad. I know it seems unkind; but, dear Thomasin, I fear I should notbe happy in the company--there, that's the truth of it. I shallalways be coming to see you at your new home, you know, so that myabsence now will not matter."
"Then I give in. Do whatever will be most comfortable to yourself."
Clym retired to his lodging at the housetop much relieved, andoccupied himself during the afternoon in noting down the heads of asermon, with which he intended to initiate all that really seemedpracticable of the scheme that had originally brought him hither, andthat he had so long kept in view under various modifications, andthrough evil and good report. He had tested and weighed hisconvictions again and again, and saw no reason to alter them, thoughhe had considerably lessened his plan. His eyesight, by longhumouring in his native air, had grown stronger, but not sufficientlystrong to warrant his attempting his extensive educational project.Yet he did not repine: there was still more than enough of anunambitious sort to tax all his energies and occupy all his hours.
Evening drew on, and sounds of life and movement in the lower part ofthe domicile became more pronounced, the gate in the palings clickingincessantly. The party was to be an early one, and all the guestswere assembled long before it was dark. Yeobright went down the backstaircase and into the heath by another path than that in front,intending to walk in the open air till the party was over, when hewould return to wish Thomasin and her husband good-bye as theydeparted. His steps were insensibly bent towards Mistover by the paththat he had followed on that terrible morning when he learnt thestrange news from Susan's boy.
He did not turn aside to the cottage, but pushed on to an eminence,whence he could see over the whole quarter that had once beenEustacia's home. While he stood observing the darkening scenesomebody came up. Clym, seeing him but dimly, would have let him passsilently, had not the pedestrian, who was Charley, recognized theyoung man and spoken to him.
"Charley, I have not seen you for a length of time," said Yeobright."Do you often walk this way?"
"No," the lad replied. "I don't often come outside the bank."
"You were not at the Maypole."
"No," said Charley, in the same listless tone. "I don't care for thatsort of thing now."
"You rather liked Miss Eustacia, didn't you?" Yeobright gently asked.Eustacia had frequently told him of Charley's romantic attachment.
"Yes, very much. Ah, I wish--"
"Yes?"
"I wish, Mr. Yeobright, you could give me something to keep that oncebelonged to her--if you don't mind."
"I shall be very happy to. It will give me very great pleasure,Charley. Let me think what I have of hers that you would like. Butcome with me to the house, and I'll see."
They walked towards Blooms-End together. When they reached the frontit was dark, and the shutters were closed, so that nothing of theinterior could be seen.
"Come round this way," said Clym. "My entrance is at the back for thepresent."
The two went round and ascended the crooked stair in darkness tillClym's sitting-room on the upper floor was reached, where he lit acandle, Charley entering gently behind. Yeobright searched his desk,and taking out a sheet of tissue-paper unfolded from it two or threeundulating locks of raven hair, which fell over the paper like blackstreams. From these he selected one, wrapped it up, and gave it tothe lad, whose eyes had filled with tears. He kissed the packet, putit in his pocket, and said in a voice of emotion, "O, Mr. Clym, howgood you are to me!"
"I will go a little way with you," said Clym. And amid the noise ofmerriment from below they descended. Their path to the front led themclose to a little side-window, whence the rays of candles streamedacross the shrubs. The window, being screened from generalobservation by the bushes, had been left unblinded, so that a personin this private nook could see all that was going on within the roomwhich contained the wedding-guests, except in so far as vision washindered by the green antiquity of the panes.
"Charley, what are they doing?" said Clym. "My sight is weaker againtonight, and the glass of this window is not good."
Charley wiped his own eyes, which were rather blurred with moisture,and stepped closer to the casement. "Mr. Venn is asking ChristianCantle to sing," he replied, "and Christian is moving about in hischair as if he were much frightened at the question, and his fatherhas struck up a stave instead of him."
"Yes, I can hear the old man's voice," said Clym. "So there's to beno dancing, I suppose. And is Thomasin in the room? I see somethingmoving in front of the candles that resembles her shape, I think."
"Yes. She do seem happy. She is red in the face, and laughing atsomething Fairway has said to her. O my!"
"What noise was that?" said Clym.
"Mr. Venn is so tall that he knocked his head against the beam ingieing a skip as he passed under. Mrs. Venn has run up quitefrightened and now she's put her hand to his head to feel if there's alump. And now they be all laughing again as if nothing had happened."
"Do any of them seem to care about my not being there?" Clym asked.
"No, not a bit in the world. Now they are all holding up theirglasses and drinking somebody's health."
"I wonder if it is mine?"
"No, 'tis Mr. and Mrs. Venn's, because he is making a hearty sort ofspeech. There--now Mrs. Venn has got up, and is going away to put onher things, I think."
