Far from the Madding Crowd by Thomas Hardy
THE SHEEP FAIR -- TROY TOUCHES HIS WIFE'S HAND
GREENHILL was the Nijni Novgorod of SouthWessex; and the busiest, merriest, noisiest day of thewhole statute number was the day of the sheep fair.This yearly gathering was upon the summit of a hillwhich retained in good preservation the remains of anancient earthwork, consisting of a huge rampart andentrenchment of an oval form encircling the top ofthe hill, though somewhat broken down here and there.To each of the two chief openings on opposite sides awinding road ascended, and the level green space often or fifteen acres enclosed by the bank was thesite of the fair. A few permanent erections dotted thespot, but the majority of visitors patronized canvas alonefor resting and feeding under during the time of theirsojourn here.Shepherds who attended with their flocks from longdistances started from home two or three days, or evena week, before the fair, driving their charges a few mileseach day -- not more than ten or twelve -- and restingthem at night in hired fields by the wayside at pre-viously chosen points, where they fed, having fasted sincemorning. The shepherd of each flock marched behind,a bundle containing his kit for the week strapped uponhis shoulders, and in his hand his crook, which he usedas the staff of his pilgrimage. Several of the sheepwould get worn and lame, and occasionally a lambingoccurred on the road. To meet these contingencies,there was frequently provided, to accompany the flocksfrom the remoter points, a pony and waggon into whichthe weakly ones were taken for the remainder of thejourney.The Weatherbury Farms, however, were no suchlong distance from the hill, and those arrangementswere not necessary in their case. But the large unitedflocks of Bathsheba and Farmer Boldwood formed avaluable and imposing multitude which demanded muchattention, and on this account Gabriel, in addition toBoldwood's shepherd and Cain Ball, accompanied themalong the way, through the decayed old town of Kings-bere, and upward to the plateau, -- old George the dogof course behind them.When the autumn sun slanted over Greenhill thismorning and lighted the dewy flat upon its crest, nebu-lous clouds of dust were to be seen floating betweenthe pairs of hedges which streaked the wide prospectaround in all directions. These gradually convergedupon the base of the hill, and the flocks becameindividually visible, climbing the serpentine ways whichled to the top. Thus, in a slow procession, they enteredthe opening to which the roads tended, multitude aftermultitude, horned and hornless -- blue flocks and redflocks, buff flocks and brown flocks, even green andsalmon-tinted flocks, according to the fancy of thecolourist and custom of the farm. Men were shouting,dogs were barking, with greatest animation, but thethronging travellers in so long a journey had grownnearly indifferent to such terrors, though they stillbleated piteously at the unwontedness of their experi-ences, a tall shepherd rising here and there in the midstof them, like a gigantic idol amid a crowd of prostratedevotees.The great mass of sheep in the fair consisted ofSouth Downs and the old Wessex horned breeds, tothe latter class Bathsheba's and Farmer Boldwood'smainly belonged. These filed in about nine o'clock,their vermiculated horns lopping gracefully on each sideof their cheeks in geometrically perfect spirals, a smallpink and white ear nestling under each horn. Beforeand behind came other varieties, perfect leopards as tothe full rich substance of their coats, and only lacking thespots. There were also a few of the Oxfordshire breed,whose wool was beginning to curl like a child's flaxenhair, though surpassed in this respect by the effeminateLeicesters, which were in turn less curly than the Cots-wolds. But the most picturesque by far was a smallflock of Exmoors, which chanced to be there this year.Their pied faces and legs, dark and heavy horns, tressesof wool hanging round their swarthy foreheads, quiterelieved the monotony of the flocks in that quarter.All these bleating, panting, and weary thousands hadentered and were penned before the morning had faradvanced, the dog belonging to each flock being tied tothe corner of the pen containing it. Alleys for pedes-trians intersected the pens, which soon became crowdedwith buyers and sellers from far and near.In another part of the hill an altogether differentscene began to force itself upon the eye towards mid-day. A circular tent, of exceptional newness and size,was in course of erection here. As the day drew on,the flocks began to change hands, lightening the shep-herd's responsibilities; and they turned their attentionto this tent and inquired of a man at work there, whosesoul seemed concentrated on tying a bothering knot inno time, what was going on.”The Royal Hippodrome Performance of Turpin'sRide to York and the Death of Black Bess.” replied theman promptly, without turning his eyes or leaving offtrying.As soon as the tent was completed the band struckup highly stimulating harmonies, and the announce-ment was publicly made, Black Bess standing in a con-spicuous position on the outside, as a living proof, Ifproof were wanted, of the truth of the oracular utterancesfrom the stage over which the people were to enter.These were so convinced by such genuine appeals toheart and understanding both that they soon began tocrowd in abundantly, among the foremost being visibleJan Coggan and Joseph Poorgrass, who were holidaykeeping here to-day,”'That's the great ruffen pushing me!” screamed awoman in front of Jan over her shoulder at him whenthe rush was at its fiercest.”How can I help pushing ye when the folk behindpush me?” said Coggan, in a deprecating tone, turningwithout turning his body, which was jammed as in a vice.There was a silence; then the drums and trumpetsagain sent forth their echoing notes. The crowd wasagain ecstasied, and gave another lurch in which Cogganand Poorgrass were again thrust by those behind uponthe women in front.”O that helpless feymels should be at the mercy ofshe swayed like a reed shaken by the wind.Now.” said Coggan, appealing in an earnest voiceto the public at large as it stood clustered about hisshoulder-blades. ”Did ye ever hear such onreasonablewoman as that? Upon my carcase, neighbours, if Icould only get out of this cheesewring, the damn womenmight eat the show for me!””Don't ye lose yer temper, Jan!” implored JosephPoorgrass, in a whisper.” They might get their men tomurder us, for I think by the shine of their eyes thatthey be a sinful form of womankind.”Jan