Having failed to obtain work here as yet he went away, and thought again of his cousin, whose presence somewhere at hand he seemed to feel in wavelets of interest, if not of emotion. How he wished he had that pretty portrait of her! At last he wrote to his aunt to send it. She did so, with a request, however, that he was not to bring disturbance into the family by going to see the girl or her relations. Jude, a ridiculously affectionate fellow, promised nothing, put the photograph on the mantel-piece, kissed it--he did not know why--and felt more at home. She seemed to look down and preside over his tea. It was cheering--the one thing uniting him to the emotions of the living city.
There remained the schoolmaster--probably now a reverend parson. But he could not possibly hunt up such a respectable man just yet; so raw and unpolished was his condition, so precarious were his fortunes. Thus he still remained in loneliness. Although people moved round him he virtually saw none. Not as yet having mingled with the active life of the place it was largely non-existent to him. But the saints and prophets in the window-tracery, the paintings in the galleries, the statues, the busts, the gargoyles, the corbel-heads--these seemed to breathe his atmosphere. Like all new comers to a spot on which the past is deeply graven he heard that past announcing itself with an emphasis altogether unsuspected by, and even incredible to, the habitual residents.
For many days he haunted the cloisters and quadrangles of the colleges at odd minutes in passing them, surprised by impish echoes of his own footsteps, smart as the blows of a mallet. The Christminster "sentiment," as it had been called, ate further and further into him; till he probably knew more about those buildings materially, artistically, and historically, than any one of their inmates.
It was not till now, when he found himself actually on the spot of his enthusiasm, that Jude perceived how far away from the object of that enthusiasm he really was. Only a wall divided him from those happy young contemporaries of his with whom he shared a common mental life; men who had nothing to do from morning till night but to read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest. Only a wall-- but what a wall!
Every day, every hour, as he went in search of labour, he saw them going and coming also, rubbed shoulders with them, heard their voices, marked their movements. The conversation of some of the more thoughtful among them seemed oftentimes, owing to his long and persistent preparation for this place, to be peculiarly akin to his own thoughts. Yet he was as far from them as if he had been at the antipodes. Of course he was. He was a young workman in a white blouse, and with stone-dust in the creases of his clothes; and in passing him they did not even see him, or hear him, rather saw through him as through a pane of glass at their familiars beyond. Whatever they were to him, he to them was not on the spot at all; and yet he had fancied he would be close to their lives by coming there.
But the future lay ahead after all; and if he could only be so fortunate as to get into good employment he would put up with the inevitable. So he thanked God for his health and strength, and took courage. For the present he was outside the gates of everything, colleges included: perhaps some day he would be inside. Those palaces of light and leading; he might some day look down on the world through their panes.
At length he did receive a message from the stone-mason's yard-- that a job was waiting for him. It was his first encouragement, and he closed with the offer promptly.
He was young and strong, or he never could have executed with such zest the undertakings to which he now applied himself, since they involved reading most of the night after working all the day. First he bought a shaded lamp for four and six-pence, and obtained a good light. Then he got pens, paper, and such other necessary books as he had been unable to obtain elsewhere. Then, to the consternation of his landlady, he shifted all the furniture of his room--a single one for living and sleeping--rigged up a curtain on a rope across the middle, to make a double chamber out of one, hung up a thick blind that no-body should know how he was curtailing the hours of sleep, laid out his books, and sat down.
Having been deeply encumbered by marrying, getting a cottage, and buying the furniture which had disappeared in the wake of his wife, he had never been able to save any money since the time of those disastrous ventures, and till his wages began to come in he was obliged to live in the narrowest way. After buying a book or two he could not even afford himself a fire; and when the nights reeked with the raw and cold air from the Meadows he sat over his lamp in a great-coat, hat, and woollen gloves.
From his window he could perceive the spire of the cathedral, and the ogee dome under which resounded the great bell of the city. The tall tower, tall belfry windows, and tall pinnacles of the college by the bridge he could also get a glimpse of by going to the staircase. These objects he used as stimulants when his faith in the future was dim.
Like enthusiasts in general he made no inquiries into details of procedure. Picking up general notions from casual acquaintance, he never dwelt upon them. For the present, he said to himself, the one thing necessary was to get ready by accumulating money and knowledge, and await whatever chances were afforded to such an one of becoming a son of the University. "For wisdom is a defence, and money is a defence; but the excellency of knowledge is, that wisdom giveth life to them that have it." His desire absorbed him, and left no part of him to weigh its practicability.
