An excerpt from the original text.(complete · 2382 words)
n the platform stood Arabella. She looked him up and down.
“You’ve been to see her?” she asked.
“I have,” said Jude, literally tottering with cold and lassitude.
“Well, now you’d best march along home.”
The water ran out of him as he went, and he was compelled to lean
against the wall to support himself while coughing.
“You’ve done for yourself by this, young man,” said she. “I don’t know
whether you know it.”
“Of course I do. I meant to do for myself.”
“What—to commit suicide?”
“Certainly.”
“Well, I’m blest! Kill yourself for a woman.”
“Listen to me, Arabella. You think you are the stronger; and so you
are, in a physical sense, now. You could push me over like a nine-pin.
You did not send that letter the other day, and I could not resent your
conduct. But I am not so weak in another way as you think. I made up my
mind that a man confined to his room by inflammation of the lungs, a
fellow who had only two wishes left in the world, to see a particular
woman, and then to die, could neatly accomplish those two wishes at one
stroke by taking this journey in the rain. That I’ve done. I have seen
her for the last time, and I’ve finished myself—put an end to a
feverish life which ought never to have been begun!”
“Lord—you do talk lofty! Won’t you have something warm to drink?”
“No thank you. Let’s get home.”
They went along by the silent colleges, and Jude kept stopping.
“What are you looking at?”
“Stupid fancies. I see, in a way, those spirits of the dead again, on
this my last walk, that I saw when I first walked here!”
“What a curious chap you are!”
“I seem to see them, and almost hear them rustling. But I don’t revere
all of them as I did then. I don’t believe in half of them. The
theologians, the apologists, and their kin the metaphysicians, the
high-handed statesmen, and others, no longer interest me. All that has
been spoilt for me by the grind of stern reality!”
The expression of Jude’s corpselike face in the watery lamplight was
indeed as if he saw people where there was nobody. At moments he stood
still by an archway, like one watching a figure walk out; then he would
look at a window like one discerning a familiar face behind it. He
seemed to hear voices, whose words he repeated as if to gather their
meaning.
“They seem laughing at me!”
“Who?”
“Oh—I was talking to myself! The phantoms all about here, in the
college archways, and windows. They used to look friendly in the old
days, particularly Addison, and Gibbon, and Johnson, and Dr. Browne,
and Bishop Ken—”
“Come along do! Phantoms! There’s neither living nor dead hereabouts
except a damn policeman! I never saw the streets emptier.”
“Fancy! The Poet of Liberty used to walk here, and the great Dissector
of Melancholy there!”
“I don’t want to hear about ’em! They bore me.”
“Walter Raleigh is beckoning to me from that
lane—Wycliffe—Harvey—Hooker—Arnold—and a whole crowd of Tractarian
Shades—”
“I don’t want to know their names, I tell you! What do I care about
folk dead and gone? Upon my soul you are more sober when you’ve been
drinking than when you have not!”
“I must rest a moment,” he said; and as he paused, holding to the
railings, he measured with his eye the height of a college front. “This
is old Rubric. And that Sarcophagus; and up that lane Crozier and
Tudor: and all down there is Cardinal with its long front, and its
windows with lifted eyebrows, representing the polite surprise of the
university at the efforts of such as I.”
“Come along, and I’ll treat you!”
“Very well. It will help me home, for I feel the chilly fog from the
meadows of Cardinal as if death-claws were grabbing me through and
through. As Antigone said, I am neither a dweller among men nor ghosts.
But, Arabella, when I am dead, you’ll see my spirit flitting up and
down here among these!”
“Pooh! You mayn’t die after all. You are tough enough yet, old man.”
It was night at Marygreen, and the rain of the afternoon showed no sign
of abatement. About the time at which Jude and Arabella were walking
the streets of Christminster homeward, the Widow Edlin crossed the
green, and opened the back door of the schoolmaster’s dwelling, which
she often did now before bedtime, to assist Sue in putting things away.
Sue was muddling helplessly in the kitchen, for she was not a good
housewife, though she tried to be, and grew impatient of domestic
details.
“Lord love ’ee, what do ye do that yourself for, when I’ve come o’
purpose! You knew I should come.”
“Oh—I don’t know—I forgot! No, I didn’t forget. I did it to discipline
myself. I have scrubbed the stairs since eight o’clock. I must
practise myself in my household duties. I’ve shamefully neglected
them!”
