The Bethel stared away across the fields to Puddledock. [138] For some time its roof, with the chipped Georgian pediment, had risen above the mist. Then the grim windows had come out to stare, and then the tombstones that grew round its feet, leaning and tottering5 among the chapel6 weed.
Tom and Thyrza were to be married at the Bethel. This had caused some surprise in the neighbourhood, as the Beatups had always been “Church”; but friendship and convenience had led to the decision—friendship for the Reverend Mr. Sumption, because Tom knew him better than Mr. Poullett-Smith, and was sorry for him on account of Jerry, convenience because the chapel was close at hand, and the makers7 of the wedding breakfast would have time to run across and witness the ceremony, which they could not have done had it taken place at Brownbread Street, two miles away.
The only one to whom these reasons seemed inadequate8 was Nell. To her the proceeding9 was not only heretical but mean—her affection for the Church had always been led by taste rather than belief, and her attitude, which she had considered (under instruction) as that of an orthodox Anglican, was in reality that of an Italian peasant, who looks upon his church as his drawing-room, a place of brightness to which he can go for refuge from the drabness of every day. Her opposition10 to the chapel marriage was based on an emotion similar to what she would have felt for the party who, with the chance of eating and drinking out of delicate china in the drawing-room, chose to devour12 their food out of broken pots in the scullery. She did not acknowledge this, any more than she acknowledged the motive13 which fed uneasily on Mr. Poullett-Smith’s inevitable14 disgust; she talked to Tom about his duty as a Baptized Churchman, and was both surprised and grieved to find that the [139] War seemed to have destroyed what little sense of this he had ever had.
“I tell you as it’s all different out there. There aun’t no church and chapel saum as there is here. You stick to church on Church Parade down at the base, but when you’re up in the firing line, there’s a queer kind of religion going around. You hear chaps praying as if they wur swearing and swearing as if they wur praying, and in the Y.M. plaace they have sort of holy sing-songs wud priests and ministers all mixed up; and I’ve heard a Catholic priest read the English funeral over one of us, and I’ve seen a rosary on a dead Baptist’s neck. Church and chapel may be all very good for civvies, but you can’t go vrothering about such things when you’re a soldier.”
Nell was hurt and frightened by these sayings. She had an idea that any danger or suffering would only make a man cling closer to the Sanctuary15. It was terrible to think that at the first earthquake Peter’s Rock cracked to its foundations. A defiant16 loyalty17 inspired her, and at first she made up her mind not to go to the wedding, but she could not resist the temptation of asking Mr. Poullett-Smith’s advice, and he thought she had better attend, and pray for the backsliders. He also earnestly bade her distrust any appearance of cracks in Peter’s Rock, and she went away comforted, with shining eyes and burning cheeks, and her church standing18 firmer than ever on the rock which was neither Peter nor Christ, but her love for a very ordinary young man.
So all the Beatups went to the Bethel, leaving Worge locked up and the yard in charge of Elphick. Mrs. Beatup wore her Sunday bonnet19, the wheat-crop having been superseded20, contrary to all the laws of rotation21, by one of small green grapes. Both Ivy22 and Nell had [140] new gowns, Ivy looking squeezed and unnatural23 in a sky-blue cloth, which together with a pair of straight-fronted corsets, she had bought at a Hastings dress agency—Nell pretty and demure24 in a grey coat and skirt, and one of those small towny-looking hats which seemed to find their way to her head alone in all Dallington. Mus’ Beatup, with Harry25 and Zacky, smelled strongly of hair-oil and moth-killer, and Harry had nearly scrubbed his skin off in his efforts to get out of it the earth of his new furrows26. He was considered too young to be Tom’s best man, and the office had been at the last moment unexpectedly filled by Bill Putland. Bill, now a sergeant27, was home on seven days’ leave, looking very brown and smart, and Polly Sinden, who, not having been invited with her parents to the breakfast, had vowed28 she would waste no time going to the chapel, suddenly changed her mind and appeared in her most ceremonial hat.
