Fifty Three: Far From The Madding Crowd: Thomas Hardy: Concurritur Horaemomento

Outside the front of Boldwood's house.  A group of men stood in the dark, their faces turned towards the door. It occasionally opened and closed again for the passage of guests or servants, a golden rod of light striping the gravel for the moment, and vanishing again, leaving nothing outside but the glow worm shine of the pale lamp amid the evergreens over the door. 

"He was seen in Casterbridge this afternoon, so the boy said," whispered one of them.  "And I for one believe it.  His body was never found, you know." 

"A strange story." 

"You may depend upon it, that she knows nothing." 

"Not a word." 

"Perhaps he doesn't mean that she shall," said another man.

"If he's alive, and here in the neighborhood, he means mischief," said the first.  "Poor girl, I do pity her.

He'll drag her to the dogs." 

"Oh, no, he'll settle down quiet enough," said one disposed to take a more hopeful view of the case.

What a fool she must have been ever to have had anything to do with the man!  She is so self-willed and headstrong, too, that one is more minded to say it serves her right than pity her." 

"No, no; I don't go with you there.  She was no otherwise than a girl, mind, and how could she tell what the man was made of!  If it is really true, it is too hard a punishment, and more than she ought to have.  Hello, who is that?"  This was addressed to 

some footsteps that were heard approaching. 

"William Smallbury," said a dim figure, and he came up and joined them.  "Dark as a flue tonight, isn't it? I almost missed the plank over the river there in the bottom ---- Never did such a thing before.  Be you any of the Boldwood's work folk? " He peered into their faces. 

"Yes; we met here a few minutes ago." 

"Oh, I hear now, that's Sam Samway, thought I knew the voice too; going in?"

"Presently.  But I say, William," he whispered, "have you heard this strange tale?"

"What --- that about sergeant Troy being seen.  Do you mean, souls?" said Smallbury, also lowering his voice. 

"Yes, I have.  Laban Tall named a hint of it to me but now; but I don't think it.  Hark!  Here comes Laban himself, I think."  A footstep drew near. 

"Yes, it's I," said Tall. 

"Have you heard anymore about that?" the other inquired. 

"No," said Tall joining them, "and I am inclined to think we would better keep quiet.  If be it's not true 'twill flurry her, and do her harm, and if so be it's true it'll do her no good to forestall her time of trouble.  Go send that it may be a lie, for though Henry Fray and some of them speak against her, she's never been anything but fair to me.  She's hot and hasty, but she's a brave girl, who will never tell a lie, however much the truth may harm her; I have no wish to cause her any evil." 

"No, she never tell women's little lies, that's true; all that she thinks she says to her face." 

Then they remained silent.  Everyone occupied with his own thoughts.  Sounds of merriments could be heard within.  The front door opened again, rays streamed out, Boldwood was seen in the oblong area of light, the door closed, and Boldwood walked slowly down the path. 

The men whispered as he neared them.  Boldwood came on and passed by the men, who were standing under the bushes on the grass.  He paused, leant over the gate, took a long deep breath.

"I hope God she will come, or all this night will be nothing but misery.  Oh! My darling, why do you keep me in suspense?"

Though he said this to himself, they all distinctly heard it.  Boldwood became silent again, but the noise from the interior was audible.  The sound of light wheels coming the hill could be distinguished. It drew near and ceased at the gate.  Boldwood opened the door and the light shone upon Bathsheba advancing up the path.  Boldwood ushered her into the house and door closed.

"More harm.may come of this, than we know of.  Poor Boldwood.  It will be hard upon him.  I wish Troy was in.  A scoundrel to play a poor wife such tricks.  Nothing has prospered in Weatherbury since he came here.  And now, I have no heart to go in. Let us look into Warren's, shall we neighbours?" 

Samway, Tall, and Smallbury went out.  The remaining ones entered the hall.  The three soon drew near Warren's Malt house, through the adjoining orchard.  The pane of glass was illuminated as usual.  Smallbury was a little in advance of the rest, and he turned suddenly to his companions and said, "Hist! See there."

The light from the pane was shining upon some object close to the glass, which turned out to be a human face.

It was Troy. The voices of the malster and Gabriel Oak were heard.

"The spree is all in her honour, isn't it?" said the malster, "though he made it appear a Christmas party."

"I cannot say," replied Oak.

"Oh, it's true enough.  I can't understand farmer Boldwood being such a fool as to hanker after that woman." 

The men, after recognising Troy's features, withdrew across the orchard silently.  When they were quite out of earshot, all by one instinct paused.

"It gave me quite a turn ---- his face," said Tall.

"And so it did me," said Samway.  

"What is to be done now?" 

"I don't see it is any business of ours," Smallbury murmured.

