THE man whom Sue, in her mental VOLTE-FACE, was now regarding as her inseparable husband, lived still at Marygreen.
On the day before the tragedy of the children, Phillotson had seen both her and Jude as they stood in the rain at Christminster watching the procession to the theatre. But he had said nothing of it at the moment to his companion Gillingham, who, being an old friend, was staying with him at the village aforesaid, and had, indeed, suggested the day's trip to Christminster.
"What are you thinking of?" said Gillingham, as they went home. "The university degree you never obtained?"
"No, no," said Phillotson gruffly. "Of somebody I saw to-day." In a moment he added, "Susanna."
"I saw her, too."
"You said nothing."
"I didn't wish to draw your attention to her. But, as you did see her, you should have said: 'How d'ye do, my dear-that-was?'"
"Ah, well. I might have. But what do you think of this: I have good reason for supposing that she was innocent when I divorced her-- that I was all wrong. Yes, indeed! Awkward, isn't it?"
"She has taken care to set you right since, anyhow, apparently1."
"H'm. That's a cheap sneer2. I ought to have waited, unquestionably."
At the end of the week, when Gillingham had gone back to his school near Shaston, Phillotson, as was his custom, went to Alfredston market; ruminating3 again on Arabella's intelligence as he walked down the long hill which he had known before Jude knew it, though his history had not beaten so intensely upon its incline. Arrived in the town he bought his usual weekly local paper; and when he had sat down in an inn to refresh himself for the five miles' walk back, he pulled the paper from his pocket and read awhile. The account of the "strange suicide of a stone-mason's children" met his eye.
Unimpassioned as he was, it impressed him painfully, and puzzled him not a little, for he could not understand the age of the elder child being what it was stated to be. However, there was no doubt that the newspaper report was in some way true.
"Their cup of sorrow is now full!" he said: and thought and thought of Sue, and what she had gained by leaving him.
Arabella having made her home at Alfredston, and the schoolmaster coming to market there every Saturday, it was not wonderful that in a few weeks they met again--the precise time being just alter her return from Christminster, where she had stayed much longer than she had at first intended, keeping an interested eye on Jude, though Jude had seen no more of her. Phillotson was on his way homeward when he encountered Arabella, and she was approaching the town.
"You like walking out this way, Mrs. Cartlett?" he said.
"I've just begun to again," she replied. "It is where I lived as maid and wife, and all the past things of my life that are interesting to my feelings are mixed up with this road. And they have been stirred up in me too, lately; for I've been visiting at Christminster. Yes; I've seen Jude."
"Ah! How do they bear their terrible affliction?"
"In a ve-ry strange way--ve-ry strange! She don't live with him any longer. I only heard of it as a certainty just before I left; though I had thought things were drifting that way from their manner when I called on them."
"Not live with her husband? Why, I should have thought 'twould have united them more."
"He's not her husband, after all. She has never really married him although they have passed as man and wife so long. And now, instead of this sad event making 'em hurry up, and get the thing done legally, she's took in a queer religious way, just as I was in my affliction at losing Cartlett, only hers is of a more 'sterical sort than mine. And she says, so I was told, that she's your wife in the eye of Heaven and the Church-- yours only; and can't be anybody else's by any act of man."
"Ah--indeed? ... Separated, have they!"
"You see, the eldest4 boy was mine--"
"Oh--yours!"
"Yes, poor little fellow--born in lawful5 wedlock6, thank God. And perhaps she feels, over and above other things, that I ought to have been in her place. I can't say. However, as for me, I am soon off from here. I've got Father to look after now, and we can't live in such a hum-drum place as this. I hope soon to be in a bar again at Christminster, or some other big town."
They parted. When Phillotson had ascended7 the hill a few steps he stopped, hastened back, and called her.
"What is, or was, their address?"
Arabella gave it.
"Thank you. Good afternoon."
Arabella smiled grimly as she resumed her way, and practised dimple-making all along the road from where the pollard willows8 begin to the old almshouses in the first street of the town.