The chapel was packed with Sindens, Bourners, Putlands, Hubbles, Viners, Kadwells, Pixes. Mrs. Lamb of Bucksteep was there, with Miss Marian, but as she had not thought it necessary to put on the elegant clothes in which she was seen gliding29 into church on Sundays, her presence was regarded as an affront30 rather than an honour; Mrs. Beatup would have dressed herself in her best for any Bucksteep wedding, and thought that the squire’s wife might have done the same for her. Also, she came in very late, and her entrance was mistaken for that of the bride by many folk, who shot up out of the pew-boxes, only to be disappointed by the sight of Mrs. Lamb’s faded, powdered features behind a spotted31 veil, and Miss Marian swinging along after her with a tread like a policeman. “I reckon my feet are smaller than hers,” thought Nell, “for all that I’m only [141] a farmer’s daughter.”
Then Mr. Sumption came out of the vestry, and stood under the pulpit to wait for the bride. He looked more like a figure of cursing than of blessing—black as a rook, with his thick curly hair falling into his eyes, yet not quite hiding the furrows which the plough of care had dragged across his forehead. There was a rustle32 and a flutter and a turning of heads, as Thyrza came up the aisle33 on the arm of the bachelor cousin who was giving her away. She wore a grey gown like a March cloud, and carried a bunch of flowers, and the congregation whispered when they saw that she had sleeked34 her feathery hair with water, so that it lay smooth behind her ears, which were round and pink like those of mice. “It didn’t look like Thyrza,” everyone said—and perhaps that was why Tom was so loutishly36 nervous, and nearly broke Bill Putland’s heart with his fumblings and stutterings.
Thyrza was nervous too, her head drooped37 like an over-blown rose upon its stalk, and Mr. Sumption’s manner was not of the kind that soothes38 and reassures39. He shouted at the bride and bridegroom, and “thumped at” various members of the congregation who whispered or (later in the proceedings) yawned. He was not often asked to officiate at weddings, and had apparently40 decided41 to make the most of this one, for he wound up with an address to the married pair so lengthy42 and apocalyptic43 that Mrs. Beatup became anxious as to the fate of a pudding she had left to “cook itself,” and rising noisily in her pew creaked out through a silence weighted with doom44. “And whosoever hath not a wedding garment,” the minister shouted after her, “shall be cast into the outer darkness, where there is weeping and gnashing of teeth”—for which Mrs. Beatup never forgave him, as she had spent nearly three shillings on retrimming her bonnet, “and if her cape45 wurn’t [142] good enough fur him, she reckoned he’d never seen a better on the gipsy-woman’s back.”
The service came to an end at last, and the congregation pushed after the bride to see her get into the cab drawn46 by a pair of seedy greys, which would take her the few yards from the chapel to the farm. The breakfast was to be at Worge, for Thyrza had no kin11 besides the bachelor cousin, and it was considered more fitting that her husband’s family should undertake the social and domestic duties of the occasion. The feast was spread in the kitchen, which had been decorated with flags, lent for the afternoon from the club-room of the Rifle Volunteer. The unsugared wedding-cake was a terrible humiliation47 to Mrs. Beatup, who felt sure that, in spite of her repeated explanations, everyone would put it down to poverty and meanness instead of to the tyranny of “Govunmunt.” However, she had restored the balance of her self-respect by providing wine (at eighteen-pence the bottle).
There was much laughter and good-humour and the wit proper to weddings as the guests squeezed themselves round the table. Even Mr. Sumption’s five-minute grace, in which he approvingly mentioned more than one dish on the table, but added to his score with Mrs. Beatup by referring to the wine as poison and “the forerunner48 of thirst in hell,” was only a temporary blight49. The bride and bridegroom alone looked subdued50, their sleek35 heads drooping51 together, their hands nervously52 crumbling53 their food—also Ivy, who was heard to say in a hoarse54 whisper to Nell, “If I can’t go somewheres and taake my stays off I shall bust55.” However, in time she forgot her constriction56 in flirting57 with Thyrza’s bachelor cousin, who had pale blue eyes, bulging58 out as if in vain effort to catch sight of a receding59 chin, and was exempt60 by reason of ruptured61 hernia from military service.