held his tongue, as if he had no objection to bepacified to please a friend, and they gradually reachedthe foot of the ladder, Poorgrass being flattened like ajumping-jack, and the sixpence, for admission, which hehad got ready half-an-hour earlier, having become soreeking hot in the tight squeeze of his excited hand thatthe woman in spangles, brazen rings set with glassdiamonds, and with chalked face and shoulders, whotook the money of him, hastily dropped it again froma fear that some trick had been played to burn herfingers. So they all entered, and the cloth of thetent, to the eyes of an observer on the outside, becamebulged into innumerable pimples such as we observe ona sack of potatoes, caused by the various human heads,backs, and elbows at high pressure within.At the rear of the large tent there were two smalldressing-tents. One of these, alloted to the male per-formers, was partitioned into halves by a cloth; and inone of the divisions there was sitting on the grass, pulling on a pair of jack-boots, a young man whom weinstantly recognise as Sergeant Troy.Troy's appearance in this position may be brieflyaccounted for. The brig aboard which he was taken inBudmouth Roads was about to start on a voyage, thoughsomewhat short of hands. Troy read the articles andjoined, but before they sailed a boat was despatchedacross the bay to Lulwind cove; as he had half expected,his clothes were gone. He ultimately worked his passageto the United States, where he made a precarious livingin various towns as Professor of Gymnastics, SwordExercise, Fencing, and Pugilism. A few months weresufficient to give him a distaste for this kind of life.There was a certain animal form of refinement in hisnature; and however pleasant a strange condition mightbe whilst privations were easily warded off, it was dis-advantageously coarse when money was short. Therewas ever present, too, the idea that he could claim ahome and its comforts did he but chose to return toEngland and Weatherbury Farm. Whether Bathshebathought him dead was a frequent subject of curiousconjecture. To England he did return at last; but thebut the fact of drawing nearer to Weatherbury abstracted itsfascinations, and his intention to enter his old groove atthe place became modified. It was with gloom he con-sidered on landing at Liverpool that if he were to go homehis reception would be of a kind very unpleasant to con-template; for what Troy had in the way of emotion wasan occasional fitful sentiment which sometimes causedhim as much inconvenience as emotion of a strong andhealthy kind. Bathsheba was not a women to be madea fool of, or a woman to suffer in silence; and howcould he endure existence with a spirited wife to whomat first entering he would be beholden for food andlodging? Moreover, it was not at all unlikely that hiswife would fail at her farming, if she had not alreadydone so; and he would then become liable for hermaintenance: and what a life such a future of povertywith her would be, the spectre of Fanny constantly be-tween them, harrowing his temper and embittering herwords! Thus, for reasons touching on distaste, regret,and shame commingled, he put off his return from dayto day, and would have decided to put it off altogetherif he could have found anywhere else the ready-madeestablishment which existed for him there.At this time -- the July preceding the September inwhich we find at Greenhill Fair -- he fell in with atravelling circus which was performing in the outskirts ofa northern town. Troy introduced himself to themanager by taming a restive horse of the troupe, hittinga suspended apple with pistol-- bullet fired from theanimal's back when in full gallop, and other feats. Forhis merits in these -- all more or less based upon his ex-periences as a dragoon-guardsman -- Troy was taken intothe company, and the play of Turpin was prepared witha view to his personation of the chief character. Troywas not greatly elated by the appreciative spirit in whichhe was undoubtedly treated, but he thought the engage-ment might afford him a few weeks for consideration.It was thus carelessly, and without having formed anydefinite plan for the future, that Troy found himselfat Greenhill Fair with the rest of the company on thisday.And now the mild autumn sun got lower, and infront of the pavilion the following incident had takenplace. Bathsheba -- who was driven to the fair that dayby her odd man Poorgrass -- had, like every one else,read or heard the announcement that Mr. Francis, theGreat Cosmopolitan Equestrian and Roughrider, wouldenact the part of Turpin, and she was not yet too oldand careworn to be without a little curiosity to see him.This particular show was by far the largest and grandestin the fair, a horde of little shows grouping themselvesunder its shade like chickens around a hen. The crowdhad passed in, and Boldwood, who had been watchingall the day for an opportunity of speaking to her, seeingher comparatively isolated, came up to her side.”I hope the sheep have done well to-day, Mrs. Troy?”he said, nervously.”O yes, thank you.” said Bathsheba, colour springingup in the centre of her cheeks. ”I was fortunateenough to sell them all just as we got upon the hill, sowe hadn't to pen at all.””And now you are entirely at leisure?””Yes, except that I have to see one more dealer intwo hours' time: otherwise I should be going home.He was looking at this large tent and the announcement.Have you ever seen the play of ”Turpin's Ride toYork?” Turpin was a real man, was he not?””O yes, perfectly true -- all of it. Indeed, I thinkI've heard Jan Coggan say that a relation of his knewTom King, Turpin's friend, quite well.””Coggan is rather given to strange stories connectedwith his relations, we must remember. I hope theycan all be believed.””Yes, yes; we know Coggan. But Turpin is trueenough. You have never seen it played, I suppose?””Never. I was not allowed to go into these placeswhen I was young. Hark! What's that prancing?How they shout!””Black Bess just started off, I suppose. Am I rightin supposing you would like to see the performance,Mrs. Troy? Please excuse my mistake, if it is one;but if you would like to, I'll get a seat for you withpleasure.” Perceiving that she hesitated, he added, ”Imyself shall not stay to see it: I've seen it before.”Now Bathsheba did care a little to see the show, andhad only withheld her feet from the ladder because shefeared to go in alone. She had been hoping that Oakmight appear, whose assistance in such cases was alwaysaccepted as an inalienable right, but Oak was nowhereto be seen; and hence it was that she