She Goes Out to Battle against Depression
A few days later, before the month of August had expired,
Eustacia and Yeobright sat together at their early
dinner. Eustacia’s manner had become of
late almost apathetic. There was a forlorn look
about her beautiful eyes which, whether she deserved
it or not, would have excited pity in the breast of
anyone who had known her during the full flush of
her love for Clym. The feelings of husband and
wife varied, in some measure, inversely with their
positions. Clym, the afflicted man, was cheerful;
and he even tried to comfort her, who had never felt
a moment of physical suffering in her whole life.
“Come, brighten up, dearest; we shall be all
right again. Some day perhaps I shall see as
well as ever. And I solemnly promise that I’ll
leave off cutting furze as soon as I have the power
to do anything better. You cannot seriously wish
me to stay idling at home all day?”
“But it is so dreadful—a furze-cutter!
and you a man who have lived about the world, and
speak French, and German, and who are fit for what
is so much better than this.”
“I suppose when you first saw me and heard about
me I was wrapped in a sort of golden halo to your
eyes—a man who knew glorious things, and
had mixed in brilliant scenes—in short,
an adorable, delightful, distracting hero?”
“Yes,” she said, sobbing.
“And now I am a poor fellow in brown leather.”
“Don’t taunt me. But enough of this.
I will not be depressed any more. I am going
from home this afternoon, unless you greatly object.
There is to be a village picnic—a gipsying,
they call it—at East Egdon, and I shall
go.”
“To dance?”
“Why not? You can sing.”
“Well, well, as you will. Must I come to
fetch you?”
“If you return soon enough from your work.
But do not inconvenience yourself about it. I
know the way home, and the heath has no terror for
me.”
“And can you cling to gaiety so eagerly as to
walk all the way to a village festival in search of
it?”
“Now, you don’t like my going alone!
Clym, you are not jealous?”
“No. But I would come with you if it could
give you any pleasure; though, as things stand, perhaps
you have too much of me already. Still, I somehow
wish that you did not want to go. Yes, perhaps
I am jealous; and who could be jealous with more reason
than I, a half-blind man, over such a woman as you?”
“Don’t think like it. Let me go,
and don’t take all my spirits away!”
“I would rather lose all my own, my sweet wife.
Go and do whatever you like. Who can forbid your
indulgence in any whim? You have all my heart
yet, I believe; and because you bear with me, who am
in truth a drag upon you, I owe you thanks. Yes,
go alone and shine. As for me, I will stick to
my doom. At that kind of meeting people would
shun me. My hook and gloves are like the St. Lazarus
rattle of the leper, warning the world to get out
of the way of a sight that would sadden them.”
He kissed her, put on his leggings, and went out.
