file_id stringlengths 4 7 | text_sub_id int64 0 3.52k | text stringlengths 1.37k 8.33k | tokens int64 500 1.25k |
|---|---|---|---|
PG27 | 69 | CHAPTER XXI.
TROUBLES IN THE FOLDA MESSAGE
Gabriel Oak had ceased to feed the Weatherbury flock for about
four-and-twenty hours, when on Sunday afternoon the elderly gentlemen,
Joseph Poorgrass, Matthew Moon, Fray, and half-a-dozen others came
running up to the house of the mistress of the Upper Farm.
Whatever _is_ the matter, men? she said, meeting them at the door
just as she was coming out on her way to church, and ceasing in a
moment from the close compression of her two red lips, with which she
had accompanied the exertion of pulling on a tight glove.
Sixty! said Joseph Poorgrass.
Seventy! said Moon.
Fifty-nine! said Susan Talls husband.
Sheep have broke fence, said Fray.
And got into a field of young clover, said Tall.
Young clover! said Moon.
Clover! said Joseph Poorgrass.
And they be getting blasted, said Henery Fray.
That they be, said Joseph.
And will all die as dead as nits, if they baint got out and
cured!said Tall.
Josephs countenance was drawn into lines and puckers by his concern.
Frays forehead was wrinkled both perpendicularly and crosswise, after
the pattern of a portcullis, expressive of a double despair. Laban
Talls lips were thin, and his face was rigid. Matthews jaws sank, and
his eyes turned whichever way the strongest muscle happened to pull
them.
Yes, said Joseph, and I was sitting at home, looking for Ephesians,
and says I to myself, Tis nothing but Corinthians and Thessalonians
in this danged Testament, when who should come in but Henery there:
Joseph, he said, the sheep have blasted themselves
With Bathsheba it was a moment when thought was speech and speech
exclamation. Moreover, she had hardly recovered her equanimity since
the disturbance which she had suffered from Oaks remarks.
Thats enoughthats enough!oh, you fools! she cried, throwing the
parasol and prayer-book into the passage, and running out of doors in
the direction signified. To come to me, and not go and get them out
directly! Oh, the stupid numskulls!
Her eyes were at their darkest and brightest now. Bathshebas beauty
belonged rather to the redeemed-demonian than to the blemished-angelic
school, she never looked so well as when she was angryand particularly
when the effect was heightened by a rather dashing velvet dress,
carefully put on before a glass.
All the ancient men ran in a jumbled throng after her to the
clover-field, Joseph sinking down in the midst when about half-way,
like an individual withering in a world which got more and more
unstable. Having once received the stimulus that her presence always
gave them, they went round among the sheep with a will. The majority of
the afflicted animals were lying down, and could not be stirred. These
were bodily lifted out, and the others driven into the adjoining field.
Here, after the lapse of a few minutes, several more fell down, and lay
helpless and livid as the rest.
Bathsheba, with a sad, bursting heart, looked at these primest
specimens of her prime flock as they rolled there,
Swoln with wind and the rank mist they drew.
Many of them foamed at the mouth, their breathing being quick and
short, whilst the bodies of all were fearfully distended.
Oh, what can I do, what can I do! said Bathsheba, helplessly. Sheep
are such unfortunate animals!theres always something happening to
them! I never knew a flock pass a year without getting into some scrape
or other.
Theres only one way of saving them, said Tall.
What way? Tell me quick!
They must be pierced in the side with a thing made on purpose.
Can you do it? Can I?
No, maam. We cant, nor you neither. It must be done in a particular
spot. If ye go to the right or left but an inch you stab the ewe and
kill her. Not even a shepherd can do it, as a rule.
Then they must die, she said, in a resigned tone.
Only one man in the neighbourhood knows the way, said Joseph, now
just come up. He could cure em all if he were here.
Who is he? Lets get him!
Shepherd Oak, said Matthew. Ah, hes a clever man in talents!
Ah, that he is so! said Joseph Poorgrass.
Truehes the man, said Laban Tall.
How dare you name that man in my presence! she said excitedly. I
told you never to allude to him, nor shall you if you stay with me.
Ah! she added, brightening, Farmer Boldwood knows!
Oh no, maam, said Matthew. Two of his store ewes got into some
vetches tother day, and were just like these. He sent a man on
horseback here posthaste for Gable, and Gable went and saved em.
Farmer Boldwood hev got the thing they do it with. Tis a holler pipe,
with a sharp pricker inside. Isnt it, Joseph? | 1,138 |
PG27 | 70 | Aya holler pipe, echoed Joseph. Thats what tis.
Ay, surethats the machine, chimed in Henery Fray, reflectively,
with an Oriental indifference to the flight of time.
Well, burst out Bathsheba, dont stand there with your ayes and
your sures talking at me! Get somebody to cure the sheep instantly!
All then stalked off in consternation, to get somebody as directed,
without any idea of who it was to be. In a minute they had vanished
through the gate, and she stood alone with the dying flock.
Never will I send for himnever! she said firmly.
One of the ewes here contracted its muscles horribly, extended itself,
and jumped high into the air. The leap was an astonishing one. The ewe
fell heavily, and lay still.
Bathsheba went up to it. The sheep was dead.
Oh, what shall I dowhat shall I do! she again exclaimed, wringing
her hands. I wont send for him. No, I wont!
The most vigorous expression of a resolution does not always coincide
with the greatest vigour of the resolution itself. It is often flung
out as a sort of prop to support a decaying conviction which, whilst
strong, required no enunciation to prove it so. The No, I wont of
Bathsheba meant virtually, I think I must.
She followed her assistants through the gate, and lifted her hand to
one of them. Laban answered to her signal.
Where is Oak staying?
Across the valley at Nest Cottage.
Jump on the bay mare, and ride across, and say he must return
instantlythat I say so.
Tall scrambled off to the field, and in two minutes was on Poll, the
bay, bare-backed, and with only a halter by way of rein. He diminished
down the hill.
Bathsheba watched. So did all the rest. Tall cantered along the
bridle-path through Sixteen Acres, Sheeplands, Middle Field, The Flats,
Cappels Piece, shrank almost to a point, crossed the bridge, and
ascended from the valley through Springmead and Whitepits on the other
side. The cottage to which Gabriel had retired before taking his final
departure from the locality was visible as a white spot on the opposite
hill, backed by blue firs. Bathsheba walked up and down. The men
entered the field and endeavoured to ease the anguish of the dumb
creatures by rubbing them. Nothing availed.
Bathsheba continued walking. The horse was seen descending the hill,
and the wearisome series had to be repeated in reverse order:
Whitepits, Springmead, Cappels Piece, The Flats, Middle Field,
Sheeplands, Sixteen Acres. She hoped Tall had had presence of mind
enough to give the mare up to Gabriel, and return himself on foot. The
rider neared them. It was Tall.
Oh, what folly! said Bathsheba.
Gabriel was not visible anywhere.
Perhaps he is already gone, she said.
Tall came into the inclosure, and leapt off, his face tragic as
Mortons after the battle of Shrewsbury.
Well? said Bathsheba, unwilling to believe that her verbal
_lettre-de-cachet_ could possibly have miscarried.
He says _beggars mustnt be choosers_, replied Laban.
What! said the young farmer, opening her eyes and drawing in her
breath for an outburst. Joseph Poorgrass retired a few steps behind a
hurdle.
He says he shall not come unless you request him to come civilly and
in a proper manner, as becomes any person begging a favour.
Oh, ho, thats his answer! Where does he get his airs? Who am I, then,
to be treated like that? Shall I beg to a man who has begged to me?
Another of the flock sprang into the air, and fell dead.
The men looked grave, as if they suppressed opinion.
Bathsheba turned aside, her eyes full of tears. The strait she was in
through pride and shrewishness could not be disguised longer: she burst
out crying bitterly; they all saw it; and she attempted no further
concealment.
I wouldnt cry about it, miss, said William Smallbury,
compassionately. Why not ask him softer like? Im sure hed come then.
Gable is a true man in that way.
Bathsheba checked her grief and wiped her eyes. O, it is a wicked
cruelty to meit isit is! she murmured. And he drives me to do what
I wouldnt; yes, he does!Tall, come indoors.
After this collapse, not very dignified for the head of an
establishment, she went into the house, Tall at her heels. Here she sat
down and hastily scribbled a note between the small convulsive sobs of
convalescence which follow a fit of crying as a ground-swell follows a
storm. The note was none the less polite for being written in a hurry.
She held it at a distance, was about to fold it, then added these words
at the bottom: | 1,122 |
PG27 | 71 | Do not desert me, Gabriel!
She looked a little redder in refolding it, and closed her lips, as if
thereby to suspend till too late the action of conscience in examining
whether such strategy was justifiable. The note was despatched as the
message had been, and Bathsheba waited indoors for the result.
It was an anxious quarter of an hour that intervened between the
messengers departure and the sound of the horses tramp again outside.
She could not watch this time, but, leaning over the old bureau at
which she had written the letter, closed her eyes, as if to keep out
both hope and fear.
The case, however, was a promising one. Gabriel was not angry, he was
simply neutral, although her first command had been so haughty. Such
imperiousness would have damned a little less beauty; and on the other
hand, such beauty would have redeemed a little less imperiousness.
She went out when the horse was heard, and looked up. A mounted figure
passed between her and the sky, and went on towards the field of sheep,
the rider turning his face in receding. Gabriel looked at her. It was a
moment when a womans eyes and tongue tell distinctly opposite tales.
Bathsheba looked full of gratitude, and she said:
Oh, Gabriel, how could you serve me so unkindly!
Such a tenderly-shaped reproach for his previous delay was the one
speech in the language that he could pardon for not being commendation
of his readiness now.
Gabriel murmured a confused reply, and hastened on. She knew from the
look which sentence in her note had brought him. Bathsheba followed to
the field.
Gabriel was already among the turgid, prostrate forms. He had flung off
his coat, rolled up his shirt-sleeves, and taken from his pocket the
instrument of salvation. It was a small tube or trochar, with a lance
passing down the inside; and Gabriel began to use it with a dexterity
that would have graced a hospital-surgeon. Passing his hand over the
sheeps left flank, and selecting the proper point, he punctured the
skin and rumen with the lance as it stood in the tube; then he suddenly
withdrew the lance, retaining the tube in its place. A current of air
rushed up the tube, forcible enough to have extinguished a candle held
at the orifice.
It has been said that mere ease after torment is delight for a time;
and the countenances of these poor creatures expressed it now.
Forty-nine operations were successfully performed. Owing to the great
hurry necessitated by the far-gone state of some of the flock, Gabriel
missed his aim in one case, and in one onlystriking wide of the mark,
and inflicting a mortal blow at once upon the suffering ewe. Four had
died; three recovered without an operation. The total number of sheep
which had thus strayed and injured themselves so dangerously was
fifty-seven.
When the love-led man had ceased from his labours, Bathsheba came and
looked him in the face.
Gabriel, will you stay on with me? she said, smiling winningly, and
not troubling to bring her lips quite together again at the end,
because there was going to be another smile soon.
I will, said Gabriel.
And she smiled on him again. | 731 |
PG27 | 72 | CHAPTER XXII.
THE GREAT BARN AND THE SHEEP-SHEARERS
Men thin away to insignificance and oblivion quite as often by not
making the most of good spirits when they have them as by lacking good
spirits when they are indispensable. Gabriel lately, for the first time
since his prostration by misfortune, had been independent in thought
and vigorous in action to a marked extentconditions which, powerless
without an opportunity as an opportunity without them is barren, would
have given him a sure lift upwards when the favourable conjunction
should have occurred. But this incurable loitering beside Bathsheba
Everdene stole his time ruinously. The spring tides were going by
without floating him off, and the neap might soon come which could not.
It was the first day of June, and the sheep-shearing season culminated,
the landscape, even to the leanest pasture, being all health and
colour. Every green was young, every pore was open, and every stalk was
swollen with racing currents of juice. God was palpably present in the
country, and the devil had gone with the world to town. Flossy catkins
of the later kinds, fern-fronds like bishops croziers, the
square-headed moschatel, the odd cuckoo-pint,like an apoplectic saint
in a niche of malachiteclear white ladies-smocks, the toothwort,
approximating to human flesh, the enchanters nightshade, and the
black-petaled doleful-bells, were among the quainter objects of the
vegetable world in and about Weatherbury at this teeming time; and of
the animal, the metamorphosed figures of Mr. Jan Coggan, the
master-shearer; the second and third shearers, who travelled in the
exercise of their calling, and do not require definition by name;
Henery Fray the fourth shearer, Susan Talls husband the fifth, Joseph
Poorgrass the sixth, young Cain Ball as assistant-shearer, and Gabriel
Oak as general supervisor. None of these were clothed to any extent
worth mentioning, each appearing to have hit in the matter of raiment
the decent mean between a high and low caste Hindoo. An angularity of
lineament, and a fixity of facial machinery in general, proclaimed that
serious work was the order of the day.
They sheared in the great barn, called for the nonce the Shearing-barn,
which on ground-plan resembled a church with transepts. It not only
emulated the form of the neighbouring church of the parish, but vied
with it in antiquity. Whether the barn had ever formed one of a group
of conventual buildings nobody seemed to be aware; no trace of such
surroundings remained. The vast porches at the sides, lofty enough to
admit a waggon laden to its highest with corn in the sheaf, were
spanned by heavy-pointed arches of stone, broadly and boldly cut, whose
very simplicity was the origin of a grandeur not apparent in erections
where more ornament has been attempted. The dusky, filmed, chestnut
roof, braced and tied in by huge collars, curves, and diagonals, was
far nobler in design, because more wealthy in material, than
nine-tenths of those in our modern churches. Along each side wall was a
range of striding buttresses, throwing deep shadows on the spaces
between them, which were perforated by lancet openings, combining in
their proportions the precise requirements both of beauty and
ventilation.
One could say about this barn, what could hardly be said of either the
church or the castle, akin to it in age and style, that the purpose
which had dictated its original erection was the same with that to
which it was still applied. Unlike and superior to either of those two
typical remnants of medivalism, the old barn embodied practices which
had suffered no mutilation at the hands of time. Here at least the
spirit of the builders then was at one with the spirit of the beholder
now. Standing before this abraded pile the eye regarded its present
usage, the mind dwelt upon its past history, with a satisfied sense of
functional continuity throughouta feeling almost of gratitude, and
quite of pride, at the permanence of the idea which had heaped it up.
The fact that four centuries had neither proved it to be founded on a
mistake, inspired any hatred of its purpose, nor given rise to any
reaction that had battered it down, invested this simple grey effort of
old minds with a repose, if not a grandeur, which a too curious
reflection was apt to disturb in its ecclesiastical and military
compeers. For once medivalism and modernism had a common standpoint.
The lanceolate windows, the time-eaten arch-stones and chamfers, the
orientation of the axis, the misty chestnut work of the rafters,
referred to no exploded fortifying art or worn-out religious creed. The
defence and salvation of the body by daily bread is still a study, a
religion, and a desire. | 1,105 |
PG27 | 73 | To-day the large side doors were thrown open towards the sun to admit a
bountiful light to the immediate spot of the shearers operations,
which was the wood threshing-floor in the centre, formed of thick oak,
black with age and polished by the beating of flails for many
generations, till it had grown as slippery and as rich in hue as the
state-room floors of an Elizabethan mansion. Here the shearers knelt,
the sun slanting in upon their bleached shirts, tanned arms, and the
polished shears they flourished, causing them to bristle with a
thousand rays strong enough to blind a weak-eyed man. Beneath them a
captive sheep lay panting, increasing the rapidity ot its pants as
misgiving merged in terror, till it quivered like the hot landscape
outside.
This picture of to-day in its frame of four hundred years ago did not
produce that marked contrast between ancient and modern which is
implied by the contrast of date. In comparison with cities, Weatherbury
was immutable. The citizens _Then_ is the rustics _Now_. In London,
twenty or thirty years ago are old times; in Paris ten years, or five;
in Weatherbury three or four score years were included in the mere
present, and nothing less than a century set a mark on its face or
tone. Five decades hardly modified the cut of a gaiter, the embroidery
of a smock-frock, by the breadth of a hair. Ten generations failed to
alter the turn of a single phrase. In these nooks the busy outsiders
ancient times are only old; his old times are still new; his present is
futurity.
So the barn was natural to the shearers, and the shearers were in
harmony with the barn.
The spacious ends of the building, answering ecclesiastically to nave
and chancel extremities, were fenced off with hurdles, the sheep being
all collected in a crowd within these two enclosures; and in one angle
a catching-pen was formed, in which three or four sheep were
continuously kept ready for the shearers to seize without loss of time.
In the background, mellowed by tawny shade, were the three women,
Maryann Money, and Temperance and Soberness Miller, gathering up the
fleeces and twisting ropes of wool with a wimble for tying them round.
They were indifferently well assisted by the old maltster, who, when
the malting season from October to April had passed, made himself
useful upon any of the bordering farmsteads.
Behind all was Bathsheba, carefully watching the men to see that there
was no cutting or wounding through carelessness, and that the animals
were shorn close. Gabriel, who flitted and hovered under her bright
eyes like a moth, did not shear continuously, half his time being spent
in attending to the others and selecting the sheep for them. At the
present moment he was engaged in handing round a mug of mild liquor,
supplied from a barrel in the corner, and cut pieces of bread and
cheese.
Bathsheba, after throwing a glance here, a caution there, and lecturing
one of the younger operators who had allowed his last finished sheep to
go off among the flock without re-stamping it with her initials, came
again to Gabriel, as he put down the luncheon to drag a frightened ewe
to his shear-station, flinging it over upon its back with a dexterous
twist of the arm. He lopped off the tresses about its head, and opened
up the neck and collar, his mistress quietly looking on.
She blushes at the insult, murmured Bathsheba, watching the pink
flush which arose and overspread the neck and shoulders of the ewe
where they were left bare by the clicking shearsa flush which was
enviable, for its delicacy, by many queens of the coteries, and would
have been creditable, for its promptness, to any woman in the world.
Poor Gabriels soul was fed with a luxury of content by having her over
him, her eyes critically regarding his skilful shears, which apparently
were going to gather up a piece of the flesh at every close, and yet
never did so. Like Guildenstern, Oak was happy in that he was not over
happy. He had no wish to converse with her: that his bright lady and
himself formed one group, exclusively their own, and containing no
others in the world, was enough.
So the chatter was all on her side. There is a loquacity that tells
nothing, which was Bathshebas; and there is a silence which says much:
that was Gabriels. Full of this dim and temperate bliss, he went on to
fling the ewe over upon her other side, covering her head with his
knee, gradually running the shears line after line round her dew-lap;
thence about her flank and back, and finishing over the tail. | 1,079 |
PG27 | 74 | Well done, and done quickly! said Bathsheba, looking at her watch as
the last snip resounded.
How long, miss? said Gabriel, wiping his brow.
Three-and-twenty minutes and a half since you took the first lock from
its forehead. It is the first time that I have ever seen one done in
less than half an hour.
The clean, sleek creature arose from its fleecehow perfectly like
Aphrodite rising from the foam, should have been seen to be
realizedlooking startled and shy at the loss of its garment, which lay
on the floor in one soft cloud, united throughout, the portion visible
being the inner surface only, which, never before exposed, was white as
snow, and without flaw or blemish of the minutest kind.
Cain Ball!
Yes, Mister Oak; here I be!
Cainy now runs forward with the tar-pot. B. E. is newly stamped upon
the shorn skin, and away the simple dam leaps, panting, over the board
into the shirtless flock outside. Then up comes Maryann; throws the
loose locks into the middle of the fleece, rolls it up, and carries it
into the background as three-and-a-half pounds of unadulterated warmth
for the winter enjoyment of persons unknown and far away, who will,
however, never experience the superlative comfort derivable from the
wool as it here exists, new and purebefore the unctuousness of its
nature whilst in a living state has dried, stiffened, and been washed
outrendering it just now as superior to anything _woollen_ as cream is
superior to milk-and-water.
But heartless circumstance could not leave entire Gabriels happiness
of this morning. The rams, old ewes, and two-shear ewes had duly
undergone their stripping, and the men were proceeding with the
shearlings and hogs, when Oaks belief that she was going to stand
pleasantly by and time him through another performance was painfully
interrupted by Farmer Boldwoods appearance in the extremest corner of
the barn. Nobody seemed to have perceived his entry, but there he
certainly was. Boldwood always carried with him a social atmosphere of
his own, which everybody felt who came near him; and the talk, which
Bathshebas presence had somewhat suppressed, was now totally
suspended.
He crossed over towards Bathsheba, who turned to greet him with a
carriage of perfect ease. He spoke to her in low tones, and she
instinctively modulated her own to the same pitch, and her voice
ultimately even caught the inflection of his. She was far from having a
wish to appear mysteriously connected with him; but woman at the
impressible age gravitates to the larger body not only in her choice of
words, which is apparent every day, but even in her shades of tone and
humour, when the influence is great.
What they conversed about was not audible to Gabriel, who was too
independent to get near, though too concerned to disregard. The issue
of their dialogue was the taking of her hand by the courteous farmer to
help her over the spreading-board into the bright May sunlight outside.
Standing beside the sheep already shorn, they went on talking again.
Concerning the flock? Apparently not. Gabriel theorized, not without
truth, that in quiet discussion of any matter within reach of the
speakers eyes, these are usually fixed upon it. Bathsheba demurely
regarded a contemptible straw lying upon the ground, in a way which
suggested less ovine criticism than womanly embarrassment. She became
more or less red in the cheek, the blood wavering in uncertain flux and
reflux over the sensitive space between ebb and flood. Gabriel sheared
on, constrained and sad.
She left Boldwoods side, and he walked up and down alone for nearly a
quarter of an hour. Then she reappeared in a new riding-habit of myrtle
green, which fitted her to the waist as a rind fits its fruit; and
young Bob Coggan led on her mare, Boldwood fetching his own horse from
the tree under which it had been tied.
Oaks eyes could not forsake them; and in endeavouring to continue his
shearing at the same time that he watched Boldwoods manner, he snipped
the sheep in the groin. The animal plunged; Bathsheba instantly gazed
towards it, and saw the blood.
Oh Gabriel! she exclaimed, with severe remonstrance, you who are so
strict with the other mensee what you are doing yourself!
To an outsider there was not much to complain of in this remark; but to
Oak, who knew Bathsheba to be well aware that she herself was the cause
of the poor ewes wound, because she had wounded the ewes shearer in a
still more vital part, it had a sting which the abiding sense of his
inferiority to both herself and Boldwood was not calculated to heal.
But a manly resolve to recognize boldly that he had no longer a lovers
interest in her, helped him occasionally to conceal a feeling. | 1,109 |
PG27 | 75 | Bottle! he shouted, in an unmoved voice of routine. Cainy Ball ran
up, the wound was anointed, and the shearing continued.
Boldwood gently tossed Bathsheba into the saddle, and before they
turned away she again spoke out to Oak with the same dominative and
tantalizing graciousness.
I am going now to see Mr. Boldwoods Leicesters. Take my place in the
barn, Gabriel, and keep the men carefully to their work.
The horses heads were put about, and they trotted away.
Boldwoods deep attachment was a matter of great interest among all
around him; but, after having been pointed out for so many years as the
perfect exemplar of thriving bachelorship, his lapse was an anticlimax
somewhat resembling that of St. John Longs death by consumption in the
midst of his proofs that it was not a fatal disease.
That means matrimony, said Temperance Miller, following them out of
sight with her eyes.
I reckon thats the size ot, said Coggan, working along without
looking up.
Well, better wed over the mixen than over the moor, said Laban Tall,
turning his sheep.
Henery Fray spoke, exhibiting miserable eyes at the same time: I dont
see why a maid should take a husband when shes bold enough to fight
her own battles, and dont want a home; for tis keeping another woman
out. But let it be, for tis a pity he and she should trouble two
houses.
As usual with decided characters, Bathsheba invariably provoked the
criticism of individuals like Henery Fray. Her emblazoned fault was to
be too pronounced in her objections, and not sufficiently overt in her
likings. We learn that it is not the rays which bodies absorb, but
those which they reject, that give them the colours they are known by;
and in the same way people are specialized by their dislikes and
antagonisms, whilst their goodwill is looked upon as no attribute at
all.
Henery continued in a more complaisant mood: I once hinted my mind to
her on a few things, as nearly as a battered frame dared to do so to
such a froward piece. You all know, neighbours, what a man I be, and
how I come down with my powerful words when my pride is boiling with
indignation?
We do, we do, Henery.
So I said, Mistress Everdene, theres places empty, and theres
gifted men willing; but the spiteno, not the spiteI didnt say
spitebut the villainy of the contrarikind, I said (meaning
womankind), keeps em out. That wasnt too strong for her, say?
Passably well put.
Yes; and I would have said it, had death and salvation overtook me for
it. Such is my spirit when I have a mind!
A true man, and proud as a Lucifer.
You see the artfulness? Why, twas about being baily really; but I
didnt put it so plain that she could understand my meaning, so I could
lay it on all the stronger. That was my depth! However, let her marry
an she will. Perhaps tis high time. I believe Farmer Boldwood kissed
her behind the spear-bed at the sheep-washing tother daythat I do.
What a lie! said Gabriel.
Ah, neighbour Oakhowst know? said, Henery, mildly.
Because she told me all that passed, said Oak, with a pharisaical
sense that he was not as other shearers in this matter.
Ye have a right to believe it, said Henery, with dudgeon; a very
true right. But I may see a little distance into things. To be
long-headed enough for a bailys place is a poor mere trifleyet a
trifle more than nothing. However, I look round upon life quite
promiscuous. Do you conceive me, neighbours? My words, though made as
simple as I can, may be rather deep for some heads.
Oh yes, Henery, we quite conceive ye.
A strange old piece, goodmenwhirled about from here to yonder, as if
I were nothing worth. A little warped, too. But I have my depths; ha,
and even my great depths! I might close with a certain shepherd, brain
to brain. But noOh no!
A strange old piece, ye say! interposed the maltster, in a querulous
voice. At the same time ye be no old man worth namingno old man at
all. Yer teeth baint half gone yet; and whats a old mans standing if
so be his teeth baint gone? Werent I stale in wedlock afore ye were
out of arms? Tis a poor thing to be sixty, when theres people far
past four-scorea boast weak as water. | 1,050 |
PG27 | 76 | It was the unvarying custom in Weatherbury to sink minor differences
when the maltster had to be pacified.
Weak as water! yes, said Jan Coggan. Malter, we feel ye to be a
wonderful old veteran man, and nobody can gainsay it.
Nobody, said Joseph Poorgrass. Ye are a very rare old spectacle,
malster, and we all respect ye for that gift.
Ay, and as a young man, when my senses were in prosperity, I was
likewise liked by a good-few who knowed me, said the maltster.
Ithout doubt you wasithout doubt.
The bent and hoary man was satisfied, and so apparently was Henery
Fray. That matters should continue pleasant Maryann spoke, who, what
with her brown complexion, and the working wrapper of rusty linsey, had
at present the mellow hue of an old sketch in oilsnotably some of
Nicholas Poussins:
Do anybody know of a crooked man, or a lame, or any second-hand fellow
at all that would do for poor me? said Maryann. A perfect article I
dont expect to get at my time of life. If I could hear of such a thing
twould do me more good than toast and ale.
Coggan furnished a suitable reply. Oak went on with his shearing, and
said not another word. Pestilent moods had come, and teased away his
quiet. Bathsheba had shown indications of anointing him above his
fellows by installing him as the bailiff that the farm imperatively
required. He did not covet the post relatively to the farm: in relation
to herself, as beloved by him and unmarried to another, he had coveted
it. His readings of her seemed now to be vapoury and indistinct. His
lecture to her was, he thought, one of the absurdest mistakes. Far from
coquetting with Boldwood, she had trifled with himself in thus feigning
that she had trifled with another. He was inwardly convinced that, in
accordance with the anticipations of his easy-going and worse-educated
comrades, that day would see Boldwood the accepted husband of Miss
Everdene. Gabriel at this time of his life had outgrown the instinctive
dislike which every Christian boy has for reading the Bible, perusing
it now quite frequently, and he inwardly said, I find more bitter
than death the woman whose heart is snares and nets! This was mere
exclamationthe froth of the storm. He adored Bathsheba just the same.
We workfolk shall have some lordly junketing to-night, said Cainy
Ball, casting forth his thoughts in a new direction. This morning I
see em making the great puddens in the milking-pailslumps of fat as
big as yer thumb, Mister Oak! Ive never seed such splendid large knobs
of fat before in the days of my lifethey never used to be bigger than
a horse-bean. And there was a great black crock upon the brandish with
his legs a-sticking out, but I dont know what was in within.
And theres two bushels of biffins for apple-pies, said Maryann.
Well, I hope to do my duty by it all, said Joseph Poorgrass, in a
pleasant, masticating manner of anticipation. Yes; victuals and drink
is a cheerful thing, and gives nerves to the nerveless, if the form of
words may be used. Tis the gospel of the body, without which we
perish, so to speak it. | 779 |
PG27 | 77 | CHAPTER XXIII.
EVENTIDEA SECOND DECLARATION
For the shearing-supper a long table was placed on the grass-plot
beside the house, the end of the table being thrust over the sill of
the wide parlour-window and a foot or two into the room. Miss Everdene
sat inside the window, facing down the table. She was thus at the head
without mingling with the men.
This evening Bathsheba was unusually excited, her red cheeks and lips
contrasting lustrously with the mazy skeins of her shadowy hair. She
seemed to expect assistance, and the seat at the bottom of the table
was at her request left vacant until after they had begun the meal. She
then asked Gabriel to take the place and the duties appertaining to
that end, which he did with great readiness.
At this moment Mr. Boldwood came in at the gate, and crossed the green
to Bathsheba at the window. He apologized for his lateness: his arrival
was evidently by arrangement.
Gabriel, said she, will you move again, please, and let Mr. Boldwood
come there?
Oak moved in silence back to his original seat.
The gentleman-farmer was dressed in cheerful style, in a new coat and
white waistcoat, quite contrasting with his usual sober suits of grey.
Inwardy, too, he was blithe, and consequently chatty to an exceptional
degree. So also was Bathsheba now that he had come, though the
uninvited presence of Pennyways, the bailiff who had been dismissed for
theft, disturbed her equanimity for a while.
Supper being ended, Coggan began on his own private account, without
reference to listeners:
Ive lost my love, and I care not,
Ive lost my love, and I care not;
I shall soon have another
Thats better than tother;
Ive lost my love, and I care not.
This melody, when concluded, was received with a silently appreciative
gaze at the table, implying that the performance, like a work by those
established authors who are independent of notices in the papers, was a
well-known delight which required no applause.
Now, Master Poorgrass, your song, said Coggan.
I be all but a shadder, and the gift is wanting in me, said Joseph,
diminishing himself.
Nonsense; woust never be so ungrateful, Josephnever! said Coggan,
expressing hurt feelings by an inflection of voice. And mistress is
looking hard at ye, as much as to say, Sing at once, Joseph
Poorgrass.
Faith, so she is; well, I must suffer it! How do I bear her gaze? Do
I blush prodigally? Just eye my features, and see if the tell-tale
blood overpowers me much, neighbours.
No, yer blushes be quite reasonable, said Coggan.
A very reasonable depth indeed, testified Oak.
I always tries to keep my colours from rising when a beautys eyes get
fixed on me, said Joseph, diffidently; but if so be tis willed they
do, they must.
Now, Joseph, your song, please, said Bathsheba, from the window.
Well, really, maam, he replied, in a yielding tone, I dont know
what to say. It would be a poor plain ballet of my own composure.
Hear, hear! said the supper-party.
Poorgrass, thus assured, trilled forth a flickering yet commendable
piece of sentiment, the tune of which consisted of the key-note and
another, the latter being the sound chiefly dwelt upon. This was so
successful that he rashly plunged into a second in the same breath,
after a few false starts:
I sow-ed th-e. . . . .
I sow-ed. . . . .
I sow-ed the-e seeds of love,
I-it was all i-in the-e spring,
I-in A-pril, Ma-ay, a-nd sun-ny June,
When sma-all bi-irds they do sing.
Well put out of hand, said Coggan, at the end of the verse. They do
sing was a very taking paragraph.
Ay; and there was a pretty place at seeds of love, and twas well
let out. Though love is a nasty high corner when a mans voice is
getting crazed. Next verse, Master Poorgrass.
But during this rendering young Bob Coggan evinced one of those
anomalies which will afflict little people when other persons are
particularly serious, and, in trying to check his laughter, pushed down
his throat as much of the tablecloth as he could get hold of, when
after continuing hermetically sealed for a short time, his mirth
ultimately burst out through his nose. Joseph perceived it, and with
hectic cheeks of indignation instantly ceased singing. Coggan boxed
Bobs ears immediately.
Go on, Josephgo on, and never mind the young scamp, said Coggan.
Tis a very catching ballet. Now then againthe next bar; Ill help ye
to flourish up the shrill notes where yer wind is rather wheezy: | 1,118 |
PG27 | 78 | Oh the wi-il-lo-ow tree will twist,
And the wil-low tre-ee wiill twine.
But the singer could not be set going again. Bob Coggan was sent home
for his ill manners, and tranquility was restored by Jacob Smallbury,
who volunteered a ballad as inclusive and interminable as that with
which the worthy toper old Silenus amused on a similar occasion the
swains Chromis and Mnasylus, and other jolly dogs of his day.
It was still the beaming time of evening, though night was stealthily
making itself visible low down upon the ground, the western lines of
light raking the earth without alighting upon it to any extent, or
illuminating the dead levels at all. The sun had crept round the tree
as a last effort before death, and then began to sink, the shearers
lower parts becoming steeped in embrowning twilight, whilst their heads
and shoulders were still enjoying day, lacquered with a yellow of
self-sustained brilliancy that seemed inherent rather than acquired.
The sun went down in an ochreous mist; but they sat, and talked on, and
grew as merry as the gods in Homers heaven. Bathsheba still remained
enthroned inside the window, and occupied herself in knitting, from
which she sometimes looked up to view the fading scene outside. The
slow twilight expanded and enveloped them completely before the signs
of moving were shown.
Gabriel suddenly missed Farmer Boldwood from his place at the bottom of
the table. How long he had been gone Oak did not know; but he had
apparently withdrawn into the encircling dusk. Whilst he was thinking
of this, Liddy brought candles into the back part of the room
overlooking the shearers, and their lively new flames shone down the
table and over the men, and dispersed among the green shadows behind.
Bathshebas form, still in its original position, was now again
distinct between their eyes and the light, which revealed that Boldwood
had gone inside the room, and was sitting near her.
Next came the question of the evening. Would Miss Everdene sing to them
the song she always sang so charminglyThe Banks of Allan
Waterbefore they went home?
After a moments consideration Bathsheba assented, beckoning to
Gabriel, who hastened up into the coveted atmosphere at once.
Have you brought your flute? she whispered.
Yes, miss.
Play to my singing, then.
She stood up in the window-opening, facing the men, the candles behind
her, Gabriel on her right hand, immediately outside the sash-frame.
Boldwood had drawn up on her left, within the room. Her singing was
soft and rather tremulous at first, but it soon swelled to a steady
clearness. Subsequent events caused one of the verses to be remembered
for many months, and even years, by more than one of those who were
gathered there:
For his bride a soldier sought her,
And a winning tongue had he:
On the banks of Allan Water
None was gay as she!
[Illustration: SHE STOOD UP IN THE WINDOW-OPENING, FACING THE MEN.]
In addition to the dulcet piping of Gabriels flute, Boldwood supplied
a bass in his customary profound voice, uttering his notes so softly,
however, as to abstain entirely from making anything like an ordinary
duet of the song; they rather formed a rich unexplored shadow, which
threw her tones into relief. The shearers reclined against each other
as at suppers in the early ages of the world, and so silent and
absorbed were they that her breathing could almost be heard between the
bars; and at the end of the ballad, when the last tone loitered on to
an inexpressible close, there arose that buzz of pleasure which is the
attar of applause.
It is scarcely necessary to state that Gabriel could not avoid noting
the farmers bearing to-night towards their entertainer. Yet there was
nothing exceptional in his actions beyond what appertained to his time
of performing them. It was when the rest were all looking away that
Boldwood observed her; when they regarded her he turned aside; when
they thanked or praised he was silent; when they were inattentive he
murmured his thanks. The meaning lay in the difference between actions,
none of which had any meaning of themselves; and the necessity of being
jealous, which lovers are troubled with, did not lead Oak to
under-estimate these signs.
Bathsheba then wished them good-night, withdrew from the window, and
retired to the back part of the room, Boldwood thereupon closing the
sash and the shutters, and shutting himself inside with her. Oak
wandered away under the quiet and scented trees. Recovering from the
softer impressions produced by Bathshebas voice, the shearers rose to
leave, Coggan turning to Pennyways as he pushed back the bench to pass
out: | 1,081 |
PG27 | 79 | I like to give praise where praise is due, and the man deserves
itthat a do so, he remarked, looking at the worthy thief
comprehensively, as if he were the masterpiece of some world-renowned
artist.
Im sure I should never have believed it if we hadnt proved it, so to
allude, said Joseph Poorgrass, that every cup, every one of the best
knives and forks, and every empty bottle be in their place as perfect
now as at the beginning, and not one stole at all.
Im sure I dont deserve half the praise you give me, said the
virtuous thief, grimly.
Well, Ill say this for Pennyways, added Coggan, that whenever he do
really make up his mind to do a noble thing in the shape of a good
action, as I could see by his face he did to-night afore sitting down,
hes generally able to carry it out. Yes, Im proud to say, neighbours,
that hes stole nothing at all.
Well, tis an honest deed, and we thank ye for it, Pennyways, said
Joseph; to which opinion the remainder of the company subscribed
unanimously.
At this time of departure, when nothing more was visible of the inside
of the parlour than a thin and still chink of light between the
shutters, a passionate scene was in course of enactment there.
Miss Everdene and Boldwood were alone. Her cheeks had lost a great deal
of their healthful fire from the very seriousness of her position; but
her eye was bright with the excitement of a triumphthough it was a
triumph which had rather been contemplated than desired.
She was standing behind a low arm-chair, from which she had just risen,
and he was kneeling in itinclining himself over its back towards her,
and holding her hand in both his own. His body moved restlessly, and it
was with what the poet calls a too happy happiness. This unwonted
abstraction by love of all dignity from a man of whom it had ever
seemed the chief component, was, in its distressing incongruity, a pain
to her which quenched much of the pleasure she derived from the proof
that she was idolized.
I will try to love you, she was saying, in a trembling voice quite
unlike her usual self-confidence. And if I can believe in any way that
I shall make you a good wife I shall indeed be willing to marry you.
But, Mr. Boldwood, hesitation on so high a matter is honourable in any
woman, and I dont want to give a solemn promise to-night. I would
rather ask you to wait a few weeks till I can see my situation better.
But you have every reason to believe that _then_
I have every reason to hope that at the end of the five or six weeks,
between this time and harvest, that you say you are going to be away
from home, I shall be able to promise to be your wife, she said,
firmly. But remember this distinctly, I dont promise yet.
It is enough; I dont ask more. I can wait on those dear words. And
now, Miss Everdene, good-night!
Good-night, she said, graciouslyalmost tenderly; and Boldwood
withdrew with a serene smile.
Bathsheba knew more of him now; he had entirely bared his heart before
her, even until he had almost worn in her eyes the sorry look of a
grand bird without the feathers that make it grand. She had been
awestruck at her past temerity, and was struggling to make amends
without thinking whether the sin quite deserved the penalty she was
schooling herself to pay. To have brought all this about her ears was
terrible; but after a while the situation was not without a fearful
joy. The facility with which even the most timid women sometimes
acquire a relish for the dreadful when that is amalgamated with a
little triumph, is marvellous. | 851 |
PG27 | 80 | CHAPTER XXIV.
THE SAME NIGHTTHE FIR PLANTATION
Among the multifarious duties which Bathsheba had voluntarily imposed
upon herself by dispensing with the services of a bailiff, was the
particular one of looking round the homestead before going to bed, to
see that all was right and safe for the night. Gabriel had almost
constantly preceded her in this tour every evening, watching her
affairs as carefully as any specially appointed officer of surveillance
could have done; but this tender devotion was to a great extent unknown
to his mistress, and as much as was known was somewhat thanklessly
received. Women are never tired of bewailing mans fickleness in love,
but they only seem to snub his constancy.
As watching is best done invisibly, she usually carried a dark lantern
in her hand, and every now and then turned on the light to examine
nooks and corners with the coolness of a metropolitan policeman. This
coolness may have owed its existence not so much to her fearlessness of
expected danger as to her freedom from the suspicion of any; her worst
anticipated discovery being that a horse might not be well bedded, the
fowls not all in, or a door not closed.
This night the buildings were inspected as usual, and she went round to
the farm paddock. Here the only sounds disturbing the stillness were
steady munchings of many mouths, and stentorian breathings from all but
invisible noses, ending in snores and puffs like the blowing of bellows
slowly. Then the munching would recommence, when the lively imagination
might assist the eye to discern a group of pink-white nostrils, large
as caverns, and very clammy and humid on their surfaces, not exactly
pleasant to the touch until one got used to them; the mouths beneath
having a great partiality for closing upon any fragment of Bathshebas
apparel which came within reach of their tongues. Above each of these a
still keener vision suggested a brown forehead and two staring though
not unfriendly eyes, and above all a pair of whitish crescent-shaped
horns like two particularly new moons, an occasional stolid moo!
proclaiming beyond the shade of a doubt that these phenomena were the
features and persons of Daisy, Whitefoot, Bonny-lass, Jolly-O, Spot,
Twinkle-eye, etc., etc.the respectable dairy of Devon cows belonging
to Bathsheba aforesaid.
Her way back to the house was by a path through a young plantation of
tapering firs, which had been planted some years earlier to shelter the
premises from the north wind. By reason of the density of the
interwoven foliage it was gloomy there at cloudless noontide, twilight
in the evening, dark as midnight at dusk, and black as the ninth plague
of Egypt at midnight. To describe the spot is to call it a vast, low,
naturally formed hall, the plumy ceiling of which was supported by
slender pillars of living wood, the floor being covered with a soft dun
carpet of dead spikelets and mildewed cones, with a tuft of
grass-blades here and there.
This bit of the path was always the crux of the nights ramble, though,
before starting, her apprehensions of danger were not vivid enough to
lead her to take a companion. Slipping along here covertly as Time,
Bathsheba fancied she could hear footsteps entering the track at the
opposite end. It was certainly a rustle of footsteps. Her own instantly
fell as gently as snowflakes. She reassured herself by a remembrance
that the path was public, and that the traveller was probably some
villager returning home, regretting, at the same time, that the meeting
should be about to occur in the darkest point of her route, even though
only just outside her own door.
The noise approached, came close, and a figure was apparently on the
point of gliding past her when something tugged at her skirt and pinned
it forcibly to the ground. The instantaneous check nearly threw
Bathsheba off her balance. In recovering she struck against warm
clothes and buttons.
A rum start, upon my soul! said a masculine voice, a foot or so above
her head. Have I hurt you, mate?
No, said Bathsheba, attempting to shrink a way.
We have got hitched together somehow, I think.
Yes.
Are you a woman?
Yes.
A lady, I should have said.
It doesnt matter.
I am a man.
Oh!
Bathsheba softly tugged again, but to no purpose.
Is that a dark lantern you have? I fancy so, said the man.
Yes.
If youll allow me Ill open it, and set you free. | 1,021 |
PG27 | 81 | A hand seized the lantern, the door was opened, the rays burst out from
their prison, and Bathsheba beheld her position with astonishment.
The man to whom she was hooked was brilliant in brass and scarlet. He
was a soldier. His sudden appearance was to darkness what the sound of
a trumpet is to silence. Gloom, the _genius loci_ at all times
hitherto, was now totally overthrown, less by the lantern light than by
what the lantern lighted. The contrast of this revelation with her
anticipations of some sinister figure in sombre garb was so great that
it had upon her the effect of a fairy transformation.
It was immediately apparent that the military mans spur had become
entangled in the gimp which decorated the skirt of her dress. He caught
a view of her face.
Ill unfasten you in one moment, miss, he said, with new-born
gallantry.
O noI can do it, thank you, she hastily replied, and stooped for the
performance.
The unfastening was not such a trifling affair. The rowel of the spur
had so wound itself among the gimp cords in those few moments, that
separation was likely to be a matter of time.
He too stooped, and the lantern standing on the ground betwixt them
threw the gleam from its open side among the fir-tree _dbris_ and the
blades of long damp grass with the effect of a large glowworm. It
radiated upwards into their faces, and sent over half the plantation
gigantic shadows of both man and woman, each dusky shape becoming
distorted and mangled upon the tree-trunks till it wasted to nothing.
He looked hard into her eyes when she raised them for a moment;
Bathsheba looked down again, for his gaze was too strong to be received
pointblank with her own. But she had obliquely noticed that he was
young and slim, and that he wore three chevrons upon his sleeve.
Bathsheba pulled again.
You are a prisoner, miss; it is no use blinking the matter, said the
soldier, drily. I must cut your dress if you are in such a hurry.
Yesplease do! she exclaimed, helplessly.
It wouldnt be necessary if you could wait a moment; and he unwound a
cord from the little wheel. She withdrew her own hand, but, whether by
accident or design, he touched it. Bathsheba was vexed; she hardly knew
why.
His unravelling went on, but it nevertheless seemed coming to no end.