“Why should ye? He’ll get a better school, perhaps be a parson, in
time, and you’ll keep two servants. ’Tis a pity to spoil them pretty
hands.”
“Don’t talk of my pretty hands, Mrs. Edlin. This pretty body of mine
has been the ruin of me already!”
“Pshoo—you’ve got no body to speak of! You put me more in mind of a
sperrit. But there seems something wrong to-night, my dear. Husband
cross?”
“No. He never is. He’s gone to bed early.”
“Then what is it?”
“I cannot tell you. I have done wrong to-day. And I want to eradicate
it… Well—I will tell you this—Jude has been here this afternoon, and I
find I still love him—oh, grossly! I cannot tell you more.”
“Ah!” said the widow. “I told ’ee how ’twould be!”
“But it shan’t be! I have not told my husband of his visit; it is not
necessary to trouble him about it, as I never mean to see Jude any
more. But I am going to make my conscience right on my duty to
Richard—by doing a penance—the ultimate thing. I must!”
“I wouldn’t—since he agrees to it being otherwise, and it has gone on
three months very well as it is.”
“Yes—he agrees to my living as I choose; but I feel it is an indulgence
I ought not to exact from him. It ought not to have been accepted by
me. To reverse it will be terrible—but I must be more just to him. O
why was I so unheroic!”
“What is it you don’t like in him?” asked Mrs. Edlin curiously.
“I cannot tell you. It is something… I cannot say. The mournful thing
is, that nobody would admit it as a reason for feeling as I do; so that
no excuse is left me.”
“Did you ever tell Jude what it was?”
“Never.”
“I’ve heard strange tales o’ husbands in my time,” observed the widow
in a lowered voice. “They say that when the saints were upon the earth
devils used to take husbands’ forms o’ nights, and get poor women into
all sorts of trouble. But I don’t know why that should come into my
head, for it is only a tale… What a wind and rain it is to-night!
Well—don’t be in a hurry to alter things, my dear. Think it over.”
“No, no! I’ve screwed my weak soul up to treating him more
courteously—and it must be now—at once—before I break down!”
“I don’t think you ought to force your nature. No woman ought to be
expected to.”
“It is my duty. I will drink my cup to the dregs!”
Half an hour later when Mrs. Edlin put on her bonnet and shawl to
leave, Sue seemed to be seized with vague terror.
“No—no—don’t go, Mrs. Edlin,” she implored, her eyes enlarged, and with
a quick nervous look over her shoulder.
“But it is bedtime, child.”
“Yes, but—there’s the little spare room—my room that was. It is quite
ready. Please stay, Mrs. Edlin!—I shall want you in the morning.”
“Oh well—I don’t mind, if you wish. Nothing will happen to my four old
walls, whether I be there or no.”
She then fastened up the doors, and they ascended the stairs together.
“Wait here, Mrs. Edlin,” said Sue. “I’ll go into my old room a moment
by myself.”
Leaving the widow on the landing Sue turned to the chamber which had
been hers exclusively since her arrival at Marygreen, and pushing to
the door knelt down by the bed for a minute or two. She then arose, and
taking her night-gown from the pillow undressed and came out to Mrs.
Edlin. A man could be heard snoring in the room opposite. She wished
Mrs. Edlin good-night, and the widow entered the room that Sue had just
vacated.
Sue unlatched the other chamber door, and, as if seized with faintness,
sank down outside it. Getting up again she half opened the door, and
said “Richard.” As the word came out of her mouth she visibly
shuddered.
The snoring had quite ceased for some time, but he did not reply. Sue
seemed relieved, and hurried back to Mrs. Edlin’s chamber. “Are you in
bed, Mrs. Edlin?” she asked.
“No, dear,” said the widow, opening the door. “I be old and slow, and
it takes me a long while to un-ray. I han’t unlaced my jumps yet.”
“I—don’t hear him! And perhaps—perhaps—”
“What, child?”
“Perhaps he’s dead!” she gasped. “And then—I should be free, and I
could go to Jude! … Ah—no—I forgot her—and God!”
“Let’s go and hearken. No—he’s snoring again. But the rain and the wind
is so loud that you can hardly hear anything but between whiles.”
Sue had dragged herself back. “Mrs. Edlin, good-night again! I am sorry
I called you out.” The widow retreated a second time.
The strained, resigned look returned to Sue’s face when she was alone.
“I must do it—I must! I must drink to the dregs!” she whispered.
“Richard!” she said again.
“Hey—what? Is that you, Susanna?”
“Yes.”
