NOT a soul was visible on the hedgeless highway, or on either side of it, and the white road seemed to ascend and diminish till it joined the sky. At the very top it was crossed at right angles by a green "ridgeway"--the Ickneild Street and original Roman road through the district. This ancient track ran east and west for many miles, and down almost to within living memory had been used for driving flocks and herds to fairs and markets. But it was now neglected and overgrown.
The boy had never before strayed so far north as this from the nestling hamlet in which he had been deposited by the carrier from a railway station southward, one dark evening some few months earlier, and till now he had had no suspicion that such a wide, flat, low-lying country lay so near at hand, under the very verge of his upland world. The whole northern semicircle between east and west, to a distance of forty or fifty miles, spread itself before him; a bluer, moister atmosphere, evidently, than that he breathed up here.
Not far from the road stood a weather-beaten old barn of reddish-grey brick and tile. It was known as the Brown House by the people of the locality. He was about to pass it when he perceived a ladder against the eaves; and the reflection that the higher he got, the further he could see, led Jude to stand and regard it. On the slope of the roof two men were repairing the tiling. He turned into the ridgeway and drew towards the barn.
When he had wistfully watched the workmen for some time he took courage, and ascended the ladder till he stood beside them.
"Well, my lad, and what may you want up here?"
"I wanted to know where the city of Christminster is, if you please."
"Christminster is out across there, by that clump. You can see it-- at least you can on a clear day. Ah, no, you can't now."
The other tiler, glad of any kind of diversion from the monotony of his labour, had also turned to look towards the quarter designated. "You can't often see it in weather like this," he said. "The time I've noticed it is when the sun is going down in a blaze of flame, and it looks like--I don't know what."
"The heavenly Jerusalem," suggested the serious urchin.
"Ay--though I should never ha' thought of it myself.... But I can't see no Christminster to-day."
The boy strained his eyes also; yet neither could he see the far-off city. He descended from the barn, and abandoning Christminster with the versatility of his age he walked along the ridge-track, looking for any natural objects of interest that might lie in the banks thereabout. When he repassed the barn to go back to Marygreen he observed that the ladder was still in its place, but that the men had finished their day's work and gone away.
It was waning towards evening; there was still a faint mist, but it had cleared a little except in the damper tracts of subjacent country and along the river-courses. He thought again of Christminster, and wished, since he had come two or three miles from his aunt's house on purpose, that he could have seen for once this attractive city of which he had been told. But even if he waited here it was hardly likely that the air would clear before night. Yet he was loth to leave the spot, for the northern expanse became lost to view on retreating towards the village only a few hundred yards.
He ascended the ladder to have one more look at the point the men had designated, and perched himself on the highest rung, overlying the tiles. He might not be able to come so far as this for many days. Perhaps if he prayed, the wish to see Christminster might be forwarded. People said that, if you prayed, things sometimes came to you, even though they sometimes did not. He had read in a tract that a man who had begun to build a church, and had no money to finish it, knelt down and prayed, and the money came in by the next post. Another man tried the same experiment, and the money did not come; but he found afterwards that the breeches he knelt in were made by a wicked Jew. This was not discouraging, and turning on the ladder Jude knelt on the third rung, where, resting against those above it, he prayed that the mist might rise.
He then seated himself again, and waited. In the course of ten or fifteen minutes the thinning mist dissolved altogether from the northern horizon, as it had already done elsewhere, and about a quarter of an hour before the time of sunset the westward clouds parted, the sun's position being partially uncovered, and the beams streaming out in visible lines between two bars of slaty cloud. The boy immediately looked back in the old direction.
Some way within the limits of the stretch of landscape, points of light like the topaz gleamed. The air increased in transparency with the lapse of minutes, till the topaz points showed themselves to be the vanes, windows, wet roof slates, and other shining spots upon the spires, domes, freestone-work, and varied outlines that were faintly revealed. It was Christminster, unquestionably; either directly seen, or miraged in the peculiar atmosphere.
The spectator gazed on and on till the windows and vanes lost their shine, going out almost suddenly like extinguished candles. The vague city became veiled in mist. Turning to the west, he saw that the sun had disappeared. The foreground of the scene had grown funereally dark, and near objects put on the hues and shapes of chimaeras.
He anxiously descended the ladder, and started homewards at a run, trying not to think of giants, Herne the Hunter, Apollyon lying in wait for Christian, or of the captain with the bleeding hole in his forehead and the corpses round him that remutinied every night on board the bewitched ship. He knew that he had grown out of belief in these horrors, yet he was glad when he saw the church tower and the lights in the cottage windows, even though this was not the home of his birth, and his great-aunt did not care much about him.
