Thirty Four: Far From The Madding Crowd: Thomas Hardy - A Juggler

That same evening, at dusk. Gabriel was leaning over the Coggan's garden gate, taking an up and down survey before retiring to rest. 

A gig was creeping along the grassy margin of the lane.  Oak instantly recognised the voices of Bathsheba and Liddy. It came opposite and passed by. Liddy was asking questions about the city of Bath, and Bathsheba was answering them listlessly and unconcernedly. Bathsheba was weary, as also her horse. 

The exquisite relief of finding her safe and sound overpowered all other reflections.  All grave reports were forgotten. 

He lingered on till there was no difference between the eastern and western sky, and the timid hares began to limp courageously round the dim hillocks. A dark form walked slowly by.  "Goodnight, Gabriel," said Boldwood. 

"Goodnight, sir," returned Gabriel Oak.

Boldwood passed away, and Gabriel returned home.

Boldwood was in front of Bathsheba's house. He saw a light in the parlour of the house.  Since the blind was not drawn he could see Bathsheba looking over some  papers or letters, her back towards Boldwood.  He went to the door,  knocked and waited with tense muscle and aching brow.

Since his last meeting with Bathsheba in the road to Yalbury he remained indoors in moody meditation on woman's ways.  By degrees a more generous temper had pervaded him, and this was the reason for his sudden rush tonight. He had come to apologise and beg forgiveness for his shameful conduct and violence.  Her Bath escaped was unknown to him, though he was aware of her visit to Liddy.

He inquired for Miss Everdene.   Liddy's manner was odd, but he did not notice it.  She went in, leaving him standing there, and in her absence the blind of the parlour was pulled down.  Bollywood augured ill of that act.  Liddy came out.

"My mistress cannot see you, sir," she said.

Boldwood instantly went out. He was not forgiven --- that was the issue of it.  He had seen her, who was to him a delight and a torture, sitting in the room he had shared with her as a privileged guest a little earlier in the summer, and she had denied him an entrance now.

Boldwood did not hurry homeward.  It was ten o'clock, and he was walking deliberately through the lower part of Weatherbury, he heard the carrier's spring wagon entering the village.  The van ran to and from a town in a northern direction, and it was owned by a Weatherbury man, at the door of whose house it now pulled up.  The lamp fixed at 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 carrier's house, where he used to stay on his visit to his native village.  Boldwood was moved by a sudden determination. He hurried home.  In ten minutes He was back again.  It seemed he was bent on meeting Troy. As he  neared the house, he heard Troy say goodnight to the inmates of the house. He hastened to Troy.  Troy had a carpet bag in his hand.

Troy turned up the hill and quickened his pace.  Boldwood stepped forward.

"Sergeant Troy?" 

"Yes -- I am Sergeant Troy." 

"Just arrived from Melchester, I think." 

"

"No. Just arrived from Bath." 

"I am William Boldwood."

"Indeed." 

The tone in which this word was uttered was all that has been wanted to bring Boldwood to the point.

"I wish to speak a word with you." 

"What about?" 

"About her who lives just ahead there --- and 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." 

The dull determination of Boldwood was felt by Troy, looked at his stalwart frame, and then at the the thick cudgel he carried in his hand.  It was past ten o'clock. It seemed worthwhile to be civil to Boldwood.

"Very well, I'll listen with pleasure," said Troy placing his bag on the ground, "only speak low, for somebody or other may overhear us in the farm-house there."

"Well then --- I know a good deal concerning your --- Fanny Robin's attachment to you.  I'm the only person, besides 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; but he checked himself and said, "I am too poor."  His voice was changed.  A devil-may-care tone was changed to trickser's tone.

In his present mood, Boldwood could not notice the change in mood.  "I may as well speak plainly and understand," said Boldwood, "I don't wish to enter into the questions of right and wrong, a woman's 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?" 

"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 certainly --- yes, certainly ---- have been accepted by this time.  If you had not seen her you might have been married to Fanny.  Well, there is too much difference between Miss Everdene's station and your own for this flirtation with her ever to benefit you by ending in marriage.  So all I ask is, don't molest her any more.  Marry Fanny.  I will make it worth your while."

"How will you?"

"I will pay you well now, I will settle a sum of money upon her, and I will see that you won't suffer from poverty in future. I'll put it clearly.  Bathsheba is only playing with you: you are too poor for her; so give up wasting your time about a great match you will never make for a moderate and rightful match you may make tomorrow; take up your carpet bag, turn about, and leave Weatherbury now, and you shall take fifty pounds with you.  Fanny shall have fifty to prepare for the wedding.

Tell me where she is living, she shall have hundred paid down on her wedding day."

Boldwood's voice betrayed his weakness. He would have termed the plan as childishly imbecile in his previous self. He was not aware of what has become of Fanny. And he was ignorant of Troy's present situation.

"I like Fanny best," said Troy, "but she is only a servant, what is there to gain after marrying her? You say Miss Everdene is beyond my reach."

"Never mind --- do you agree to my arrangement?" 

"I do."

" Ah!" said Boldwood, in a more elastic voice, "Oh, Troy, if you like her best, why did you step in here and injure my happiness?"

"I love Fanny best now," said Troy. "But Bathsheba, Miss Everdene inflamed me and displaced Fanny for a time.  It is over now." 

"Then why did you come here again?" 

"There are weighty reasons.  Fifty pounds at once, you said?" 

"I did," said Boldwood, "and here they are --- fifty sovereigns."  He handed Troy a small packet.

"You have everything ready --- it seems that you calculated on my accepting them," said the sergeant taking the packet.

"I thought you might accept them," said Boldwood.