At this time he received a nervously anxious letter from his poor old aunt, on the subject which had previously distressed her-- a fear that Jude would not be strong-minded enough to keep away from his cousin Sue Bridehead and her relations. Sue's father, his aunt believed, had gone back to London, but the girl remained at Christminster. To make her still more objectionable she was an artist or designer of some sort in what was called an ecclesiastical warehouse, which was a perfect seed-bed of idolatry, and she was no doubt abandoned to mummeries on that account--if not quite a Papist. (Miss Drusilla Fawley was of her date, Evangelical.)
As Jude was rather on an intellectual track than a theological, this news of Sue's probable opinions did not much influence him one way or the other, but the clue to her whereabouts was decidedly interesting. With an altogether singular pleasure he walked at his earliest spare minutes past the shops answering to his great-aunt's description; and beheld in one of them a young girl sitting behind a desk, who was suspiciously like the original of the portrait. He ventured to enter on a trivial errand, and having made his purchase lingered on the scene. The shop seemed to be kept entirely by women. It contained Anglican books, stationery, texts, and fancy goods: little plaster angels on brackets, Gothic-framed pictures of saints, ebony crosses that were almost crucifixes, prayer-books that were almost missals. He felt very shy of looking at the girl in the desk; she was so pretty that he could not believe it possible that she should belong to him. Then she spoke to one of the two older women behind the counter; and he recognized in the accents certain qualities of his own voice; softened and sweetened, but his own. What was she doing? He stole a glance round. Before her lay a piece of zinc, cut to the shape of a scroll three or four feet long, and coated with a dead-surface paint on one side. Hereon she was designing or illuminating, in characters of Church text, the single word
A L L E L U J H
"A sweet, saintly, Christian business, hers!" thought he.
Her presence here was now fairly enough explained, her skill in work of this sort having no doubt been acquired from her father's occupation as an ecclesiastical worker in metal. The lettering on which she was engaged was clearly intended to be fixed up in some chancel to assist devotion.
He came out. It would have been easy to speak to her there and then, but it seemed scarcely honourable towards his aunt to disregard her request so incontinently. She had used him roughly, but she had brought him up: and the fact of her being powerless to control him lent a pathetic force to a wish that would have been inoperative as an argument.
So Jude gave no sign. He would not call upon Sue just yet. He had other reasons against doing so when he had walked away. She seemed so dainty beside himself in his rough working-jacket and dusty trousers that he felt he was as yet unready to encounter her, as he had felt about Mr. Phillotson. And how possible it was that she had inherited the antipathies of her family, and would scorn him, as far as a Christian could, particularly when he had told her that unpleasant part of his history which had resulted in his becoming enchained to one of her own sex whom she would certainly not admire.
Thus he kept watch over her, and liked to feel she was there. The consciousness of her living presence stimulated him. But she remained more or less an ideal character, about whose form he began to weave curious and fantastic day-dreams.
Between two and three weeks afterwards Jude was engaged with some more men, outside Crozier College in Old-time Street, in getting a block of worked freestone from a waggon across the pavement, before hoisting it to the parapet which they were repairing. Standing in position the head man said, "Spaik when he heave! He-ho!" And they heaved.
All of a sudden, as he lifted, his cousin stood close to his elbow, pausing a moment on the bend of her foot till the obstructing object should have been removed. She looked right into his face with liquid, untranslatable eyes, that combined, or seemed to him to combine, keenness with tenderness, and mystery with both, their expression, as well as that of her lips, taking its life from some words just spoken to a companion, and being carried on into his face quite unconsciously. She no more observed his presence than that of the dust-motes which his manipulations raised into the sunbeams.
His closeness to her was so suggestive that he trembled, and turned his face away with a shy instinct to prevent her recognizing him, though as she had never once seen him she could not possibly do so; and might very well never have heard even his name. He could perceive that though she was a country-girl at bottom, a latter girlhood of some years in London, and a womanhood here, had taken all rawness out of her.