Inside and round about that old woman's "shop" window, with its twenty-four little panes set in lead-work, the glass of some of them oxidized with age, so that you could hardly see the poor penny articles exhibited within, and forming part of a stock which a strong man could have carried, Jude had his outer being for some long tideless time. But his dreams were as gigantic as his surroundings were small.
Through the solid barrier of cold cretaceous upland to the northward he was always beholding a gorgeous city--the fancied place he had likened to the new Jerusalem, though there was perhaps more of the painter's imagination and less of the diamond merchant's in his dreams thereof than in those of the Apocalyptic writer. And the city acquired a tangibility, a permanence, a hold on his life, mainly from the one nucleus of fact that the man for whose knowledge and purposes he had so much reverence was actually living there; not only so, but living among the more thoughtful and mentally shining ones therein.
In sad wet seasons, though he knew it must rain at Christminster too, he could hardly believe that it rained so drearily there. Whenever he could get away from the confines of the hamlet for an hour or two, which was not often, he would steal off to the Brown House on the hill and strain his eyes persistently; sometimes to be rewarded by the sight of a dome or spire, at other times by a little smoke, which in his estimate had some of the mysticism of incense.
Then the day came when it suddenly occurred to him that if he ascended to the point of view after dark, or possibly went a mile or two further, he would see the night lights of the city. It would be necessary to come back alone, but even that consideration did not deter him, for he could throw a little manliness into his mood, no doubt.
The project was duly executed. It was not late when he arrived at the place of outlook, only just after dusk, but a black north-east sky, accompanied by a wind from the same quarter, made the occasion dark enough. He was rewarded; but what he saw was not the lamps in rows, as he had half expected. No individual light was visible, only a halo or glow-fog over-arching the place against the black heavens behind it, making the light and the city seem distant but a mile or so.
He set himself to wonder on the exact point in the glow where the schoolmaster might be--he who never communicated with anybody at Marygreen now; who was as if dead to them here. In the glow he seemed to see Phillotson promenading at ease, like one of the forms in Nebuchadnezzar's furnace.
He had heard that breezes travelled at the rate of ten miles an hour, and the fact now came into his mind. He parted his lips as he faced the north-east, and drew in the wind as if it were a sweet liquor.
"You," he said, addressing the breeze caressingly "were in Christminster city between one and two hours ago, floating along the streets, pulling round the weather-cocks, touching Mr. Phillotson's face, being breathed by him; and now you are here, breathed by me--you, the very same."
Suddenly there came along this wind something towards him-- a message from the place--from some soul residing there, it seemed. Surely it was the sound of bells, the voice of the city, faint and musical, calling to him, "We are happy here!"
He had become entirely lost to his bodily situation during this mental leap, and only got back to it by a rough recalling. A few yards below the brow of the hill on which he paused a team of horses made its appearance, having reached the place by dint of half an hour's serpentine progress from the bottom of the immense declivity. They had a load of coals behind them-- a fuel that could only be got into the upland by this particular route. They were accompanied by a carter, a second man, and a boy, who now kicked a large stone behind one of the wheels, and allowed the panting animals to have a long rest, while those in charge took a flagon off the load and indulged in a drink round.
They were elderly men, and had genial voices. Jude addressed them, inquiring if they had come from Christminster.
"Heaven forbid, with this load!" said they.
"The place I mean is that one yonder." He was getting so romantically attached to Christminster that, like a young lover alluding to his mistress, he felt bashful at mentioning its name again. He pointed to the light in the sky--hardly perceptible to their older eyes.
"Yes. There do seem a spot a bit brighter in the nor'-east than elsewhere, though I shouldn't ha' noticed it myself, and no doubt it med be Christminster."
Here a little book of tales which Jude had tucked up under his arm, having brought them to read on his way hither before it grew dark, slipped and fell into the road. The carter eyed him while he picked it up and straightened the leaves.
"Ah, young man," he observed, "you'd have to get your head screwed on t'other way before you could read what they read there."
"Why?" asked the boy.
