A Pair Of Blue Eyes - Chapter 22

First published in 1873, "A Pair of Blue Eyes" is a tender and atmospheric novel by Thomas Hardy, set amid the wild beauty of the Cornish coast in western England. It tells the story of Elfride Swancourt, a young woman caught between love, social expectations, and the haunting pull of the past.

This early Hardy novel is rich with emotional depth and lyrical landscapes, so settle in and let the gentle rhythms of Victorian prose carry you into a quieter time...!

Transcript

Hello there,

Thank you so much for joining me for this continued reading of A Pair of Blue Eyes,

The fascinating novel from 1873 by English author and poet Thomas Hardy.

You may have noticed in the last chapter,

If you heard that one,

That we reached the cliffhanger moment of this book,

Literally.

This book is actually credited with being the source of the phrase cliffhanger in English.

This is apparently the very scene from which that phrase was born.

So,

May you enjoy this special scene.

I'm sure in your lifetime you have experienced many other cliffhangers in different stories and here we are with the original.

If you haven't heard the previous parts of this book and would like to,

You can certainly look for the playlist for A Pair of Blue Eyes and you'll find everything there in order,

Including the beginning of this cliffhanger scene.

But for now,

Before we go on further here and find out what happens with the cliffhanger,

Let's just take a moment to have a nice deep exhale.

Letting go of the day,

Letting go of whichever baggage we might be bringing along with us into this moment.

For right now,

There's nowhere else we have to go,

Nothing else we have to be doing.

So we can just relax,

Get ourselves comfortable and enjoy the ongoing story of A Pair of Blue Eyes.

Chapter 22.

A Woman's Way.

Haggard cliffs of every ugly altitude are as common as seafowl along the line of coast between Exmoor and Land's End,

But this outflanked and encompassed specimen was the ugliest of them all.

Their summits are not safe places for scientific experiment on the principles of air currents,

As Knight had now found,

To his dismay.

He still clutched the face of the escarpment,

Not with the frenzied hold of despair,

But with a dogged determination to make the most of his every jot of endurance,

And so give the longest possible scope to Elfrid's intentions,

Whatever they might be.

He reclined hand in hand with the world in its infancy.

Not a blade,

Not an insect,

Which spoke of the present,

Was between him and the past.

The inveterate antagonism of these black precipices to all strugglers for life is in no way more forcibly suggested than by the paucity of tufts of grass,

Lichens or comforvi on their outermost ledges.

Knight pondered on the meaning of Elfrid's hasty disappearance,

But could not avoid an instinctive conclusion that there existed but a doubtful hope for him.

As far as he could judge,

His sole chance of deliverance lay in the possibility of a rope or pole being brought,

And this possibility was remote indeed.

The soil upon these high downs was left so untended that they were unenclosed for miles,

Except by a casual bank or dry wall,

And were rarely visited,

But for the purpose of collecting or counting the flock,

Which found a scanty means of subsistence thereon.

At first,

When death appeared improbable,

Because it had never visited him before,

Knight could think of no future,

Nor of anything connected with his past.

He could only look sternly at nature's treacherous attempt to put an end to him,

And strive to thwart her.

From the fact that the cliff formed the inner face of the segment of a huge cylinder,

Having the sky for a top and the sea for a bottom,

Which enclosed the cove to the extent of more than a semicircle,

He could see the vertical face curving round on each side of him.

He looked far down the façade,

And realised more thoroughly how it threatened him.

Grimness was in every feature,

And to its very bowels the inimical shape was desolation.

By one of those familiar conjunctions of things wherewith the inanimate world baits the mind of man when he pauses in moments of suspense,

Opposite Knight's eyes was an embedded fossil,

Standing forth in low relief from the rock.

It was a creature with eyes.

The eyes,

Dead and turned to stone,

Were even now regarding him.

It was one of the early crustaceans,

Called trilobites,

Separated by millions of years in their lives.

Knight and this underling seemed to have met in their death.

