Far from the Madding Crowd by Thomas Hardy
AFTER THE SHOCK
BOLDWOOD passed into the high road and turnedin the direction of Casterbridge. Here he walked atan even, steady pace over Yalbury Hill, along the deadlevel beyond, mounted Mellstock Hill, and betweeneleven and twelve o'clock crossed the Moor into the town.The streets were nearly deserted now, and the wavinglamp-flames only lighted up rows of grey shop-shutters,and strips of white paving upon which his step echoedas his passed along. He turned to the right, and haltedbefore an archway of heavy stonework, which was closedby an iron studded pair of doors. This was the entranceto the gaol, and over it a lamp was fixed, the light en-abling the wretched traveller to find a bellpull.The small wicket at last opened, and a porterappeared. Boldwood stepped forward, and said some-thing in a low tone, when, after a delay, another mancame. Boldwood entered, and the door was closedbehind him, and he walked the world no more.Long before this time Weatherbury had beenthoroughly aroused, and the wild deed which had ter-minated Boldwood's merrymaking became known toall. Of those out of the house Oak was one of thefirst to hear of the catastrophe, and when he enteredthe room, which was about five minutes after Boldwood'sexit, the scene was terrible. All the female guests werehuddled aghast against the walls like sheep in a storm,and the men were bewildered as to what to do. As forBathsheba, she had changed. She was sitting on thefloor beside the body of Troy, his head pillowed in herlap, where she had herself lifted it. With one hand sheheld her handkerchief to his breast and covered thewound, though scarcely a single drop of blood hadflowed, and with the other she tightly clasped one ofhis. The household convulsion had made her herselfagain. The temporary coma had ceased, and activityhad come with the necessity for it. Deeds of endur-ance, which seem ordinary in philosophy, are rare inconduct, and Bathsheba was astonishing all around hernow, for her philosophy was her conduct, and sheseldom thought practicable what she did not practise.She was of the stuff of which great men's mothersare made. She was indispensable to high generation,hated at tea parties, feared in shops, and loved at crises.Troy recumbent in his wife's lap formed now the solespectacle in the middle of the spacious room.”Gabriel.” she said, automatically, when he entered,turning up a face of which only the wellknown linesremained to tell him it was hers, all else in the picturehaving faded quite. ”Ride to Casterbridge instantlyfor a surgeon. It is, I believe, useless, but go. Mr.Boldwood has shot my husband.”Her statement of the fact in such quiet and simplewords came with more force than a tragic declamation,and had somewhat the effect of setting the distortedimages in each mind present into proper focus. Oak,almost before he had comprehended anything beyondthe briefest abstract of the event, hurried out of theroom, saddled a horse and rode away. Not till he hadridden more than a mile did it occur to him that hewould have done better by sending some other manon this errand, remaining himself in the house. Whathad become of Boldwood? He should have beenlooked after. Was he mad -- had there been a quarrel?Then how had Troy got there? Where had he comefrom? How did this remarkable reappearance effectitself when he was supposed by many to be at thebottom of the sea? Oak had in some slight measurebeen prepared for the presence of Troy by hearing arumour of his return just before entering Boldwood'shouse; but before he had weighed that information, thisfatal event had been superimposed. However, it was toolate now to think of sending another messenger, andhe rode on, in the excitement of these self-inquiriesnot discerning, when about three miles from Caster-bridge, a square-figured pedestrian passing alongunder the dark hedge in the same direction as hisown.The miles necessary to be traversed, and otherhindrances incidental to the lateness of the hour andthe darkness of the night, delayed the arrival of Mr,Aldritch, the surgeon and more than three hourspassed between the time at which the shot was firedand that of his entering the house. Oak was addition-ally detained in Casterbridge through having to givenotice to the authorities of what had happened; andhe then found that Boldwood had also entered thetown, and delivered himself up.In the meantime the surgeon, having hastened intothe hall at Boldwood's, found it in darkness and quitedeserted. He went on to the back of the house,where he discovered in the kitchen an old man, ofwhom he made inquiries.”She's had him took away to her own house, sir,”said his informant.”Who has?” said the doctor.”Mrs. Troy. 