"Oh, they never look at anything that folks like we can understand," the carter continued, by way of passing the time. "On'y foreign tongues used in the days of the Tower of Babel, when no two families spoke alike. They read that sort of thing as fast as a night-hawk will whir. 'Tis all learning there-- nothing but learning, except religion. And that's learning too, for I never could understand it. Yes, 'tis a serious-minded place. Not but there's wenches in the streets o' nights.... You know, I suppose, that they raise pa'sons there like radishes in a bed? And though it do take--how many years, Bob?--five years to turn a lirruping hobble-de-hoy chap into a solemn preaching man with no corrupt passions, they'll do it, if it can be done, and polish un off like the workmen they be, and turn un out wi' a long face, and a long black coat and waistcoat, and a religious collar and hat, same as they used to wear in the Scriptures, so that his own mother wouldn't know un sometimes.... There, 'tis their business, like anybody else's."
"But how should you know"
"Now don't you interrupt, my boy. Never interrupt your senyers. Move the fore hoss aside, Bobby; here's som'at coming.... You must mind that I be a-talking of the college life. 'Em lives on a lofty level; there's no gainsaying it, though I myself med not think much of 'em. As we be here in our bodies on this high ground, so be they in their minds-- noble-minded men enough, no doubt--some on 'em--able to earn hundreds by thinking out loud. And some on 'em be strong young fellows that can earn a'most as much in silver cups. As for music, there's beautiful music everywhere in Christminster. You med be religious, or you med not, but you can't help striking in your homely note with the rest. And there's a street in the place--the main street--that ha'n't another like it in the world. I should think I did know a little about Christminster!"
By this time the horses had recovered breath and bent to their collars again. Jude, throwing a last adoring look at the distant halo, turned and walked beside his remarkably well-informed friend, who had no objection to telling him as they moved on more yet of the city--its towers and halls and churches. The waggon turned into a cross-road, whereupon Jude thanked the carter warmly for his information, and said he only wished he could talk half as well about Christminster as he.