When she was gone he continued his work, reflecting on her. He had been so caught by her influence that he had taken no count of her general mould and build. He remembered now that she was not a large figure, that she was light and slight, of the type dubbed elegant. That was about all he had seen. There was nothing statuesque in her; all was nervous motion. She was mobile, living, yet a painter might not have called her handsome or beautiful. But the much that she was surprised him. She was quite a long way removed from the rusticity that was his. How could one of his cross-grained, unfortunate, almost accursed stock, have contrived to reach this pitch of niceness? London had done it, he supposed.
From this moment the emotion which had been accumulating in his breast as the bottled-up effect of solitude and the poetized locality he dwelt in, insensibly began to precipitate itself on this half-visionary form; and he perceived that, whatever his obedient wish in a contrary direction, he would soon be unable to resist the desire to make himself known to her.
He affected to think of her quite in a family way, since there were crushing reasons why he should not and could not think of her in any other.
The first reason was that he was married, and it would be wrong. The second was that they were cousins. It was not well for cousins to fall in love even when circumstances seemed to favour the passion. The third: even were he free, in a family like his own where marriage usually meant a tragic sadness, marriage with a blood-relation would duplicate the adverse conditions, and a tragic sadness might be intensified to a tragic horror.
Therefore, again, he would have to think of Sue with only a relation's mutual interest in one belonging to him; regard her in a practical way as some one to be proud of; to talk and nod to; later on, to be invited to tea by, the emotion spent on her being rigorously that of a kinsman and well-wisher. So would she be to him a kindly star, an elevating power, a companion in Anglican worship, a tender friend
实际生活问题，包括最起码的吃饱肚子的问题，暂时驱散了裘德夜来鬼魂出没的幻觉，迫使他不能不好好考虑眼前的迫切需要，高尚思想也只好束之高阁。他得马上起床，想办法找力气活干，很多老手艺人认为他们要干只有这类活儿好干。
他带着这个打算上了街，没想到那会儿一个个学院心怀叵测地变掉了同情的面孔：有些神情据傲，自命不凡；有些阴森森，好比世家大族祖茔的墓穴冒到地上；所有石头造的东西的神态都是粗野蛮横。倒是伟大人物的魂灵一个不见了。