said, ”Then ifyou will just look in first, to see if there's room, I thinkI will go in for a minute or two.”And so a short time after this Bathsheba appearedin the tent with Boldwood at her elbow, who, takingher to a ”reserved” seat, again withdrew.This feature consisted of one raised bench in veryconspicuous part of the circle, covered with red cloth,and floored with a piece of carpet, and Bathshebaimmediately found, to her confusion, that she was thesingle reserved individual in the tent, the rest of thecrowded spectators, one and all, standing on their legson the borders of the arena, where they got twice asgood a view of the performance for half the money.Hence as many eyes were turned upon her, enthronedalone in this place of honour, against a scarlet back-ground, as upon the ponies and clown who wereengaged in preliminary exploits in the centre, Turpinnot having yet appeared. Once there, Bathsheba wasforced to make the best of it and remain: she satdown, spreading her skirts with some dignity over theunoccupied space on each side of her, and giving anew and feminine aspect to the pavilion. In a fewminutes she noticed the fat red nape of Coggan's neckamong those standing just below her, and Joseph Poor-grass's saintly profile a little further on.The interior was shadowy with a peculiar shade.The strange luminous semi-opacities of fine autumnafternoons and eves intensified into Rembrandt effectsthe few yellow sunbeams which came through holesand divisions in the canvas, and spirted like jets ofgold-dust across the dusky blue atmosphere of hazepervading the tent, until they alighted on inner surfacesof cloth opposite, and shone like little lamps suspendedthere.Troy, on peeping from his dressing-tent through aslit for a reconnoitre before entering, saw his unconsciouswife on high before him as described, sitting as queenof the tournament. He started back in utter confusion,for although his disguise effectually concealed his person-ality, he instantly felt that she would be sure to recognizehis voice. He had several times during the day thoughtof the possibility of some Weatherbury person or otherappearing and recognizing him; but he had taken therisk carelessly. If they see me, let them, he had said.But here was Bathsheba in her own person and thereality of the scene was so much intenser than any ofhis prefigurings that he felt he had not half enoughconsidered the point.She looked so charming and fair that his cool moodabout Weatherbury people was changed. He had notexpected her to exercise this power over him in thetwinkling of an eye. Should he go on, and care nothing?He could not bring himself to do that. Beyond a politicwish to remain unknown, there suddenly arose in himnow a sense of shame at the possibility that hisattractive young wife, who already despised him, shoulddespise him more by discovering him in so mean acondition after so long a time. He actually blushedat the thought, and was vexed beyond measure thathis sentiments of dislike towards Weatherbury shouldhave led him to dally about the country in this way.But Troy was never more clever than when absolutelyat his wit's end. He hastily thrust aside the curtaindividing his own little dressing space from that of themanager and proprietor, who now appeared as theindividual called Tom King as far down as his waist, andas the aforesaid respectable manager thence to his toes.”Here's the devil to pay!” said Troy.”How's that?””Why, there's a blackguard creditor in the tent I don'twant to see, who'll discover me and nab me as sure asSatan if I open my mouth. What's to be done?”You must appear now, I think.””I can't.”But the play must proceed.””Do you give out that Turpin has got a bad cold,and can't speak his part, but that he'll perform it justthe same without speaking.”The proprietor shook his head.”Anyhow, play or no play, I won't open my mouth,said Troy, firmly.”Very well, then let me see. I tell you how we'llmanage.” said the other, who perhaps felt it would beextremely awkward to offend his leading man just atthis time. ”I won't tell 'em anything about yourkeeping silence; go on with the piece and say nothing,doing what you can by a judicious wink now and then,and a few indomitable nods in the heroic places, youknow. They'll never find out that the speeches areomitted.”This seemed feasible enough, for Turpin's speecheswere not many or long, the fascination of the piecelying entirely in the action and accordingly the playbegan, and at the appointed time Black Bess leaptinto the grassy circle amid the plaudits of the spectators.At the turnpike scene, where Bess and Turpin are hotlypursued at midnight by the officers, and half-awakegatekeeper in his tasselled nightcap denies that anyhorseman has passed, Coggan uttered a broad-chested”Well done!” which could be heard all over the fairabove the bleating, and Poorgrass smiled delightedlywith a nice sense of dramatic contrast between ourhero, who coolly leaps the gate, and halting justice inthe form of his enemies, who must needs pull upcumbersomely and wait to be let through. At thedeath of Tom King, he could not refrain from seizingCoggan by the hand, and whispering, with tears in hiseyes, ”Of course he's not really shot, Jan -- onlyseemingly!” And when the last sad scene came on,and the body of the gallant and faithful Bess had tobe carried out on a shutter by twelve volunteers fromamong the spectators, nothing could restrain Poorgrassfrom lending a hand, exclaiming, as he asked Jan tojoin him, ”Twill be something to tell of at Warren's infuture years, Jan, and hand down to our children.” Formany a year in Weatherbury, Joseph told, with the airof a man who had had experiences in his time, that hetouched with his own hand the hoof of Bess as she layupon the board upon his shoulder. If, as some thinkershold, immortality consists in being enshrined in others”memories, then did Black Bess become immortal thatday if she never had done so before.Meanwhile Troy had added a few touches to hisordinary make-up for the character, the more effectuallyto disguise himself, and though he had felt faint qualmson first entering, the metamorphosis effected by judici-ously ”lining” his face with a wire rendered him safe fromthe eyes of Bathsheba and her men. Nevertheless, hewas relieved when it was got through.There a second performance in the evening, andthe tent was lighted up. Troy had taken his part veryquietly this time, venturing to introduce a few speecheson occasion and was just concluding it when, whilststanding at the edge of the circle contiguous to the firstrow of spectators, he observed within