[143]
The usual healths were drunk, and the sight of other people drinking—for he himself would take only water—seemed to intoxicate62 Mr. Sumption, and he forgot the cares that had made his black hair as ashes on his head—his sleepless63 anxiety for Jerry, and the crying in him of that day which shall burn the stubble—and became merry as a corn-fed colt, laughing with all his big white teeth, and paying iron-shod compliments to Thyrza and Ivy and Nell, and even Mrs. Beatup, who maintained, however, an impressive indifference64. Bill Putland made the principal speech of the afternoon, and looked so smart and handsome, with his hair in a soaring quiff and a trench-ring on each hand, that Ivy might have plotted to substitute his arm for Ern Honey’s round her waist, if she had not been too experienced to fail to realise that he was about the only man in Dallington she could not win with her floppy65 charms.
In the end all was cheerful incoherence, and just as the sunshine was losing its heat on the yard-stones, the bride and bridegroom rose to go away. A trap from the Volunteer would drive them to the station, and they climbed into it through a flying rainbow of confetti, which stuck in Thyrza’s loosening hair, and spotted her dim gown with colours.
Amidst cheering and laughter the old horse lurched off, and soon Thyrza’s grey and Tom’s dun were blurred66 together in the distance, which was already staining with purple as the air thickened towards the twilight67. The guests turned back into the house, or scattered68 over fields and footpaths69. Ivy rushed upstairs to take off her stays, and Bill Putland swaggered home between his parents, with a flower in his button-hole and plans in his heart for an evening at Little Worge. The Reverend Mr. Sumption went off with Bourner to the smithy. The blacksmith had a shoeing and clipping to do, and the minister [144] would sit and watch him in the red, hoof-smelling warmth, and lend an experienced hand if occasion needed. Mus’ Beatup, his tongue all sour with the Australian wine, took advantage of the general flit to creep along the hedge to the Rifle Volunteer, there to wait for the magic stroke of six and unlocking of his paradise. Mrs. Beatup was the last to leave the doorstep. She thought she could hear the old horse clopping on the East Road, and when her eyes no longer helped her to follow her son, she used her ears. She remembered that earlier occasion when she had gone with him to the end of the drive and kissed him there. He had wanted her then; he did not want her now—his good-bye kiss had been kind yet perfunctory. Another woman had him—a woman who had never suffered pain or discomfort70 or anxiety or privation for his sake. Yet her jealousy71 had unexpectedly died. Somehow, to-day, all that she had suffered for Tom when she bore him, nursed him, reared him and bred him, seemed a sufficient reward in itself. Her sufferings had made him what he was, and this other woman took only what she, his mother, had made. “She never went heavy wud him, nor bore him in pain, nor lay awaake at night wud his screeching72, nor thought as he’d die when he cut his teeth, nor went all skeered when he took the fever.... So thur aun’t no sense in vrothering. Reckon he’ll always be more mine nor hers, even if I am never to set eyes on him agaun.”
