The room had been arranged with a view to the dancing, the large
oak table having been moved back till it stood as a breastwork to
the fireplace. At each end, behind, and in the chimney-corner were
grouped the guests, many of them being warm-faced and panting, among
whom Eustacia cursorily recognized some well-to-do persons from
beyond the heath. Thomasin, as she had expected, was not visible, and
Eustacia recollected that a light had shone from an upper window when
they were outside--the window, probably, of Thomasin's room. A nose,
chin, hands, knees, and toes projected from the seat within the
chimney opening, which members she found to unite in the person of
Grandfer Cantle, Mrs. Yeobright's occasional assistant in the garden,
and therefore one of the invited. The smoke went up from an Etna of
peat in front of him, played round the notches of the chimney-crook,
struck against the saltbox, and got lost among the flitches.
Another part of the room soon riveted her gaze. At the other side of
the chimney stood the settle, which is the necessary supplement to a
fire so open that nothing less than a strong breeze will carry up the
smoke. It is, to the hearths of old-fashioned cavernous fireplaces,
what the east belt of trees is to the exposed country estate, or the
north wall to the garden. Outside the settle candles gutter, locks
of hair wave, young women shiver, and old men sneeze. Inside is
Paradise. Not a symptom of a draught disturbs the air; the sitters'
backs are as warm as their faces, and songs and old tales are drawn
from the occupants by the comfortable heat, like fruit from melon
plants in a frame.
It was, however, not with those who sat in the settle that Eustacia
was concerned. A face showed itself with marked distinctness against
the dark-tanned wood of the upper part. The owner, who was leaning
against the settle's outer end, was Clement Yeobright, or Clym, as
he was called here; she knew it could be nobody else. The spectacle
constituted an area of two feet in Rembrandt's intensest manner. A
strange power in the lounger's appearance lay in the fact that, though
his whole figure was visible, the observer's eye was only aware of his
face.
To one of middle age the countenance was that of a young man, though a
youth might hardly have seen any necessity for the term of immaturity.
But it was really one of those faces which convey less the idea of so
many years as its age than of so much experience as its store. The
number of their years may have adequately summed up Jared, Mahalaleel,
and the rest of the antediluvians, but the age of a modern man is to
be measured by the intensity of his history.
The face was well shaped, even excellently. But the mind within was
beginning to use it as a mere waste tablet whereon to trace its
idiosyncrasies as they developed themselves. The beauty here visible
would in no long time be ruthlessly over-run by its parasite, thought,
which might just as well have fed upon a plainer exterior where there
was nothing it could harm. Had Heaven preserved Yeobright from a
wearing habit of meditation, people would have said, "A handsome man."
Had his brain unfolded under sharper contours they would have said, "A
thoughtful man." But an inner strenuousness was preying upon an outer
symmetry, and they rated his look as singular.
Hence people who began by beholding him ended by perusing him.
His countenance was overlaid with legible meanings. Without being
thought-worn he yet had certain marks derived from a perception of his
surroundings, such as are not unfrequently found on men at the end of
the four or five years of endeavour which follow the close of placid
pupilage. He already showed that thought is a disease of flesh, and
indirectly bore evidence that ideal physical beauty is incompatible
with emotional development and a full recognition of the coil of
things. Mental luminousness must be fed with the oil of life, even
though there is already a physical need for it; and the pitiful sight
of two demands on one supply was just showing itself here.
When standing before certain men the philosopher regrets that thinkers
are but perishable tissue, the artist that perishable tissue has to
think. Thus to deplore, each from his point of view, the mutually
destructive interdependence of spirit and flesh would have been
instinctive with these in critically observing Yeobright.
As for his look, it was a natural cheerfulness striving against
depression from without, and not quite succeeding. The look suggested
isolation, but it revealed something more. As is usual with bright
natures, the deity that lies ignominiously chained within an ephemeral
human carcase shone out of him like a ray.
The effect upon Eustacia was palpable. The extraordinary pitch of
excitement that she had reached beforehand would, indeed, have caused
her to be influenced by the most commonplace man. She was troubled at
Yeobright's presence.
The remainder of the play ended: the Saracen's head was cut off, and
Saint George stood as victor. Nobody commented, any more than they
would have commented on the fact of mushrooms coming in autumn or
snowdrops in spring. They took the piece as phlegmatically as did the
actors themselves. It was a phase of cheerfulness which was, as a
matter of course, to be passed through every Christmas; and there was
no more to be said.
They sang the plaintive chant which follows the play, during which all
the dead men rise to their feet in a silent and awful manner, like
the ghosts of Napoleon's soldiers in the Midnight Review. Afterwards
the door opened, and Fairway appeared on the threshold, accompanied
by Christian and another. They had been waiting outside for the
conclusion of the play, as the players had waited for the conclusion
of the dance.
