Far from the Madding Crowd by Thomas Hardy
EVENTIDE -- A SECOND DECLARATION
FOR the shearing-supper a long table was placed on thegrass-plot beside the house, the end of the table beingthrust over the sill of the wide parlour window and afoot or two into the room. Miss Everdene sat insidethe window, facing down the table. She was thus atthe head without mingling with the men.This evening Bathsheba was unusually excited, herred cheeks and lips contrasting lustrously with the mazyskeins of her shadowy hair. She seemed to expectassistance, and the seat at the bottom of the table wasat her request left vacant until after they had begunand the duties appertaining to that end, which he didwith great readiness.At this moment Mr. Boldwood came in at the gate,and crossed the green to Bathsheba at the window.He apologized for his lateness: his arrival was evidentlyby arrangement.”Gabriel.” said she, ” will you move again, please,and let Mr. Boldwood come there?”Oak moved in silence back to his original seat.The gentleman-farmer was dressed in cheerful style,in a new coat and white waistcoat, quite contrastingwith his usual sober suits of grey. Inwardy, too, hewas blithe, and consequently chatty to an exceptionaldegree. So also was Bathsheba now that he had come,though the uninvited presence of Pennyways, the bailiffwho had been dismissed for theft, disturbed her equan-imity for a while.Supper being ended, Coggan began on his ownprivate account, without reference to listeners: --l've lost my love and l care not,I've lost my love, and l care not;I shall soon have anotherThat's better than t'other!I've lost my love, and I care not.This lyric, when concluded, was received with asilently appreciative gaze at the table, implying that theperformance, like a work by those established authorswho are independent of notices in the papers, was awell-known delight which required no applause.”Now, Master Poorgrass, your song!” said Coggan.”I be all but in liquor, and the gift is wanting inme.” said Joseph, diminishing himself.”Nonsense; wou'st never be so ungrateful, Joseph --never!” said Coggan, expressing hurt feelings by aninflection of voice. ”And mistress is looking hard atye, as much as to say, ”Sing at once, Joseph Poor-grass.””Faith, so she is; well, I must suffer it! ... Justeye my features, and see if the tell-tale blood overheatsme much, neighbours?””No, yer blushes be quite reasonable.” said Coggan.”I always tries to keep my colours from rising whena beauty's eyes get fixed on me.” said Joseph, differently;”but if so be 'tis willed they do, they must.””Now, Joseph, your song, please.” said Bathsheba,from the window.”Well, really, ma'am.” he replied, in a yielding tone,”I don't know what to say. It would be a poor plainballet of my own composure.”Hear, hear!” said the supper-party.Poorgrass, thus assured, trilled forth a flickering yetcommendable piece of sentiment, the tune of whichconsisted of the key-note and another, the latter beingthe sound chiefly dwelt upon. This was so successfulthat he rashly plunged into a second in the samebreath, after a few false starts: --I sow'-ed th'-eI sow'-edI sow'-ed the'-e seeds' of love',I-it was' all' i'-in the'-e spring',I-in A'-pril', Ma'-ay, a'-nd sun'-ny' June',When sma'-all bi'-irds they' do' sing.”Well put out of hand.” said Coggan, at the end of theverse. `They do sing' was a very taking paragraph.””Ay; and there was a pretty place at ”seeds oflove.” and 'twas well heaved out. Though ”love ” isa nasty high corner when a man's voice is gettingcrazed. Next verse, Master Poorgrass.”But during this rendering young Bob Coggan ex-hibited one of those anomalies which will afflict littlepeople when other persons are particularly serious: intrying to check his laughter, he pushed down his throatas much of the tablecloth as he could get hold of, when,after continuing hermetically sealed for a short time, hismirth burst out through his nose. Joseph perceived it,and with hectic cheeks of indignation instantly ceasedsinging. Coggan boxed Bob's ears immediately.”Go on, Joseph -- go on, and never mind the youngscamp.” said Coggan. ”'Tis a very catching ballet.Now then again -- the next bar; I'll help ye to flourishup the shrill notes where yer wind is rather wheezy: --O the wi'-il-lo'-ow tree' will' twist',And the wil'-low' tre'-ee wi'ill twine'.But the singer could not be set going again. BobCoggan was sent home for his ill manners, and tran-quility was restored by Jacob Smallbury, who volunteereda ballad as inclusive and interminable as that with whichthe worthy toper old Silenus amused on a similar occasionthe swains Chromis and Mnasylus, and other jolly dogsof his day.It was still the beaming time of evening, thoughnight was stealthily making itself visible low down uponthe ground, the western lines of light taking the earthwithout alighting upon it to any extent, or illuminatingthe