She looked at him again.
Thank you for the sight of such a beautiful face! said the young
sergeant, without ceremony.
She coloured with embarrassment. Twas unwillingly shown, she
replied, stiffly, and with as much dignitywhich was very littleas she
could infuse into a position of utter captivity
I like you the better for that incivility, miss, he said.
I should have likedI wishyou had never shown yourself to me by
intruding here! She pulled again, and the gathers of her dress began
to give way like lilliputian musketry.
I deserve such a chastisement your words give me. But why should such
a fair and dutiful girl have such an aversion to her fathers sex?
Go on your way, please.
What, Beauty, and drag you after me? Do but look; I never saw such a
tangle!
Oh, tis shameful of you; you have been making it worse on purpose to
keep me hereyou have!
Indeed, I dont think so, said the sergeant, with a merry twinkle.
I tell you you have! she exclaimed, in high temper. I insist upon
undoing it. Now, allow me!
Certainly, miss; I am not of steel. He added a sigh which had as much
archness in it as a sigh could possess without losing its nature
altogether. I am thankful for beauty, even when tis thrown to me like
a bone to a dog. These moments will be over too soon!
She closed her lips in a determined silence.
Bathsheba was revolving in her mind whether by a bold and desperate
rush she could free herself at the risk of leaving a portion of her
skirt bodily behind her. The thought was too dreadful. The dresswhich
she had put on to appear stately at the supperwas the head and front
of her wardrobe; not another in her stock became her so well. What
woman in Bathshebas position, not naturally timid, and within call of
her retainers, would have bought escape from a dashing soldier at so
dear a price?
All in good time; it will soon be done, I perceive, said her cool
friend. | 1,032 |
PG27 | 82 | This trifling provokes, andand
Not too cruel!
Insults me!
It is done in order that I may have the pleasure of apologizing to so
charming a woman, which I straightway do most humbly, madam, he said,
bowing low.
Bathsheba really knew not what to say.
Ive seen a good many women in my time, continued the young man in a
murmur, and more thoughtfully than hitherto, critically regarding her
bent head at the same time; but Ive never seen a woman so beautiful
as you. Take it or leave itbe offended or like itI dont care.
Who are you, then, who can so well afford to despise opinion?
No stranger. Sergeant Troy. I am staying in this place.There! it is
undone at last, you see. Your light fingers were more eager than mine.
I wish it had been the knot of knots, which theres no untying!
This was worse and worse. She started up, and so did he. How to
decently get away from himthat was her difficulty now. She sidled off
inch by inch, the lantern in her hand, till she could see the redness
of his coat no longer.
Ah, Beauty; good-bye! he said.
She made no reply, and, reaching a distance of twenty or thirty yards,
turned about, and ran indoors.
Liddy had just retired to rest. In ascending to her own chamber,
Bathsheba opened the girls door an inch or two, and said,
Liddy, is any soldier staying in the villagesergeant somebodyrather
gentlemanly for a sergeant, and good lookinga red coat with blue
facings?
No, miss. No, I say; but really it might be Sergeant Troy home on
furlough, though I have not seen him. He was here once in that way when
the regiment was at Casterbridge.
Yes; thats the name. Had he a moustacheno whiskers or beard?
He had.
What kind of a person is he?
Oh! missI blush to name ita gay man! But I know him to be very quick
and trim, who might have made his thousands, like a squire. Such a
clever young dandy as he is! Hes a doctors son by name, which is a
great deal; and hes an earls son by nature!
Which is a great deal more. Fancy! Is it true?
Yes. And, he was brought up so well, and sent to Casterbridge Grammar
School for years and years. Learnt all languages while he was there;
and it was said he got on so far that he could take down Chinese in
shorthand; but that I dont answer for, as it was only reported.
However, he wasted his gifted lot, and listed a soldier; but even then
he rose to be a sergeant without trying at all. Ah! such a blessing it
is to be high-born; nobility of blood will shine out even in the ranks
and files. And is he really come home, miss?
I believe so. Good-night, Liddy.
After all, how could a cheerful wearer of skirts be permanently
offended with the man? There are occasions when girls like Bathsheba
will put up with a great deal of unconventional behaviour. When they
want to be praised, which is often; when they want to be mastered,
which is sometimes; and when they want no nonsense, which is seldom.
Just now the first feeling was in the ascendant with Bathsheba, with a
dash of the second. Moreover, by chance or by devilry, the ministrant
was antecedently made interesting by being a handsome stranger who had
evidently seen better days.
So she could not clearly decide whether it was her opinion that he had
insulted her or not.
Was ever anything so odd! she at last exclaimed to herself, in her
own room. And was ever anything so meanly done as what I didto skulk
away like that from a man who was only civil and kind! Clearly she did
not think his bare-faced praise of her person an insult now.
It was a fatal omission of Boldwoods that he had never once told her
she was beautiful. | 909 |
PG27 | 85 | CHAPTER XXVI.
SCENE ON THE VERGE OF THE HAY-MEAD
Ah, Miss Everdene! said the sergeant, touching his diminutive cap.
Little did I think it was you I was speaking to the other night. And
yet, if I had reflected, the Queen of the Corn-market (truth is truth
at any hour of the day or night, and I heard you so named in
Casterbridge yesterday), the Queen of the Corn-market, I say, could
be no other woman. I step across now to beg your forgiveness a thousand
times for having been led by my feelings to express myself too strongly
for a stranger. To be sure I am no stranger to the placeI am Sergeant
Troy, as I told you, and I have assisted your uncle in these fields no
end of times when I was a lad. I have been doing the same for you
to-day.
I suppose I must thank you for that, Sergeant Troy, said the Queen
of the Corn-market, in an indifferently grateful tone.
The sergeant looked hurt and sad. Indeed you must not, Miss Everdene,
he said. Why could you think such a thing necessary?
I am glad it is not.
Why? if I may ask without offence.
Because I dont much want to thank you for any thing.
I am afraid I have made a hole with my tongue that my heart will never
mend. Oh these intolerable times: that ill-luck should follow a man for
honestly telling a woman she is beautiful! Twas the most I saidyou
must own that; and the least I could saythat I own myself.
There is some talk I could do without more easily than money.
Indeed. That remark seems somewhat digressive.
It means that I would rather have your room than your company.
And I would rather have curses from you than kisses from any other
woman; so Ill stay here.
Bathsheba was absolutely speechless. And yet she could not help feeling
that the assistance he was rendering forbade a harsh repulse.
Well, continued Troy, I suppose there is a praise which is rudeness,
and that may be mine. At the same time there is a treatment which is
injustice, and that may be yours. Because a plain blunt man, who has
never been taught concealment, speaks out his mind without exactly
intending it, hes to be snapped off like the son of a sinner.
Indeed theres no such case between us, she said, turning away. I
dont allow strangers to be bold and impudenteven in praise of me.
Ahit is not the fact but the method which offends you, he said,
carelessly. But I have the sad satisfaction of knowing that my words,
whether pleasing or offensive, are unmistakably true. Would you have
had me look at you, and tell my acquaintance that you are quite a
commonplace woman, to save you the embarrassment of being stared at if
they come near you? Not I. I couldnt tell any such ridiculous lie
about a beauty to encourage a single woman in England in too excessive
a modesty.
It is all pretencewhat you are saying! exclaimed Bathsheba, laughing
in spite of herself at the sergeants sly method. You have a rare
invention, Sergeant Troy. Why couldnt you have passed by me that
night, and said nothing?that was all I meant to reproach you for.
Because I wasnt going to. Half the pleasure of a feeling lies in
being able to express it on the spur of the moment, and I let out mine.
It would have been just the same if you had been the reverse
personugly and oldI should have exclaimed about it in the same way.
How long is it since you have been so afflicted with strong feeling,
then?
Oh, ever since I was big enough to know loveliness from deformity.
Tis to be hoped your sense of the difference you speak of doesnt
stop at faces, but extends to morals as well.
I wont speak of morals or religionmy own or anybody elses. Though
perhaps I should have been a very good Christian if you pretty women
hadnt made me an idolater.
Bathsheba moved on to hide the irrepressible dimplings of merriment.
Troy followed, whirling his cane.
ButMiss Everdeneyou do forgive me?
Hardly.
Why?
You say such things.
I said you were beautiful, and Ill say so still; for, byso you are!
The most beautiful ever I saw, or may I fall dead this instant! Why,
upon my
Dontdont! I wont listen to youyou are so profane! she said, in a
restless state between distress at hearing him and a _penchant_ to hear
more. | 1,011 |
PG27 | 86 | I again say you are a most fascinating woman. Theres nothing
remarkable in my saying so, is there? Im sure the fact is evident
enough. Miss Everdene, my opinion may be too forcibly let out to please
you, and, for the matter of that, too insignificant to convince you,
but surely it is honest, and why cant it be excused?
Because itit isnt a correct one, she femininely murmured.
O, fiefie! Am I any worse for breaking the third of that Terrible Ten
than you for breaking the ninth?
Well, it doesnt seem _quite_ true to me that I am fascinating, she
replied evasively.
Not so to you: then I say with all respect that, if so, it is owing to
your modesty, Miss Everdene. But surely you must have been told by
everybody of what everybody notices? and you should take their words
for it.
They dont say so exactly.
O yes, they must!
Well, I mean to my face, as you do, she went on, allowing herself to
be further lured into a conversation that intention had rigorously
forbidden.
But you know they think so?
Nothat isI certainly have heard Liddy say they do, but. . . . She
paused.
Capitulationthat was the purport of the simple reply, guarded as it
wascapitulation, unknown to herself. Never did a fragile tailless
sentence convey a more perfect meaning. The careless sergeant smiled
within himself, and probably the devil smiled from a loop-hole in
Tophet, for the moment was the turning-point of a career. Her tone and
mien signified beyond mistake that the seed which was to lift the
foundation had taken root in the chink: the remainder was a mere
question of time and natural seriate changes.
There the truth comes out! said the soldier, in reply. Never tell me
that a young lady can live in a buzz of admiration without knowing
something about it. Ah, well, Miss Everdene, you arepardon my blunt
wayyou are rather an injury to our race than otherwise.
Howindeed? she said, opening her eyes.
Oh, it is true enough. I may as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb (an
old country saying, not of much account, but it will do for a rough
soldier), and so I will speak my mind, regardless of your pleasure, and
without hoping or intending to get your pardon. Why, Miss Everdene, it
is in this manner that your good looks may do more harm than good in
the world. [The sergeant looked down the mead in critical abstracion.]
Probably some one man on an average falls in love, with each ordinary
woman. She can marry him: he is content, and leads a useful life. Such
women as you a hundred men always covetyour eyes will bewitch scores
on scores into an unavailing fancy for youyou can only marry one of
that many. Out of these say twenty will endeavour to drown the
bitterness of despised love in drink: twenty more will mope away their
lives without a wish or attempt to make a mark in the world, because
they have no ambition apart from their attachment to you: twenty
morethe susceptible person myself possibly among themwill be always
draggling after you, getting where they may just see you, doing
desperate things. Men are such constant fools! The rest may try to get
over their passion with more or less success. But all these men will be
saddened. And not only those ninety-nine men, but the ninety-nine women
they might have married are saddened with them. Theres my tale. Thats
why I say that a woman so charming as yourself, Miss Everdene, is
hardly a blessing to her race.
The handsome sergeants features were during this speech as rigid and
stern as John Knoxs in addressing his gay young queen.
Seeing she made no reply, he said, Do you read French?
No; I began, but when I got to the verbs, father died, she said
simply.
I dowhen I have an opportunity, which latterly has not been often (my
mother was a Parisienne)and theres a proverb they have, Qui aime
bien, chtie bienHe chastens who loves well. Do you understand me?
Ah! she replied, and there was even a little tremulousness in the
usually cool girls voice; if you can only fight half as winningly as
you can talk, you are able to make a pleasure of a bayonet wound! And
then poor Bathsheba instantly perceived her slip in making this
admission: in hastily trying to retrieve it, she went from bad to
worse. Dont, however, suppose that _I_ derive any pleasure from what
you tell me. | 1,049 |
PG27 | 87 | I know you do notI know it perfectly, said Troy, with much hearty
conviction on the exterior of his face: and altering the expression to
moodiness; when a dozen men are ready to speak tenderly to you, and
give the admiration you deserve without adding the warning you need, it
stands to reason that my poor rough-and-ready mixture of praise and
blame cannot convey much pleasure. Fool as I may be, I am not so
conceited as to suppose that.
I think youare conceited, nevertheless, said Bathsheba,
hesitatingly, and looking askance at a reed she was fitfully pulling
with one hand, having lately grown feverish under the soldiers system
of procedurenot because the nature of his cajolery was entirely
unperceived, but because its vigour was overwhelming.
I would not own it to anybody elsenor do I exactly to you. Still,
there might have been some self-conceit in my foolish supposition the
other night. I knew that what I said in admiration might be an opinion
too often forced upon you to give any pleasure, but I certainly did
think that the kindness of your nature might prevent you judging an
uncontrolled tongue harshlywhich you have doneand thinking badly of
me, and wounding me this morning, when I am working hard to save your
hay.
Well, you need not think more of that: perhaps you did not mean to be
rude to me by speaking out your mind: indeed, I believe you did not,
said the shrewd woman, in painfully innocent earnest. And I thank you
for giving help here. Butbut mind you dont speak to me again in that
way, or in any other, unless I speak to you.
Oh, Miss Bathsheba! That is to hard!
No, it isnt. Why is it?
You will never speak to me; for I shall not be here long. I am soon
going back again to the miserable monotony of drilland perhaps our
regiment will be ordered out soon. And yet you take away the one little
ewe-lamb of pleasure that I have in this dull life of mine. Well,
perhaps generosity is not a womans most marked characteristic.
When are you going from here? she asked, with some interest.
In a month.
But how can it give you pleasure to speak to me?
Can you ask Miss Everdeneknowing as you dowhat my offence is based
on?
If you do care so much for a silly trifle of that kind, then, I dont
mind doing it, she uncertainly and doubtingly answered. But you cant
really care for a word from me? you only say soI think you only say
so.
Thats unjustbut I wont repeat the remark. I am too gratified to get
such a mark of your friendship at any price to cavil at the tone. I
_do_, Miss Everdene, care for it. You may think a man foolish to want a
mere wordjust a good morning. Perhaps he isI dont know. But you have
never been a man looking upon a woman, and that woman yourself.
Well.
Then you know nothing of what such an experience is likeand Heaven
forbid that you ever should.
Nonsense, flatterer! What is it like? I am interested in knowing.
Put shortly, it is not being able to think, hear, or look in any
direction except one without wretchedness, nor there without torture.
Ah, sergeant, it wont doyou are pretending, she said, shaking her
head dubiously. Your words are too dashing to be true.
I am not, upon the honour of a soldier.
But _why_ is it so?Of course I ask for mere pastime.
Because you are so distractingand I am so distracted.
You look like it.
I am indeed.
Why, you only saw me the other night!
That makes no difference. The lightning works instantaneously. I loved
you then, at onceas I do now.
Bathsheba surveyed him curiously, from the feet upward, as high as she
liked to venture her glance, which was not quite so high as his eyes.
You cannot and you dont, she said, demurely. There is no such
sudden feeling in people. I wont listen to you any longer. Dear me, I
wish I knew what oclock it isI am goingI have wasted too much time
here already.
The sergeant looked at his watch and told her. What, havent you a
watch, miss? he inquired.
I have not just at presentI am about to get a new one.
No. You shall be given one. Yesyou shall. A gift, Miss Everdenea
gift.
And before she knew what the young man was intending, a heavy gold
watch was in her hand. | 1,030 |
PG27 | 88 | It is an unusually good one for a man like me to possess, he quietly
said. That watch has a history. Press the spring and open the back.
She did so.
What do you see?
A crest and a motto.
A coronet with five points, and beneath, _Cedit amor rebus_Love
yields to circumstance. Its the motto of the Earls of Severn. That
watch belonged to the last lord, and was given to my mothers husband,
a medical man, for his use till I came of age, when it was to be given
to me. It was all the fortune that ever I inherited. That watch has
regulated imperial interests in its timethe stately ceremonial, the
courtly assignation, pompous travels, and lordly sleeps. Now it is
yours.
But, Sergeant Troy, I cannot take thisI cannot! she exclaimed, with
round-eyed wonder. A gold watch! What are you doing? Dont be such a
dissembler!
The sergeant retreated to avoid receiving back his gift, which she held
out persistently towards him. Bathsheba followed as he retired.
Keep itdo, Miss Everdenekeep it! said the erratic child of impulse.
The fact of your possessing it makes it worth ten times as much to me.
A more plebeian one will answer my purpose just as well, and the
pleasure of knowing whose heart my old one beats againstwell, I wont
speak of that. It is in far worthier hands than ever it has been in
before.
But indeed I cant have it! she said, in a perfect simmer of
distress. Oh, how can you do such a thing; that is if you really mean
it! Give me your dead fathers watch, and such a valuable one! You
should not be so reckless, indeed, Sergeant Troy!
I loved my father: good; but better, I love you more. Thats how I can
do it, said the sergeant, with an intonation of such exquisite
fidelity to nature that it was evidently not all acted now. Her beauty,
which, whilst it had been quiescent, he had praised in jest, had in its
animated phases moved him to earnest; and though his seriousness was
less than she imagined, it was probably more than he imagined himself.
Bathsheba was brimming with agitated bewilderment, and she said, in
half-suspicious accents of feeling, Can it be! O, how can it be, that
you care for me, and so suddenly! You have seen so little of me: I may
not be really soso nice-looking as I seem to you. Please, do take it;
Oh, do! I cannot and will not have it. Believe me, your generosity is
too great. I have never done you a single kindness, and why should you
be so kind to me?
A factitious reply had been again upon his lips, but it was again
suspended, and he looked at her with an arrested eye. The truth was,
that as she now stoodexcited, wild, and honest as the dayher alluring
beauty bore out so fully the epithets he had bestowed upon it that he
was quite startled at his temerity in advancing them as false. He said
mechanically, Ah, why? and continued to look at her.
And my workfolk see me following you about the field, and are
wondering. Oh, this is dreadful! she went on, unconscious of the
transmutation she was effecting.
I did not quite mean you to accept it at first, for it as my one poor
patent of nobility, he broke out, bluntly; but, upon my soul, I wish
you would now. Without any shamming, come! Dont deny me the happiness
of wearing it for my sake? But you are too lovely even to care to be
kind as others are.
No, no; dont say so! I have reasons for reserve which I cannot
explain.
Let it be, then, let it be, he said, receiving back the watch at
last; I must be leaving you now. And will you speak to me for these
few weeks of my stay?
Indeed I will. Yet, I dont know if I will! Oh, why did you come and
disturb me so!
Perhaps in setting a gin, I have caught myself. Such things have
happened. Well, will you let me work in your fields? he coaxed.
Yes, I suppose so; if it is any pleasure to you.
Miss Everdene, I thank you.
No, no.
Good-bye!
The sergeant lifted his cap from the slope of his head, bowed, replaced
it, and returned to the distant group of haymakers.
Bathsheba could not face the haymakers now. Her heart erratically
flitting hither and thither from perplexed excitement, hot, and almost
tearful, she retreated homeward, murmuring, Oh, what have I done! what
does it mean! I wish I knew how much of it was true! | 1,083 |
PG27 | 90 | CHAPTER XXVII.
HIVING THE BEES
The Weatherbury bees were late in their swarming this year. It was in
the latter part of June, and the day after the interview with Troy in
the hayfield, that Bathsheba was standing in her garden, watching a
swarm in the air and guessing their probable settling place. Not only
were they late this year, but unruly. Sometimes throughout a whole
season all the swarms would alight on the lowest attainable boughsuch
as part of a currant-bush or espalier apple-tree; next year they would,
with just the same unanimity, make straight off to the uppermost member
of some tall, gaunt costard, or quarrington, and there defy all
invaders who did not come armed with ladders and staves to take them.
This was the case at present. Bathshebas eyes, shaded by one hand,
were following the ascending multitude against the unexplorable stretch
of blue till they ultimately halted by one of the unwieldy trees spoken
of. A process was observable somewhat analogous to that of alleged
formations of the universe, time and times ago. The bustling swarm had
swept the sky in a scattered and uniform haze, which now thickened to a
nebulous centre: this glided on to a bough and grew still denser, till
it formed a solid black spot upon the light.
The men and women being all busily engaged in saving the hayeven Liddy
had left the house for the purpose of lending a handBathsheba resolved
to hive the bees herself, if possible. She had dressed the hive with
herbs and honey, fetched a ladder, brush, and crook, made herself
impregnable with armour of leather gloves, straw hat and large gauze
veilonce green but now faded to snuff colourand ascended a dozen
rungs of the ladder. At once she heard, not ten yards off, a voice that
was beginning to have a strange power in agitating her.
Miss Everdene, let me assist you; you should not attempt such a thing
alone.
Troy was just opening the garden gate.
Bathsheba flung down the brush, crook and empty hive, pulled the skirt
of her dress tightly round her ankles in a tremendous flurry, and as
well as she could slid down the ladder. By the time she reached the
bottom Troy was there also, and he stooped to pick up the hive.
How fortunate I am to have dropped in at this moment! exclaimed the
sergeant.
She found her voice in a minute. What! and will you shake them in for
me? she asked, in what, for a defiant girl, was a faltering way;
though, for a timid girl, it would have seemed a brave way enough.
Will I! said Troy. Why, of course I will. How blooming you are
to-day! Troy flung down his cane and put his foot on the ladder to
ascend.
But you must have on the veil and gloves, or youll be stung
fearfully!
Ah, yes. I must put on the veil and gloves. Will you kindly show me
how to fix them properly?
And you must have the broad-brimmed hat, too; for your cap has no brim
to keep the veil off, and theyd reach your face.
The broad-brimmed hat, too, by all means.
So a whimsical fate ordered that her hat should be taken offveil and
all attachedand placed upon his head, Troy tossing his own into a
gooseberry bush. Then the veil had to be tied at its lower edge round
his collar and the gloves put on him.
He looked such an extraordinary object in this guise that, flurried as
she was, she could not avoid laughing outright. It was the removal of
yet another stake from the palisade of cold manners which had kept him
off.
Bathsheba looked on from the ground whilst he was busy sweeping and
shaking the bees from the tree, holding up the hive with the other hand
for them to fall into. She made use of an unobserved minute whilst his
attention was absorbed in the operation to arrange her plumes a little.
He came down holding the hive at arms length, behind which trailed a
cloud of bees.
Upon my life, said Troy, through the veil, holding up this hive
makes ones arm ache worse than a week of sword-exercise. When the
manuvre was complete he approached her. Would you be good enough to
untie me and let me out? I am nearly stifled inside this silk cage.
To hide her embarrassment during the unwonted process of untying the
string about his neck, she said: | 1,021 |
PG27 | 92 | CHAPTER XXVIII.
THE HOLLOW AMID THE FERNS
The hill opposite one end of Bathshebas dwelling extended into an
uncultivated tract of land, covered at this season with tall thickets
of brake fern, plump and diaphanous from recent rapid growth, and
radiant in hues of clear and untainted green.
At eight oclock this midsummer evening, whilst the bristling ball of
gold in the west still swept the tips of the ferns with its long,
luxuriant rays, a soft brushing-by of garments might have been heard
among them, and Bathsheba appeared in their midst, their soft, feathery
arms caressing her up to her shoulders. She paused, turned, went back
over the hill and down again to her own door, whence she cast a
farewell glance upon the spot she had just left, having resolved not to
remain near the place after all.
She saw a dim spot of artificial red moving round the shoulder of the
rise. It disappeared on the other side.
She waited one minutetwo minutesthought of Troys disappointment at
her non-fulfilment of a promised engagement, tossed on her hat again,
ran up the garden, clambered over the bank and followed the original
direction. She was now literally trembling and panting at this her
temerity in such an errant undertaking; her breath came and went
quickly, and her eyes shone with an infrequent light. Yet go she must.
She reached the verge of a pit in the middle of the ferns. Troy stood
in the bottom, looking up towards her.
I heard you rustling through the fern before I saw you, he said,
coming up and giving her his hand to help her down the slope.
The pit was a hemispherical concave, naturally formed, with a top
diameter of about thirty feet, and shallow enough to allow the sunshine
to reach their heads. Standing in the centre, the sky overhead was met
by a circular horizon of fern: this grew nearly to the bottom of the
slope and then abruptly ceased. The middle within the belt of verdure
was floored with a thick flossy carpet of moss and grass intermingled,
so yielding that the foot was half-buried within it.
Now, said Troy, producing the sword, which, as he raised it into the
sunlight, gleamed a sort of greeting, like a living thing, first, we
have four right and four left cuts; four right and four left thrusts.
Infantry cuts and guards are more interesting than ours, to my mind;
but they are not so swashing. They have seven cuts and three thrusts.
So much as a preliminary. Well, next, our cut one is as if you were
sowing your cornso. Bathsheba saw a sort of rainbow, upside down in
the air, and Troys arm was still again. Cut two, as if you were
hedgingso. Three, as if you were reapingso. Four, as if you were
threshingin that way. Then the same on the left. The thrusts are
these: one, two, three, four, right; one, two, three, four, left. He
repeated them. Have em again? he said. One, two
She hurriedly interrupted: Id rather not; though I dont mind your
twos and fours; but your ones and threes are terrible!
Very well. Ill let you off the ones and threes. Next, cuts, points
and guards altogether. Troy duly exhibited them. Then theres
pursuing practice, in this way. He gave the movements as before.
There, those are the stereotyped forms. The infantry have two most
diabolical upward cuts, which we are too humane to use. Like
thisthree, four.
How murderous and bloodthirsty!
They are rather deathy. Now Ill be more interesting, and let you see
some loose playgiving all the cuts and points, infantry and cavalry,
quicker than lightning, and as promiscuouslywith just enough rule to
regulate instinct and yet not to fetter it. You are my antagonist, with
this difference from real warfare, that I shall miss you every time by
one hairs breadth, or perhaps two. Mind you dont flinch, whatever you
do.
Ill be sure not to! she said invincibly.
He pointed to about a yard in front of him.
Bathshebas adventurous spirit was beginning to find some grains of
relish in these highly novel proceedings. She took up her position as
directed, facing Troy.
[Illustration: SHE TOOK UP HER POSITION AS DIRECTED.]
Now just to learn whether you have pluck enough to let me do what I
wish, Ill give you a preliminary test.
He flourished the sword by way of introduction number two, and the next
thing of which she was conscious was that the point and blade of the
sword were darting with a gleam towards her left side, just above her
hip; then of their reappearance on her right side, emerging as it were
from between her ribs, having apparently passed through her body. The
third item of consciousness was that of seeing the same sword,
perfectly clean and free from blood held vertically in Troys hand (in
the position technically called recover swords). All was as quick as
electricity. | 1,152 |
PG27 | 93 | Oh! she cried out in affright, pressing her hand to her side. Have
you run me through?no, you have not! Whatever have you done!
I have not touched you, said Troy, quietly. It was mere sleight of
hand. The sword passed behind you. Now you are not afraid, are you?
Because if you are I cant perform. I give my word that I will not only
not hurt you, but not once touch you.
I dont think I am afraid. You are quite sure you will not hurt me?
Quite sure.
Is the sword very sharp?
Oh noonly stand as still as a statue. Now!
In an instant the atmosphere was transformed to Bathshebas eyes. Beams
of light caught from the low suns rays, above, around, in front of
her, well-nigh shut out earth and heavenall emitted in the marvellous
evolutions of Troys reflecting blade, which seemed everywhere at once,
and yet nowhere specially. These circumambient gleams were accompanied
by a keen sibilation that was almost a whistlingalso springing from
all sides of her at once. In short, she was enclosed in a firmament of
light, and of sharp hisses, resembling a sky-full of meteors close at
hand.
Never since the broadsword became the national weapon had there been
more dexterity shown in its management than by the hands of Sergeant
Troy, and never had he been in such splendid temper for the performance
as now in the evening sunshine among the ferns with Bathsheba. It may
safely be asserted with respect to the closeness of his cuts, that had
it been possible for the edge of the sword to leave in the air a
permanent substance wherever it flew past, the space left untouched
would have been a complete mould of Bathshebas figure.
Behind the luminous streams of this _aurora militaris_, she could see
the hue of Troys sword-arm, spread in a scarlet haze over the space
covered by its motions, like a twanged bowstring, and behind all Troy
himself, mostly facing her; sometimes, to show the rear cuts, half
turned away, his eye nevertheless always keenly measuring her breadth
and outline, and his lips tightly closed in sustained effort. Next, his
movements lapsed slower, and she could see them individually. The
hissing of the sword had ceased, and he stopped entirely.
That outer loose lock of hair wants tidying, he said, before she had
moved or spoken. Wait: Ill do it for you.
An arc of silver shone on her right side: the sword had descended. The
lock droped to the ground.
Bravely borne! said Troy. You didnt flinch a shades thickness.
Wonderful in a woman!
It was because I didnt expect it. Oh you have spoilt my hair!
Only once more.
Nono! I am afraid of youindeed I am! she cried.
I wont touch you at allnot even your hair. I am only going to kill
that caterpillar settling on you. Now: still!
It appeared that a caterpillar had come from the fern and chosen the
front of her bodice as his resting place. She saw the point glisten
towards her bosom, and seemingly enter it. Bathsheba closed her eyes in
the full persuasion that she was killed at last. However, feeling just
as usual, she opened them again.
There it is, look, said the sargeant, holding his sword before her
eyes.
The caterpillar was spitted upon its point.
Why, it is magic! said Bathsheba, amazed.
Oh nodexterity. I merely gave point to your bosom where the
caterpillar was, and instead of running you through checked the
extension a thousandth of an inch short of your surface.
But how could you chop off a curl of my hair with a sword that has no
edge?
No edge! This sword will shave like a razor. Look here.
He touched the palm of his hand with the blade, and then, lifting it,
showed her a thin shaving of scarf-skin dangling therefrom.
But you said before beginning that it was blunt and couldnt cut me!
That was to get you to stand still, and so ensure your safety. The
risk of injuring you through your moving was too great not to compel me
to tell you an untruth to obviate it.
She shuddered. I have been within an inch of my life, and didnt know
it!
More precisely speaking, you have been within half an inch of being
pared alive two hundred and ninety-five tinies.
Cruel, cruel, tis of you!
You have been perfectly safe, nevertheless. My sword never errs. And
Troy returned the weapon to the scabbard. | 1,022 |
PG27 | 95 | CHAPTER XXIX.
PARTICULARS OF A TWILIGHT WALK
We now see the element of folly distinctly mingling with the many
varying particulars which made up the character of Bathsheba Everdene.
It was almost foreign to her intrinsic nature. It was introduced as
lymph on the dart of Eros, and eventually permeated and coloured her
whole constitution. Bathsheba, though she had too much understanding to
be entirely governed by her womanliness, had too much womanliness to
use her understanding to the best advantage. Perhaps in no minor point
does woman astonish her helpmate more than in the strange power she
possesses of believing cajoleries that she knows to be falseexcept,
indeed, in that of being utterly sceptical on strictures that she knows
to be true.
Bathsheba loved Troy in the way that only self-reliant women love when
they abandon their self-reliance. When a strong woman recklessly throws
away her strength she is worse than a weak woman who has never had any
strength to throw away. One source of her inadequacy is the novelty of
the occasion. She has never had practice in making the best of such a
condition. Weakness is doubly weak by being new.
Bathsheba was not conscious of guile in this matter. Though in one
sense a woman of the world, it was, after all, that world of daylight
coteries and green carpets, wherein cattle form the passing crowd and
winds the busy hum; where a quiet family of rabbits or hares lives on
the other side of your party-wall, where your neighbour is everybody in
the tything, and where calculation is confined to market-days. Of the
fabricated tastes of good fashionable society she knew but little, and
of the formulated self-indulgence of bad, nothing at all. Had her
utmost thoughts in this direction been distinctly worded (and by
herself they never were) they would only have amounted to such a matter
as that she felt her impulses to be pleasanter guides than her
discretion. Her love was entire as a childs, and though warm as summer
it was fresh as spring. Her culpability lay in her making no attempt to
control feeling by subtle and careful inquiry into consciences. She
could show others the steep and thorny way, but reckd not her own
rede.
And Troys deformities lay deep down from a womans vision, whilst his
embellishments were upon the very surface; thus contrasting with homely
Oak, whose defects were patent to the blindest, and whose virtues were
as metals in a mine.
The difference between love and respect was markedly shown in her
conduct. Bathsheba had spoken of her interest in Boldwood with the
greatest freedom to Liddy, but she had only communed with her own heart
concerning Troy.
All this infatuation Gabriel saw, and was troubled thereby from the
time of his daily journey a-field to the time of his return, and on to
the small hours of many a night. That he was not beloved had hitherto
been his great sorrow; that Bathsheba was getting into the toils was
now a sorrow greater than the first, and one which nearly obscured it.
It was a result which paralleled the oft-quoted observation of
Hippocrates concerning physical pains.
That is a noble though perhaps an unpromising love which not even the
fear of breeding aversion in the bosom of the one beloved can deter
from combating his or her errors. Oak determined to speak to his
mistress. He would base his appeal on what he considered her unfair
treatment of Farmer Boldwood, now absent from home.
An opportunity occurred one evening when she had gone for a short walk
by a path through the neighbouring corn-fields. It was dusk when Oak,
who had not been far a-field that day, took the same path and met her
returning, quite pensively, as he thought.
The wheat was now tall, and the path was narrow; thus the way was quite
a sunken groove between the embrowing thicket on either side. Two
persons could not walk abreast without damaging the crop, and Oak stood
aside to let her pass.
Oh, is it Gabriel? she said. You are taking a walk too. Good-night.
I thought I would come to meet you, as it is rather late, said Oak,
turning and following at her heels when she had brushed somewhat
quickly by him.
Thank you, indeed, but I am not very fearful.
Oh no; but there are bad characters about.
I never meet them.
Now Oak, with marvellous ingenuity, had been going to introduce the
gallant sergeant through the channel of bad characters. But all at
once the scheme broke down, it suddenly occurring to him that this was
rather a clumsy way, and too barefaced to begin with. He tried another
preamble. | 1,058 |
PG27 | 96 | And as the man who would naturally come to meet you is away from home,
tooI mean Farmer Boldwoodwhy, thinks I, Ill go, he said.
Ah, yes. She walked on without turning her head, and for many steps
nothing further was heard from her quarter than the rustle of her dress
against the heavy corn-ears. Then she resumed rather tartly:
I dont quite understand what you meant by saying that Mr. Boldwood
would naturally come to meet me.
I meant on account of the wedding which they say is likely to take
place between you and him, miss. Forgive my speaking plainly.
They say what is not true, she returned quickly. No marriage is
likely to take place between us.
Gabriel now put forth his unobscured opinion, for the moment had come.
Well, Miss Everdene, he said, putting aside what people say, I never
in my life saw any courting if his is not a courting of you.
Bathsheba would probably have terminated the conversation there and
then by flatly forbidding the subject, had not her conscious weakness
of position allured her to palter and argue in endeavours to better it.
Since this subject has been mentioned, she said very emphatically, I
am glad of the opportunity of clearing up a mistake which is very
common and very provoking. I didnt definitely promise Mr. Boldwood
anything. I have never cared for him. I respect him, and he has urged
me to marry him. But I have given him no distinct answer. As soon as he
returns I shall do so; and the answer will be that I cannot think of
marrying him.
People are full of mistakes, seemingly.
They are.
The other day they said you were trifling with him, and you almost
proved that you were not; lately they have said that you are not, and
you straightway begin to show
That I am, I suppose you mean.
Well, I hope they speak the truth.
They do, but wrongly applied. I dont trifle with him; but then, I
have nothing to do with him.
Oak was unfortunately led on to speak of Boldwoods rival in a wrong
tone to her after all. I wish you had never met that young Sergeant
Troy, miss, he sighed.
Bathshebas steps became faintly spasmodic. Why? she asked.
He is not good enough for you.
Did any one tell you to speak to me like this?
Nobody at all.
Then it appears to me that Sergeant Troy does not concern us here,
she said, intractably. Yet I must say that Sergeant Troy is an
educated man, and quite worthy of any woman. He is well born.
His being higher in learning and birth than the ruck of soldiers is
anything but a proof of his worth. It shows his course to be downward.
I cannot see what this has to do with our conversation. Mr. Troys
course is not by any means downward; and his superiority _is_ a proof
of his worth!
I believe him to have no conscience at all. And I cannot help begging
you, miss, to have nothing to do with him. Listen to me this onceonly
this once! I dont say hes such a bad man as I have fanciedI pray to
God he is not. But since we dont exactly know what he is, why not
behave as if he _might_ be bad, simply for your own safety? Dont trust
him, mistress; I ask you not to trust him so.
Why, pray?
I like soldiers, but this one I do not like, he said, sturdily. His
nature of his calling may have tempted him astray, and what is mirth to
the neighbours is ruin to the woman. When he tries to talk to you
again, why not turn away with a short Good day, and when you see him
coming one way, turn the other. When he says anything laughable, fail
to see the point and dont smile, and speak of him before those who
will report your talk as that fantastical man, or that Sergeant
Whats-his-name. That man of a family that has come to the dogs.
Dont be unmannerly towards him, but harmless-uncivil, and so get rid
of the man.
No Christmas robin detained by a window-pane ever pulsed as did
Bathsheba now.
I sayI say againthat it doesnt become you to talk about him. Why he
should be mentioned passes me quite! she exclaimed desperately. I
know this, th-th-that he is a thoroughly conscientious manblunt
sometimes even to rudenessbut always speaking his mind about you plain
to your face! | 1,000 |
PG27 | 97 | Oh.
He is as good as anybody in this parish! He is very particular, too,
about going to churchyes, he is!
I am afeard nobody saw him there. I never did certainly.
The reason of that is, she said eagerly, that he goes in privately
by the old tower door, just when the service commences, and sits at the
back of the gallery. He told me so.
This supreme instance of Troys goodness fell upon Gabriel ears like
the thirteenth stroke of a crazy clock. It was not only received with
utter incredulity as regarded itself, but threw a doubt on all the
assurances that had preceded it.
Oak was grieved to find how entirely she trusted him. He brimmed with
deep feeling as he replied in a steady voice, the steadiness of which
was spoilt by the palpableness of his great effort to keep it so:
You know, mistress, that I love you, and shall love you always. I only
mention this to bring to your mind that at any rate I would wish to do
you no harm: beyond that I put it aside. I have lost in the race for
money and good things, and I am not such a fool as to pretend to you
now I am poor, and you have got altogether above me. But Bathsheba,
dear mistress, this I beg you to considerthat, both to keep yourself
well honoured among the workfolk, and in common generosity to an
honourable man who loves you as well as I, you should be more discreet
in your bearing towards this soldier.
Dont, dont, dont! she exclaimed, in a choking voice.
Are you not more to me than my own affairs, and even life! he went
on. Come, listen to me! I am six years older than you, and Mr.
Boldwood is ten years older than I, and considerI do beg of you to
consider before it is too latehow safe you would be in his hands!
Oaks allusion to his own love for her lessened, to some extent, her
anger at his interference; but she could not really forgive him for
letting his wish to marry her be eclipsed by his wish to do her good,
any more than for his slighting treatment of Troy.
I wish you to go elsewhere, she said, a paleness of face invisible to
the eye being suggested by the trembling words. Do not remain on this
farm any longer. I dont want youI beg you to go!
Thats nonsense, said Oak, calmly. This is the second time you have
pretended to dismiss me; and whats the use of it?
Pretended! You shall go, siryour lecturing I will not hear! I am
mistress here.
Go, indeedwhat folly will you say next? Treating me like Dick, Tom
and Harry when you know that a short time ago my position was as good
as yours! Upon my life, Bathsheba, it is too barefaced. You know, too,
that I cant go without putting things in such a strait as you wouldnt
get out of I cant tell when. Unless, indeed, youll promise to have an
understanding man as bailiff, or manager, or something. Ill go at once
if youll promise that.
I shall have no bailiff; I shall continue to be my own manager, she
said decisively.
Very well, then; you should be thankful to me for staying. How would
the farm go on with nobody to mind it but a woman? But mind this, I
dont wish you to feel you owe me anything. Not I. What I do, I do.
Sometimes I say I should be as glad as a bird to leave the placefor
dont suppose Im content to be a nobody. I was made for better things.
However, I dont like to see your concerns going to ruin, as they must
if you keep in this mind. I hate taking my own measures so plainly,
but upon my life, your provoking ways make a man say what he wouldnt
dream of at other times! I own to being rather interfering. But you
know well enough how it is, and who she is that I like too well, and
feel too much like a fool about to be civil to her.
It is more than probable that she privately and unconsciously respected
him a little for this grim fidelity, which had been shown in his tone
even more than in his words. At any rate she murmured something to the
effect that he might stay if he wished. She said more distinctly, Will
you leave me alone now? I dont order it as a mistressI ask it as a
woman, and I expect you not to be so uncourteous as to refuse. | 1,012 |
PG27 | 99 | CHAPTER XXX.
HOT CHEEKS AND TEARFUL EYES
Half an hour later Bathsheba entered her own house. There burnt upon
her face when she met the light of the candles the flush and excitement
which were little less than chronic with her now. The farewell words of
Troy, who had accompanied her to the very door, still lingered in her
ears. He had bidden her adieu for two days, which were, so he stated,
to be spent at Bath in visiting some friends. He had also kissed her a
second time.
It is only fair to Bathsheba to explain here a little fact which did
not come to light till a long time afterwards: that Troys presentation
of himself so aptly at the roadside this evening was not by any
distinctly preconcerted arrangement. He had hintedshe had forbidden;
and it was only on the chance of his still coming that she had
dismissed Oak, fearing a meeting between them just then.
She now sank down into a chair, wild and perturbed by all these new and
fevering sequences. Then she jumped up with a manner of decision, and
fetched her desk from a side table.
In three minutes, without pause or modification, she had written a
letter to Boldwood, at his address beyond Casterbridge, saying mildly
but firmly that she had well considered the whole subject he had
brought before her and kindly given her time to decide upon; that her
final decision was that she could not marry him. She had expressed to
Oak an intention to wait till Boldwood came home before communicating
to him her conclusive reply. But Bathsheba found that she could not
wait.
It was impossible to send this letter till the next day; yet to quell
her uneasiness by getting it out of her hands, and so, as it were,
setting the act in motion at once, she arose to take it to any one of
the women who might be in the kitchen.
She paused in the passage. A dialogue was going on in the kitchen, and
Bathsheba and Troy were the subject of it.
If he marry her, shell gie up farming.
Twill be a gallant life, but may bring some trouble between the
mirthso say I.
Well, I wish I had half such a husband.
Bathsheba had too much sense to mind seriously what her servitors said
about her; but too much womanly redundance of speech to leave alone
what was said till it died the natural death of unminded things. She
burst in upon them.
Who are you speaking of? she asked.
There was a pause before anybody replied. At last Liddy said frankly,
What was passing was a bit of a word about yourself, miss.
I thought so! Maryann and Liddy and Temperancenow I forbid you to
suppose such things. You know I dont care the least for Mr. Troynot
I. Everybody knows how much I hate him.Yes, repeated the froward
young person, _hate_ him!
We know you do, miss, said Liddy; and so do we all.
I hate him too, said Maryann.
MaryannO you perjured woman! How can you speak that wicked story!
said Bathsheba, excitedly. You admired him from your heart only this
morning in the very world, you did. Yes, Maryann, you know it!
Yes, miss, but so did you. He is a wild scamp now, and you are right
to hate him.
Hes _not_ a wild scamp! How dare you to my face! I have no right to
hate him, nor you, nor anybody. But I am a silly woman! What is it to
me what he is? You know it is nothing. I dont care for him; I dont
mean to defend his good name, not I. Mind this, if any of you say a
word against him youll be dismissed instantly.
She flung down the letter and surged back into the parlour, with a big
heart and tearful eyes, Liddy following her.
Oh miss! said mild Liddy, looking pitifully into Bathshebas face. I
am sorry we mistook you so! I did think you cared for him; but I see
you dont now.
Shut the door, Liddy.
Liddy closed the door, and went on: People always say such foolery,
miss. Ill make answer henceforard, Of course a lady like Miss
Everdene cant love him; Ill say it out in plain black and white.
Bathsheba burst out: O Liddy, are you such a simpleton? Cant you read
riddles? Cant you see? Are you a woman yourself? | 1,013 |
PG27 | 100 | Liddys clear eyes rounded with wonderment.
Yes; you must be a blind thing, Liddy! she said, in reckless
abandonment and grief. Oh, I love him to very distraction and misery
and agony! Dont be frightened at me, though perhaps I am enough to
frighten any innocent woman. Come closercloser. She put her arms
round Liddys neck. I must let it out to somebody; it is wearing me
away. Dont you yet know enough of me to see through that miserable
denial of mine? O God, what a lie it was! Heaven and my Love forgive
me. And dont you know that a woman who loves at all thinks nothing of
perjury when it is balanced against her love? There, go out of the
room; I want to be quite alone.
Liddy went towards the door.
Liddy, come here. Solemnly swear to me that hes not a bad man; that
it is all lies they say about him!
But, miss, how can I say he is not if
You graceless girl. How can you have the cruel heart to repeat what
they say? Unfeeling thing that you are. But _Ill_ see if you or
anybody else in the village, or town either, dare do such a thing! She
started off, pacing from fireplace to door, and back again.