"Come in, come in," said Mrs. Yeobright; and Clym went forward to
welcome them. "How is it you are so late? Grandfer Cantle has been
here ever so long, and we thought you'd have come with him, as you
live so near one another."
"Well, I should have come earlier," Mr. Fairway said, and paused to
look along the beam of the ceiling for a nail to hang his hat on; but,
finding his accustomed one to be occupied by the mistletoe, and all
the nails in the walls to be burdened with bunches of holly, he at
last relieved himself of the hat by ticklishly balancing it between
the candlebox and the head of the clock-case. "I should have come
earlier, ma'am," he resumed, with a more composed air, "but I know
what parties be, and how there's none too much room in folks' houses
at such times, so I thought I wouldn't come till you'd got settled a
bit."
"And I thought so too, Mrs. Yeobright," said Christian earnestly, "but
father there was so eager that he had no manners at all, and left home
almost afore 'twas dark. I told him 'twas barely decent in a' old man
to come so oversoon; but words be wind."
"Klk! I wasn't going to bide waiting about, till half the game was
over! I'm as light as a kite when anything's going on!" crowed
Grandfer Cantle from the chimney-seat.
Fairway had meanwhile concluded a critical gaze at Yeobright. "Now,
you may not believe it," he said to the rest of the room, "but I
should never have knowed this gentleman if I had met him anywhere off
his own he'th--he's altered so much."
"You too have altered, and for the better, I think Timothy," said
Yeobright, surveying the firm figure of Fairway.
"Master Yeobright, look me over too. I have altered for the better,
haven't I, hey?" said Grandfer Cantle, rising and placing himself
something above half a foot from Clym's eye, to induce the most
searching criticism.
"To be sure we will," said Fairway, taking the candle and moving it
over the surface of the Grandfer's countenance, the subject of his
scrutiny irradiating himself with light and pleasant smiles, and
giving himself jerks of juvenility.
"You haven't changed much," said Yeobright.
"If there's any difference, Grandfer is younger," appended Fairway
decisively.
"And yet not my own doing, and I feel no pride in it," said the
pleased ancient. "But I can't be cured of my vagaries; them I plead
guilty to. Yes, Master Cantle always was that, as we know. But I am
nothing by the side of you, Mister Clym."
"Nor any o' us," said Humphrey, in a low rich tone of admiration, not
intended to reach anybody's ears.
"Really, there would have been nobody here who could have stood as
decent second to him, or even third, if I hadn't been a soldier in the
Bang-up Locals (as we was called for our smartness)," said Grandfer
Cantle. "And even as 'tis we all look a little scammish beside him.
But in the year four 'twas said there wasn't a finer figure in
the whole South Wessex than I, as I looked when dashing past the
shop-winders with the rest of our company on the day we ran out o'
Budmouth because it was thoughted that Boney had landed round the
point. There was I, straight as a young poplar, wi' my firelock, and
my bag-net, and my spatter-dashes, and my stock sawing my jaws off,
and my accoutrements sheening like the seven stars! Yes, neighbours,
I was a pretty sight in my soldiering days. You ought to have seen me
in four!"
"'Tis his mother's side where Master Clym's figure comes from, bless
ye," said Timothy. "I know'd her brothers well. Longer coffins were
never made in the whole country of South Wessex, and 'tis said that
poor George's knees were crumpled up a little e'en as 'twas."
"Coffins, where?" inquired Christian, drawing nearer. "Have the ghost
of one appeared to anybody, Master Fairway?"
"No, no. Don't let your mind so mislead your ears, Christian; and be
a man," said Timothy reproachfully.
"I will." said Christian. "But now I think o't my shadder last night
seemed just the shape of a coffin. What is it a sign of when your
shade's like a coffin, neighbours? It can't be nothing to be afeared
of, I suppose?"
"Afeared, no!" said the Grandfer. "Faith, I was never afeard of
nothing except Boney, or I shouldn't ha' been the soldier I was. Yes,
'tis a thousand pities you didn't see me in four!"
By this time the mummers were preparing to leave; but Mrs. Yeobright
stopped them by asking them to sit down and have a little supper. To
this invitation Father Christmas, in the name of them all, readily
agreed.
Eustacia was happy in the opportunity of staying a little longer.
The cold and frosty night without was doubly frigid to her. But the
lingering was not without its difficulties. Mrs. Yeobright, for want
of room in the larger apartment, placed a bench for the mummers
half-way through the pantry door, which opened from the sitting-room.
Here they seated themselves in a row, the door being left open: thus
they were still virtually in the same apartment. Mrs. Yeobright
now murmured a few words to her son, who crossed the room to the
pantry-door, striking his head against the mistletoe as he passed, and
brought the mummers beef and bread, cake pastry, mead, and elder-wine,
the waiting being done by him and his mother, that the little
maid-servant might sit as guest. The mummers doffed their helmets,
and began to eat and drink.