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1
teeming
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| adj.丰富的v.充满( teem的现在分词 )；到处都是；（指水、雨等）暴降；倾注 | |
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2
scents
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| n.香水( scent的名词复数 )；气味；（动物的）臭迹；（尤指狗的）嗅觉 | |
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3
muffled
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| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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4
scatter
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| vt.撒，驱散，散开；散布/播；vi.分散，消散 | |
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5
tottering
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| adj.蹒跚的，动摇的v.走得或动得不稳( totter的现在分词 )；踉跄；蹒跚；摇摇欲坠 | |
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6
chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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7
makers
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| n.制造者，制造商（maker的复数形式） | |
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8
inadequate
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| adj.(for,to)不充足的，不适当的 | |
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9
proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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10
opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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11
kin
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| n.家族，亲属，血缘关系；adj.亲属关系的，同类的 | |
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12
devour
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| v.吞没；贪婪地注视或谛听，贪读；使着迷 | |
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13
motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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14
inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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15
sanctuary
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| n.圣所，圣堂，寺庙；禁猎区，保护区 | |
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16
defiant
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| adj.无礼的，挑战的 | |
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17
loyalty
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| n.忠诚，忠心 | |
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18
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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19
bonnet
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| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
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20
superseded
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| [医]被代替的，废弃的 | |
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21
rotation
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| n.旋转；循环，轮流 | |
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22
ivy
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| n.常青藤，常春藤 | |
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23
unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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24
demure
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| adj.严肃的；端庄的 | |
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25
harry
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| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
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26
furrows
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| n.犁沟( furrow的名词复数 )；（脸上的）皱纹v.犁田，开沟( furrow的第三人称单数 ) | |
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27
sergeant
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| n.警官，中士 | |
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28
vowed
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| 起誓，发誓（vow的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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29
gliding
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| v. 滑翔 adj. 滑动的 | |
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30
affront
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| n./v.侮辱，触怒 | |
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31
spotted
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| adj.有斑点的，斑纹的，弄污了的 | |
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32
rustle
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| v.沙沙作响；偷盗(牛、马等)；n.沙沙声声 | |
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33
aisle
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| n.（教堂、教室、戏院等里的）过道，通道 | |
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34
sleeked
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| 使…光滑而发亮( sleek的过去式 ) | |
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sleek
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| adj.光滑的，井然有序的；v.使光滑，梳拢 | |
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36
loutishly
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| 笨拙的，粗野的 | |
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37
drooped
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| 弯曲或下垂，发蔫( droop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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38
soothes
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| v.安慰( soothe的第三人称单数 )；抚慰；使舒服；减轻痛苦 | |
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39
reassures
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| v.消除恐惧或疑虑，恢复信心( reassure的第三人称单数 ) | |
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40
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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41
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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42
lengthy
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| adj.漫长的，冗长的 | |
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43
apocalyptic
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| adj.预示灾祸的，启示的 | |
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44
doom
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| n.厄运，劫数；v.注定，命定 | |
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45
cape
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| n.海角，岬；披肩，短披风 | |
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46
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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47
humiliation
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| n.羞辱 | |
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48
forerunner
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| n.前身，先驱（者），预兆，祖先 | |
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49
blight
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| n.枯萎病；造成破坏的因素；vt.破坏，摧残 | |
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50
subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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51
drooping
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| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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52
nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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53
crumbling
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| adj.摇摇欲坠的 | |
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54
hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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55
bust
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| vt.打破；vi.爆裂；n.半身像；胸部 | |
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56
constriction
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| 压缩； 紧压的感觉； 束紧； 压缩物 | |
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57
flirting
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| v.调情，打情骂俏( flirt的现在分词 ) | |
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58
bulging
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| 膨胀； 凸出（部）； 打气； 折皱 | |
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59
receding
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| v.逐渐远离( recede的现在分词 )；向后倾斜；自原处后退或避开别人的注视；尤指问题 | |
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60
exempt
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| adj.免除的；v.使免除；n.免税者，被免除义务者 | |
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61
ruptured
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| v.（使）破裂( rupture的过去式和过去分词 )；（使体内组织等）断裂；使（友好关系）破裂；使绝交 | |
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62
intoxicate
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| vt.使喝醉，使陶醉，使欣喜若狂 | |
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63
sleepless
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| adj.不睡眠的，睡不著的，不休息的 | |
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64
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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65
floppy
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| adj.松软的，衰弱的 | |
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66
blurred
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| v.（使）变模糊( blur的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）难以区分；模模糊糊；迷离 | |
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67
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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68
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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69
footpaths
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| 人行小径，人行道( footpath的名词复数 ) | |
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70
discomfort
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| n.不舒服，不安，难过，困难，不方便 | |
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71
jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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72
screeching
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| v.发出尖叫声( screech的现在分词 )；发出粗而刺耳的声音；高叫 | |
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