a yard of him theeye of a man darted keenly into his side features. Troyhastily shifted his position, after having recognized insworn enemy, who still hung about the outskirts ofAt first Troy resolved to take no notice and abideby circumstances. That he had been recognized bythis man was highly probable; yet there was room fora doubt. Then the great objection he had felt toallowing news of his proximity to precede him toWeatherbury in the event of his return, based on afeeling that knowledge of his present occupation woulddiscredit him still further in his wife's eyes, returnedin full force. Moreover, should he resolve not toreturn at all, a tale of his being alive and being inthe neighbourhood would be awkward; and he wasanxious to acquire a knowledge of his wife's temporalaffairs before deciding which to do.In this dilemma Troy at once went out to recon-noitre. It occurred to him that to find Pennyways, andmake a friend of him if possible, would be a very wiseact. He had put on a thick beard borrowed from theestablishment, and this he wandered about the fair-field. It was now almost dark, and respectable peoplewere getting their carts and gigs ready to go homeThe largest refreshment booth in the fair was providedby an innkeeper from a neighbouring town. This wasconsidered an unexceptionable place for obtaining thenecessary food and rest: Host Trencher (as he wasjauntily called by the local newspaper) being a sub-stantial man of high repute for catering through all thecounty round. The tent was divided into first andsecond-class compartments, and at the end of the first-class division was a yet further enclosure for the mostexclusive, fenced of from the body of the tent by aluncheon-bar, behind which the host himself stoodbustling about in white apron and shirt-sleeves, and look-ing as if he had never lived anywhere but under canvasall his life. In these penetralia were chairs and a table,which, on candles being lighted, made quite a cozy andluxurious show, with an urn, plated tea and coffee pots,china teacups, and plum cakes.Troy stood at the entrance to the booth, where agipsy-woman was frying pancakes over a little fire ofsticks and selling them at a penny a-piece, and lookedover the heads of the people within. He could seenothing of Pennyways, but he soon discerned Bathshebathrough an opening into the reserved space at thefurther end. Troy thereupon retreated, went round thetent into the darkness, and listened. He could hearBathsheba's voice immediately inside the canvas; shewas conversing with a man. A warmth overspread hisface: surely she was not so unprincipled as to flirt ina fair! He wondered if, then, she reckoned upon hisdeath as an absolute certainty. To get at the root ofthe matter, Troy took a penknife from his pocket andsoftly made two little cuts crosswise in the cloth, which,by folding back the corners left a hole the size of awafer. Close to this he placed his face, withdrawingit again in a movement of surprise; for his eye hadbeen within twelve inches of the top of Bathsheba'shead. lt was too near to be convenient. He madeanother hole a little to one side and lower down, in ashaded place beside her chair, from which it was easyand safe to survey her by looking horizontally'.Troy took in the scene completely now. She wasleaning back, sipping a cup of tea that she held in herhand, and the owner of the male voice was Boldwood,who had apparently just brought the cup to her,Bathsheba, being in a negligent mood, leant so idlyagainst the canvas that it was pressed to the shape ofher shoulder, and she was, in fact, as good as in Troy'sarms; and he was obliged to keep his breast carefullybackward that she might not feel its warmth through thecloth as he gazed in.Troy found unexpected chords of feeling to be stirredagain within him as they had been stirred earlier in theday. She was handsome as ever, and she was his. Itwas some minutes before he could counteract his suddenwish to go in, and claim her. Then he thought howthe proud girl who had always looked down upon himeven whilst it was to love him, would hate him on dis-covering him to be a strolling player. Were he to makehimself known, that chapter of his life must at all risksbe kept for ever from her and from the Weatherburypeople, or his name would be a byword throughout theparish. He would be nicknamed ”Turpin” as long ashe lived. Assuredly before he could claim her these fewpast months of his existence must be entirely blotted out.”Shall I get you another cup before you start,ma'am?” said Farmer Boldwood.I thank you,” said Bathsheba. ”But I must be goingat once. It was great neglect in that man to keep mewaiting here till so late. I should have gone two hoursago, if it had not been for him. I had no idea ofcoming in here; but there's nothing so refreshing as acup of tea, though I should never have got one if youhadn't helped me.”Troy scrutinized her cheek as lit by the candles,and watched each varying shade thereon, and thewhite shell-like sinuosities of her little ear. She tookout her purse and was insisting to Boldwood on payingfor her tea for herself, when at this moment Pennywaysentered the tent. Troy trembled: here was his schemefor respectability endangered at once. He was aboutto leave his hole of espial, attempt to follow Pennyways,and find out if the ex-bailiff had recognized him, whenhe was arrested by the conversation, and found he wastoo late.”Excuse me, ma'am.” said Pennyways; ”I've someprivate information for your ear alone.”I cannot hear it now.” she said, coldly. ThatBathsheba could not endure this man was evident; infact, he was continually coming to her with some taleor other, by which he might creep into favour at theexpense of persons maligned.”I'll write it down.” said Pennyways, confidently. Hestooped over the table, pulled a leaf from a warpedpocket-book, and wrote upon the paper, in a roundhand --”YOUR husband is here. I've seen him. Who's the foolnow?”This he folded small, and handed towards her.Bathsheba would not read it; she would not even putout her hand to take it. Pennyways, then, with a laughof derision, tossed it into her lap, and, turning away,left her.From the words and action of Pennyways, Troy,though he had not been able to see what the ex-bailiffwrote, had not a moment's doubt that the note referredto him. Nothing that he could think of could be doneto check the exposure. ”Curse my luck!” he whispered,and added imprecations which rustled in the gloom likea pestilent wind. Meanwhile Boldwood said, taking upthe note from her lap --”Don't you wish to read it, Mrs. Troy? If not,I'll destroy