Far from the Madding Crowd by Thomas Hardy
THE HOLLOW AMID THE FERNS
THE hill opposite Bathsheba's dwelling extended, amile off, into an uncultivated tract of land, dotted atthis season with tall thickets of brake fern, plump anddiaphanous from recent rapid growth, and radiant inhues of clear and untainted green.At eight o'clock this midsummer evening, whilst thebristling ball of gold in the west still swept the tips ofthe ferns with its long, luxuriant rays, a soft brushing-by of garments might have been heard among them,and Bathsheba appeared in their midst, their soft,feathery arms caressing her up to her shoulders. Shepaused, turned, went back over the hill and half-wayto her own door, whence she cast a farewell glance uponthe spot she had just left, having resolved not to remainnear the place after all.She saw a dim spot of artificial red moving roundthe shoulder of the rise. It disappeared on the otherside.She waited one minute -- two minutes -- thought ofTroy's disappointment at her non-fulfilment of a promisedengagement, till she again ran along the field, clamberedover the bank, and followed the original direction. Shewas now literally trembling and panting at this hertemerity in such an errant undertaking; her breathcame and went quickly, and her eyes shone with an in-frequent light. Yet go she must. She reached theverge of a pit in the middle of the ferns. Troy stoodin the bottom, looking up towards her.”I heard you rustling through the fern before I sawyou.” he said, coming up and giving her his hand to helpher down the slope.The pit was a saucer-shaped concave, naturallyformed, with a top diameter of about thirty feet, andshallow enough to allow the sunshine to reach theirheads. Standing in the centre, the sky overhead wasmet by a circular horizon of fern: this grew nearly tothe bottom of the slope and then abruptly ceased. Themiddle within the belt of verdure was floored with athick flossy carpet of moss and grass intermingled, soyielding that the foot was half-buried within it.”Now.” said Troy, producing the sword, which, as heraised it into the sunlight, gleamed a sort of greeting,like a living thing, ”first, we have four right and fourleft cuts; four right and four left thrusts. Infantry cutsand guards are more interesting than ours, to my mind;but they are not so swashing. They have seven cutsand three thrusts. So much as a preliminary. Well,next, our cut one is as if you were sowing your corn --so.” Bathsheba saw a sort of rainbow, upside down inthe air, and Troy's arm was still again. ”Cut two, as ifyou were hedging -- so. Three, as if you were reaping -- so.” Four, as if you were threshing -- in that way.”Then the same on the left. The thrusts are these: one,two, three, four, right; one, two, three, four, left.” Herepeated them. ”Have 'em again?” he said. ”One,two -- -- ”She hurriedly interrupted: ”I'd rather not; thoughI don't mind your twos and fours; but your ones andthrees are terrible!””Very well. I'll let you off the ones and threes.Next, cuts, points and guards altogether.” Troy dulyexhibited them. ”Then there's pursuing practice, inthis way.” He gave the movements as before. ”There,those are the stereotyped forms. The infantry havetwo most diabolical upward cuts, which we are toohumane to use. Like this -- three, four.””How murderous and bloodthirsty!””They are rather deathy. Now I'll be more inter-esting, and let you see some loose play -- giving all thecuts and points, infantry and cavalry, quicker thanlightning, and as promiscuously -- with just enough ruleto regulate instinct and yet not to fetter it. You aremy antagonist, with this difference from real warfare,that I shall miss you every time by one hair's breadth,or perhaps two. Mind you don't flinch, whatever youdo.”I'll be sure not to!” she said invincibly.He pointed to about a yard in front of him.Bathsheba's adventurous spirit was beginning to findsome grains of relish in these highly novel proceedings.She took up her position as directed, facing Troy.”Now just to learn whether you have pluck enoughto let me do what I wish, I'll give you a preliminarytest.”He flourished the sword by way of introductionnumber two, and the next thing of which she wasconscious was that the point and blade of the swordwere darting with a gleam towards her left side, justabove her hip; then of their reappearance on her rightside, emerging as it were from between her ribs, havingapparently passed through her body. The third itemof consciousness was that of seeing the same sword,perfectly clean and free from blood held vertically inTroy's hand (in the position technically called ”recoverswords”). All was as quick as electricity.”Oh!” she cried out in affright, pressing her hand toher side.” Have you run me through? -- no, you havenot! Whatever have you done!””I have not touched you.” said Troy, quietly. ”Itwas mere sleight of hand. The sword passed behindyou. Now you are not afraid, are you? Because ifyou are l can't perform. I give my word that l willnot only not hurt you, but not once touch you.””I