George Eliot

Adam Bede

Warsaw 2019

Contents

Book One

Chapter I. The Workshop

Chapter II. The Preaching

Chapter III. After the Preaching

Chapter IV. Home and Its Sorrows

Chapter V. The Rector

Chapter VI. The Hall Farm

Chapter VII. The Dairy

Chapter VIII. A Vocation

Chapter IX. Hetty's World

Chapter X. Dinah Visits Lisbeth

Chapter XI. In the Cottage

Chapter XII. In the Wood

Chapter XIII. Evening in the Wood

Chapter XIV. The Return Home

Chapter XV. The Two Bed-Chambers

Chapter XVI. Links

Book Two

Chapter XVII. In Which the Story Pauses a Little

Chapter XVIII. Church

Chapter XIX. Adam on a Working Day

Chapter XX. Adam Visits the Hall Farm

Chapter XXI. The Night-School and the Schoolmaster

Book Three

Chapter XXII. Going to the Birthday Feast

Chapter XXIII. Dinner-Time

Chapter XXIV. The Health-Drinking

Chapter XXV. The Games

Chapter XXVI. The Dance

Book Four

Chapter XXVII. A crisis

Chapter XXVIII. A Dilemma

Chapter XXIX. The Next Morning

Chapter XXX. The Delivery of the Letter

Chapter XXXI. In Hetty's Bed-Chamber

Chapter XXXII. Mrs. Poyser “Has Her Say Out”

Chapter XXXIII. More Links

Chapter XXXIV. The Betrothal

Chapter XXXV. The Hidden Dread

Book Five

Chapter XXXVI. The Journey of Hope

Chapter XXXVII. The Journey in Despair

Chapter XXXVIII. The Quest

Chapter XXXIX. The Tidings

Chapter XL. The Bitter Waters Spread

Chapter XLI. The Eve of the Trial

Chapter XLII. The Morning of the Trial

Chapter XLIII. The Verdict

Chapter XLIV. Arthur's Return

Chapter XLV. In the Prison

Chapter XLVI. The Hours of Suspense

Chapter XLVII. The Last Moment

Chapter XLVIII. Another Meeting in the Wood

Book Six

Chapter XLIX. At the Hall Farm

Chapter L. In the Cottage

Chapter LI. Sunday Morning

Chapter LII. Adam and Dinah

Chapter LIII. The Harvest Supper

Chapter LIV. The Meeting on the Hill

Chapter LV. Marriage Bells

Epilogue

Book One

Chapter I

The Workshop

With a single drop of ink for a mirror, the Egyptian sorcerer undertakes to reveal to any chance comer far-reaching visions of the past. This is what I undertake to do for you, reader. With this drop of ink at the end of my pen, I will show you the roomy workshop of Mr. Jonathan Burge, carpenter and builder, in the village of Hayslope, as it appeared on the eighteenth of June, in the year of our Lord 1799.

The afternoon sun was warm on the five workmen there, busy upon doors and window-frames and wainscoting. A scent of pine-wood from a tentlike pile of planks outside the open door mingled itself with the scent of the elder-bushes which were spreading their summer snow close to the open window opposite; the slanting sunbeams shone through the transparent shavings that flew before the steady plane, and lit up the fine grain of the oak panelling which stood propped against the wall. On a heap of those soft shavings a rough, grey shepherd dog had made himself a pleasant bed, and was lying with his nose between his fore-paws, occasionally wrinkling his brows to cast a glance at the tallest of the five workmen, who was carving a shield in the centre of a wooden mantelpiece. It was to this workman that the strong barytone belonged which was heard above the sound of plane and hammer singing–

Awake, my soul, and with the sun
Thy daily stage of duty run;
Shake off dull sloth...

Here some measurement was to be taken which required more concentrated attention, and the sonorous voice subsided into a low whistle; but it presently broke out again with renewed vigour–

Let all thy converse be sincere,
Thy conscience as the noonday clear.

Such a voice could only come from a broad chest, and the broad chest belonged to a large-boned, muscular man nearly six feet high, with a back so flat and a head so well poised that when he drew himself up to take a more distant survey of his work, he had the air of a soldier standing at ease. The sleeve rolled up above the elbow showed an arm that was likely to win the prize for feats of strength; yet the long supple hand, with its broad finger-tips, looked ready for works of skill. In his tall stalwartness Adam Bede was a Saxon, and justified his name; but the jet-black hair, made the more noticeable by its contrast with the light paper cap, and the keen glance of the dark eyes that shone from under strongly marked, prominent and mobile eyebrows, indicated a mixture of Celtic blood. The face was large and roughly hewn, and when in repose had no other beauty than such as belongs to an expression of good-humoured honest intelligence.

It is clear at a glance that the next workman is Adam’s brother. He is nearly as tall; he has the same type of features, the same hue of hair and complexion; but the strength of the family likeness seems only to render more conspicuous the remarkable difference of expression both in form and face. Seth’s broad shoulders have a slight stoop; his eyes are grey; his eyebrows have less prominence and more repose than his brother’s; and his glance, instead of being keen, is confiding and benign. He has thrown off his paper cap, and you see that his hair is not thick and straight, like Adam’s, but thin and wavy, allowing you to discern the exact contour of a coronal arch that predominates very decidedly over the brow.

The idle tramps always felt sure they could get a copper from Seth; they scarcely ever spoke to Adam.

The concert of the tools and Adam’s voice was at last broken by Seth, who, lifting the door at which he had been working intently, placed it against the wall, and said, “There! I’ve finished my door to-day, anyhow.”

The workmen all looked up; Jim Salt, a burly, red-haired man known as Sandy Jim, paused from his planing, and Adam said to Seth, with a sharp glance of surprise, “What! Dost think thee’st finished the door?”

“Aye, sure,” said Seth, with answering surprise; “what’s awanting to’t?”

A loud roar of laughter from the other three workmen made Seth look round confusedly. Adam did not join in the laughter, but there was a slight smile on his face as he said, in a gentler tone than before, “Why, thee’st forgot the panels.”

The laughter burst out afresh as Seth clapped his hands to his head, and coloured over brow and crown.

“Hoorray!” shouted a small lithe fellow called Wiry Ben, running forward and seizing the door. “We’ll hang up th’ door at fur end o’ th’ shop an’ write on’t ‘Seth Bede, the Methody, his work.’ Here, Jim, lend’s hould o’ th’ red pot.”

“Nonsense!” said Adam. “Let it alone, Ben Cranage. You’ll mayhap be making such a slip yourself some day; you’ll laugh o’ th’ other side o’ your mouth then.”

“Catch me at it, Adam. It’ll be a good while afore my head’s full o’ th’ Methodies,” said Ben.

“Nay, but it’s often full o’ drink, and that’s worse.”

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