“What do you want? Anything the matter? Wait a moment.” He pulled on
some articles of clothing, and came to the door. “Yes?”
“When we were at Shaston I jumped out of the window rather than that
you should come near me. I have never reversed that treatment till
now—when I have come to beg your pardon for it, and ask you to let me
in.”
“Perhaps you only think you ought to do this? I don’t wish you to come
against your impulses, as I have said.”
“But I beg to be admitted.” She waited a moment, and repeated, “I beg
to be admitted! I have been in error—even to-day. I have exceeded my
rights. I did not mean to tell you, but perhaps I ought. I sinned
against you this afternoon.”
“How?”
“I met Jude! I didn’t know he was coming. And—”
“Well?”
“I kissed him, and let him kiss me.”
“Oh—the old story!”
“Richard, I didn’t know we were going to kiss each other till we did!”
“How many times?”
“A good many. I don’t know. I am horrified to look back on it, and the
least I can do after it is to come to you like this.”
“Come—this is pretty bad, after what I’ve done! Anything else to
confess?”
“No.” She had been intending to say: “I called him my darling Love.”
But, as a contrite woman always keeps back a little, that portion of
the scene remained untold. She went on: “I am never going to see him
any more. He spoke of some things of the past, and it overcame me. He
spoke of—the children. But, as I have said, I am glad—almost glad I
mean—that they are dead, Richard. It blots out all that life of mine!”
“Well—about not seeing him again any more. Come—you really mean this?”
There was something in Phillotson’s tone now which seemed to show that
his three months of remarriage with Sue had somehow not been so
satisfactory as his magnanimity or amative patience had anticipated.
“Yes, yes!”
“Perhaps you’ll swear it on the New Testament?”
“I will.”
He went back to the room and brought out a little brown Testament. “Now
then: So help you God!”
She swore.
“Very good!”
“Now I supplicate you, Richard, to whom I belong, and whom I wish to
honour and obey, as I vowed, to let me in.”
“Think it over well. You know what it means. Having you back in the
house was one thing—this another. So think again.”
“I have thought—I wish this!”
“That’s a complaisant spirit—and perhaps you are right. With a lover
hanging about, a half-marriage should be completed. But I repeat my
reminder this third and last time.”
“It is my wish! … O God!”
“What did you say ‘O God’ for?”
“I don’t know!”
“Yes you do! But …” He gloomily considered her thin and fragile form a
moment longer as she crouched before him in her night-clothes. “Well, I
thought it might end like this,” he said presently. “I owe you nothing,
after these signs; but I’ll take you in at your word, and forgive you.”
He put his arm round her to lift her up. Sue started back.
“What’s the matter?” he asked, speaking for the first time sternly.
“You shrink from me again?—just as formerly!”
“No, Richard—I—I—was not thinking—”
“You wish to come in here?”
“Yes.”
“You still bear in mind what it means?”
“Yes. It is my duty!”
Placing the candlestick on the chest of drawers he led her through the
doorway, and lifting her bodily, kissed her. A quick look of aversion
passed over her face, but clenching her teeth she uttered no cry.
Mrs. Edlin had by this time undressed, and was about to get into bed
when she said to herself: “Ah—perhaps I’d better go and see if the
little thing is all right. How it do blow and rain!”
The widow went out on the landing, and saw that Sue had disappeared.
“Ah! Poor soul! Weddings be funerals ’a b’lieve nowadays. Fifty-five
years ago, come Fall, since my man and I married! Times have changed
since then!”
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Let's Analyse the Pattern
When guilt drives people to destroy their own well-being as proof of moral understanding, often causing more harm than the original transgression.
Why This Matters
Connect literature to life
This chapter teaches how to recognize when guilt turns destructive rather than constructive, leading to choices that harm everyone involved.
Practice This Today
This week, notice when you or others use suffering as proof of virtue—ask instead: 'What would actual repair look like here?'
Now let's explore the literary elements.
Key Quotes & Analysis
"I made up my mind that a man confined to his room by inflammation of the lungs, a fellow who had only two wishes left in the world, to see a particular woman, and then to die, could neatly accomplish those two wishes at one stroke by taking this journey in the rain."
Context: Explaining to Arabella why he deliberately risked his life to see Sue
This reveals Jude's final surrender to despair but also his determination to control his own ending. He's choosing death as a solution to unbearable emotional pain, seeing it as accomplishing something meaningful rather than just giving up.