It was the single instance within reach of his vision of anything that had ever been alive,

And had had a body to save,

As he himself had now.

The creature represented but a low type of animal existence,

For never in their vernal years had the plains indicated by those numberless,

Slatey layers been traversed by an intelligence worthy of the name.

Zoophytes,

Mollusca,

Shellfish were the highest developments of those ancient dates.

The immense lapses of time each formation represented had known nothing of the dignity of man.

They were grand times,

But they were mean times too,

And mean were their relics.

He was to be with the small in his death.

Knight was a geologist,

And such is the supremacy of habit over occasion,

As a pioneer of the thoughts of men,

That at this dreadful juncture,

His mind found time to take in,

By a momentary sweep,

The varied scenes that had had their day.

Between this creature's epoch and his own,

There is no place like a cleft landscape for bringing home such imaginings as these.

Time closed up like a fan before him.

He saw himself,

At one extremity of the years,

Face to face with the beginning,

And all the intermediate centuries simultaneously.

Fierce men,

Clothed in the hides of beasts and carrying,

For defence and attack,

Huge clubs and pointed spears,

Rose from the rock like the phantoms before the doomed Macbeth.

They lived in hollows,

Woods and mud huts,

Perhaps in caves of the neighbouring rocks,

Behind them stood an earlier band,

No man was there,

Huge elephantine forms,

The mastodon,

The hippopotamus,

The tapir,

Antelopes of monstrous size,

The megatherium and the mylodon,

All,

For the moment,

In juxtaposition.

Further back,

And overlapped by these,

Were perched huge-billed birds and swinish creatures as large as horses,

Still more shadowy,

With sinister crocodilian outlines,

Alligators and other uncouth shapes,

Culminating in the colossal lizard,

The iguanodon.

Folded behind were dragon forms and clouds of flying reptiles,

Still underneath were fishy beings of lower development,

And so on,

Till the lifetime scenes of the fossil confronting him were a present and modern condition of things.

These images passed before Knight's inner eye in less than half a minute,

And he was again considering the actual present.

Was he to die?

The mental picture of Elfriede in the world,

Without himself to cherish her,

Smote his heart like a whip.

He had hoped for deliverance,

But what could a girl do?

He dared not move an inch.

Was death really stretching out his hand?

The previous sensation that it was improbable he would die was fainter now.

However,

Knight still clung to the cliff.

To those musing,

Weather-beaten,

West Country folk who pass the greater part of their days and nights outdoors,

Nature seems to have moods,

In other than a poetical sense,

Predilections for certain deeds at certain times.

Without any apparent law to govern or season to account for them,

She is read as a person with a curious temper,

As one who does not scatter kindnesses and cruelties alternately,

Impartially and in order,

But heartless severities or overwhelming generosities in lawless caprice.

Man's case is always that of the prodigal's favourite or the miser's pensioner.

In her unfriendly moments,

There seems a feline fun in her tricks,

Begotten by a foretaste of her pleasure in swallowing the victim.

Such a way of thinking had been absurd to Knight,

But he began to adopt it now.

He was first spitted onto a rock,

New tortures followed,

The rain increased and persecuted him with an exceptional persistency,

Which he was moved to believe owed its cause to the fact that he was in such a wretched state already.

An entirely new order of things could be observed in this introduction of rain upon the scene.

It rained upwards instead of down.

The strong ascending air carried the raindrops with it in its race up the escarpment,

Coming to him with such velocity that they stuck into his flesh like cold needles.

Each drop was virtually a shaft and it pierced him to his skin.

The water shafts seemed to lift him on their points.

No downward rain ever had such a torturing effect.

In a brief space,

He was drenched,

Except in two places.

These were on the top of his shoulders and on the crown of his hat.

The wind,

Though not intense in other situations,

Was strong here.

It tugged at his coat and lifted it.

We are mostly accustomed to look upon all opposition which is not animate as that of the stolid,

Inexorable hand of indifference which wears out the patience more than the strength.