"You have only my word that the programme shall be adhered to, while I at any rate have fifty pounds."

"I have considered that I can trust to your well shrewdness --- not to lose five hundred pounds and make bitter enemy of a man who is willing to be an extremely useful friend." 

"Stop, listen!" said Troy in a whisper.

A light pat was audible upon the road just above them.

"By George --- it is she," he continued. "I must go on and meet her.

"She --- who?" 

"Bathsheba." 

"Bathsheba --- out alone at this time of night!" said Boldwood in amazement.  "Why must you meet her?" 

"She was expecting me tonight --- and I must now speak to her, and wish her goodbye, according to your wish." 

"I don't see the necessity of speaking." 

"It can do no harm --- and she will be wandering about, looking for me. You shall hear all I say to her.  It will help you in your love making when I am gone."

"Are  you mocking me?" 

"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 footsteps came closer, halting occassionally, 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 of Bathsheba's.

" Oh 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 enter 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 painfully, "and Frank, it is so lucky.  There's not a soul in my house, but me, tonight.  I have packed them all off, so nobody on earth will know of your visit to your lady's bower.  Liddy wanted to go to her grandfather's, and she might stay with them till tomorrow.

"Superb" said Troy.  "But, dear me, I had better go back for my bag; you run home while I fetch it, and I will promise to be in your parlour in ten minutes." 

"Yes." She turned and went up the hill again.

During the progress of this dialogue there was a nervous twitching of Boldwood's tightly closed lips, and his face became bathed in a clammy dew.  He now started 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 you - more to you," said Boldwood, in a hoarse whisper.

"Now," said Troy, "you see my dilemma.  Perhaps I am a bad man - the victim of my impulses - led away to do what I ought to leave undone.  I can't, 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 Boldwood's grasp slowly tightening.  The move was absolutely unexpected.

"A moment," he gasped, "you are injuring her you love."

"What do you mean?" said the farmer.  

"Give me breath," said Troy.

Boldwood loosened his hand, saying "By Heaven, I have a mind to kill you!"

"And ruin her."

"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!" he said.

Troy rebounded like a ball, and was about to make a dash at the farmer; but he checked himself saying, lightly, "It is not worthwhile 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 the revelation of how the land lies with Bathsheba it would be a mistake to kill me, would it not?"

"It would be a mistake to kill you," repeated Boldwood mechanically with a bowed head.

"Better kill yourself." 

"Far better." 

"I am glad you see it." 

"Troy, make her your wife, and don't act upon what I arranged you 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 woman, deluded woman --- you are, Bathsheba!"

"What 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 hastening on your marriage with her!"

"But she has a will --- not to say temper --- and I shall be a slave to her.  I could do anything with Fanny Robin."

"Troy," said Boldwood imploringly, "I will do anything for you, only don't desert her; pray don't 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 don't wish to secure her in any new way."

Boldwood's arm moved spasmodically towards Troy's 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 wouldn't have it of me; I'll pay it to you on the wedding day."

Troy was amazed at the foolish obsession of Boldwood.  But he carelessly asked, "Am I to have anything now?" 

"Yes, if you wish to.  But I don't have much money with me."  He pulled out a large canvas bag he carried, and searched it.

"I have twenty one pounds more with me," he said, two notes and a sovereign.  But before I leave I must have a paper signed" ---

"Pay me the money, and we'll go straight to her parlour, and make any arrangement you please to secure my compliance with your wishes.  But she must know nothing of these cash business." 

"Nothing, nothing," said Boldwood, hastily.  "Here is the sum, and if you will come to my house, we will write out the agreement for the remainder, and the terms also." 

"First, we will call upon her." 

"But why?  Come with me tonight, and go with me tomorrow to the surrogate's."

"But she must be consulted, or at least informed." 

"Very well, go on."

They went up hill to Bathsheba's house.  At the entrance of the house, 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 door has been fastened with a chain.  Troy appeared inside carrying a bedroom candle stick.

"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? I will hold the light." 

Troy handed a folded newspaper through the slit between door and door post, and put the candle close.

"That's the paragraph," said he, placing his finger on a line.  Boldwood looked and read:-

Marriages 

"On  the 17th inst., at St.Ambros church, Bath, by 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 late Mr John Everdene, of Casterbridge." 

"This may be called Fort Meeting Feeble, hey, Boldwood." said Troy.  A slow gurgle of derisive laughter followed the words.

The paper fell from Boldwood's hand.

Troy continued:- "Fifty pounds to marry Fanny.  Good.  Twenty one pounds not to marry Fanny, but Bathsheba.  Finale: already Bathsheba's husband.  Now, Boldwood, yours is the ridiculous fate which always attends interference between a man and his wife.  And another word.  Bad as I am, I am not such a villian as to make the marriage or misery of any woman a matter of huckster and sale.  Fanny has long ago left me.  I don't know where she is. I have searched everywhere.  Another word.  You say you love Bathsheba: yet on the merest apparent evidence you instantly believe in her dishonour.  A fig for such love!  Now that I have taught you a lesson, take your money back."

"I will not; I will not," said Boldwood.

"Any way I won't have it," said Troy contemptuously. He wrapped the packet of gold in the notes, and threw them into the road. Boldwood shook his clenched fist at him.  "You juggler of Satan!  You black hound!  I will punish you yet; mark me, I'll punish you yet!"

Another peal of laughter.  Troy then closed the door, and locked himself in.

Throughout the whole of that night 

Boldwood's dark form was walking about the hills and valleys of Weatherbury, like an unhappy Shade in the Mournful Fields of Acheron

END OF THE CHAPTER