Jude the Obscure (Oxford World's Classics)

At Christminster


---

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 gurgoyles, 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 announ-
cing 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 Christmin-
ster ‘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
Jude the Obscure


---

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 stonemason’s yard––
that a job was waiting for him. It was his 
first encouragement, and he
closed with the o
ffer 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 sixpence, 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 consterna-
tion 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 nobody 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 a
fford 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 know-
ledge, and await whatever chances were a
fforded 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