No, miss. I dontI know it is not true! said Liddy, frightened at
Bathshebas unwonted vehemence.
I suppose you only agree with me like that to please me. But, Liddy,
he _cannot be_ bad, as is said. Do you hear?
Yes, miss, yes.
And you dont believe he is?
I dont know what to say, miss, said Liddy, beginning to cry. If I
say No, you dont believe me; and if I say Yes, you rage at me!
Say you dont believe itsay you dont!
I dont believe him to be so bad as they make out.
He is not bad at all. My poor life and heart, how weak I am! she
moaned, in a relaxed, desultory way, heedless of Liddys presence. Oh,
how I wish I had never seen him! Loving is misery for women always. I
shall never forgive my Maker for making me a woman, and dearly am I
beginning to pay for the honour of owning a pretty face. She freshened
and turned to Liddy suddenly. Mind this, Lydia Smallbury, if you
repeat anywhere a single word of what I have said to you inside this
closed door, Ill never trust you, or love you, or have you with me a
moment longernot a moment.
I dont want to repeat anything, said Liddy, with womanly dignity of
a diminutive order; but I dont wish to stay with you. And, if you
please, Ill go at the end of the harvest, or this week, or to-day. I
dont see that I deserve to be put upon and stormed at for nothing!
concluded the small woman, bigly.
No, no, Liddy; you must stay! said Bathsheba, dropping from
haughtiness to entreaty with capricious inconsequence. You must not
notice my being in a taking just now. You are not as a servantyou are
a companion to me. Dear, dearI dont know what I am doing since this
miserable ache o my heart has weighted and worn upon me so. What shall
I come to! I suppose I shall get further and further into troubles. I
wonder sometimes if I am doomed to die in the Union. I am friendless
enough, God knows.
I wont notice anything, nor will I leave you! sobbed Liddy,
impulsively putting up her lips to Bathshebas, and kissing her.
Then Bathsheba kissed Liddy, and all was smooth again.
I dont often cry, do I, Lidd? but you have made tears come into my
eyes, she said, a smile shining through the moisture. Try to think
him a good man, wont you, dear Liddy?
I will, miss, indeed.
He is a sort of steady man in a wild way, you know. Thats better than
to be as some are, wild in a steady way. I am afraid thats how I am.
And promise me to keep my secretdo, Liddy! And do not let them know
that I have been crying about him, because it will be dreadful for me,
and no good to him, poor thing!
Deaths head himself shant wring it from me, mistress, if Ive a mind
to keep anything; and Ill always be your friend, replied Liddy,
emphatically, at the same time bringing a few more tears into her own
eyes, not from any particular necessity, but from an artistic sense of
making herself in keeping with the remainder of the picture, which
seems to influence women at such times. I think God likes us to be
good friends, dont you? | 1,082 |
PG27 | 102 | CHAPTER I.
BLAMEFURY
The next evening Bathsheba, with the idea of getting out of the way of
Mr. Boldwood in the event of his returning to answer her note in
person, proceeded to fulfil an engagement made with Liddy some few
hours earlier. Bathshebas companion, as a gage of their
reconciliation, had been granted a weeks holiday to visit her sister,
who was married to a thriving hurdler and cattle-crib-maker living in a
delightful labyrinth of hazel copse not far from Yalbury. The
arrangement was that Miss Everdene should honour them by coming there
for a day or two to inspect some ingenious contrivances which this man
of the woods had introduced into his wares.
Leaving her instructions with Gabriel and Maryann, that they were to
see everything carefully locked up for the night, she went out of the
house just at the close of a timely thunder-shower, which had refined
the air, and daintily bathed the mere coat of the land, all beneath
being dry as ever. Freshness was exhaled in an essence from the varied
contours of bank and hollow, as if the earth breathed maiden breath,
and the pleased birds were hymning to the scene. Before her, among the
clouds, there was a contrast in the shape of lairs of fierce light
which showed themselves in the neighbourhood of a hidden sun, lingering
on to the farthest north-west corner of the heavens that this midsummer
season allowed.
She had walked nearly three miles of her journey, watching how the day
was retreating, and thinking how the time of deeds was quietly melting
into the time of thought, to give place in its turn to the time of
prayer and sleep, when she beheld advancing over the hill the very man
she sought so anxiously to elude. Boldwood was stepping on, not with
that quiet tread of reserved strength which was his customary gait, in
which he always seemed to be balancing two thoughts. His manner was
stunned and sluggish now.
Boldwood had for the first time been awakened to womans privileges in
the practice of tergiversation without regard to anothers distraction
and possible blight. That Bathsheba was a firm and positive girl, far
less inconsequent than her fellows, had been the very lung of his hope;
for he had held that these qualities would lead her to adhere to a
straight course for consistencys sake, and accept him, though her
fancy might not flood him with the iridescent hues of uncritical love.
But the argument now came back as sorry gleams from a broken mirror.
The discovery was no less a scourge than a surprise.
He came on looking upon the ground, and did not see Bathsheba till they
were less than a stones throw apart. He looked up at the sound of her
pit-pat, and his changed appearance sufficiently denoted to her the
depth and strength of the feelings paralyzed by her letter.
Oh; is it you, Mr. Boldwood? she faltered, a guilty warmth pulsing in
her face.
Those who have the power of reproaching in silence may find it a means
more effective than words. There are accents in the eye which are not
on the tongue, and more tales come from pale lips than can enter an
ear. It is both the grandeur and the pain of the remoter moods that
they avoid the pathway of sound. Boldwoods look was unanswerable.
Seeing she turned a little aside, he said, What, are you afraid of
me?
Why should you say that? said Bathsheba.
I fancied you looked so, said he. And it is most strange, because of
its contrast with my feeling for you.
She regained self-possession, fixed her eyes calmly, and waited.
You know what that feeling is, continued Boldwood, deliberately. A
thing strong as death. No dismissal by a hasty letter affects that.
I wish you did not feel so strongly about me, she murmured. It is
generous of you, and more than I deserve, but I must not hear it now.
Hear it? What do you think I have to say, then? I am not to marry you,
and thats enough. Your letter was excellently plain. I want you to
hear nothingnot I.
Bathsheba was unable to direct her will into any definite groove for
freeing herself from this fearfully awkward position. She confusedly
said, Good-evening, and was moving on. Boldwood walked up to her
heavily and dully.
Bathshebadarlingis it final indeed?
Indeed it is.
Oh Bathshebahave pity upon me! Boldwood burst out. Gods sake,
yesI am come to that low, lowest stageto ask a woman for pity! Still,
she is youshe is you. | 1,040 |
PG27 | 103 | Bathsheba commanded herself well. But she could hardly get a clear
voice for what came instinctively to her lips: There is little honour
to the woman in that speech. It was only whispered, for something
unutterably mournful no less than distressing in this spectacle of a
man showing himself to be so entirely the vane of a passion enervated
the feminine instinct for punctilios.
I am beyond myself about this, and am mad, he said. I am no stoic at
all to be supplicating here; but I do supplicate to you. I wish you
knew what is in me of devotion to you; but it is impossible, that. In
bare human mercy to a lonely man, dont throw me off now!
I dont throw you offindeed, how can I? I never had you. In her
noon-clear sense that she had never loved him she forgot for a moment
her thoughtless angle on that day in February.
But there was a time when you turned to me, before I thought of you! I
dont reproach you, for even now I feel that the ignorant and cold
darkness that I should have lived in if you had not attracted me by
that lettervalentine you call itwould have been worse than my
knowledge of you, though it has brought this misery. But, I say, there
was a time when I knew nothing of you, and cared nothing for you, and
yet you drew me on. And if you say you gave me no encouragement, I
cannot but contradict you.
What you call encouragement was the childish game of an idle minute. I
have bitterly repented of itay, bitterly, and in tears. Can you still
go on reminding me?
I dont accuse you of itI deplore it. I took for earnest what you
insist was jest, and now this that I pray to be jest you say is awful,
wretched earnest. Our moods meet at wrong places. I wish your feeling
was more like mine, or my feeling more like yours! Oh, could I but have
foreseen the torture that trifling trick was going to lead me into, how
I should have cursed you; but only having been able to see it since, I
cannot do that, for I love you too well! But it is weak, idle
drivelling to go on like this. Bathsheba, you are the first woman of
any shade or nature that I have ever looked at to love, and it is the
having been so near claiming you for my own that makes this denial so
hard to bear. How nearly you promised me! But I dont speak now to move
your heart, and make you grieve because of my pain; it is no use, that.
I must bear it; my pain would get no less by paining you.
But I do pity youdeeplyoh, so deeply! she earnestly said.
Do no such thingdo no such thing. Your dear love, Bathsheba, is such
a vast thing beside your pity, that the loss of your pity as well as
your love is no great addition to my sorrow, nor does the gain of your
pity make it sensibly less. Oh sweethow dearly you spoke to me behind
the spear-bed at the washing-pool, and in the barn at the shearing, and
that dearest last time in the evening at your home! Where are your
pleasant words all goneyour earnest hope to be able to love me? Where
is your firm conviction that you would get to care for me very much?
Really forgotten?really?
She checked emotion, looked him quietly and clearly in the face, and
said in her low, firm voice, Mr. Boldwood, I promised you nothing.
Would you have had me a woman of clay when you paid me that furthest,
highest compliment a man can pay a womantelling her he loves her? I
was bound to show some feeling, if I would not be a graceless shrew.
Yet each of those pleasures was just for the daythe day just for the
pleasure. How was I to know that what is a pastime to all other men was
death to you? Have reason, do, and think more kindly of me!
Well, never mind arguingnever mind. One thing is sure: you were all
but mine, and now you are not nearly mine. Everything is changed, and
that by you alone, remember. You were nothing to me once, and I was
contented; you are now nothing to me again, and how different the
second nothing is from the first! Would to God you had never taken me
up, since it was only to throw me down! | 997 |
PG27 | 104 | Bathsheba, in spite of her mettle, began to feel unmistakable signs
that she was inherently the weaker vessel. She strove miserably against
this feminity which would insist upon supplying unbidden emotions in
stronger and stronger current. She had tried to elude agitation by
fixing her mind on the trees, sky, any trivial object before her eyes,
whilst his reproaches fell, but ingenuity could not save her now.
I did not take you upsurely I did not! she answered as heroically as
she could. But dont be in this mood with me. I can endure being told
I am in the wrong, if you will only tell it me gently! Oh sir, will you
not kindly forgive me, and look at it cheerfully?
Cheerfully! Can a man fooled to utter heart-burning find a reason for
being merry? If I have lost, how can I be as if I had won? Heavens, you
must be heartless quite! Had I known what a fearfully bitter sweet this
was to be, how I would have avoided you, and never seen you, and been
deaf of you. I tell you all this, but what do you care! You dont
care.
She returned silent and weak denials to his charges, and swayed her
head desperately, as if to thrust away the words as they came showering
about her ears from the lips of the trembling man in the climax of
life, with his bronzed Roman face and fine frame.
Dearest, dearest, I am wavering even now between the two opposites of
recklessly renouncing you, and labouring humbly for you again. Forget
that you have said No, and let it be as it was. Say, Bathsheba, that
you only wrote that refusal to me in funcome, say it to me!
It would be untrue, and painful to both of us. You overrate my
capacity for love. I dont possess half the warmth of nature you
believe me to have. An unprotected childhood in a cold world has beaten
gentleness out of me.
He immediately said with more resentment: That may be true, somewhat;
but ah, Miss Everdene, it wont do as a reason! You are not the cold
woman you would have me believe. No, no. It isnt because you have no
feeling in you that you dont love me. You naturally would have me
think soyou would hide from me that you have a burning heart like
mine. You have love enough, but it is turned into a new channel. I know
where.
The swift music of her heart became hubbub now, and she throbbed to
extremity. He was coming to Troy. He did then know what had transpired!
And the name fell from his lips the next moment.
Why did Troy not leave my treasure alone? he asked, fiercely. When I
had no thought of injuring him, why did he force himself upon your
notice! Before he worried you your inclination was to have me; when
next I should have come to you your answer would have been Yes. Can you
deny itI ask, can you deny it?
She delayed the reply, but was too honest to withhold it. I cannot,
she whispered.
I know you cannot. But he stole in in my absence and robbed me. Why
didnt he win you away before, when nobody would have been
grieved?when nobody would have been set tale-bearing. Now the people
sneer at methe very hills and sky seem to laugh at me till I blush
shamefuly for my folly. I have lost my respect, my good name, my
standinglost it, never to get it again. Go and marry your mango on!
Oh sirMr. Boldwood!
You may as well. I have no further claim upon you. As for me, I had
better go somewhere alone, and hideand pray. I loved a woman once. I
am now ashamed. When I am dead theyll say, miserable love-sick man
that he was. Heavenheavenif I had got jilted secretly, and the
dishonour not known, and my position kept! But no matter, it is gone,
and the woman not gained. Shame upon himshame!
His unreasonable anger terrified her, and she glided from him, without
obviously moving, as she said, I am only a girldo not speak to me
so!
All the time you knewhow very well you knewthat your new freak was
my misery. Dazzled by brass and scarletOh Bathshebathis is womans
folly indeed!
She fired up at once. You are taking too much upon yourself! she
said, vehemently. Everybody is upon meeverybody. It is unmanly to
attack a woman so! I have nobody in the world to fight my battles for
me; but no mercy is shown. Yet if a thousand of you sneer and say
things against me, I _will not_ be put down! | 1,078 |
PG27 | 105 | Youll chatter with him doubtless about me. Say to him, Boldwood
would have died for me. Yes, and you have given way to him, knowing
him to be not the man for you. He has kissed youclaimed you as his. Do
you hearhe has kissed you. Deny it!
The most tragic woman is cowed by a tragic man, and although Boldwood
was, in vehemence and glow, nearly her own self rendered into another
sex, Bathshebas cheek quivered. She gasped, Leave me, sirleave me! I
am nothing to you. Let me go on!
Deny that he has kissed you.
I shall not.
Hathen he has! came hoarsely from the farmer.
He has, she said, slowly, and, in spite of her fear, defiantly. I am
not ashamed to speak the truth.
Then curse him; and curse him! said Boldwood, breaking into a
whispered fury. Whilst I would have given worlds to touch your hand,
you have let a rake come in without right or ceremony andkiss you!
Heavens mercykiss you! Ah, a time of his life shall come when he
will have to repent, and think wretchedly of the pain he has caused
another man; and then may he ache, and wish, and curse, and yearnas I
do now!
Dont, dont, oh, dont pray down evil upon him! she implored in a
miserable cry. Anything but thatanything. Oh, be kind to him, sir,
for I love him true!
Boldwoods ideas had reached that point of fusion at which outline and
consistency entirely disappear. The impending night appeared to
concentrate in his eye. He did not hear her at all now.
Ill punish himby my soul, that will I! Ill meet him, soldier or no,
and Ill horsewhip the untimely stripling for this reckless theft of my
one delight. If he were a hundred men Id horsewhip him. He dropped
his voice suddenly and unnaturally. Bathsheba, sweet, lost coquette,
pardon me! Ive been blaming you, threatening you, behaving like a
churl to you, when hes the greatest sinner. He stole your dear heart
away with his unfathomable lies! It is a fortunate thing for him that
hes gone back to his regimentthat hes in Melchester, and not here! I
hope he may not return here just yet. I pray God he may not come into
my sight, for I may be tempted beyond myself. Oh, Bathsheba, keep him
awayyes, keep him away from me!
For a moment Boldwood stood so inertly after this that his soul seemed
to have been entirely exhaled with the breath of his passionate words.
He turned his face away, and withdrew, and his form was soon covered
over by the twilight as his footsteps mixed in with the low hiss of the
leafy trees.
Bathsheba, who had been standing motionless as a model all this latter
time, flung her hands to her face, and wildly attempted to ponder on
the exhibition which had just passed away. Such astounding wells of
fevered feeling in a still man like Mr. Boldwood were incomprehensible,
dreadful. Instead of being a man trained to repression he waswhat she
had seen him.
[Illustration: BATSHEBA FLUNG HER HANDS TO HER FACE.]
The force of the farmers threats lay in their relation to a
circumstance known at present only to herself: her lover was coming
back to Weatherby the very next day. Troy had not returned to his
Melchester Barracks as Boldwood and others supposed, but had merely
gone for a day or two to visit some acquaintance in Bath, and had yet a
week or more remaining to his furlough.
She felt wretchedly certain that if he revisited her just at this nick
of time, and came into contact with Boldwood, a fierce quarrel would be
the consequence. She panted with solicitude when she thought of
possible injury to Troy. The least spark would kindle the farmers
swift feelings of rage and jealousy; he would lose his self-mastery as
he had this evening; Troys blitheness might become aggressive; it
might take the direction of derision, and Boldwoods anger might then
take the direction of revenge.
With almost a morbid dread of being thought a gushing girl, this
guileless woman too well concealed from the world under a manner of
carelessness the warm depths of her strong emotions. But now there was
no reserve. In fer her distraction, instead of advancing further, she
walked up and down, beating the air with her fingers, pressing her
brow, and sobbing brokenly to herself. Then she sat down on a heap of
stones by the wayside to think. There she remained long. The dark
rotundity of the earth appeared foreshores and promontories of coppery
cloud which bounded a green and pellucid expanse in the western sky,
amaranthine glosses came over them then, and the unresting world
wheeled her round to a contrasting prospect eastward, in the shape of
indecisive and palpitating stars. She gazed upon their silent throes
amid the shades of space, but realized none at all. Her troubled spirit
was far away with Troy. | 1,168 |
PG27 | 107 | CHAPTER II.
NIGHTHORSES TRAMPING
The village of Weatherbury was quiet as the graveyard in its midst, and
the living were lying well-nigh as still as the dead. The church clock
struck eleven. The air was so empty of other sounds that the whirr of
the clock-work immediately before the strokes was distinct, and so was
also the click of the same at their close. The notes flew forth with
the usual blind obtuseness of inanimate thingsflapping and rebounding
among walls, undulating against the scattered clouds, spreading through
their interstices into unexplored miles of space.
Bathshebas crannied and mouldy halls were to-night occupied only by
Maryann, Liddy being, as was stated, with her sister, whom Bathsheba
had set out to visit. A few minutes after eleven had struck, Maryann
turned in her bed with a sense of being disturbed. She was totally
unconscious of the nature of the interruption to her sleep. It led to a
dream, and the dream to an awakening, with an uneasy sensation that
something had happened. She left her bed and looked out of the window.
The paddock abutted on this end of the building, and in the paddock she
could just discern by the uncertain gray a moving figure approaching
the horse that was feeding there. The figure seized the horse by the
forelock, and led it to the corner of the field. Here she could see
some object which circumstances proved to be a vehicle for after a few
minutes spent apparently in harnessing, she heard the trot of the
horse down the road, mingled with the sound of light wheels.
Two varieties only of humanity could have entered the paddock with the
ghost-like glide of that mysterious figure. They were a woman and a
gipsy man. A woman was out of the question in such an occupation at
this hour, and the comer could be no less than a thief, who might
probably have known the weakness of the household on this particular
night, and have chosen it on that account for his daring attempt.
Moreover, to raise suspicion to conviction itself, there were gipsies
in Weatherbury Bottom.
Maryann, who had been afraid to shout in the robbers presence, having
seen him depart, had no fear. She hastily slipped on her clothes,
stumped down the disjointed staircase with its hundred creaks, ran to
Coggans, the nearest house, and raised an alarm. Coggan called
Gabriel, who now again lodged in his house as at first, and together
they went to the paddock. Beyond all doubt the horse was gone.
Listen! said Gabriel.
They listened. Distinct upon the stagnant air came the sounds of a
trotting horse passing up Weatherbury Hilljust beyond the gipsies
encampment in Weatherbury Bottom.
Thats our DaintyIll swear to her step, said Jan.
Mighty me! Wont misess storm and call us stupids wen she comes
back! moaned Maryann. How I wish it had happened when she was at
home, and none of us had been answerable!
We must ride after, said Gabriel, decisively. Ill be responsible to
Miss Everdene for what we do. Yes, well follow.
Faith, I dont see how, said Coggan. All our horses are too heavy
for that trick except little Poppet, and whats she between two of
us?If we only had that pair over the hedge we might do something.
Which pair?
Mr Boldwoods Tidy and Moll.
Then wait here till I come hither again, said Gabriel. He ran down
the hill towards Farmer Boldwoods.
Farmer Boldwood is not at home, said Maryann.
All the better, said Coggan. I know what hes gone for.
Less than five minutes brought up Oak again, running at the same pace,
with two halters dangling from his hand.
Where did you find em? said Coggan, turning round and leaping upon
the hedge without waiting for an answer.
Under the eaves. I knew where they were kept, said Gabriel, following
him. Coggan, you can ride bare-backed? theres no time to look for
saddles.
Like a hero! said Jan.
Maryann, you go to bed, Gabriel shouted to her from the top of the
hedge.
Springing down into Boldwoods pastures, each pocketed his halter to
hide it from the horses, who, seeing the men empty-handed, docilely
allowed themselves to be seized by the mane, when the halters were
dexterously slipped on. Having neither bit nor bridle, Oak and Coggan
extemporized the former by passing the rope in each case through the
animals mouth and looping it on the other side. Oak vaulted astride,
and Coggan clambered up by aid of the bank, when they ascended to the
gate and galloped off in the direction taken by Bathshehas horse and
the robber. Whose vehicle the horse had been harnessed to was a matter
of some uncertainty. | 1,099 |
PG27 | 108 | Weatherbury Bottom was reached in three or four minutes. They scanned
the shady green patch by the roadside. The gipsies were gone.
The villains! said Gabriel. Which way have they gone, I wonder?
Straight on, as sure as God made little apples, said Jan.
Very well; we are better mounted, and must overtake overtake em,
said Oak. Now, on at full speed!
No sound of the rider in their van could now be discovered. The
road-metal grew softer and more clayey as Weatherbury was left behind,
and the late rain had wetted its surface to a somewhat plastic, but not
muddy state. They came to cross-roads. Coggan suddenly pulled up Moll
and slipped off.
Whats the matter? said Gabriel.
We must try to track em, since we cant hear em, said Jan, fumbling
in his pockets. He struck a light, and held the match to the ground.
The rain had been heavier here, and all foot and horse tracks made
previous to the storm had been abraded and blurred by the drops, and
they were now so many little scoops of water, which reflected the flame
of the match like eyes. One set of tracks was fresh and had no water in
them; one pair of ruts was also empty, and not small canals, like the
others. The footprints forming this recent impression were full of
information as to pace; they were in equidistant pairs, three or four
feet apart, the right and left foot of each pair being exactly opposite
one another.
Straight on! Jan exclaimed. Tracks like that mean a stiff gallop. No
wonder we dont hear him. And the horse is harnessedlook at the ruts.
Ay, thats our mare, sure enough!
How do you know?
Old Jimmy Harris only shoed her last week, and Id swear to his make
among ten thousand.
The rest of the gipsies must have gone on earlier, or some other way,
said Oak. You saw there were no other tracks?
Trew. They rode along silently for a long weary time. Coggans watch
struck one. He lighted another match, and examined the ground again.
Tis a canter now, he said, throwing away the light. A twisty,
rickety pace for a gig. The fact is, they overdrove her at starting; we
shall catch them yet.
Again they hastened on. Coggans watch struck two. When they looked
again the hoof-marks were so spaced as to form a sort of zigzag if
united, like the lamps along a street.
Thats a trot, I know, said Gabriel.
Only a trot now, said Coggan, cheerfully. We shall overtake him in
time.
They pushed rapidly on for yet two or three miles. Ah! a moment, said
Jan. Lets see how she was driven up this hill. Twill help us. A
light was promptly struck upon his gaiters as before, and the
examination made.
Hurrah! said Coggan. She walked up hereand well she might. We shall
get them in two miles, for a crown.
They rode three, and listened. No sound was to be heard save a
mill-pond trickling hoarsely through a hatch, and suggesting gloomy
possibilities of drowning by jumping in. Gabriel dismounted when they
came to a turning. The tracks were absolutely the only guide as to the
direction that they now had, and great caution was necessary to avoid
confusing them with some others which had made their appearance lately.
What does this mean?though I guess, said Gabriel, looking up at
Coggan as he moved the match over the ground about the turning. Coggan,
who, no less than the panting horses, had latterly shown signs of
weariness, again scrutinized the mystic characters. This time only
three were of the regular horseshoe shape. Every fourth was a dot.
He screwed up his face and emitted a long whew-w-w!
Lame, said Oak.
Yes. Dainty is lamed; the near-foot-afore, said Coggan slowly,
staring still at the footprints.
Well push on, said Gabriel, remounting his humid steed.
Although the road along its greater part had been as good as any
turnpike-road in the country, it was nominally only a byway. The last
turning had brought them into the high road leading to Bath. Coggan
recollected himself.
We shall have him now! he exclaimed.
Where?
Pettiton Turnpike. The keeper of that gate is the sleepiest man
between here and LondonDan Randall, thats his nameknowed en for
years, when he was at Casterbridge gate. Between the lameness and the
gate tis a done job.
They now advanced with extreme caution. Nothing was said until, against
a shady background of foliage, five white bars were visible, crossing
their route a little way ahead. | 1,071 |
PG27 | 109 | Hushwe are almost close! said Gabriel.
Amble on upon the grass, said Coggan.
The white bars were blotted out in the midst by a dark shape in front
of them. The silence of this lonely time was pierced by an exclamation
from that quarter.
Hoy-a-hoy! Gate!
It appeared that there had been a previous call which they had not
noticed, for on their close approach the door of the turnpike-house
opened, and the keeper came out half-dressed, with a candle in his
hand. The rays illumined the whole group.
Keep the gate close! shouted Gabriel. He has stolen the horse!
Who? said the turnpike-man.
Gabriel looked at the driver of the gig, and saw a womanBathsheba, his
mistress.
On hearing his voice she had turned her face away from the light.
Coggan had, however, caught sight of her in the meanwhile.
Why, tis mistressIll take my oath! he said, amazed.
Bathsheba it certainly was, and she had by this time done the trick she
could do so well in crises not of love, namely, mask a surprise by
coolness of manner.
Well, Gabriel, she inquired quietly, where are you going?
We thought began Gabriel.
I am driving to Bath, she said, taking for her own use the assurance
that Gabriel lacked. An important matter made it necessary for me to
give up my visit to Liddy, and go off at once. What, then, were you
following me?
We thought the horse was stole.
Wellwhat a thing! How very foolish of you not to know that I had
taken the trap and horse. I could neither wake Maryann nor get into the
house, though I hammered for ten minutes against her window-sill.
Fortunately, I could get the key of the coach-house, so I troubled no
one further. Didnt you think it might be me?
Why should we, miss?
Perhaps not. Why, those are never Farmer Boldwoods horses! Goodness
mercy! what have you been doingbringing trouble upon me in this way?
What! mustnt a lady move an inch from her door without being dogged
like a thief?
But how were we to know, if you left no account of your doings,
expostulated Coggan, and ladies dont drive at these hours as a
jineral rule of society.
I did leave an accountand you would have seen it in the morning. I
wrote in chalk on the coach-house doors that I had come back for the
horse and gig, and driven off; that I could arouse nobody, and should
return soon.
But youll consider, maam, that we couldnt see that till it got
daylight.
True, she said, and though vexed at first she had too much sense to
blame them long or seriously for a devotion to her that was as valuable
as it was rare. She added with a very pretty grace, Well, I really
thank you heartily for taking all this trouble; but I wish you had
borrowed anybodys horses but Mr. Boldwoods.
Dainty is lame, miss, said Coggan. Can ye go on?
It was only a stone in her shoe. I dismounted and pulled it out a
hundred yards back. I can manage very well, thank you. I shall be in
Bath by daylight. Will you now return, please?
She turned her headthe gatemans candle shimmering upon her quick,
clear eyes as she did sopassed through the gate, and was soon wrapped
in the embowering shades of mysterious summer boughs. Coggan and
Gabriel put about their horses, and, fanned by the velvety air of this
July night, retraced the road by which they had come.
A strange vagary, this of hers, isnt it, Oak? said Coggan,
curiously.
Yes, said Gabriel, shortly. Coggan, suppose we keep this nights
work as quiet as we can?
I am of one and the same mind.
Very well. We shall be home by three oclock or so, and can creep into
the parish like lambs.
Bathshebas perturbed meditations by the roadside had ultimately
evolved a conclusion that there were only two remedies for the present
desperate state of affairs. The first was merely to keep Troy away from
Weatherbury till Boldwoods indignation had cooled; the second to
listen to Oaks entreaties, and Boldwoods denunciations, and give up
Troy altogether.
Alas! Could she give up this new loveinduce him to renounce her by
saying she did not like himcould no more speak to him, and beg him,
for her good, to end his furlough in Bath, and see her and Weatherbury
no more?
It was a picture full of misery, but for a while she contemplated it
firmly, allowing herself, nevertheless, as girls will, to dwell upon
the happy life she would have enjoyed had Troy been Boldwood, and the
path of love the path of dutyinflicting upon herself gratuitous
tortures by imagining him the lover of another woman after forgetting
her; for she had penetrated Troys nature so far as to estimate his
tendencies pretty accurately, but unfortunately loved him no less in
thinking that he might soon cease to love herindeed, considerably
more. | 1,156 |
PG27 | 111 | CHAPTER III.
IN THE SUNA HARBINGER
A week passed, and there were no tidings of Bathsheba; nor was there
any explanation of her Gilpins rig.
Then a note came for Maryann, stating that the business which had
called her mistress to Bath still detained her there; but that she
hoped to return in the course of another week.
Another week passed. The oat-harvest began, and all the men were afield
under a monochromatic Lammas sky, amid the trembling air and short
shadows of noon. Indoors nothing was to be heard save the droning of
blue-bottle flies; out-of-doors the whetting of scythes and the hiss of
tressy oat-ears rubbing together as their perpendicular stalks of
amber-yellow fell heavily to each swath. Every drop of moisture not in
the mens bottles and flagons in the form of cider was raining as
perspiration from their foreheads and cheeks. Drought was everywhere
else.
They were about to withdraw for a while into the charitable shade of a
tree in the fence, when Coggan saw a figure in a blue coat and brass
buttons running to them across the field.
I wonder who that is? he said.
I hope nothing is wrong about mistress, said Maryann, who with some
other women was tying the bundles (oats being always sheafed on this
farm), but an unlucky token came to me indoors this morning. l went to
unlock the door and dropped the key, and it fell upon the stone floor
and broke into two pieces. Breaking a key is a dreadful bodement. I
wish misess was home.
Tis Cain Ball, said Gabriel, pausing from whetting his reaphook.
Oak was not bound by his agreement to assist in the corn-field; but the
harvest month is an anxious time for a farmer, and the corn was
Bathshebas, so he lent a hand.
Hes dressed up in his best clothes, said Matthew Moon. He hev been
away from home for a few days, since hes had that felon upon his
finger; for a said, since I cant work Ill have a hollerday.
A good time for onea excellent time, said Joseph Poorgrass,
straightening his back; for he, like some of the others, had a way of
resting a while from his labour on such hot days for reasons
preternaturally small; of which Cain Balls advent on a week-day in his
Sunday clothes was one of the first magnitude. Twas a bad leg allowed
me to read the _Pilgrims Progress_, and Mark Clark learnt All-Fours in
a whitlow.
Ay, and my father put his arm out of joint to have time to go
courting, said Jan Coggan, in an eclipsing tone, wiping his face with
his shirt-sleeve and thrusting back his hat upon the nape of his neck.
By this time Cainy was nearing the group of harvesters, and was
perceived to be carrying a large slice of bread and ham in one hand,
from which he took mouthfuls as he ran, the other being wrapped in a
bandage. When he came close, his mouth assumed the bell shape, and he
began to cough violently.
Now, Cainy! said Gabriel, sternly. How many more times must I tell
you to keep from running so fast when you are eating? Youll choke
yourself some day, thats what youll do, Cain Ball.
Hok-hok-hok! replied Cain. A crumb of my victuals went the wrong
wayhok-hok! Thats what tis, Mister Oak! And Ive been visiting to
Bath because I had a felon on my thumb; yes, and Ive seenahok-hok!
Directly Cain mentioned Bath, they all threw down their hooks and forks
and drew round him. Unfortunately the erratic crumb did not improve his
narrative powers, and a supplementary hindrance was that of a sneeze,
jerking from his pocket his rather large watch, which dangled in front
of the young man pendulum-wise.
Yes, he continued, directing his thoughts to Bath and letting his
eyes follow, Ive seed the world at lastyesand Ive seed our
misessahok-hok-hok!
Bother the boy! said Gabriel. Something is always going the wrong
way down your throat, so that you cant tell whats necessary to be
told.
Ahok! there! Please, Mister Oak, a gnat have just flewed into my
stomach and brought the cough on again!
Yes, thats just it. Your mouth is always open, you young rascal.
Tis terrible bad to have a gnat fly down yer throat, pore boy! said
Matthew Moon.
Well, at Bath you saw prompted Gabriel.
I saw our mistress, continued the junior shepherd, and a soldier,
walking along. And bymeby they got closer and closer, and then they
went arm-in-crook, like courting completehok-hok! like courting
completehok!courting complete Losing the thread of his narrative at
this point simultaneously with his loss of breath, their informant
looked up and down the field apparently for some clue to it. Well, I
see our misess and a soldiera-ha-a-wk! | 1,145 |
PG27 | 112 | D the boy! said Gabriel.
Tis only my manner, Mister Oak, if yell excuse it, said Cain Ball,
looking reproachfully at Oak, with eyes drenched in their own dew.
Heres some cider for himthatll cure his throat, said Jan Coggan,
lifting a flagon of cider, pulling out the cork, and applying the hole
to Cainys mouth; Joseph Poorgrass in the meantime beginning to think
apprehensively of the serious consequences that would follow Cainy
Balls strangulation in his cough, and the history of his Bath
adventures dying with him.
For my poor self, I always say please God afore I do anything, said
Joseph, in an unboastful voice; and so should you, Cain Ball. Tis a
great safeguard, and might perhaps save you from being choked to death
some day.
Mr. Coggan poured the liquor with unstinted liberality at the suffering
Cains circular mouth; half of it running down the side of the flagon,
and half of what reached his mouth running down outside his throat, and
half of what ran in going the wrong way, and being coughed and sneezed
around the persons of the gathered reapers in the form of a cider fog,
which for a moment hung in the sunny air like a small exhalation.
Theres a great clumsy sneeze! Why cant ye have better manners, you
young dog! said Coggan, withdrawing the flagon.
The cider went up my nose! cried Cainy, as soon as he could speak;
and now tis gone down my neck, and into my poor dumb felon, and over
my shiny buttons and all my best cloze!
The poor lads cough is terrible unfortunate, said Matthew Moon. And
a great history on hand, too. Bump his back, shepherd.
Tis my nater. mourned Cain. Mother says I always was so excitable
when my feelings were worked up to a point.
True, true, said Joseph Poorgrass. The Balls were always a very
excitable family. I knowed the boys grandfathera truly nervous and
modest man, even to genteel refinement. Twas blush, blush with him,
almost as much as tis with menot but that tis a fault in me.
Not at all, Master Poorgrass, said Coggan. Tis a very noble quality
in ye.
Heh-heh! well, I wish to noise nothing abroadnothing at all,
murmured Poorgrass, diffidently. But we are born to thingsthats
true. Yet I would rather my trifle were hid; though, perhaps, a high
nater is a little high, and at my birth all things were possible to my
Maker, and he may have begrudged no gifts. But under your bushel,
Joseph! under your bushel with you! A strange desire, neighbours, this
desire to hide, and no praise due. Yet there is a Sermon on the Mount
with a calendar of the blessed at the head, and certain meek men may be
named therein.
Cainys grandfather was a very clever man, said Matthew Moon.
Invented a apple-tree out of his own head, which is called by his name
to this daythe Early Ball. You know em, Jan? A Quarrington grafted on
a Tom Putt, and a Rathe-ripe upon top o that again. Tis trew a used
to bide about in a public-house in a way he had no business to by
rights, but therea were a clever man in the sense of the term.
Now then, said Gabriel, impatiently, what did you see, Cain?
I seed our misess go into a sort of a park place, where theres
seats, and shrubs and flowers, arm-in-crook with a soldier, continued
Cainy, firmly, and with a dim sense that his words were very effective
as regarded Gabriels emotions. And I think the soldier was Sergeant
Troy. And they sat there together for more than half-an-hour, talking
moving things, and she once was crying almost to death. And when they
came out her eyes were shining and she was as white as a lily; and they
looked into one anothers faces, as desperately friendly as a man and
woman can be.
Gabriels features seemed to get thinner. Well, what did you see
besides?
Oh, all sorts.
White as a lily? You are sure twas she?
Yes.
Well, what besides?
Great glass windows to the shops, and great clouds in the sky, full of
rain, and old wooden trees in the country round.
You stun-poll! What will ye say next? said Coggan.
Let en alone, interposed Joseph Poorgrass. The boys maning is that
the sky and the earth in the kingdom of Bath is not altogether
different from ours here. Tis for our good to gain knowledge of
strange cities, and as such the boys words should be suffered, so to
speak it. | 1,082 |
PG27 | 113 | And the people of Bath, continued Cain, never need to light their
fires except as a luxery, for the water springs up out of the earth
ready boiled for use.
Tis true as the light, testified Matthew Moon. Ive heard other
navigators say the same thing.
They drink nothing else there, said Cain, and seem to enjoy it, to
see how they swaller it down.
Well, it seems a barbarous practice enough to us, but I daresay the
natives think nothing of it, said Matthew.
And dont victuals spring up as well as drink? asked Coggan, twirling
his eye.
NoI own to a blot there in Batha true blot. God didnt provide em
with victuals as well as drink, and twas a drawback I couldnt get
over at all.
Well, tis a curious place, to say the least, observed Moon; and it
must be a curious people that live therein.
Miss Everdene and the soldier were walking about together, you say?
said Gabriel, returning to the group.
Ay, and she wore a beautiful gold-colour silk gown, trimmed with black
lace, that would have stood alone without legs inside if required.
Twas a very winsome sight; and her hair was brushed splendid. And when
the sun shone upon the bright gown and his red coatmy! how handsome
they looked. You could see em all the length of the street.
And what then? murmured Gabriel.
And then I went into Griffins to have my boots hobbed, and then I
went to Riggss batty-cake shop, and asked em for a penneth of the
cheapest and nicest stales, that were all but blue-mouldy, but not
quite. And whilst I was chawing em down I walked on and seed a clock
with a face as big as a baking-trendle
But thats nothing to do with mistress!
Im coming to that, if youll leave me alone, Mister Oak!
remonstrated Cainy. If you excites me, perhaps youll bring on my
cough, and then I shant be able to tell ye nothing.
Yeslet him tell it his own way, said Coggan.
Gabriel settled into a despairing attitude of patience, and Cainy went
on:
And there were great large houses, and more people all the week long
than at Weatherbury club-walking on White Tuesdays. And I went to grand
churches and chapels. And how the parson would pray! Yes; he would
kneel down and put up his hands together, and make the holy gold rings
on his fingers gleam and twinkle in yer eyes, that hed earned by
praying so excellent well!Ah yes, I wish I lived there.
Our poor Parson Thirdly cant get no money to buy such rings, said
Matthew Moon, thoughtfully. And as good a man as ever walked. I dont
believe poor Thirdly have a single one, even of humblest tin or copper.
Such a great ornament as theyd be to him on a dull afternoon, when
hes up in the pulpit lighted by the wax candles! But tis impossible,
poor man. Ah, to think how unequal things be.
Perhaps hes made of different stuff than to wear em, said Gabriel,
grimly. Well, thats enough of this. Go on, Cainyquick.
Ohand the new style of parsons wear moustaches and long beards,
continued the illustrious traveller, and look like Moses and Aaron
complete, and make we fokes in the congregation feel all over like the
children of Israel.
A very right feelingvery, said Joseph Poorgrass.
And theres two religions going on in the nation nowHigh Church and
High Chapel. And, thinks I, Ill play fair; so I went to High Church in
the morning, and High Chapel in the afternoon.
A right and proper boy, said Joseph Poorgrass.
Well, at High Church they pray singing, and believe in all the colours
of the rainbow; and at High Chapel they pray preaching, and believe in
drab and whitewash only. And thenI didnt see no more of Miss Everdene
at all.
Why didnt you say so before, then? exclaimed Oak, with much
disappointment.
Ah, said Matthew Moon, shell wish her cake dough if so be shes
over intimate with that man.
Shes not over intimate with him, said Gabriel, indignantly.
She would know better, said Coggan. Our misess has too much sense
under those knots of black hair to do such a mad thing.
You see, hes not a coarse, ignorant man, for he was well brought up,
said Matthew, dubiously. Twas only wildness that made him a soldier,
and maids rather like your man of sin.
Now, Cain Ball, said Gabriel restlessly, can you swear in the most
awful form that the woman you saw was Miss Everdene? | 1,064 |
PG27 | 115 | CHAPTER IV.
HOME AGAINA JUGGLER
That same evening at dusk Gabriel was leaning over Coggans
garden-gate, taking an up-and-down survey before retiring to rest.
A vehicle of some kind was softly creeping along the grassy margin of
the lane. From it spread the tones of two women talking. The tones were
natural and not at all suppressed. Oak instantly knew the voices to he
those of Bathsheba and Liddy.
The carriage came opposite and passed by. It was Miss Everdenes gig,
and Liddy and her mistress were the only occupants of the seat. Liddy
was asking questions about the city of Bath, and her companion was
answering them listlessly and unconcernedly. Both Bathsheba and the
horse seemed weary.
The exquisite relief of finding that she was here again, safe and
sound, overpowered all reflection, and Oak could only luxuriate in the
sense of it. All grave reports were forgotten.
He lingered and lingered on, till there was no difference between the
eastern and western expanses of sky, and the timid hares began to limp
courageously round the dim hillocks. Gabriel might have been there an
additional half-hour when a dark form walked slowly by. Good-night,
Gabriel, the passer said.
It was Boldwood. Good-night, sir, said Gabriel.
Boldwood likewise vanished up the road, and Oak shortly afterwards
turned indoors to bed.
Farmer Boldwood went on towards Miss Everdenes house. He reached the
front, and approaching the entrance, saw a light in the parlour. The
blind was not drawn down, and inside the room was Bathsheba, looking
over some papers or letters. Her back was towards Boldwood. He went to
the door, knocked, and waited with tense muscles and an aching brow.
Boldwood had not been outside his garden since his meeting with
Bathsheba in the road to Yalbury. Silent and alone, he had remained in
moody meditation on womans ways, deeming as essentials of the whole
sex the accidents of the single one of their number he had ever closely
beheld. By degrees a more charitable temper had pervaded him, and this
was the reason of his sally to-night. He had come to apologize and beg
forgiveness of Bathsheba with something like a sense of shame at his
violence, having but just now learnt that she had returnedonly from a
visit to Liddy, as he supposed, the Bath escapade being quite unknown
to him.
He inquired for Miss Everdene. Liddys manner was odd, but he did not
notice it. She went in, leaving him standing there, and in her absence
the blind of the room containing Bathsheba was pulled down. Boldwood
augured ill from that sign. Liddy came out.
My mistress cannot see you, sir, she said.
The farmer instantly went out by the gate. He was unforgiventhat was
the issue of it all. He had seen her who was to him simultaneously a
delight and a torture, sitting in the room he had shared with her as a
peculiarly privileged guest only a little earlier in the summer, and
she had denied him an entrance there now.
Boldwood did not hurry homeward. It was ten oclock at least, when,
walking deliberately through the lower part of Weatherbury, he heard
the carriers spring-van entering the village. The van ran to and from
a town in a northern direction, and it was owned and driven by a
Weatherbury man, at the door of whose house it now pulled up. The lamp
fixed to the head of the hood illuminated a scarlet and gilded form,
who was the first to alight.
Ah! said Boldwood to himself, come to see her again.
Troy entered the carriers house, which had been the place of his
lodging on his last visit to his native place. Boldwood was moved by a
sudden determination. He hastened home. In ten minutes he was back
again, and made as if he were going to call upon Troy at the carriers.
But as he approached, some one opened the door and came out. He heard
this person say Good-night to the inmates, and the voice was Troys.
This was strange, coming so immediately after his arrival. Boldwood,
however, hastened up to him. Troy had what appeared to be a carpet-bag
in his handthe same that he had brought with him. It seemed as if he
were going to leave again this very night.
Troy turned up the hill and quickened his pace. Boldwood stepped
forward.
Sergeant Troy?
YesIm Sergeant Troy.
Just arrived from Melchester, I think?
Just arrived from Bath.
I am William Boldwood. | 1,023 |
PG27 | 116 | Indeed.
The tone in which this word was uttered was all that had been wanted to
bring Boldwood to the point.
I wish to speak a word with you, he said.
What about?
About her who lives just ahead thereand about a woman you have
wronged.
I wonder at your impertinence, said Troy, moving on.
Now look here, said Boldwood, standing in front of him, wonder or
not, you are going to hold a conversation with me.
Troy heard the dull determination in Boldwoods voice, looked at his
stalwart frame, then at the thick cudgel he carried in his hand. He
remembered it was past ten oclock. It seemed worth while to be civil
to Boldwood.
Very well, Ill listen with pleasure, said Troy, placing his bag on
the ground, only speak low, for somebody or other may overhear us in
the farmhouse there.