"Well, they haven't concerned themselves about me, and it is quiteright they should not. It is all as it should be, and Thomasin atleast is happy. We will not stay any longer now, as they will soon becoming out to go home."
He accompanied the lad into the heath on his way home, and, returningalone to the house a quarter of an hour later, found Venn and Thomasinready to start, all the guests having departed in his absence. Thewedded pair took their seats in the four-wheeled dogcart which Venn'shead milker and handy man had driven from Stickleford to fetch themin; little Eustacia and the nurse were packed securely upon the openflap behind; and the milker, on an ancient overstepping pony, whoseshoes clashed like cymbals at every tread, rode in the rear, in themanner of a body-servant of the last century.
"Now we leave you in absolute possession of your own house again,"said Thomasin as she bent down to wish her cousin good night. "Itwill be rather lonely for you, Clym, after the hubbub we have beenmaking."
"O, that's no inconvenience," said Clym, smiling rather sadly. Andthen the party drove off and vanished in the night shades, andYeobright entered the house. The ticking of the clock was the onlysound that greeted him, for not a soul remained; Christian, who actedas cook, valet, and gardener to Clym, sleeping at his father's house.Yeobright sat down in one of the vacant chairs, and remained inthought a long time. His mother's old chair was opposite; it had beensat in that evening by those who had scarcely remembered that it everwas hers. But to Clym she was almost a presence there, now as always.Whatever she was in other people's memories, in his she was thesublime saint whose radiance even his tenderness for Eustacia couldnot obscure. But his heart was heavy; that mother had NOT crowned himin the day of his espou
sals and in the day of the gladness of hisheart. And events had borne out the accuracy of her judgment, andproved the devotedness of her care. He should have heeded her forEustacia's sake even more than for his own. "It was all my fault," hewhispered. "O, my mother, my mother! would to God that I could livemy life again, and endure for you what you endured for me!"
On the Sunday after this wedding an unusual sight was to be seen onRainbarrow. From a distance there simply appeared to be a motionlessfigure standing on the top of the tumulus, just as Eustacia had stoodon that lonely summit some two years and a half before. But now itwas fine warm weather, with only a summer breeze blowing, and earlyafternoon instead of dull twilight. Those who ascended to theimmediate neighbourhood of the Barrow perceived that the erect form inthe centre, piercing the sky, was not really alone. Round him uponthe slopes of the Barrow a number of heathmen and women were recliningor sitting at their ease. They listened to the words of the man intheir midst, who was preaching, while they abstractedly pulledheather, stripped ferns, or tossed pebbles down the slope. This wasthe first of a series of moral lectures or Sermons on the Mount, whichwere to be delivered from the same place every Sunday afternoon aslong as the fine weather lasted.
The commanding elevation of Rainbarrow had been chosen for tworeasons: first, that it occupied a central position among the remotecottages around; secondly, that the preacher thereon could be seenfrom all adjacent points as soon as he arrived at his post, the viewof him being thus a convenient signal to those stragglers who wishedto draw near. The speaker was bareheaded, and the breeze at each waftgently lifted and lowered his hair, somewhat too thin for a man of hisyears, these still numbering less than thirty-three. He wore a shadeover his eyes, and his face was pensive and lined; but, though thesebodily features were marked with decay there was no defect in thetones of his voice, which were rich, musical, and stirring. He statedthat his discourses to people were to be sometimes secular, andsometimes religious, but never dogmatic; and that his texts would betaken from all kinds of books. This afternoon the words were asfollows:--
"'And the king rose up to meet her, and bowed himself unto her, and sat down on his throne, and caused a seat to be set for the king's mother; and she sat on his right hand. Then she said, I desire one small petition of thee; I pray thee say me not nay. And the king said unto her, Ask, on, my mother: for I will not say thee nay.'"
Yeobright had, in fact, found his vocation in the career of anitinerant open-air preacher and lecturer on morally unimpeachablesubjects; and from this day he laboured incessantly in that office,speaking not only in simple language on Rainbarrow and in the hamletsround, but in a more cultivated strain elsewhere--from the steps andporticoes of town-halls, from market-crosses, from conduits, onesplanades and on wharves, from the parapets of bridges, in barns andouthouses, and all other such places in the neighbouring Wessex townsand villages. He left alone creeds and systems of philosophy, findingenough and more than enough to occupy his tongue in the opinions andactions common to all good men. Some believed him, and some believednot; some said that his words were commonplace, others complained ofhis want of theological doctrine; while others again remarked that itwas well enough for a man to take to preaching who could not see to doanything else. But everywhere he was kindly received, for the storyof his life had become generally known.
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