Twenty Six: Far From The Madding Crowd: Queen of The Corn Market

The verge of the haymead. 

"Ah, Miss Everdene!" said the seargent, lifting his small 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 day or night, and I have 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 not stranger to the place. I am seargent Troy, as I told you, and I have assisted your uncle in the fields so many times when I was a lad.  I have been doing the same for you today."

"I suppose I must thank you for that, seargent Troy," said the Queen of the Corn-market, in an indifferently grateful tone. 

The seargent 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 don't much want to thank you for anything."

"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 telling honestly a woman she is beautiful!

"There is some talk I could do without more easily than money." [1]

"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 I will stay here." 

Bathsheba was absolutely speechless.  But yet she could not help giving an interested side-thought to the seargent's ingenuity.

"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, he is to be snapped off like a son of sinner."

"Indeed there is no such case between us," she said, turning away.  "I don't allow strangers to be bold and imprudent --- even in praise of me."

"Ah --- it is not the fact but the method which offends you," he said sorrowfully.  "But I had the sad satisfaction of knowing that my words, whether pleasing or offensive 

are unmistakebly true.  Would you have had me look at you, and tell my acquaintance that you are quite a commonplace woman, to save you the embarassment of being started at if they come near you?  Not I.  I couldn't tell any such ridiculous lie about a beauty to encourage a single woman in England in too excessive a modesty." 

"All pretence," said Bathsheba, laughing at the seargent, " why couldn't have you passed me, that night, without any comments?"

"I would have my comments if you were old or ugly."

Bathsheba was enjoying this idle talk, and so, she continued, "how long have you been so afflicted with strong feeling?" 

"Ever since I was big enough to know beauty from ugly."

"Will you stop at faces or extends to morals?"

"Not of morals or religion.  I should have been a Christian if you hadn't made me an idolater."

Bathsheba moved on to hide her dimples.  Troy followed her entreatingly.

"But --- Miss Everdene --- you do forgive me?

She could have diverted. But she remained to say, " Hardly."

"Why?''

"You say such things."

"I said you are beautiful.  And I will say so still."

"Don't -- don't, I won't listen to you, you are so profane," said Bathsheba. But she had a penchant to be with him, and hear him.

"I again say you are a most fascinating woman."

"No, you are telling a lie. It isn't correct."

"No. You must have been told so by everybody here."

"But, they don't say so."

"But, they must."

"I certainly have heard Liddy say so.  But--" 

The careless seargent smiled within himself. The girl was surrendering.

"There the truth comes out!" said the soldier.  "Never tell me that a young lady can live in a buzz of admiration without knowing something about it.

Well, Miss Everdene you are an injury to our race."

"How indeed?" she said, opening her eyes. 

Then he made a lengthy speech, "You are not an ordinary woman. An ordinary woman can marry an ordinary man, and be content with him. Hundred men covet you. But you can marry only one of them. Some of your lovers will drown in drinks; some of them will hang on to a monotonous life; some of them including myself will be dragging after you, doing desperate things.  Men are such fools. The rest may get over their passion.  There's my tale."

"Do you read French?" Seargent diverted.

"No: I began,  but when I got to the verbs, father died," she said simply.

"I do, when I have an opportunity, which latterly has not been often. My mother was a Parisian --- and there's a proverb, they have, Qui aime bien chatie bien --- he chstens who loves well.  Do you understand me?"

"Ah!" she replied, and there was even a little tremulousness in the usually cool girl's voice; "if you can only fight half as winningly as you can talk, you are able to make a pleasure of a bayonet wound!" 

Bathsheba instantly perceived her slip in making this admission, and in trying to retrieve it, she went from bad to worse.  "Don't, however, suppose that I derived any pleasure from what you  tell me."

"I know, you do not --- I know it perfectly," said Troy, "when a dozen men are ready to speak tenderly to you, and admire you, my poor rouph-and-ready mixture of praise and blame cannot convey much pleasure.  I may be a fool, but I am not conceited."

"I think ---- you are conceited nevertheless," said Bathsheba hesitatingly, and looking askance at the reed she fitfully pulled.  She could see his cajolery, but its vigour was overwhelming.

"There might have been some self-conceit in my foolish comments the other night. I know that I have an uncontrolled tongue. But I came here to help you save your hay."

"Well, you do 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.  And I thank you for giving help here.  But -- mind you don't speak to me again in that way."

"Oh, Miss Bathsheba!  That's too hard!"

Bathsheba remained silent.

"You will not speak to me; I shall not be here for long; my regiment will be ordered out soon. And you take away the pleasure I have in this dull life. Perhaps generosity is not woman.

"When are you leaving?

"In a month."

"How can it give you pleasure?

"Can you ask Miss Everdene, what my offence is based on?" 

"You don't really care for a word from me.  You only say so." 

"That's unjust.  I am gratified to get you as a friend. I do, Miss Everdene."  Then he continued his roundabout talk.

"Well," said Bathsheba helplessly. 

But Seargent Troy continued beating around the bush.

"Nonsense. Your words are too good to be true."

"I am not, upon the honour of a soldier," said the Seargent.

"What do you want Mr Troy?" tell me plainly.

"I loved you the instant I saw you other night."

Bathsheba surveyed him curiously, from the feet upto the crown.

"You don't and you cannot," said Bathsheba, demurely.  I have wasted too much time here. I wish I knew what o'clock it is."

"What, haven't you a watch, miss?"

I have not. I am about to get a new one." 

"No, you shall have one," said the Seargent, and before she knew what the young man meant, a heavy gold watch was in her hand.

"It is an unusually good one for a man like me," he said quietly.  It 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 a cedit amor rebus , love yields to circumstance." It is the motto of  Earls of Severn.  It came into the hands of my mother's husband, and after him, to me.  Now it's 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 dissembler!"  The sergeant retreated, to avoid receiving back the gift, which she held out persistently towards him, and she followed him.

Keep it --- Do Miss Everdene --- keep it!" said the sergeant, impulsively.  "The fact of your possessing it makes it worth ten times."

"Indeed, I won't take it.  How can you do such a thing?  Give me your dead father's valuable watch!  And such a valuable one.  You shall not be so reckless, sergeant!" 

"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 fidelity.

Bathsheba was brimming with agitation. She was unable to decide whether he was genuine or playing the role of a lover.

"My work folk see me following you about the field and are wondering. "Oh, this is dreadful!" she went on, unconscious of the changes she was effecting. 

"I did not quite mean you to accept it, at first.  But I wish you would now.  Wear it for my sake." 

"No, no; don't compel me.  I have reasons for reserve." 

"Let it be then," he said receiving back.the watch. "I must be leaving you now.  And will you speak.to me 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!"

"Well, will you let me work in your farm?"

"Yes; if it is for your pleasure."

"Miss Everdene, I thank you." 

"Goodbye." 

The sergeant lifted his cap, bowed, replaced it and returned to the group of haymakers.

Bathsheba could not face her work folk now.  Quickly moving here and there, she retreated homeward,  murmuring "Oh! What I have done! What does it mean.  I wish I knew how much of it was true!" 

        END OF THE CHAPTER 

==============================1. I can live without talk; but I can't live without money.