VII
TIDINGS from Sue a day or two after passed across Jude like a withering blast.
Before reading the letter he was led to suspect that its contents
were of a somewhat serious kind by catching sight of the signature--
which was in her full name, never used in her correspondence with him
since her first note:
MY DEAR JUDE,--I have something to tell you which perhaps you
will not be surprised to hear, though certainly it may strike
you as being accelerated (as the railway companies say of their
trains). Mr. Phillotson and I are to be married quite soon--
in three or four weeks. We had intended, as you know, to wait
till I had gone through my course of training and obtained
my certificate, so as to assist him, if necessary, in the teaching.
But he generously says he does not see any object in waiting,
now I am not at the training school. It is so good of him,
because the awkwardness of my situation has really come about by my
fault in getting expelled.
Wish me joy. Remember I say you are to, and you mustn't refuse!--
Your affectionate cousin,
SUSANNA FLORENCE MARY BRIDEHEAD.
Jude staggered under the news; could eat no breakfast;
and kept on drinking tea because his mouth was so dry.
Then presently he went back to his work and laughed the usual bitter
laugh of a man so confronted. Everything seemed turning to satire.
And yet, what could the poor girl do? he asked himself:
and felt worse than shedding tears.
"O Susanna Florence Mary!" he said as he worked. "You don't know
what marriage means!"
Could it be possible that his announcement of his own marriage
had pricked her on to this, just as his visit to her when in liquor
may have pricked her on to her engagement? To be sure, there seemed
to exist these other and sufficient reasons, practical and social,
for her decision; but Sue was not a very practical or calculating person;
and he was compelled to think that a pique at having his secret
sprung upon her had moved her to give way to Phillotson's
probable representations, that the best course to prove how unfounded
were the suspicions of the school authorities would be to marry
him off-hand, as in fulfilment of an ordinary engagement.
Sue had, in fact, been placed in an awkward corner. Poor Sue!
He determined to play the Spartan; to make the best of it, and support her;
but he could not write the requested good wishes for a day or two.
Meanwhile there came another note from his impatient little dear:
Jude, will you give me away? I have nobody else who could do it
so conveniently as you, being the only married relation I have here
on the spot, even if my father were friendly enough to be willing,
which he isn't. I hope you won't think it a trouble? I have been
looking at the marriage service in the prayer-book, and it seems
to me very humiliating that a giver-away should be required at all.
According to the ceremony as there printed, my bridegroom chooses me
of his own will and pleasure; but I don't choose him. Somebody GIVES
me to him, like a she-ass or she-goat, or any other domestic animal.
Bless your exalted views of woman, O churchman! But I forget:
I am no longer privileged to tease you.--Ever,
SUSANNA FLORENCE MARY BRIDEHEAD.
Jude screwed himself up to heroic key; and replied:
MY DEAR SUE,--Of course I wish you joy! And also of course I will give
you away. What I suggest is that, as you have no house of your own,
you do not marry from your school friend's, but from mine. It would be
more proper, I think, since I am, as you say, the person nearest related
to you in this part of the world.
I don't see why you sign your letter in such a new and terribly formal way?
Surely you care a bit about me still!--Ever your affectionate, JUDE.
What had jarred on him even more than the signature was a little
sting he had been silent on--the phrase "married relation"--
What an idiot it made him seem as her lover! If Sue had written
that in satire, he could hardly forgive her; if in suffering--
ah, that was another thing!
His offer of his lodging must have commended itself to Phillotson
at any rate, for the schoolmaster sent him a line of warm thanks,
accepting the convenience. Sue also thanked him. Jude immediately
moved into more commodious quarters, as much to escape the espionage
of the suspicious landlady who had been one cause of Sue's unpleasant
experience as for the sake of room.
Then Sue wrote to tell him the day fixed for the wedding; and Jude decided,
after inquiry, that she should come into residence on the following Saturday,
which would allow of a ten days' stay in the city prior to the ceremony,
sufficiently representing a nominal residence of fifteen.