Well thenI know a good deal concerning yourFanny Robins attachment
to you. I may say, too, that I believe I am the only person in the
village, excepting Gabriel Oak, who does know it. You ought to marry
her.
I suppose I ought. Indeed, I wish to, but I cannot.
Why?
Troy was about to utter something hastily; he then checked himself and
said, I am too poor. His voice was changed. Previously it had had a
devil-may-care tone. It was the voice of a trickster now.
Boldwoods present mood was not critical enough to notice tones. He
continued, I may as well speak plainly; and understand, I dont wish
to enter into the questions of right or wrong, womans honour and
shame, or to express any opinion on your conduct. I intend a business
transaction with you.
I see, said Troy. Suppose we sit down here.
An old tree trunk lay under the hedge immediately opposite, and they
sat down.
I was engaged to be married to Miss Everdene, said Boldwood, but you
came and
Not engaged, said Troy.
As good as engaged.
If I had not turned up she might have become engaged to you.
Hang might!
Would, then.
If you had not come I should certainlyyes, _certainly_have been
accepted by this time. If you had not seen her you might have been
married to Fanny. Well, theres too much difference between Miss
Everdenes station and your own for this flirtation with her ever to
benefit you by ending in marriage. So all I ask is, dont molest her
any more. Marry Fanny. Ill make it worth your while.
How will you?
Ill pay you well now, Ill settle a sum of money upon her, and Ill
see that you dont suffer from poverty in the future. Ill put it
clearly. Bathsheba is only playing with you: you are too poor for her,
as I said; so give up wasting your time about a great match youll
never make for a moderate and rightful match you may make to-morrow;
take up your carpet-bag, turn about, leave Weatherbury now, this night,
and you shall take fifty pounds with you. Fanny shall have fifty to
enable her to prepare for the wedding, when you have told me where she
is living, and she shall have five hundred paid down on her
wedding-day.
In making this statement Boldwoods voice revealed only too clearly a
consciousness of the weakness of his position, his aims, and his
method. His manner had lapsed quite from that of the firm and dignified
Boldwood of former times; and such a scheme as he had now engaged in he
would have condemned as childishly imbecile only a few months ago. We
discern a grand force in the lover which he lacks whilst a free man;
but there is a breadth of vision in the free man which in the lover we
vainly seek. Where there is much bias there must be some narrowness,
and love, though added emotion, is subtracted capacity. Boldwood
exemplified this to an abnormal degree: he knew nothing of Fanny
Robins circumstances or whereabouts, he knew nothing of Troys
possibilities, yet that was what he said.
I like Fanny best, said Troy; and if, as you say, Miss Everdene is
out of my reach, why I have all to gain by accepting your money, and
marrying Fan. But shes only a servant.
Never minddo you agree to my arrangement?
I do.
Ah! said Boldwood, in a more elastic voice. Oh Troy, if you like her
best, why then did you step in here and injure my happiness?
I love Fanny best now, said Troy. But BathshMiss Everdene inflamed
me, and displaced Fanny for a time. It is over now. | 1,032 |
PG27 | 117 | Why should it be over so soon? And why then did you come here again?
There are weighty reasons. Fifty pounds at once, you said?
I did, said Boldwood, and here they arefifty sovereigns. He handed
Troy a small packet.
You have everything readyit seems that you calculated on my accepting
them, said the sergeant, taking the packet.
I thought you might accept them, said Boldwood.
Youve only my word that the programme shall be adhered to, whilst I
at any rate have fifty pounds.
I had thought of that, and I have considered that if I cant appeal to
your honour I can trust to yourwell, shrewdness well call itnot to
lose five hundred pounds in prospect, and also make a bitter enemy of a
man who is willing to be an extremely useful friend.
Stop, listen! said Troy in a whisper.
A light pit-pat was audible upon the road just above them.
By Georgetis she, he continued. I must go on and meet her.
Shewho?
Bathsheba.
Bathshebaout alone at this time o night! said Boldwood in
amazement, and starting up. Why must you meet her?
She was expecting me to-nightand I must now speak to her, and wish
her good-bye, according to your wish.
I dont see the necessity of speaking.
It can do no harmand shell be wandering about looking for me if I
dont. You shall hear all I say to her. It will help you in your
love-making when I am gone.
Your tone is mocking.
Oh no. And remember this, if she does not know what has become of me,
she will think more about me than if I tell her flatly I have come to
give her up.
Will you confine your words to that one point?Shall I hear every word
you say?
Every word. Now sit still there, and hold my carpet bag for me, and
mark what you hear.
The light footstep came closer, halting occasionally, as if the walker
listened for a sound. Troy whistled a double note in a soft, fluty
tone.
Come to that, is it! murmured Boldwood, uneasily.
You promised silence, said Troy.
I promise again.
Troy stepped forward.
Frank, dearest, is that you? The tones were Bathshebas.
O God! said Boldwood.
Yes, said Troy to her.
How late you are, she continued, tenderly. Did you come by the
carrier? I listened and heard his wheels entering the village, but it
was some time ago, and I had almost given you up, Frank.
I was sure to come, said Frank. You knew I should, did you not?
Well, I thought you would, she said, playfully; and, Frank, it is so
lucky! Theres not a soul in my house but me to-night. Ive packed them
all off, so nobody on earth will know of your visit to your ladys
bower. Liddy wanted to go to her grandfathers to tell him about her
holiday, and I said she might stay with them till to-morrowwhen youll
be gone again.
[Illustration: THERES NOT A SOUL IN MY HOUSE BUT ME TO-NIGHT.]
Capital, said Troy. But, dear me, I had better go back for my bag:
you run home whilst I fetch it, and Ill promise to be in your parlour
in ten minutes.
Yes. She turned and tripped up the hill again.
During the progress of this dialogue there was a nervous twitching of
Boldwoods tightly closed lips, and his face became bathed in a clammy
dew. He now started forward towards Troy. Troy turned to him and took
up the bag.
Shall I tell her I have come to give her up and cannot marry her?
said the soldier, mockingly.
No, no; wait a minute. I want to say more to youmore to you, said
Boldwood, in a hoarse whisper.
Now, said Troy, you see my dilemma. Perhaps I am a bad manthe
victim of my impulsesled away to do what I ought to leave undone. I
cant, however, marry them both. And I have two reasons for choosing
Fanny. First, I like her best upon the whole, and second, you make it
worth my while.
At the same instant Boldwood sprang upon him, and held him by the neck.
Troy felt Boldwoods grasp slowly tightening. The move was absolutely
unexpected.
A moment, he gasped. You are injuring her you love.
Well, what do you mean? said the farmer.
Give me breath, said Troy.
Boldwood loosened his hand, saying, By Heaven, Ive a mind to kill
you!
And ruin her. | 1,030 |
PG27 | 118 | Save her.
Oh, how can she be saved now, unless I marry her?
Boldwood groaned. He reluctantly released the soldier, and flung him
back against the hedge. Devil, you torture me! said he.
Troy rebounded like a ball, and was about to make a dash at the farmer;
but he checked himself, saying lightly,
It is not worth while to measure my strength with you. Indeed it is a
barbarous way of settling a quarrel. I shall shortly leave the army
because of the same conviction. Now after that revelation of how the
land lies with Bathsheba, twould be a mistake to kill me, would it
not?
Twould be a mistake to kill you, repeated Boldwood, mechanically,
with a bowed head.
Better kill yourself.
Far better.
Im glad you see it.
Troy, make her your wife, and dont act upon what I arranged just now.
The alternative is dreadful, but take Bathsheba; I give her up! She
must love you indeed to sell soul and body to you so utterly as she has
done. Wretched womandeluded womanyou are, Bathsheba!
But about Fanny?
Bathsheba is a woman well to do, continued Boldwood, in nervous
anxiety, and, Troy, she will make a good wife; and, indeed, she is
worth your hastening on your marriage with her!
But she has a willnot to say a temper, and I shall be a mere slave to
her. I could do anything with poor Fanny Robin.
Troy, said Boldwood, imploringly, Ill do anything for you, only
dont desert her; pray dont desert her, Troy.
Which, poor Fanny?
No; Bathsheba Everdene. Love her best! Love her tenderly! How shall I
get you to see how advantageous it will be to you to secure her at
once?
I dont wish to secure her in any new way.
Boldwoods arm moved spasmodically towards Troys person again. He
repressed the instinct, and his form drooped as with pain.
Troy went on,
I shall soon purchase my discharge, and then
But I wish you to hasten on this marriage. It will be better for you
both. You love each other, and you must let me help you to do it.
How?
Why, by settling the five hundred on Bathsheba instead of Fanny, to
enable you to marry at once. No; she wouldnt have it of me. Ill pay
it down to you on the wedding-day.
Troy paused in secret amazement at Boldwoods wild and purblind
infatuation. He carelessly said, And am I to have anything now?
Yes, if you wish to. But I have not much additional money with me. I
did not expect this; but all I have is yours.
Boldwood, more like a somnambulist than a wakeful man, pulled out the
large canvas bag he carried by way of a purse, and searched it.
I have twenty-one pounds more with me, he said. Two notes and a
sovereign. But before I leave you I must have a paper signed
Pay me the money, and well go straight to her parlour, and make any
arrangement you please to secure my compliance with your wishes. But
she must know nothing of this cash business.
Nothing, nothing, said Boldwood, hastily. Here is the sum, and if
youll come to my house well write out the agreement for the
remainder, and the terms also.
First well call upon her.
But why? Come with me to-night, and go with me to-morrow to the
surrogates.
But she must be consulted; at any rate informed.
Very well; go on.
They went up the hill to Bathshebas house. When they stood at the
entrance, Troy said, Wait here a moment. Opening the door, he glided
inside, leaving the door ajar.
Boldwood waited. In two minutes a light appeared in the passage.
Boldwood then saw that the chain had been fastened across the door.
Troy appeared inside, carrying a bedroom candlestick.
What, did you think I should break in? said Boldwood, contemptuously.
Oh no; it is merely my humour to secure things. Will you read this a
moment? Ill hold the light.
Troy handed a folded newspaper through the slit between door and
doorpost, and put the candle close. Thats the paragraph, he said,
placing his finger on a line.
Boldwood looked and read
MARRIAGES.
On the 17th inst., at St. Ambroses Church, Bath, by the Rev. G.
Mincing, B.A., Francis Troy, only son of the late Edward Troy, Esq.,
M.D., of Weatherbury, and sergeant 11th Dragoon Guards, to Bathsheba,
only surviving daughter of the late Mr. John Everdene, of
Casterbridge. | 1,063 |
PG27 | 120 | CHAPTER V.
AT AN UPPER WINDOW
It was very early the next morninga time of sun and dew. The confused
beginnings of many birds songs spread into the healthy air, and the
wan blue of the heaven was here and there coated with thin webs of
incorporeal cloud which were of no effect in obscuring day. All the
lights in the scene were yellow as to colour, and all the shadows were
attenuated as to form. The creeping plants about the old manor-house
were bowed with rows of heavy water drops, which had upon objects
behind them the effect of minute lenses of high magnifying power.
Just before the clock struck five Gabriel Oak and Coggan passed the
village cross, and went on together to the fields. They were yet barely
in view of their mistresss house, when Oak fancied he saw the opening
of a casement in one of the upper windows. The two men were at this
moment partially screened by an elder bush, now beginning to be
enriched with black bunches of fruit, and they paused before emerging
from its shade.
A handsome man leaned idly from the lattice. He looked east and then
west, in the manner of one who makes a first morning survey. The man
was Sergeant Troy. His red jacket was loosely thrown on, but not
buttoned, and he had altogether the relaxed bearing of a soldier taking
his ease.
Coggan spoke first, looking quietly at the window.
She has married him! he said.
Gabriel had previously beheld the sight, and he now stood with his back
turned, making no reply.
I fancied we should know something to-day, continued Coggan. I heard
wheels pass my door just after darkyou were out somewhere. He glanced
round upon Gabriel. Good heavens above us, Oak, how white your face
is; you look like a corpse!
Do I? said Oak, with a faint smile.
Lean on the gate: Ill wait a bit.
All right, all right.
They stood by the gate awhile, Gabriel listlessly staring at the
ground. His mind sped into the future, and saw there enacted in years
of leisure the scenes of repentance that would ensue from this work of
haste. That they were married he had instantly decided. Why had it been
so mysteriously managed? It was not at all Bathshebas way of doing
things. With all her faults, she was candour itself. Could she have
been entrapped? The union was not only an unutterable grief to him: it
amazed him, notwithstanding that he had passed the preceding week in a
suspicion that such might be the issue of Troys meeting her away from
home. Her quiet return with Liddy had to some extent dispersed the
dread. Just as that imperceptible motion which appears like stillness
is infinitely divided in its properties from stillness itself, so had
struggling hopes against the imagined deed differentiated it entirely
from the thing actually done.
In a few minutes they moved on again towards the house. The sergeant
still looked from the window.
Morning, comrades! he shouted, in a cheery voice, when they came up.
Coggan replied to the greeting. Baint ye going to answer the man? he
then said to Gabriel. Id say good morningyou neednt spend a hapeth
of meaning upon it, and yet keep the man civil.
Gabriel soon decided too that, since the deed was done, to put the best
face upon the matter would be the greatest kindness to her he loved.
Good-morning, Sergeant Troy, he returned, in a ghastly voice.
A rambling, gloomy house this, said Troy, smiling.
Whythey _may_ not be married! suggested Coggan. Perhaps shes not
there.
Gabriel shook his head. The soldier turned a little towards the east,
and the sun kindled his scarlet coat to an orange glow.
But it is a nice old house, responded Gabriel.
YesI suppose so; but I feel like new wine in an old bottle here. My
notion is that sash-windows should be put throughout, and these old
wainscoted walls brightened up a bit; or the oak cleared quite away,
and the walls papered.
It would be a pity, I think.
Well, no. A philosopher once said in my hearing that the old builders,
who worked when art was a living thing, had no respect for the work of
builders who went before them, but pulled down and altered as they
thought fit; and why shouldnt we? Creation and preservation dont do
well together, says he, and a million of antiquarians cant invent a
style. My mind exactly. I am for making this place more modern, that
we may be cheerful whilst we can. | 1,019 |
PG27 | 121 | The military man turned and surveyed the interior of the room, to
assist his ideas of improvement in this direction. Gabriel and Coggan
began to move on.
Oh, Coggan, said Troy, as if inspired by a recollection, do you know
if insanity has ever appeared in Mr. Boldwoods family?
Jan reflected for a moment.
I once heard that an uncle of his was queer in his head, but I dont
know the rights ot, he said.
It is of no importance, said Troy, lightly. Well, I shall be down in
the fields with you some time this week; but I have a few matters to
attend to first. So good-day to you. We shall, of course, keep on just
as friendly terms as usual. Im not a proud man: nobody is ever able to
say that of Sergeant Troy. However, what is must be, and heres
half-a-crown to drink my health, men.
Troy threw the coin dexterously across the front plot towards Gabriel,
who shunned it in its fall, his face turning to an angry red. Coggan
twirled his eye, edged forward, and caught the money in its ricochet
upon the grass.
Very wellyou keep it, Coggan, said Gabriel with disdain and almost
fiercely. As for me, Ill do without gifts from him.
Dont show it too much, said Coggan, musingly. For if hes married
to her, mark my words, hell buy his discharge and be our master here.
Therefore tis well to say Friend outwardly, though you say
Troublehouse within.
Wellperhaps it is best to be silent; but I cant go further than
that. I cant flatter, and if my place here is only to be kept by
smoothing him down, my place must be lost.
A horseman, whom they had for some time seen in the distance, now
appeared close beside them.
Theres Mr. Boldwood, said Oak. I wonder what Troy meant by his
question.
Coggan and Oak nodded respectfully to the farmer, just checked their
paces to discover if they were wanted, and finding they were not, stood
back to let him pass on.
The only signs of the terrible sorrow Boldwood had been combating
through the night and was combating now were the want of colour in his
well-defined face, the enlarged appearance of the veins in his forehead
and temples, and the sharper lines about his mouth. The horse bore him
away, and the very step of the animal seemed significant of dogged
despair. Gabriel, for a minute, rose above his own grief in noticing
Boldwoods. He saw the square figure sitting erect upon the horse, the
head turned to neither side, the elbows steady by the hips, the brim of
the hat level and undisturbed in its onward glide, until the keen edges
of Boldwoods shape sank by degrees over the hill. To one who knew the
man and his story there was something more striking in this immobility
than in a collapse. The clash of discord between mood and matter here
was forced painfully home to the heart; and, as in laughter there are
more dreadful phases than in tears, so was there in the steadiness of
this agonized man an expression deeper than a cry. | 707 |
PG27 | 122 | CHAPTER VI.
WEALTH IN JEOPARDYTHE REVEL
One night, at the end of August, when Bathshebas experiences as a
married woman were still new, and when the weather was yet dry and
sultry, a man stood motionless in the stackyard of Weatherbury Upper
Farm, looking at the moon and sky.
The night had a sinister aspect. A heated breeze from the south slowly
fanned the summits of lofty objects, and in the sky dashes of buoyant
cloud were sailing in a course at right angles to that of another
stratum, neither of them in the direction of the breeze below. The
moon, as seen through these films, had a lurid metallic look. The
fields were sallow with the impure light, and all were tinged in
monochrome, as if beheld through stained glass. The same evening the
sheep had trailed homeward head to head, the behaviour of the rooks had
been confused, and the horses had moved with timidity and caution.
Thunder was imminent, and, taking some secondary appearances into
consideration, it was likely to be followed by one of the lengthened
rains which mark the close of dry weather for the season. Before twelve
hours had passed a harvest atmosphere would be a bygone thing.
Oak gazed with misgiving at eight naked and unprotected ricks, massive
and heavy with the rich produce of one-half the farm for that year. He
went on to the barn.
This was the night which had been selected by Sergeant Troyruling now
in the room of his wifefor giving the harvest supper and dance. As Oak
approached the building the sound of violins and a tambourine, and the
regular jigging of many feet, grew more distinct. He came close to the
large doors, one of which stood slightly ajar, and looked in.
The central space, together with the recess at one end, was emptied of
all incumbrances, and this area, covering about two-thirds of the
whole, was appropriated for the gathering, the remaining end, which was
piled to the ceiling with oats, being screened off with sail-cloth.
Tufts and garlands of green foliage decorated the walls, beams, and
extemporized chandeliers, and immediately opposite to Oak a rostrum had
been erected, bearing a table and chairs. Here sat three fiddlers, and
beside them stood a frantic man with his hair on end, perspiration
streaming down his cheeks, and a tambourine quivering in his hand.
The dance ended, and on the black oak floor in the midst a new row of
couples formed for another.
Now, maam, and no offence I hope, I ask what dance you would like
next? said the first violin.
Really, it makes no difference, said the clear voice of Bathsheba,
who stood at the inner end of the building, observing the scene from
behind a table covered with cups and viands. Troy was lolling beside
her.
Then, said the fiddler, Ill venture to name that the right and
proper thing is The Soldiers Joythere being a gallant soldier
married into the farmhey, my sonnies, and gentlemen all?
It shall be The Soldiers Joy, exclaimed a chorus.
Thanks for the compliment, said the sergeant gaily, taking Bathsheba
by the hand and leading her to the top of the dance. For though I have
purchased my discharge from Her Most Gracious Majestys regiment of
cavalry the 11th Dragoon Guards, to attend to the new duties awaiting
me here, I shall continue a soldier in spirit and feeling as long as I
live.
So the dance began. As to the merits of The Soldiers Joy. there
cannot be, and never were, two opinions. It has been observed in the
musical circles of Weatherbury and its vicinity that this melody, at
the end of three-quarters of an hour of thunderous footing, still
possesses more stimulative properties for the heel and toe than the
majority of other dances at their first opening. The Soldiers Joy
has, too, an additional charm, in being so admirably adapted to the
tambourine aforesaidno mean instrument in the hands of a performer who
understands the proper convulsions, spasms, St. Vituss dances, and
fearful frenzies necessary when exhibiting its tones in their highest
perfection.
The immortal tune ended, a fine DD rolling forth from the bass-viol
with the sonorousness of a cannonade, and Gabriel delayed his entry no
longer. He avoided Bathsheba, and got as near as possible to the
platform, where Sergeant Troy was now seated, drinking
brandy-and-water, though the others drank without exception cider and
ale. Gabriel could not easily thrust himself within speaking distance
of the sergeant, and he sent a message, asking him to come down for a
moment. The sergeant said he could not attend. | 1,071 |
PG27 | 123 | Will you tell him, then, said Gabriel, that I only stepped athart
to say that a heavy rain is sure to fall soon, and that something
should be done to protect the ricks?
Mr. Troy says it will not rain, returned the messenger, and he
cannot stop to talk to you about such fidgets.
In juxtaposition with Troy, Oak had a melancholy tendency to look like
a candle beside gas, and ill at ease, he went out again, thinking he
would go home; for, under the circumstances, he had no heart for the
scene in the barn. At the door he paused for a moment: Troy was
speaking.
Friends, it is not only the Harvest Home that we are celebrating
to-night; but this is also a Wedding Feast. A short time ago I had the
happiness to lead to the altar this lady, your mistress, and not until
now have we been able to give any public flourish to the event in
Weatherbury. That it may be thoroughly well done, and that every man
may go happy to bed, I have ordered to be brought here some bottles of
brandy and kettles of hot water. A treble-strong goblet will he handed
round to each guest.
Bathsheba put her hand upon his arm, and, with upturned pale face, said
imploringly, Nodont give it to thempray dont, Frank! It will only
do them harm: they have had enough of everything.
Trewwe dont wish for no more, thank ye, said one or two.
Pooh! said the sergeant contemptuously, and raised his voice as if
lighted up by a new idea. Friends, he said, well send the
women-folk home! Tis time they were in bed. Then we cockbirds will
have a jolly carouse to ourselves. If any of the men show the white
feather, let them look elsewhere for a winters work.
Bathsheba indignantly left the barn, followed by all the women and
children. The musicians, not looking upon themselves as company,
slipped quietly away to their spring waggon and put in the horse. Thus
Troy and the men on the farm were left sole occupants of the place.
Oak, not to appear unnecessarily disagreeable, stayed a little while;
then he, too, arose and quietly took his departure, followed by a
friendly oath from the sergeant for not staying to a second round of
grog.
Gabriel proceeded towards his home. In approaching the door, his toe
kicked something which felt and sounded soft, leathery, and distended,
like a boxing-glove. It was a large toad humbly travelling across the
path. Oak took it up, thinking it might be better to kill the creature
to save it from pain; but finding it uninjured, he placed it again
among the grass. He knew what this direct message from the Great Mother
meant. And soon came another.
When he struck a light indoors there appeared upon the table a thin
glistening streak, as if a brush of varnish had been lightly dragged
across it. Oaks eyes followed the serpentine sheen to the other side,
where it led up to a huge brown garden-slug, which had come indoors
to-night for reasons of its own. It was Natures second way of hinting
to him that he was to prepare for foul weather.
Oak sat down meditating for nearly an hour. During this time two black
spiders, of the kind common in thatched houses, promenaded the ceiling,
ultimately dropping to the floor. This reminded him that if there was
one class of manifestation on this matter that he thoroughly
understood, it was the instincts of sheep. He left the room, ran across
two or three fields towards the flock, got upon a hedge, and looked
over among them.
They were crowded close together on the other side around some furze
bushes, and the first peculiarity observable was that, on the sudden
appearance of Oaks head over the fence, they did not stir or run away.
They had now a terror of something greater than their terror of man.
But this was not the most noteworthy feature: they were all grouped in
such a way that their tails, without a single exception, were towards
that half of the horizon from which the storm threatened. There was an
inner circle closely huddled, and outside these they radiated wider
apart, the pattern formed by the flock as a whole being not unlike a
vandyked lace collar, to which the clump of furze-bushes stood in the
position of a wearers neck.
This was enough to re-establish him in his original opinion. He knew
now that he was right, and that Troy was wrong. Every voice in nature
was unanimous in bespeaking change. But two distinct translations
attached to these dumb expressions. Apparently there was to be a
thunder-storm, and afterwards a cold continuous rain. The creeping
things seemed to know all about the later rain, hut little of the
interpolated thunder-storm; whilst the sheep knew all about the
thunder-storm and nothing of the latter rain. | 1,103 |
PG27 | 124 | This complication of weathers being uncommon, was all the more to be
feared. Oak returned to the stack-yard. All was silent here, and the
conical tips of the ricks jutted darkly into the sky. There were five
wheat-ricks in this yard, and three stacks of barley. The wheat when
threshed would average about thirty quarters to each stack; the barley,
at least forty. Their value to Bathsheba, and indeed to anybody, Oak
mentally estimated by the following simple calculation:
5 30 = 150 quarters = 500 .
3 40 = 120 quarters = 250 .
Total . . . . . .750 .
Seven hundred and fifty pounds in the divinest form that money can
wearthat of necessary food for man and beast: should the risk be run
of deteriorating this bulk of corn to less than half its value, because
of the instability of a woman? Never, if I can prevent it! said
Gabriel.
Such was the argument that Oak set outwardly before him. But man, even
to himself, is a cryptographic page, having an ostensible writing, and
another between the lines. It is possible that there was this golden
legend under the utilitarian one: I will help, to my last effort, the
woman I have loved so dearly.
He went back to the barn to endeavour to obtain assistance for covering
the ricks that very night. All was silent within, and he would have
passed on in the belief that the party had broken up, had not a dim
light, yellow as saffron by contrast with the greenish whiteness
outside, streamed through a knot-hole in the folding doors.
Gabriel looked in. An offensive picture met his eye.
The candles suspended among the evergreens had burnt down to their
sockets, and in some cases the leaves tied about them were scorched.
Many of the lights had quite gone out, others smoked and stank, grease
dropping from them upon the floor. Here, under the table, and leaning
against forms and chairs in every conceivable attitude except the
perpendicular, were the wretched persons of all the work-folk, the hair
of their heads at such low levels being suggestive of mops and brooms.
In the midst of these shone red and distinct the figure of Sergeant
Troy, leaning back in a chair. Coggan was on his back, with his mouth
open, buzzing forth snores, as were several others; the united
breathings of the horizonal assemblage forming a subdued roar like
London from a distance. Joseph Poorgrass was curled round in the
fashion of a hedgehog, apparently in attempts to present the least
possible portion of his surface to the air; and behind him was dimly
visible an unimportant remnant of William Smallbury. The glasses and
cups still stood upon the table, a water-jug being overturned, from
which a small rill, after tracing its course with marvellous precision
down the centre of the long table, fell into the neck of the
unconscious Mark Clark, in a steady, monotonous drip, like the dripping
of a stalactite in a cave.
Gabriel glanced hopelessly at the group, which, with one or two
exceptions, composed all the able-bodied men upon the farm. He saw at
once that if the ricks were to be saved that night, or even the next
morning, he must save them with his own hands.
A faint ting-ting resounded from under Coggans waistcoat. It was
Coggans watch striking the hour of two.
Oak went to the recumbent form of Matthew Moon, who usually undertook
the rough thatching of the homestead, and shook him. The shaking was
without effect.
Gabriel shouted in his ear, Wheres your thatching-beetle and
rick-stick and spars?
Under the staddles, said Moon mechanically, with the unconscious
promptness of a medium.
Gabriel let go his head, and it dropped upon the floor like a bowl. He
then went to Susan Talls husband.
Wheres the key of the granary?
No answer. The question was repeated, with the same result. To be
shouted to at night was evidently less of a novelty to Susan Talls
husband than to Matthew Moon. Oak flung down Talls head into the
corner again and turned away.
To be just, the men were not greatly to blame for this painful and
demoralizing termination to the evenings entertainment. Sergeant Troy
had so strenuously insisted, glass in hand, that drinking should be the
bond of their union, that those who wished to refuse hardly liked to be
so unmannerly under the circumstances. Having from their youth up been
entirely unaccustomed to any liquor stronger than cider or mild ale, it
was no wonder that they had succumbed, one and all with extraordinary
uniformity, after the lapse of about an hour. | 1,065 |
PG27 | 125 | Gabriel was greatly depressed. This debauch boded ill for that wilful
and fascinating mistress whom the faithful man even now felt within him
as the embodiment of all that was sweet and bright and hopeless.
He put out the expiring lights, that the barn might not be endangered,
closed the door upon the men in their deep and oblivious sleep, and
went again into the lone night. A hot breeze, as if breathed from the
parted lips of some dragon about to swallow the globe, fanned him from
the south, while directly opposite in the north rose a grim misshapen
body of cloud, in the very teeth of the wind. So unnaturally did it
rise that one could fancy it to be lifted by machinery from below.
Meanwhile the faint cloudlets had flown back into the south-east corner
of the sky, as if in terror of the large cloud, like a young brood
gazed in upon by some monster.
Going on to the village, Oak flung a small stone against the window of
Laban Talls bedroom, expecting Susan to open it; but nobody stirred.
He went round to the back door, which had been left unfastened for
Labans entry, and passed in to the foot of the staircase.
Mrs. Tall, Ive come for the key of the granary, to get at the
rick-cloths, said Oak, in a stentorian voice.
Is that you? said Mrs. Susan Tall, half awake.
Yes, said Gabriel.
Come along to bed, do, you draw-latching roguekeeping a body awake
like this!
It isnt Labantis Gabriel Oak. I want the key of the granary.
Gabriel! What in the name of fortune did you pretend to be Laban for?
I didnt. I thought you meant
Yes you did! What do you want here?
The key of the granary.
Take it then. Tis on the nail. People coming disturbing women at this
time of night ought
Gabriel took the key, without waiting to hear the conclusion of the
tirade. Ten minutes later his lonely figure might have been seen
dragging four large waterproof coverings across the yard, and soon two
of these heaps of treasure in grain were covered snugtwo cloths to
each. Two hundred pounds were secured. Three wheat-stacks remained
open, and there were no more cloths. Oak looked under the staddles and
found a fork. He mounted the third pile of wealth and began operating,
adopting the plan of sloping the upper sheaves one over the other; and,
in addition, filling the interstices with the material of some untied
sheaves.
So far all was well. By this hurried contrivance Bathshebas property
in wheat was safe for at any rate a week or two, provided always that
there was not much wind.
Next came the barley. This it was only possible to protect by
systematic thatching. Time went on, and the moon vanished not to
re-appear. It was the farewell of the ambassador previous to war. The
night had a haggard look, like a sick thing; and there came finally an
utter expiration of air from the whole heaven in the form of a slow
breeze, which might have been likened to a death. And now nothing was
heard in the yard but the dull thuds of the beetle which drove in the
spars, and the rustle of thatch in the intervals. | 731 |
PG27 | 126 | CHAPTER VII.
THE STORMTHE TWO TOGETHER
A light flapped over the scene, as if reflected from phosphorescent
wings crossing the sky, and a rumble filled the air. It was the first
arrow from the approaching storm, and it fell wide.
The second peal was noisy, with comparatively little visible lightning.
Gabriel saw a candle shining in Bathshebas bedroom, and soon a shadow
moved to and fro upon the blind.
Then there came a third flash. Manuvres of a most extraordinary kind
were going on in the vast firmamental hollows overhead. The lightning
now was the colour of silver, and gleamed in the heavens like a mailed
army. Rumbles became rattles. Gabriel from his elevated position could
see over the landscape at least half-a-dozen miles in front. Every
hedge, bush, and tree was distinct as in a line engraving. In a paddock
in the same direction was a herd of heifers, and the forms of these
were visible at this moment in the act of galloping about in the
wildest and maddest confusion, flinging their heels and tails high into
the air, their heads to earth. A poplar in the immediate foreground was
like an ink stroke on burnished tin. Then the picture vanished, leaving
the darkness so intense that Gabriel worked entirely by feeling with
his hands.
He had stuck his ricking-rod, or poignard, as it was indifferently
calleda long iron lance, sharp at the extremity and polished by
handlinginto the stack to support the sheaves. A blue light appeared
in the zenith, and in some indescribable manner flickered down near the
top of the rod. It was the fourth of the larger flashes. A moment later
and there was a smacksmart, clear, and short. Gabriel felt his
position to be anything but a safe one, and he resolved to descend.
Not a drop of rain had fallen as yet. He wiped his weary brow, and
looked again at the black forms of the unprotected stacks. Was his life
so valuable to him after all? What were his prospects that he should be
so chary of running risk, when important and urgent labour could not be
carried on without such risk? He resolved to stick to the stack.
However, he took a precaution. Under the staddles was a long tethering
chain, used to prevent the escape of errant horses. This he carried up
the ladder, and sticking his rod through the clog at one end, allowed
the other end of the chain to trail upon the ground. The spike attached
to it he drove in. Under the shadow of this extemporized
lightning-conductor he felt himself comparatively safe.
Before Oak had laid his hands upon his tools again out leapt the fifth
flash, with the spring of a serpent and the shout of a fiend. It was
green as an emerald, and the reverberation was stunning. What was this
the light revealed to him? In the open ground before him, as he looked
over the ridge of the rick, was a dark and apparently female form.
Could it be that of the only venturesome woman in the parishBathsheba?
The form moved on a step: then he could see no more.
Is that you, maam? said Gabriel to the darkness.
Who is there? said the voice of Bathsheba.
Gabriel. I am on the rick, thatching.
Oh, Gabriel!and are you? I have come about them. The weather awoke
me, and I thought of the corn. I am so distressed about itcan we save
it anyhow? I cannot find my husband. Is he with you?
He is not here.
Do you know where he is?
Asleep in the barn.
He promised that the stacks should be seen to, and now they are all
neglected! Can I do anything to help? Liddy is afraid to come out.
Fancy finding you here at such an hour! Surely I can do something?
You can bring up some reed-sheaves to me, one by one, maam; if you
are not afraid to come up the ladder in the dark, said Gabriel. Every
moment is precious now, and that would save a good deal of time. It is
not very dark when the lightning has been gone a bit.
Ill do anything! she said, resolutely. She instantly took a sheaf
upon her shoulder, clambered up close to his heels, placed it behind
the rod, and descended for another. At her third ascent the rick
suddenly brightened with the brazen glare of shining majolicaevery
knot in every straw was visible. On the slope in front of him appeared
two human shapes, black as jet. The rick lost its sheenthe shapes
vanished. Gabriel turned his head. It had been the sixth flash which
had come from the east behind him, and the two dark forms on the slope
had been the shadows of himself and Bathsheba. | 1,076 |
PG27 | 127 | Then came the peal. It hardly was credible that such a heavenly light
could be the parent of such a diabolical sound.
How terrible! she exclaimed, and clutched him by the sleeve. Gabriel
turned, and steadied her on her arial perch by holding her arm. At the
same moment, while he was still reversed in his attitude, there was
more light, and he saw, as it were, a copy of the tall poplar tree on
the hill drawn in black on the wall of the barn. It was the shadow of
that tree, thrown across by a secondary flash in the west.
The next flare came. Bathsheba was on the ground now, shouldering
another sheaf, and she bore its dazzle without flinchingthunder and
alland again ascended with the load. There was then a silence
everywhere for four or five minutes, and the crunch of the spars, as
Gabriel hastily drove them in, could again be distinctly heard. He
thought the crisis of the storm had passed. But there came a burst of
light.
Hold on! said Gabriel, taking the sheaf from her shoulder, and
grasping her arm again.
Heaven opened then, indeed. The flash was almost too novel for its
inexpressibly dangerous nature to be at once realized, and they could
only comprehend the magnificence of its beauty. It sprang from east,
west, north, south. It was a perfect dance of death. The forms of
skeletons appeared in the air, shaped with blue fire for bonesdancing,
leaping, striding, racing around, and mingling altogether in
unparalleled confusion. With these were intertwined undulating snakes
of green. Behind these was a broad mass of lesser light. Simultaneously
came from every part of the tumbling sky what may be called a shout;
since, though no shout ever came near it, it was more of the nature of
a shout than of anything else earthly. In the meantime one of the
grisly forms had alighted upon the point of Gabriels rod, to run
invisibly down it, down the chain, and into the earth. Gabriel was
almost blinded, and he could feel Bathshebas warm arm tremble in his
handa sensation novel and thrilling enough; but love, life, everything
human, seemed small and trifling in such close juxtaposition with an
infuriated universe.
Oak had hardly time to gather up these impressions into a thought, and
to see how strangely the red feather of her hat shone in this light,
when the tall tree on the hill before-mentioned seemed on fire to a
white heat, and a new one among these terrible voices mingled with the
last crash of those preceding. It was a stupefying blast, harsh and
pitiless, and it fell upon their ears in a dead, flat blow, without
that reverberation which lends the tones of a drum to more distant
thunder. By the lustre reflected from every part of the earth and from
the wide domical scoop above it, he saw that the tree was sliced down
the whole length of its tall, straight stem, a huge riband of bark
being apparently flung off. The other portion remained erect, and
revealed the bared surface as a strip of white down the front. The
lightning had struck the tree. A sulphurous smell filled the air; then
all was silent, and black as a cave in Hinnom.
We had a narrow escape! said Gabriel, hurriedly. You had better go
down.
Bathsheba said nothing; but he could distinctly hear her rhythmical
pants, and the recurrent rustle of the sheaf beside her in response to
her frightened pulsations. She descended the ladder, and, on second
thoughts, he followed her. The darkness was now impenetrable by the
sharpest vision. They both stood still at the bottom, side by side.
Bathsheba appeared to think only of the weatherOak thought only of her
just then. At last he said,
The storm seems to have passed now, at any rate.
I think so too, said Bathsheba. Though there are multitudes of
gleams, look!
The sky was now filled with an incessant light, frequent repetition
melting into complete continuity, as an unbroken sound results from the
successive strokes on a gong.
Nothing serious, said he. I cannot understand no rain falling. But,
Heaven be praised, it is all the better for us. I am now going up
again.
Gabriel, you are kinder than I deserve! I will stay and help you yet.
Oh, why are not some of the others here!
They would have been here if they could, said Oak, in a hesitating
way. | 1,028 |
PG27 | 128 | Oh, I know it allall, she said, adding slowly: They are all asleep
in the barn, in a drunken sleep, and my husband among them. Thats it,
is it not? Dont think I am a timid woman, and cant endure things.
I am not certain, said Gabriel. I will go and see.
He crossed to the barn, leaving her there alone. He looked through the
chinks of the door. All was in total darkness, as he had left it, and
there still arose, as at the former time, the steady buzz of many
snores.
He felt a zephyr curling about his cheek, and turned. It was
Bathshebas breathshe had followed him, and was looking into the same
chink.
He endeavoured to put off the immediate and painful subject of their
thoughts by remarking gently, If youll come back again, missmaam,
and hand up a few more; it would save much time.
Then Oak went back again, ascended to the top, stepped off the ladder
for greater expedition, and went on thatching. She followed, but
without a sheaf
Gabriel, she said, in a strange and impressive voice.
Oak looked up at her. She had not spoken since he left the barn. The
soft and continual shimmer of the dying lightning showed a marble face
high against the black sky of the opposite quarter. Bathsheba was
sitting almost on the apex of the stack, her feet gathered up beneath
her, and resting on the top round of the ladder.
Yes, mistress, he said.
I suppose you thought that when I galloped away to Bath that night it
was on purpose to be married?
I did at lastnot at first, he answered, somewhat surprised at the
abruptness with which this new subject was broached.
And others thought so, too?
Yes.
And you blamed me for it?
Wella little.
I thought so. Now, I care a little for your good opinion, and I want
to explain somethingI have longed to do it ever since I returned, and
you looked so gravely at me. For if I were to dieand I may die soonit
would be dreadful that you should always think mistakingly of me. Now,
listen.
Gabriel ceased his rustling.
I went to Bath that night in the full intention of breaking off my
engagement to Mr. Troy. It was owing to circumstances which occurred
after I got there thatthat we were married. Now, do you see the matter
in a new light?
I dosomewhat.
I must, I suppose, say more, now that I have begun. And perhaps its
no harm, for you are certainly under no delusion that I ever loved you,
or that I can have any object in speaking, more than that object I have
mentioned. Well, I was alone in a strange city, and the horse was lame.
And at last I didnt know what to do. I saw, when it was too late, that
scandal might seize hold of me for meeting him alone in that way. But I
was coming away, when he suddenly said he had that day seen a woman
more beautiful than I, and that his constancy could not be counted on
unless I at once became his. And I was grieved and troubled. She
cleared her voice, and waited a moment, as if to gather breath. And
then, between jealousy and distraction, I married him! she whispered,
with desperate impetuosity.
Gabriel made no reply.
He was not to blame, for it was perfectly true aboutabout his seeing
somebody else, she quickly added. And now I dont wish for a single
remark from you upon the subjectindeed, I forbid it. I only wanted you
to know that misunderstood bit of my history before a time comes when
you could never know it.You want some more sheaves?
She went down the ladder, and the work proceeded. Gabriel soon
perceived a languor in the movements of his mistress up and down, and
he said to her, gently as a mother,
I think you had better go indoors now, you are tired. I can finish the
rest alone. If the wind does not change the rain is likely to keep
off.
If I am useless I will go, said Bathsheba, in a flagging cadence.
But oh, if your life should be lost!
You are not useless; but I would rather not tire you longer. You have
done well.
And you better! she said, gratefully. Thank you for your devotion, a
thousand times, Gabriel! Good-nightI know you are doing your very best
for me. | 997 |
PG27 | 130 | CHAPTER VIII.
RAINONE SOLITARY MEETS ANOTHER
It was now five oclock, and the dawn was promising to break in hues of
drab and ash.
The air changed its temperature and stirred itself more vigorously.
Cool elastic breezes coursed in transparent eddies round Oaks face.
The wind shifted yet a point or two and blew stronger. In ten minutes
every wind of heaven seemed to be roaming at large. Some of the
thatching on the wheat-stacks was now whirled fantastically aloft, and
had to be replaced and weighted with some rails that lay near at hand.
This done, Oak slaved away again at the barley. A huge drop of rain
smote his face, the wind snarled round every corner, the trees rocked
to the bases of their trunks, and the twigs clashed in strife. Driving
in spars at any point and on any system, inch by inch he covered more
and more safely from ruin this distracting impersonation of seven
hundred pounds. The rain came on in earnest, and Oak soon felt the
water to be tracking cold and clammy routes down his back. Ultimately
he was reduced well-nigh to a homogeneous sop, and a decoction of his
person trickled down and stood in a pool at the foot of the ladder. The
rain stretched obliquely through the dull atmosphere in liquid spines,
unbroken in continuity between their beginnings in the clouds and their
points in him.
Oak suddenly remembered that eight months before this time he had been
fighting against fire in the same spot as desperately as he was
fighting against water nowand for a futile love of the same woman. As
for her. But Oak was generous and true, and dismissed his
reflections.
It was about seven oclock in the dark leaden morning when Gabriel came
down from the last stack, and thankfully exclaimed, It is done! He
was drenched, weary, and sad; and yet not so sad as drenched and weary,
for he was cheered by a sense of success in a good cause.
Faint sounds came from the barn, and he looked that way. Figures came
singly and in pairs through the doorsall walking awkwardly, and
abashed, save the foremost, who wore a red jacket, and advanced with
his hands in his pockets, whistling. The others shambled after with a
conscience-stricken air: the whole procession was not unlike Flaxmans
group of the suitors tottering on towards the infernal regions under
the conduct of Mercury. The gnarled shapes passed into the village,
Troy their leader entering the farmhouse. Not a single one of them had
turned his face to the ricks, or apparently bestowed one thought upon
their condition. Soon Oak too went homeward, by a different route from
theirs. In front of him against the wet glazed surface of the lane he
saw a person walking yet more slowly than himself under an umbrella.
The man turned and apparently started; he was Boldwood.
How are you this morning, sir? said Oak.
Yes, it is a wet day.Oh, I am well, very well, I thank you; quite
well.
I am glad to hear it, sir.
Boldwood seemed to awake to the present by degrees. You look tired and
ill, Oak, he said then, desultorily regarding his companion.
I am tired. You look strangely altered, sir.
I? Not a bit of it: I am well enough. What put that into your head?
I thought you didnt look quite so topping as you used to, that was
all.
Indeed, then you are mistaken, said Boldwood, shortly. Nothing hurts
me. My constitution is an iron one.
Ive been working hard to get our ricks covered, and was barely in
time. Never had such a struggle in my life. Yours of course are safe,
sir.
Oh yes. Boldwood added, after an interval of silence, What did you
ask, Oak?
Your ricks are all covered before this time?
No.
At any rate, the large ones upon the stone staddles?
They are not.
Those under the hedge?
No. I forgot to tell the thatcher to set about it.
Nor the little one by the stile?
Nor the little one by the stile. I overlooked the ricks this year.
Then not a tenth of your corn will come to measure, sir.
Possibly not.
Overlooked them, repeated Gabriel slowly to himself. It is difficult
to describe the intensely dramatic effect that announcement had upon
Oak at such a moment. All the night he had been feeling that the
neglect he was labouring to repair was abnormal and isolatedthe only
instance of the kind within the circuit of the county. Yet at this very
time, within the same parish, a greater waste had been going on,
uncomplained of and disregarded. A few months earlier Boldwoods
forgetting his husbandry would have been as preposterous an idea as a
sailor forgetting he was in a ship. Oak was just thinking that whatever
he himself might have suffered from Bathshebas marriage, here was a
man who had suffered more, when Boldwood spoke in a changed voicethat
of one who yearned to make a confidence and relieve his heart by an
outpouring. | 1,134 |
PG27 | 132 | CHAPTER IX.
