“也许不老是一模一样吧。好女人就不会。人家说我大概天生冷感——不解男欢女爱。我可不信这套话！情欲顶炽烈的诗人里头大多数在日常生活中就是最能检点、最能克制自己的人啊。”
“这个大学生的事，你跟费乐生先生说了没有？”
“说啦——老早说过啦。这件事，我向来不瞒谁。”
“他说什么啦。”
“他没说什么批评的话——就说了不管我干过什么，反正我是他的一切，还有诸如此类的话。”
裘德心里非常懊丧；她那样的做人方式实在稀罕，她又毫无性的意识，也实在荒诞不经，看样子，她跟他越来越不合拍了。
“亲爱的裘德，你真是没生我的气吗？”她突然问道，声音里含有平时那么难得的温柔，这怎么也不像出自那个刚才还毫不经意述说自己生活史的女人之口。“我就想，我哪怕把世上所有人都得罪了，也不愿意得罪你呀！”
“我也不知道我气不气，反正我就知道我非常关心你！”
“我关心你也跟我关心我碰上的人没两样。”
“就不对我格外关心！行啦，这话我不该说。别提这个吧！”
有好大一阵子，他们俩又相对无言。他感到她对他冷酷无情，可是怎么个冷酷无情法又完全说不上来。看来她茕茕无助的处境使她确实比他坚强多了。
“虽说我读书挺用功，可是讲到一般事物，真是无知透啦。”他说，想换个话题。“你知道，我这阵子正全神贯注在神学上。假定你没在这儿，你猜猜我这会儿该干什么？我要做晚间祈祷。我看你是不愿意——”
“不愿意，不愿意。”她答道。“你要是不介意，我就不来这个。要来，那我就——未免透着太虚伪啦。”
“我想过你不会跟我一块儿祈祷，也就没提。想必你还记得我希望有那么一天当上有益于人的牧师吧？”
“经过审定合格的，我想你指的是这个？”
“对啦。”
“这么说，这个打算你至今没放弃喽！——我也想过，时至今日，说不定你放弃啦。”
“当然没放弃。我原先以为你既然受基督堂圣公会薰陶那么深，就稀里糊涂当你对这事跟我如出一辙呢。况且费乐生先生——”
“我对基督堂绝对没一丝一毫敬意，对那儿的治学方面倒还有点，不过程度也有限。”苏•柏瑞和说这话态度很认真。“我那位朋友把我心里对它的敬重之念一扫而光啦。他是我见过的人里头反宗教反得顶彻底的，为人的道德也是顶高尚的。在基督堂，聪明才智好比是新酒装进了旧皮囊。基督堂的中世纪传统得彻底垮掉才行，得把它摔到垃圾箱里头，要不然基督堂本身非彻底垮掉不可。不错，那儿是有一帮子思想家的确怀着单纯而感人的诚心把古老信仰的传统保存下来了，也难怪人们时时对这东西恋恋不舍，但我在心情最愁闷，也最严肃的时候，总感到
‘圣者头上阴森森的荣光，无非绞死了的诸神的残骸枯骨！’”
“苏啊，你说这样的话可算不得我的朋友啦！”
“那我就别当好啦，亲爱的裘德呀！”她的感情激昂的喉音又恢复了，脸也扭到一边去了。
“我因为进不了基督堂，固然心里愤慨，我还是认为它有好多地方光芒万丈。”他话说得很宛转，遏制住自己想逼她掉眼泪的那股冲动。
“那是个纯然愚昧无知的地方，可是对市民、手艺人、醉鬼和穷光蛋就不好这么说了。”她说，因为他不肯附和，所以依然很任性。“他们眼里的生活是实打实的生活，绝对是这样；可是在那些学院里头就没什么人做得到。你不是就在自个儿身上证明了这一点吗？当年创办那些学院的时候，基督堂原想招的就是你这样的人，满怀热情、有志于学问的人，没钱、没机会、没朋友，结果怎样呢，百万富翁的子孙把你给挤到圈子外头去啦。”
“哎，没基督堂抬举，我还是能照干哪。我关心的是更高尚的东西啊。”
“我呢，关心的是更广泛、更实在的东西。”她一着不让。“这会儿，在基督堂，真才实学坚持走的是一条路，宗教走的是另一条路；两方面僵在那儿，大眼瞪小眼，好比两只公羊的犄角顶到一块儿。”