don't think I am afraid. You are quite sure youwill not hurt me?””Quite sure.””Is the sWord very sharp?””O no -- only stand as still as a statue. Now!”In an instant the atmosphere was transformed toBathsheba's eyes. Beams of light caught from the lowsun's rays, above, around, in front of her, well-nigh shutout earth and heaven -- all emitted in the marvellousevolutions of Troy's reflecting blade, which seemedeverywhere at once, and yet nowherre specially. Thesecircling gleams were accompanied by a keen rush thatwas almost a whistling -- also springing from all sides ofher at once. In short, she was enclosed in a firmamentof light, and of sharp hisses, resembling a sky-full ofmeteors close at hand.Never since the broadsword became the nationalweapon had there been more dexterity shown in itsmanagement than by the hands of Sergeant Troy, andnever had he been in such splendid temper for theperformance as now in the evening sunshine among theferns with Bathsheba. It may safely be asserted withrespect to the closeness of his cuts, that had it beenpossible for the edge of the sword to leave in the air apermanent substance wherever it flew past, the spaceleft untouched would have been almost a mould ofBathsheba's figure.Behind the luminous streams of this aurora militaris,she could see the hue of Troy's sword arm, spread in ascarlet haze over the space covered by its motions, likea twanged harpstring, and behind all Troy himself,mostly facing her; sometimes, to show the rear cuts,half turned away, his eye nevertheless always keenlymeasuring her breadth and outline, and his lips tightlyclosed in sustained effort. Next, his movements lapsedslower, and she could see them individually. Thehissing of the sword had ceased, and he stoppedentirely.”That outer loose lock of hair wants tidying, hesaid, before she had moved or spoken. ”Wait: I'll doit for you.”An arc of silver shone on her right side: the swordhad descended. The lock droped to the ground.”Bravely borne!” said Troy. ”You didn't flinch ashade's thickness. Wonderful in a woman!””It was because I didn't expect it. O, you havespoilt my hair!””Only once more.””No -- no! I am afraid of you -- indeed I am!” shecried.”I won't touch you at all -- not even your hair. Iam only going to kill that caterpillar settling on you.Now: still!”It appeared that a caterpillar had come from thefern and chosen the front of her bodice as his restingplace. She saw the point glisten towards her bosom,and seemingly enter it. Bathsheba closed her eyes inthe full persuasion that she was killed at last. How-ever, feeling just as usual, she opened them again.”There it is, look.” said the sargeant, holding hissword before her eyes.The caterpillar was spitted upon its point.”Why, it is magic!” said Bathsheba, amazed.”O no -- dexterity. I merely gave point to yourbosom where the caterpillar was, and instead of runningyou through checked the extension a thousandth of aninch short of your surface.””But how could you chop off a curl of my hair witha sword that has no edge?””No edge! This sword will shave like a razor.Look here.”He touched the palm of his hand with the blade,and then, lifting it, showed her a thin shaving of scarf-skin dangling therefrom.”But you said before beginning that it was blunt andcouldn't cut me!””That was to get you to stand still, and so make sureof your safety. The risk of injuring you through yourmoving was too great not to force me to tell you afib to escape it.”She shuddered. ”I have been within an inch of mylife, and didn't know it!””More precisely speaking, you have been within halfan inch of being pared alive two hundred and ninety-fivetinies.””Cruel, cruel, 'tis of you!””You have been perfectly safe, nevertheless. Mysword never errs.” And Troy returned the weapon tothe scabbard.Bathsheba, overcome by a hundred tumultuous feel-ings resulting from the scene, abstractedly sat down ona tuft of heather.”I must leave you now.” said Troy, softly. ”And I'llventure to take and keep this in remembrance of you.”She saw him stoop to the grass, pick up the windinglock which he had severed from her manifold tresses,twist it round his fingers, unfasten a button in the breastof his coat, and carefully put it inside. She felt power-less to withstand or deny him. He was altogether toomuch for her, and Bathsheba seemed as one who, facinga reviving wind, finds it blow so strongly that it stopsthe breath.He drew near and said, ”I must be leaving you.”He drew nearer still. A minute later and she saw hisscarlet form disappear amid the ferny thicket, almost ina flash, like a brand swiftly waved.That minute's interval had brought the blood beatinginto her face, set her stinging as if aflame to the veryhollows of her feet, and enlarged emotion to a compasswhich quite swamped thought. It had brought uponher a stroke resulting, as did that of Moses in Horeh, ina liquid stream -- here a stream of tears. She felt likeone who has sinned a great sin.The circumstance had been the gentle dip of Troy'smouth downwards upon her own. He had kissed her.