Meanwhile Phillotson ascended to Marygreen, and for the first time during a lengthened9 period he lived with a forward eye. On crossing under the large trees of the green to the humble10 schoolhouse to which he had been reduced he stood a moment, and pictured Sue coming out of the door to meet him. No man had ever suffered more inconvenience from his own charity, Christian11 or heathen, than Phillotson had done in letting Sue go. He had been knocked about from pillar to post at the hands of the virtuous12 almost beyond endurance; he had been nearly starved, and was now dependent entirely13 upon the very small stipened from the school of this village (where the parson had got ill-spoken of for befriending him ). He had often thought of Arabella's remarks that he should have been more severe with Sue, that her recalcitrant14 spirit would soon have been broken. Yet such was his obstinate15 and illogical disregard of opinion, and of the principles in which he had been trained, that his convictions on the rightness of his course with his wife had not been disturbed.
Principles which could be subverted16 by feeling in one direction were liable to the same catastrophe17 in another. The instincts which had allowed him to give Sue her liberty now enabled him to regard her as none the worse for her life with Jude. He wished for her still, in his curious way, if he did not love her, and, apart from policy, soon felt that he would be gratified to have her again as his, always provided that she came willingly.
But artifice18 was necessary, he had found, for stemming the cold and inhumane blast of the world's contempt. And here were the materials ready made. By getting Sue back and remarrying her on the respectable plea of having entertained erroneous views of her, and gained his divorce wrongfully, he might acquire some comfort, resume his old courses, perhaps return to the Shaston school, if not even to the Church as a licentiate.
He thought he would write to Gillingham to inquire his views, and what he thought of his, Phillotson's, sending a letter to her. Gillingham replied, naturally, that now she was gone it were best to let her be, and considered that if she were anybody's wife she was the wife of the man to whom she had borne three children and owed such tragical19 adventures. Probably, as his attachment20 to her seemed unusually strong, the singular pair would make their union legal in course of time, and all would be well, and decent, and in order.
"But they won't--Sue won't!" exclaimed Phillotson to himself. "Gillingham is so matter of fact. She's affected21 by Christminster sentiment and teaching. I can see her views on the indissolubility of marriage well enough, and I know where she got them. They are not mine; but I shall make use of them to further mine."
He wrote a brief reply to Gillingham. "I know I am entirely wrong, but I don't agree with you. As to her having lived with and had three children by him, my feeling is (though I can advance no logical or moral defence of it, on the old lines) that it has done little more than finish her education. I shall write to her, and learn whether what that woman said is true or no."
As he had made up his mind to do this before he had written to his friend, there had not been much reason for writing to the latter at all. However, it was Phillotson's way to act thus.
He accordingly addressed a carefully considered epistle to Sue, and, knowing her emotional temperament22, threw a Rhadamanthine strictness into the lines here and there, carefully hiding his heterodox feelings, not to frighten her. He stated that, it having come to his knowledge that her views had considerably23 changed, he felt compelled to say that his own, too, were largely modified by events subsequent to their parting. He would not conceal24 from her that passionate25 love had little to do with his communication. It arose from a wish to make their lives, if not a success, at least no such disastrous26 failure as they threatened to become, through his acting27 on what he had considered at the time a principle of justice, charity, and reason.
To indulge one's instinctive28 and uncontrolled sense of justice and right, was not, he had found, permitted with impunity29 in an old civilization like ours. It was necessary to act under an acquired and cultivated sense of the same, if you wished to enjoy an average share of comfort and honour; and to let crude loving kindness take care of itself.
He suggested that she should come to him there at Marygreen.
On second thoughts he took out the last paragraph but one; and having rewritten the letter he dispatched it immediately, and in some excitement awaited the issue.
A few days after a figure moved through the white fog which enveloped30 the Beersheba suburb of Christminster, towards the quarter in which Jude Fawley had taken up his lodging31 since his division from Sue. A timid knock sounded upon the door of his abode32.
It was evening--so he was at home; and by a species of divination33 he jumped up and rushed to the door himself.
"Will you come out with me? I would rather not come in. I want to--to talk with you--and to go with you to the cemetery34."
It had been in the trembling accents of Sue that these words came. Jude put on his hat. "It is dreary35 for you to be out," he said. "But if you prefer not to come in, I don't mind."
"Yes--I do. I shall not keep you long."
Jude was too much affected to go on talking at first; she, too, was now such a mere36 cluster of nerves that all initiatory37 power seemed to have left her, and they proceeded through the fog like Acherontic shades for a long while, without sound or gesture.
"I want to tell you," she presently said, her voice now quick, now slow, "so that you may not hear of it by chance. I am going back to Richard. He has--so magnanimously-- agreed to forgive all."
