Twenty: Far From The Madding Crowd: Thomas Hardy - A Split

When Boldwood left, Bathsheba thought that Boldwood was very disinterested and kind to her. He offered her all that she can desire. 

Yet farmer Boldwood was neither kind or unkind by nature. His offers to Bathsheba was only self-indulgence of a lonely man. Bathsheba considered his offers in detail. Any other woman of her station would have embraced them. Bathsheba esteemed him and liked him. But she did not want him. Men takes wives because possession is not possible without marriage. Women accept husbands because marriage is not possible without possession. Besides, Bathsheba was independent, in business and in home. The first, she enjoyed its thrill and adventure, mainly because she was new to it. As a woman, the second was inherent upon her. 

Bathsheba's was an impulsive nature. She had the strategic and calculative mind of Queen Elizabeth I and the romantic spirit of Mary, the Queen of Scotts. She was wary of her men's opinion on her dealings with Boldwood. Again, she was ambivalent of her own position between the life of luxuries promised by Boldwood and his age crossing the threshold of adulthood. Now, she wanted a confirmation from people around her to accept either of the conditions.  Her eyes sought Gabriel Oak and found him at the bottom of her garden grinding his shearing  combs and cutters for sheep shearing. All the surrounding cottages were more or less undergoing the same operation. The scurr of whetting spread into the sky from all parts of the village. 

Cainy Ball turned the handle of the Grinding stone, his head moving like a sea-saw up and down with each turn of the wheel, while Oak stood with composed and self-assured, his knees and hip moving to adjust the blade to the muller. Bathsheba came up and looked upon them in silence for some time; and then she said, "Cain go to lower mead and catch the bay mare, I will turn the winch of the grindstone. I want to speak to you, Gabriel." 

Cainy Ball departed and Bathsheba took the handle. Gabriel had glanced up in surprise, and looked down again to hide his expression. Bathsheba turned the wheel and Gabriel applied the shears. 

The motion involved in turning a wheel has a limited variety of Ixion's punishment. The brain gets muddled, the head grows hesvy, and Bathsheba felt unpleasant, and a feeling of heaviness between eyebrows and the crown. Bathsheba felt these symptoms after continued exertion for some time. 

"Will you turn, Gabriel, and let me hold the shears?" she said. 

Gabriel turned. Bathsheba then began with some awkwardness, and her thoughts strayed occasionally from her work, which required a little nicety of sharpening. 

"I want to ask you if the men made any observations on my going behind the sedge with Mr Boldwood yesterday?" 

"Yes, they did," said Gabriel. You don't hold the shears right, miss --- I knew you wouldn't Know the way --- hold like this."

He relinquished the winch, came to her, and enclosing her two hands completely in his own clasp, grasped her shears.  "Incline the edge so," he said.  Hands and shears were inclined to suit the work, and thus held for peculiarly long time by Gabriel as he spoke. 

"That'll do," exclaimed Bathsheba.  Loose my hands.  I won't have them held!  Turn the winch." 

Gabriel freed her hands quietly, return to his handle, and the grinding went on.

"Didn't the men think it odd?" she said again.

"Odd was not the idea, miss." 

"What did they say?" 

"That farmer Boldwood's name and and your own were likely to be flung over the pulpit together before the year was out."

"I thought so by the look of them! Why, there's nothing in it.  A mere foolish remark was never made, and I want you to contradict it; that's what I came for."

Gabriel was unwilling to believe it.

"They must have heard our conversation," she continued.

"Well, then, Bathsheba!" said Gabriel  Oak, stopping the handle and gazing into her face with astonishment.

"Miss Everdene, you mean," she said with dignity. 

"I mean this: that if Mr Boldwood really spoke of marriage, I am not going to tell a story, and say he didn't, to please you.  I have already tried to please you too much for my own good."

Bathsheba regarded him with round-eyed perplexity. She did not know whether to pity him for disappointed love of her, or to be angry with him for having got over it --his tone being ambiguous.

"I said I wanted you just to mention that it was not true I was going to be married to him," she murmured, with a slight decline in her assurance.

"I can say that to them if you wish, Miss Everdene.  And I could likewise give an opinion to you on what you have done. The final part of the answer irritated her. How dare he, my servant, giving opinion on my conduct?

"I dare say, I don't want your opinion." 

"I suppose not," said Gabriel bitterly, his eyes being fixed on a leaf upon the ground. With Bathsheba a hastened act was a rush act.

Bathsheba considered Gabriel's opinion sounder than anyone including herself in the parish. On a second thought she realised her mistake and asked him, "Well, what is your opinion of my conduct?"

"That it is unworthy of any thoughtful and comely woman." 

In an instant Bathsheba's face coloured with the angry crimson of a sunset.

"Perhaps you don't like the rudeness of my reprimanding you, I know it is rudeness; but I thought it would do good." 

She instantly replied sarcastically, "On the contrary, my opinion of you is so low that I see in your abuse the praise of discerning people." 

"I am glad you don't mind it, for I said it honestly and with every serious meaning." 

"I see. When you try not to speak in jest you are amusing; and when you avoid seriousness, you say a sensible word."

Gabriel said nothing.

"I may ask," continued Bathsheba, "suppose, wherein particular my unworthiness lies?  In my not marrying you, perhaps!" 

"Not by any means," said Gabriel quietly.  I have long given up thinking of that matter." 

"Or wishing it, I suppose," she said, expecting a denial.

Gabriel coolly echoed her words, "Or wishing it either." He continued in a more agitated voice, "my opinion is that you are greatly to blame for playing pranks upon a man like Boldwood, merely as a pastime." 

Bathsheba laid down the shears.  "I cannot allow any man to criticise my private conduct!" she exclaimed.  "Nor will I for a minute. So you will please leave the farm at the end of the week!" 

"Very well, so I will," said Gabriel calmly.  He had been held to her by a beautiful thread.  It pained him to break it. "I should go at once," he added.

"Go at once then, in heaven's name," said she, her eyes flashing at his. "Don't let me see your face any more." 

"Very well, Miss Everdene, so it shall be."

He took away his shears and went away from her in placid dignity.

End of the Chapter