Here,

At any rate,

Hostility did not assume that slow and sickening form.

It was a cosmic agency,

Active,

Lashing,

Eager for conquest,

Determination,

Not an insensate standing in the way.

Knight had overestimated the strength of his hands.

They were getting weak already.

She will never come again.

She has been gone ten minutes,

He said to himself.

This mistake arose from the unusual compression of his experiences just now.

She had really been gone but three.

As many more minutes will be my end,

He thought.

Next came another instance of the incapacity of the mind to make comparisons at such times.

This is a summer afternoon,

He said,

And there can never have been such a heavy and cold rain on a summer day in my life before.

He was again mistaken.

The rain was quite ordinary in quantity.

The air in temperature.

It was,

As is usual,

The menacing attitude in which they approached him that magnified their powers.

He again looked straight downwards.

The wind and the water dashes lifting his moustache,

Scudding up his cheeks,

Under his eyelids and into his eyes.

This is what he saw down there,

The surface of the sea,

Visually just past his toes and under his feet.

Actually one eighth of a mile or more than 200 yards below them.

We colour,

According to our moods,

The objects we survey.

The sea would have been a deep neutral blue had happier auspices attended the gazer.

It was now no otherwise than distinctly black to his vision.

That narrow white border was foam,

He knew well,

But its boisterous tosses were so distant as to appear a pulsation only,

And its plashing was barely audible.

A white border to a black sea.

His funeral pool and its edging.

The world was,

To some extent,

Turned upside down for him.

Rain descended from below.

Beneath his feet was aerial space and the unknown.

Above him was the firm familiar ground,

And upon it all that he loved best.

Pitiless nature had then two voices,

And two only.

The nearer was the voice of the wind in his ears,

Rising and falling as it mauled and thrust him hard or softly.

The second,

And distant one,

Was the moan of that unplummeted ocean below and afar,

Rubbing its restless flank against the cliff without a name.

Night perseveringly held fast.

Had he any faith in Elfride?

Perhaps.

Love is faith,

And faith,

Like a gathered flower,

Will rootlessly live on.

Nobody would have expected the sun to shine on such an evening as this.

Yet it appeared.

Low down upon the sea,

Not with its natural golden fringe sweeping the furthest ends of the landscape,

Not with the strange glare of whiteness which it sometimes puts on as an alternative to colour,

But as a splotch of vermilion red upon a leaden ground.

A red face,

Looking on with a drunken leer.

Most men who have brains know it,

And few are so foolish as to disguise this fact from themselves or others,

Even though an ostentatious display may be called self-conceit.

Night,

Without showing it much,

Knew that his intellect was above the average,

And he thought.

He could not help thinking that his death would be a deliberate loss to earth of good material,

That such an experiment in killing might have been practised upon some less developed life.

A fancy some people hold,

When in a bitter mood,

Is that inexorable circumstance only tries to position and go on another tack,

And after a while the prize is thrown at you.

Seemingly in disappointment that no more tantalising is possible,

Night gave up thoughts of life utterly and entirely,

And turned to contemplate the dark valley and the unknown future beyond.

Into the shadowy depths of these speculations we will not follow him,

Let it suffice to state what ensued.

At that moment of taking no more thought for this life,

Something disturbed the outline of the bank above him.

A spot appeared.

It was the head of Elfriede.

Night immediately prepared to welcome life again.

The expression of a face consigned to utter loneliness,

When a friend first looks in upon it,

Is moving in the extreme.

In rowing seaward to a light ship or sea-girt lighthouse,

Where,

Without any immediate terror of death,

The inmates experience the gloom of monotonous seclusion,

The grateful eloquence of their countenances at the greeting expressive of thankfulness for the visit,

Is enough to stir the emotions of the most careless observer.

Night's upward look at Elfriede was of a nature with,

But far transcending,

Such an instance as this.

The lines of his face had deepened to furrows,

And every one of them thanked her visibly.

