Far from the Madding Crowd

by Pan Zador

  “Ah, sergeant, it won’t do — you are pretending!” she said, shaking her head. “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 distracting — and 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 once — as 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 don’t,” she said demurely. “There is no such sudden feeling in people. I won’t listen to you any longer. Hear me, I wish I knew what o’clock it is — I am going — I have wasted too much time here already!”

  The sergeant looked at his watch and told her. “What, haven’t you a watch, miss?” he inquired.

  “I have not just at present — I am about to get a new one.”

  “No. You shall be given one. Yes — you shall. A gift, Miss Everdene — a gift.”

  And before she knew what the young man was intending, a heavy gold watch was in her hand.

  “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.’ It’s the motto of the Earls of Severn. That watch belonged to the last lord, and was given to my mother’s 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 time — the stately ceremonial, the courtly assignation, pompous travels, and lordly sleeps. Now it is yours.”

  “But, Sergeant Troy, I cannot take this — I cannot!” she exclaimed, with round-eyed wonder. “A gold watch! What are you doing? Don’t 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 it — do, Miss Everdene — keep 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 against — well, I won’t speak of that. It is in far worthier hands than ever it has been in before.”

  “But indeed I can’t 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 father’s 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. That’s 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! Oh, how can it be, that you care for me, and so suddenly! You have seen so little of me: I may not be really so — so 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 stood — excited, wild, and honest as the day — her 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 was my one poor patent of nobility,” he broke out, bluntly; “but, upon my soul, I wish you would now. Without any shamming, come! Don’t 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; don’t 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 don’t 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 brought his hand to the cap on the slope of his head, saluted, 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!”It was in vain that she ran to the yard, pumped cold water as vigorously as she was able, filling a pail and in the process thoroughly wetting her shoes; and though she plunged her hands and face into its coolness, the heat she felt arose not from her extremities, but from her very core; a glowing urgency in a lower part of her anatomy, a part that no conversation with any man had as yet kindled into flame. The fire was lit there now, for certain, and she felt its effects keenly — but how to extinguish it? Indeed, did she wish it extinguished, or was her desire rather for further fuel to add to its flames? Sergeant Troy’s provoking compliments rang in her ears still, their allure tinged with the spice of danger, as resonant as the repeated peals of a chime of heavy bells — what magic had he wrought, to plant those thoughts in her head?

  “Half the pleasure of a feeling lies in being able to express it on the spur of the moment, and I let out mine,” she murmured, and “Qui aime bien châtie bien — He chastens who loves well. Do I wish him to chasten me?”

  The slow, relentless fire had taken hold now, and Bathsheba hardly knew where she was, only that before he was called away, she must see Troy again.

  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 bough — such 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 quarrenden, and there defy all invaders who did not come armed with ladders and staves to take them.

  This was the case at present. Bathsheba’s 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 somewhat analogous to that of alleged formations of the universe, time and times ago, was observable. The bustling swarm had swept the sky in a scatter
ed 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 hay — even Liddy had left the house for the purpose of lending a hand — Bathsheba 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 veil — once green but now faded to snuff colour — and 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 you’ll 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 they’d reach your face.”

  “The broad-brimmed hat, too, by all means.”

  So a whimsical fate ordered that her hat should be taken off — veil and all attached — and 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 arm’s length, behind which trailed a cloud of bees.

  “Upon my life,” said Troy, through the veil, “holding up this hive makes one’s arm ache worse than a week of sword-exercise.” When the manœuvre 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, “I have never seen that you spoke of.”

  “What?”

  “The sword-exercise.”

  “Ah! would you like to?” said Troy.

  Bathsheba hesitated. She had heard wondrous reports from time to time by dwellers in Weatherbury, who had by chance sojourned awhile in Casterbridge, near the barracks, of this strange and glorious performance, the sword-exercise. Men and boys who had peeped through chinks or over walls into the barrack-yard returned with accounts of its being the most flashing affair conceivable; accoutrements and weapons glistening like stars — here, there, around — yet all by rule and compass. So she said mildly what she felt strongly.

  “Yes; I should like to see it very much.”

  “And so you shall; you shall see me go through it.”

  “No! How?”

  “Let me consider.”

  “Not with a walking-stick — I don’t care to see that. It must be a real sword.”

  “Yes, I know; and I have no sword here; but I think I could get one by the evening. Now, will you do this?”

  Troy bent over her and murmured some suggestion in a low voice.

  “Oh no, indeed!” said Bathsheba, blushing. “Thank you very much, but I couldn’t on any account.”

  “Surely you might? Nobody would know.”

  She shook her head, but with a weakened negation. “If I were to,” she said, “I must bring Liddy too. Might I not?”

  Troy looked far away. “I don’t see why you want to bring her,” he said coldly.

  An unconscious look of assent in Bathsheba’s eyes betrayed that something more than his coldness had made her also feel that Liddy would be superfluous in the suggested scene. She had felt it, even whilst making the proposal.

  “Well, I won’t bring Liddy — and I’ll come. But only for a very short time,” she added; “a very short time.”

  “It will not take five minutes,” said Troy.

  CHAPTER XXVIII

  THE HOLLOW AMID THE FERNS

  The hill opposite Bathsheba’s dwelling extended, a mile off, into an uncultivated tract of land, dotted 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 o’clock 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 half-way 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 minute — two minutes — thought of Troy’s disappointment at her non-fulfilment of a promised engagement, till she again ran along the field, 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 saucer-shaped 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 corn — so.” Bathsheba saw a sort of rainbow, upside down in the air, and Troy’s arm was still again. “Cut two, as if you were hedging — so. Three, as if you were reaping — so. Four, as if you were threshing — in 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: “I’d rather not; though I don’t mind your twos and fours; but your ones and threes are terrible
!”

  “Very well. I’ll let you off the ones and threes. Next, cuts, points and guards altogether.” Troy duly exhibited them. “Then there’s 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 this — three, four.”

  “How murderous and bloodthirsty!”

  “They are rather deathly. Now I’ll be more interesting, and let you see some loose play — giving all the cuts and points, infantry and cavalry, quicker than lightning, and as promiscuously — with 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 hair’s breadth, or perhaps two. Mind you don’t flinch, whatever you do.”

  “I’ll be sure not to!” she said invincibly.

  He pointed to about a yard in front of him.

  Bathsheba’s adventurous spirit was beginning to find some grains of relish in these highly novel proceedings. She took up her position as directed, facing Troy.

  “Now just to learn whether you have pluck enough to let me do what I wish, I’ll 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 Troy’s hand (in the position technically called “recover swords”). All was as quick as electricity.

  “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!”