"Going back? How can you go----"
"He is going to marry me again. That is for form's sake, and to satisfy the world, which does not see things as they are. But of course I AM his wife already. Nothing has changed that."
He turned upon her with an anguish38 that was well-nigh fierce.
"But you are my wife! Yes, you are. You know it. I have always regretted that feint of ours in going away and pretending to come back legally married, to save appearances. I loved you, and you loved me; and we closed with each other; and that made the marriage. We still love--you as well as I-- KNOW it, Sue! Therefore our marriage is not cancelled."
"Yes; I know how you see it," she answered with despairing self-suppression. "But I am going to marry him again, as it would be called by you. Strictly39 speaking you, too--don't mind my saying it, Jude!--you should take back--Arabella."
"I should? Good God--what next! But how if you and I had married legally, as we were on the point of doing?"
"I should have felt just the same--that ours was not a marriage. And I would go back to Richard without repeating the sacrament, if he asked me. But 'the world and its ways have a certain worth' (I suppose): therefore I concede a repetition of the ceremony.... Don't crush all the life out of me by satire40 and argument, I implore41 you! I was strongest once, I know, and perhaps I treated you cruelly. But Jude, return good for evil! I am the weaker now. Don't retaliate42 upon me, but be kind. Oh be kind to me--a poor wicked woman who is trying to mend!"
He shook his head hopelessly, his eyes wet. The blow of her bereavement43 seemed to have destroyed her reasoning faculty44. The once keen vision was dimmed. "All wrong, all wrong!" he said huskily. "Error--perversity! It drives me out of my senses. Do you care for him? Do you love him? You know you don't! It will be a fanatic45 prostitution-- God forgive me, yes--that's what it will be!"
"I don't love him--I must, must, own it, in deepest remorse46! But I shall try to learn to love him by obeying him."
Jude argued, urged, implored47; but her conviction was proof against all. It seemed to be the one thing on earth on which she was firm, and that her firmness in this had left her tottering48 in every other impulse and wish she possessed49.
"I have been considerate enough to let you know the whole truth, and to tell it you myself," she said in cut tones; "that you might not consider yourself slighted by hearing of it at second hand. I have even owned the extreme fact that I do not love him. I did not think you would be so rough with me for doing so! I was going to ask you ..."
"To give you away?"
"No. To send--my boxes to me--if you would. But I suppose you won't."
"Why, of course I will. What--isn't he coming to fetch you-- to marry you from here? He won't condescend50 to do that?"
"No--I won't let him. I go to him voluntarily, just as I went away from him. We are to be married at his little church at Marygreen."
She was so sadly sweet in what he called her wrong-headedness that Jude could not help being moved to tears more than once for pity of her. "I never knew such a woman for doing impulsive51 penances52, as you, Sue! No sooner does one expect you to go straight on, as the one rational proceeding53, than you double round the corner!"
"Ah, well; let that go! ... Jude, I must say good-bye! But I wanted you to go to the cemetery with me. Let our farewell be there-- beside the graves of those who died to bring home to me the error of my views."
They turned in the direction of the place, and the gate was opened to them on application. Sue had been there often, and she knew the way to the spot in the dark. They reached it, and stood still.
"It is here--I should like to part," said she.
"So be it!"
"Don't think me hard because I have acted on conviction. Your generous devotion to me is unparalleled, Jude! Your worldly failure, if you have failed, is to your credit rather than to your blame. Remember that the best and greatest among mankind are those who do themselves no worldly good. Every successful man is more or less a selfish man. The devoted54 fail.... 'Charity seeketh not her own.'"
"In that chapter we are at one, ever beloved darling, and on it we'll part friends. Its verses will stand fast when all the rest that you call religion has passed away!"
"Well--don't discuss it. Good-bye, Jude; my fellow-sinner, and kindest friend!"
"Good-bye, my mistaken wife. Good-bye!"