it.””Oh, well.” said Bathsheba, carelessly, ”perhaps it isunjust not to read it; but I can guess what it is about.He wants me to recommend him, or it is to tell me ofsome little scandal or another connected with my work-people. He's always doing that.”Bathsheba held the note in her right hand. Bold-wood handed towards her a plate of cut bread-and-butter; when, in order to take a slice, she put the noteinto her left hand, where she was still holding the purse,and then allowed her hand to drop beside her close tothe canvas. The moment had come for saving his game,and Troy impulsively felt that he would play the card,For yet another time he looked at the fair hand, andsaw the pink finger-tips, and the blue veins of thewrist, encircled by a bracelet of coral chippings whichshe wore: how familiar it all was to him! Then, withthe lightning action in which he was such an adept, henoiselessly slipped his hand under the bottom of thetent-cloth, which was far from being pinned tightly down,lifted it a little way, keeping his eye to the hole,snatched the note from her fingers, dropped the canvas,and ran away in the gloom towards the bank and ditch,smiling at the scream of astonishment which burst fromher. Troy then slid down on the outside of the rampart,hastened round in the bottom of the entrenchment toa distance of a hundred yards, ascended again, andcrossed boldly in a slow walk towards the front entranceof the tent. His object was now to get to Pennyways,and prevent a repetition of the announcement untilsuch time as he should choose.Troy reached the tent door, and standing among thegroups there gathered, looked anxiously for Pennyways,evidently not wishing to make himself prominent byinquiring for him. One or two men were speaking ofa daring attempt that had just been made to rob ayoung lady by lifting the canvas of the tent beside her.It was supposed that the rogue had imagined a slip ofpaper which she held in her hand to he a bank note,for he had seized it, and made off with it, leaving herpurse behind. His chagrin and disappointment at dis-covering its worthlessness would be a good joke, it wassaid. However, the occurrence seemed to have becomeknown to few, for it had not interrupted a fiddler, whohad lately begun playing by the door of the tent, northe four bowed old men with grim countenances andwalking-sticks in hand, who were dancing ”MajorMalley's Reel” to the tune. Behind these stoodPennyways. Troy glided up to him, beckoned, andwhispered a few words; and with a mutual glance ofconcurrence the two men went into the night together.
CHAPTER LI
GREENHILL was the Nijni Novgorod of SouthWessex; and the busiest, merriest, noisiest day of thewhole statute number was the day of the sheep fair.This yearly gathering was upon the summit of a hillwhich retained in good preservation the remains of anancient earthwork, consisting of a huge rampart andentrenchment of an oval form encircling the top ofthe hill, though somewhat broken down here and there.To each of the two chief openings on opposite sides awinding road ascended, and the level green space often or fifteen acres enclosed by the bank was thesite of the fair. A few permanent erections dotted thespot, but the majority of visitors patronized canvas alonefor resting and feeding under during the time of theirsojourn here.Shepherds who attended with their flocks from longdistances started from home two or three days, or evena week, before the fair, driving their charges a few mileseach day -- not more than ten or twelve -- and restingthem at night in hired fields by the wayside at pre-viously chosen points, where they fed, having fasted sincemorning. The shepherd of each flock marched behind,a bundle containing his kit for the week strapped uponhis shoulders, and in his hand his crook, which he usedas the staff of his pilgrimage. Several of the sheepwould get worn and lame, and occasionally a lambingoccurred on the road. To meet these contingencies,there was frequently provided, to accompany the flocksfrom the remoter points, a pony and waggon into whichthe weakly ones were taken for the remainder of thejourney.The Weatherbury Farms, however, were no suchlong distance from the hill, and those arrangementswere not necessary in their case. But the large unitedflocks of Bathsheba and Farmer Boldwood formed avaluable and imposing multitude which demanded muchattention, and on this account Gabriel, in addition toBoldwood's shepherd and Cain Ball, accompanied themalong the way, through the decayed old town of Kings-bere, and upward to the plateau, -- old George the dogof course behind them.When the autumn sun slanted over Greenhill thismorning and lighted the dewy flat upon its crest, nebu-lous clouds of dust were to be seen floating betweenthe pairs of hedges which streaked the wide prospectaround in all directions. These gradually convergedupon the base of the hill, and the flocks becameindividually visible, climbing the serpentine ways whichled to the top. Thus, in a slow procession, they enteredthe opening to which the roads tended, multitude aftermultitude, horned and hornless -- blue flocks and redflocks, buff flocks and brown flocks, even green andsalmon-tinted flocks, according to the fancy of thecolourist and custom of the farm. Men were shouting,dogs were barking, with greatest animation, but thethronging travellers in so long a journey had grownnearly indifferent to such terrors, though they stillbleated piteously at the unwontedness of their experi-ences, a tall shepherd rising here and there in the midstof them, like a gigantic idol amid a crowd of prostratedevotees.The great mass of sheep in the fair consisted ofSouth Downs and the old Wessex horned breeds, tothe latter class Bathsheba's and Farmer Boldwood'smainly belonged. These filed in about nine o'clock,their vermiculated horns lopping gracefully on each sideof their cheeks in geometrically perfect spirals, a smallpink and white ear nestling under each horn. Beforeand behind came other varieties, perfect leopards as tothe full rich substance of their coats, and only lacking thespots. There were also a few of the Oxfordshire breed,whose wool was beginning to curl like a child's flaxenhair, though surpassed in this respect by the effeminateLeicesters, which were in turn less curly than the Cots-wolds. But the most picturesque by far was a smallflock of Exmoors, which chanced to be there this year.Their pied faces and legs, dark and heavy horns, tressesof wool hanging round their swarthy foreheads, quiterelieved the monotony of the flocks in that quarter.All these bleating, panting, and weary