COMING HOMEA CRY
On the turnpike road, between Casterbridge and Weatherbury, and about a
mile from the latter place, is one of those steep long ascents which
pervade the highways of this undulating district. In returning from
market it is usual for the farmers and other gig-gentry to alight at
the bottom and walk up.
One Saturday evening in the month of October Bathshebas vehicle was
duly creeping up this incline. She was sitting listlessly in the second
seat of the gig, whilst walking beside her in farmers marketing suit
of unusually fashionable cut was an erect, well-made young man. Though
on foot, he held the reins and whip, and occasionally aimed light cuts
at the horses ear with the end of the lash, as a recreation. This man
was her husband, formerly Sergeant Troy, who, having bought his
discharge with Bathshebas money, was gradually transforming himself
into a farmer of a spirited and very modern school. People of
unalterable ideas still insisted upon calling him Sergeant when they
met him, which was in some degree owing to his having still retained
the well-shaped moustache of his military days, and the soldierly
bearing inseparable from his form.
Yes, if it hadnt been for that wretched rain I should have cleared
two hundred as easy as looking, my love, he was saying. Dont you
see, it altered all the chances? To speak like a book I once read, wet
weather is the narrative, and fine days are the episodes, of our
countrys history; now, isnt that true?
But the time of year is come for changeable weather.
Well, yes. The fact is, these autumn races are the ruin of everybody.
Never did I see such a day as twas! Tis a wild open place, not far
from the sands, and a drab sea rolled in towards us like liquid misery.
Wind and raingood Lord! Dark? Why, twas as black as my hat before the
last race was run. Twas five oclock, and you couldnt see the horses
till they were almost in, leave alone colours. The ground was as heavy
as lead, and all judgment from a fellows experience went for nothing.
Horses, riders, people, were all blown about like ships at sea. Three
booths were blown over, and the wretched folk inside crawled out upon
their hands and knees; and in the next field were as many as a dozen
hats at one time. Aye, Pimpernel regularly stuck fast when about sixty
yards off, and when I saw Policy stepping on, it did knock my heart
against the lining of my ribs, I assure you, my love!
And you mean, Frank, said Bathsheba, sadlyher voice was painfully
lowered from the fulness and vivacity of the previous summerthat you
have lost more than a hundred pounds in a month by this dreadful
horse-racing? Oh, Frank, it is cruel; it is foolish of you to take away
my money so. We shall have to leave the farm; that will be the end of
it!
Humbug about cruel. Now, there tis againturn on the waterworks;
thats just like you.
But youll promise me not to go to Budmouth races next week, wont
you? she implored. Bathsheba was at the full depth for tears, but she
maintained a dry eye.
I dont see why I should; in fact, if it turns out to be a fine day, I
was thinking of taking you.
Never, never! Ill go a hundred miles the other way first. I hate the
sound of the very word!
But the question of going to see the race or staying at home has very
little to do with the matter. Bets are all booked safely enough before
the race begins, you may depend. Whether it is a bad race for me or a
good one, will have very little to do with our going there next
Monday.
But you dont mean to say that you have risked anything on this one
too! she exclaimed, with an agonized look.
There now, dont you be a little fool. Wait till you are told. Why,
Bathsheba, youve lost all the pluck and sauciness you formerly had,
and upon my life if I had known what a chicken-hearted creature you
were under all your boldness, Id never haveI know what.
A flash of indignation might have been seen in Bathshebas dark eyes as
she looked resolutely ahead after this reply. They moved on without
further speech, some early-withered leaves from the beech trees which
hooded the road at this spot occasionally spinning downward across
their path to the earth. | 1,025 |
PG27 | 133 | A woman appeared on the brow of the hill. The ridge was so abrupt that
she was very near the husband and wife before she became visible. Troy
had turned towards the gig to remount, and whilst putting his foot on
the step the woman passed behind him.
Though the overshadowing trees and the approach of eventide enveloped
them in gloom, Bathsheba could see plainly enough to discern the
extreme poverty of the womans garb, and the sadness of her face.
Please, sir, do you know at what time Casterbridge Union-house closes
at night?
The woman said these words to Troy over his shoulder.
Troy started visibly at the sound of the voice; yet he seemed to
recover presence of mind sufficient to prevent himself from giving way
to his impulse to suddenly turn and face her. He said, slowly
I dont know.
The woman, on hearing him speak, quickly looked up, examined the side
of his face, and recognized the soldier under the yeomans garb. Her
face was drawn into an expression which had gladness and agony both
among its elements. She uttered an hysterical cry, and fell down.
Oh, poor thing! exclaimed Bathsheba, instantly preparing to alight.
Stay where you are, and attend to the horse! said Troy, peremptorily
throwing her the reins and the whip. Walk the horse to the top: Ill
see to the woman.
But I
Do you hear? ClkPoppet!
The horse, gig, and Bathsheba moved on.
How on earth did you come here? I thought you were miles away, or
dead! Why didnt you write to me? said Troy to the woman, in a
strangely gentle, yet hurried voice, as he lifted her up.
I feared to.
Have you any money?
None.
Good HeavenI wish I had more to give you! Hereswretchedthe merest
trifle. It is every farthing I have left. I have none but what my wife
gives me, you know, and I cant ask her now.
The woman made no answer.
I have only another moment, continued Troy; and now listen. Where
are you going to-night? Casterbridge Union?
Yes; I thought to go there.
You shant go there; yet, wait. Yes, perhaps for to-night; I can do
nothing betterworse luck. Sleep there to-night, and stay there
to-morrow. Monday is the first free day I have; and on Monday morning,
at ten exactly, meet me on Casterbridge Bridge. Ill bring all the
money I can muster. You shant wantIll see that, Fanny; then Ill get
you a lodging somewhere. Good-bye till then. I am a brutebut
good-bye!
After advancing the distance which completed the ascent of the hill,
Bathsheba turned her head. The woman was upon her feet, and Bathsheba
saw her withdrawing from Troy, and going feebly down the hill. Troy
then came on towards his wife, stepped into the gig, took the reins
from her hand, and without making any observation whipped the horse
into a trot. He was rather pale.
Do you know who that woman was? said Bathsheba, looking searchingly
into his face.
I do, he said, looking boldly back into hers.
I thought you did, said she, with angry hauteur, and still regarding
him. Who is she?
He suddenly seemed to think that frankness would benefit neither of the
women.
Nothing to either of us, he said. I know her by sight.
What is her name?
How should I know her name?
I think you do.
Think if you will, and be. The sentence was completed by a smart
cut of the whip round Poppets flank, which caused the animal to start
forward at a wild pace. No more was said. | 829 |
PG27 | 134 | CHAPTER X.
ON CASTERBRIDGE HIGHWAY
For a considerable time the woman walked on. Her steps became feebler,
and she strained her eyes to look afar upon the naked road, now
indistinct amid the penumbr of night. At length her onward walk
dwindled to the merest totter, and she opened a gate within which was a
haystack. Underneath this she sat down and presently slept.
[Illustration: SHE OPENED A GATE WITHIN WHICH WAS A HAYSTACK. UNDER
THIS SHE SAT DOWN.]
When the woman awoke it was to find herself in the depths of a moonless
and starless night. A heavy unbroken crust of cloud stretched across
the sky, shutting out every speck of heaven; and a distant halo which
hung over the town of Casterbridge was visible against the black
concave, the luminosity appearing the brighter by its great contrast
with the circumscribing darkness. Towards this weak, soft glow the
woman turned her eyes.
If I could only get there! she said. Meet him the day after
to-morrow: God help me! Perhaps I shall be in my grave before then.
A clock from the far depths of shadow struck the hour, one, in a small,
attenuated tone. After midnight the voice of a clock seems to lose in
breadth as much as in length, and to diminish its sonorousness to a
thin falsetto.
Afterwards a lighttwo lightsarose from the remote shade, and grew
larger. A carriage rolled along the road, and passed the gate. It
probably contained some late diners-out. The beams from one lamp shone
for a moment upon the crouching woman, and threw her face into vivid
relief. The face was young in the groundwork, old in the finish; the
general contours were flexuous and childlike, but the finer lineaments
had begun to be sharp and thin.
The pedestrian stood up, apparently with revived determination, and
looked around. The road appeared to be familiar to her, and she
carefully scanned the fence as she slowly walked along. Presently there
became visible a dim white shape; it was another milestone. She drew
her fingers across its face to feel the marks.
Three! she said.
She leant against the stone as a means of rest for a short interval,
then bestirred herself, and again pursued her way. For a lengthy
distance she bore up bravely, afterwards flagging as before. This was
beside a lone hazel copse, wherein heaps of white chips strewn upon the
leafy ground showed that woodmen had been faggoting and making hurdles
during the day. Now there was not a rustle, not a breeze, not the
faintest clash of twigs to keep her company. The woman looked over the
gate, opened it, and went in. Close to the entrance stood a row of
faggots, bound and unbound, together with stakes of all sizes.
For a few seconds the wayfarer stood with that tense stillness which
signifies itself to be not the end but merely the suspension, of a
previous motion. Her attitude was that of a person who listens, either
to the external world of sound, or to the imagined discourse of
thought. A close criticism might have detected signs proving that she
was intent on the latter alternative. Moreover, as was shown by what
followed, she was oddly exercising the faculty of invention upon the
speciality of the clever Jacquet Droz, the designer of automatic
substitutes for human limbs.
By the aid of the Casterbridge aurora, and by feeling with her hands,
the woman selected two sticks from the heaps. These sticks were nearly
straight to the height of three or four feet, where each branched into
a fork like the letter Y. She sat down, snapped off the small upper
twigs, and carried the remainder with her into the road. She placed one
of these forks under each arm as a crutch, tested them, timidly threw
her whole weight upon themso little that it wasand swung herself
forward. The girl had made for herself a material aid.
The crutches answered well. The pat of her feet, and the tap of her
sticks upon the highway, were all the sounds that came from the
traveller now. She had passed a second milestone by a good long
distance, and began to look wistfully towards the bank as if
calculating upon another milestone soon. The crutches, though so very
useful, had their limits of power. Mechanism only transmutes labour,
being powerless to abstract it, and the original quantum of exertion
was not cleared away; it was thrown into the body and arms. She was
exhausted, and each swing forward became fainter. At last she swayed
sideways, and fell. | 1,045 |
PG27 | 135 | Here she lay, a shapeless heap, for ten minutes and more. The morning
wind began to boom dully over the flats, and to move afresh dead leaves
which had lain still since yesterday. The woman desperately turned
round upon her knees, and next rose to her feet. Steadying herself by
the help of one crutch, she essayed a step, then another, then a third,
using the crutches now as walking sticks only. Thus she progressed till
the beginning of a long railed fence came into view. She staggered
across to the first post, clung to it, and looked around. Another
milestone was on the opposite side of the road.
The Casterbridge lights were now individually visible. It was getting
towards morning, and vehicles might be hoped for if not expected soon.
She listened. There was not a sound of life save that acme and
sublimation of all dismal sounds, the bark of a fox, its three hollow
notes being rendered at intervals of a minute with the precision of a
funeral bell.
One mile more, the woman murmured. No; less, she added, after a
pause. The mile is to the Town Hall, and my resting-place is on this
side Casterbridge. Three-quarters of a mile, and there I am! After an
interval she again spoke. Five or six steps to a yardsix perhaps. I
have to go seventeen hundred yards. A hundred times six, six hundred.
Twelve times that. Oh, pity me, Lord!
Holding to the rails, she advanced, thrusting one hand forward upon the
rail, then the other, then leaning over it whilst she dragged her feet
on beneath.
This woman was not given to soliloquy; but extremity of feeling lessens
the individuality of the weak, as it increases that of the strong. She
said again in the same tone, Ill believe that the end lies five posts
forward, and no further, and so get strength to pass them.
This was a practical application of the principle that a half-feigned
and fictitious faith is better than no faith at all.
She passed five posts and held on to the fifth.
Ill pass five more by believing my longed-for spot is at the next
fifth. I can do it.
She passed five more.
It lies only five further.
She passed five more.
But it is five further.
She passed them.
The end of these railings is the end of my journey, she said, when
the end was in view.
She crawled to the end. During the effort each breath of the woman went
into the air as if never to return again.
Now for the truth of the matter, she said, sitting down. The truth
is, that I have less than half a mile. Self-beguilement with what she
had known all the time to be false had given her strength to come a
quarter of a mile that she would have been powerless to face in the
lump. The artifice showed that the woman, by some mysterious intuition,
had grasped the paradoxical truth that blindness may operate more
vigorously than prescience, and the short-sighted effect more than the
far-seeing; that limitation, and not comprehensiveness, is needed for
striking a blow.
The half-mile stood now before the sick and weary woman like a stolid
Juggernaut. It was an impassive King of her world. The road here ran
across a level plateau with only a bank on either side. She surveyed
the wide space, the lights, herself, sighed, and lay down on the bank.
Never was ingenuity exercised so sorely as the traveller here exercised
hers. Every conceivable aid, method, stratagem, mechanism, by which
these last desperate eight hundred yards could be overpassed by a human
being unperceived, was revolved in her busy brain, and dismissed as
impracticable. She thought of sticks, wheels, crawlingshe even thought
of rolling. But the exertion demanded by either of these latter two was
greater than to walk erect. The faculty of contrivance was worn out.
Hopelessness had come at last.
No further! she whispered, and closed her eyes.
From the stripe of shadow on the opposite side of the way a portion of
shade seemed to detach itself and move into isolation upon the pale
white of the road. It glided noiselessly towards the recumbent woman.
She became conscious of something touching her hand; it was softness
and it was warmth. She opened her eyes, and the substance touched her
face. A dog was licking her cheek.
He was huge, heavy, and quiet creature, standing darkly against the low
horizon, and at least two feet higher than the present position of her
eyes. Whether Newfoundland, mastiff, bloodhound, or what not, it was
impossible to say. He seemed to be of too strange and mysterious a
nature to belong to any variety among those of popular nomenclature.
Being thus assignable to no breed he was the ideal embodiment of canine
greatnessa generalization from what was common to all. Night, in its
sad, solemn, and benevolent aspect, apart from its stealthy and cruel
side, was personified in this form. Darkness endows the small and
ordinary ones among mankind with poetical power, and even the suffering
woman threw her idea into figure. | 1,154 |
PG27 | 136 | In her reclining position she looked up to him just as in earlier times
she had, when standing, looked up to a man. The animal, who was as
homeless as she, respectfully withdrew a step or two when the woman
moved, and, seeing that she did not repulse him, he licked her hand
again.
A thought moved within her like lightning. Perhaps I can make use of
himI might do it then!
She pointed in the direction of Casterbridge, and the dog seemed to
misunderstand: he trotted on. Then, finding she could not follow, he
came back and whined.
The ultimate and saddest singularity of womans effort and invention
was reached when, with a quickened breathing, she rose to a stooping
posture, and, resting her two little arms upon the shoulders of the
dog, leant firmly thereon, and murmured stimulating words. Whilst she
sorrowed in her heart she cheered with her voice, and what was stranger
than that the strong should need encouragement from the weak was that
cheerfulness should be so well stimulated by such utter dejection. Her
friend moved forward slowly, and she with small mincing steps moved
forward beside him, half her weight being thrown upon the animal.
Sometimes she sank as she had sunk from walking erect, from the
crutches, from the rails. The dog, who now thoroughly understood her
desire and her incapacity, was frantic in his distress on these
occasions; he would tug at her dress and run forward. She always called
him back, and it was now to be observed that the woman listened for
human sounds only to avoid them. It was evident that she had an object
in keeping her presence on the road and her forlorn state unknown.
Their progress was necessarily very slow. They reached the brow of the
hill, and the Casterbridge lamps lay beneath them like fallen Pleiads
as they walked down the incline. Thus the distance was passed, and the
goal was reached. On this much desired spot outside the town rose a
picturesque building. Originally it had been a mere case to hold
people. The shell had been so thin, so devoid of excrescence, and so
closely drawn over the accommodation granted, that the grim character
of what was beneath showed through it, as the shape of a body is
visible under a winding sheet.
Then Nature, as if offended, lent a hand. Masses of ivy grew up,
completely covering the walls, till the place looked like an abbey; and
it was discovered that the view from the front, over the Casterbridge
chimneys, was one of the most magnificent in the county. A neighbouring
earl once said that he would give up a years rental to have at his own
door the view enjoyed by the inmates from theirsand very probably the
inmates would have given up the view for his years rental.
This green edifice consisted of a central mass and two wings, whereon
stood as sentinels a few slim chimneys, now gurgling sorrowfully to the
slow wind. In the wall was a gate, and by the gate a bell-pull formed
of a hanging wire. The woman raised herself as high as possible upon
her knees, and could just reach the handle. She moved it and fell
forwards in a bowed attitude, her face upon her bosom.
It was getting on towards six oclock, and sounds of movement were to
be heard inside the building which was the haven of rest to this
wearied soul. A little door by the large one was opened, and a man
appeared inside. He discerned the panting heap of clothes, went back
for a light, and came again. He entered a second time, and returned
with two women.
These lifted the prostrate figure and assisted her in through the
doorway. The man then closed the door.
How did she get here? said one of the women.
The Lord knows, said the other.
There is a dog outside, murmured the overcome traveller. Where is he
gone? He helped me.
I stoned him away, said the man.
The little procession then moved forwardthe man in front bearing the
light, the two bony women next, supporting between them the small and
supple one. Thus they entered the door and disappeared. | 927 |
PG27 | 137 | CHAPTER XI.
SUSPICIONFANNY IS SENT FOR
Bathsheba said very little to her husband all that evening of their
return from market, and he was not disposed to say much to her. He
exhibited the unpleasant combination of a restless condition with a
silent tongue. The next day, which was Sunday, passed nearly in the
same manner as regarded their taciturnity, Bathsheba going to church
both morning and afternoon. This was the day before the Budmouth races.
In the evening Troy said suddenly,
Bathsheba, could you let me have twenty pounds?
Her countenance instantly sank. Twenty pounds? she said.
The fact is, I want it badly. The anxiety upon Troys face was
unusual and very marked. It was a culmination of the mood he had been
in all the day.
Ah! for those races to-morrow.
Troy for the moment made no reply. Her mistake had its advantages to a
man who shrank from having his mind inspected as he did now. Well,
suppose I do want it for races? he said, at last.
Oh, Frank! Bathsheba replied, and there was such a volume of entreaty
in the words. Only such a few weeks ago you said that I was far
sweeter than all your other pleasures put together, and that you would
give them all up for me; and now, wont you give up this one, which is
more a worry than a pleasure? Do, Frank. Come, let me fascinate you by
all I can doby pretty words and pretty looks, and everything I can
think ofto stay at home. Say yes to your wifesay yes!
The tenderest and softest phases of Bathshebas nature were prominent
nowadvanced impulsively for his acceptance, without any of the
disguises and defences which the wariness of her character when she was
cool too frequently threw over them. Few men could have resisted the
arch yet dignified entreaty of the beautiful face, thrown a little back
and sideways in the well-known attitude that expresses more than the
words it accompanies, and which seems to have been designed for these
special occasions. Had the woman not been his wife, Troy would have
succumbed instantly; as it was, he thought he would not deceive her
longer.
The money is not wanted for racing debts at all, he said.
What is it for? she asked. You worry me a great deal by these
mysterious responsibilities, Frank.
Troy hesitated. He did not now love her enough to allow himself to be
carried too far by her ways. Yet it was necessary to be civil. You
wrong me by such a suspicious manner, he said. Such
strait-waistcoating as you treat me to is not becoming in you at so
early a date.
I think that I have a right to grumble a little if I pay, she said,
with features between a smile and a pout.
Exactly; and, the former being done, suppose we proceed to the latter.
Bathsheba, fun is all very well, but dont go too far, or you may have
cause to regret something.
She reddened. I do that already, she said, quickly.
What do you regret?
That my romance has come to an end.
All romances end at marriage.
I wish you wouldnt talk like that. You grieve me to my soul by being
smart at my expense.
You are dull enough at mine. I believe you hate me.
Not youonly your faults. I do hate them.
Twould be much more becoming if you set yourself to cure them. Come,
lets strike a balance with the twenty pounds, and be friends.
She gave a sigh of resignation. I have about that sum here for
household expenses. If you must have it, take it.
Very good. Thank you. I expect I shall have gone away before you are
in to breakfast to-morrow.
And must you go? Ah! there was a time, Frank, when it would have taken
a good many promises to other people to drag you away from me. You used
to call me darling, then. But it doesnt matter to you how my days are
passed now.
I must go, in spite of sentiment. Troy, as he spoke, looked at his
watch, and, apparently actuated by _non lucendo_ principles, opened the
case at the back, revealing, snugly stowed within it, a small coil of
hair.
Bathshebas eyes had been accidentally lifted at that moment, and she
saw the action, and saw the hair. She flushed in pain and surprise, and
some words escaped her before she had thought whether or not it was
wise to utter them. A womans curl of hair! she said. Oh, Frank,
whose is that? | 1,031 |
PG27 | 139 | The next morning she rose earlier than usual, and had the horse saddled
for her ride round the farm in the customary way. When she came in at
half-past eighttheir usual hour for breakfastingshe was informed that
her husband had risen, taken his breakfast, and driven off to
Casterbridge with the gig and Poppet.
After breakfast she was cool and collectedquite herself, in factand
she rambled to the gate, intending to walk to another quarter of the
farm, which she still personally superintended as well as her duties in
the house would permit, continually, however, finding herself preceded
in forethought by Gabriel Oak, for whom she began to entertain the
genuine friendship of a sister. Of course, she sometimes thought of him
in the light of an old lover, and had momentary imaginings of what life
with him as a husband would have been like; also of life with Boldwood
under the same conditions. But Bathsheba, though she could feel, was
not much given to futile dreaming, and her musings under this head were
short and entirely confined to the times when Troys neglect was more
than ordinarily evident.
She saw coming up the hill a man like Mr. Boldwood. It was Mr.
Boldwood. Bathsheba blushed painfully, and watched. The farmer stopped
when still a long way off, and held up his hand to Gabriel Oak, who was
in another part of the field. The two men then approached each other
and seemed to engage in earnest conversation.
Thus they continued for a long time. Joseph Poorgrass now passed near
them, wheeling a barrow of apples up the hill to Bathshebas residence.
Boldwood and Gabriel called to him, spoke to him for a few minutes, and
then all three parted, Joseph immediately coming up the hill with his
barrow.
Bathsheba, who had seen this pantomime with some surprise, experienced
great relief when Boldwood turned back again. Well, whats the
message, Joseph? she said.
He set down his barrow, and, putting upon himself the refined aspect
that a conversation with a lady required, spoke to Bathsheba over the
gate.
Youll never see Fanny Robin no moreuse nor principalmaam.
Why?
Because shes dead in the Union.
Fanny deadnever!
Yes, maam.
What did she die from?
I dont know for certain; but I should be inclined to think it was
from general neshness of constitution. She was such a limber maid that
a could stand no hardship, even when I knowed her, and a went like a
candle-snoff, so tis said. She was took bad in the morning, and, being
quite feeble and worn out, she died in the afternoon. She belongs by
law to our parish; and Mr. Boldwood is going to send a waggon this
afternoon to fetch her home here and bury her.
Indeed I shall not let Mr. Boldwood do any such thingI shall do it.
Fanny was my uncles servant, and, although I only knew her for a
couple of days, she belongs to me. How very, very sad this is!the idea
of Fanny being in a workhouse. Bathsheba had begun to know what
suffering was, and she spoke with real feeling. Send across to Mr.
Boldwoods, and say that Mrs. Troy will take upon herself the duty of
fetching an old servant of the family. We ought not to put her in a
waggon; well get a hearse.
There will hardly be time, maam, will there?
Perhaps not, she said, musingly. When did you say we must be at the
doorthree oclock?
Three oclock this afternoon, maam, so to speak it.
Very wellyou go with it. A pretty waggon is better than an ugly
hearse, after all. Joseph, have the new spring waggon with the blue
body and red wheels, and wash it very clean. And, Joseph.
Yes, maam.
Carry with you some evergreens and flowers to put upon her
coffinindeed, gather a great many, and completely bury her in them.
Get some boughs of laurustinus, and variegated box, and yew, and
boys-love; ay, and some bunches of chrysanthemum. And let old Pleasant
draw her, because she knew him so well.
I will, maam. I ought to have said that the Union, in the form of
four labouring men, will meet me when I gets to our churchyard gate,
and take her and bury her according to the rites of the Board of
Guardians, as by law ordained.
Dear meCasterbridge Unionand is Fanny come to this! said Bathsheba,
musing. I wish I had known of it sooner. I thought she was far away.
How long has she lived there? | 1,067 |
PG27 | 140 | Ony been there a day or two.
Oh!then she has not been staying there as a regular inmate?
No. Shes been picking up a living at seampstering in Melchester for
several months, at the house of a very respectable widow-woman who
takes in work of that sort. She only got handy the Union-house on
Sunday morning a blieve, and tis supposed here and there that she
had traipsed every step of the way from Melchester. Why she left her
place, I cant say, for I dont know; and as to a lie, why, I wouldnt
tell it. Thats the short of the story, maam.
Ah-h!
No gem ever flashed from a rosy ray to a white one more rapidly than
changed the young wifes countenance whilst this word came from her in
a long drawn breath. Did she walk along our turnpike-road? she said,
in a suddenly restless and eager voice.
I believe she did. Maam, shall I call Liddy? You baint well, maam,
surely? You look like a lilyso pale and fainty!
No; dont call her; it is nothing. When did she pass Weatherbury?
Last Saturday night.
That will do, Joseph; now you may go.
Certainly, maam.
Joseph, come hither a moment. What was the colour of Fanny Robins
hair?
Really, mistress, now that tis put to me so judge-and-jury-like, I
cant call to mind, if yell believe me!
Never mind; go on and do what I told you. Stopwell no, go on.
She turned herself away from him, that he might no longer notice the
mood which had set its sign so visibly upon her, and went indoors with
a distressing sense of faintness and a beating brow. About an hour
after, she heard the noise of the waggon and went out, still with a
painful consciousness of her bewildered and troubled look. Joseph,
dressed in his best suit of clothes, was putting in the horse to start.
The shrubs and flowers were all piled in the waggon, as she had
directed. Bathsheba hardly saw them now.
Whose sweetheart did you say, Joseph?
I dont know, maam.
Are you quite sure?
Yes, maam, quite sure.
Sure of what?
Im sure that all I know is that she arrived in the morning and died
in the evening without further parley. What Oak and Mr. Boldwood told
me was only these few words. Little Fanny Robin is dead, Joseph,
Gabriel said, looking in my face in his steady old way. I was very
sorry, and I said, Ah!and how did she come to die? Well, shes dead
in Casterbridge Union, he said, and perhaps tisnt much matter about
how she came to die. She reached the Union early Sunday morning, and
died in the afternoonthats clear enough. Then I asked what shed
been doing lately, and Mr. Boldwood turned round to me then, and left
off spitting a thistle with the end of his stick. He told me about her
having lived by seampstering in Melchester, as I mentioned to you, and
that she walked therefrom at the end of last week, passing near here
Saturday night in the dusk. They then said I had better just name a
hent of her death to you, and away they went. Her death might have been
brought on by biding in the night wind, you know, maam; for people
used to say shed go off in a decline: she used to cough a good deal in
winter time. However, tisnt much odds to us about that now, for tis
all over.
Have you heard a different story at all? She looked at him so
intently that Josephs eyes quailed.
Not a word, mistress, I assure you, he said. Hardly anybody in the
parish knows the news yet.
I wonder why Gabriel didnt bring the message to me himself. He mostly
makes a point of seeing me upon the most trifling errand. These words
were merely murmured, and she was looking upon the ground.
Perhaps he was busy, maam. Joseph suggested. And sometimes he seems
to suffer from things upon his mind connected with the time when he was
better off than a is now. As rather a curious item, but a very
understanding shepherd, and learned in books.
Did anything seem upon his mind whilst he was speaking to you about
this?
I cannot but say that there did, maam. He was terrible down, and so
was Farmer Boldwood.
Thank you, Joseph. That will do. Go on now, or youll be late. | 1,025 |
PG27 | 142 | CHAPTER XII.
JOSEPH AND HIS BURDENBUCKS HEAD
A wall bounded the site of Casterbridge Union-house, except along a
portion of the end. Here a high gable stood prominent, and it was
covered like the front with a mat of ivy. In this gable was no window,
chimney, ornament, or protuberance of any kind. The single feature
appertaining to it, beyond the expanse of dark green leaves, was a
small door.
The situation of the door was peculiar. The sill was three or four feet
above the ground, and for a moment one was at a loss for an explanation
of this exceptional altitude, till ruts immediately beneath suggested
that the door was used solely for the passage of articles and persons
to and from the level of a vehicle standing on the outside. Upon the
whole, the door seemed to advertise itself as a species of Traitors
Gate translated to another element. That entry and exit hereby was only
at rare intervals became apparent on noting that tufts of grass were
allowed to flourish undisturbed in the chinks of the sill.
As the clock from the tower of St. Georges Church pointed to three
minutes to three, a blue spring waggon, picked out with red, and
containing boughs and flowers, turned from the high road and halted on
this side of the building. Whilst the chimes were yet stammering out a
shattered form of Malbrook, Joseph Poorgrass rang the bell, and
received directions to back his waggon against the high door under the
gable. The door then opened, and a plain elm coffin was slowly thrust
forth, and laid by two men in fustian along the middle of the vehicle.
One of the men then stepped up beside it, took from his pocket a lump
of chalk, and wrote upon the cover the name and a few other words in a
large scrawling hand. (We believe that they do these things more
tenderly now, and provide a plate.) He covered the whole with a black
cloth, threadbare, but decent, the tail-board of the waggon was
returned to its place, one of the men handed a certificate of registry
to Poorgrass, and both entered the door, closing it behind them. Their
connection with her, short as it had been, was over for ever.
Joseph then placed the flowers as enjoined, and the evergreens around
the flowers, till it was difficult to divine what the waggon contained;
he smacked his whip, and the rather pleasing funeral car crept up the
hill, and along the road to Weatherbury.
The afternoon drew on apace, and, looking to the left towards the sea
as he walked beside the horse, Poorgrass saw strange clouds and scrolls
of mist rolling over the high hills which girt the landscape in that
quarter. They came in yet greater volumes, and indolently crept across
the intervening valleys, and around the withered papery flags of the
sloughs and river brinks. Then their dank spongy forms closed in upon
the sky. It was a sudden overgrowth of atmospheric fungi which had
their roots in the neighbouring sea, and by the time that horse, man,
and corpse entered Yalbury Great Wood, these silent workings of an
invisible hand had reached them, and they were completely enveloped. It
was the first arrival of the autumn fogs, and the first fog of the
series.
The air was as an eye suddenly struck blind. The waggon and its load
rolled no longer on the horizontal division between clearness and
opacity. They were imbedded in an elastic body of a monotonous pallor
throughout. There was no perceptible motion in the air, not a visible
drop of water fell upon a leaf of the beeches, birches, and firs
composing the wood on either side. The trees stood in an attitude of
intentness, as if they waited longingly for a wind to come and rock
them. A startling quiet overhung all surrounding thingsso completely,
that the crunching of the waggon-wheels was as a great noise, and small
rustles, which had never obtained a hearing except by night, were
distinctly individualized.
Joseph Poorgrass looked round upon his sad burden as it loomed faintly
through the flowering laurustinus, then at the unfathomable gloom amid
the high trees on each hand, indistinct, shadowless, and spectre-like
in their monochrome of grey. He felt anything but cheerful, and wished
he had the company even of a child or dog. Stopping the horse, he
listened. Not a footstep or wheel was audible anywhere around, and the
dead silence was broken only by a heavy particle falling from a tree
through the evergreens and alighting with a smart rap upon the coffin
of poor Fanny. The fog had by this time saturated the trees, and this
was the first dropping of water from the overbrimming leaves. The
hollow echo of its fall reminded the waggoner painfully of the grim
Leveller. Then hard by came down another drop, then two or three.
Presently there was a continual tapping of these heavy drops upon the
dead leaves, the road, and the travellers. The nearer boughs were
beaded with the mist to the greyness of aged men, and the rusty-red
leaves of the beeches were hung with similar drops, like diamonds on
auburn hair. | 1,178 |
PG27 | 143 | Situated by roadside in the midst of this wood was the old inn, called
Bucks Head. It was about a mile and a half from Weatherbury, and in
the meridian times of stage-coach travelling had been the place where
many coaches changed and kept their relays of horses. All the old
stabling was now pulled down, and little remained besides the habitable
inn itself, which, standing a little way back from the road, signified
its existence to people far up and down the highway by a sign hanging
from the horizontal bough of an elm on the opposite side of the way.
Travellersfor the variety _tourist_ had hardly developed into a
distinct species at this datesometimes said in passing, when they cast
their eyes up to the sign-bearing tree, that artists were fond of
representing the signboard hanging thus, but that they themselves had
never before noticed so perfect an instance in actual working order. It
was near this tree that the waggon was standing into which Gabriel Oak
crept on his first journey to Weatherbury; but, owing to the darkness,
the sign and the inn had been unobserved.
The manners of the inn were of the old-established type. Indeed, in the
minds of its frequenters they existed as unalterable formul: _e.g._
Rap with the bottom of your pint for more liquor.
For tobacco, shout.
In calling for the girl in waiting, say, Maid!
Ditto for the landlady, Old Soul! etc., etc.
It was a relief to Josephs heart when the friendly sign-board came in
view, and, stopping his horse immediately beneath it, he proceeded to
fulfil an intention made a long time before. His spirits were oozing
out of him quite. He turned the horses head to the green bank, and
entered the hostel for a mug of ale.
Going down into the kitchen of the inn, the floor of which was a step
below the passage, which in its turn was a step below the road outside,
what should Joseph see to gladden his eyes but two copper-coloured
discs, in the form of the countenances of Mr. Jan Coggan and Mr. Mark
Clark. These owners of the two most appreciative throats in the
neighbourhood, on this side of respectability, were now sitting face to
face over a three-legged circular table, having an iron rim to keep
cups and pots from being accidentally elbowed off; they might have been
said to resemble the setting sun and the full moon shining _vis--vis_
across the globe.
Why, tis neighbour Poorgrass! said Mark Clark. Im sure your face
dont praise your mistresss table, Joseph.
Ive had a very pale companion for the last five miles, said Joseph,
indulging in a shudder toned down by resignation. And to speak the
truth, twas beginning to tell upon me. I assure ye, I hant seed the
colour of victuals or drink since breakfast time this morning, and that
was no more than a dew-bit afield.
Then drink, Joseph, and dont restrain yourself! said Coggan, handing
him a hooped mug three-quarters full.
Joseph drank for a moderately long time, then for a longer time,
saying, as he lowered the jug, Tis pretty drinkingvery pretty
drinking, and is more than cheerful on my melancholy errand, so to
speak it.
True, drink is a pleasant delight, said Jan, as one who repeated a
truism so familiar to his brain that he hardly noticed its passage over
his tongue; and, lifting the cup, Coggan tilted his head gradually
backwards, with closed eyes, that his expectant soul might not be
diverted for one instant from its bliss by irrelevant surroundings.
Well, I must be on again, said Poorgrass. Not but that I should like
another nip with ye; but the country might lose confidence in me if I
was seed here.
Where be ye trading ot to to-day, then, Joseph?
Back to Weatherbury. Ive got poor little Fanny Robin in my waggon
outside, and I must be at the churchyard gates at a quarter to five
with her.
AyIve heard of it. And so shes nailed up in parish boards after
all, and nobody to pay the bell shilling and the grave half-crown.
The parish pays the grave half-crown, but not the bell shilling,
because the bells a luxery: but a can hardly do without the grave,
poor body. However, I expect our mistress will pay all.
A pretty maid as ever I see! But whats yer hurry, Joseph? The pore
womans dead, and you cant bring her to life, and you may as well sit
down comfortable and finish another with us. | 1,031 |
PG27 | 144 | I dont mind taking just the merest thimbleful of imagination more
with ye, sonnies. But only a few minutes, because tis as tis.
Of course, youll have another drop. A mans twice the man afterwards.
You feel so warm and glorious, and you whop and slap at your work
without any trouble, and everything goes on like sticks a-breaking. Too
much liquor is bad, and leads us to that horned man in the smoky house;
but, after all, many people havent the gift of enjoying a soak, and
since we are highly favoured with a power that way, we should make the
most ot.
True, said Mark Clark. Tis a talent the Lord has mercifully
bestowed upon us, and we ought not to neglect it. But, what with the
parsons and clerks and school-people and serious tea-parties, the merry
old ways of good life have gone to the dogsupon my carcase, they
have!
Well, really, I must be onward again now, said Joseph.
Now, now, Joseph; nonsense! The poor woman is dead, isnt she, and
whats your hurry?
Well, I hope Providence wont be in a way with me for my doings, said
Joseph, again sitting down. Ive been troubled with weak moments
lately, tis true. Ive been drinky once this month already, and I did
not go to church a-Sunday, and I dropped a curse or two yesterday; so I
dont want to go too far for my safety. Your next world is your next
world, and not to be squandered lightly.
I believe ye to be a chapel-member, Joseph. That I do.
Oh, no, no! I don got so far as that.
For my part, said Coggan, Im staunch Church of England.
Ay, and faith, so be I, said Mark Clark.
I wont say much for myself; I dont wish to, Coggan continued, with
that tendency to talk on principles which is characteristic of the
barley-corn. But Ive never changed a single doctrine: Ive stuck like
a plaster to the old faith I was born in. Yes; theres this to be said
for the Church, a man can belong to the Church and bide in his cheerful
old inn, and never trouble or worry his mind about doctrines at all.
But to be a meetinger, you must go to chapel in all winds and weathers,
and make yerself as frantic as a skit. Not but that chapel-members be
clever chaps enough in their way. They can lift up beautiful prayers
out of their own heads, all about their families and shipwracks in the
newspaper.
They canthey can, said Mark Clark, with corroborative feeling; but
we Churchmen, you see, must have it all printed aforehand, or, dang it
all, we should no more know what to say to a great person like
Providence than babes unborn.
Chapel-folk be more hand-in-glove with them above than we, said
Joseph, thoughtfully.
Yes, said Coggan. We know very well that if anybody goes to heaven,
they will. Theyve worked hard for it, and they deserve to have it,
such as tis. Im not such a fool as to pretend that we who stick to
the Church have the same chance as they, because we know we have not.
But I hate a feller wholl change his old ancient doctrines for the
sake of getting to heaven. Id as soon turn kings-evidence for the few
pounds you get. Why, neighbours, when every one of my taties were
frosted, our Parson Thirdly were the man who gave me a sack for seed,
though he hardly had one for his own use, and no money to buy em. If
it hadnt been for him, I shouldnt hae had a tatie to put in my
garden. Dye think Id turn after that? No, Ill stick to my side; and
if we be in the wrong, so be it: Ill fall with the fallen!
Well saidvery well said, observed Joseph.However, folks, I must be
moving now: upon my life I must. Parson Thirdly will be waiting at the
church gates, and theres the woman a-biding outside in the waggon.
Joseph Poorgrass, dont be so miserable! Parson Thirdly wont mind.
Hes a generous man; hes found me in tracts for years, and Ive
consumed a good many in the course of a long and rather shady life; but
hes never been the man to complain at the expense. Sit down.
The longer Joseph Poorgrass remained, the less his spirit was troubled
by the duties which devolved upon him this afternoon. The minutes
glided by uncounted, until the evening shades began perceptibly to
deepen, and the eyes of the three were but sparkling points on the
surface of darkness. Coggans watch struck six from his pocket in the
usual still small tones. | 1,083 |
PG27 | 145 | At that moment hasty steps were heard in the entry, and the door opened
to admit the figure of Gabriel Oak, followed by the maid of the inn
bearing a candle. He stared sternly at the one lengthy and two round
faces of the sitters, which confronted him with the expressions of a
fiddle and a couple of warming-pans. Joseph Poorgrass blinked, and
shrank several inches into the background.
Upon my soul, Im ashamed of you; tis disgraceful, Joseph,
disgraceful! said Gabriel, indignantly. Coggan, you call yourself a
man, and dont know better than this.
Coggan looked up indefinitely at Oak, one or other of his eyes
occasionally opening and closing of its own accord, as if it were not a
member but a dozy individual with a distinct personality.
Dont take on so, shepherd! said Mark Clark, looking reproachfully at
the candle, which appeared to possess special features of interest for
his eyes.
Nobody can hurt a dead woman, at length said Coggan, with the
precision of a machine. All that could be done for her is doneshes
beyond us: and why should a man put himself in a tearing hurry for
lifeless clay that can neither feel nor see, and dont know what you do
with her at all? If shed been alive, I would have been the first to
help her. If she now wanted victuals and drink, Id pay for it, money
down. But shes dead, and no speed of ours will bring her to life. The
womans past ustime spent upon her is throwed away: why should we
hurry to do whats not required? Drink, shepherd, and be friends, for
to-morrow we may be like her.
We may, added Mark Clark, emphatically, at once drinking himself, to
run no further risk of losing his chance by the event alluded to, Jan
meanwhile merging his additional thoughts of to-morrow in a song:
To-mor-row, to-mor-row!
And while peace and plen-ty I find at my board,
With a heart free from sick-ness and sor-row,
With my friends will I share what to-day may af-ford,
And let them spread the ta-ble to-mor-row.
To-mor-row, to-mor
Do hold thy horning, Jan! said Oak; and turning upon Poorgrass, as
for you, Joseph, who do your wicked deeds in such confoundedly holy
ways, you are as drunk as you can stand.
No, Shepherd Oak, no! Listen to reason, shepherd. All thats the
matter with me is the affliction called a multiplying eye, and thats
how it is I look double to youI mean, you look double to me.
A multiplying eye is a very distressing thing, said Mark Clark.
It always comes on when I have been in a public-house a little time,
said Joseph Poorgrass, meekly. Yes; I see two of every sort, as if I
were some holy man living in the times of King Noah and entering into
the ark. Y-y-y-yes, he added, becoming much affected by the picture
of himself as a person thrown away, and shedding tears; I feel too
good for England: I ought to have lived in Genesis by rights, like the
other men of sacrifice, and then I shouldnt have b-b-been called a
d-d-drunkard in such a way!
I wish youd show yourself a man of spirit, and not sit whining
there!
Show myself a man of spirit? Ah, well! let me take the name of
drunkard humblylet me be a man of contrite kneeslet it be! I know
that I always do say Please God afore I do anything, from my getting
up to my going down of the same, and I am willing to take as much
disgrace as belongs to that holy act. Hah, yes! But not a man of
spirit? Have I ever allowed the toe of pride to be lifted against my
person without shouting manfully that I question the right to do so? I
inquire that query boldly?
We cant say that you have, Joseph Poorgrass, said Jan, emphatically.
Never have I allowed such treatment to pass unquestioned! Yet the
shepherd says in the face of that rich testimony that I am not a man of
spirit! Well, let it pass by, and death is a kind friend!
Gabriel, seeing that neither of the three was in a fit state to take
charge of the waggon for the remainder of the journey, made no reply,
but, closing the door again upon them, went across to where the vehicle
stood, now getting indistinct in the fog and gloom of this mildewy
time. He pulled the horses head from the large patch of turf it had
eaten bare, readjusted the boughs over the coffin, and drove along
through the unwholesome night. | 1,078 |
PG27 | 146 | It had gradually become rumoured in the village that the body to be
brought and buried that day was all that was left of the unfortunate
Fanny Robin who had followed the Eleventh from Casterbridge to
Melchester. But, thanks to Boldwoods reticence and Oaks generosity,
the lover she had followed had never been individualized as Troy.
Gabriel hoped that the whole truth of the matter might not be published
till at any rate the girl had been in her grave for a few days, when
the interposing barriers of earth and time, and a sense that the events
had been somewhat shut into oblivion, would deaden the sting that
revelation and invidious remark would have for Bathsheba just now.
By the time that Gabriel reached the old manor-house, her residence,
which lay in his way to the church, it was quite dark. A man came from
the gate and said through the fog, which hung between them like blown
flour,
Is that Poorgrass with the corpse?
Gabriel recognized the voice as that of the parson.
The corpse is here, sir, said Gabriel.
I have just been to inquire of Mrs. Troy if she could tell me the
reason of the delay. I am afraid it is too late now for the funeral to
be performed with proper decency. Have you the registrars
certificate?
No, said Gabriel. I expect Poorgrass has that; and hes at the
Bucks Head. I forgot to ask him for it.
Then that settles the matter. Well put off the funeral till to-morrow
morning. The body may be brought on to the church, or it may be left
here at the farm and fetched by the bearers in the morning. They waited
more than an hour, and have now gone home.
Gabriel had his reasons for thinking the latter a most objectionable
plan, notwithstanding that Fanny had been an inmate of the farm-house
for several years in the lifetime of Bathshebas uncle. Visions of
several unhappy contingencies which might arise from this delay flitted
before him. But his will was not law, and he went indoors to inquire of
his mistress what were her wishes on the subject. He found her in an
unusual mood: her eyes as she looked up to him were suspicious and
perplexed as with some antecedent thought. Troy had not yet returned.