苏在信仰彻底大转变过程中一心认定的那个永远跟她分不开的丈夫的男人，当时还住在马利格林。
她和裘德的孩子发生惨剧的头一天，费乐生曾在基督堂瞧见他们两个在雨地里看着游行队伍朝圆形会堂行进。不过他那会儿没对他的同伴季令安提。季令安是他的老朋友，恰好在他那儿盘桓，到基督堂观光其实是他的主意。
“你心里又念叨什么啦？”回去路上，季令安说。“莫非那个永远到不了手的大学学位吗？”
“非也。”费乐生没好气地说。“我今天瞧见一个人。”稍停又说，“苏珊娜。”
“我也瞧见了。”
“你怎么没说？”
“我可不想叫你牵挂着她。不过，你既然瞧见她，干吗不跟她打招呼：‘你好哇，我从前的宝贝儿？’”
“啊，呃。可以当然可以。不过，我倒有个想法，你看怎么样：我现在有充分理由认为我跟她离婚那会儿，她是完全无辜的——千错万猎都是我错。实实在在是这么回事！这就不好收拾了，对不对？”
“可是不管你怎么说，反正她总算大费心机把你领上了正路啦。”
“哼。你这么损我，太没意思啦。毫无疑问，我当时该等下去才对。”
到了周末，季令安回到沙氏顿附近自己的小学，费乐生也照例到阿尔夫瑞顿的集市。他走下那个绵延很长、他比裘德认识得更早的山丘，但是他的历史不像裘德那样同那片斜坡休戚相关。他一边走，一边琢磨阿拉贝拉带来的消息。到了镇上，他买了份平常看的当地出版的周报，然后到一家小客店坐着，歇歇脚，好有劲再走那五英里回头路。他从衣袋里把报纸抽出来，随意看了看，忽地一条“石匠之子自杀奇闻”的新闻，进入他的眼帘。
他固然不是轻易动感情的人，可是这条消息还是让他心酸，也让他大惑不解。因为他不明白那个大孩子的年纪怎么会像报上说的那么大。不过，报道总还是真实可信，毋庸置疑。
“他们的悲伤的杯子现在装得满满啦！”他说，同时翻来覆去地想着苏，想着她离他而去的得失。
阿拉贝拉已在阿尔夫瑞顿住定了，小学老师既是每礼拜六上那儿的集市，所以过了几个礼拜，他们又碰上，也是势在必然——碰见的时间，说准确了，正好是她刚从基督堂回来。她在那儿呆的时间比原来打算的长多了，一直起劲地注意着裘德的动向，裘德那方面却再没瞧见她。费乐生这天回家路上碰见她的时候，她已经快到镇上了。
“你爱出来上这条路走走吧，卡特莱太太？”他说。
“我这才重新开头哪。”她答道。“我当姑娘，跟嫁人之后，都住在这儿。我这辈子前头觉着有滋有味儿的事儿，样样宗宗都跟这条路搀合着。这些事新近又在我心里鼓捣个没完；因为我刚去过一趟基督堂。是呀；我见过裘德啦。”
“啊！经过那么一场打击，他们的情形怎么样啦？”
“他们的办法可真出奇啦——真出奇啦！她不跟他住一块儿啦。我走之前才听说的，千真万确的。不过我先头找他们的时候，我一看他们俩的态度，就觉着他们早晚非走这一步不可。”
“不跟她丈夫一块儿住啦？唉，我本来觉着这一来他们俩结合得更紧呢。”
“闹来闹去，他根本不算她丈夫。虽说他们这么多年跟夫妻俩一样过，她可压根儿没跟他真正结过婚。现在嘛，这件惨事不单没让他们赶着办，把关系弄个合法化，她反倒怪里怪气地信起教来了，就跟卡特莱死了，我受打击的时候一个样，不过她神经兮兮比我还厉害呢。她说，我这是听人家说的，她说在上帝跟教会眼里头，她是你的妻子——就是你的妻子，此外什么人，怎么干，都不能算数。”
“啊——真的吗？分开啦，他们分开啦！”
“你还不知道，那个顶大的孩子是我的呢——”
“哦——你生的！”
“对啦，可怜的小家伙——感谢上帝，他可是我明媒正娶生下来的。她大概前思后想之后，才觉着，别的不算，只有我才该占着她那个位子。我这会儿还不能说准了。不过，拿我自个儿说吧，我快离开这儿啦，我这会儿得照顾爸爸，没法在这个带死不活的地方往下住啦。我希望到基督堂，要么别的大城市，找个酒吧活儿于于。”
他们分了手。费乐生往山坡上才走几步就停住了，赶快掉头，又把她喊住。
“你有他们的住址吗，从前的也行？”
阿拉贝拉跟他说了。
“谢谢。再见。”
阿拉贝拉一边往前走，一边脸上露出阴险的笑容，一路上还不断练习咋酒涡。正是从那个地点起，路两边都是截去顶枝的柳树，一直通到镇里头条街的善堂。
同时，费乐生上了山，往马利格林走去。悠悠岁月，他这是头一回在生活中睁开眼睛往前看。他从草地上大树底下过去，走向他不得已而去工作的那个不起眼的小学的时候，想象着苏走出门来接他的光景。在这世界上，不论是基督徒还是异教徒，谁也没像费乐生那样只为出自一番好心让苏离开他，因而闹得麻烦不可开交。正人君子们对他的打击之大，实在超出了人类承受力的极限；他被逼得走投无路，濒于饿死，就是现在在这个乡村小学挣到的那点微薄报酬也只是差可糊口而已（当地那位牧师还因为对他关照而备遭非议）。他常常想起阿拉贝拉的话：他应该对她严厉点，那样她的犟劲儿用不了多久就垮了。但是他这人是个死心眼儿，对别人的意见有理没理都听不进去，再搭上他受教育时接受的原则，所以他认为自己对妻子的处置，无可訾议，这个信念，他从来就没动摇过。
原则这玩意儿诚然可以由于某种心理倾向而置诸脑后，但换了另一种心理倾向，说不定也会轻而易举地同样酿成无穷祸害。从前既是本能促使他给了苏自由，现在也能叫他把苏和裘德同居看成无伤大雅。要是说他并不爱她，他也还可以按他的特异方式对她抱希望，而且很快就感到，且不说如何对付外界，单是她愿意回来，把她再弄上手，那可是谢天谢地的好事了。
不过他已经懂得，要对付那班铁石心肠的人不惜伤天害理对他的肆意污蔑，他非得要手段不可。而且这可以就地取材，信手拈来。一巳把她弄回来了，而且光明磊落地宣告他从前把她看错了，所以离婚也就离错了，所以要和她重结连理，再续良缘。这样一来他大概可以得到若干补偿，得以重理旧业，也许还能回沙氏顿小学，说不定教会还能让他当特准传教士哩。
他想写封信征询季令安的意见，看他对写信给她这一手作如何想。季令安当然回了信，说她既经离去，最好听之任之；他认为她既为人妇，自应属与之生男青女、患难相共之人，更何况他对她一往情深，非同一般，说不定再过若干日子，他们这对古怪夫妇的结合会办法律手续，此后当可万事大吉，既得体，又如意了。
“可他们才不干哪，苏才不干哪！”他自己一个人大呼小叫的。“季令安真是就事论事啊。苏这是接受了基督堂的感情和教导才到这一步啊。她认为婚姻是绝对解除不了的，这我看得清清楚楚；我也清楚她怎么有了这样的想法。她的想法跟我并不一样，不过我得利用她的想法，促我的想法实现。”
他给季令安回了封短信。“我自知全盘错误，但我不同意你的看法。至于说她与那个男人同居，生男青女，我认为（虽然我无法按古老成规从逻辑上或伦理上提出辩解）那也不过使她得以完成自己的教育而已。我要写信给她，以证实那个女人的话是真是假。”
他给朋友写信之前本就立意如此，所以写不写原来无所谓，费乐生为人做事大抵如此。