"Well, 'tis oonly what has come in my way," said the carter unboastfully. "I've never been there, no more than you; but I've picked up the knowledge here and there, and you be welcome to it. A-getting about the world as I do, and mixing with all classes of society, one can't help hearing of things. A friend o' mine, that used to clane the boots at the Crozier Hotel in Christminster when he was in his prime, why, I knowed un as well as my own brother in his later years."
Jude continued his walk homeward alone, pondering so deeply that he forgot to feel timid. He suddenly grew older. It had been the yearning of his heart to find something to anchor on, to cling to--for some place which he could call admirable. Should he find that place in this city if he could get there? Would it be a spot in which, without fear of farmers, or hindrance, or ridicule, he could watch and wait, and set himself to some mighty undertaking like the men of old of whom he had heard? As the halo had been to his eyes when gazing at it a quarter of an hour earlier, so was the spot mentally to him as he pursued his dark way.
"It is a city of light," he said to himself.
"The tree of knowledge grows there," he added a few steps further on.
"It is a place that teachers of men spring from and go to."
"It is what you may call a castle, manned by scholarship and religion."
After this figure he was silent a long while, till he added:
"It would just suit me."
在没设边篱的大路上和它的两旁，连个人影也看不见。白晃晃的大路仿佛朝上延伸，越高越窄，远接天际，恰好在最高处，一条贯穿这一带地方的绿油油的“山脊路”——原属古罗马驰道的伊克内尔德大道横插过来，同它呈十字交叉。这古道自东向西延伸好多英里，人们至今还多少记得早年赶牛羊上庙会和集市都利用它。不过眼下已经没人过问它了，所以蔓草丛生，掩覆了路面。
几个月前一个黑沉沉的晚上，一个运货人把他从南下的火车站带到他要去寄居的那个簇拥在一起的小村落。自那以后，他根本没闲逛到这么远，再说在这之前也万没想到紧靠他的高地世界下方，竟是那么辽阔的地势低平的荒野的边缘。在他眼前，北面的东西两至之间大约四五十英里、整个呈半圆形的地面，向四处铺开；那边的大气显然比他在高地这边呼吸的更蓝，更潮润。
离大路不远地方有座历经风雨剥蚀的暗红色砖瓦盖成的谷仓，当地人管它叫栋房子。他刚要打谷仓边走过去，忽然眼一亮，看见仓檐边靠着一个梯子。裘德陡地想到了登得高就望得远的话，就停下来对梯子端详了一会儿。房顶斜坡上，有两个人正修瓦顶。于是他转身上了山脊路，向谷仓走去。
他朝工人望了会儿，露出有所希求的神情，随即鼓起勇气，爬上梯子，站到他们近边上。
“嗨，小子，你跑上来干吗呀？”
“劳驾，我想知道基督堂在哪儿？”
“基督堂在那边儿，从这儿过去，就是那片树旁边儿。你大概能看得见，那可得晴天才行哪。哦，这会儿不行，你没法看见啦。”