His lips moved to the word Elfriede,

Though the emotion evolved no sound.

His eyes passed all description,

In their combination of the whole dire paison of eloquence,

From lover's deep love to fellow man's gratitude for a token of remembrance from one of his kind.

Elfriede had come back.

What she had come to do,

He did not know.

She could only look on at his death,

Perhaps?

Still,

She had come back,

And not deserted him utterly.

And it was much.

It was a novelty,

In the extreme,

To see Henry Knight,

To whom Elfriede was but a child,

Who had swayed her as a tree sways a bird's nest,

Who mastered her and made her weep most bitterly at her own insignificance,

Thus thankful for a sight of her face.

She looked down upon him,

Her face glistening with rain and tears.

He smiled faintly.

How calm he is,

She thought.

How great and noble he is,

To be so calm.

She would have died ten times for him,

Then.

The gliding form of the steamboat caught her eye.

She heeded it no longer.

How much longer can you wait?

Came from her pale lips and along the wind to his position.

Four minutes,

Said Knight,

In a weaker voice than her own,

But with a good hope of being saved.

Seven or eight?

He now noticed that in her arms she bore a bundle of white linen,

And that her form was singularly attenuated.

So preternaturally thin and flexible was Elfriede at this moment that she appeared to bend under the light blows of the rain shafts as they struck into her sides and bosom and splintered into spray on her face.

There is nothing like a thorough drenching for reducing the protuberances of clothes,

But Elfriede seemed to cling to her like a glove.

Without heeding the attack of the clouds,

Further than by raising her hand and wiping away the spurts of rain when they went more particularly into her eyes,

She sat down and hurriedly began rending the linen into strips.

These she knotted end to end and afterwards twisted them like the strands of a cord.

In a short space of time she had formed a perfect rope by this means,

Six or seven yards long.

Can you wait while I bind it?

She said,

Anxiously extending her gaze down to him.

Yes,

If not very long.

Hope has given me a wonderful installment of strength.

Elfriede dropped her eyes again,

Tore the remaining material into narrow tape-like ligaments,

Knotted each to each as before,

But on a smaller scale,

And wound the lengthy string she had thus formed round and round the linen rope,

Which without this binding had a tendency to spread abroad.

Now,

Said Knight,

Who watching the proceedings intently,

Had by this time not only grasped her scheme but reasoned further on,

I can hold three minutes longer yet,

And do you use the time in testing the strength of the knots one by one?

She at once obeyed,

Testing each singly by putting her foot on the rope between each knot and pulling with her hands.

One of the knots slipped.

Oh,

Think,

It would have broken,

But for your forethought,

Elfriede exclaimed apprehensively.

She retied the two ends.

The rope was now firm in every part.

When you have let it down,

Said Knight,

Already resuming his position of ruling power,

Go back from the edge of the slope and over the bank,

As far as the rope will allow you,

Then lean down and hold the end with both hands.

He had first thought of a safer plan for his own deliverance,

But it involved the disadvantage of possibly endangering her life.

I have tied it round my waist,

She cried,

And I will lean directly upon the bank,

Holding with my hands as well.

It was the arrangement he had thought of,

But would not suggest.

I will raise and drop it three times when I am behind the bank,

She continued,

To signify that I am ready.

Take care.

Oh,

Take the greatest care,

I beg you.

She dropped the rope over him to learn how much of its length it would be necessary to expend on that side of the fore.

The rope was trailing by Knight's shoulders.

In a few moments,

It twitched three times.

He waited,

Yet a second or two,

Then laid hold.

The incline of this upper portion of the precipice,

To the length only of a few feet,

Useless to a climber empty-handed,

Was invaluable now.

Not more than half his weight depended entirely on the linen rope.

Half a dozen extensions of the arms,

Alternating with half a dozen seizures of the rope with his feet,

Brought him up to the level of the soil.

He was saved,

And by Elfriede.