于是他经过一番仔细推敲，给苏写了信。既然知道她的气质易于激动，他在信里边随时都摆出一副拉德曼舍式正颜厉色；还小心翼翼地避免流露有悖教义的感情，兔得她看了害怕。他声称就他见闻所及，得悉她的思想大有改变，所以他深感不可不说，自他们仳离后，历经世事，他的见解也颇有变化。他愿坦陈无隐，他写此信殊与热烈的爱情无涉，而是因为他切望使他们的生活即使不算成功，至少不致重演因他当初自以为根据公正、仁善和理性的原则所作所为而造成的令人痛心的结局的危险。
他已恍然大悟，身处他们这种古老文明之中，谁若不顾一切任凭自己生而有之的正义感和公平心而无所节制，势必碰得头破血流。你若一心想混到手你那份舒适和体面，你一切行为非遵循你经教导而养成的正义感和公平心不可。至于什么朴质纯真的爱人之心，那就去它的吧。
他提议说，他目前住在马利格林，她无妨来此。
写完了，转念一想，他把倒数第二段删掉了；重抄一遍，立即发出；多少有点心痒难挠地等待下回分解。
几天后，有个人影穿过为茫茫雾气笼罩的基督堂郊区别是巴，往裘德在同苏分居后所赁的住所走去；乍着胆子在他门上敲了敲。
已经是晚上了，所以他在家。他似乎有某种预感，一跃而起，赶快开门。
“你跟我出来一下好不好？我不想进去。我想——跟你谈谈——跟你一块儿上公墓去。”
苏是声音颤抖着把这几句话说出来的。裘德戴上了帽子。“你这时候跑到外边来，太苦啦。不过你要是真不想进来，我也不勉强。”
“我不想进去。我不会耽误你多大工夫。”
裘德因为觉得非常不自然，一时没再把话说下去；她呢，好像思绪乱结，一点主动说话的能耐都没了。他们如同阴曹地府的鬼魂，在浓雾中走了好久，没出声，也没做什么表示。
“我想跟你说一下。”她终于开了口，话音一快一慢的。“这样你就不会突然听见别人说起来了。我准备回里查那儿。他大度包容，表示对过去一切决不计较。”
“回他那儿？你怎么能回——”
“他打算跟我再结次婚。那不过是个形式，好应付社会上那些人，他们是不会实事求是地看人论事的。不管怎么着，我原来就是他的妻子。这怎么也改变不了。”
他转过身来对着她，显出撕心裂腑般痛苦。
“可是你是我的妻子呀！是啊，你现在就是啊。你不是清清楚楚吗？咱们为了应付别人的恶言恶语，出了那趟门，回来时候装着按法律结了婚，面子上好过得去，这事我一直后悔呢。我爱你，你爱我；咱们相依为命，这才是婚姻啊。咱们现在还是相爱，我清楚，你不也一样清楚吗？苏啊！因为这样，咱们的婚姻是勾销不了的。”
“不错，你的看法我知道。”她回答，用了那样充满了失望而又勉强抑制自己感情的口气。“但是我还是要跟他再结婚，这你是一定要斥责的。要是从严说的话，请你别生气，裘德，你也该把阿拉贝拉弄回来。”
“我该把她弄回来？天哪——还要干什么！不过你跟我要是按法律结了婚，像咱们以前考虑那样办了，此时你又当如何？”
“我还是一样想法——咱们这个算不上婚姻。即便里查不要求我再来一次神圣的仪式，我还是要回他那儿。但是，‘世间万事，各行其道’（我这么想），所以我同意再举行一次仪式。你别挖苦，也别强词夺理，搞得我活不下去，我求求你！我从前是坚强不过的，这我知道，也许从前我才对你无情无义过。可是，裘德，你就以德报怨吧！我现在是弱者。别对我报仇泄愤吧，慈悲慈悲吧。哦，对我这个想要改邪归正的坏女人慈悲慈悲吧！”
他绝望地摇了摇头，眼睛湿了。亲子夭殇这个大故看来把她的推理能力彻底摧毁了，那一度深睿的洞察力黯然失色了。“错到底啦，这样胡搅蛮缠，不可理喻！”他嘎声说。‘要把我逼疯啦。你喜欢他吗？你爱他吗？你知道根本不是那么回事！你这不是一心要卖淫吗？上帝宽恕我吧，将来不就是这么回事嘛！”
“我不爱他——就算我现在痛改前非了，这我也一定承认，一定承认！不过我要努力学会用服从他的办法去爱他。”
裘德反复不断地譬解，劝说，央求，可是她的信念一点不动摇。看来她只剩下这个信念算最拿得稳了，唯有把这个信念坚持下去，她才不致让她历来种种冲动和愿望把她弄得无所适从。
“我把整个事实都告诉你了，亲口说了，我算够体谅你了，”她冷冷地说，“省得你一听到别人转告，觉着我瞧不起你。我连不爱他这样的底也承认了。我没想到你因为我这样做，竞然对我这么粗暴！我要请求你……”
“让你走？”
“不是。把我的箱子——寄给我，要是你肯的话。不过我想你不肯。”
“哈，我当然肯喽。这么说——他不到这儿来接你——到这儿来跟你结婚喽？他不肯屈尊俯就喽？”
“不是那么回事——是我不让他来。我自愿到他那儿，跟我当初自愿离开他一样。我们要在马利格林小教堂结婚。”
他说她顽梗不化，一错到底的时候，她显得既哀伤，又娇婉，裘德不止一次因为可怜她而落泪。“我从来没见过有哪个女人像你这样全凭冲动忏悔罪过的法子，苏！别人刚希望你走阳关大道，本来是理所当然，可你偏偏要钻死胡同！”
“啊，呢；那就这样好啦！……裘德，我得说再会啦！不过我还要你跟我去趟公墓。咱们就在那儿告别好啦——在他们旁边，他们没白死，总算把我的错误思想纠正过来了。”
他们朝公墓方向走，经过向看墓人说明，他开了公墓门让他们进去。他以前常来，知道怎么摸黑走到坟头的路。到了之后，他们默默立着。
“就在这儿——我愿意咱们在这儿分手。”她说。
“就依你的！”
“你别因为我按自己的信念行事，就觉着我狠戾无情。你对我宽和大度，用情专一，这是绝无仅有的。你在社会上失败了——如果你失败了的话，那并非你的过错，而是你的光荣。别忘了，人类中间只有那些决不孳孳为利的，才是真正的出类拔萃的人物。但凡功成名就的人，多多少少是自私自利者。忠信笃实非失败不可…… ‘爱不求自己的益处。’
“咱们对这一章真是情同此心，心同此理啊，我永远爱的亲亲，咱们就按这一章，分手时也是朋友吧。哪怕你所谓的宗教那类东西都湮灭了，这一章的内容也历久不衰，万古犹新！”
“好啦——别说啦。再会，裘德，我一块儿造孽的同伙，最亲切善良的朋友！”
“再会，我的走入迷途的妻子，再会！”
收听单词发音 |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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sneer
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| v.轻蔑；嘲笑；n.嘲笑，讥讽的言语 | |
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ruminating
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| v.沉思( ruminate的现在分词 )；反复考虑；反刍；倒嚼 | |
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eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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lawful