“费乐生先生该怎么——”
“那地方净是烧香拜神跟见神见鬼的人哪。”
他注意到他一想法提到小学老师，她就把话头转到那个叫人恼火的大学身上，说些不着边际的东西。裘德由于自己病态心理作祟，对她这受费乐生监护的人，他的未婚妻怎么个过法极想探明个究竟；但是她对他一点也没启发。
“哎，我也就是那样的人哪。”他说。“我就是怕实打实的生活，老是见神见鬼的。”
“不过你是又善良又可亲呀！”
他的心怦怦直跳，没回答什么。
“你这会儿还没脱讲册派窠臼哪，不是吗？”她又添上这句话，还故意装得轻率无礼来掩饰真正的感情，这是她常爱玩的一手。“我想想——我这是呆在哪儿，是哪一年？——一千八百——”
“苏呀，你这话是挖苦人呢，叫我很不舒服啊。我要你做的事，你做不做？我跟你说过了，这会儿我都是诵经一章，然后祈祷，现在你就随便找本爱看的书，把注意力集中到上边，背对我坐着，让我按我的习惯做，行吧？你真不跟我一块儿祈祷？”
“我要瞧着你。”
“不行。苏，别拿我开心好吧！”
“好，好，你怎么想，我怎么办，行吧，裘德，我不气你。”她答道，口气就跟小孩子表示今后永远变得乖乖听话的时候那样，接着转过身去，背对着他。除了他正用的《圣经》，还有个缩印本放在她旁边；他静修中间，她把它拿起来，一页一页翻。
裘德做完祈祷，回到她身边。“裘德呀，”她兴高采烈地说，“我给你做本新《新约》，你愿意不愿意，就跟我在基督堂时候做的那本一模一样？”
“哦，行啊。怎么做呢？”
“我先把我那个旧本子的《使徒书》和《福音》都剪开，分成一本一本的，再按它们的写作年代顺序排好，先让《帖撒罗尼迦前书》和《后书》打头，接下来是各部《使徒书》，《福音》排到顶后面。然后就把它装订起来，成了一本。我那位大学生朋友——不提他的名宇啦，可怜的小子啊——说这个主意才妙不可言呢。我知道以后再读《圣经》，就比以前加倍有意思了，比以前加倍地容易懂了。”
“哼！”裘德说，觉得这样做真是亵渎神明。
“你再看它在文学方面造了多大孽啊，”她一边随便翻着《雅歌》，一边说，“我指的是每一章前边提要的内容，经它这么一解释，整部叙事诗的性质全给阔割啦。你用不着这么惊慌失措，一听说有人不赞成每一章提要的神来之笔，就吓得浑身冒汗。说实在的，好多造诣高深的神职人员都看不起这种东西。一想到有二十四位长老，坐在那儿，道貌岸然、装腔作势地写下来这么一大堆废话，简直叫人笑掉了大牙啦！”
裘德露出了难过的样子。“你真是个地道的伏尔泰派！”他嘟嘟囔囔的。
“真的？要是任何人都没权利证明《圣经》里头有假货，那我就什么也不说吧！那些骗子手妄图用教会的名义，把隐藏在伟大而富于激情的诗歌中的热烈而自然的人类爱情肆意抹黑，我恨透了！”她的话变得那么奔放有力，简直是对他的讥刺的怒斥，她的眼睛湿了。“我但愿这儿有个朋友支持我；可是没人站在我一边！”
“我的亲爱的苏呀，我的顶亲爱的苏呀，我可没反对你啊！”他说，把她的手拉起来，对于她仅仅为说明自己的论点也大动感情，未免吃惊。
“你就是反对，你就是反对！”她大声说，扭开脸，不让他看见她热泪盈眶。“你就站在进修学校那帮人一边啊——至少看起来是这样！我始终坚持的是，凡是把这样的诗句：‘啊！你这女子中极美丽的，你的良人转向何处去了。’硬加个注，硬说成‘教会申明其信仰’，不都是十二万分的可笑吗？”
“好啦，就到此为止吧！你瞧你把什么事都跟自个儿的感情联上啦！我是——这会儿只不过太一边倒，亵渎的话说不出口啊！说实话，你就是我的女子中极美丽的哟！”
“可你这会儿先别这么说吧！”苏回答说，她的声音在严厉中一变而为万种温柔。接着他们的目光不期而遇，握起手来，犹如酒馆里边的老朋友那样。裘德深感对这样游谈无根的问题争得面红耳赤，未免大荒唐，而她呢，也明白为了《圣经》这类古书里的东西搞得声泪俱下，未免太愚蠢。