thousands hadentered and were penned before the morning had faradvanced, the dog belonging to each flock being tied tothe corner of the pen containing it. Alleys for pedes-trians intersected the pens, which soon became crowdedwith buyers and sellers from far and near.In another part of the hill an altogether differentscene began to force itself upon the eye towards mid-day. A circular tent, of exceptional newness and size,was in course of erection here. As the day drew on,the flocks began to change hands, lightening the shep-herd's responsibilities; and they turned their attentionto this tent and inquired of a man at work there, whosesoul seemed concentrated on tying a bothering knot inno time, what was going on.”The Royal Hippodrome Performance of Turpin'sRide to York and the Death of Black Bess.” replied theman promptly, without turning his eyes or leaving offtrying.As soon as the tent was completed the band struckup highly stimulating harmonies, and the announce-ment was publicly made, Black Bess standing in a con-spicuous position on the outside, as a living proof, Ifproof were wanted, of the truth of the oracular utterancesfrom the stage over which the people were to enter.These were so convinced by such genuine appeals toheart and understanding both that they soon began tocrowd in abundantly, among the foremost being visibleJan Coggan and Joseph Poorgrass, who were holidaykeeping here to-day,”'That's the great ruffen pushing me!” screamed awoman in front of Jan over her shoulder at him whenthe rush was at its fiercest.”How can I help pushing ye when the folk behindpush me?” said Coggan, in a deprecating tone, turningwithout turning his body, which was jammed as in a vice.There was a silence; then the drums and trumpetsagain sent forth their echoing notes. The crowd wasagain ecstasied, and gave another lurch in which Cogganand Poorgrass were again thrust by those behind uponthe women in front.”O that helpless feymels should be at the mercy ofshe swayed like a reed shaken by the wind.Now.” said Coggan, appealing in an earnest voiceto the public at large as it stood clustered about hisshoulder-blades. ”Did ye ever hear such onreasonablewoman as that? Upon my carcase, neighbours, if Icould only get out of this cheesewring, the damn womenmight eat the show for me!””Don't ye lose yer temper, Jan!” implored JosephPoorgrass, in a whisper.” They might get their men tomurder us, for I think by the shine of their eyes thatthey be a sinful form of womankind.”Jan held his tongue, as if he had no objection to bepacified to please a friend, and they gradually reachedthe foot of the ladder, Poorgrass being flattened like ajumping-jack, and the sixpence, for admission, which hehad got ready half-an-hour earlier, having become soreeking hot in the tight squeeze of his excited hand thatthe woman in spangles, brazen rings set with glassdiamonds, and with chalked face and shoulders, whotook the money of him, hastily dropped it again froma fear that some trick had been played to burn herfingers. So they all entered, and the cloth of thetent, to the eyes of an observer on the outside, becamebulged into innumerable pimples such as we observe ona sack of potatoes, caused by the various human heads,backs, and elbows at high pressure within.At the rear of the large tent there were two smalldressing-tents. One of these, alloted to the male per-formers, was partitioned into halves by a cloth; and inone of the divisions there was sitting on the grass, pulling on a pair of jack-boots, a young man whom weinstantly recognise as Sergeant Troy.Troy's appearance in this position may be brieflyaccounted for. The brig aboard which he was taken inBudmouth Roads was about to start on a voyage, thoughsomewhat short of hands. Troy read the articles andjoined, but before they sailed a boat was despatchedacross the bay to Lulwind cove; as he had half expected,his clothes were gone. He ultimately worked his passageto the United States, where he made a precarious livingin various towns as Professor of Gymnastics, SwordExercise, Fencing, and Pugilism. A few months weresufficient to give him a distaste for this kind of life.There was a certain animal form of refinement in hisnature; and however pleasant a strange condition mightbe whilst privations were easily warded off, it was dis-advantageously coarse when money was short. Therewas ever present, too, the idea that he could claim ahome and its comforts did he but chose to return toEngland and Weatherbury Farm. Whether Bathshebathought him dead was a frequent subject of curiousconjecture. To England he did return at last; but thebut the fact of drawing nearer to Weatherbury abstracted itsfascinations, and his intention to enter his old groove atthe place became modified. It was with gloom he con-sidered on landing at Liverpool that if he were to go homehis reception would be of a kind very unpleasant to con-template; for what Troy had in the way of emotion wasan occasional fitful sentiment which sometimes causedhim as much inconvenience as emotion of a strong andhealthy kind. Bathsheba was not a women to be madea fool of, or a woman to suffer in silence; and howcould he endure existence with a spirited wife to whomat first entering he would be beholden for food andlodging? Moreover, it was not at all unlikely that hiswife would fail at her farming, if she had not alreadydone so; and he would then become liable for hermaintenance: and what a life such a future of povertywith her would be, the spectre of Fanny constantly be-tween them, harrowing his temper and embittering herwords! Thus, for reasons touching on distaste, regret,and shame commingled, he put off his return from dayto day, and would have decided to put it off altogetherif he could have found anywhere else the ready-madeestablishment which existed for him there.At this time -- the July preceding the September inwhich we find at Greenhill Fair -- he fell in with atravelling circus which was performing in the outskirts ofa northern town. Troy introduced himself to themanager by taming a restive horse of the troupe, hittinga suspended apple with pistol-- bullet fired from theanimal's back when in full gallop, and other feats. Forhis merits in these -- all more or less based upon his ex-periences as a dragoon-guardsman -- Troy was taken intothe company, and the play of Turpin was prepared witha view to his personation of the chief character. Troywas not greatly elated by the appreciative spirit in whichhe was undoubtedly treated, but he thought the engage-ment might afford him a few weeks for consideration.It was thus carelessly, and