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| adj.法律许可的，守法的，合法的 | |
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wedlock
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| n.婚姻，已婚状态 | |
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ascended
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| v.上升，攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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willows
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| n.柳树( willow的名词复数 )；柳木 | |
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lengthened
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| （时间或空间）延长，伸长( lengthen的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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virtuous
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| adj.有品德的，善良的，贞洁的，有效力的 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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recalcitrant
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| adj.倔强的 | |
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obstinate
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| adj.顽固的，倔强的，不易屈服的，较难治愈的 | |
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subverted
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| v.颠覆，破坏（政治制度、宗教信仰等）( subvert的过去式和过去分词 )；使（某人）道德败坏或不忠 | |
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catastrophe
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| n.大灾难，大祸 | |
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artifice
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| n.妙计，高明的手段；狡诈，诡计 | |
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tragical
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| adj. 悲剧的, 悲剧性的 | |
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attachment
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| n.附属物，附件；依恋；依附 | |
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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disastrous
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| adj.灾难性的，造成灾害的；极坏的，很糟的 | |
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acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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instinctive
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| adj.(出于)本能的；直觉的；(出于)天性的 | |
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impunity
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| n.(惩罚、损失、伤害等的)免除 | |
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enveloped
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| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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lodging
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| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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abode
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| n.住处，住所 | |
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divination
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| n.占卜，预测 | |
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cemetery
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| n.坟墓，墓地，坟场 | |
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dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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initiatory
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| adj.开始的；创始的；入会的；入社的 | |
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anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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satire
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| n.讽刺，讽刺文学，讽刺作品 | |
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implore
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| vt.乞求，恳求，哀求 | |
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retaliate
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| v.报复，反击 | |
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bereavement
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| n.亲人丧亡，丧失亲人，丧亲之痛 | |
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faculty
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| n.才能；学院，系；(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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fanatic
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| n.狂热者，入迷者；adj.狂热入迷的 | |
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remorse
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| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
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implored
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| 恳求或乞求（某人）( implore的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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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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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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50
condescend
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| v.俯就，屈尊；堕落，丢丑 | |
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51
impulsive
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| adj.冲动的，刺激的；有推动力的 | |
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52
penances
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| n.（赎罪的）苦行，苦修( penance的名词复数 ) | |
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proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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