Jude the Obsure

As a hobby, auxiliary to his readings in Divinity, he developed his

slight skill in church-music and thorough-bass, till he could join in

part-singing from notation with some accuracy. A mile or two from

Melchester there was a restored village church, to which Jude had

originally gone to fix the new columns and capitals. By this means

he had become acquainted with the organist, and the ultimate result

was that he joined the choir as a bass voice.

He walked out to this parish twice every Sunday, and sometimes in the

week. One evening about Easter the choir met for practice, and a new

hymn which Jude had heard of as being by a Wessex composer was to be

tried and prepared for the following week. It turned out to be a

strangely emotional composition. As they all sang it over and over

again its harmonies grew upon Jude, and moved him exceedingly.

When they had finished he went round to the organist to make

inquiries. The score was in manuscript, the name of the composer

being at the head, together with the title of the hymn: "The Foot

of the Cross."

"Yes," said the organist. "He is a local man. He is a professional

musician at Kennetbridge--between here and Christminster. The

vicar knows him. He was brought up and educated in Christminster

traditions, which accounts for the quality of the piece. I think he

plays in the large church there, and has a surpliced choir. He comes

to Melchester sometimes, and once tried to get the cathedral organ

when the post was vacant. The hymn is getting about everywhere this

Easter."

As he walked humming the air on his way home, Jude fell to musing

on its composer, and the reasons why he composed it. What a man of

sympathies he must be! Perplexed and harassed as he himself was

about Sue and Arabella, and troubled as was his conscience by the

complication of his position, how he would like to know that man!

"He of all men would understand my difficulties," said the impulsive

Jude. If there were any person in the world to choose as a

confidant, this composer would be the one, for he must have suffered,

and throbbed, and yearned.

In brief, ill as he could afford the time and money for the journey,

Fawley resolved, like the child that he was, to go to Kennetbridge

the very next Sunday. He duly started, early in the morning, for it

was only by a series of crooked railways that he could get to the

town. About mid-day he reached it, and crossing the bridge into the

quaint old borough he inquired for the house of the composer.