Jude the Obscure (Oxford World's Classics)

Jude the Obscure
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some more of our late experience. And I don’t care to lessen it by
explaining, for one thing, all about the boy’s history. To cut him o
ff
from his past I have determined to keep silence. I am sickened of
ecclesiastical work now; and I shouldn’t like to accept it if o
ffered
me!’
‘You ought to have learnt Classic. Gothic is barbaric art, after all.
Pugin* was wrong, and Wren was right. Remember the interior of
Christminster Cathedral––almost the 
first place in which we looked
in each other’s faces. Under the picturesqueness of those Norman
details one can see the grotesque childishness of uncouth people
trying to imitate the vanished Roman forms, remembered by dim
tradition only.’
‘Yes––you have half converted me to that view by what you have
said before. But one can work, and despise what one does. I must do
something, if not church-gothic.’
‘I wish we could both follow an occupation in which personal
circumstances don’t count,’ she said, smiling up wistfully. ‘I am as
disquali
fied for teaching as you are for ecclesiastical art. You must
fall back upon railway stations, bridges, theatres, music-halls,
hotels––everything that has no connection with conduct.’
‘I am not skilled in those. . . . I ought to take to bread-baking. I
grew up in the baking business with aunt, you know. But even a
baker must be conventional, to get customers.’
‘Unless he keeps a cake and gingerbread stall at markets and fairs,
where people are gloriously indi
fferent to everything except the
quality of the goods.’
Their thoughts were diverted by the voice of the auctioneer: ‘Now
this antique oak settle––a unique example of old English furniture,
worthy the attention of all collectors.’
‘That was my great-grandfather’s,’ said Jude. ‘I wish we could
have kept the poor old thing!’
One by one the articles went, and the afternoon passed away. Jude
and the other two were getting tired and hungry, but after the con-
versation they had heard they were shy of going out while the pur-
chasers were in their line of retreat. However, the later lots drew on,
and it became necessary to emerge into the rain soon, to take on
Sue’s things to their temporary lodging.
‘Now the next lot: two pairs of pigeons, all alive and plump––a
nice pie for somebody for next Sunday’s dinner!’
At Aldbrickham and Elsewhere
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The impending sale of these birds had been the most trying sus-
pense of the whole afternoon. They were Sue’s pets, and when it was
found that they could not possibly be kept, more sadness was caused
than by parting from all the furniture. Sue tried to think away her
tears as she heard the tri
fling sum that her dears were deemed to be
worth advanced by small stages to the price at which they were
finally knocked down. The purchaser was a neighbouring poulterer,
and they were unquestionably doomed to die before the next market
day.
Noting her dissembled distress Jude kissed her, and said it was
time to go and see if the lodgings were ready. He would go on with
the boy, and fetch her soon.
When she was left alone she waited patiently, but Jude did not
come back. At last she started, the coast being clear, and on passing
the poulterer’s shop, not far o
ff, she saw her pigeons in a hamper by
the door. An emotion at sight of them, assisted by the growing dusk
of evening, caused her to act on impulse, and 
first looking around her
quickly, she pulled out the peg which fastened down the cover, and
went on. The cover was lifted from within, and the pigeons 
flew
away with a clatter that brought the chagrined poulterer cursing and
swearing to the door.
Sue reached the lodging trembling, and found Jude and the boy
making it comfortable for her. ‘Do the buyers pay before they bring
away the things?’ she asked breathlessly.
‘Yes, I think. Why?’
‘Because, then, I’ve done such a wicked thing!’ And she explained
in bitter contrition.
‘I shall have to pay the poulterer for them, if he doesn’t catch
them,’ said Jude. ‘But never mind. Don’t fret about it, dear.’
‘It was foolish of me! O why should Nature’s law be mutual
butchery!’
‘Is it so, mother?’ asked the boy intently.
‘Yes!’ said Sue vehemently.
‘Well, they must take their chance now, poor things,’ said Jude. ‘As
soon as the sale-account is wound up, and our bills paid, we go.’
‘Where do we go to?’ asked Time in suspense.
‘We must sail under sealed orders, that nobody may trace us. . . .
We mustn’t go to Alfredston, or to Melchester, or to Shaston, or to
Christminster. Apart from those we may go anywhere.’