'A was quite dead, sir.”This was astonishing information. ”She had noright to do that.” said the doctor. ”There will haveto be an inquest, and she should have waited to knowwhat to do.””Yes, sir; it was hinted to her that she had betterwait till the law was known. But she said law wasnothing to her, and she wouldn't let her dear husband'scorpse bide neglected for folks to stare at for all thecrowners in England.”Mr. Aldritch drove at once back again up thehill to Bathsheba's. The first person he met waspoor Liddy, who seemed literally to have dwindledsmaller in these few latter hours. ”What has beendone?” he said.”I don't know, sir.” said Liddy, with suspendedbreath. ”My mistress has done it all.””Where is she?””Upstairs with him, sir. When he was broughthome and taken upstairs, she said she wanted nofurther help from the men. And then she called me,and made me fill the bath, and after that told me Ihad better go and lie down because I looked so ill.Then she locked herself into the room alone with him,and would not let a nurse come in, or anybody at all.But I thought I'd wait in the next room in case sheshould want me. I heard her moving about insidefor more than an hour, but she only came out once,and that was for more candles, because hers had burntdown into the socket. She said we were to let herknow when you or Mr. Thirdly came, sir.”Oak entered with the parson at this moment, andthey all went upstairs together, preceded by LiddySmallbury. Everything was silent as the grave whenthey paused on the landing. Liddy knocked, andBathsheba's dress was heard rustling across the room:the key turned in the lock, and she opened the door.Her looks were calm and nearly rigid, like a slightlyanimated bust of Melpomene.”Oh, Mr. Aldritch, you have come at last.” shemurmured from her lips merely, and threw back thedoor. ”Ah, and Mr. Thirdly. Well, all is done, andanybody in the world may see him now.” She thenpassed by him, crossed the landing, and enteredanother room.Looking into the chamber of death she had vacatedthey saw by the light of the candles which were on thedrawers a tall straight shape lying at the further endof the bedroom, wrapped in white. Everything aroundwas quite orderly. The doctor went in, and after afew minutes returned to the landing again, whereOak and the parson still waited.”It is all done, indeed, as she says.” remarked Mr.Aldritch, in a subdued voice. ”The body has beenundressed and properly laid out in grave clothes.Gracious Heaven -- this mere girl! She must have thenerve of a stoic!””The heart of a wife merely.” floated in a whisperabout the ears of the three, and turning they sawBathsheba in the midst of them. Then, as if at thatinstant to prove that her fortitude had been more ofwill than of spontaneity, she silently sank down betweenthem and was a shapeless heap of drapery on the floor.The simple consciousness that superhuman strain wasno longer required had at once put a period to herpower to continue it.They took her away into a further room, and themedical attendance which had been useless in Troy'scase was invaluable in Bathsheba's, who fell into aseries of fainting-fits that had a serious aspect for atime. The sufferer was got to bed, and Oak, findingfrom the bulletins that nothing really dreadful was tobe apprehended on her score, left the house. Liddykept watch in Bathsheba's chamber, where she heardher mistress, moaning in whispers through the dullslow hours of that wretched night: ”O it is my fault -- how can I live! O Heaven, how can I live!”
CHAPTER LV
BOLDWOOD passed into the high road and turnedin the direction of Casterbridge. Here he walked atan even, steady pace over Yalbury Hill, along the deadlevel beyond, mounted Mellstock Hill, and betweeneleven and twelve o'clock crossed the Moor into the town.The streets were nearly deserted now, and the wavinglamp-flames only lighted up rows of grey shop-shutters,and strips of white paving upon which his step echoedas his passed along. He turned to the right, and haltedbefore an archway of heavy stonework, which was closedby an iron studded pair of doors. This was the entranceto the gaol, and over it a lamp was fixed, the light en-abling the wretched traveller to find a bellpull.The small wicket at last opened, and a porterappeared. Boldwood stepped forward, and said some-thing in a low tone, when, after a delay, another mancame. Boldwood entered, and the door was closedbehind him, and he walked the world no more.Long before this time Weatherbury had beenthoroughly aroused, and the wild deed which had ter-minated Boldwood's merrymaking became known toall. Of those out of the house Oak was one of thefirst to hear of the catastrophe, and when he enteredthe room, which was about five minutes after Boldwood'sexit, the scene was terrible. All the female guests werehuddled aghast against the walls like sheep in a storm,and the men were bewildered as to what to do. As forBathsheba, she had changed. She was sitting on thefloor beside the body of Troy, his head pillowed in herlap, where she had herself lifted it. With one hand sheheld her handkerchief to his breast and covered thewound, though scarcely a single drop of blood hadflowed, and with the other she tightly clasped one ofhis. The household convulsion had made her herselfagain. The temporary coma had ceased, and activityhad come with the necessity for it. Deeds of endur-ance, which seem ordinary in philosophy, are rare inconduct, and Bathsheba was astonishing all around hernow, for her philosophy was her conduct, and sheseldom thought practicable what she did not practise.She was of the stuff of which great men's mothersare made. She was indispensable to high generation,hated at tea parties, feared in shops, and loved at crises.Troy recumbent in his wife's lap formed now the solespectacle in the middle of the spacious room.”Gabriel.” she said, automatically, when he entered,turning up a face of which only the wellknown linesremained to tell him it was hers, all else in the picturehaving faded quite. ”Ride to Casterbridge instantlyfor a surgeon. It is, I believe, useless, but go. Mr.Boldwood has shot my husband.”Her statement of the fact in such quiet and simplewords came with more force than a tragic declamation,and had somewhat