Jude the Obscure by Thomas Hardy (snow like ashes .txt) 📕

“I don’t care a damn,” he was saying, “for any Provost, Warden, Principal, Fellow, or cursed Master of Arts in the University! What I know is that I’d lick ’em on their own ground if they’d give me a chance, and show ’em a few things they are not up to yet!”

“Hear, hear!” said the undergraduates from the corner, where they were talking privately about the pups.

“You always was fond o’ books, I’ve heard,” said Tinker Taylor, “and I don’t doubt what you state. Now with me ’twas different. I always saw there was more to be learnt outside a book than in; and I took my steps accordingly, or I shouldn’t have been the man I am.”

“You aim at the Church, I believe?” said Uncle Joe. “If you are such a scholar as to pitch yer hopes so high as that, why not give us a specimen of your scholarship? Canst say the Creed in Latin, man? That was how they once put it to a chap down in my country.”

“I should think so!” said Jude haughtily.

“Not he! Like his conceit!” screamed one of the ladies.

“Just you shut up, Bower o’ Bliss!” said one of the undergraduates. “Silence!” He drank off the spirits in his tumbler, rapped with it on the counter, and announced, “The gentleman in the corner is going to rehearse the Articles of his Belief, in the Latin tongue, for the edification of the company.”

“I won’t!” said Jude.

“Yes⁠—have a try!” said the surplice-maker.

“You can’t!” said Uncle Joe.

“Yes, he can!” said Tinker Taylor.

“I’ll swear I can!” said Jude. “Well, come now, stand me a small Scotch cold, and I’ll do it straight off.”

“That’s a fair offer,” said the undergraduate, throwing down the money for the whisky.

The barmaid concocted the mixture with the bearing of a person compelled to live amongst animals of an inferior species, and the glass was handed across to Jude, who, having drunk the contents, stood up and began rhetorically, without hesitation:

“Credo in unum Deum, Patrem omnipotentem, Factorem coeli et terrae, visibilium omnium et invisibilium.”

“Good! Excellent Latin!” cried one of the undergraduates, who, however, had not the slightest conception of a single word.

A silence reigned among the rest in the bar, and the maid stood still, Jude’s voice echoing sonorously into the inner parlour, where the landlord was dozing, and bringing him out to see what was going on. Jude had declaimed steadily ahead, and was continuing:

“Crucifixus etiam pro nobis: sub Pontio Pilato passus, et sepultus est. Et resurrexit tertia die, secundum Scripturas.”

“That’s the Nicene,” sneered the second undergraduate. “And we wanted the Apostles’!”

“You didn’t say so! And every fool knows, except you, that the Nicene is the most historic creed!”

“Let un go on, let un go on!” said the auctioneer.

But Jude’s mind seemed to grow confused soon, and he could not get on. He put his hand to his forehead, and his face assumed an expression of pain.

“Give him another glass⁠—then he’ll fetch up and get through it,” said Tinker Taylor.

Somebody threw down threepence, the glass was handed, Jude stretched out his arm for it without looking, and having swallowed the liquor, went on in a moment in a revived voice, raising it as he neared the end with the manner of a priest leading a congregation:

“Et in Spiritum Sanctum, Dominum et vivificantem, qui ex Patre Filioque procedit. Qui cum Patre et Filio simul adoratur et conglorificatur. Qui locutus est per prophetas.

“Et unam Catholicam et Apostolicam Ecclesiam. Confiteor unum Baptisma in remissionem peccatorum. Et expecto Resurrectionem mortuorum. Et vitam venturi saeculi. Amen.”

“Well done!” said several, enjoying the last word, as being the first and only one they had recognized.

Then Jude seemed to shake the fumes from his brain, as he stared round upon them.

“You pack of fools!” he cried. “Which one of you knows whether I have said it or no? It might have been ‘The Ratcatcher’s Daughter’ in double Dutch for all that your besotted heads can tell! See what I have brought myself to⁠—the crew I have come among!”

The landlord, who had already had his license endorsed for harbouring queer characters, feared a riot, and came outside the counter; but Jude, in his sudden flash of reason, had turned in disgust and left the scene, the door slamming with a dull thud behind him.

He hastened down the lane and round into the straight broad street, which he followed till it merged in the highway, and all sound of his late companions had been left behind. Onward he still went, under the influence of a childlike yearning for the one being in the world to whom it seemed possible to fly⁠—an unreasoning desire, whose ill judgment was not apparent to him now. In the course of an hour, when it was between ten and eleven o’clock, he entered the village of Lumsdon, and reaching the cottage, saw that a light was burning in a downstairs room, which he assumed, rightly as it happened, to be hers.

Jude stepped close to the wall, and tapped with his finger on the pane, saying impatiently, “Sue, Sue!”

She must have recognized his voice, for the light disappeared from the apartment, and in a second or two the door was unlocked and opened, and Sue appeared with a candle in her hand.

“Is it Jude? Yes, it is! My dear, dear cousin, what’s the matter?”

“O, I am⁠—I couldn’t help coming, Sue!” said he, sinking down upon the doorstep. “I am so wicked, Sue⁠—my heart is nearly broken, and I could not bear my life as it was! So I have been drinking, and blaspheming, or next door to it, and saying holy things in disreputable quarters⁠—repeating in idle bravado words which ought never to be uttered but reverently! O, do anything with me, Sue⁠—kill me⁠—I don’t care! Only don’t hate me and despise me like all the rest of the world!”

“You are ill, poor dear! No, I won’t despise you; of course I