At first Bathsheba assented with a mien of indifference to his
proposition that they should go on to the church at once with their
burden; but immediately afterwards, following Gabriel to the gate, she
swerved to the extreme of solicitousness on Fannys account, and
desired that the girl might be brought into the house. Oak argued upon
the convenience of leaving her in the waggon, just as she lay now, with
her flowers and green leaves about her, merely wheeling the vehicle
into the coach-house till the morning, but to no purpose, It is unkind
and unchristian, she said, to leave the poor thing in a coach-house
all night.
Very well, then, said the parson. And I will arrange that the
funeral shall take place early to-morrow. Perhaps Mrs. Troy is right in
feeling that we cannot treat a dead fellow-creature too thoughtfully We
must remember that though she may have erred grievously in leaving her
home, she is still our sister; and it is to be believed that Gods
uncovenanted mercies are extended towards her, and that she is a member
of the flock of Christ.
The parsons words spread into the heavy air with a sad yet unperturbed
cadence, and Gabriel shed an honest tear. Bathsheba seemed unmoved. Mr.
Thirdly then left them, and Gabriel lighted a lantern. Fetching three
other men to assist him, they bore the unconscious truant indoors,
placing the coffin on two benches in the middle of a little
sitting-room next the hall, as Bathsheba directed.
Every one except Gabriel Oak then left the room. He still indecisively
lingered beside the body. He was deeply troubled at the wretchedly
ironical aspect that circumstances were putting on with regard to
Troys wife, and at his own powerlessness to counteract them. In spite
of his careful manuvring all this day, the very worst event that could
in any way have happened in connection with the burial had happened
now. Oak imagined a terrible discovery resulting from this afternoons
work that might cast over Bathshebas life a shade which the
interposition of many lapsing years might but indifferently lighten,
and which nothing at all might altogether remove. | 996 |
PG27 | 148 | CHAPTER XIII.
FANNYS REVENGE
Do you want me any longer, maam? inquired Liddy, at a later hour the
same evening, standing by the door with a chamber candlestick in her
hand, and addressing Bathsheba, who sat cheerless and alone in the
large parlour beside the first fire of the season.
No more to-night, Liddy.
Ill sit up for master if you like, maam. I am not at all afraid of
Fanny, if I may sit in my own room and have a candle. She was such a
childlike, nesh young thing that her spirit couldnt appear to anybody
if it tried, Im quite sure.
Oh no, no! You go to bed. Ill sit up for him myself till twelve
oclock, and if he has not arrived by that time, I shall give him up
and go to bed too.
It is half-past ten now.
Oh! is it?
Why dont you sit upstairs, maam?
Why dont I? said Bathsheba, desultorily. It isnt worth
whiletheres a fire here, Liddy, she suddenly exclaimed in an
impulsive and excited whisper, have you heard anything strange said of
Fanny? The words had no sooner escaped her than an expression of
unutterable regret crossed her face, and she burst into tears.
Nonot a word! said Liddy, looking at the weeping woman with
astonishment. What is it makes you cry so, maam; has anything hurt
you? She came to Bathshebas side with a face full of sympathy.
No, LiddyI dont want you any more. I can hardly say why I have taken
so to crying lately: I never used to cry. Good-night.
Liddy then left the parlour and closed the door.
Bathsheba was lonely and miserable now; not lonelier actually than she
had been before her marriage; but her loneliness then was to that of
the present time as the solitude of a mountain is to the solitude of a
cave. And within the last day or two had come these disquieting
thoughts about her husbands past. Her wayward sentiment that evening
concerning Fannys temporary resting-place had been the result of a
strange complication of impulses in Bathshebas bosom. Perhaps it would
be more accurately described as a determined rebellion against her
prejudices, a revulsion from a lower instinct of uncharitableness,
which would have withheld all sympathy from the dead woman, because in
life she had preceded Bathsheba in the attentions of a man whom
Bathsheba had by no means ceased from loving, though her love was sick
to death just now with the gravity of a further misgiving.
In five or ten minutes there was another tap at the door. Liddy
reappeared, and coming in a little way stood hesitating, until at
length she said, Maryann has just heard something very strange, but I
know it isnt true. And we shall be sure to know the rights of it in a
day or two.
What is it?
Oh, nothing connected with you or us, maam. It is about Fanny. That
same thing you have heard.
I have heard nothing.
I mean that a wicked story is got to Weatherbury within this last
hourthat Liddy came close to her mistress and whispered the
remainder of the sentence slowly into her ear, inclining her head as
she spoke in the direction of the room where Fanny lay.
Bathsheba trembled from head to foot.
I dont believe it! she said, excitedly. And it is not written on
the coffin-cover.
Nor I, maam. And a good many others dont; for we should surely have
been told more about it if it had been truedont you think so, maam?
We might or we might not.
Bathsheba turned and looked into the fire, that Liddy might not see her
face. Finding that her mistress was going to say no more, Liddy glided
out, closed the door softly, and went to bed.
Bathshebas face, as she continued looking into the fire that evening,
might have excited solicitousness on her account even among those who
loved her least. The sadness of Fanny Robins fate did not make
Bathshebas glorious, although she was the Esther to this poor Vashti,
and their fates might be supposed to stand in some respects as
contrasts to each other. When Liddy came into the room a second time
the beautiful eyes which met hers had worn a listless, weary look. When
she went out after telling the story they had expressed wretchedness in
full activity. This also sank to apathy after a time. But her thoughts,
sluggish and confused at first, acquired more life as the minutes
passed, and the dull misgiving in her brow and eyes suddenly gave way
to the stillness of concentration. | 1,061 |
PG27 | 149 | Bathsheba had grounds for conjecturing a connection between her own
history and the dimly suspected tragedy of Fannys end which Oak and
Boldwood never for a moment credited her with possessing. The meeting
with the lonely woman on the previous Saturday night had been
unwitnessed and unspoken of. Oak may have had the best of intentions in
withholding for as many days as possible the details of what had
happened; but had he known that Bathshebas perceptions had already
been exercised in the matter, he would have done nothing to lengthen
the minutes of suspense she was now undergoing, when the certainty
which must terminate it would be the worst fact suspected after all.
She suddenly felt a longing desire to speak to some one stronger than
herself, and so get strength to sustain her surmised position with
dignity and her carking doubts with stoicism. Where could she find such
a friend? nowhere in the house. She was by far the coolest of the women
under her roof. Patience and suspension of judgement for a few hours
were what she wanted to learn, and there was nobody to teach her. Might
she but go to Gabriel Oak!but that could not be. What a way Oak had,
she thought, of enduring things. Boldwood, who seemed so much deeper
and higher and stronger in feeling than Gabriel, had not yet learnt,
any more than she herself, the simple lesson which Oak showed a mastery
of by every turn and look he gavethat among the multitude of interests
by which he was surrounded, those which affected his personal
well-being were not the most absorbing and important in his eyes. Oak
meditatively looked upon the horizon of circumstances without any
special regard to his own standpoint in the midst. That was how she
would wish to be. But then Oak was not racked by incertitude upon the
inmost matter of his bosom as she was at this moment. Oak knew all that
he wished to knowshe felt convinced of that. If she were to go to him
now at once and say no more than these few words, What is the truth of
the story? he would feel bound in honour to tell her. It would be an
inexpressible relief. No further speech would need to be uttered. He
knew her so well that no eccentricity of behaviour in her would alarm
him.
She flung a cloak round her, went to the door and opened it. Every
blade, every twig was still. The air was yet thick with moisture,
though somewhat less dense than during the afternoon, and a steady
smack of drops upon the fallen leaves under the boughs was almost
musical in its soothing regularity. It seemed better to be out of the
house than within it, and Bathsheba closed the door, and walked slowly
down the lane till she came opposite to Gabriels cottage, where he now
lived alone, having left Coggans house through being pinched for room.
There was a light in one window only, and that was downstairs. The
shutters were not closed, nor was any blind or curtain drawn over the
window, neither robbery nor observation being a contingency which could
do much injury to the occupant of the domicile. Yes, it was Gabriel
himself who was sitting up: he was reading. From her standing-place in
the road she could see him plainly, sitting quite still, his light
curly head upon his hand, and only occasionally looking up to snuff the
candle which stood beside him. At length he looked at the clock, seemed
surprised at the lateness of the hour, closed his book, and arose. He
was going to bed, she knew, and if she tapped it must be done at once.
Alas for her resolve! She felt she could not do it. Not for worlds now
could she give a hint about her misery to him, much less ask him
plainly for information. She must suspect, and guess, and chafe, and
bear it all alone.
Like a homeless wanderer she lingered by the bank, as if lulled and
fascinated by the atmosphere of content which seemed to spread from
that little dwelling, and was so sadly lacking in her own. Gabriel
appeared in an upper room, placed his light in the window-bench, and
thenknelt down to pray. The contrast of the picture with her
rebellious and agitated existence at this same time was too much for
her to bear to look upon longer. It was not for her to make a truce
with trouble by any such means. She must tread her giddy distracting
measure to its last note, as she had begun it. With a swollen heart she
went again up the lane, and entered her own door. | 1,018 |
PG27 | 150 | More fevered now by a reaction from the first feelings which Oaks
example had raised in her, she paused in the hall, looking at the door
of the room wherein Fanny lay. She locked her fingers, threw back her
head, and strained her hot hands rigidly across her forehead, saying,
with a hysterical sob, Would to God you would speak and tell me your
secret, Fanny! Oh, I hope, hope it is not true! If I could only look
in upon you for one little minute, I should know all!
A few moments passed, and she added, slowly, _And I will_.
Bathsheba in after times could never gauge the mood which carried her
through the actions following this murmured resolution on this
memorable evening of her life. At the end of a short though undefined
time she found herself in the small room, quivering with emotion, a
mist before her eyes, and an excruciating pulsation in her brain,
standing beside the uncovered coffin of the girl whose conjectured end
had so entirely engrossed her, and saying to herself in a husky voice
as she gazed within
It was best to know the worst, and I know it now!
She was conscious of having brought about this situation by a series of
actions done as by one in an extravagant dream; of following that idea
as to method, which had burst upon her in the hall with glaring
obviousness, by gliding to the top of the stairs, assuring herself by
listening to the heavy breathing of her maids that they were asleep,
gliding down again, turning the handle of the door within which the
young girl lay, and deliberately setting herself to do what, if she had
anticipated any such undertaking at night and alone, would have
horrified her, but which, when done, was not so dreadful as was the
conclusive proof which came with knowing beyond doubt the last chapter
of Fannys story.
Bathshebas head sank upon her bosom, and the breath which had been
bated in suspense, curiosity, and interest, was exhaled now in the form
of a whispered wail: Oh-h-h! she said, and the silent room added
length to her moan.
Her tears fell fast beside the unconscious pair: tears of a complicated
origin, of a nature indescribable, almost indefinable except as other
than those of simple sorrow. Assuredly their wonted fires must have
lived in Fannys ashes when events were so shaped as to chariot her
hither in this natural, unobtrusive, yet effectual manner. The one feat
alonethat of dyingby which a mean condition could be resolved into a
grand one, Fanny had achieved. And to that had destiny subjoined this
rencounter to-night, which had, in Bathshebas wild imagining, turned
her companions failure to success, her humiliation to triumph, her
lucklessness to ascendency; it had thrown over herself a garish light
of mockery, and set upon all things about her an ironical smile.
Fannys face was framed in by that yellow hair of hers; and there was
no longer much room for doubt as to the origin of the curl owned by
Troy. In Bathshebas heated fancy the innocent white countenance
expressed a dim triumphant consciousness of the pain she was
retaliating for her pain with all the merciless rigour of the Mosaic
law: Burning for burning; wound for wound; strife for strife.
Bathsheba indulged in contemplations of escape from her position by
immediate death, which, thought she, though it was an inconvenient and
awful way, had limits to its inconvenience and awfulness that could not
be overpassed; whilst the shames of life were measureless. Yet even
this scheme of extinction by death was but tamely copying her rivals
method without the reasons which had glorified it in her rivals case.
She glided rapidly up and down the room, as was mostly her habit when
excited, her hands hanging clasped in front of her, as she thought and
in part expressed in broken words: Oh, I hate her, yet I dont mean
that I hate her, for it is grievous and wicked; and yet I hate her a
little! Yes, my flesh insists upon hating her, whether my spirit is
willing or no. If she had only lived, I could have been angry and
cruel towards her with some justification; but to be vindictive towards
a poor dead woman recoils upon myself. O God, have mercy! I am
miserable at all this!
Bathsheba became at this moment so terrified at her own state of mind
that she looked around for some sort of refuge from herself. The vision
of Oak kneeling down that night recurred to her, and with the imitative
instinct which animates women she seized upon the idea, resolved to
kneel, and if possible, pray. Gabriel had prayed; so would she. | 1,075 |
PG27 | 151 | She knelt beside the coffin, covered her face with her hands, and for a
time the room was silent as a tomb. whether from a purely mechanical,
or from any other cause, when Bathsheba arose it was with a quieted
spirit, and a regret for the antagonistic instincts which had seized
upon her just before.
In her desire to make atonement she took flowers from a vase by the
window, and began laying them around the dead girls head. Bathsheba
knew no other way of showing kindness to persons departed than by
giving them flowers. She knew not how long she remained engaged thus.
She forgot time, life, where she was, what she was doing. A slamming
together of the coach-house doors in the yard brought her to herself
again. An instant after, the front door opened and closed, steps
crossed the hall, and her husband appeared at the entrance to the room,
looking in upon her.
He beheld it all by degrees, stared in stupefaction at the scene, as if
he thought it an illusion raised by some fiendish incantation.
Bathsheba, pallid as a corpse on end, gazed back at him in the same
wild way.
So little are instinctive guesses the fruit of a legitimate induction,
that at this moment as he stood with the door in his hand, Troy never
once thought of Fanny in connection with what he saw. His first
confused idea was that somebody in the house had died.
Wellwhat? said Troy, blankly.
I must go! I must go! said Bathsheba, to herself more than to him.
She came with a dilated eye towards the door, to push past him.
Whats the matter, in Gods name? whos dead? said Troy.
I cannot say; let me go out. I want air! she continued.
But no; stay, I insist! He seized her hand, and then volition seemed
to leave her, and she went off into a state of passivity. He, still
holding her, came up the room, and thus, hand in hand, Troy and
Bathsheba approached the coffins side.
The candle was standing on a bureau close by them, and the light
slanted down, distinctly enkindling the cold features within. Troy
looked in, dropped his wifes hand, knowledge of it all came over him
in a lurid sheen, and he stood still.
So still he remained that he could be imagined to have left in him no
motive power whatever. The clashes of feeling in all directions
confounded one another, produced a neutrality, and there was motion in
none.
Do you know her? said Bathsheba, in a small enclosed echo, as from
the interior of a cell.
I do, said Troy.
Is it she?
It is.
He had originally stood perfectly erect. And now, in the well-nigh
congealed immobility of his frame could be discerned an incipient
movement, as in the darkest night may be discerned light after a while.
He was gradually sinking forwards. The lines of his features softened,
and dismay modulated to illimitable sadness. Bathsheba was regarding
him from the other side, still with parted lips and distracted eyes.
Capacity for intense feeling is proportionate to the general intensity
of the nature, and perhaps in all Fannys sufferings, much greater
relatively to her strength, there never was a time she suffered in an
absolute sense what Bathsheba suffered now.
This is what Troy did. He sank upon his knees with an indefinable union
of remorse and reverence upon his face, and, bending over Fanny Robin,
gently kissed her, as one would kiss an infant asleep to avoid
awakening it.
[Illustration: BENDING OVER FANNY ROBIN, HE GENTLY KISSED HER.]
At the sight and sound of that, to her, unendurable act, Bathsheba
sprang towards him. All the strong feelings which had been scattered
over her existence since she knew what feeling was, seemed gathered
together into one pulsation now. The revulsion from her indignant mood
a little earlier, when she had meditated upon compromised honour,
forestalment, eclipse by another, was violent and entire. All that was
forgotten in the simple and still strong attachment of wife to husband.
She had sighed for her self-completeness then, and now she cried aloud
against the severance of the union she had deplored. She flung her arms
round Troys neck, exclaiming wildly from the deepest deep of her
heart,
Dontdont kiss them! Oh, Frank, I cant bear itI cant! I love you
better than she did: kiss me too, Frankkiss me! _You will, Frank, kiss
me too!_
There was something so abnormal and startling in the childlike pain and
simplicity of this appeal from a woman of Bathshebas calibre and
independence, that Troy, loosening her tightly clasped arms from his
neck, looked at her in bewilderment. It was such and unexpected
revelation of all women being alike at heart, even those so different
in their accessories as Fanny and this one beside him, that Troy could
hardly seem to believe her to be his proud wife Bathsheba. Fannys own
spirit seemed to be animating her frame. But this was the mood of a few
instants only. When the momentary surprise had passed, his expression
changed to a silencing imperious gaze. | 1,191 |
PG27 | 153 | CHAPTER XIV.
UNDER A TREEREACTION
Bathsheba went along the dark road, neither knowing nor caring about
the direction or issue of her flight. The first time that she
definitely noticed her position was when she reached a gate leading
into a thicket overhung by some large oak and beech trees. On looking
into the place, it occurred to her that she had seen it by daylight on
some previous occasion, and that what appeared like an impassable
thicket was in reality a brake of fern, now withering fast. She could
think of nothing better to do with her palpitating self than to go in
here and hide; and entering, she lighted on a spot sheltered from the
damp fog by a reclining trunk, where she sank down upon a tangled couch
of fronds and stems. She mechanically pulled some armfuls round her to
keep off the breezes, and closed her eyes.
Whether she slept or not that night Bathsheba was not clearly aware.
But it was with a freshened existence and a cooler brain that, a long
time afterwards, she became conscious of some interesting proceedings
which were going on in the trees above her head and around.
A coarse-throated chatter was the first sound.
It was a sparrow just waking.
Next: Chee-weeze-weeze-weeze! from another retreat.
It was a finch.
Third: Tink-tink-tink-tink-a-chink! from the hedge.
It was a robin.
Chuck-chuck-chuck! overhead.
A squirrel.
Then, from the road, With my ra-ta-ta, and my rum-tum-tum!
It was a ploughboy. Presently he came opposite, and she believed from
his voice that he was one of the boys on her own farm. He was followed
by a shambling tramp of heavy feet, and looking through the ferns
Bathsheba could just discern in the wan light of daybreak a team of her
own horses. They stopped to drink at a pond on the other side of the
way. She watched them flouncing into the pool, drinking, tossing up
their heads, drinking again, the water dribbling from their lips in
silver threads. There was another flounce, and they came out of the
pond, and turned back again towards the farm.
She looked further around. Day was just dawning, and beside its cool
air and colours her heated actions and resolves of the night stood out
in lurid contrast. She perceived that in her lap, and clinging to her
hair, were red and yellow leaves which had come down from the tree and
settled silently upon her during her partial sleep. Bathsheba shook her
dress to get rid of them, when multitudes of the same family lying
round about her rose and fluttered away in the breeze thus created,
like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing.
There was an opening towards the east, and the glow from the as yet
unrisen sun attracted her eyes thither. From her feet, and between the
beautiful yellowing ferns with their feathery arms, the ground sloped
downwards to a hollow, in which was a species of swamp, dotted with
fungi. A morning mist hung over it nowa fulsome yet magnificent
silvery veil, full of light from the sun, yet semi-opaquethe hedge
behind it being in some measure hidden by its hazy luminousness. Up the
sides of this depression grew sheaves of the common rush, and here and
there a peculiar species of flag, the blades of which glistened in the
emerging sun like scythes. But the general aspect of the swamp was
malignant. From its moist and poisonous coat seemed to be exhaled the
essences of evil things in the earth, and in the waters under the
earth. The fungi grew in all manner of positions from rotting leaves
and tree stumps, some exhibiting to her listless gaze their clammy
tops, others their oozing gills. Some were marked with great splotches,
red as arterial blood, others were saffron yellow, and others tall and
attenuated, with stems like macaroni. Some were leathery and of richest
browns. The hollow seemed a nursery of pestilences small and great, in
the immediate neighbourhood of comfort and health, and Bathsheba arose
with a tremor at the thought of having passed the night on the brink of
so dismal a place.
There were now other footsteps to be heard along the road. Bathshebas
nerves were still unstrung: she crouched down out of sight again, and
the pedestrian came into view. He was a schoolboy, with a bag slung
over his shoulder containing his dinner, and a book in his hand. He
paused by the gate, and, without looking up, continued murmuring words
in tones quite loud enough to reach her ears. | 1,063 |
PG27 | 154 | O Lord, O Lord, O Lord, O Lord, O Lord:that I know out o book.
Give us, give us, give us, give us, give us:that I know. Grace
that, grace that, grace that, grace that:that I know. Other words
followed to the same effect. The boy was of the dunce class apparently;
the book was a psalter, and this was his way of learning the collect.
In the worst attacks of trouble there appears to be always a
superficial film of consciousness which is left disengaged and open to
the notice of trifles, and Bathsheba was faintly amused at the boys
method, till he too passed on.
By this time stupor had given place to anxiety, and anxiety began to
make room for hunger and thirst. A form now appeared upon the rise on
the other side of the swamp, half-hidden by the mist, and came towards
Bathsheba. The femalefor it was a femaleapproached with her face
askance, as if looking earnestly on all sides of her. When she got a
little further round to the left, and drew nearer, Bathsheba could see
the new-comers profile against the sunny sky, and knew the wavy sweep
from forehead to chin, with neither angle nor decisive line anywhere
about it, to be the familiar contour of Liddy Smallbury.
Bathshebas heart bounded with gratitude in the thought that she was
not altogether deserted, and she jumped up. O, Liddy! she said, or
attempted to say; but the words had only been framed by her lips; there
came no sound. She had lost her voice by exposure to the clogged
atmosphere all these hours of night.
Oh, maam! I am so glad I have found you, said the girl, as soon as
she saw Bathsheba.
You cant come across, Bathsheba said in a whisper, which she vainly
endeavoured to make loud enough to reach Liddys ears. Liddy, not
knowing this, stepped down upon the swamp, saying, as she did so, It
will bear me up, I think.
Bathsheba never forgot that transient little picture of Liddy crossing
the swamp to her there in the morning light. Iridescent bubbles of dank
subterranean breath rose from the sweating sod beside the
waiting-maids feet as she trod, hissing as they burst and expanded
away to join the vapoury firmament above. Liddy did not sink, as
Bathsheba had anticipated.
She landed safely on the other side, and looked up at the beautiful
though pale and weary face of her young mistress.
Poor thing! said Liddy, with tears in her eyes. Do hearten yourself
up a little, maam. However did
I cant speak above a whispermy voice is gone for the present, said
Bathsheba, hurriedly. I suppose the damp air from that hollow has
taken it away. Liddy, dont question me, mind. Who sent youanybody?
Nobody. I thought, when I found you were not at home, that something
cruel had happened. I fancy I heard his voice late last night; and so,
knowing something was wrong
Is he at home?
No; he left just before I came out.
Is Fanny taken away?
Not yet. She will soon beat nine oclock.
We wont go home at present, then. Suppose we walk about in this
wood?
Liddy, without exactly understanding everything, or anything, in this
episode, assented, and they walked together further among the trees.
But you had better come in, maam, and have something to eat. You will
die of a chill!
I shall not come indoors yetperhaps never.
Shall I get you something to eat, and something else to put over your
head besides that little shawl?
If you will, Liddy.
Liddy vanished, and at the end of twenty minutes returned with a cloak,
hat, some slices of bread and butter, a tea-cup, and some hot tea in a
little china jug
Is Fanny gone? said Bathsheba.
No, said her companion, pouring out the tea.
Bathsheba wrapped herself up and ate and drank sparingly. Her voice was
then a little clearer, and trifling colour returned to her face. Now
well walk about again, she said.
They wandered about the wood for nearly two hours, Bathsheba replying
in monosyllables to Liddys prattle, for her mind ran on one subject,
and one only. She interrupted with:
I wonder if Fanny is gone by this time?
I will go and see.
She came back with the information that the men were just taking away
the corpse; that Bathsheba had been inquired for; that she had replied
to the effect that her mistress was unwell and could not be seen. | 1,056 |
PG27 | 155 | Then they think I am in my bedroom?
Yes. Liddy then ventured to add: You said when I first found you
that you might never go home againyou didnt mean it, maam?
No; Ive altered my mind. It is only women with no pride in them who
run away from their husbands. There is one position worse than that of
being found dead in your husbands house from his ill usage, and that
is, to be found alive through having gone away to the house of somebody
else. Ive thought of it all this morning, and Ive chosen my course. A
runaway wife is an encumbrance to everybody, a burden to herself and a
bywordall of which make up a heap of misery greater than any that
comes by staying at homethough this may include the trifling items of
insult, beating, and starvation. Liddy, if ever you marryGod forbid
that you ever should!youll find yourself in a fearful situation; but
mind this, dont you flinch. Stand your ground, and be cut to pieces.
Thats what Im going to do.
Oh, mistress, dont talk so! said Liddy, taking her hand; but I knew
you had too much sense to bide away. May I ask what dreadful thing it
is that has happened between you and him?
You may ask; but I may not tell.
In about ten minutes they returned to the house by a circuitous route,
entering at the rear. Bathsheba glided up the back stairs to a disused
attic, and her companion followed.
Liddy, she said, with a lighter heart, for youth and hope had begun
to re-assert themselves; you are to be my confidante for the
presentsomebody must beand I choose you. Well, I shall take up my
abode here for a while. Will you get a fire lighted, put down a piece
of carpet, and help me to make the place comfortable? Afterwards, I
want you and Maryann to bring up that little iron bedstead in the small
room, and the bed belonging to it, and a table, and some other things.
What shall I do to pass the heavy time away!
Hemming handkerchiefs is a very good thing, said Liddy.
Oh no, no! I hate needle-workI always did.
Knitting?
And that, too.
You might finish your sampler. Only the carnations and peacocks want
filling in; and then it could be framed and glazed, and hung beside
your aunts, maam.
Samplers are out of datehorribly countrified. No Liddy, Ill read.
Bring up some booksnot new ones. I havent heart to read anything
new.
Some of your uncles old ones, maam?
Yes. Some of those we stowed away in boxes. A faint gleam of humour
passed over her face as she said: Bring Beaumont and Fletchers
Maids Tragedy; and the Mourning Bride; andlet me seeNight
Thoughts, and the Vanity of Human Wishes.
And that story of the black man, who murdered his wife Desdemona? It
is a nice dismal one that would suit you excellent just now.
Now, Lidd, youve been looking into my books, without telling me; and
I said you were not to! How do you know it would suit me? It wouldnt
suit me at all.
But if the others do
No, they dont; and I wont read dismal books. Why should I read
dismal books, indeed? Bring me Love in a Village, and the Maid of
the Mill, and Doctor Syntax, and some volumes of the Spectator.
All that day Bathsheba and Liddy lived in the attic in a state of
barricade; a precaution which proved to be needless as against Troy,
for he did not appear in the neighbourhood or trouble them at all.
Bathsheba sat at the window till sunset, sometimes attempting to read,
at other times watching every movement outside without much purpose,
and listening without much interest to every sound.
The sun went down almost blood-red that night, and a livid cloud
received its rays in the east. Up against this dark background the west
front of the church towerthe only part of the edifice visible from the
farm-house windowsrose distinct and lustrous, the vane upon the
pinnacle bristling with rays. Here, about six oclock, the young men of
the village gathered, as was their custom, for a game of fives. The
tower had been consecrated to this ancient diversion from time
immemorial, the western faade conveniently forming the boundary of the
churchyard at that end, where the ground was trodden hard and bare as a
pavement by the players. She could see the balls flying upwards, almost
to the belfry window, and the brown and black heads of the young lads
darting about right and left, their white shirt-sleeves gleaming in the
sun; whilst occasionally a shout and a peal of hearty laughter varied
the stillness of the evening air. They continued playing for a quarter
of an hour or so, when the game concluded abruptly, and the players
leapt over the wall and vanished round to the north side behind a yew
tree, which was also half behind a beech, now spreading in one mass of
golden foliage, on which the branches traced black lines. | 1,168 |
PG27 | 157 | CHAPTER XV.
TROYS ROMANTICISM
When Troys wife had left the house at the previous midnight his first
act was to cover the dead from sight. This done he ascended the stairs,
and throwing himself down upon the bed dressed as he was, he waited
miserably for the morning.
Fate had dealt grimly with him through the last four-and-twenty hours.
His day had been spent in a way which varied very materially from his
intentions regarding it. There is always an inertia to be overcome in
striking out a new line of conductnot more in ourselves, it seems,
than in circumscribing events, which appear as if leagued together to
allow no novelties in the way of amelioration.
Twenty pounds having been secured from Bathsheba, he had managed to add
to the sum every farthing he could muster on his own account, which had
been seven pounds ten. With this money, twenty-seven pounds ten in all,
he had hastily driven from the gate that morning to keep his
appointment with Fanny Robin.
On reaching Casterbridge he left the horse and trap at an inn, and at
five minutes before ten went to the bridge at the further end of the
town, and sat himself upon the parapet. The clocks struck the hour, and
no Fanny appeared. In fact, at that moment she was being robed in her
grave-clothes by two attendants at the Union poorhousethe first and
last tiring-women the gentle creature had ever been honoured with. The
quarter went, the half hour. A rush of recollection came upon Troy as
he waited: this was the second time she had broken a serious engagement
with him. In anger he vowed it should be the last, and at eleven
oclock, when he had lingered and watched the stones of the bridge till
he knew every lichen upon their faces, and heard the chink of the
ripples underneath till they oppressed him, he jumped from his seat,
went to the inn for his gig, and in a bitter mood of indifference
concerning the past, and recklessness about the future, drove on to
Budmouth races.
He reached the race-course at two oclock, and remained either there or
in the town till nine. But Fannys image, as it had appeared to him in
the sombre shadows of that Saturday evening, returned to his mind,
backed up by Bathshebas reproaches. He vowed he would not bet, and he
kept his vow, for on leaving the town at nine oclock in the evening he
had diminished his cash only to the extent of a few shillings.
He trotted slowly homeward, and it was now that was struck for the
first time with a thought that Fanny had been really prevented by
illness from keeping her promise. This time she could have made no
mistake. He regretted that he had not remained in Casterbridge and made
inquiries. Reaching home he quietly unharnessed the horse and came
indoors, as we have seen, to the fearful shock that awaited him.
As soon as it grew light enough to distinguish objects, Troy arose from
the coverlet of the bed, and in a mood of absolute indifference of
Bathshebas whereabouts, and almost oblivious of her existence, he
stalked downstairs and left the house by the back door. His walk was
towards the churchyard, entering which he searched around till he found
a newly dug unoccupied grave. The position of this having been marked
he hastened on to Casterbridge, only pausing and musing for a while at
the hill whereon he had last seen Fanny alive.
Reaching the town, Troy descended into a side street and entered a pair
of gates surmounted by a board bearing the words, Harrison, stone and
marble mason. Within were lying about stones of all sizes and designs,
inscribed as being sacred to the memory of unnamed persons who had not
yet died.
Troy was so unlike himself now in look, word, and deed, that the want
of likeness was perceptible even to his own consciousness. His method
of engaging himself in this business of purchasing a tomb was that of
an absolutely unpractised man. He could not bring himself to consider,
calculate, or economize. He waywardly wished for something, and he set
about obtaining it like a child in a nursery. I want a good tomb, he
said to the man who stood in a little office within the yard. I want
as good a one as you can give me for twenty-seven pounds,
It was all the money he possessed. | 994 |
PG27 | 158 | That sum to include everything?
Everything. Cutting the name, carriage to Weatherbury and erection.
And I want it now, at once.
We could not get anything special worked this week.
If you would like one of these in stock it could be got ready
immediately.
Very well, said Troy, impatiently. Lets see what you have.
The best I have in stock is this one, said the stonecutter, going
into a shed. Heres a marble headstone beautifully crocketed, with
medallions beneath of typical subjects; heres the footstone after the
same pattern, and heres the coping to enclose the grave. The polishing
alone of the set cost me eleven poundsthe slabs are the best of their
kind, and I can warrant them to resist rain and frost for a hundred
years without flying.
And how much?
Well, I could add the name, and put it up at Weatherbury for the sum
you mention.
Get it done to-day, and Ill pay the money now.
The man agreed, and wondered at such a mood in a visitor who wore not a
shred of mourning. Troy then wrote the words which were to form the
inscription, settled the account and went away. In the afternoon he
came back again, and found that the lettering was almost done. He
waited in the yard till the tomb was packed, and saw it placed in the
cart and starting on its way to Weatherbury, giving directions to the
two men who were to accompany it to inquire of the sexton for the grave
of the person named in the inscription.
It was quite dark when Troy came out of Casterbridge. He carried rather
a heavy basket upon his arm, with which he strode moodily along the
road, resting occasionally at bridges and gates, whereon he deposited
his burden for a time. Midway on his journey he met in the darkness the
men and the waggon which had conveyed the tomb. He merely inquired if
the work was done, and, on being assured that it was, passed on again.
Troy entered Weatherbury churchyard about ten oclock, and went
immediately to the corner where he had marked the vacant grave early in
the morning. It was on the north side of the tower, screened to a great
extent from the view of passers along the roada spot which until
lately had been abandoned to heaps of stones and bushes of alder, but
now it was cleared and made orderly for interments, by reason of the
rapid filling of the ground elsewhere.
Here now stood the tomb as the men had stated, snow-white and shapely
in the gloom, with a head and foot stone, and enclosing border of
marble-work uniting them. In the midst was mould, suitable for plants.
Troy deposited his basket beside the tomb, and vanished for a few
minutes. When he returned he carried a spade and a lantern, the light
of which he directed for a few moments upon the tomb, whilst he read
the inscription. He hung his lantern on the lowest bough of the yew
tree, and took from his basket flower-roots of several varieties. There
were bundles of snowdrop, hyacinth and crocus bulbs, violets and double
daisies, which were to bloom in early spring, and of carnations, pinks,
picotees, lilies of the valley, forget-me-not, summers-farewell,
meadow-saffron and others, for the later seasons of the year.
Troy laid these out upon the grass, and with an impassive face set to
work to plant them. The snowdrops were arranged in a line on the
outside of the coping, the remainder within the enclosure of the grave.
The crocuses and hyacinths were to grow in rows; some of the summer
flowers he placed over her head and feet, the lilies and forget-me-nots
over her heart. The remainder were dispersed in the spaces between
these.
Troy, in his prostration at this time, had no perception that in the
futility of these romantic doings, dictated by a remorseful reaction
from previous indifference, there was any element of absurdity.
Deriving his idiosyncrasies from both sides of the Channel, he showed
at such junctures as the present the inelasticity of the Englishman,
mingled with that blindness to the line where sentiment verges on
mawkishness, characteristic of the French.
It was a cloudy, muggy, and very dark night, and the rays from Troys
lantern spread into the two old yews with a strange illuminating power,
flickering, as it seemed, up to the black ceiling of cloud above. He
felt a large drop of rain upon the back of his hand, and presently one
came and entered the open side of the lantern, whereupon the candle
sputtered and went out. Troy was weary, and it being now not far from
midnight, and the rain threatening to increase, he resolved to leave
the finishing touches of his labour until the day should break. He
groped along the wall and over the graves in the dark till he found
himself round at the south side. Here he entered the porch, and,
reclining upon the bench within, fell asleep. | 1,133 |
PG27 | 160 | CHAPTER XVI.
THE GURGOYLE: ITS DOINGS
The tower of Weatherbury Church was a square erection of
fourteenth-century date, having two stone gurgoyles on each of the four
faces of its parapet. Of these eight carved protuberances only two at
this time continued to serve the purpose of their erectionthat of
spouting the water from the lead roof within. One mouth in each front
had been closed by bygone churchwardens as superfluous, and two others
were broken away and chokeda matter not of much consequence to the
well-being of the tower, for the two mouths which still remained open
and active were gaping enough to do all the work.
It has been sometimes argued that there is no truer criterion of the
vitality of any given art-period than the power of the master-spirits
of that time in grotesque; and certainly in the instance of Gothic art
there is no disputing the proposition. Weatherbury tower was a somewhat
early instance of the use of an ornamental parapet in parish as
distinct from cathedral churches, and the gurgoyles, which are the
necessary correlatives of a parapet, were exceptionally prominentof
the boldest cut that the hand could shape, and of the most original
design that a human brain could conceive. There was, so to speak, that
symmetry in their distortion which is less the characteristic of
British than of Continental grotesques of the period. All the eight
were different from each other. A beholder was convinced that nothing
on earth could be more hideous than those he saw on the south side
until he went round to the north. Of the two on this latter face, only
that at the north-eastern corner concerns the story. It was too human
to be called like a dragon, too impish to be like a man, too animal to
be like a fiend, and not enough like a bird to be called a griffin.
This horrible stone entity was fashioned as if covered with a wrinkled
hide; it had short, erect ears, eyes starting from their sockets, and
its fingers and hands were seizing the corners of its mouth, which they
thus seemed to pull open to give free passage to the water it vomited.
The lower row of teeth was quite washed away, though the upper still
remained. Here and thus, jutting a couple of feet from the wall against
which its feet rested as a support, the creature had for four hundred
years laughed at the surrounding landscape, voicelessly in dry weather,
and in wet with a gurgling and snorting sound.
Troy slept on in the porch, and the rain increased outside. Presently
the gurgoyle spat. In due time a small stream began to trickle through
the seventy feet of arial space between its mouth and the ground,
which the water-drops smote like duckshot in their accelerated
velocity. The stream thickened in substance, and increased in power,
gradually spouting further and yet further from the side of the tower.
When the rain fell in a steady and ceaseless torrent the stream dashed
downward in volumes.
We follow its course to the ground at this point of time. The base of
the liquid parabola has come forward from the wall, has advanced over
the plinth mouldings, over a heap of stones, over the marble border,
into the midst of Fanny Robins grave.
The force of the stream had, until very lately, been received upon some
loose stones spread thereabout, which had acted as a shield to the soil
under the onset. These during the summer had been cleared from the
ground, and there was now nothing to resist the down-fall but the bare
earth. For several years the stream had not spouted so far from the
tower as it was doing on this night, and such a contingency had been
overlooked. Sometimes this obscure corner received no inhabitant for
the space of two or three years, and then it was usually but a pauper,
a poacher, or other sinner of undignified sins.
The persistent torrent from the gurgoyles jaws directed all its
vengeance into the grave. The rich tawny mould was stirred into motion,
and boiled like chocolate. The water accumulated and washed deeper
down, and the roar of the pool thus formed spread into the night as the
head and chief among other noises of the kind created by the deluging
rain. The flowers so carefully planted by Fannys repentant lover began
to move and writhe in their bed. The winter-violets turned slowly
upside down, and became a mere mat of mud. Soon the snowdrop and other
bulbs danced in the boiling mass like ingredients in a cauldron. Plants
of the tufted species were loosened, rose to the surface, and floated
of. | 1,035 |
PG27 | 161 | Troy did not awake from his comfortless sleep till it was broad day.
Not having been in bed for two nights his shoulders felt stiff his feet
tender, and his head heavy. He remembered his position, arose,
shivered, took the spade, and again went out.
The rain had quite ceased, and the sun was shining through the green,
brown, and yellow leaves, now sparkling and varnished by the raindrops
to the brightness of similar effects in the landscapes of Ruysdael and
Hobbema, and full of all those infinite beauties that arise from the
union of water and colour with high lights. The air was rendered so
transparent by the heavy fall of rain that the autumn hues of the
middle distance were as rich as those near at hand, and the remote
fields intercepted by the angle of the tower appeared in the same plane
as the tower itself.
He entered the gravel path which would take him behind the tower. The
path, instead of being stony as it had been the night before, was
browned over with a thin coating of mud. At one place in the path he
saw a tuft of stringy roots washed white and clean as a bundle of
tendons. He picked it upsurely it could not be one of the primroses he
had planted? He saw a bulb, another, and another as he advanced. Beyond
doubt they were the crocuses. With a face of perplexed dismay Troy
turned the corner and then beheld the wreck the stream had made.
The pool upon the grave had soaked away into the ground, and in its
place was a hollow. The disturbed earth was washed over the grass and
pathway in the guise of the brown mud he had already seen, and it
spotted the marble tombstone with the same stains. Nearly all the
flowers were washed clean out of the ground, and they lay, roots
upwards, on the spots whither they had been splashed by the stream.
Troys brow became heavily contracted. He set his teeth closely, and
his compressed lips moved as those of one in great pain. This singular
accident, by a strange confluence of emotions in him, was felt as the
sharpest sting of all. Troys face was very expressive, and any
observer who had seen him now would hardly have believed him to be a
man who had laughed, and sung, and poured love-trifles into a womans
ear. To curse his miserable lot was at first his impulse, but even that
lowest stage of rebellion needed an activity whose absence was
necessarily antecedent to the existence of the morbid misery which
wrung him. The sight, coming as it did, superimposed upon the other
dark scenery of the previous days, formed a sort of climax to the whole
panorama, and it was more than he could endure. Sanguine by nature,
Troy had a power of eluding grief by simply adjourning it. He could put
off the consideration of any particular spectre till the matter had
become old and softened by time. The planting of flowers on Fannys
grave had been perhaps but a species of elusion of the primary grief,
and now it was as if his intention had been known and circumvented.
Almost for the first time in his life, Troy, as he stood by this
dismantled grave, wished himself another man. It is seldom that a
person with much animal spirit does not feel that the fact of his life
being his own is the one qualification which singles it out as a more
hopeful life than that of others who may actually resemble him in every
particular. Troy had felt, in his transient way, hundreds of times,
that he could not envy other people their condition, because the
possession of that condition would have necessitated a different
personality, when he desired no other than his own. He had not minded
the peculiarities of his birth, the vicissitudes of his life, the
meteor-like uncertainty of all that related to him, because these
appertained to the hero of his story, without whom there would have
been no story at all for him; and it seemed to be only in the nature of
things that matters would right themselves at some proper date and wind
up well. This very morning the illusion completed its disappearance,
and, as it were, all of a sudden, Troy hated himself. The suddenness
was probably more apparent than real. A coral reef which just comes
short of the ocean surface is no more to the horizon than if it had
never been begun, and the mere finishing stroke is what often appears
to create an event which has long been potentially an accomplished
thing. | 1,002 |
PG27 | 162 | He stood and mediateda miserable man. Whither should he go? He that
is accursed, let him be accursed still. was the pitiless anathema
written in this spoliated effort of his new-born solicitousness. A man
who has spent his primal strength in journeying in one direction has
not much spirit left for reversing his course. Troy had, since
yesterday, faintly reversed his; but the merest opposition had
disheartened him. To turn about would have been hard enough under the
greatest Providential encouragement; but to find that Providence, far
from helping him into a new course, or showing any wish that he might
adopt one, actually jeered his first trembling and critical attempt in
that kind, was more than nature could bear.
He slowly withdrew from the grave. He did not attempt to fill up the
hole, replace the flowers, or do anything at all. He simply threw up
his cards and forswore his game for that time and always. Going out of
the churchyard silently and unobservednone of the villagers having yet
risenhe passed down some fields at the back, and emerged just as
secretly upon the high road. Shortly afterwards he had gone from the
village.
Meanwhile, Bathsheba remained a voluntary prisoner in the attic. The
door was kept locked, except during the entries and exits of Liddy, for
whom a bed had been arranged in a small adjoining room. The light of
Troys lantern in the churchyard was noticed about ten oclock by the
maid-servant, who casually glanced from the window in that direction
whilst taking her supper, and she called Bathshebas attention to it.
They looked curiously at the phenomenon for a time, until Liddy was
sent to bed.
Bathsheba did not sleep very heavily that night. When her attendant was
unconscious and softly breathing in the next room, the mistress of the
house was still looking out of the window at the faint gleam spreading
from among the treesnot in a steady shine, but blinking like a
revolving coast-light, though this appearance failed to suggest to her
that a person was passing and repassing in front of it. Bathsheba sat
here till it began to rain, and the light vanished, when she withdrew
to lie restlessly in her bed and re-enact in a worn mind the lurid
scene of yesternight. Almost before the first faint sign of dawn
appeared she arose again, and opened the window to obtain a full
breathing of the new morning air, the panes being now wet with
trembling tears left by the night rain, each one rounded with a pale
lustre caught from primrose-hued slashes through a cloud low down in
the awakening sky. From the trees came the sound of steady dripping
upon the drifted leaves under them, and from the direction of the
church she could hear another noisepeculiar, and not intermittent like
the rest, the purl of water falling into a pool.
Liddy knocked at eight oclock, and Bathsheba unlocked the door.
What a heavy rain weve had in the night, maam! said Liddy, when her
inquiries about breakfast had been made.
Yes; very heavy.
Did you hear the strange noise from the churchyard?
I heard one strange noise. Ive been thinking it must have been the
water from the tower spouts.
Well, thats what the shepherd was saying, maam. Hes now gone on to
see.
Oh! Gabriel has been here this morning?
Only just looked in in passingquite in his old way, which I thought
he had left off lately. But the tower spouts used to spatter on the
stones, and we are puzzled, for this was like the boiling of a pot.
Not being able to read, think, or work, Bathsheba asked Liddy to stay
and breakfast with her. The tongue of the more childish woman still ran
upon recent events. Are you going across to the church, maam? she
asked.
Not that I know of, said Bathsheba.
I thought you might like to go and see where they have put Fanny. The
tree hides the place from your window.
Bathsheba had all sorts of dreads about meeting her husband. Has Mr.
Troy been in to-night? she said
No, maam; I think hes gone to Budmouth.