"But you will surely have some?" said Clym to the Turkish Knight,
as he stood before that warrior, tray in hand. She had refused, and
still sat covered, only the sparkle of her eyes being visible between
the ribbons which covered her face.
"None, thank you," replied Eustacia.
"He's quite a youngster," said the Saracen apologetically, "and you
must excuse him. He's not one of the old set, but have jined us
because t'other couldn't come."
"But he will take something?" persisted Yeobright. "Try a glass of
mead or elder-wine."
"Yes, you had better try that," said the Saracen. "It will keep the
cold out going home-along."
Though Eustacia could not eat without uncovering her face she
could drink easily enough beneath her disguise. The elder-wine was
accordingly accepted, and the glass vanished inside the ribbons.
At moments during this performance Eustacia was half in doubt about
the security of her position; yet it had a fearful joy. A series of
attentions paid to her, and yet not to her but to some imaginary
person, by the first man she had ever been inclined to adore,
complicated her emotions indescribably. She had loved him partly
because he was exceptional in this scene, partly because she had
determined to love him, chiefly because she was in desperate need of
loving somebody after wearying of Wildeve. Believing that she must
love him in spite of herself, she had been influenced after the
fashion of the second Lord Lyttleton and other persons, who have
dreamed that they were to die on a certain day, and by stress of a
morbid imagination have actually brought about that event. Once let
a maiden admit the possibility of her being stricken with love for
some one at a certain hour and place, and the thing is as good as
done.
Did anything at this moment suggest to Yeobright the sex of the
creature whom that fantastic guise inclosed, how extended was her
scope both in feeling and in making others feel, and how far her
compass transcended that of her companions in the band? When the
disguised Queen of Love appeared before Aeneas a preternatural
perfume accompanied her presence and betrayed her quality. If such a
mysterious emanation ever was projected by the emotions of an earthly
woman upon their object, it must have signified Eustacia's presence to
Yeobright now. He looked at her wistfully, then seemed to fall into
a reverie, as if he were forgetting what he observed. The momentary
situation ended, he passed on, and Eustacia sipped her wine without
knowing what she drank. The man for whom she had predetermined to
nourish a passion went into the small room, and across it to the
further extremity.
The mummers, as has been stated, were seated on a bench, one end of
which extended into the small apartment, or pantry, for want of space
in the outer room. Eustacia, partly from shyness, had chosen the
midmost seat, which thus commanded a view of the interior of the
pantry as well as the room containing the guests. When Clym passed
down the pantry her eyes followed him in the gloom which prevailed
there. At the remote end was a door which, just as he was about to
open it for himself, was opened by somebody within; and light streamed
forth.
The person was Thomasin, with a candle, looking anxious, pale, and
interesting. Yeobright appeared glad to see her, and pressed her
hand. "That's right, Tamsie," he said heartily, as though recalled
to himself by the sight of her, "you have decided to come down. I am
glad of it."
"Hush--no, no," she said quickly. "I only came to speak to you."
"But why not join us?"
"I cannot. At least I would rather not. I am not well enough, and we
shall have plenty of time together now you are going to be home a good
long holiday."
"It isn't nearly so pleasant without you. Are you really ill?"
"Just a little, my old cousin--here," she said, playfully sweeping her
hand across her heart.
"Ah, mother should have asked somebody else to be present tonight,
perhaps?"
"O no, indeed. I merely stepped down, Clym, to ask you--" Here he
followed her through the doorway into the private room beyond, and,
the door closing, Eustacia and the mummer who sat next to her, the
only other witness of the performance, saw and heard no more.
The heat flew to Eustacia's head and cheeks. She instantly guessed
that Clym, having been home only these two or three days, had not as
yet been made acquainted with Thomasin's painful situation with regard
to Wildeve; and seeing her living there just as she had been living
before he left home, he naturally suspected nothing. Eustacia felt
a wild jealousy of Thomasin on the instant. Though Thomasin might
possibly have tender sentiments towards another man as yet, how long
could they be expected to last when she was shut up here with this
interesting and travelled cousin of hers? There was no knowing what
affection might not soon break out between the two, so constantly
in each other's society, and not a distracting object near. Clym's
boyish love for her might have languished, but it might easily be
revived again.
Eustacia was nettled by her own contrivances. What a sheer waste of
herself to be dressed thus while another was shining to advantage! Had
she known the full effect of the encounter she would have moved heaven
and earth to get here in a natural manner. The power of her face all
lost, the charm of her emotions all disguised, the fascinations of her
coquetry denied existence, nothing but a voice left to her; she had a
sense of the doom of Echo. "Nobody here respects me," she said. She
had overlooked the fact that, in coming as a boy among other boys, she
would be treated as a boy. The slight, though of her own causing, and
self-explanatory, she was unable to dismiss as unwittingly shown, so
sensitive had the situation made her.