“我并不想扰乱你的信念——我的确不想这么干！”她继续用抚慰的口气说，因为他显得比她还心烦意乱。“不过我的确希望过，渴求过，能促成某个人胸怀高尚的理想，追求远大的目标；我当初一瞧见你，就知道你想要做我的同志，我——我还是干脆说明白好吧？——我当时就想你这个人大概就是的。可是你对许许多多传统的东西抱着深信不疑的态度，我也就没得可说啦。”
“哎，亲爱的；我以为，人要是没什么东西深信不疑，那就不成了。生命那么短促，你哪能先把欧几里德列出来的所有命题逐一证明之后才相信它们呢。我对基督教是深信不疑的。”
“哎，也许还有比这更坏的东西，你也深信不疑吧？”
“我的确会这样。也许我已经对更坏的东西深信不疑过啦！”他想到了阿拉贝拉。
“这我不想问你个究竟，因为咱们两个是你对我非常够意思，我对你也这样，对不对？咱们以后永远不、永远不你气我，我恼你，是吧？”她带着信任的态度抬起头望着他，仿佛要尽量让她的声音逗留在他胸窝里。
“我要永远关心你！”裘德说。
“我也要永远关心你。因为你是心眼儿单纯、诚实，压根儿不计较你那个毛病多、讨人嫌的小苏苏啊。”
她往旁边看，因为她那样娇痴、柔媚，实在叫人心旌摇摇，把持不住自己。难道那位可怜的社论撰稿人就是因为她这样才心碎吗？下一个是不是该轮到他呢。……可是苏够多么可亲可爱啊！如果他也能像她那样轻易不以他是男人为意，而他也不拿她当女人看待，那么她必定成为他的志同道合的伙伴，因为他们虽然对那类空泛无当的问题意见不一，但是他们各自的人生体验却使他们的关系更为贴近了。在他以往认识的女人当中，哪一个也不像她跟他那么亲。他坚信：从今以后，纵使岁月无情，信仰有异，云山阻隔，天各一方，他的心必将永远和她同在。
不过他对她的怀疑一切的态度还是忧虑。他们坐着坐着，到后来她又睡着了，他在自己椅子上也困眼懵腾；一惊醒，就把她的衣服翻动翻动，又把火升大点。六点钟光景，他完全醒过来了，点了根蜡烛，看看她的衣服全干了。她的椅子比他的舒服得多，她裹着他的大衣睡得很沉，小脸暖融融的，宛如刚出炉的小圆面包，莹润鲜洁好似甘尼密德。他把衣服放在她旁边，轻轻拍了拍她的肩膀，然后下楼，到小院里，在星光下洗了脸。
Part 3 Chapter 5
WHEN he returned she was dressed as usual.
"Now could I get out without anybody seeing me?" she asked. "The town is not yet astir."
"But you have had no breakfast."
"Oh, I don't want any! I fear I ought not to have run away from that school! Things seem so different in the cold light of morning, don't they? What Mr. Phillotson will say I don't know! It was quite by his wish that I went there. He is the only man in the world for whom I have any respect or fear. I hope he'll forgive me; but he'll scold me dreadfully, I expect!"