Budmouth! The sound of the word carried with it a much diminished
perspective of him and his deeds; there were thirteen miles interval
betwixt them now. She hated questioning Liddy about her husbands
movements, and indeed had hitherto sedulously avoided doing so; but now
all the house knew that there had been some dreadful disagreement
between them, and it was futile to attempt disguise. Bathsheba had
reached a stage at which people cease to have any appreciative regard
for public opinion. | 1,054 |
PG27 | 163 | What makes you think he has gone there? she said.
Laban Tall saw him on the Budmouth road this morning before
breakfast.
Bathsheba was momentarily relieved of that wayward heaviness of the
past twenty-four hours which had quenched the vitality of youth in her
without substituting the philosophy of maturer years, and the resolved
to go out and walk a little way. So when breakfast was over, she put on
her bonnet, and took a direction towards the church. It was nine
oclock, and the men having returned to work again from their first
meal, she was not likely to meet many of them in the road. Knowing that
Fanny had been laid in the reprobates quarter of the graveyard, called
in the parish behind church, which was invisible from the road, it
was impossible to resist the impulse to enter and look upon a spot
which, from nameless feelings, she at the same time dreaded to see. She
had been unable to overcome an impression that some connection existed
between her rival and the light through the trees.
Bathsheba skirted the buttress, and beheld the hole and the tomb, its
delicately veined surface splashed and stained just as Troy had seen it
and left it two hours earlier. On the other side of the scene stood
Gabriel. His eyes, too, were fixed on the tomb, and her arrival having
been noiseless, she had not as yet attracted his attention. Bathsheba
did not at once perceive that the grand tomb and the disturbed grave
were Fannys, and she looked on both sides and around for some humbler
mound, earthed up and clodded in the usual way. Then her eye followed
Oaks, and she read the words with which the inscription opened:
Erected by Francis Troy in memory of Fanny Robin.
Oak saw her, and his first act was to gaze inquiringly and learn how
she received this knowledge of the authorship of the work, which to
himself had caused considerable astonishment. But such discoveries did
not much affect her now. Emotional convulsions seemed to have become
the commonplaces of her history, and she bade him good-morning, and
asked him to fill in the hole with the spade which was standing by.
Whilst Oak was doing as she desired, Bathsheba collected the flowers,
and began planting them with that sympathetic manipulation of roots and
leaves which is so conspicuous in a womans gardening, and which
flowers seem to understand and thrive upon. She requested Oak to get
the churchwardens to turn the leadwork at the mouth of the gurgoyle
that hung gaping down upon them, that by this means the stream might be
directed sideways, and a repetition of the accident prevented. Finally,
with the superfluous magnanimity of a woman whose converse and narrower
instincts have brought down bitterness upon her instead of love, she
wiped the mud spots from the tomb as if she rather liked its words than
otherwise, and went home again. | 655 |
PG27 | 164 | CHAPTER XVII.
ADVENTURES BY THE SHORE
Troy wandered along towards the west. A composite feeling, made up of
disgust with the, to him, humdrum tedium of a farmers life, gloomily
images of her who lay in the churchyard, remorse, and a general
aversion to his wifes society, impelled him to seek a home in any
place on earth save Weatherbury. The sad accessories of Fannys end
confronted him as vivid pictures which threatened to be indelible, and
made life in Bathshebas house intolerable. At three in the afternoon
he found himself at the foot of a slope more than a mile in length,
which ran to the ridge of a range of hills lying parallel with the
shore, and forming a monotonous barrier between the basin of cultivated
country inland and the wilder scenery of the coast. Up the hill
stretched a road perfectly straight and perfectly white, the two sides
approaching each other in a gradual taper till they met the sky at the
top about two miles off. Throughout the length of this narrow and
irksome inclined plane not a sign of life was visible on this garish
afternoon. Troy toiled up the road with a languor and depression
greater than any he had experienced for many a day and year before. The
air was warm and muggy, and the top seemed to recede as he approached.
At last he reached the summit, and a new and novel prospect burst upon
him with an effect almost like that of the Pacific upon Balboas gaze.
The broad steely sea, marked only by faint lines, which had a semblance
of being etched thereon to a degree not deep enough to disturb its
general evenness, stretched the whole width of his front and round to
the left, where, near the town and port of Budmouth, the sun bristled
down upon it, and banished all colour, to substitute in its place a
clear oily polish. Nothing moved in sky, land, or sea, except a frill
of milkwhite foam along the nearer angles of the shore, shreds of which
licked the contiguous stones like tongues.
He descended and came to a small basin of sea enclosed by the cliffs.
Troys nature freshened within him; he thought he would rest and bathe
here before going farther. He undressed and plunged in. Inside the cove
the water was uninteresting to a swimmer, being smooth as a pond, and
to get a little of the ocean swell, Troy presently swam between the two
projecting spurs of rock which formed the pillars of Hercules to this
miniature Mediterranean. Unfortunately for Troy a current unknown to
him existed outside, which, unimportant to craft of any burden, was
awkward for a swimmer who might be taken in it unawares. Troy found
himself carried to the left and then round in a swoop out to sea.
He now recollected the place and its sinister character. Many bathers
had there prayed for a dry death from time to time, and, like Gonzalo
also, had been unanswered; and Troy began to deem it possible that he
might be added to their number. Not a boat of any kind was at present
within sight, but far in the distance Budmouth lay upon the sea, as it
were quietly regarding his efforts, and beside the town the harbour
showed its position by a dim meshwork of ropes and spars. After
well-nigh exhausting himself in attempts to get back to the mouth of
the cove, in his weakness swimming several inches deeper than was his
wont, keeping up his breathing entirely by his nostrils, turning upon
his back a dozen times over, swimming _en papillon_ and so on, Troy
resolved as a last resource to tread water at a slight incline, and so
endeavour to reach the shore at any point, merely giving himself a
gentle impetus inwards whilst carried on in the general direction of
the tide. This, necessarily a slow process, he found to be not
altogether so difficult, and though there was no choice of a
landing-placethe objects on shore passing by him in a sad and slow
processionhe perceptibly approached the extremity of a spit of land
yet further to the left, now well defined against the sunny portion of
the horizon. While the swimmers eyes were fixed upon the spit as his
only means of salvation on this side of the Unknown, a moving object
broke the outline of the extremity, and immediately a ships boat
appeared, manned with several sailor lads, her bows towards the sea. | 995 |
PG27 | 166 | CHAPTER XVIII.
DOUBTS ARISEDOUBTS VANISH
Bathsheba underwent the enlargement of her husbands absence from hours
to days with a slight feeling of surprise, and a slight feeling of
relief; yet neither sensation rose at any time far above the level
commonly designated as indifference. She belonged to him: the
certainties of that position were so well defined, and the reasonable
probabilities of its issue so bounded, that she could not speculate on
contingencies. Taking no further interest in herself as a splendid
woman, she acquired the indifferent feelings of an outsider in
contemplating her probable fate as a singular wretch; for Bathsheba
drew herself and her future in colours that no reality could exceed for
darkness. Her original vigorous pride of youth had sickened, and with
it had declined all her anxieties about coming years, since anxiety
recognizes a better and a worse alternative, and Bathsheba had made up
her mind that alternatives on any noteworthy scale had ceased for her.
Soon, or laterand that not very lateher husband would be home again.
And then the days of their tenancy of the Upper Farm would be numbered.
There had originally been shown by the agent to the estate some
distrust of Bathshebas tenure as James Everdenes successor, on the
score of her sex, and her youth, and her beauty; but the peculiar
nature of her uncles will, his own frequent testimony before his death
to her cleverness in such a pursuit, and her vigorous marshalling of
the numerous flocks and herds which came suddenly into her hands before
negotiations were concluded, had won confidence in her powers, and no
further objections had been raised. She had latterly been in great
doubt as to what the legal effects of her marriage would be upon her
position; but no notice had been taken as yet of her change of name,
and only one point was clearthat in the event of her own or her
husbands inability to meet the agent at the forthcoming January
rent-day, very little consideration would be shown, and, for that
matter, very little would be deserved. Once out of the farm, the
approach of poverty would be sure.
Hence Bathsheba lived in a perception that her purposes were broken
off. She was not a woman who could hope on without good materials for
the process, differing thus from the less far-sighted and energetic,
though more petted ones of the sex, with whom hope goes on as a sort of
clockwork which the merest food and shelter are sufficient to wind up;
and perceiving clearly that her mistake had been a fatal one, she
accepted her position, and waited coldly for the end.
The first Saturday after Troys departure she went to Casterbridge
alone, a journey she had not before taken since her marriage. On this
Saturday Bathsheba was passing slowly on foot through the crowd of
rural business-men gathered as usual in front of the market-house, who
were as usual gazed upon by the burghers with feelings that those
healthy lives were dearly paid for by the lack of possible
aldermanship, when a man, who had apparently been following her, said
some words to another on her left hand. Bathshebas ears were keen as
those of any wild animal, and she distinctly heard what the speaker
said, though her back was towards him
I am looking for Mrs. Troy. Is that she there?
Yes; thats the young lady, I believe, said the the person addressed.
I have some awkward news to break to her. Her husband is drowned.
As if endowed with the spirit of prophecy, Bathsheba gasped out, Oh,
it is not true; it cannot be true! Then she said and heard no more.
The ice of self-command which had latterly gathered over her was
broken, and the currents burst forth again, and overwhelmed her. A
darkness came into her eyes, and she fell.
But not to the ground. A gloomy man, who had been observing her from
under the portico of the old corn-exchange when she passed through the
group without, stepped quickly to her side at the moment of her
exclamation, and caught her in his arms as she sank down.
What is it? said Boldwood, looking up at the bringer of the big news,
as he supported her.
Her husband was drowned this week while bathing in Carrow Cove. A
coastguardsman found his clothes, and brought them into Budmouth
yesterday.
Thereupon a strange fire lighted up Boldwoods eye, and his face
flushed with the suppressed excitement of an unutterable thought.
Everybodys glance was now centred upon him and the unconscious
Bathsheba. He lifted her bodily off the ground, and smoothed down the
folds of her dress as a child might have taken a storm-beaten bird and
arranged its ruffled plumes, and bore her along the pavement to the
Three Choughs Inn. Here he passed with her under the archway into a
private room; and by the time he had depositedso lothlythe precious
burden upon a sofa, Bathsheba had opened her eyes, and remembering all
that had occurred, murmured, I want to go home! | 1,130 |
PG27 | 167 | Boldwood left the room. He stood for a moment in the passage to recover
his senses. The experience had been too much for his consciousness to
keep up with, and now that he had grasped it it had gone again. For
those few heavenly, golden moments she had been in his arms. What did
it matter about her not knowing it? She had been close to his breast;
he had been close to hers.
He started onward again, and sending a woman to her, went out to
ascertain all the facts of the case. These appeared to be limited to
what he had already heard. He then ordered her horse to be put into the
gig, and when all was ready returned to inform her. He found that,
though still pale and unwell, she had in the meantime sent for the
Budmouth man who brought the tidings, and learnt from him all there was
to know.
Being hardly in a condition to drive home as she had driven to town,
Boldwood, with every delicacy of manner and feeling, offered to get her
a driver, or to give her a seat in his phaeton, which was more
comfortable than her own conveyance. These proposals Bathsheba gently
declined, and the farmer at once departed. About half an hour later she
invigorated herself by an effort, and took her seat and the reins as
usualin external appearance much as if nothing had happened. She went
out of the town by a tortuous back street, and drove slowly along,
unconscious of the road and the scene. The first shades of evening were
showing themselves when Bathsheba reached home, when, silently
alighting and leaving the horse in the hands of the boy, she proceeded
at once upstairs. Liddy met her on the landing. The news had preceded
Bathsheba to Weatherbury by half an hour, and Liddy looked inquiringly
into her mistresss face. Bathsheba had nothing to say.
She entered her bedroom and sat by the window, and thought and thought
till night enveloped her, and the extreme lines only of her shape were
visible. Somebody came to the door, knocked, and opened it.
Well, what is it, Liddy? she said.
I was thinking there must be something got for you to wear, said
Liddy, with hesitation.
What do you mean?
Mourning.
No, no, no, said Bathsheba, hurriedly.
But I suppose there must be something done for poor
Not at present, I think. It is not necessary.
Why not, maam?
Because hes still alive.
How do you know that? said Liddy, amazed.
I dont know it. But wouldnt it have been different, or shouldnt I
have heard more, or wouldnt they have found him, Liddy?orI dont
know how it is, but death would have been different from how this is. I
am full of a feeling that he is still alive!
Bathsheba remained firm in this opinion till Monday, when two
circumstances conjoined to shake it. The first was a short paragraph
in the local newspaper, which, beyond making by a methodizing pen
formidable presumptive evidence of Troys death by drowning, contained
the important testimony of a young Mr. Barker, M.D., of Budmouth, who
spoke to being an eye-witness of the accident, in a letter to the
editor. In this he stated that he was passing over the cliff on the
remoter side of the cove just as the sun was setting. At that time he
saw a bather carried along in the current outside the mouth of the
cove, and guessed in an instant that there was but a poor chance for
him unless he should be possessed of unusual muscular powers. He
drifted behind a projection of the coast, and Mr. Barker followed
along the shore in the same direction. But by the time that he could
reach an elevation sufficiently great to command a view of the sea
beyond, dusk had set in, and nothing further was to be seen.
[Illustration: HE SAW A BATHER CARRIED ALONG IN THE CURRENT.]
The other circumstance was the arrival of his clothes, when it became
necessary for her to examine and identify themthough this had
virtually been done long before by those who inspected the letters in
his pockets. It was so evident to her in the midst of her agitation
that Troy had undressed in the full conviction of dressing again almost
immediately, that the notion that anything but death could have
prevented him was never entertained.
Then Bathsheba said to herself that others were assured in their
opinion, and why should not she be? A strange reflection occurred to
her, causing her face to flush. Troy had left her, and followed Fanny
into another world. Had he done this intentionally, yet contrived to
make his death appear like an accident? Oddly enough, this thought of
how the apparent might differ from the realmade vivid by her bygone
jealousy of Fanny, and the remorse he had shown that nightblinded her
to the perception of any other possible difference, less tragic, but to
herself far more terrible. | 1,108 |
PG27 | 169 | CHAPTER XIX.
OAKS ADVANCEMENTA GREAT HOPE
The later autumn and the winter drew on apace, and the leaves lay thick
upon the turf of the glades and the mosses of the woods. Bathsheba,
having previously been living in a state of suspended feeling which was
not suspense, now lived in a mood of quietude which was not precisely
peacefulness. While she had known him to be alive she could have
thought of his death with equanimity; but now that she believed she had
lost him, she regretted that he was not hers still. She kept the farm
going, raked in her profits without caring keenly about them, and
expended money on ventures because she had done so in bygone days,
which, though not long gone by, seemed infinitely removed from her
present. She looked back upon that past over a great gulf, as if she
were now a dead person, having the faculty of meditation still left in
her, by means of which, like the mouldering gentlefolk of the poets
story, she could sit and ponder what a gift life used to be.
However, one excellent result of her general apathy was the long
delayed installation of Oak as bailiff; but he having virtually
exercised that function for a long time already, the change, beyond the
substantial increase of wages it brought, was little more than a
nominal one addressed to the outside world.
Boldwood lived secluded and inactive. Much of his wheat and all his
barley of that season had been spoilt by the rain. It sprouted, grew
into intricate mats, and was ultimately thrown to the pigs in armfuls.
The strange neglect which had produced this ruin and waste became the
subject of whispered talk among all the people round; and it was
elicited from one of Boldwoods men that forgetfulness had nothing to
do with it, for he had been reminded of the danger to his corn as many
times and as persistently as inferiors dared to do. The sight of the
pigs turning in disgust from the rotten ears seemed to arouse Boldwood,
and he one evening sent for Oak. Whether it was suggested by
Bathshebas recent act of promotion or not, the farmer proposed at the
interview that Gabriel should undertake the superintendence of the
Lower Farm as well as of Bathshebas, because of the necessity Boldwood
felt for such aid, and the impossibility of discovering a more
trustworthy man. Gabriels malignant star was assuredly setting fast.
Bathsheba, when she learnt of this proposalfor Oak was obliged to
consult herat first languidly objected. She considered that the two
farms together were too extensive for the observation of one man.
Boldwood, who was apparently determined by personal rather than
commercial reasons, suggested that Oak should be furnished with a horse
for his sole use, when the plan would present no difficulty, the two
farms lying side by side. Boldwood did not directly communicate with
her during these negotiations, only speaking to Oak, who was the
go-between throughout. All was harmoniously arranged at last, and we
now see Oak mounted on a strong cob, and daily trotting the length
breadth of about two thousand acres in a cheerful spirit of
surveillance, as if the crops all belonged to himthe actual mistress
of the one half, and the master of the other, sitting in their
respective homes in gloomy and sad seclusion.
Out of this there arose, during the spring succeeding, a talk in the
parish that Gabriel Oak was feathering his nest fast. Whatever dye
think, said Susan Tall, Gable Oak is coming it quite the dand. He now
wears shining boots with hardly a hob in em, two or three times
a-week, and a tall hat a-Sundays, and a hardly knows the name of
smockfrock. When I see people strut enough to be cut up into bantam
cocks, I stand dormant with wonder, and says no more.
It was eventually known that Gabriel, though paid a fixed wage by
Bathsheba independent of the fluctuations of agricultural profits, had
made an engagement with Boldwood by which Oak was to receive a share of
the receiptsa small share certainly, yet it was money of a higher
quality than mere wages, and capable of expansion in a way that wages
were not. Some were beginning to consider Oak a near man, for though
his condition had thus far improved, he lived in no better style than
before, occupying the same cottage, paring his own potatoes, mending
his stockings, and sometimes even making his bed with his own hands.
But as Oak was not only provokingly indifferent to public opinion, but
a man who clung persistently to old habits and usages, simply because
they were old, there was room for doubt as to his motives. | 1,045 |
PG27 | 170 | A great hope had latterly germinated in Boldwood, whose unreasoning
devotion to Bathsheba could only be characterized as a fond madness
which neither time nor circumstance, evil nor good report, could weaken
or destroy. This fevered hope had grown up again like a grain of
mustard-seed during the quiet which followed the universal belief that
Troy was drowned. He nourished it fearfully, and almost shunned the
contemplation of it in earnest, lest facts should reveal the wildness
of the dream. Bathsheba having at last been persuaded to wear mourning,
her appearance as she entered the church in that guise was in itself a
weekly addition to his faith that a time was comingvery far off
perhaps, yet surely nearingwhen his waiting on events should have its
reward. How long he might have to wait he had not yet closely
considered. What he would try to recognize was that the severe
schooling she had been subjected to had made Bathsheba much more
considerate than she had formerly been of the feelings of others, and
he trusted that, should she be willing at any time in the future to
marry any man at all, that man would be himself. There was a substratum
of good feeling in her: her self reproach for the injury she had
thoughtlessly done him might be depended upon now to a much greater
extent than before her infatuation and disappointment. It would be
possible to approach her by the channel of her good-nature, and to
suggest a friendly businesslike compact between them for fulfilment at
some future day, keeping the passionate side of his desire entirely out
of her sight. Such was Boldwoods hope.
To the eyes of the middle-aged, Bathsheba was perhaps additionally
charming just now. Her exuberance of spirit was pruned down; the
original phantom of delight had shown herself to be not too bright for
human natures daily food, and she had been able to enter this second
poetical phase without losing much of the first in the process.
Bathshebas return from a two months visit to her old aunt at Norcombe
afforded the impassioned and yearning farmer a pretext for inquiring
directly after hernow presumably in the ninth month of her
widowhoodand endeavouring to get a notion of her state of mind
regarding him. This occurred in the middle of the haymaking, and
Boldwood contrived to be near Liddy, who was assisting in the fields.
I am glad to see you out of doors, Lydia, he said, pleasantly.
She simpered, and wondered in her heart why he should speak so frankly
to her.
I hope Mrs. Troy is quite well after her long absence, he continued,
in a manner expressing that the coldest-hearted neighbour could
scarcely say less about her.
She is quite well, sir.
And cheerful, I suppose.
Yes, cheerful.
Fearful, did you say?
Oh no. I merely said she was cheerful.
Tells you all her affairs?
No, sir.
Some of them?
Yes, sir.
Mrs. Troy puts much confidence in you, Lydia; and very wisely,
perhaps.
She do, sir. Ive been with her all through her troubles, and was with
her at the time of Mr. Troys death and all. And if she were to marry
again I expect I should bide with her.
She promises that you shallquite natural, said the strategic lover,
throbbing throughout him at the presumption which Liddys words
appeared to warrantthat his darling had thought of re-marriage.
Noshe doesnt promise it exactly. I merely judge on my own account.
Yes, yes, I understand. When she alludes to the possibility of
marrying again, you conclude
She never do allude to it, sir, said Liddy, thinking how very stupid
Mr. Boldwood was getting.
Of course not, he returned hastily, his hope falling again. You
neednt take quite such long reaches with your rake, Lydiashort and
quick ones are best. Well, perhaps, as she is absolute mistress again
now, it is wise of her to resolve never to give up her freedom.
My mistress did certainly once say, though not seriously, that she
supposed she might marry again at the end of seven years from last
year, if she wished.
Ah, six years from the present time. Said that she might. She might
marry at once in every reasonable persons opinion, whatever the
lawyers may say to the contrary.
Have you been to ask them? said Liddy, innocently.
Not I! said Boldwood, growing red. Liddy, you neednt stay here a
minute later than you wish, so Mr. Oak says. I am now going on a little
farther. Good afternoon. | 1,022 |
PG27 | 172 | CHAPTER XX.
THE SHEEP FAIRTROY TOUCHES HIS WIFES HAND
Greenhill was the Nijnii Novgorod of South Wessex; and the busiest,
merriest, noisiest day of the whole statute number was the day of the
sheep-fair. This yearly gathering was upon the summit of a hill which
retained in good preservation the remains of an ancient earthwork,
consisting of a huge rampart and entrenchment of an oval form
encircling the top of the hill, though somewhat broken down here and
there. To each of the two chief openings on opposite sides a winding
road ascended, and the level green space of twenty or thirty acres
enclosed by the bank was the site of the fair. A few permanent
erections dotted the spot, but the majority of visitors patronized
canvas alone for resting and feeding under during the time of their
sojourn here.
Shepherds who attended with their flocks from long distances started
from home two or three days, or even a week, before the fair, driving
their charges a few miles each daynot more than ten or twelveand
resting them at night in hired fields by the wayside at previously
chosen points, where they fed, having fasted since morning. The
shepherd of each flock marched behind, a bundle containing his kit for
the week strapped upon his shoulders, and in his hand his crook, which
he used as the staff of his pilgrimage. Several of the sheep would get
worn and lame, and occasionally a lambing occurred on the road. To meet
these contingencies, there was frequently provided, to accompany the
flocks from the remoter points, a pony and waggon into which the weakly
ones were taken for the remainder of the journey.
The Weatherbury Farms, however, were no such long distance from the
hill, and those arrangements were not necessary in their case. But the
large united flocks of Bathsheba and Farmer Boldwood formed a valuable
and imposing multitude which demanded much attention, and on this
account Gabriel, in addition to Boldwoods shepherd and Cain Ball,
accompanied them along the wayold George the dog of course behind
them.
When the autumn sun slanted over Greenhill this morning and lighted the
dewy flat upon its crest, nebulous clouds of dust were to be seen
floating between the pairs of hedges which streaked the wide prospect
around in all directions. These gradually converged upon the base of
the hill, and the flocks became individually visible, climbing the
serpentine ways which led to the top. Thus, in a slow procession, they
entered the opening to which the roads wended, multitude after
multitude, horned and hornlessblue flocks and red flocks, buff flocks
and brown flocks, even green and salmon-tinted flocks, according to the
fancy of the colourist and custom of the farm. Men were shouting, dogs
were barking, with greatest animation, but the thronging travellers in
so long a journey had grown nearly indifferent to such terrors, though
they still bleated piteously at the unwontedness of their experiences,
a tall shepherd rising here and there in the midst of them, like a
gigantic idol amid a crowd of prostrate devotees.
The great mass of sheep in the fair consisted of South Downs and the
old Wessex horned breeds; to the latter class Bathshebas and Farmer
Boldwoods mainly belonged. These filed in about nine oclock, their
vermiculated horns lopping gracefully on each side of their cheeks in
geometrically perfect spirals, a small pink and white ear nestling
under each horn. Before and behind came other varieties, perfect
leopards as to the full rich substance of their coats, and only lacking
the spots. There were also a few of the Oxfordshire breed, whose wool
was beginning to curl like a childs flaxen hair, though surpassed in
this respect by the effeminate Leicesters, which were in turn less
curly than the Cotswolds. But the most picturesque by far was a small
flock of Exmoors, which chanced to be there this year. Their pied faces
and legs, dark and heavy horns, tresses of wool hanging round their
swarthy foreheads, quite relieved the monotony of the flocks in that
quarter. All these bleating, panting, and weary thousands had entered
and were penned before the morning had far advanced, the dog belonging
to each flock being tied to the corner of the pen containing it. Alleys
for pedestrians intersected the pens, which soon became crowded with
buyers and sellers from far and near.
In another part of the hill an altogether different scene began to
force itself upon the eye towards midday. A circular tent, of
exceptional newness and size, was in course of erection here. As the
day drew on, the flocks began to change hands, lightening the
shepherds responsibilities; and they turned their attention to this
tent and inquired of a man at work there, whose soul seemed
concentrated on tying a bothering knot in no time, what was going on. | 1,113 |
PG27 | 174 | At this timethe July preceding the September in which we find at
Greenhill Fairhe fell in with a travelling circus which was performing
in the outskirts of a northern town. Troy introduced himself to the
manager by taming a restive horse of the troupe, hitting a suspended
apple with pistol-bullet fired from the animals back when in full
gallop, and other feats. For his merits in theseall more or less based
upon his experiences as a dragoon-guardsmanTroy was taken into the
company, and the play of Turpin was prepared with a view to his
personation of the chief character. Troy was not greatly elated by the
appreciative spirit in which he was undoubtedly treated, but he thought
the engagement might afford him a few weeks for consideration. It was
thus carelessly, and without having formed any definite plan for the
future, that Troy found himself at Greenhill Fair with the rest of the
company on this day.
And now the mild autumn sun got lower, and in front of the pavilion the
following incident had taken place. Bathshebawho was driven to the
fair that day by her odd man Poorgrasshad, like every one else, read
or heard the announcement that Mr. Francis, the Great Cosmopolite
Equestrian and Roughrider, would enact the part of Turpin, and she was
not yet too old and careworn to be without a little curiosity to see
him. This particular show was by far the largest and grandest in the
fair, a horde of little shows grouping themselves under its shade like
chickens around a hen. The crowd had passed in, and Boldwood, who had
been watching all the day for an opportunity of speaking to her, seeing
her comparatively isolated, came up to her side.
I hope the sheep have done well to-day, Mrs. Troy? he said,
nervously.
Oh yes, thank you, said Bathsheba, colour springing up in the centre
of her cheeks. I was fortunate enough to sell them all before we got
upon the hill, so we hadnt to pen at all.
And now you are entirely at leisure?
Yes, except that I have to see one more dealer in two hours time:
otherwise I should be going home. I was looking at this large tent and
the announcement. Have you ever seen the play of Turpins Ride to
York? Turpin was a real man, was he not?
Oh yes, perfectly trueall of it. Indeed, I think Ive heard Jan
Coggan say that a relation of his knew Tom King, Turpins friend, quite
well.
Coggan is rather given to strange stories connected with his
relations, we must remember. I hope they can all be believed.
Yes, yes; we know Coggan. But Turpin is true enough. You have never
seen it played, I suppose?
Never. I was not allowed to go into these places when I was young.
Hark! whats that prancing? How they shout!
Black Bess just started off, I suppose. Am I right in supposing you
would like to see the performance, Mrs. Troy? Please excuse my mistake,
if it is one; but if you would like to, Ill get a seat for you with
pleasure. Perceiving that she hesitated, he added, I myself shall not
stay to see it: Ive seen it before.
Now Bathsheba did care a little to see the show, and had only withheld
her feet from the ladder because she feared to go in alone. She had
been hoping that Oak might appear, whose assistance in such cases was
always accepted as an inalienable right, but Oak was nowhere to be
seen; and hence it was that she said, Then if you will just look in
first, to see if theres room, I think I will go in for a minute or
two.
And so a short time after this Bathsheba appeared in the tent with
Boldwood at her elbow, who, taking her to a reserved seat, again
withdrew.
This feature consisted of one raised bench in very conspicuous part of
the circle, covered with red cloth, and floored with a piece of carpet,
and Bathsheba immediately found, to her confusion, that she was the
single reserved individual in the tent, the rest of the crowded
spectators, one and all, standing on their legs on the borders of the
arena, where they got twice as good a view of the performance for half
the money. Hence as many eyes were turned upon her, enthroned alone in
this place of honour, against a scarlet background, as upon the ponies
and clown who were engaged in preliminary exploits in the centre,
Turpin not having yet appeared. Once there, Bathsheba was forced to
make the best of it and remain: she sat down, spreading her skirts with
some dignity over the unoccupied space on each side of her, and giving
a new and feminine aspect to the pavilion. In a few minutes she noticed
the fat red nape of Coggans neck among those standing just below her,
and Joseph Poorgrasss saintly profile a little further on. | 1,101 |
PG27 | 175 | The interior was shadowy with a peculiar shade. The strange luminous
semi-opacities of fine autumn afternoons and eves intensified into
Rembrandt effects the few yellow sunbeams which came through holes and
divisions in the canvas, and spirted like jets of gold-dust across the
dusky blue atmosphere of haze pervading the tent, until they alighted
on inner surfaces of cloth opposite, and shone like little lamps
suspended there.
Troy, on peeping from his dressing-tent through a slit for a
reconnoitre before entering, saw his unconscious wife on high before
him as described, sitting as queen of the tournament. He started back
in utter confusion, for although his disguise effectually concealed his
personality, he instantly felt that she would be sure to recognize his
voice. He had several times during the day thought of the possibility
of some Weatherbury person or other appearing and recognizing him; but
he had taken the risk carelessly. If they see me, let them, he had
said. But here was Bathsheba in her own person; and the reality of the
scene was so much intenser than any of his prefigurings that he felt he
had not half enough considered the point. She looked so charming and
fair that his cool mood about Weatherbury people was changed. He had
not expected her to exercise this power over him in the twinkling of an
eye. Should he go on, and care nothing? He could not bring himself to
do that. Beyond a politic wish to remain unknown, there suddenly arose
in him now a sense of shame at the possibility that his attractive
young wife, who already despised him, should despise him more by
discovering him in so mean a condition after so long a time. He
actually blushed at the thought, and was vexed beyond measure that his
sentiments of dislike towards Weatherbury should have led him to dally
about the country in this way. But Troy was never more clever than when
absolutely at his wits end. He hastily thrust aside the curtain
dividing his own little dressing space from that of the manager and
proprietor, who now appeared as the individual called Tom King as far
down as his waist, and the aforesaid respectable manager thence to his
toes.
Heres the d to pay! said Troy.
Hows that?
Why, theres a good-for-nothing scamp in the tent I dont want to see,
wholl discover me and nab me as sure as Satan if I open my mouth.
Whats to be done?
You must appear now, I think.
I cant.
But the play must proceed.
Do you give out that Turpin has got a bad cold, and cant speak his
part, but that hell perform it just the same without speaking.
The proprietor shook his head.
Anyhow, play or no play, I wont open my mouth, said Troy, firmly.
Very well, then let me see. I tell you how well manage, said the
other, who perhaps felt it would be extremely awkward to offend his
leading man just at this time. I wont tell them anything about your
keeping silence; go on with the piece and say nothing, doing what you
can by a judicious wink now and then, and a few indomitable nods in the
heroic places, you know. Theyll never find out that the speeches are
omitted.
This seemed feasible enough, for Turpins speeches were not many or
long, the fascination of the piece lying entirely in the action; and
accordingly the play began, and at the appointed time Black Bess leapt
into the grassy circle amid the plaudits of the spectators. At the
turnpike scene, where Bess and Turpin are hotly pursued at midnight by
the officers, and the half-awake gatekeeper in his tasselled nightcap
denies that any horseman has passed, Coggan uttered a broad-chested
Well done! which could be heard all over the fair above the bleating,
and Poorgrass smiled delightedly with a nice sense of dramatic contrast
between our hero, who coolly leaps the gate, and halting justice in the
form of his enemies, who must needs pull up cumbersomely and wait to be
let through. At the death of Tom King, he could not refrain from
seizing Coggan by the hand, and whispering, with tears in his eyes, Of
course hes not really shot, Janonly seemingly! And when the last sad
scene came on, and the body of the gallant and faithful Bess had to be
carried out on a shutter by twelve volunteers from among the
spectators, nothing could restrain Poorgrass from lending a hand,
exclaiming, as he asked Jan to join him, Twill be something to tell
of at Warrens in future years, Jan, and hand down to our children.
For many a year in Weatherbury, Joseph told, with the air of a man who
had had experiences in his time, that he touched with his own hand the
hoof of Bess as she lay upon the board upon his shoulder. If, as some
thinkers hold, immortality consists in being enshrined in others
memories, then did Black Bess become immortal that day if she never had
done so before. | 1,139 |
PG27 | 176 | Meanwhile Troy had added a few touches to his ordinary make-up for the
character, the more effectually to disguise himself, and though he had
felt faint qualms on first entering, the metamorphosis effected by
judiciously lining his face with a wire rendered him safe from the
eyes of Bathsheba and her men. Nevertheless, he was relieved when it
was got through. There a second performance in the evening, and the
tent was lighted up. Troy had taken his part very quietly this time,
venturing to introduce a few speeches on occasion; and was just
concluding it when, whilst standing at the edge of the circle
contiguous to the first row of spectators, he observed within a yard of
him the eye of a man darted keenly into his side features. Troy hastily
shifted his position, after having recognized in the scrutineer the
knavish bailiff Pennyways, his wifes sworn enemy, who still hung about
the outskirts of Weatherbury.
At first Troy resolved to take no notice and abide by circumstances.
That he had been recognized by this man was highly probable; yet there
was room for a doubt. Then the great objection he had felt to allowing
news of his proximity to precede him to Weatherbury in the event of his
return, based on a feeling that knowledge of his present occupation
would discredit him still further in his wifes eyes, returned in full
force. Moreover, should he resolve not to return at all, a tale of his
being alive and being in the neighbourhood would be awkward; and he was
anxious to acquire a knowledge of his wifes temporal affairs before
deciding which to do.
In this dilemma Troy at once went out to reconnoitre. It occurred to
him that to find Pennyways, and make a friend of him if possible, would
be a very wise act. He had put on a thick beard borrowed from the
establishment, and in this he wandered about the fair-field. It was now
almost dark, and respectable people were getting their carts and gigs
ready to go home.
The largest refreshment-booth in the fair was provided by an innkeeper
from a neighbouring town. This was considered an unexceptionable place
for obtaining the necessary food and rest: Host Trencher (as he was
jauntily called by the local newspaper) being a substantial man of high
repute for catering through all the county round. The tent was divided
into first and second-class compartments, and at the end of the
first-class division was a yet further enclosure for the most
exclusive, fenced off from the body of the tent by a luncheon-bar,
behind which the host himself stood, bustling about in white apron and
shirt-sleeves, and looking as if he had never lived anywhere but under
canvas all his life. In these penetralia were chairs and a table,
which, on candles being lighted, made quite a cozy and luxurious show,
with an urn, silver tea and coffee pots, china teacups, and plum cakes.
Troy stood at the entrance to the booth, where a gipsy-woman was frying
pancakes over a little fire of sticks and selling them at a penny
a-piece, and looked over the heads of the people within. He could see
nothing of Pennyways, but he soon discerned Bathsheba through an
opening into the reserved space at the further end. Troy thereupon
retreated, went round the tent into the darkness, and listened. He
could hear Bathshebas voice immediately inside the canvas; she was
conversing with a man. A warmth overspread his face: surely she was not
so unprincipled as to flirt in a fair! He wondered if, then, she
reckoned upon his death as an absolute certainty. To get at the root of
the matter, Troy took a penknife from his pocket and softly made two
little cuts crosswise in the cloth, which, by folding back the corners
left a hole the size of a wafer. Close to this he placed his face,
withdrawing it again in a movement of surprise; for his eye had been
within twelve inches of the top of Bathshebas head. It was too near to
be convenient. He made another hole a little to one side and lower
down, in a shaded place beside her chair, from which it was easy and
safe to survey her by looking horizontally.
Troy took in the scene completely now. She was leaning back, sipping a
cup of tea that she held in her hand, and the owner of the male voice
was Boldwood, who had apparently just brought the cup to her,
Bathsheba, being in a negligent mood, leant so idly against the canvas
that it was pressed to the shape of her shoulder, and she was, in fact,
as good as in Troys arms; and he was obliged to keep his breast
carefully backward that she might not feel its warmth through the cloth
as he gazed in. | 1,060 |
PG27 | 177 | Troy found unexpected chords of feeling to be stirred again within him
as they had been stirred earlier in the day. She was handsome as ever,
and she was his. It was some minutes before he could counteract his
sudden wish to go in, and claim her. Then he thought how the proud girl
who had always looked down upon him even whilst it was to love him,
would hate him on discovering him to be a strolling player. Were he to
make himself known, that chapter of his life must at all risks be kept
for ever from her and from the Weatherbury people, or his name would be
a byword throughout the parish. He would be nicknamed Turpin as long
as he lived. Assuredly before he could claim her these few past months
of his existence must be entirely blotted out.
Shall I get you another cup before you start, maam? said Farmer
Boldwood.
Thank you, said Bathsheba. But I must be going at once. It was great
neglect in that man to keep me waiting here till so late. I should have
gone two hours ago, if it had not been for him. I had no idea of coming
in here; but theres nothing so refreshing as a cup of tea, though I
should never have got one if you hadnt helped me.
Troy scrutinized her cheek as lit by the candles, and watched each
varying shade thereon, and the white shell-like sinuosities of her
little ear. She took out her purse and was insisting to Boldwood on
paying for her tea for herself, when at this moment Pennyways entered
the tent. Troy trembled: here was his scheme for respectability
endangered at once. He was about to leave his hole of espial, attempt
to follow Pennyways, and find out if the ex-bailiff had recognized him,
when he was arrested by the conversation, and found he was too late.
Excuse me, maam, said Pennyways; Ive some private information for
your ear alone.
I cannot hear it now, she said, coldly. That Bathsheba could not
endure this man was evident; in fact, he was continually coming to her
with some tale or other, by which he might creep into favour at the
expense of persons maligned.
Ill write it down, said Pennyways, confidently. He stooped over the
table, pulled a leaf from a warped pocket-book, and wrote upon the
paper, in a round hand
_Your husband is here. Ive seen him. Whos the fool now?_
This he folded small, and handed towards her. Bathsheba would not read
it; she would not even put out her hand to take it. Pennyways, then,
with a laugh of derision, tossed it into her lap, and, turning away,
left her.
From the words and action of Pennyways, Troy, though he had not been
able to see what the ex-bailiff wrote, had not a moments doubt that
the note referred to him. Nothing that he could think of could be done
to check the exposure. Curse my luck! he whispered, and added
imprecations which rustled in the gloom like a pestilent wind.
Meanwhile Boldwood said, taking up the note from her lap
Dont you wish to read it, Mrs. Troy? If not, Ill destroy it.
Oh, well, said Bathsheba, carelessly, perhaps it is unjust not to
read it; but I can guess what it is about. He wants me to recommend
him, or it is to tell me of some little scandal or another connected
with my workpeople. Hes always doing that.
Bathsheba held the note in her right hand. Boldwood handed towards her
a plate of cut bread-and-butter; when, in order to take a slice, she
put the note into her left hand, where she was still holding the purse,
and then allowed her hand to drop beside her close to the canvas. The
moment had come for saving his game, and Troy impulsively felt that he
would play the card, For yet another time he looked at the fair hand,
and saw the pink finger-tips, and the blue veins of the wrist,
encircled by a bracelet of coral chippings which she wore: how familiar
it all was to him! Then, with the lightning action in which he was such
an adept, he noiselessly slipped his hand under the bottom of the
tent-cloth, which was far from being pinned tightly down, lifted it a
little way, keeping his eye to the hole, snatched the note from her
fingers, dropped the canvas, and ran away in the gloom towards the bank
and ditch, smiling at the scream of astonishment which burst from her.
Troy then slid down on the outside of the rampart, hastened round in
the bottom of the entrenchment to a distance of a hundred yards,
ascended again, and crossed boldly in a slow walk towards the front
entrance of the tent. His object was now to get to Pennyways, and
prevent a repetition of the announcement until such time as he should
choose. | 1,099 |
PG27 | 179 | CHAPTER XXI.
BATHSHEBA TALKS WITH HER OUTRIDER
The arrangement for getting back again to Weatherbury had been that Oak
should take the place of Poorgrass in Bathshebas conveyance and drive
her home, it being discovered late in the afternoon that Joseph was
suffering from his old complaint, a multiplying eye, and was,
therefore, hardly trustworthy as coachman and protector to a lady. But
Oak had found himself so occupied, and was full of so many cares
relative to those portions of Boldwoods flocks that were not disposed
of, that Bathsheba, without telling Oak or anybody, resolved to drive
home herself, as she had many times done from Casterbridge Market, and
trust to her good angel for performing the journey unmolested. But
having fallen in with Farmer Boldwood accidentally (on her part at
least) at the refreshment-tent, she found it impossible to refuse his
offer to ride on horseback beside her as escort. It had grown twilight
before she was aware, but Boldwood assured her that there was no cause
for uneasiness, as the moon would be up in half an hour.
Immediately after the incident in the tent, she had risen to gonow
absolutely alarmed and really grateful for her old lovers
protectionthough regretting Gabriels absence, whose company she would
have much preferred, as being more proper as well as more pleasant,
since he was her own managing-man and servant. This, however, could not
be helped; she would not, on any consideration, treat Boldwood harshly,
having once already illused him, and the moon having risen, and the gig
being ready, she drove across the hill-top in the wending ways which
led downwardsto oblivious obscurity, as it seemed, for the moon and
the hill it flooded with light were in appearance on a level, the rest
of the world lying as a vast shady concave between them. Boldwood
mounted his horse, and followed in close attendance behind. Thus they
descended into the lowlands, and the sounds of those left on the hill
came like voices from the sky, and the lights were as those of a camp
in heaven. They soon passed the merry stragglers in the immediate
vicinity of the hill, and got upon the high road.
The keen instincts of Bathsheba had perceived that the farmers staunch
devotion to herself was still undiminished, and she sympathized deeply.
The sight had quite depressed her this evening; had reminded her of her
folly; she wished anew, as she had wished many months ago, for some
means of making reparation for her fault. Hence her pity for the man
who so persistently loved on to his own injury and permanent gloom had
betrayed Bathsheba into an injudicious considerateness of manner, which
appeared almost like tenderness, and gave new vigour to the exquisite
dream of a Jacobs seven years service in poor Boldwoods mind.
He soon found an excuse for advancing from his position in the rear,
and rode close by her side. They had gone two or three miles in the
moonlight, speaking desultorily across the wheel of her gig concerning
the fair, farming, Oaks usefulness to them both, and other indifferent
subjects, when Boldwood said suddenly and simply
Mrs. Troy, you will marry again some day?
This point-blank query unmistakably confused her, it was not till a
minute or more had elapsed that she said, I have not seriously thought
of any such subject.
I quite understand that. Yet your late husband has been dead nearly
one year, and
You forget that his death was never absolutely proved, and so I
suppose I am not legally a widow, she said, catching at the straw of
escape that the fact afforded.
Not absolutely proved, perhaps, but it was proved circumstantially. A
man saw him drowning, too. No reasonable person has any doubt of his
death; nor have you, maam, I should imagine.
I have one now, or I should have acted differently, she said, gently.
I certainly, at first, had a strange unaccountable feeling that he
could not have perished, but I have been able to explain that in
several ways since. But though I am fully persuaded that I shall see
him no more, I am far from thinking of marriage with another. I should
be very contemptible to indulge in such a thought.
They were silent now awhile, and having struck into an unfrequented
track across a common, the creaks of Boldwoods saddle and her gig
springs were all the sounds to be heard. Boldwood ended the pause.
Do you remember when I carried you fainting in my arms into the Three
Choughs, in Casterbridge? Every dog has his day: that was mine. | 1,035 |
PG27 | 180 | I knowI know it all, she said, hurriedly.
I, for one, shall never cease regretting that events so fell out as to
deny you to me.
I, too, am very sorry, she said, and then checked herself. I mean,
you know, I am sorry you thought I
I have always this dreary pleasure in thinking over those past times
with youthat I was something to you before _he_ was anything, and that
you belonged _almost_ to me. But, of course, thats nothing. You never
liked me.
I did; and respected you, too.
Do you now?
Yes.
Which?
How do you mean which?
Do you like me, or do you respect me?
I dont knowat least, I cannot tell you. It is difficult for a woman
to define her feelings in language which is chiefly made by men to
express theirs. My treatment of you was thoughtless, inexcusable,
wicked. I shall eternally regret it. If there had been anything I could
have done to make amends I would most gladly have done itthere was
nothing on earth I so longed to do as to repair the error. But that was
not possible.
Dont blame yourselfyou were not so far in the wrong as you suppose.