She arrived by the ten o'clock train on the day aforesaid,
Jude not going to meet her at the station, by her special request,
that he should not lose a morning's work and pay, she said
(if this were her true reason). But so well by this time did
he know Sue that the remembrance of their mutual sensitiveness at
emotional crises might, he thought, have weighed with her in this.
When he came home to dinner she had taken possession of
her apartment.
She lived in the same house with him, but on a different floor,
and they saw each other little, an occasional supper being
the only meal they took together, when Sue's manner was something
like that of a scared child. What she felt he did not know;
their conversation was mechanical, though she did not look pale or ill.
Phillotson came frequently, but mostly when Jude was absent.
On the morning of the wedding, when Jude had given himself a holiday,
Sue and her cousin had breakfast together for the first and last
time during this curious interval; in his room--the parlour--
which he had hired for the period of Sue's residence. Seeing, as
women do, how helpless he was in making the place comfortable,
she bustled about.
"What's the matter, Jude?" she said suddenly.
He was leaning with his elbows on the table and his chin on his hands,
looking into a futurity which seemed to be sketched out on the tablecloth.
"Oh--nothing!"
"You are 'father', you know. That's what they call the man who gives
you away."
Jude could have said "Phillotson's age entitles him to be called that!"
But he would not annoy her by such a cheap retort.
She talked incessantly, as if she dreaded his indulgence in reflection,
and before the meal was over both he and she wished they had not put such
confidence in their new view of things, and had taken breakfast apart.
What oppressed Jude was the thought that, having done a wrong thing of this
sort himself, he was aiding and abetting the woman he loved in doing
a like wrong thing, instead of imploring and warning her against it.
It was on his tongue to say, "You have quite made up your mind?"
After breakfast they went out on an errand together moved
by a mutual thought that it was the last opportunity they
would have of indulging in unceremonious companionship.
By the irony of fate, and the curious trick in Sue's nature
of tempting Providence at critical times, she took his arm as they
walked through the muddy street--a thing she had never done
before in her life--and on turning the corner they found themselves
close to a grey perpendicular church with a low-pitched roof--
the church of St. Thomas.
"That's the church," said Jude.
"Where I am going to be married?"
"Yes."
"Indeed!" she exclaimed with curiosity. "How I should like to go in and see
what the spot is like where I am so soon to kneel and do it."
Again he said to himself, "She does not realize what marriage means!"
He passively acquiesced in her wish to go in, and they entered
by the western door. The only person inside the gloomy
building was a charwoman cleaning. Sue still held Jude's arm,
almost as if she loved him. Cruelly sweet, indeed, she had been
to him that morning; but his thoughts of a penance in store
for her were tempered by an ache:
... I can find no way
How a blow should fall, such as falls on men,
Nor prove too much for your womanhood!
They strolled undemonstratively up the nave towards the altar railing,
which they stood against in silence, turning then and walking down
the nave again, her hand still on his arm, precisely like a couple
just married. The too suggestive incident, entirely of her making,
nearly broke down Jude.
"I like to do things like this," she said in the delicate voice of an epicure
in emotions, which left no doubt that she spoke the truth.
"I know you do!" said Jude.
"They are interesting, because they have probably never been done before.
I shall walk down the church like this with my husband in about two hours,
shan't I!"
"No doubt you will!"
"Was it like this when you were married?"
"Good God, Sue--don't be so awfully merciless! ... There, dear one,
I didn't mean it!"
"Ah--you are vexed!" she said regretfully, as she blinked away an access
of eye moisture. "And I promised never to vex you! ... I suppose I ought
not to have asked you to bring me in here. Oh, I oughtn't! I see it now.
My curiosity to hunt up a new sensation always leads me into these scrapes.
Forgive me! ... You will, won't you, Jude?"
The appeal was so remorseful that Jude's eyes were even wetter
than hers as he pressed her hand for Yes.
"Now we'll hurry away, and I won't do it any more!"
she continued humbly; and they came out of the building,
Sue intending to go on to the station to meet Phillotson.