他周围数不清的建筑都是由过世的匠人花了大力气，凭着好手艺，才使设计的图纸得以变为实物的，他看的时候自然而然地用工匠和同道的眼光，而不是站在艺术家 ——批评家的角度。他仔细审视一件件造型，抚摸它们，因为他深知制作它们的始末，讲得出来做的时候是难还是易，费工多还是费工少，胳膊累得酸还是工具用起来顺手。
夜晚看起来形态完美、合乎理想的东西，大白天一看就成了多多少少有缺陷的实在之物。他看得出来，那些年深日久的建筑遭到了怎样的虐害和凌辱。有几件作品，其状之惨不免令他心酸，而他每逢看到有感觉的活物受到残害总有这样的感受。它们曾同岁月、气候和人进行过殊死的搏斗，因此受了伤，破了相，伤痕累累，再也不是本来面目了。
看着看着那些历史纪录的衰残颓败，他猛然想起自己没有好好抓紧时间，利用这个上午按原来想好的目标去办切实有用的事。他先得找活儿干，有活儿干才有日子过呀，但是大半个上午就这么白白过去了。不过这地方既然到处是破破烂烂的石头，那就不愁没有大量的修旧换新的活儿给他这行人干，他往这方面一想，就打起精神来了。原来在阿尔夫瑞顿时候，人家已经把这地方的石匠作坊的名字告诉他，他就向人打听怎么个走法，没多会儿，他就听见了熟悉的錾石头、磨石头的声音。
作坊是个既整旧又成新的小小中心。先前他看见的石头作品都是饱经岁月侵蚀残损了的，这会儿在作坊里又看见同它们一样的整体逼真的仿造物，边角分明，曲线圆活。它们给人的观感是以散文形式表现的，而苔痕斑驳的学院墙壁所展示的则是古代的诗歌。在那些古董中间，有些当初簇簇新时候，也不妨以散文视之；它们以前无所事事，老是傻等着，熬到后来就具备诗意了。顶小的建筑带上诗意非常容易，不过就人而论，大多数可难得熬出来诗意。
他要找掌班的，同时在花格窗、直棂窗、横档、柱身、尖塔、垛堞中间来回浏览。没完工的活计还放在工作台上，完了工的等着运走。它们以精确、数学意味的明快、光洁、严整为鲜明的特色，反观原来创意所在的旧墙壁上，只剩下破碎的线条：曲线变异，精度荡然，图形走样、层次失调。
一刹那间裘德感受到一道启示真理的光芒：眼前这石场不正是多少辈人心血集中的地方吗？论价值，何尝比高贵的学院里备受尊崇的所谓学术研究有半分逊色，怎奈他那些陈旧观点已经积重难返，所以对这样的启示也就失之交臂了。他以前的雇主曾为他大力举荐，不论人家这会儿给他什么活儿干，他都会接下来，不过他接下来也还是当临时过渡。这就是他身上表现出来的现代特有的内心扰攘。见异思迁的毛病。
不但如此，他已经看明白这个作坊充其量无非是复制、修整和仿造；他猜想这种情形缘于当地的某些临时需要。他这会儿还不理解中世纪精神如同煤堆里一片羊齿植物的叶子，已经没有生命了。而与此不同的发展正在他置身其中的世界成熟，哥特式建筑艺术以及与之相关的东西没了立足之地。对于他以诚敬之心虔信不渝的那么多玩意儿，当代逻辑与想象怀有势不两立的仇恨，而他到这会儿还没摸到一点门径呢。
既然他还不能一下子就在这个作坊找到活儿干，他也就出来了，这时却想到那位表亲。就算他不是情动于中吧，也算得兴之所趋，他似乎默默感知她就在什么切近的地方。他多想得到她那张漂亮相片啊！最后他还是写信给姑婆，恳求她把相片寄来。她答应是答应了，不过附带一个要求：他万万不可去看望姑娘和她的亲属，免得把人家扰得鸡犬不宁。裘德为人本来敬老爱幼到了可笑的程度，这一回他可没答应。他把相片放在壁炉搁板上，亲了它（他也说不出道理），心里觉着自在多了。她仿佛在那儿朝下看，张罗着他用茶点。这件事跟他对这个有活力的城市的感情对上了，真是叫人打心眼儿里高兴啊。
还有老师没见到哪——他这会儿大概成了受人尊敬的教区牧师吧，不过眼下他还不宜去寻访这位有身份的人物。他样子多粗鲁不文，难登大雅之堂啊，何况他日子还过得朝不保夕呢，所以他还是一个人寂寞独处。尽管周围人来人往，其实他等于一个人没看见。既然他没跟当地活跃的生活打成一片，这样的生活对他来说也就不存在。但是花格窗上的圣哲和先知。画廊中的肖像、全身雕像、胸像、喷水兽头、壁架上的头像，很像跟他呼吸着同样空气。他也跟初来乍到某个往事历久不磨的地方那样，老听它喋喋不休地诉说过去。然而当地住惯了的老百姓根本不拿它当回事儿，甚至不信它说的那一套。
有好多天，他反正闲看没事，一走过那些学院，就到里边的回廊和四方院转悠，听到自己脚步的回声就像棒槌敲那么爽脆，不禁为之惊奇。所谓基督堂“情结”越来越深入，泱肌泌髓，以至于后来他对那些建筑的物质方面、历史方面和工艺方面了解之深，恐怕里面住的人没哪个比得上。
到了这时候，他才感到自己脚踏实地置身于热烈向往的地方，同时他也恍然大悟，他的热忱倾注的目标离他实在太远了。就是那么一堵墙，就把他跟那些快乐、年轻的同代人完全隔开了，而他同他们过着的精神生活却初无二致。那些人自晨至夕，整天价别无所事，就是广读，约取，深研，明辨。就那么一堵墙啊——可又是怎样一堵墙啊！
每一天，每一个钟头，他为找活干奔走的时候，他也看到他们来来往往，同他们摩肩而过，听见他们说话，注意他们的举动。因为他来这地方之前经过长期不懈的准备，所以他们中间一些思想较为丰富的人的谈话内容在他是耳熟能详，尤其是思想上同他如出一辙。然而他同他们相距之遥好比他是在地球另一极。这倒也是理所当然啊。他是个穿白大褂、衣服褶子里净是石粉的青年工人嘛。他们从他旁边过去，看都不看他一眼，也不听他说什么。他好像一块玻璃，他们就像透过玻璃瞧那一边的熟人。不论他怎么看待他们，反正他们看他真正是目中无人。然而他以往幻想过他一到这地方，就会跟他们的生活密切接触呢。