"I'll go to him and explain--" began Jude.
"Oh no, you shan't. I don't care for him! He may think what he likes-- I shall do just as I choose!"
"But you just this moment said----"
"Well, if I did, I shall do as I like for all him! I have thought of what I shall do--go to the sister of one of my fellow-students in the training-school, who has asked me to visit her. She has a school near Shaston, about eighteen miles from here-- and I shall stay there till this has blown over, and I get back to the training-school again."
At the last moment he persuaded her to let him make her a cup of coffee, in a portable apparatus he kept in his room for use on rising to go to his work every day before the household was astir.
"Now a dew-bit to eat with it," he said; "and off we go. You can have a regular breakfast when you get there."
They went quietly out of the house, Jude accompanying her to the station. As they departed along the street a head was thrust out of an upper window of his lodging and quickly withdrawn. Sue still seemed sorry for her rashness, and to wish she had not rebelled; telling him at parting that she would let him know as soon as she got re-admitted to the training-school. They stood rather miserably together on the platform; and it was apparent that he wanted to say more.
"I want to tell you something--two things," he said hurriedly as the train came up. "One is a warm one, the other a cold one!"
"Jude," she said. "I know one of them. And you mustn't!"
"What?"
"You mustn't love me. You are to like me--that's all!"
Jude's face became so full of complicated glooms that hers was agitated in sympathy as she bade him adieu through the carriage window. And then the train moved on, and waving her pretty hand to him she vanished away.
Melchester was a dismal place enough for Jude that Sunday of her departure, and the Close so hateful that he did not go once to the cathedral services. The next morning there came a letter from her, which, with her usual promptitude, she had written directly she had reached her friend's house. She told him of her safe arrival and comfortable quarters, and then added:--
What I really write about, dear Jude, is something I said to you at parting. You had been so very good and kind to me that when you were out of sight I felt what a cruel and ungrateful woman I was to say it, and it has reproached me ever since. IF YOU WANT TO LOVE ME, JUDE, YOU MAY: I don't mind at all; and I'll never say again that you mustn't!
Now I won't write any more about that. You do forgive your thoughtless friend for her cruelty? and won't make her miserable by saying you don't?--Ever, SUE.
It would be superfluous to say what his answer was; and how he thought what he would have done had he been free, which should have rendered a long residence with a female friend quite unnecessary for Sue. He felt he might have been pretty sure of his own victory if it had come to a conflict between Phillotson and himself for the possession of her.
Yet Jude was in danger of attaching more meaning to Sue's impulsive note than it really was intended to bear.
After the lapse of a few days he found himself hoping that she would write again. But he received no further communication; and in the intensity of his solicitude he sent another note, suggesting that he should pay her a visit some Sunday, the distance being under eighteen miles.
He expected a reply on the second morning after despatching his missive; but none came. The third morning arrived; the postman did not stop. This was Saturday, and in a feverish state of anxiety about her he sent off three brief lines stating that he was coming the following day, for he felt sure something had happened.
His first and natural thought had been that she was ill from her immersion; but it soon occurred to him that somebody would have written for her in such a case. Conjectures were put an end to by his arrival at the village school-house near Shaston on the bright morning of Sunday, between eleven and twelve o'clock, when the parish was as vacant as a desert, most of the inhabitants having gathered inside the church, whence their voices could occasionally be heard in unison.
A little girl opened the door. "Miss Bridehead is up-stairs," she said. "And will you please walk up to her?"
"Is she ill?" asked Jude hastily.
"Only a little--not very."
Jude entered and ascended. On reaching the landing a voice told him which way to turn--the voice of Sue calling his name. He passed the doorway, and found her lying in a little bed in a room a dozen feet square.
"Oh, Sue!" he cried, sitting down beside her and taking her hand. "How is this! You couldn't write?"
"No--it wasn't that!" she answered. "I did catch a bad cold-- but I could have written. Only I wouldn't!"
"Why not?--frightening me like this!"