But the first person they encountered on entering the main
street was the schoolmaster himself, whose train had arrived
sooner than Sue expected. There was nothing really to demur
to in her leaning on Jude's arm; but she withdrew her hand,
and Jude thought that Phillotson had looked surprised.
"We have been doing such a funny thing!" said she, smiling candidly.
"We've been to the church, rehearsing as it were. Haven't we, Jude?"
"How?" said Phillotson curiously.
Jude inwardly deplored what he thought to be unnecessary frankness;
but she had gone too far not to explain all, which she accordingly did,
telling him how they had marched up to the altar.
Seeing how puzzled Phillotson seemed, Jude said as cheerfully
as he could, "I am going to buy her another little present.
Will you both come to the shop with me?"
"No," said Sue, "I'll go on to the house with him"; and requesting
her lover not to be a long time she departed with the schoolmaster.
Jude soon joined them at his rooms, and shortly after they prepared
for the ceremony. Phillotson's hair was brushed to a painful extent,
and his shirt collar appeared stiffer than it had been for the previous
twenty years. Beyond this he looked dignified and thoughtful,
and altogether a man of whom it was not unsafe to predict that he would
make a kind and considerate husband. That he adored Sue was obvious;
and she could almost be seen to feel that she was undeserving his adoration.
Although the distance was so short he had hired a fly from the Red Lion,
and six or seven women and children had gathered by the door when they
came out. The schoolmaster and Sue were unknown, though Jude was getting
to be recognized as a citizen; and the couple were judged to be some
relations of his from a distance, nobody supposing Sue to have been
a recent pupil at the training school.
In the carriage Jude took from his pocket his extra little wedding-present,
which turned out to be two or three yards of white tulle, which he threw
over her bonnet and all, as a veil.
"It looks so odd over a bonnet," she said. "I'll take the bonnet off."
"Oh no--let it stay," said Phillotson. And she obeyed.
When they had passed up the church and were standing in their
places Jude found that the antecedent visit had certainly
taken off the edge of this performance, but by the time they
were half-way on with the service he wished from his heart
that he had not undertaken the business of giving her away.
How could Sue have had the temerity to ask him to do it--
a cruelty possibly to herself as well as to him?
Women were different from men in such matters.
Was it that they were, instead of more sensitive, as reputed,
more callous, and less romantic; or were they more heroic?
Or was Sue simply so perverse that she wilfully gave herself
and him pain for the odd and mournful luxury of practising
long-suffering in her own person, and of being touched
with tender pity for him at having made him practise it?
He could perceive that her face was nervously set, and when they
reached the trying ordeal of Jude giving her to Phillotson she
could hardly command herself; rather, however, as it seemed,
from her knowledge of what her cousin must feel, whom she
need not have had there at all, than from self-consideration.
Possibly she would go on inflicting such pains again and again,
and grieving for the sufferer again and again, in all her
colossal inconsistency.
Phillotson seemed not to notice, to be surrounded by a mist which prevented
his seeing the emotions of others. As soon as they had signed their names
and come away, and the suspense was over, Jude felt relieved.
The meal at his lodging was a very simple affair, and at two
o'clock they went off. In crossing the pavement to the fly she
looked back; and there was a frightened light in her eyes.
Could it be that Sue had acted with such unusual foolishness
as to plunge into she knew not what for the sake of asserting
her independence of him, of retaliating on him for his secrecy?
Perhaps Sue was thus venturesome with men because she was childishly
ignorant of that side of their natures which wore out women's
hearts and lives.
When her foot was on the carriage-step she turned round,
saying that she had forgotten something. Jude and the landlady
offered to get it.
"No," she said, running back. "It is my handkerchief.
I know where I left it."
Jude followed her back. She had found it, and came holding it in her hand.
She looked into his eyes with her own tearful ones, and her lips suddenly
parted as if she were going to avow something. But she went on; and whatever
she had meant to say remained unspoken.