dead levels at all. The sun had crept round thetree as a last effort before death, and then began tosink, the shearers' lower parts becoming steeped inembrowning twilight, whilst their heads and shoulderswere still enjoying day, touched with a yellow of self-sustained brilliancy that seemed inherent rather thanacquired.The sun went down in an ochreous mist; but theysat, and talked on, and grew as merry as the gods inHomer's heaven. Bathsheba still remained enthronedinside the window, and occupied herself in knitting,from which she sometimes looked up to view the fadingscene outside. The slow twilight expanded and envelopedthem completely before the signs of moving were shown.Gabriel suddenly missed Farmer Boldwood from hisplace at the bottom of the table. How long he hadbeen gone Oak did not know; but he had apparentlywithdrawn into the encircling dusk. Whilst he wasthinking of this, Liddy brought candles into the backpart of the room overlooking the shearers, and theirlively new flames shone down the table and over themen, and dispersed among the green shadows behind.Bathsheba's form, still in its original position, was nowagain distinct between their eyes and the light, whichrevealed that Boldwood had gone inside the room, andwas sitting near her.Next came the question of the evening. Would MissEverdene sing to them the song she always sang socharmingly -- ” The Banks of Allan Water” -- before theywent home?After a moment's consideration Bathsheba assented,beckoning to Gabriel, who hastened up into the covetedatmosphere.”Have you brought your flute? ” she whispered.”Yes, miss.””Play to my singing, then.”She stood up in the window-opening, facing themen, the candles behind her, Gabriel on her right hand,immediately outside the sash-frame. Boldwood haddrawn up on her left, within the room. Her singingwas soft and rather tremulous at first, but it soon swelledto a steady clearness. Subsequent events caused oneof the verses to be remembered for many months, andeven years, by more than one of those who were gatheredthere: --For his bride a soldier sought her,And a winning tongue had he:On the banks of Allan WaterNone was gay as she!In addition to the dulcet piping of Gabriel's flute,Boldwood supplied a bass in his customary profoundvoice, uttering his notes so softly, however, as to abstainentirely from making anything like an ordinary duet ofthe song; they rather formed a rich unexplored shadow,which threw her tones into relief. The shearers reclinedagainst each other as at suppers in the early ages of theworld, and so silent and absorbed were they that herbreathing could almost be heard between the bars; andat the end of the ballad, when the last tone loitered onto an inexpressible close, there arose that buzz ofpleasure which is the attar of applause.It is scarcely necessary to state that Gabriel couldnot avoid noting the farmer's bearing to-night towardstheir entertainer. Yet there was nothing exceptional inhis actions beyond what appertained to his time ofperforming them. It was when the rest were all lookingaway that Boldwood observed her; when they regardedher he turned aside; when they thanked or praised hewas silent; when they were inattentive he murmuredhis thanks. The meaning lay in the difference betweenactions, none of which had any meaning of itself;and the necessity of being jealous, which lovers aretroubled with, did not lead Oak to underestimate thesesigns.Bathsheba then wished them good-night, withdrewfrom the window, and retired to the back part of theroom, Boldwood thereupon closing the sash and theshutters, and remaining inside with her. Oak wanderedaway under the quiet and scented trees. Recoveringfrom the softer impressions produced by Bathsheba'svoice, the shearers rose to leave, Coggan turning toPennyways as he pushed back the bench to pass out: --”I like to give praise where praise is due, and theman deserves it -- that 'a do so.” he remarked, looking atthe worthy thief, as if he were the masterpiece of someworld-renowned artist.”I'm sure I should never have believed it if we hadn'tproved it, so to allude,” hiccupped Joseph Poorgrass, ”thatevery cup, every one of the best knives and forks, andevery empty bottle be in their place as perfect now asat the beginning, and not one stole at all.”I'm sure I don't deserve half the praise you giveme.” said the virtuous thief, grimly.”Well, I'll say this for Pennyways.” added Coggan,”that whenever he do really make up his mind to do anoble thing in the shape of a good action, as I couldsee by his face he. did to-night afore sitting down, he'sgenerally able to carry it out. Yes, I'm proud to say.neighbours, that he's stole nothing at all.”Well.” -- 'tis an honest deed, and we thank ye for it,Pennyways.” said Joseph; to which opinion the remainderof the company subscribed unanimously. At this time of departure, when nothing more wasvisible