Women have done much for themselves in histrionic dress. To look far
below those who, like a certain fair personator of Polly Peachum early
in the last century, and another of Lydia Languish early in this, have
won not only love but ducal coronets into the bargain, whole shoals of
them have reached to the initial satisfaction of getting love almost
whence they would. But the Turkish Knight was denied even the chance
of achieving this by the fluttering ribbons which she dared not brush
aside.
Yeobright returned to the room without his cousin. When within two or
three feet of Eustacia he stopped, as if again arrested by a thought.
He was gazing at her. She looked another way, disconcerted, and
wondered how long this purgatory was to last. After lingering a few
seconds he passed on again.
To court their own discomfiture by love is a common instinct with
certain perfervid women. Conflicting sensations of love, fear, and
shame reduced Eustacia to a state of the utmost uneasiness. To escape
was her great and immediate desire. The other mummers appeared to be
in no hurry to leave; and murmuring to the lad who sat next to her
that she preferred waiting for them outside the house, she moved to
the door as imperceptibly as possible, opened it, and slipped out.
The calm, lone scene reassured her. She went forward to the palings
and leant over them, looking at the moon. She had stood thus but a
little time when the door again opened. Expecting to see the remainder
of the band Eustacia turned; but no--Clym Yeobright came out as softly
as she had done, and closed the door behind him.
He advanced and stood beside her. "I have an odd opinion," he said,
"and should like to ask you a question. Are you a woman--or am I
wrong?"
"I am a woman."
His eyes lingered on her with great interest. "Do girls often play as
mummers now? They never used to."
"They don't now."
"Why did you?"
"To get excitement and shake off depression," she said in low tones.
"What depressed you?"
"Life."
"That's a cause of depression a good many have to put up with."
"Yes."
A long silence. "And do you find excitement?" asked Clym at last.
"At this moment, perhaps."
"Then you are vexed at being discovered?"
"Yes; though I thought I might be."
"I would gladly have asked you to our party had I known you wished to
come. Have I ever been acquainted with you in my youth?"
"Never."
"Won't you come in again, and stay as long as you like?"
"No. I wish not to be further recognized."
"Well, you are safe with me." After remaining in thought a minute he
added gently, "I will not intrude upon you longer. It is a strange
way of meeting, and I will not ask why I find a cultivated woman
playing such a part as this."
She did not volunteer the reason which he seemed to hope for, and
he wished her good night, going thence round to the back of the
house, where he walked up and down by himself for some time before
re-entering.
Eustacia, warmed with an inner fire, could not wait for her companions
after this. She flung back the ribbons from her face, opened the
gate, and at once struck into the heath. She did not hasten along.
Her grandfather was in bed at this hour, for she so frequently walked
upon the hills on moonlight nights that he took no notice of her
comings and goings, and, enjoying himself in his own way, left her to
do likewise. A more important subject than that of getting indoors
now engrossed her. Yeobright, if he had the least curiosity, would
infallibly discover her name. What then? She first felt a sort of
exultation at the way in which the adventure had terminated, even
though at moments between her exultations she was abashed and
blushful. Then this consideration recurred to chill her: What was
the use of her exploit? She was at present a total stranger to the
Yeobright family. The unreasonable nimbus of romance with which she
had encircled that man might be her misery. How could she allow
herself to become so infatuated with a stranger? And to fill the
cup of her sorrow there would be Thomasin, living day after day in
inflammable proximity to him; for she had just learnt that, contrary
to her first belief, he was going to stay at home some considerable
time.
She reached the wicket at Mistover Knap, but before opening it she
turned and faced the heath once more. The form of Rainbarrow stood
above the hills, and the moon stood above Rainbarrow. The air was
charged with silence and frost. The scene reminded Eustacia of a
circumstance which till that moment she had totally forgotten. She
had promised to meet Wildeve by the Barrow this very night at eight,
to give a final answer to his pleading for an elopement.
She herself had fixed the evening and the hour. He had probably come
to the spot, waited there in the cold, and been greatly disappointed.
"Well, so much the better: it did not hurt him," she said serenely.
Wildeve had at present the rayless outline of the sun through smoked
glass, and she could say such things as that with the greatest
facility.
She remained deeply pondering; and Thomasin's winning manner towards
her cousin arose again upon Eustacia's mind.
"O that she had been married to Damon before this!" she said. "And
she would if it hadn't been for me! If I had only known--if I had only
known!"
Eustacia once more lifted her deep stormy eyes to the moonlight, and,
sighing that tragic sigh of hers which was so much like a shudder,
entered the shadow of the roof. She threw off her trappings in the
out-house, rolled them up, and went indoors to her chamber.