CHAPTER XXIX
THE hill opposite Bathsheba's dwelling extended, amile off, into an uncultivated tract of land, dotted atthis season with tall thickets of brake fern, plump anddiaphanous from recent rapid growth, and radiant inhues of clear and untainted green.At eight o'clock this midsummer evening, whilst thebristling ball of gold in the west still swept the tips ofthe ferns with its long, luxuriant rays, a soft brushing-by of garments might have been heard among them,and Bathsheba appeared in their midst, their soft,feathery arms caressing her up to her shoulders. Shepaused, turned, went back over the hill and half-wayto her own door, whence she cast a farewell glance uponthe spot she had just left, having resolved not to remainnear the place after all.She saw a dim spot of artificial red moving roundthe shoulder of the rise. It disappeared on the otherside.She waited one minute -- two minutes -- thought ofTroy's disappointment at her non-fulfilment of a promisedengagement, till she again ran along the field, clamberedover the bank, and followed the original direction. Shewas now literally trembling and panting at this hertemerity in such an errant undertaking; her breathcame and went quickly, and her eyes shone with an in-frequent light. Yet go she must. She reached theverge of a pit in the middle of the ferns. Troy stoodin the bottom, looking up towards her.”I heard you rustling through the fern before I sawyou.” he said, coming up and giving her his hand to helpher down the slope.The pit was a saucer-shaped concave, naturallyformed, with a top diameter of about thirty feet, andshallow enough to allow the sunshine to reach theirheads. Standing in the centre, the sky overhead wasmet by a circular horizon of fern: this grew nearly tothe bottom of the slope and then abruptly ceased. Themiddle within the belt of verdure was floored with athick flossy carpet of moss and grass intermingled, soyielding that the foot was half-buried within it.”Now.” said Troy, producing the sword, which, as heraised it into the sunlight, gleamed a sort of greeting,like a living thing, ”first, we have four right and fourleft cuts; four right and four left thrusts. Infantry cutsand guards are more interesting than ours, to my mind;but they are not so swashing. They have seven cutsand three thrusts. So much as a preliminary. Well,next, our cut one is as if you were sowing your corn --so.” Bathsheba saw a sort of rainbow, upside down inthe air, and Troy's arm was still again. ”Cut two, as ifyou were hedging -- so. Three, as if you were reaping -- so.” Four, as if you were threshing -- in that way.”Then the same on the left. The thrusts are these: one,two, three, four, right; one, two, three, four, left.” Herepeated them. ”Have 'em again?” he said. ”One,two -- -- ”She hurriedly interrupted: ”I'd rather not; thoughI don't mind your twos and fours; but your ones andthrees are terrible!””Very well. I'll let you off the ones and threes.Next, cuts, points and guards altogether.” Troy dulyexhibited them. ”Then there's pursuing practice, inthis way.” He gave the movements as before. ”There,those are the stereotyped forms. The infantry havetwo most diabolical upward cuts, which we are toohumane to use. Like this -- three, four.””How murderous and bloodthirsty!””They are rather deathy. Now I'll be more inter-esting, and let you see some loose play -- giving all thecuts and points, infantry and cavalry, quicker thanlightning, and as promiscuously -- with just enough ruleto regulate instinct and yet not to fetter it. You aremy antagonist, with this difference from real warfare,that I shall miss you every time by one hair's breadth,or perhaps two. Mind you don't flinch, whatever youdo.”I'll be sure not to!” she said invincibly.He pointed to about a yard in front of him.Bathsheba's adventurous spirit was beginning to findsome grains of relish in these highly novel proceedings.She took up her position as directed, facing Troy.”Now just to learn whether you have pluck enoughto let me do what I wish, I'll give you a preliminarytest.”He flourished the sword by way of introductionnumber two, and the next thing of which she wasconscious was that the point and blade of the swordwere darting with a gleam towards her left side, justabove her hip; then of their reappearance on her rightside, emerging as it were from between her ribs, havingapparently passed through her body. The third itemof consciousness was that of seeing the same sword,perfectly clean and free from blood held vertically inTroy's hand (in the position technically called ”recoverswords”). All was as quick as electricity.”Oh!” she cried out in affright, pressing her hand toher side.” Have you run me through? -- no, you havenot! Whatever have you done!””I have not touched you.” said Troy, quietly. ”Itwas mere sleight of hand. The sword passed behindyou. Now you are not afraid, are you? Because ifyou are l can't perform. I give my word that l willnot only not hurt you, but not once touch you.””I don't think I am afraid. You are