of the inside of the parlour than a thin and stillchink of light between the shutters, a passionate scenewas in course of enactment there.”Miss Everdene and Boldwood were alone. Hercheeks had lost a great deal of their healthful fire fromthe very seriousness of her position but her eye wasbright with the excitement of a triumph -- though it wasa triumph which had rather been contemplated thandesired.She was standing behind a low arm-chair, from whichshe had just risen, and he was kneeling in it -- inclininghimself over its back towards her, and holding her handin both his own. His body moved restlessly, and it waswith what Keats daintily calls a too happy happiness.This unwonted abstraction by love of all dignity froma man of whom it had ever seemed the chief component,was, in its distressing incongruity, a pain to her whichquenched much of the pleasure she derived from theproof that she was idolized.”I will try to love you.” she was saying, in a tremblingvoice quite unlike her usual self-confidence. ”And if Ican believe in any way that I shall make you a goodwife I shall indeed be willing to marry you. But, Mr.Boldwood, hesitation on so high a matter is honourablein any woman, and I don't want to give a solemnpromise to-night. I would rather ask you to wait a fewweeks till I can see my situation better.”But you have every reason tobelieve that then -- -- ””I have every reason to hope that at the end of the five orsix weeks, between this time and harvest, thatyou say you are going to be away from home, I shall beable to promise to be your wife.” she said, firmly. ”Butremember this distinctly, I don't promise yet.””It is enough I don't ask more. I can wait onthose dear words. And now, Miss Everdene, good-night!””Good-night.” she said, graciously -- almost tenderly;and Boldwood withdrew with a serene smile.Bathsheba knew more of him now; he had entirelybared his heart before her, even until he had almostworn in her eyes the sorry look of a grand bird withoutthe feathers that make it grand. She had been awe-struck at her past temerity, and was struggling to makeamends without thinking whether the sin quite deservedthe penalty she was schooling herself to pay. To havebrought all this about her ears was terrible; but after awhile the situation was not without a fearful joy. Thefacility with which even the most timid woman some-times acquire a relish for the dreadful when that isamalgamated with a little triumph, is marvellous.
CHAPTER XXIV
FOR the shearing-supper a long table was placed on thegrass-plot beside the house, the end of the table beingthrust over the sill of the wide parlour window and afoot or two into the room. Miss Everdene sat insidethe window, facing down the table. She was thus atthe head without mingling with the men.This evening Bathsheba was unusually excited, herred cheeks and lips contrasting lustrously with the mazyskeins of her shadowy hair. She seemed to expectassistance, and the seat at the bottom of the table wasat her request left vacant until after they had begunand the duties appertaining to that end, which he didwith great readiness.At this moment Mr. Boldwood came in at the gate,and crossed the green to Bathsheba at the window.He apologized for his lateness: his arrival was evidentlyby arrangement.”Gabriel.” said she, ” will you move again, please,and let Mr. Boldwood come there?”Oak moved in silence back to his original seat.The gentleman-farmer was dressed in cheerful style,in a new coat and white waistcoat, quite contrastingwith his usual sober suits of grey. Inwardy, too, hewas blithe, and consequently chatty to an exceptionaldegree. So also was Bathsheba now that he had come,though the uninvited presence of Pennyways, the bailiffwho had been dismissed for theft, disturbed her equan-imity for a while.Supper being ended, Coggan began on his ownprivate account, without reference to listeners: --l've lost my love and l care not,I've lost my love, and l care not;I shall soon have anotherThat's better than t'other!I've lost my love, and I care not.This lyric, when concluded, was received with asilently appreciative gaze at the table, implying that theperformance, like a work by those established authorswho are independent of notices in the papers, was awell-known delight which required no applause.”Now, Master Poorgrass, your song!” said Coggan.”I be all but in liquor, and the gift is wanting inme.” said Joseph, diminishing himself.”Nonsense; wou'st never be so ungrateful, Joseph --never!” said Coggan, expressing hurt feelings by aninflection of voice. ”And mistress is looking hard atye, as much as to say, ”Sing at once, Joseph Poor-grass.””Faith, so she is; well, I must suffer it! ... Justeye my features, and see if the tell-tale blood overheatsme much, neighbours?””No, yer blushes be quite reasonable.” said Coggan.”I always tries to keep my colours from rising whena