另一个瓦工，只要能暂时摆脱一下单调乏味的活儿就高兴，也转过脸去望刚说到的地方。“这样的天气，你就不大能看得见啦，”他说，“我那回看见它的时候，正好是太阳下山，一片火红，就像是——我可形容不上来。”
“就像是天上的耶路撒冷哪。”满脸正经的小淘气想起来就说。
“哦——我可压根儿没这么想过……反正我今儿瞧不见基督堂就是啦。”
孩子极力睁大了眼睛瞧，可是怎么也看不到远处的那座城市。他从谷仓上下来。他那个年纪，心思容易变，在古道的旧迹上走着的时候，也就把基督堂撂到一边了，又在路两边的土堆上寻找自然生长出来的好玩的东西。在回到马利格林的路上，再次经过谷仓时候，他注意到梯子还在原处，那两个人干完活走了。
天色已晚，渐渐昏暗，仍旧有一片薄雾，不过除了荒野靠下方的比较潮湿的地段和河道两岸，其他地方的雾气多少散了点。这时他又想到了基督堂，既然眼巴巴地从姑婆家出来已经走了两三英里，总希望看见一回人家跟他说的那个富有吸引力的城市什么样呀。不过就算他一直在这儿等下去，入夜之前，大气也未必完全开朗吧。可是他绝不甘心离开这儿，因为他要是转回那个村子，只要再走几百码，北方的空；周地带就从眼界里消失了。
他爬上了梯子，想再看看那两人指给他看的地方，一上到梯子顶高的一档，就拿身子靠着谷仓的瓦檐，好站稳了。像今天走得这么远，恐怕以后多少天也别打算啊。也许你要是祈祷的话，说不定想看见基督堂的心愿会实现呢。人家不是讲过吗，你要是祷告，有时候就能如愿以偿，当然有时候也不一定行。他念过一篇劝世文，里边说某人开始造教堂，可造还没造完就没钱了，他就跪下来祷告，下趟邮班果然把钱带来啦。还有一个人也想把这经验照搬一回，钱可没来；不过他后来发现他下跪时穿的裤子原来是个邪恶的犹太人做的。这并没叫人泄气，所以裘德还是把身子转过来，跪在第三档上，身子靠住上边两档，祷告雾气往上散开。
然后他坐稳了等着。大约过了十或十五分钟，越来越稀薄的雾从北方地平线上，就像先前在别的地方那样，全都散净了。夕阳西下前一刻钟光景，朝西飘移的云层倏然分开，太阳的位置露出了一部分，在两块云团之间，阳光奔涌而出，光束明晰。孩子立刻回过身来，朝原来的方向望去。
在那一望连绵的景色的范围内，有个地方的黄玉般光点不断闪烁。随着时间的推移，空气的透明度愈见增强，而黄玉般光点终于显露了原形，它们是风信旗、窗户和潮湿的石板屋顶，以及塔尖。圆屋顶和沙石装饰物的闪亮的部位。形态各异的建筑物轮廓若隐若现，隐约可见。那就是基督堂啊；若不是眼见为实，那它必定是在特殊的大气氛围中映现的海市蜃楼了。
这位观赏者一直目不转睛地凝视着，到后来窗户和风信旗几乎像烛光熄灭一样骤然失去了光亮。迷茫的城市宛如披上了轻薄的雾毅。他转向西方，太阳早已西沉了。画面的前景变得阴森可怖，近处无一不是开米拉般妖物的奇形怪状，五颜六色。
他慌慌张张从梯子上溜下来，开始往家里跑，哪儿还敢再想什么巨人呀、猎手赫恩呀、伺机杀害克里斯梯安的恶魔亚坡伦呀、在闹鬼的船上脑门有个窟窿一直往外冒血的船长和夜夜围着他翻来覆去地造反的尸体呀。他也知道自己已经长大了，不该再信什么妖魔鬼怪了，可是他还是直到看见了教堂塔楼和自家窗户里的灯光，才定下心，高兴起来，哪怕这并不是他呱呱堕地的地方，他站婆待他也不怎么样。
老太婆的“店”的窗户装着二十四块嵌在铅条框子里的小玻璃，年深日久，有些经过氧化，已经模糊，所以你休想隔着玻璃看清楚屋里陈列着的那些可怜巴巴的只值一便士的食品，它们是整个货仓的一部分，其实只要一个壮汉一拎，就可以把所有的东西都拿走了。裘德就在这个窗户里边和窗户这头那头呆着，相当长的一段时间内他外表安详，似乎心无所动。但是他所处的环境是那么委琐不堪，相比之下，他所抱的理想实在是大而无当。
他老是没完没了地透过寒冷的白垩质高地构成的坚固屏障，神往于那座熠熠生辉的城市——他在想象中把它比做新耶路撒冷的地方，不过他这份想象可跟《启示录》作者的构思大不相同，因为其中多的是画家的精思妙诣，少的是珠宝商人的痴心妄想。对他的生命来说，那个城市形成了具体的事物、永恒的存在和无上的权威，而究其起因，不能不主要归之于一件事的深远影响，就是那个在学识与志向方面使他深为敬仰的人确实住到了那个地方；非但如此，他还生活在思想更为深刻，才智更为卓越的人们中间。
在凄凉多雨的季节，他虽然知道基督堂那边也下雨，但是他不肯信那儿的雨会也下得那么叫人意绪消沉。只要他能够得闲，把小村子摆脱一两个钟头（机会是难得的），他就偷偷溜到小山上的棕房子，一直眼睛睁得大大的，有时候碰运气能瞧见一个圆屋顶或塔尖，这在他就算不虚此行了；也间或瞧见一缕轻烟，就猜想大概是因为烧香引来了神启吧。
其后有那么一天，他突然想到，要是天黑以后登上那个能眺望的地方，要么再多走上一两英里，准能看得到城市夜晚的灯光。不过回家路上就会只剩他一个人了。但是即使这样的顾虑也没吓住他，因为毫无疑问，在他身上是不难拿出几分大丈夫气概的。
计划当下就实行了。他到达纵览景色的地方还不算晚，刚过了黄昏时分；不过东北方上空已经完全暗下来，加上从同一方向吹过来的一阵风，此时此刻也真够暗了。功夫不负苦心人哪；可惜他所看到的不是一行行灯光，像他期望的那样；没有一盏灯光灼然可辨，极目所至，只有一片光晕或是闪亮的薄雾在黑暗的夜空中笼罩着那地方，使灯光和城市显得离他只有一英里左右。