"No; it's everybody's business," said Samway.  "We know very well that master is on a wrong track, and that she's quite in the dark. We should let them know at once.  Laban, you know her best, you would better go and speak to her."

"I am not fit for any such thing, said Laban nervously.  "I think William ought to go, if anybody. He's the oldest."

"Faith, I shall have nothing to do with it," said William Smallbury.  "It's a ticklish business already.  Why, he'll go on to her himself in a few minutes."

"We don't know that.  Come, Laban." 

"Well, if I must I must," Laban Tall reluctantly answered.  "What must I say?" 

"Just ask to see master." 

"Oh, no. I shan't speak to Boldwood.  If I tell anybody, it's mistress." 

"Very well," said Samway.

Laban Tall then went to the door.  When he opened it the hum of bustle rolled out as a wave upon a still strand ---.and was deadened to a murmur as he closed it again.  Each man waited, and looked around. One began walking up and down, and then stopped, and said, "I think Laban must have seen mistress by this time."

The door opened.  Tall appeared to join them.

"Well?"

"I didn't like to ask for her after all," Laban faltered.  "They were all in such a stir, trying to put a little spirit into the party; for somehow the fun seems to hang fire, though everything's there that a heart can desire; and I couldn't for my soul interfere and throw a damp upon it." 

"I suppose, we had better all go in together," said Samway gloomily.  "Perhaps I may have a chance of speaking to the master." 

So the men entered the hall.  The younger men and maids were beginning to dance.  Bathsheba had been perplexed, she was not a slim girl, and the weight of stateliness sat heavy upon her.  Moreover, she had already made up her mind that she could on no account dance, sing or take any active part.

So, when an hour had been passed in chatting and looking at the rest of them, Bathsheba told Liddy not to hurry herself, and went to prepare for departure into the small parlour.  The master of the house followed her.

"Mrs Troy, you are not going?" 

"If you will excuse me, I should like to go now, she replied hurriedly.

"I have been trying to get an opportunity of speaking to you," said Boldwood.  You know, perhaps, what I long to say." 

Bathsheba silently looked on the floor.

"You do give it?" he said eagerly.

"What?" she whispered.

"Now, that's evasion," he said reproachfully.  "Why, the promise.  I don't want to intrude upon you at all, or to let it be known to anybody.  But do give your word!  A mere business compact, you know, between two people, who are beyond the influence of passion." Boldwood knew how false his claim was, "A promise to marry me at the end of five years and three quarters.  You owe it to me!" 

"I feel that I do," said Bathsheba; that is if you demand it.  But I am a changed woman --- an unhappy woman --- and not --- not"---

"You are still a very beautiful woman," said Boldwood.

"I have no feeling in the matter at all, she said in a passionless murmur, "and I don't know at all what is right to do in my difficult position, and I have nobody to advise me.  But I give my promise, if I must, I give it as the rendering of a debt."

"You will marry me in five or six years?" 

"Don't press me too hard.  I will marry nobody else."

"But sure you will name the time, or there is nothing at all."

"I don't know ---- pray let me go!" she said, her bosom beginning to rise.  "I am afraid what to do;  I want to be just to you, and that seems to be wronging myself.  It may be breaking the commandments.  Let me ask a solicitor, Mr Boldwood." 

"Say the words, dear one, and the subject will be dropped.  Oh, Bathsheba, say them!" his voice was husky, "Promise yourself to me.  I deserve it.  I have loved you more than anybody in the world.  Be gracious and give up a little for me, when I would give up the whole world for you!"

"You will not press me about anything more for the next five or six years? she asked, after gaining sufficient self-command.

"Yes, I will leave it to time." 

"Very well, I shall marry you in six years from this time." 

"And you will take this as a tribute from me?"  Boldwood had come close to her, clasped one of her hands in both his own, and lifted it.

"Oh, what's it? I cannot wear a ring!" she exclaimed.  "I wouldn't have a soul know that it is an engagement.

It's wrong.  Don't insist Mr Boldwood ---- don't.  Not being able to get her hand away from him, she stamped tremulously with one foot, and tears crowded to her eyes.

"It means simply a pledge, the seal of a practical compact," he said quietly, retaining her hand in his grip.  "Come now," and Boldwood slipped the ring on her finger.

"I cannot wear it!  Oh, I cannot!" she said, weeping as if her heart would break.  You frighten me.  So wild a scheme.  Please let me go home!" 

"Only tonight.  Wear it just tonight."

Bathsheba sat down in her chair and buried her face in her handkerchief, one hand being still held by Boldwood.  At last she said in a hopeless whisper, "Very well then, I will tonight if you wish it so earnestly, loosen my hand; I have promised."

Boldwood then allowed her hand to drop into her lap.  "I am happy now, God bless you."