beauty's eyes get fixed on me.” said Joseph, differently;”but if so be 'tis willed they do, they must.””Now, Joseph, your song, please.” said Bathsheba,from the window.”Well, really, ma'am.” he replied, in a yielding tone,”I don't know what to say. It would be a poor plainballet of my own composure.”Hear, hear!” said the supper-party.Poorgrass, thus assured, trilled forth a flickering yetcommendable piece of sentiment, the tune of whichconsisted of the key-note and another, the latter beingthe sound chiefly dwelt upon. This was so successfulthat he rashly plunged into a second in the samebreath, after a few false starts: --I sow'-ed th'-eI sow'-edI sow'-ed the'-e seeds' of love',I-it was' all' i'-in the'-e spring',I-in A'-pril', Ma'-ay, a'-nd sun'-ny' June',When sma'-all bi'-irds they' do' sing.”Well put out of hand.” said Coggan, at the end of theverse. `They do sing' was a very taking paragraph.””Ay; and there was a pretty place at ”seeds oflove.” and 'twas well heaved out. Though ”love ” isa nasty high corner when a man's voice is gettingcrazed. Next verse, Master Poorgrass.”But during this rendering young Bob Coggan ex-hibited one of those anomalies which will afflict littlepeople when other persons are particularly serious: intrying to check his laughter, he pushed down his throatas much of the tablecloth as he could get hold of, when,after continuing hermetically sealed for a short time, hismirth burst out through his nose. Joseph perceived it,and with hectic cheeks of indignation instantly ceasedsinging. Coggan boxed Bob's ears immediately.”Go on, Joseph -- go on, and never mind the youngscamp.” said Coggan. ”'Tis a very catching ballet.Now then again -- the next bar; I'll help ye to flourishup the shrill notes where yer wind is rather wheezy: --O the wi'-il-lo'-ow tree' will' twist',And the wil'-low' tre'-ee wi'ill twine'.But the singer could not be set going again. BobCoggan was sent home for his ill manners, and tran-quility was restored by Jacob Smallbury, who volunteereda ballad as inclusive and interminable as that with whichthe worthy toper old Silenus amused on a similar occasionthe swains Chromis and Mnasylus, and other jolly dogsof his day.It was still the beaming time of evening, thoughnight was stealthily making itself visible low down uponthe ground, the western lines of light taking the earthwithout alighting upon it to any extent, or illuminatingthe dead levels at all. The sun had crept round thetree as a last effort before death, and then began tosink, the shearers' lower parts becoming steeped inembrowning twilight, whilst their heads and shoulderswere still enjoying day, touched with a yellow of self-sustained brilliancy that seemed inherent rather thanacquired.The sun went down in an ochreous mist; but theysat, and talked on, and grew as merry as the gods inHomer's heaven. Bathsheba still remained enthronedinside the window, and occupied herself in knitting,from which she sometimes looked up to view the fadingscene outside. The slow twilight expanded and envelopedthem completely before the signs of moving were shown.Gabriel suddenly missed Farmer Boldwood from hisplace at the bottom of the table. How long he hadbeen gone Oak did not know; but he had apparentlywithdrawn into the encircling dusk. Whilst he wasthinking of this, Liddy brought candles into the backpart of the room overlooking the shearers, and theirlively new flames shone down the table and over themen, and dispersed among the green shadows behind.Bathsheba's form, still in its original position, was nowagain distinct between their eyes and the light, whichrevealed that Boldwood had gone inside the room, andwas sitting near her.Next came the question of the evening. Would MissEverdene sing to them the song she always sang socharmingly -- ” The Banks of Allan Water” -- before theywent home?After a moment's consideration Bathsheba assented,beckoning to Gabriel, who hastened up into the covetedatmosphere.”Have you brought your flute? ” she whispered.”Yes, miss.””Play to my singing, then.”She stood up in the window-opening, facing themen, the candles behind her, Gabriel on her right hand,immediately outside the sash-frame. Boldwood haddrawn up on her left, within the room. Her singingwas soft and rather tremulous at first, but it soon swelledto a steady clearness. Subsequent events caused oneof the verses to be remembered for many months, andeven years, by more than one of those who were gatheredthere: --For his bride a soldier sought her,And a winning tongue had he:On the banks of Allan WaterNone was gay as she!In addition to the dulcet piping of Gabriel's flute,Boldwood supplied a bass in his customary profoundvoice, uttering his notes so softly, however, as to abstainentirely from making anything like an ordinary duet ofthe song; they rather formed a rich unexplored shadow,which threw her tones into relief. The