Bathsheba, suppose you had real complete proof that you are what, in
fact, you area widowwould you repair the old wrong to me by marrying
me?
I cannot say. I shouldnt yet, at any rate.
But you might at some future time of your life?
Oh yes, I might at some time.
Well, then, do you know that without further proof of any kind you may
marry again in about six years from the presentsubject to nobodys
objection or blame?
Oh yes, she said, quickly. I know all that. But dont talk of
itseven or six yearswhere may we all be by that time?
They will soon glide by, and it will seem an astonishingly short time
to look back upon when they are pastmuch less than to look forward to
now.
Yes, yes; I have found that in my own experience.
Now, listen once more, Boldwood pleaded. If I wait that time, will
you marry me? You own that you owe me amendslet that be your way of
making them.
But, Mr. Boldwoodsix years
Do you want to be the wife of any other man?
No indeed! I mean, that I dont like to talk about this matter now.
Perhaps it is not proper, and I ought not to allow it. Let us drop it
for the present, please do!
Of course, Ill drop the subject if you wish. But propriety has
nothing to do with reasons. I am a middle-aged man, willing to protect
you for the remainder of our lives. On your side, at least, there is no
passion or blameable hasteon mine, perhaps, there is. But I cant help
seeing that if you choose from a feeling of pity, and, as you say, a
wish to make amends, to make a bargain with me for a far-ahead timean
agreement which will set all things right and make me happy, late
though it may bethere is no fault to be found with you as a woman.
Hadnt I the first place beside you? Havent you been almost mine once
already? Surely you can say to me as much as this, you will have me
back again should circumstances permit? Now, pray speak! O Bathsheba,
promiseit is only a little promisethat if you marry again, you will
marry me!
His tone was so excited that she almost feared him at this moment, even
whilst she sympathized. It was a simple physical fearthe weak of the
strong; there no emotional aversion or inner repugnance. She said, with
some distress in her voice, for she remembered vividly his outburst on
the Yalbury Road, and shrank from a repetition of his anger:
I will never marry another man whilst you wish me to be your wife,
whatever comesbut to say moreyou have taken me so by surprise
But let it stand in these simple wordsthat in six years time you
will be my wife? Unexpected accidents well not mention, because those,
of course, must be given way to. Now, this time I know you will keep
your word.
Thats why I hesitate to give it.
But do give it! Remember the past, and be kind.
She breathed; and then said mournfully: Oh what shall I do! I dont
love you, and I much fear that I never shall love you as much as a
woman ought to love a husband. If you, sir, know that, and I can yet
give you happiness by a mere promise without feeling, and just in
friendliness, to marry at the end of six years, it is a great honour to
me. And if you value such an act of friendship from a woman who doesnt
esteem herself as she did, and has little love left, why II will | 1,087 |
PG27 | 181 | Promise!
Consider, if I cannot promise soon.
But soon is perhaps never?
Oh no, it is not! I mean soon. Christmas, well say.
Christmas! He said nothing further till he added: Well, Ill say no
more to you about it till that time.
Bathsheba was in a very peculiar state of mind, which showed how
entirely the soul is the slave of the body, the ethereal spirit
dependent for its quality upon the tangible flesh and blood. It is
hardly too much to say that she felt coerced by a force stronger than
her own will, not only into the act of promising upon this singularly
remote and vague matter, but into the emotion of fancying that she
ought to promise. When the weeks intervening between the night of this
conversation and Christmas day began perceptibly to diminish, her
anxiety and perplexity increased.
One day she was led by an accident into an oddly confidential dialogue
with Gabriel about her difficulty. It afforded her a little reliefof a
dull and cheerless kind. They were auditing accounts, and something
occurred in the course of their labours which led Oak to say, speaking
of Boldwood, Hell never forget you, maam, never.
Then out came her trouble before she was aware; and she told him how
she had again got into the toils; what Boldwood had asked her, and how
he was expecting her assent. The most mournful reason of all for my
agreeing to it, she said sadly, and the true reason why I think to do
so for good or for evil, is thisit is a thing I have not breathed to a
living soul as yetI believe that if I dont give my word, hell go out
of his mind.
Really, do ye? said Gabriel, gravely.
I believe this, she continued, with reckless frankness; and Heaven
knows I say it in a spirit the very reverse of vain, for I am grieved
and troubled to my soul about itI believe I hold that mans future in
my hand. His career depends entirely upon my treatment of him. O
Gabriel, I tremble at my responsibility, for it is terrible!
Well, I think this much, maam, as I told you years ago, said Oak,
that his life is a total blank whenever he isnt hoping for you; but I
cant supposeI hope that nothing so dreadful hangs on to it as you
fancy. His natural manner has always been dark and strange, you know.
But since the case is so sad and odd-like, why dont ye give the
conditional promise? I think I would.
But is it right? Some rash acts of my past life have taught me that a
watched woman must have very much circumspection to retain only a very
little credit, and I do want and long to be discreet in this! And six
yearswhy we may all be in our graves by that time! Indeed the long
time and the uncertainty of the whole thing give a sort of absurdity to
the scheme. Now, isnt it preposterous, Gabriel? However he came to
dream of it, I cannot think. But is it wrong? You knowyou are older
than I.
Eight years older, maam.
Yes, eight yearsand is it wrong?
Perhaps it would be an uncommon agreement for a man and woman to make:
I dont see anything really wrong about it, said Oak slowly. In fact
the very thing that makes it doubtful if you ought to marry en under
any condition, that is, your not caring about himfor I may suppose
Yes, you may suppose that love is wanting, she said shortly. Love is
an utterly bygone, sorry, worn-out, miserable thing with mefor him or
any one else.
Well, your want of love seems to me the one thing that takes away harm
from such an agreement with him. If wild heat had to do wi it, making
ye long to overcome the awkwardness about your husbands death, it
might be wrong; but a cold-hearted agreement to oblige a man seems
different, somehow. The real sin, maam, in my mind, lies in thinking
of ever wedding with a man you dont love honest and true.
That Im willing to pay the penalty of, said Bathsheba, firmly. You
know, Gabriel, this is what I cannot get off my consciencethat I once
seriously injured him in sheer idleness. If I had never played a trick
upon him, he would never have wanted to marry me. Oh! if I could only
pay some heavy damages in money to him for the harm I did, and so get
the sin off my soul that way! Well, theres the debt, which can only
be discharged in one way, and I believe I am bound to do it if it
honestly lies in my power, without any consideration of my own future
at all. When a rake gambles away his expectations, the fact that it is
an inconvenient debt doesnt make him the less liable. Ive been a
rake, and the single point I ask you is, considering that my own
scruples, and the fact that in the eye of the law my husband is only
missing, will keep any man from marrying me until seven years have
passedam I free to entertain such an idea, even though tis a sort of
penancefor it will be that. I _hate_ the act of marriage under such
circumstances, and the class of women I should seem to belong to by
doing it! | 1,176 |
PG27 | 183 | CHAPTER XXII.
CONVERGING COURSES
I.
Christmas-Eve came, and a party that Boldwood was to give in the
evening was the great subject of talk in Weatherbury. It was not that
the rarity of Christmas parties in the parish made this one a wonder,
but that Boldwood should be the giver. The announcement had had an
abnormal and incongruous sound, as if one should hear of
croquet-playing in a cathedral aisle, or that some much-respected judge
was going upon the stage. That the party was intended to be a truly
jovial one there was no room for doubt. A large bough of mistletoe had
been brought from the woods that day, and suspended in the hall of the
bachelors home. Holly and ivy had followed in armfuls. From six that
morning till past noon the huge wood fire in the kitchen roared and
sparkled at its highest, the kettle, the saucepan, and the three-legged
pot appearing in the midst of the flames like Shadrach, Meshach, and
Abednego; moreover, roasting and basting operations were continually
carried on in front of the genial blaze.
As it grew later the fire was made up in the large long hall into which
the staircase descended, and all encumbrances were cleared out for
dancing. The log which was to form the back-brand of the evening fire
was the uncleft trunk of a tree, so unwieldy that it could be neither
brought nor rolled to its place; and accordingly four men were to be
observed dragging and heaving it in by chains and levers as the hour of
assembly drew near.
In spite of all this, the spirit of revelry was wanting in the
atmosphere of the house. Such a thing had never been attempted before
by its owner, and it was now done as by a wrench. Intended gaieties
would insist upon appearing like solemn grandeurs, the organization of
the whole effort was carried out coldly, by hirelings, and a shadow
seemed to move about the rooms, saying that the proceedings were
unnatural to the place and the lone man who lived therein, and hence
not good.
II.
Bathsheba was at this time in her room, dressing for the event. She had
called for candles, and Liddy entered and placed one on each side of
her mistresss glass.
Dont go away, Liddy, said Bathsheba, almost timidly. I am foolishly
agitatedI cannot tell why. I wish I had not been obliged to go to this
dance; but theres no escaping now. I have not spoken to Mr. Boldwood
since the autumn, when I promised to see him at Christmas on business,
but I had no idea there was to be anything of this kind.
But I would go now, said Liddy, who was going with her; for Boldwood
had been indiscriminate in his invitations.
Yes, I shall make my appearance, of course, said Bathsheba. But I am
_the cause_ of the party, and that upsets me.Dont tell, Liddy.
Oh no, maam, You the cause of it, maam?
Yes. I am the reason of the partyI. If it had not been for me, there
would never have been one. I cant explain any moretheres no more to
be explained. I wish I had never seen Weatherbury.
Thats wicked of youto wish to be worse off than you are.
No, Liddy. I have never been free from trouble since I have lived
here, and this party is likely to bring me more. Now, fetch my black
silk dress, and see how it sits upon me.
But you will leave off that, surely, maam? You have been a widow-lady
fourteen months, and ought to brighten up a little on such a night as
this.
Is it necessary? No; I will appear as usual, for if I were to wear any
light dress people would say things about me, and I should seem to be
rejoicing when I am solemn all the time. The party doesnt suit me a
bit; but never mind, stay and help to finish me off.
III.
Boldwood was dressing also at this hour. A tailor from Casterbridge was
with him, assisting him in the operation of trying on a new coat that
had just been brought home.
Never had Boldwood been so fastidious, unreasonable about the fit, and
generally difficult to please. The tailor walked round and round him,
tugged at the waist, pulled the sleeve, pressed out the collar, and for
the first time in his experience Boldwood was not bored. Times had been
when the farmer had exclaimed against all such niceties as childish,
but now no philosophic or hasty rebuke whatever was provoked by this
man for attaching as much importance to a crease in the coat as to an
earthquake in South America. Boldwood at last expressed himself nearly
satisfied, and paid the bill, the tailor passing out of the door just
as Oak came in to report progress for the day. | 1,106 |
PG27 | 184 | Oh, Oak, said Boldwood. I shall of course see you here to-night.
Make yourself merry. I am determined that neither expense nor trouble
shall be spared.
Ill try to be here, sir, though perhaps it may not be very early,
said Gabriel, quietly. I am glad indeed to see such a change in ye
from what it used to be.
YesI must own itI am bright to-night: cheerful and more than
cheerfulso much so that I am almost sad again with the sense that all
of it is passing away. And sometimes, when I am excessively hopeful and
blithe, a trouble is looming in the distance: so that I often get to
look upon gloom in me with content, and to fear a happy mood. Still
this may be absurdI feel that it is absurd. Perhaps my day is dawning
at last.
I hope it will be a long and a fair one.
Thank youthank you. Yet perhaps my cheerfulness rests on a slender
hope. And yet I trust my hope. It is faith, not hope. I think this time
I reckon with my host.Oak, my hands are a little shaky, or something;
I cant tie this neckerchief properly. Perhaps you will tie it for me.
The fact is, I have not been well lately, you know.
I am sorry to hear that, sir.
Oh, its nothing. I want it done as well as you can, please. Is there
any late knot in fashion, Oak?
I dont know, sir, said Oak. His tone had sunk to sadness.
Boldwood approached Gabriel, and as Oak tied the neckerchief the farmer
went on feverishly
Does a woman keep her promise, Gabriel?
If it is not inconvenient to her she may.
Or rather an implied promise.
I wont answer for her implying, said Oak, with faint bitterness.
Thats a word as full o holes as a sieve with them.
Oak, dont talk like that. You have got quite cynical latelyhow is
it? We seem to have shifted our positions: I have become the young and
hopeful man, and you the old and unbelieving one. However, does a woman
keep a promise, not to marry, but to enter on an engagement to marry at
some time? Now you know women better than Itell me.
I am afeard you honour my understanding too much. However, she may
keep such a promise, if it is made with an honest meaning to repair a
wrong.
It has not gone far yet, but I think it will soonyes, I know it
will, he said, in an impulsive whisper. I have pressed her upon the
subject, and she inclines to be kind to me, and to think of me as a
husband at a long future time, and thats enough for me. How can I
expect more? She has a notion that a woman should not marry within
seven years of her husbands deaththat her own self shouldnt, I
meanbecause his body was not found. It may be merely this legal reason
which influences her, or it may be a religious one, but she is
reluctant to talk on the point. Yet she has promisedimpliedthat she
will ratify an engagement to-night.
Seven years, murmured Oak.
No, noits no such thing! he said, with impatience. Five years, nine
months, and a few days. Fifteen months nearly have passed since his
death, and is there anything so wonderful in an engagement of little
more than five years?
It seems long in a forward view. Dont build too much upon such
promises, sir. Remember, you have once been deceived. Her maning may be
good; but thereshes young yet.
Deceived? Never! said Boldwood, vehemently. She never promised me at
that first time, and hence she did not break her promise. If she
promises me, shell marry me. Bathsheba is a woman to her word.
IV.
Troy was sitting in a small apartment in a small tavern at
Casterbridge, smoking and drinking a steaming mixture from a glass. A
knock was given at the door, and Pennyways entered.
Well, have you seen him? Troy inquired, pointing to a chair.
Boldwood?
NoLawyer Long.
He wadn at home. I went there first, too.
Thats a nuisance.
Tis rather, I suppose.
Yet I dont see that, because a man appears to be drowned and was not,
he should be liable for anything. I shant ask any lawyernot I.
But thats not it, exactly. If a man changes his name and so forth,
and takes steps to deceive the world and his own wife, hes a cheat,
and that in the eye of the law is ayless a rogue, and that is ayless a
vagabond; and thats a punishable situation. | 1,043 |
PG27 | 185 | Ha-ha! Well done, Pennyways. Troy had laughed, but it was with some
anxiety that he said, Now, what I want to know is this, do you think
theres really anything going on between her and Boldwood? Upon my
soul, I should never have believed it! How she must detest me! Have you
found out whether she has encouraged him?
I haent been able to learn. Theres a deal of feeling on his side
seemingly, but I dont answer for her. I didnt know a word about any
such thing till yesterday, and all I heard then was that she was gwine
to the party at his house to-night. This is the first time she has ever
gone there, they say. And they say that sheve not so much as spoke to
him since they were at Greenhill Fair: but what can folk believe ot?
However, shes not fond of himquite offish and quite careless, I
know.
Im not so sure of that. Shes a handsome woman, Pennyways, is she
not? Own that you never saw a finer or more splendid creature in your
life. Upon my honour, when I set eyes upon her that day I wondered what
I could have been made of to be able to leave her by herself so long.
And then I was hampered with that bothering show, which Im free of at
last, thank the stars. He smoked on awhile, and then added, How did
she look when you passed by yesterday?
Oh, she took no great heed of me, ye may well fancy; but she looked
well enough, fars I know. Just flashed her haughty eyes upon my poor
scram body, and then let them go past me to what was yond, much as if
Id been no more than a leafless tree. She had just got off her mare to
look at the last wring-down of cider for the year; she had been riding,
and so her colours were up and her breath rather quick, so that her
bosom plimmed and fellplimmed and fellevery time plain to my eye. Ay,
and there were the fellers round her wringing down the cheese and
bustling about and saying, Ware o the pommy, maam: twill spoil yer
gown. Never mind me, says she. Then Gabe brought her some of the new
cider, and she must needs go drinking it through a strawmote, and not
in a nateral way at all. Liddy, says she, bring indoors a few
gallons, and Ill make some cider-wine. Sergeant, I was no more to her
than a morsel of scroff in the fuel house!
I must go and find her out at onceOh yes, I see thatI must go. Oak
is head man still, isnt he?
Yes, a blieve. And at Lower Farm too. He manages everything.
Twill puzzle him to manage her, or any other man of his compass.
I dont know about that. She cant do without him, and knowing it well
hes pretty independent. And sheve a few soft corners to her mind,
though Ive never been able to get into one, the devils int.
Ah baily shes a notch above you, and you must own it: a higher class
of animala finer tissue. However, stick to me, and neither this
haughty goddess, dashing piece of womanhood, Juno-wife of mine (Juno
was a goddess, you know), nor anybody else shall hurt you. But all this
wants looking into, I perceive. What with one thing and another, I see
that my work is well cut out for me.
V.
How do I look to-night, Liddy? said Bathsheba, giving a final
adjustment to her dress before leaving the glass.
I never saw you look so well before. YesIll tell you when you looked
like itthat night, a year and a half ago, when you came in so
wildlike, and scolded us for making remarks about you and Mr. Troy.
Everybody will think that I am setting myself to captivate Mr.
Boldwood, I suppose, she murmured. At least theyll say so. Cant my
hair be brushed down a little flatter? I dread goingyet I dread the
risk of wounding him by staying away.
Anyhow, maam, you cant well be dressed plainer than you are, unless
you go in sackcloth at once. Tis your excitement is what makes you
look so noticeable to-night.
I dont know whats the matter, I feel wretched at one time, and
buoyant at another. I wish I could have continued quite alone as I have
been for the last year or so, with no hopes and no fears, and no
pleasure and no grief. | 1,038 |
PG27 | 186 | Now just suppose Mr. Boldwood should ask youonly just suppose itto
run away with him, what would you do, maam?
Liddynone of that, said Bathsheba, gravely. Mind, I wont hear
joking on any such matter. Do you hear?
I beg pardon, maam. But knowing what rum things we women are, I just
saidhowever, I wont speak of it again.
No marrying for me yet for many a year; if ever, twill be for reasons
very, very different from those you think, or others will believe. Now
get my cloak, for it is time to go.
VI.
Oak, said Boldwood, before you go I want to mention what has been
passing in my mind latelythat little arrangement we made about your
share in the farm I mean. That share is small, too small, considering
how little I attend to business now, and how much time and thought you
give to it. Well, since the world is brightening for me, I want to show
my sense of it by increasing your proportion in the partnership. Ill
make a memorandum of the arrangement which struck me as likely to be
convenient, for I havent time to talk about it now; and then well
discuss it at our leisure. My intention is ultimately to retire from
the management altogether, and until you can take all the expenditure
upon your shoulders, Ill be a sleeping partner in the stock. Then, if
I marry herand I hopeI feel I shall, why
Pray dont speak of it, sir, said Oak, hastily. We dont know what
may happen. So many upsets may befall ye. Theres many a slip, as they
sayand I would advise youI know youll pardon me this oncenot to be
_too sure_.
I know, I know. But the feeling I have about increasing your share is
on account of what I know of you. Oak, I have learnt a little about
your secret: your interest in her is more than that of bailiff for an
employer. But you have behaved like a man, and I, as a sort of
successful rivalsuccessful partly through your goodness of
heartshould like definitely to show my sense of your friendship under
what must have been a great pain to you.
Oh, thats not necessary, thank ye, said Oak, hurriedly. I must get
used to such as that; other men have, and so shall I.
Oak then left him. He was uneasy on Boldwoods account, for he saw anew
that this constant passion of the farmer made him not the man he once
had been.
As Boldwood continued awhile in his room aloneready and dressed to
receive his companythe mood of anxiety about his appearance seemed to
pass away, and to be succeeded by a deep solemnity. He looked out of
the window, and regarded the dim outline of the trees upon the sky, and
the twilight deepening to darkness.
Then he went to a locked closet, and took from a locked drawer therein
a small circular case the size of a pill-box, and was about to put it
into his pocket. But he lingered to open the cover and take a momentary
glance inside. It contained a womans finger-ring, set all the way
round with small diamonds, and from its appearance had evidently been
recently purchased. Boldwoods eyes dwelt upon its many sparkles a long
time, though that its material aspect concerned him little was plain
from his manner and mien, which were those of a mind following out the
presumed thread of that jewels future history.
The noise of wheels at the front of the house became audible. Boldwood
closed the box, stowed it away carefully in his pocket, and went out
upon the landing. The old man who was his indoor factotum came at the
same moment to the foot of the stairs.
They be coming, sirlots of ema-foot and a-driving!
I was coming down this moment. Those wheels I heardis it Mrs. Troy?
No, sirtis not she yet.
A reserved and sombre expression had returned to Boldwoods face again,
but it poorly cloaked his feelings when he pronounced Bathshebas name;
and his feverish anxiety continued to show its existence by a galloping
motion of his fingers upon the side of his thigh as he went down the
stairs.
VII.
How does this cover me? said Troy to Pennyways, Nobody would
recognize me now, Im sure.
He was buttoning on a heavy grey overcoat of Noachian cut, with cape
and high collar, the latter being erect and rigid, like a girdling
wall, and nearly reaching to the verge of travelling cap which was
pulled down over his ears. | 1,019 |
PG27 | 187 | Pennyways snuffed the candle, and then looked up and deliberately
inspected Troy.
Youve made up your mind to go then? he said.
Made up my mind? Yes; of course I have.
Why not write to her? Tis a very queer corner that you have got into,
sergeant. You see all these things will come to light if you go back,
and they wont sound well at all. Faith, if I was you Id even bide as
you bea single man of the name of Francis. A good wife is good, but
the best wife is not so good as no wife at all. Now thats my outspoke
mind, and Ive been called a long-headed feller here and there.
All nonsense! said Troy, angrily. There she is with plenty of money,
and a house and farm, and horses, and comfort, and here am I living
from hand to moutha needy adventurer. Besides, it is no use talking
now; it is too late, and I am glad of it; Ive been seen and recognized
here this very afternoon. I should have gone back to her the day after
the fair, if it hadnt been for you talking about the law, and rubbish
about getting a separation; and I dont put it off any longer. What the
deuce put it into my head to run away at all, I cant think! Humbugging
sentimentthats what it was. But what man on earth was to know that
his wife would be in such a hurry to get rid of his name!
I should have known it. Shes bad enough for anything.
Pennyways, mind who you are talking to.
Well, sergeant, all I say is this, that if I were you Id go abroad
again where I came fromtisnt too late to do it now. I wouldnt stir
up the business and get a bad name for the sake of living with herfor
all that about your play-acting is sure to come out, you know, although
you think otherwise. My eyes and limbs, therell be a racket if you go
back just nowin the middle of Boldwoods Christmasing!
Hm, yes. I expect I shall not be a very welcome guest if he has her
there, said the sergeant, with a slight laugh. A sort of Alonzo the
Brave; and when I go in the guests will sit in silence and fear, and
all laughter and pleasure will be hushed, and the lights in the chamber
burn blue, and the wormsUgh, horrible!Ring for some more brandy,
Pennyways, I felt an awful shudder just then. Well, what is there
besides? A stickI must have a walking-stick.
Pennyways now felt himself to be in something of a difficulty, for
should Bathsheba and Troy become reconciled it would be necessary to
regain her good opinion if he would secure the patronage of her
husband. I sometimes think she likes you yet, and is a good woman at
bottom, he said, as a saving sentence. But theres no telling to a
certainty from a bodys outside. Well, youll do as you like about
going, of course, sergeant, and as for me, Ill do as you tell me.
Now, let me see what the time is, said Troy, after emptying his glass
in one draught as he stood. Half-past six oclock. I shall not hurry
along the road, and shall be there then before nine. | 751 |
PG27 | 188 | CHAPTER XXIII.
CONCURRITURHOR MOMENTO
Outside the front of Boldwoods house a group of men stood in the dark,
with their faces towards the door, which occasionally opened and closed
for the passage of some guest or servant, when a golden rod of light
would stripe the ground for the moment and vanish again, leaving
nothing outside but the glowworm shine of the pale lamp amid the
evergreens over the door.
He was seen in Casterbridge this afternoonso the boy said, one of
them remarked in a whisper. And I for one believe it. His body was
never found, you know.
Tis a strange story, said the next. You may depend upont that she
knows nothing about it.
Not a word.
Perhaps he dont mean that she shall, said another man.
If hes alive and here in the neighbourhood, he means mischief, said
the first. Poor young thing: I do pity her, if tis true. Hell drag
her to the dogs.
Oh, no; hell settle down quiet enough, said one disposed to take a
more hopeful view of the case.
What a fool she must have been ever to have had anything to do with
the man! She is so self-willed and independent too, that one is more
minded to say it serves her right than pity her.
No, no! I dont hold with ye there. She was no otherwise than a girl
mind, and how could she tell what the man was made of. If tis really
true, tis too hard a punishment, and more than she ought to
hae.Hullo, whos that? This was to some footsteps that were heard
approaching.
William Smallbury, said a dim figure in the shades, coming up and
joining them. Dark as a hedge, to-night, isnt it? I all but missed
the plank over the river athart there in the bottomnever did such a
thing before in my life. Be ye any of Boldwoods workfolk? He peered
into their faces.
Yesall o us. We met here a few minutes ago.
Oh, I hear nowthats Sam Samway: thought I knowed the voice, too.
Going in?
Presently. But I say, William, Samway whispered, have ye heard this
strange tale?
Whatthat about Sergeant Troy being seen, dye mean, souls? said
Smallbury, also lowering his voice.
Ay: in Casterbridge.
Yes, I have. Laban Tall named a hint of it to me but nowbut I dont
think it. Hark, here Laban comes himself, a blieve. A footstep drew
near.
Laban?
Yes, tis I, said Tall.
Have ye heard any more about that?
No, said Tall, joining the group. And Im inclined to think wed
better keep quiet. If so be tis not true, twill flurry her, and do
her much harm to repeat it; and if so be tis true, twill do no good
to forestall her time o trouble. God send that it may be a lie, for
though Henery Fray and some of em do speak against her, shes never
been anything but fair to me. Shes hot and hasty, but shes a brave
girl wholl never tell a lie however much the truth may harm her, and
Ive no cause to wish her evil.
She never do tell womens little lies, thats true; and tis a thing
that can be said of very few. Ay, all the harm she thinks she says to
yer face: theres nothing underhand wi her.
They stood silent then, every man busied with his own thoughts, during
which interval sounds of merriment could be heard within. Then the
front door again opened, the rays streamed out, the well-known form of
Boldwood was seen in the rectangular area of light, the door closed,
and Boldwood walked slowly down the path.
Tis master, one of the men whispered, as he neared them. Wed
better stand quiethell go in again directly. He would think it
unseemly o us to be loitering here.
Boldwood came on, and passed by the men without seeing them, they being
under the bushes on the grass. He paused, leant over the gate, and
breathed a long breath. They heard low words come from him.
I hope to God shell come, or this night will be nothing but misery to
me. Oh my darling, my darling, why do you keep me in suspense like
this!
He said this to himself, and they all distinctly heard it. Boldwood
remained silent after that, and the noise from indoors was again just
audible, until, a few minutes later, light wheels could be
distinguished coming down the hill. They drew nearer, and ceased at the
gate. Boldwood hastened back to the door, and opened it; and the light
shone upon Bathsheba coming up the path. | 1,065 |
PG27 | 189 | Boldwood compressed his emotion to mere welcome: the men marked her
light laugh and apology as she met him: he took her into the house; and
the door closed again.
Gracious heaven, I didnt know it was like that with him! said one of
the men. I thought that fancy of his was over long ago.
You dont know much of master, if you thought that, said Samway.
I wouldnt he should know we heard what a said for the world,
remarked a third.
I wish we had told of the report at once, the first uneasily
continued. More harm may come of this than we know of. Poor Mr.
Boldwood, it will be hard upon en. I wish Troy was in. Well, God
forgive me for such a wish! A scoundrel to play a poor wife such
tricks. Nothing has prospered in Weatherbury since he came here. And
now Ive no heart to go in. Lets look into Warrens, shall us,
neighbours?
Samway, Tall, and Smallbury agreed to go, and went out at the gate, the
remaining ones entering the house. The three soon drew near the
malt-house, approaching it from the adjoining orchard, and not by way
of the street. The pane of glass was illuminated as usual. Smallbury
was a little in advance of the rest, when, pausing, he turned suddenly
to his companions and said, Hist! See there.
The light from the pane was now perceived to be shining not upon the
ivied wall as usual, but upon some object close to the glass. It was a
human face.
Lets come closer, whispered Samway; and they approached on tiptoe.
There was no disbelieving the report any longer. Troys face was almost
close to the pane, and he was looking in. Not only was he looking in,
but he appeared to have been arrested by a conversation which was in
progress in the malt-house, the voices of the interlocutors being those
of Oak and the maltster.
The spree is all in her honour, isnt ithey? said the old man.
Although he made believe tis only keeping up o Christmas?
I cannot say, replied Oak.
O tis true enough, faith. I cannot understand Farmer Boldwood being
such a fool at his time of life as to ho and hanker after thik woman in
the way a do, and she not care a bit about en.
The men, after recognizing Troys features, withdrew across the orchard
as quietly as they had come. The air was big with Bathshebas fortunes
to-night: every word everywhere concerned her. When they were quite out
of earshot all by one instinct paused.
It gave me quite a turnhis face, said Tall, breathing.
And so it did me, said Samway. Whats to be done?
I dont see that tis any business of ours, Smallbury murmured
dubiously.
Oh, yes. Tis a thing which is everybodys business, said Samway. We
know very well that masters on a wrong tack, and that shes quite in
the dark, and we should let em know at once. Laban, you know her
bestyoud better go and ask to speak to her.
I baint fit for any such thing, said Laban, nervously. I should
think William ought to do it if anybody. Hes oldest.
I shall have nothing to do with it, said Smallbury. Tis a ticklish
business altogether. Why, hell go on to her himself in a few minutes,
yell see.
We dont know that he will. Come, Laban.
Very well, if I must I must, I suppose, Tall reluctantly answered.
What must I say?
Just ask to see master.
Oh no; I shant speak to Mr. Boldwood. If I tell anybody, twill be
mistress.
Very well, said Samway.
Laban then went to the door. When he opened it the hum of bustle rolled
out as a wave upon a still strandthe assemblage being immediately
inside the halland was deadened to a murmur as he closed it again.
Each man waited intently, and looked around at the dark tree tops
gently rocking against the sky and occasionally shivering in a slight
wind, as if he took interest in the scene, which neither did. One of
them began walking up and down, and then came to where he started from
and stopped again, with a sense that walking was a thing not worth
doing now.
I should think Laban must have seen mistress by this time, said
Smallbury, breaking the silence. Perhaps she wont come and speak to
him.
The door opened. Tall appeared, and joined them. | 1,012 |
PG27 | 190 | Well? said both.
I didnt like to ask for her after all, Laban faltered out. They
were all in such a stir, trying to put a little spirit into the party.
Somehow the fun seems to hang fire, though everythings there that a
heart can desire, and I couldnt for my soul interfere and throw damp
upon itif twas to save my life, I couldnt!
I suppose we had better all go in together, said Samway, gloomily.
Perhaps I may have a chance of saying a word to master.
So the men entered the hall, which was the room selected and arranged
for the gathering because of its size. The younger men and maids were
at last just beginning to dance. Bathsheba had been perplexed how to
act, for she was not much more than a slim young maid herself, and the
weight of stateliness sat heavy upon her. Sometimes she thought she
ought not to have come under any circumstances; then she considered
what cold unkindness that would have been, and finally resolved upon
the middle course of staying for about an hour only, and gliding off
unobserved, having from the first made up her mind that she could on no
account dance, sing, or take any active part in the proceedings.
Her allotted hour having been passed in chatting and looking on,
Bathsheba told Liddy not to hurry herself, and went to the small
parlour to prepare for departure, which, like the hall, was decorated
with holly and ivy, and well lighted up.
Nobody was in the room, but she had hardly been there a moment when the
master of the house entered.
Mrs. Troyyou are not going? he said. Weve hardly begun.
If youll excuse me, I should like to go now. Her manner was restive,
for she remembered her promise, and imagined what he was about to say.
But as it is not late, she added, I can walk home, and leave my man
and Liddy to come when they choose.
Ive been trying to get an opportunity of speaking to you, said
Boldwood. You know perhaps what I long to say?
Bathsheba silently looked on the floor.
You do give it? he said, eagerly.
What? she whispered.
Now, thats evasion! Why, the promise. I dont want to intrude upon
you at all, or to let it become known to anybody. But do give your
word! A mere business compact, you know, between two people who are
beyond the influence of passion. Boldwood knew how false this picture
was as regarded himself; but he had proved that it was the only tone in
which she would allow him to approach her. A promise to marry me at
the end of five years and three-quarters. You owe it to me!
I feel that I do, said Bathsheba; that is, if you demand it. But I
am a changed womanan unhappy womanand notnot
You are still a very beautiful woman, said Boldwood. Honesty and pure
conviction suggested the remark, unaccompanied by any perception that
it might have been adopted by blunt flattery to soothe and win her.
However, it had not much effect now, for she said, in a passionless
murmur which was in itself a proof of her words: I have no feeling in
the matter at all. And I dont at all know what is right to do in my
diddicult position, and I have nobody to advise me. But I give my
promise, if I must. I give it as the rendering of a debt.
Youll marry me between five and six years hence.
Dont press me too hard. Ill marry nobody else.
But surely you will name the time, or theres nothing in the promise
at all.
Oh I dont know, pray let me go! she said, her bosom beginning to
rise. I am afraid what to do! I want to be just to you, and to be that
seems to be wronging myself, and perhaps it is breaking the
commandments. There is a shadow of a doubt of his death, and then it is
dreadful; let me ask a solicitor, Mr. Boldwood, if I ought or no!
Say the words, dear one, and the subject shall be dismissed; a
blissful loving intimacy of six years, and then marriageO Bathsheba,
say them! he begged in a husky voice, unable to sustain the forms of
mere friendship any longer. Promise yourself to me; I deserve it,
indeed I do, for I have loved you more than anybody in the world. And
if I said hasty words and showed uncalled-for heat of manner towards
you, believe me, dear, I did not mean to distress you; I was in agony,
Bathsheba, and I did not know what I said. You wouldnt let a dog
suffer what I have suffered, could you but know it! Sometimes I shrink
from your knowing what I have felt for you, and sometimes I am
distressed that all of it you never will know. Be gracious, and give up
a little to me, when I would give up my life for you! | 1,116 |
PG27 | 191 | The trimmings of her dress, as they quivered against the light, showed
how agitated she was, and at last she burst out crying. And youll
notpress meabout anything moreif I say in five or six years? she
sobbed, when she had power to frame the words.
Yes, then Ill leave it to time.
She waited a moment. Very well. Ill marry you in six years from this
day, if we both live, she said solemnly.
And youll take this as a token from me?
Boldwood had come close to her side, and now he clasped one of her
hands in both his own, and lifted it to his breast.
What is it? Oh I cannot wear a ring! she exclaimed, on seeing what he
held; besides, I wouldnt have a soul know that its an engagement.
Perhaps it is improper. Besides, we are not engaged in the usual sense,
are we? Dont insist, Mr. Boldwooddont! In her trouble at not being
able to get her hand away from him at once, she stamped passionately on
the floor with one foot, and tears crowded to her eyes again.
It means simply a pledgeno sentimentthe seal of a practical
compact, he said more quietly, but still retaining her hand in his
firm grasp. Come, now! And Boldwood slipped the ring on her finger.
I cannot wear it, she said, weeping as if her heart would break. You
frighten me, almost. So wild a scheme! Please let me go home!
Only to-night: wear it just to-night, to please me.
Bathsheba sat down in a chair, and buried her face in her handkerchief,
though Boldwood kept her hand yet. At length she said, in a sort of
hopeless whisper,
Very well, then, I will to-night, if you wish it so earnestly. Now
loosen my hand; I will, indeed I will wear it to-night.
And it shall be the beginning of a pleasant secret courtship of six
years, with a wedding at the end?
It must be, I suppose, since you will have it so! she said, fairly
beaten into non-resistance.
Boldwood pressed her hand, and allowed it to drop in her lap. I am
happy now, he said. God bless you!
He left the room, and when he thought she might be sufficiently
composed sent one of the maids to her. Bathsheba cloaked the effects of
the late scene as she best could, followed the girl, and in a few
moments came downstairs with her hat and cloak on, ready to go. To get
to the door it was necessary to pass through the hall, and before doing
so she paused on the bottom of the staircase which descended into one
corner, to take a last look at the gathering.
There was no music or dancing in progress just now. At the lower end,
which had been arranged for the workfolk specially, a group conversed
in whispers, and with clouded looks. Boldwood was standing by the
fireplace, and he, too, though so absorbed in visions arising from her
promise that he scarcely saw anything, seemed at that moment to have
observed their peculiar manner and their looks askance.
What is it you are in doubt about, men? he said.
One of them turned and replied uneasily: It was something Laban heard
of, thats all, sir.
News? Anybody married or engaged, born or dead? inquired the farmer,
gaily. Tell it to us, Tall. One would think from your looks and
mysterious ways that it was something very dreadful indeed.
Oh no, sir, nobody is dead, said Tall.
I wish somebody was, said Samway, in a whisper.
What do you say, Samway? asked Boldwood, somewhat sharply. If you
have anything to say, speak out; if not, get up another dance.
Mrs. Troy has come downstairs, said Samway to Tall. If you want to
tell her, you had better do it now.
Do you know what they mean? the farmer asked Bathsheba, across the
room.
I dont in the least, said Bathsheba.
There was a smart rapping at the door. One of the men opened it
instantly, and went outside.
Mrs. Troy is wanted, he said, on returning.
Quite ready, said Bathsheba. Though I didnt tell them to send.
It is a stranger, maam, said the man by the door.
A stranger? she said.
Ask him to come in, said Boldwood.
The message was given, and Troy, wrapped up to his eyes as we have seen
him, stood in the doorway.
There was an unearthly silence, all looking towards the new-comer.
Those who had just learnt that he was in the neighbourhood recognized
him instantly; those who did not, were perplexed. Nobody noted
Bathsheba. She was leaning on the stairs. Her brow had heavily
contracted; her whole face was pallid, her lips apart, her eyes rigidly
staring at their visitor. | 1,090 |
PG27 | 192 | Boldwood was among those who did not notice that he was Troy. Come in,
come in! he repeated, cheerfully, and drain a Christmas beaker with
us, stranger!
Troy next advanced into the middle of the room, took off his cap,
turned down his coat-collar, and looked Boldwood in the face. Even then
Boldwood did not recognize that the impersonator of Heavens persistent
irony towards him, who had once before broken in upon his bliss,
scourged him, and snatched his delight away, had come to do these
things a second time. Troy began to laugh a mechanical laugh: Boldwood
recognized him now.
[Illustration: TROY NEXT ADVANCED INTO THE MIDDLE OF THE ROOM AND TOOK
OFF HIS CAP.]
Troy turned to Bathsheba. The poor girls wretchedness at this time was
beyond all fancy or narration. She had sunk down on the lowest stair;
and there she sat, her mouth blue and dry, and her dark eyes fixed
vacantly upon him, as if she wondered whether it were not all a
terrible illusion.
Then Troy spoke. Bathsheba, I come here for you!
She made no reply.
Come home with me: come!
Bathsheba moved her feet a little, but did not rise. Troy went across
to her.
Come, madam, do you hear what I say? he said, peremptorily.
A strange voice came from the fireplacea voice sounding far off and
confined, as if from a dungeon. Hardly a soul in the assembly
recognized the thin tones to be those of Boldwood. Sudden despair had
transformed him.
Bathsheba, go with your husband!
Nevertheless, she did not move. The truth was that Bathsheba was beyond
the pale of activityand yet not in a swoon. She was in a state of
mental _gutta serena;_ her mind was for the minute totally deprived of
light at the same time that no obscuration was apparent from without.
Troy stretched out his hand to pull her towards him, when she quickly
shrank back. This visible dread of him seemed to irritate Troy, and he
seized her arm and pulled it sharply. Whether his grasp pinched her, or
whether his mere touch was the cause, was never known, but at the
moment of his seizure she writhed, and gave a quick, low scream.
The scream had been heard but a few seconds when it was followed by
sudden deafening report that echoed through the room and stupefied them
all. The oak partition shook with the concussion, and the place was
filled with grey smoke.
In bewilderment they turned their eyes to Boldwood. At his back, as
stood before the fireplace, was a gun-rack, as is usual in farmhouses,
constructed to hold two guns. When Bathsheba had cried out in her
husbands grasp, Boldwoods face of gnashing despair had changed. The
veins had swollen, and a frenzied look had gleamed in his eye. He had
turned quickly, taken one of the guns, cocked it, and at once
discharged it at Troy.
Troy fell. The distance apart of the two men was so small that the
charge of shot did not spread in the least, but passed like a bullet
into his body. He uttered a long guttural sighthere was a
contractionan extensionthen his muscles relaxed, and he lay still.
Boldwood was seen through the smoke to be now again engaged with the
gun. It was double-barrelled, and he had, meanwhile, in some way
fastened his handkerchief to the trigger, and with his foot on the
other end was in the act of turning the second barrel upon himself.
Samway his man was the first to see this, and in the midst of the
general horror darted up to him. Boldwood had already twitched the
handkerchief, and the gun exploded a second time, sending its contents,
by a timely blow from Samway, into the beam which crossed the ceiling.
Well, it makes no difference, Boldwood gasped. There is another way
for me to die.
Then he broke from Samway, crossed the room to Bathsheba, and kissed
her hand. He put on his hat, opened the door, and went into the
darkness, nobody thinking of preventing him. | 943 |
PG27 | 193 | CHAPTER XXIV.
AFTER THE SHOCK
Boldwood passed into the high road and turned in the direction of
Casterbridge. Here he walked at an even, steady pace over Bucks Head,
along the dead level beyond, mounted Casterbridge Hill, and between
eleven and twelve oclock descended into the town. The streets were
nearly deserted now, and the waving lamp-flames only lighted up rows of
grey shop-shutters, and strips of white paving upon which his step
echoed as he passed along. He turned to the left, and halted before an
archway of old brown brick, which was closed by an iron studded pair of
doors. This was the entrance to the gaol, and over it a lamp was fixed,
the light enabling the wretched traveller to find a bell-pull.
The small wicket at last opened, and a porter appeared. Boldwood
stepped forward, and said something in a low tone, when, after a delay,
another man came. Boldwood entered, and the door was closed behind him,
and he walked the world no more.
Long before this time Weatherbury had been thoroughly aroused, and the
wild deed which had terminated Boldwoods merrymaking became known to
all. Of those out of the house Oak was one of the first to hear of the
catastrophe, and when he entered the room, which was about five minutes
after Boldwoods exit, the scene was terrible. All the female guests
were huddled aghast against the walls like sheep in a storm, and the
men were bewildered as to what to do. As for Bathsheba, she had
changed. She was sitting on the floor beside the body of Troy, his head
pillowed in her lap, where she had herself lifted it. With one hand she
held her handkerchief to his breast and covered the wound, though
scarcely a single drop of blood had flowed, and with the other she
tightly clasped one of his. The household convulsion had made her
herself again. The temporary coma had ceased, and activity had come
with the necessity for it. Deeds of endurance, which seem ordinary in
philosophy, are rare in conduct, and Bathsheba was astonishing all
around her now, for her philosophy was her conduct, and she seldom
thought practicable what she did not practise. She was of the stuff of
which great mens mothers are made. She was indispensable to high
generation, feared at tea parties, hated in shops, and loved at crises.
Troy in his recumbent wifes lap formed now the sole spectacle in the
middle of the spacious room.
Gabriel, she said, automatically, when he entered, turning up a face
of which only the well-known lines remained to tell him it was hers,
all else in the picture having faded quite. Ride to Casterbridge
instantly for a surgeon. It is, I believe, useless, but go. Mr.
Boldwood has shot my husband.
Her statement of the fact in such quiet and simple words came with more
force than a tragic declamation, and had somewhat the effect of setting
the distorted images in each mind present into proper focus. Oak,
almost before he had comprehended anything beyond the briefest abstract
of the event, hurried out of the room, saddled a horse and rode away.
Not till he had ridden more than a mile did it occur to him that he
would have done better by sending some other man on this errand,
remaining himself in the house. What had become of Boldwood? He should
have been looked after. Was he madhad there been a quarrel? Then how
had Troy got there? Where had he come from? How did this remarkable
reappearance come to pass when he was supposed to be at the bottom of
the sea? Oak had in some slight measure been prepared for the presence
of Troy by hearing a rumour of his return just before entering
Boldwoods house; but before he had weighed that information, this
fatal event had been superimposed. However, it was too late now to
think of sending another messenger, and he rode on, in the excitement
of these self-inquiries not discerning, when about three miles from
Casterbridge, a square-figured pedestrian passing along under the dark
hedge in the same direction as his own.
The miles necessary to be traversed, and other hindrances incidental to
the lateness of the hour and the darkness of the night, delayed the
arrival of Mr. Granthead, the surgeon; and more than three hours passed
between the time at which the shot was fired and that of his entering
the house. Oak was additionally detained in Casterbridge through having
to give notice to the authorities of what had happened; and he then
found that Boldwood had also entered the town, and delivered himself
up. | 1,033 |
Subsets and Splits
No community queries yet
The top public SQL queries from the community will appear here once available.