The farmer then left the room, and when he thought she might be sufficiently composed, sent one of the maids to her.  Bathsheba cloaked the effects of the late scene as best she could, followed the girl, and in a few minutes, came downstairs to ready to leave.

To get to the door, it was necessary to pass through the hall, and before doing so she paused on the staircase, which descended in one corner of the same room to take a last look at the company.  There was no dancing or music in progress just now.  At the lower end, which had been arranged for work people a group was conversing in whispers, and with clouded looks.  Boldwood was standing by the fireplace, and he too, though absorbed in ecstatic visions arising from her promise that he scarcely saw anything, seemed to have observed their peculiar manner, and their looks suspicious.

"What it is you are in doubt, men? he said.

One of them turned and replied uneasily, "It is something Laban heard of, that's all, sir."

"News? Anybody married, born or dead? inquired Boldwood happily.  "Tell it to us, Tall.  One would think from your looks and mysterious ways that it was something very dreadful indeed." 

"Oh, no sir, nobody is dead," said Tall.

"I wish somebody was," said Samway.

"What do you say, Samway?" asked Boldwood somewhat sharply.  "If you have anything to say, say it.  If not, get up another dance." 

"Mrs Troy has come downstairs," murmured Samway to Tall.  If you want to tell her you had better now." 

"Do you know what they mean?"  Boldwood asked Bathsheba across the room.

"I don't in the least," said Bathsheba. There was a smart rapping at the door.  One of the men instantly opened it and went out.

"Mrs Troy is wanted," he said on returning.

"Quite ready," said Bathsheba.  I didn't tell them to send."

"It's a stranger, ma'am," said the man by the door.

"A stranger?" she said.

"Ask him to come in," said Boldwood.

The message was given, and Troy, wrapped up to his eyes, stood in the doorway.

There was an unearthly silence, all looking towards the new comer.  Those who knew he was in the neighborhood recognised him instantly; those who did not were perplexed.  Nobody noted Bathsheba.  She was leaning on the stairs, her brow had heavily contracted, her whole face was pallid, her lips were apart, her eyes rigidly staring at Troy.

Boldwood was among those who did not notice who he was.  " Come in, come in," he repeated, "and drink Christmas beaker with us." 

Troy advanced into the middle of the room, took off his cap and turned down his collar, and looked Boldwood in the face.  Even then Boldwoos did not recognise the impersonator.  Troy began a mechanical laugh: Boldwood recognised him now.

Troy turned to Bathsheba.  She had sunk on the lowest stair, and there she sat --- her lips blue and dry, her dark eyes vacant, as if she wondered it was an absurd dream.

"Bathsheba, I am here for you." 

She made no reply. 

"Come home with me, come," said Troy.  Bathsheba moved her hands and feet a little, but did not rise.  Troy went across to her.

"Come, madam, do you hear what I say," he said peremptorily.

A strange voice came from the fireplace, a voice as if from a dungeon.  Hardly a soul in the room recognised the thin tone belonged to Boldwood.  Sudden despair had transformed him.

"Bathsheba, go with your husband!" 

Nevertheless she did not move. She was in a state of mental gutta serena, her mind was for the time totally deprived of light, no obscuration being apparent from without.

Troy stretched out his hand to pull her towards him, when she quickly shrank back.  This visible dread seemed to irritate Troy, and he seized her arm and pulled it sharply.  She writhed, and gave a quick low scream.

A few seconds after the scream, a defeaning sound echoed through the room stupefying them all.  The oak partition shook with the explosion and the place was filled with grey smoke.

In bewilderment they turned their eyes to Boldwood.  At his back as he stood before the fireplace was the gun rack that is unusual in farm-houses, constructed to contain two guns.  When Bathsheba had cried out in her husband's grasp, Boldwood's face betrayed extreme anger, and a frenzied look gleamed in his eyes.  He turned quickly, took one of the guns and discharged it at Troy.

Troy fell. The distance apart of the two men was so little the shot passed like a bullet into his body. He uttered a long sigh, there was a contraction, an extension, then his muscles relaxed, and he lay still.

Boldwood was seen through the smoke, engaged with his gun.  It was a double barrelled, he had in some way fastened his handkerchief to the trigger, and with his foot on the other end was in the act of turning the second barrel upon himself.  Samway, his man was the first to see this, and in the midst of general horror darted upto him. Boldwood had already twitched the handkerchief, and the gun exploded a second time, by a timely blow from Samway sending its charge harmlessly into the beam which crossed the ceiling. 

"Well, it makes no difference," Boldwood gasped.  "There is another way for me to die." 

He broke from Samway, crossed the room to Bathsheba and kissed her hand.  He put on his hat, opened the door, and went into darkness, nobody thinking to prevent him.

          END OF THE CHAPTER