"Yes--that was what I was afraid of! But I had decided not to write to you any more. They won't have me back at the school--that's why I couldn't write. Not the fact, but the reason!"
"Well?"
"They not only won't have me, but they gave me a parting piece of advice----"
"What?"
She did not answer directly. "I vowed I never would tell you, Jude--it is so vulgar and distressing!"
"Is it about us?"
"Yes."
"But do tell me!"
"Well--somebody has sent them baseless reports about us, and they say you and I ought to marry as soon as possible, for the sake of my reputation! ... There--now I have told you, and I wish I hadn't!"
"Oh, poor Sue!"
"I don't think of you like that means! It did just OCCUR to me to regard you in the way they think I do, but I hadn't begun to. I HAVE recognized that the cousinship was merely nominal, since we met as total strangers. But my marrying you, dear Jude--why, of course, if I had reckoned upon marrying you l shouldn't have come to you so often! And I never supposed you thought of such a thing as marrying me till the other evening; when I began to fancy you did love me a little. Perhaps I ought not to have been so intimate with you. It is all my fault. Everything is my fault always!"
The speech seemed a little forced and unreal, and they regarded each other with a mutual distress.
"I was so blind at first!" she went on. "I didn't see what you felt at all. Oh, you have been unkind to me--you have-- to look upon me as a sweetheart without saying a word, and leaving me to discover it myself! Your attitude to me has become known; and naturally they think we've been doing wrong! I'll never trust you again!"
"Yes, Sue," he said simply; "I am to blame--more than you think. I was quite aware that you did not suspect till within the last meeting or two what I was feeling about you. I admit that our meeting as strangers prevented a sense of relationship, and that it was a sort of subterfuge to avail myself of it. But don't you think l deserve a little consideration for concealing my wrong, very wrong, sentiments, since I couldn't help having them?"
She turned her eyes doubtfully towards him, and then looked away as if afraid she might forgive him.
By every law of nature and sex a kiss was the only rejoinder that fitted the mood and the moment, under the suasion of which Sue's undemonstrative regard of him might not inconceivably have changed its temperature. Some men would have cast scruples to the winds, and ventured it, oblivious both of Sue's declaration of her neutral feelings, and of the pair of autographs in the vestry chest of Arabella's parish church. Jude did not. He had, in fact, come in part to tell his own fatal story. It was upon his lips; yet at the hour of this distress he could not disclose it. He preferred to dwell upon the recognized barriers between them.
"Of course--I know you don't--care about me in any particular way," he sorrowed. "You ought not, and you are right. You belong to-- Mr. Phillotson. I suppose he has been to see you?"
"Yes," she said shortly, her face changing a little. "Though I didn't ask him to come. You are glad, of course, that he has been! But I shouldn't care if he didn't come any more!"
It was very perplexing to her lover that she should be piqued at his honest acquiescence in his rival, if Jude's feelings of love were deprecated by her. He went on to something else.
"This will blow over, dear Sue," he said. "The training-school authorities are not all the world. You can get to be a student in some other, no doubt."
"I'll ask Mr. Phillotson," she said decisively.
Sue's kind hostess now returned from church, and there was no more intimate conversation. Jude left in the afternoon, hopelessly unhappy. But he had seen her, and sat with her. Such intercourse as that would have to content him for the remainder of his life. The lesson of renunciation it was necessary and proper that he, as a parish priest, should learn.
But the next morning when he awoke he felt rather vexed with her, and decided that she was rather unreasonable, not to say capricious. Then, in illustration of what he had begun to discern as one of her redeeming characteristics there came promptly a note, which she must have written almost immediately he had gone from her:
Forgive me for my petulance yesterday! I was horrid to you; I know it, and I feel perfectly miserable at my horridness. It was so dear of you not to be angry! Jude please still keep me as your friend and associate, with all my faults. I'll try not to be like it again.
I am coming to Melchester on Saturday, to get my things away from the T.S., &c. I could walk with you for half an hour, if you would like?--Your repentant SUE.