shearers reclinedagainst each other as at suppers in the early ages of theworld, and so silent and absorbed were they that herbreathing could almost be heard between the bars; andat the end of the ballad, when the last tone loitered onto an inexpressible close, there arose that buzz ofpleasure which is the attar of applause.It is scarcely necessary to state that Gabriel couldnot avoid noting the farmer's bearing to-night towardstheir entertainer. Yet there was nothing exceptional inhis actions beyond what appertained to his time ofperforming them. It was when the rest were all lookingaway that Boldwood observed her; when they regardedher he turned aside; when they thanked or praised hewas silent; when they were inattentive he murmuredhis thanks. The meaning lay in the difference betweenactions, none of which had any meaning of itself;and the necessity of being jealous, which lovers aretroubled with, did not lead Oak to underestimate thesesigns.Bathsheba then wished them good-night, withdrewfrom the window, and retired to the back part of theroom, Boldwood thereupon closing the sash and theshutters, and remaining inside with her. Oak wanderedaway under the quiet and scented trees. Recoveringfrom the softer impressions produced by Bathsheba'svoice, the shearers rose to leave, Coggan turning toPennyways as he pushed back the bench to pass out: --”I like to give praise where praise is due, and theman deserves it -- that 'a do so.” he remarked, looking atthe worthy thief, as if he were the masterpiece of someworld-renowned artist.”I'm sure I should never have believed it if we hadn'tproved it, so to allude,” hiccupped Joseph Poorgrass, ”thatevery cup, every one of the best knives and forks, andevery empty bottle be in their place as perfect now asat the beginning, and not one stole at all.”I'm sure I don't deserve half the praise you giveme.” said the virtuous thief, grimly.”Well, I'll say this for Pennyways.” added Coggan,”that whenever he do really make up his mind to do anoble thing in the shape of a good action, as I couldsee by his face he. did to-night afore sitting down, he'sgenerally able to carry it out. Yes, I'm proud to say.neighbours, that he's stole nothing at all.”Well.” -- 'tis an honest deed, and we thank ye for it,Pennyways.” said Joseph; to which opinion the remainderof the company subscribed unanimously. At this time of departure, when nothing more wasvisible of the inside of the parlour than a thin and stillchink of light between the shutters, a passionate scenewas in course of enactment there.”Miss Everdene and Boldwood were alone. Hercheeks had lost a great deal of their healthful fire fromthe very seriousness of her position but her eye wasbright with the excitement of a triumph -- though it wasa triumph which had rather been contemplated thandesired.She was standing behind a low arm-chair, from whichshe had just risen, and he was kneeling in it -- inclininghimself over its back towards her, and holding her handin both his own. His body moved restlessly, and it waswith what Keats daintily calls a too happy happiness.This unwonted abstraction by love of all dignity froma man of whom it had ever seemed the chief component,was, in its distressing incongruity, a pain to her whichquenched much of the pleasure she derived from theproof that she was idolized.”I will try to love you.” she was saying, in a tremblingvoice quite unlike her usual self-confidence. ”And if Ican believe in any way that I shall make you a goodwife I shall indeed be willing to marry you. But, Mr.Boldwood, hesitation on so high a matter is honourablein any woman, and I don't want to give a solemnpromise to-night. I would rather ask you to wait a fewweeks till I can see my situation better.”But you have every reason tobelieve that then -- -- ””I have every reason to hope that at the end of the five orsix weeks, between this time and harvest, thatyou say you are going to be away from home, I shall beable to promise to be your wife.” she said, firmly. ”Butremember this distinctly, I don't promise yet.””It is enough I don't ask more. I can wait onthose dear words. And now, Miss Everdene, good-night!””Good-night.” she said, graciously -- almost tenderly;and Boldwood withdrew with a serene smile.Bathsheba knew more of him now; he had entirelybared his heart before her, even until he had almostworn in her eyes the sorry look of a grand bird withoutthe feathers that make it grand. She had been awe-struck at her past temerity, and was struggling to makeamends without thinking whether the sin quite deservedthe penalty she was schooling herself to pay. To havebrought all this about her ears was terrible; but after awhile the situation was not without a fearful joy. Thefacility with which even the most timid woman some-times acquire a relish for the dreadful when that isamalgamated with a little triumph, is marvellous.
CHAPTER XXIV