the effect of setting the distortedimages in each mind present into proper focus. Oak,almost before he had comprehended anything beyondthe briefest abstract of the event, hurried out of theroom, saddled a horse and rode away. Not till he hadridden more than a mile did it occur to him that hewould have done better by sending some other manon this errand, remaining himself in the house. Whathad become of Boldwood? He should have beenlooked after. Was he mad -- had there been a quarrel?Then how had Troy got there? Where had he comefrom? How did this remarkable reappearance effectitself when he was supposed by many to be at thebottom of the sea? Oak had in some slight measurebeen prepared for the presence of Troy by hearing arumour of his return just before entering Boldwood'shouse; but before he had weighed that information, thisfatal event had been superimposed. However, it was toolate now to think of sending another messenger, andhe rode on, in the excitement of these self-inquiriesnot discerning, when about three miles from Caster-bridge, a square-figured pedestrian passing alongunder the dark hedge in the same direction as hisown.The miles necessary to be traversed, and otherhindrances incidental to the lateness of the hour andthe darkness of the night, delayed the arrival of Mr,Aldritch, the surgeon and more than three hourspassed between the time at which the shot was firedand that of his entering the house. Oak was addition-ally detained in Casterbridge through having to givenotice to the authorities of what had happened; andhe then found that Boldwood had also entered thetown, and delivered himself up.In the meantime the surgeon, having hastened intothe hall at Boldwood's, found it in darkness and quitedeserted. He went on to the back of the house,where he discovered in the kitchen an old man, ofwhom he made inquiries.”She's had him took away to her own house, sir,”said his informant.”Who has?” said the doctor.”Mrs. Troy. 'A was quite dead, sir.”This was astonishing information. ”She had noright to do that.” said the doctor. ”There will haveto be an inquest, and she should have waited to knowwhat to do.””Yes, sir; it was hinted to her that she had betterwait till the law was known. But she said law wasnothing to her, and she wouldn't let her dear husband'scorpse bide neglected for folks to stare at for all thecrowners in England.”Mr. Aldritch drove at once back again up thehill to Bathsheba's. The first person he met waspoor Liddy, who seemed literally to have dwindledsmaller in these few latter hours. ”What has beendone?” he said.”I don't know, sir.” said Liddy, with suspendedbreath. ”My mistress has done it all.””Where is she?””Upstairs with him, sir. When he was broughthome and taken upstairs, she said she wanted nofurther help from the men. And then she called me,and made me fill the bath, and after that told me Ihad better go and lie down because I looked so ill.Then she locked herself into the room alone with him,and would not let a nurse come in, or anybody at all.But I thought I'd wait in the next room in case sheshould want me. I heard her moving about insidefor more than an hour, but she only came out once,and that was for more candles, because hers had burntdown into the socket. She said we were to let herknow when you or Mr. Thirdly came, sir.”Oak entered with the parson at this moment, andthey all went upstairs together, preceded by LiddySmallbury. Everything was silent as the grave whenthey paused on the landing. Liddy knocked, andBathsheba's dress was heard rustling across the room:the key turned in the lock, and she opened the door.Her looks were calm and nearly rigid, like a slightlyanimated bust of Melpomene.”Oh, Mr. Aldritch, you have come at last.” shemurmured from her lips merely, and threw back thedoor. ”Ah, and Mr. Thirdly. Well, all is done, andanybody in the world may see him now.” She thenpassed by him, crossed the landing, and enteredanother room.Looking into the chamber of death she had vacatedthey saw by the light of the candles which were on thedrawers a tall straight shape lying at the further endof the bedroom, wrapped in white. Everything aroundwas quite orderly. The doctor went in, and after afew minutes returned to the landing again, whereOak and the parson still waited.”It is all done, indeed, as she says.” remarked Mr.Aldritch, in a subdued voice. ”The body has beenundressed and properly laid out in grave clothes.Gracious Heaven -- this mere girl! She must have thenerve of a stoic!””The heart of a wife merely.” floated in a whisperabout the ears of the three, and turning they sawBathsheba in the midst of them. Then, as if at thatinstant to prove that her fortitude had been more ofwill than of spontaneity, she silently sank down betweenthem and was a shapeless heap of drapery on the floor.The simple consciousness that superhuman strain wasno longer required had at once put a period to herpower to continue it.They took her away into a further room, and themedical attendance which had been useless in Troy'scase was invaluable in Bathsheba's, who fell into aseries of fainting-fits that had a serious aspect for atime. The sufferer was got to bed, and Oak, findingfrom the bulletins that nothing really dreadful was tobe apprehended on her score, left the house. Liddykept watch in Bathsheba's chamber, where she heardher mistress, moaning in whispers through the dullslow hours of that wretched night: ”O it is my fault -- how can I live! O Heaven, how can I live!”
CHAPTER LV