In Today's Words:
I figured if I'm dying anyway and only want two things - to see her one more time and to end this misery - I could do both at once.
"It is my duty. I will drink my cup to the dregs!"
Context: When Mrs. Edlin tries to dissuade her from submitting to Phillotson
Sue frames her self-destruction as moral virtue, using religious language to justify forcing herself against her deepest nature. The 'cup' reference echoes Christ's suffering, showing how she's turned self-punishment into a twisted form of martyrdom.
In Today's Words:
I have to do this. I'll force myself through it no matter how much it destroys me.
"Weddings be funerals nowadays. Fifty-five years ago, when I was a child, a man could do what he liked with his own, meet or no meet, take her or cast her aside, in a passion o' love for her, or in a temper o' hate. It is better so."
Context: Observing Sue's forced submission to duty rather than following her heart
Mrs. Edlin recognizes that modern moral 'progress' has actually made things worse by creating impossible standards that destroy natural human feeling. She sees that Sue's 'virtuous' choice is actually a form of spiritual death.
In Today's Words:
These days people getting married might as well be going to their own funerals. At least in the old days people followed their hearts, even if it was messy.
Thematic Threads
Duty vs. Desire
In This Chapter
Sue forces herself to submit sexually to Phillotson despite her revulsion, believing this is her moral duty after kissing Jude
Development
Evolved from earlier tension into complete self-destruction—duty now requires destroying her own nature
In Your Life:
You might sacrifice your well-being for what others call 'duty' when the real duty is to your authentic self
Social Expectations
In This Chapter
Both characters destroy themselves trying to meet society's definition of proper behavior after their transgression
Development
Reached its most destructive point—social expectations now demand literal self-annihilation
In Your Life:
You might punish yourself harshly for breaking social rules that don't actually serve anyone's well-being
Self-Destruction
In This Chapter
Jude deliberately hastens his death while Sue forces herself into a repulsive sexual relationship as forms of moral punishment
Development
Culmination of both characters' tendency to turn pain inward rather than challenge the system
In Your Life:
You might hurt yourself to prove you understand you've done wrong, missing that healing requires different actions
Guilt and Redemption
In This Chapter
Both believe their suffering will somehow redeem their afternoon together and prove their moral worth
Development
Guilt has evolved from motivating better choices to motivating self-destruction
In Your Life:
You might confuse self-punishment with genuine redemption when real repair requires different actions
Love vs. Convention
In This Chapter
Their genuine love is treated as something so shameful it requires destroying their capacity for future happiness
Development
Convention has completely triumphed—love is now seen as inherently destructive and requiring punishment
In Your Life:
You might treat your deepest feelings as shameful when they conflict with what others expect of you
You now have the context. Time to form your own thoughts.
Discussion Questions
- 1
What specific actions do both Jude and Sue take to punish themselves after their afternoon together, and what do they hope to accomplish through this suffering?
analysis • surface - 2
Why does Sue believe that forcing herself to be intimate with Phillotson will somehow make up for kissing Jude? What logic is driving her decision?
analysis • medium - 3
Where have you seen people punish themselves for mistakes instead of focusing on actual repair? How did that self-punishment affect their ability to make things right?
application • medium - 4
If Sue came to you for advice about how to handle her guilt over kissing Jude, what would you tell her? What would genuine repair look like instead of self-punishment?
application • deep - 5
What does this chapter reveal about the difference between guilt that motivates positive change and guilt that becomes destructive? How can you tell when guilt is helping versus hurting?
reflection • deep
Critical Thinking Exercise
Rewrite the Guilt Script
Think of a time when you or someone you know felt guilty about a mistake and responded with self-punishment rather than constructive action. Write two different scripts: first, describe what actually happened (the self-punishment approach), then rewrite the scenario showing what healthy guilt and genuine repair would look like instead.
Consider:
- •Focus on actions that would actually help the situation rather than just making you feel like you've suffered enough
- •Consider how self-punishment often hurts other people too, not just yourself
- •Think about what the person who was hurt would actually want - usually it's changed behavior, not your misery
Journaling Prompt
Write about a mistake you're still punishing yourself for. What would it look like to shift from self-punishment to genuine repair? What's one concrete step you could take this week to make actual amends rather than just feeling bad?
Coming Up Next...
Chapter 52: The Final Decline
Jude's gamble with death plays out as his health deteriorates further. Despite a brief recovery where he returns to work, the damage from his rain-soaked walk to Sue proves too much, and after Christmas his body finally begins to surrender to the inevitable.
