George Eliot

Adam Bede George Eliot

With a single drop of ink for a mirror, the Egyptian sorcerer undertakes to reveal to anychance 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 ofMr. Jonathan Burge, carpenter and builder, in the village of Hayslope, as it appeared on theeighteenth of June, in the year of our Lord 1799. The afternoon sun was warm on the five workmen there, busy upon doors and windowframes and wainscoting. A scent of pine-wood from a tentlike pile of planks outside theopen door mingled itself with the scent of the elder-bushes which were spreading theirsummer snow close to the open window opposite; the slanting sunbeams shone throughthe transparent shavings that flew before the steady plane, and lit up the fine grain of theoak panelling which stood propped against the wall. On a heap of those soft shavings arough, grey shepherd dog had made himself a pleasant bed, and was lying with his nosebetween his fore-paws, occasionally wrinkling his brows to cast a glance at the tallest of thefive workmen, who was carving a shield in the centre of a wooden mantelpiece. It was tothis workman that the strong barytone belonged which was heard above the sound ofplane and hammer singing-Awake, my soul, and with the sunThy 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 withrenewed 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 alarge-boned, muscular man nearly six feet high, with a back so flat and a head so wellpoised that when he drew himself up to take a more distant survey of his work, he had theair of a soldier standing at ease. The sleeve rolled up above the elbow showed an arm thatwas likely to win the prize for feats of strength; yet the long supple hand, with its broadfinger-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 withthe light paper cap, and the keen glance of the dark eyes that shone from under stronglymarked, prominent and mobile eyebrows, indicated a mixture of Celtic blood. The face waslarge and roughly hewn, and when in repose had no other beauty than such as belongs toan expression of good-humoured honest intellige