without having formed anydefinite plan for the future, that Troy found himselfat Greenhill Fair with the rest of the company on thisday.And now the mild autumn sun got lower, and infront of the pavilion the following incident had takenplace. Bathsheba -- who was driven to the fair that dayby her odd man Poorgrass -- had, like every one else,read or heard the announcement that Mr. Francis, theGreat Cosmopolitan Equestrian and Roughrider, wouldenact the part of Turpin, and she was not yet too oldand careworn to be without a little curiosity to see him.This particular show was by far the largest and grandestin the fair, a horde of little shows grouping themselvesunder its shade like chickens around a hen. The crowdhad passed in, and Boldwood, who had been watchingall the day for an opportunity of speaking to her, seeingher comparatively isolated, came up to her side.”I hope the sheep have done well to-day, Mrs. Troy?”he said, nervously.”O yes, thank you.” said Bathsheba, colour springingup in the centre of her cheeks. ”I was fortunateenough to sell them all just as we got upon the hill, sowe hadn't to pen at all.””And now you are entirely at leisure?””Yes, except that I have to see one more dealer intwo hours' time: otherwise I should be going home.He was looking at this large tent and the announcement.Have you ever seen the play of ”Turpin's Ride toYork?” Turpin was a real man, was he not?””O yes, perfectly true -- all of it. Indeed, I thinkI've heard Jan Coggan say that a relation of his knewTom King, Turpin's friend, quite well.””Coggan is rather given to strange stories connectedwith his relations, we must remember. I hope theycan all be believed.””Yes, yes; we know Coggan. But Turpin is trueenough. You have never seen it played, I suppose?””Never. I was not allowed to go into these placeswhen I was young. Hark! What's that prancing?How they shout!””Black Bess just started off, I suppose. Am I rightin supposing you would like to see the performance,Mrs. Troy? Please excuse my mistake, if it is one;but if you would like to, I'll get a seat for you withpleasure.” Perceiving that she hesitated, he added, ”Imyself shall not stay to see it: I've seen it before.”Now Bathsheba did care a little to see the show, andhad only withheld her feet from the ladder because shefeared to go in alone. She had been hoping that Oakmight appear, whose assistance in such cases was alwaysaccepted as an inalienable right, but Oak was nowhereto be seen; and hence it was that she said, ”Then ifyou will just look in first, to see if there's room, I thinkI will go in for a minute or two.”And so a short time after this Bathsheba appearedin the tent with Boldwood at her elbow, who, takingher to a ”reserved” seat, again withdrew.This feature consisted of one raised bench in veryconspicuous part of the circle, covered with red cloth,and floored with a piece of carpet, and Bathshebaimmediately found, to her confusion, that she was thesingle reserved individual in the tent, the rest of thecrowded spectators, one and all, standing on their legson the borders of the arena, where they got twice asgood a view of the performance for half the money.Hence as many eyes were turned upon her, enthronedalone in this place of honour, against a scarlet back-ground, as upon the ponies and clown who wereengaged in preliminary exploits in the centre, Turpinnot having yet appeared. Once there, Bathsheba wasforced to make the best of it and remain: she satdown, spreading her skirts with some dignity over theunoccupied space on each side of her, and giving anew and feminine aspect to the pavilion. In a fewminutes she noticed the fat red nape of Coggan's neckamong those standing just below her, and Joseph Poor-grass's saintly profile a little further on.The interior was shadowy with a peculiar shade.The strange luminous semi-opacities of fine autumnafternoons and eves intensified into Rembrandt effectsthe few yellow sunbeams which came through holesand divisions in the canvas, and spirted like jets ofgold-dust across the dusky blue atmosphere of hazepervading the tent, until they alighted on inner surfacesof cloth opposite, and shone like little lamps suspendedthere.Troy, on peeping from his dressing-tent through aslit for a reconnoitre before entering, saw his unconsciouswife on high before him as described, sitting as queenof the tournament. He started back in utter confusion,for although his disguise effectually concealed his person-ality, he instantly felt that she would be sure to recognizehis voice. He had several times during the day thoughtof the possibility of some Weatherbury person or otherappearing and recognizing him; but he had taken therisk carelessly. If they see me, let them, he had said.But here was Bathsheba in her own person and thereality of the scene was so much intenser than any ofhis prefigurings that he felt he had not half enoughconsidered the point.She looked so charming and fair that his cool moodabout Weatherbury people was changed. He had notexpected her to exercise this power over him in thetwinkling of an eye. Should he go on, and care nothing?He could not bring himself to do that. Beyond a politicwish to remain unknown, there suddenly arose in himnow a sense of shame at the possibility that hisattractive young wife, who already despised him, shoulddespise him more by discovering him in so mean acondition after so long a time. He actually blushedat the thought, and was vexed beyond measure thathis sentiments of dislike towards Weatherbury shouldhave led him to dally about the country in this way.But Troy was never more clever than when absolutelyat his wit's end. He hastily thrust aside the curtaindividing his own little dressing space from that of themanager and proprietor, who now appeared as theindividual called Tom King as far down as his waist, andas the aforesaid respectable manager thence to his toes.”Here's the devil to pay!” said Troy.”How's that?””Why, there's a blackguard creditor in the tent I don'twant to see, who'll discover me and nab me as sure asSatan if I open my mouth. What's to be done?”You must appear now, I think.””I can't.”But the play must proceed.””Do you give out that Turpin has got a bad cold,and can't speak his part, but that he'll perform it justthe same without speaking.”The proprietor shook his head.”Anyhow, play or no play, I won't open my mouth,said Troy, firmly.”Very well, then let me see. I tell you how we'llmanage.” said the other, who perhaps felt it would beextremely awkward to offend his leading man just atthis time. ”I won't tell 'em anything about yourkeeping silence; go on