quite sure youwill not hurt me?””Quite sure.””Is the sWord very sharp?””O no -- only stand as still as a statue. Now!”In an instant the atmosphere was transformed toBathsheba's eyes. Beams of light caught from the lowsun's rays, above, around, in front of her, well-nigh shutout earth and heaven -- all emitted in the marvellousevolutions of Troy's reflecting blade, which seemedeverywhere at once, and yet nowherre specially. Thesecircling gleams were accompanied by a keen rush thatwas almost a whistling -- also springing from all sides ofher at once. In short, she was enclosed in a firmamentof light, and of sharp hisses, resembling a sky-full ofmeteors close at hand.Never since the broadsword became the nationalweapon had there been more dexterity shown in itsmanagement than by the hands of Sergeant Troy, andnever had he been in such splendid temper for theperformance as now in the evening sunshine among theferns with Bathsheba. It may safely be asserted withrespect to the closeness of his cuts, that had it beenpossible for the edge of the sword to leave in the air apermanent substance wherever it flew past, the spaceleft untouched would have been almost a mould ofBathsheba's figure.Behind the luminous streams of this aurora militaris,she could see the hue of Troy's sword arm, spread in ascarlet haze over the space covered by its motions, likea twanged harpstring, and behind all Troy himself,mostly facing her; sometimes, to show the rear cuts,half turned away, his eye nevertheless always keenlymeasuring her breadth and outline, and his lips tightlyclosed in sustained effort. Next, his movements lapsedslower, and she could see them individually. Thehissing of the sword had ceased, and he stoppedentirely.”That outer loose lock of hair wants tidying, hesaid, before she had moved or spoken. ”Wait: I'll doit for you.”An arc of silver shone on her right side: the swordhad descended. The lock droped to the ground.”Bravely borne!” said Troy. ”You didn't flinch ashade's thickness. Wonderful in a woman!””It was because I didn't expect it. O, you havespoilt my hair!””Only once more.””No -- no! I am afraid of you -- indeed I am!” shecried.”I won't touch you at all -- not even your hair. Iam only going to kill that caterpillar settling on you.Now: still!”It appeared that a caterpillar had come from thefern and chosen the front of her bodice as his restingplace. She saw the point glisten towards her bosom,and seemingly enter it. Bathsheba closed her eyes inthe full persuasion that she was killed at last. How-ever, feeling just as usual, she opened them again.”There it is, look.” said the sargeant, holding hissword before her eyes.The caterpillar was spitted upon its point.”Why, it is magic!” said Bathsheba, amazed.”O no -- dexterity. I merely gave point to yourbosom where the caterpillar was, and instead of runningyou through checked the extension a thousandth of aninch short of your surface.””But how could you chop off a curl of my hair witha sword that has no edge?””No edge! This sword will shave like a razor.Look here.”He touched the palm of his hand with the blade,and then, lifting it, showed her a thin shaving of scarf-skin dangling therefrom.”But you said before beginning that it was blunt andcouldn't cut me!””That was to get you to stand still, and so make sureof your safety. The risk of injuring you through yourmoving was too great not to force me to tell you afib to escape it.”She shuddered. ”I have been within an inch of mylife, and didn't know it!””More precisely speaking, you have been within halfan inch of being pared alive two hundred and ninety-fivetinies.””Cruel, cruel, 'tis of you!””You have been perfectly safe, nevertheless. Mysword never errs.” And Troy returned the weapon tothe scabbard.Bathsheba, overcome by a hundred tumultuous feel-ings resulting from the scene, abstractedly sat down ona tuft of heather.”I must leave you now.” said Troy, softly. ”And I'llventure to take and keep this in remembrance of you.”She saw him stoop to the grass, pick up the windinglock which he had severed from her manifold tresses,twist it round his fingers, unfasten a button in the breastof his coat, and carefully put it inside. She felt power-less to withstand or deny him. He was altogether toomuch for her, and Bathsheba seemed as one who, facinga reviving wind, finds it blow so strongly that it stopsthe breath.He drew near and said, ”I must be leaving you.”He drew nearer still. A minute later and she saw hisscarlet form disappear amid the ferny thicket, almost ina flash, like a brand swiftly waved.That minute's interval had brought the blood beatinginto her face, set her stinging as if aflame to the veryhollows of her feet, and enlarged emotion to a compasswhich quite swamped thought. It had brought uponher a stroke resulting, as did that of Moses in Horeh, ina liquid stream -- here a stream of tears. She felt likeone who has sinned a great sin.The circumstance had been the gentle dip of Troy'smouth downwards upon her own. He had kissed her.
CHAPTER XXIX