他仔细琢磨起来：在这片亮光中间，老师究竟住在什么地方——他到现在也没跟马利格林哪个人联络过，对那儿的人来说，他就跟死了一样。他好像看见费乐生先生正在亮光中悠然自得地散步，好比是尼布甲尼撒的窑里烧不死的人里头的一个。
他以前就听说过微风按一小时十英里速度吹拂；他这样一想，就面朝东北，张开嘴，在风中大口呼吸，如饮琼浆。
“你啊，”他满怀柔情向风倾诉，“一两个钟头之前，你还在基督堂哪，你飘过长街，绕着风信旗转悠，轻轻抚摸费乐生先生的脸，让他呼吸过，你这会儿上这儿来啦，让我呼吸啦——你啊，就是这样啊。”
突然间，随着风吹，好像有什么信息向他传过来了——从那儿，好像由住在那儿的某个精灵把信息传过来了。对啦，那是钟声，是那座城市的声音，轻微而悦耳，向他发出了呼唤：“我们这儿多快活啊！”
他心骛神驰，看人了迷，到了浑然忘我的地步，幸亏像梦中一样一阵极力挣扎，才清醒过来。只见离他站的高冈下面几码远的地方，冒出一队车马，它们是从极其陡峻的坡子底下，在曲里拐弯的路上转了半个钟头，才到这地方的。马车拉的是煤，是高地绝不可少的燃料，也只有靠这条路才好运进去。随车的有车把式，还有个伙计跟男孩儿。那孩子直往前端一块大石头，要用它顶住一个车轮，好让喘吁吁的畜牲多歇息一阵子。两个运货的打煤堆里取出个大肚子酒瓶，轮流喝起来。
那两人都上了年纪，说话声音听着挺和气的。裘德就走过去，跟他们搭话，打听他们是不是从基督堂来的。
“没影儿的事，怎么好带这样的货去！”他们说。
“我是说那边儿的那个。”他对基督堂一往情深，如同年轻的恋人暗自提起意中人名字时候，深恐再说一遍就唐突伊人似的。他指着半天空的灯光，不过他们的老花眼看不大清楚。
“是喽，东北边儿上是有个地方，仿佛比别处亮点，我先例没注意呢，不错，就是基督堂啦。”
裘德腋下本来夹着一本小本子故事书，留着天黑之前在路上看，这会儿滑到了地上。车把式在他把书拣起来抹抹好的时候，直盯着看他。
“哎，小子，”他认真地说，“你要是想念他们念的书，可先得想法子换个脑筋才行哪。”
“干吗呀？”裘德问。
“哎，咱们这号人懂得的东西，他们向来是正眼不看哪。”车把式接着往下说，借此消磨消磨时间。“只有巴别塔那个时代的外国话才用得上哪，那会儿连两家说一样话的都没有。他们念那种东西就跟夜鹰扇翅膀一样快。那儿到处是学问——没别的，除了学问还是学问，还不算宗教，可那也是学问呀，反正我根本就不懂。是喽，是个思想纯得很的地方喽。可别怪，到夜里，街上一样有坏娘儿们转悠呢。我看你也知道他们那边造就办教的吧？好比菜地种萝卜。虽说他们得花上——多少年呀，鲍勃？——五年，才把一个整天啥事没干、蠢头蠢脑的家伙变成一个满脸正经、没邪念头的讲道的，可他们还是非这么干不行，只要干得成就干嘛，再说还得把他打磨一番，让他样儿又文雅又能干，够得上要当的那号人，然后就让他出师啦，脸拉得老长老长的，黑袍子黑背心也是老长老长的，戴着出家人的领子跟帽子，跟《圣经》里那些人穿戴得没两样，这一来连他妈也认不得这家伙啦……哪，这就是他们做的生意，反正谁都得有自个儿的生意嘛。”
“可你居然知道——”
“别打岔，孩子，大人说话，不许打岔。鲍勃，把前头马往边儿上拉拉，什么东西过来啦。你可要注意，我要讲讲学院生活啦。他们过的日子才高尚呢，这没什么好议论的，不过我本人不大瞧得起他们。要是说咱们是身子站在这高处，那他们就是思想站在高处——十足的思想高尚的人嘛，这可没什么好怀疑的。他们里头有些人只要把脑子里的东西说出来，一挣就好几百呢。还有些家伙，年轻力壮，赚的钱跟银杯里盛的一样多呀。要说音乐嘛，基督堂到处有刮刮叫的音乐。你信教也好，不信教也好，可你免不了也跟大伙儿一块儿唱那家喻户晓的调子。那儿有条街——是条主要街道——世界难有其匹哪。我自间知道点基督堂的名堂就是了。”
这时候马匹歇过来了，重新驾好辕。裘德最后一次怀着敬畏的心情，向远处的光晕望了一回，然后傍着那位消息极为灵通的朋友一块儿离开了，那人路上也没拒绝再跟裘德聊聊那座城市——它的塔楼、会堂和教堂。运货马车到了岔路口，裘德因为车把式给他讲了那么多，对他千恩万谢，还说但愿他自己也能像他一样说基督堂，哪怕能讲出一半也就行了。
“我这也不过偶尔听说的。”车把式说，没一点自吹自擂的样子。“那儿我压根儿没去过，跟你一样，不过我东听点，西听点，也就知道个大概啦。你爱听，这就挺好嘛。我这人到处闯荡，跟社会上哪个路道的都有来往，就算不想听也听了。我一个朋友年轻力壮那阵子，常在基督堂的权杖旅馆擦皮鞋，哎哎，他上了年纪以后，我待他就跟亲哥儿俩一样哪。”
裘德一个人继续往家走，一路上仔细想个没完，这一来反倒一点顾不上害怕了。他一直心向往之的是一个身心得以完全托庇，精神得以信守不渝的对象——一个他自以为令人崇敬的地方。如果他能在那座城市找到这样的地方，那他究竟是去得成呢，还是去不成？在那儿，用不着害怕庄稼汉的骄横，用不着害怕有人对他横加阻挠，用不着害怕别人讥笑嘲骂，他能不能像他以前听说的古人那样，静观慎守，把整个身心都投入到一项伟大事业中呢？正如一刻钟前他凝视着的光晕对他的眼睛发生的作用，这会儿摸黑赶路，那地方对他的心灵也有了启示。
“那是光明之城。”他自言自语。
“知识之树在那儿生长。”他往前走了几步又说。
“那儿既造就也延揽学问精深的人类导师。”
“你可以叫它是由学问和宗教守护的城堡。”
说过这个比喻，他沉默良久，然后说出了一句：
“那是个对我完全合适的地方。”