He extended his cramped limbs like an awakened sleeper,

And sprang over the bank.

At sight of him,

She leapt to her feet with almost a shriek of joy.

Knight's eyes met hers,

And with supreme eloquence,

The glance of each told a long-concealed tale of emotion in that short half-moment.

Moved by an impulse neither could resist,

They ran together and into each other's arms.

At the moment of embracing,

Elfriede's eyes involuntarily flashed towards the puffin steamboat.

It had doubled the point,

And was no longer to be seen.

An overwhelming rush of exultation at having delivered the man she revered from one of the most terrible forms of death shook the gentle girl to the centre of her soul.

It merged in a defiance of duty to Stephen,

And a total recklessness as to plighted faith.

Every nerve of her will was now in entire subjection to her feeling.

Volition,

As a guiding power,

Had forsaken her.

To remain passive,

As she remained now,

Encircled by his arms,

Was a sufficiently complete result.

A glorious crown to all the years of her life.

Perhaps he was only grateful,

And did not love her.

No matter.

It was infinitely more to be even the slave of the greater than the queen of the less.

Some such sensation as this,

Though it was not recognised as a finished thought,

Raced along the impressionable soul of Elfriede.

Regarding their attitude,

It was impossible for two persons to go nearer to a kiss than went Knight and Elfriede during those minutes of impulsive embrace in the pelting rain.

Yet they did not kiss.

Knight's peculiarity of nature was such that it would not allow him to take advantage of the unguarded and passionate avowal she had tacitly made.

Elfriede recovered herself and gently struggled to be free.

He reluctantly relinquished her,

And then surveyed her from crown to toe.

She seemed as small as an infant.

He perceived whence she had obtained the rope.

Elfriede!

My Elfriede!

He exclaimed in gratified amazement.

I must leave you now,

She said,

Her face doubling its red with an expression between gladness and shame.

You follow me,

But at some distance.

The rain and wind pierce you through.

The chill will kill you.

God bless you for such devotion.

Take my coat and put it on.

No,

I shall get warm running.

Elfriede had absolutely nothing between her and the weather but her exterior robe or costume.

The door had been made upon a woman's wit,

And it had found its way out.

Behind the bank,

Whilst Knight reclined upon the dizzy slope waiting for death,

She had taken off her whole clothing and replaced only her outer bodice and skirt.

Every thread of the remainder lay upon the ground in the form of a woolen and cotton rope.

I am used to being wet through,

She added.

I have been drenched on pansy dozens of times.

Goodbye till we meet,

Clothed and in our right minds,

By the fireside at home.

She then ran off from him through the pelting rain like a hare,

Or more like a pheasant when scampering away with a lowered tail.

It has a mind to fly but does not.

Elfriede was soon out of sight.

Knight felt uncomfortably wet and chilled,

But glowing with fervour nevertheless.

He fully appreciated Elfriede's girlish delicacy in refusing his escort in the meagre abiliments she wore,

Yet felt that necessary abstraction of herself for a short half-hour as a most grievous loss to him.

He gathered up her knotted and twisted plumage of linen,

Lace and embroidery work,

And laid it across his arm.

He noticed on the ground an envelope,

Limp and wet.

In endeavouring to restore this to its proper shape,

He loosened from the envelope a piece of paper it had contained,

Which was seized by the wind in falling from Knight's hand.

It was blown to the right,

Blown to the left.

It floated to the edge of the cliff and over the sea,

Where it was hurled aloft.

It twirled in the air and then flew back over his head.

Knight followed the paper and secured it.

Having done so,

He looked to discover if it had been worth securing.

The troublesome sheet was a banker's receipt for two hundred pounds,

Placed to the credit of Miss Swancourt,

Which the impractical girl had totally forgotten she carried with her.

Knight folded it as carefully as its moist condition would allow,

Put it in his pocket and followed Elfride.

Reviews

The original cliffhanger! Amazing— and what a gal!
Thank you for reading, very curious what will come next….❤️😍