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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. Introduced as lymph on the dart of Eros, it
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 false -- except, 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 child's, 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 "reck'd not her own rede."
And Troy's deformities lay deep down from a woman's 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 cornfields.
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 embowing 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.
"And as the man who would naturally come to meet you is away
from home, too -- I mean Farmer Boldwood -- why, thinks I,
I'll 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 don't 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 didn't
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 be 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 don't trifle with him; but
then, I have nothing to do with him."
Oak was unfortunately led on to speak of Boldwood's rival in
a wrong tone to her after all. "I wish you had never met
that young Sergeant Troy, miss," he sighed.
Bathsheba's steps became faintly spasmodic. "Why?" she
asked.
"He is not good enough for 'ee."
"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 o'
soldiers is anything but a proof of his worth. It show's
his course to be down'ard."
"I cannot see what this has to do with our conversation.
Mr. Troy's 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 once -- only this once! I don't say he's
such a bad man as I have fancied -- I pray to God he is not.
But since we don't exactly know what he is, why not behave
as if he MIGHT be bad, simply for your own safety? Don't
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 cleverness in 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 'ee 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 don't smile, and speak of him
before those who will report your talk as "that fantastical
man," or "that Sergeant What's-his-name." "That man of a
family that has come to the dogs." Don't be unmannerly
towards en, 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 say -- I say again -- that it doesn't 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 man -- blunt sometimes even to
rudeness -- but always speaking his mind about you plain to
your face!"
"Oh."
"He is as good as anybody in this parish! He is very
particular, too, about going to church -- yes, 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 Troy's goodness fell upon Gabriel
ears like the thirteenth stroke of 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 'ee now I
am poor, and you have got altogether above me. But
Bathsheba, dear mistress, this I beg you to consider --
that, 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."
"Don't, don't, don't!" she exclaimed, in a choking voice.
"Are ye 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
consider -- I do beg of 'ee to consider before it is too
late -- how safe you would be in his hands!"
Oak's 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 commanded, a paleness of
face invisible to the eye being suggested by the trembling
words. "Do not remain on this farm any longer. I don't
want you -- I beg you to go!"
"That's nonsense," said Oak, calmly. "This is the second
time you have pretended to dismiss me; and what's the use o'
it?"
"Pretended! You shall go, sir -- your lecturing I will not
hear! I am mistress here."
"Go, indeed -- what 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 can't go without
putting things in such a strait as you wouldn't get out of I
can't tell when. Unless, indeed, you'll promise to have an
understanding man as bailiff, or manager, or something.
I'll go at once if you'll 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 biding.
How would the farm go on with nobody to mind it but a woman?
But mind this, I don't wish 'ee 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 place -- for don't suppose I'm
content to be a nobody. I was made for better things.
However, I don't like to see your concerns going to ruin, as
they must if you keep in this mind.... I hate taking my own
measure so plain, but, upon my life, your provoking ways
make a man say what he wouldn't 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 don't order it as a mistress
-- I ask it as a woman, and I expect you not to be so
uncourteous as to refuse."
"Certainly I will, Miss Everdene," said Gabriel, gently. He
wondered that the request should have come at this moment,
for the strife was over, and they were on a most desolate
hill, far from every human habitation, and the hour was
getting late. He stood still and allowed her to get far
ahead of him till he could only see her form upon the sky.
A distressing explanation of this anxiety to be rid of him
at that point now ensued. A figure apparently rose from the
earth beside her. The shape beyond all doubt was Troy's.
Oak would not be even a possible listener, and at once
turned back till a good two hundred yards were between the
lovers and himself.
Gabriel went home by way of the churchyard. In passing the
tower he thought of what she had said about the sergeant's
virtuous habit of entering the church unperceived at the
beginning of service. Believing that the little gallery
door alluded to was quite disused, he ascended the external
flight of steps at the top of which it stood, and examined
it. The pale lustre yet hanging in the north-western heaven
was sufficient to show that a sprig of ivy had grown from
the wall across the door to a length of more than a foot,
delicately tying the panel to the stone jamb. It was a
decisive proof that the door had not been opened at least
since Troy came back to Weatherbury.
Content of CHAPTER XXIX - PARTICULARS OF A TWILIGHT WALK [Thomas Hardy's novel: Far From The Madding Crowd]
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