with the piece and say nothing,doing what you can by a judicious wink now and then,and a few indomitable nods in the heroic places, youknow. They'll never find out that the speeches areomitted.”This seemed feasible enough, for Turpin's speecheswere not many or long, the fascination of the piecelying entirely in the action and accordingly the playbegan, and at the appointed time Black Bess leaptinto the grassy circle amid the plaudits of the spectators.At the turnpike scene, where Bess and Turpin are hotlypursued at midnight by the officers, and half-awakegatekeeper in his tasselled nightcap denies that anyhorseman has passed, Coggan uttered a broad-chested”Well done!” which could be heard all over the fairabove the bleating, and Poorgrass smiled delightedlywith a nice sense of dramatic contrast between ourhero, who coolly leaps the gate, and halting justice inthe form of his enemies, who must needs pull upcumbersomely and wait to be let through. At thedeath of Tom King, he could not refrain from seizingCoggan by the hand, and whispering, with tears in hiseyes, ”Of course he's not really shot, Jan -- onlyseemingly!” And when the last sad scene came on,and the body of the gallant and faithful Bess had tobe carried out on a shutter by twelve volunteers fromamong the spectators, nothing could restrain Poorgrassfrom lending a hand, exclaiming, as he asked Jan tojoin him, ”Twill be something to tell of at Warren's infuture years, Jan, and hand down to our children.” Formany a year in Weatherbury, Joseph told, with the airof a man who had had experiences in his time, that hetouched with his own hand the hoof of Bess as she layupon the board upon his shoulder. If, as some thinkershold, immortality consists in being enshrined in others”memories, then did Black Bess become immortal thatday if she never had done so before.Meanwhile Troy had added a few touches to hisordinary make-up for the character, the more effectuallyto disguise himself, and though he had felt faint qualmson first entering, the metamorphosis effected by judici-ously ”lining” his face with a wire rendered him safe fromthe eyes of Bathsheba and her men. Nevertheless, hewas relieved when it was got through.There a second performance in the evening, andthe tent was lighted up. Troy had taken his part veryquietly this time, venturing to introduce a few speecheson occasion and was just concluding it when, whilststanding at the edge of the circle contiguous to the firstrow of spectators, he observed within a yard of him theeye of a man darted keenly into his side features. Troyhastily shifted his position, after having recognized insworn enemy, who still hung about the outskirts ofAt first Troy resolved to take no notice and abideby circumstances. That he had been recognized bythis man was highly probable; yet there was room fora doubt. Then the great objection he had felt toallowing news of his proximity to precede him toWeatherbury in the event of his return, based on afeeling that knowledge of his present occupation woulddiscredit him still further in his wife's eyes, returnedin full force. Moreover, should he resolve not toreturn at all, a tale of his being alive and being inthe neighbourhood would be awkward; and he wasanxious to acquire a knowledge of his wife's temporalaffairs before deciding which to do.In this dilemma Troy at once went out to recon-noitre. It occurred to him that to find Pennyways, andmake a friend of him if possible, would be a very wiseact. He had put on a thick beard borrowed from theestablishment, and this he wandered about the fair-field. It was now almost dark, and respectable peoplewere getting their carts and gigs ready to go homeThe largest refreshment booth in the fair was providedby an innkeeper from a neighbouring town. This wasconsidered an unexceptionable place for obtaining thenecessary food and rest: Host Trencher (as he wasjauntily called by the local newspaper) being a sub-stantial man of high repute for catering through all thecounty round. The tent was divided into first andsecond-class compartments, and at the end of the first-class division was a yet further enclosure for the mostexclusive, fenced of from the body of the tent by aluncheon-bar, behind which the host himself stoodbustling about in white apron and shirt-sleeves, and look-ing as if he had never lived anywhere but under canvasall his life. In these penetralia were chairs and a table,which, on candles being lighted, made quite a cozy andluxurious show, with an urn, plated tea and coffee pots,china teacups, and plum cakes.Troy stood at the entrance to the booth, where agipsy-woman was frying pancakes over a little fire ofsticks and selling them at a penny a-piece, and lookedover the heads of the people within. He could seenothing of Pennyways, but he soon discerned Bathshebathrough an opening into the reserved space at thefurther end. Troy thereupon retreated, went round thetent into the darkness, and listened. He could hearBathsheba's voice immediately inside the canvas; shewas conversing with a man. A warmth overspread hisface: surely she was not so unprincipled as to flirt ina fair! He wondered if, then, she reckoned upon hisdeath as an absolute certainty. To get at the root ofthe matter, Troy took a penknife from his pocket andsoftly made two little cuts crosswise in the cloth, which,by folding back the corners left a hole the size of awafer. Close to this he placed his face, withdrawingit again in a movement of surprise; for his eye hadbeen within twelve inches of the top of Bathsheba'shead. lt was too near to be convenient. He madeanother hole a little to one side and lower down, in ashaded place beside her chair, from which it was easyand safe to survey her by looking horizontally'.Troy took in the scene completely now. She wasleaning back, sipping a cup of tea that she held in herhand, and the owner of the male voice was Boldwood,who had apparently just brought the cup to her,Bathsheba, being in a negligent mood, leant so idlyagainst the canvas that it was pressed to the shape ofher shoulder, and she was, in fact, as good as in Troy'sarms; and he was obliged to keep his breast carefullybackward that she might not feel its warmth through thecloth as he gazed in.Troy found unexpected chords of feeling to be stirredagain within him as they had been stirred earlier in theday. She was handsome as ever, and she was his. Itwas some minutes before he could counteract his suddenwish to go in, and claim her. Then he thought howthe proud girl who had always looked down upon himeven whilst it was to love him, would hate him on dis-covering him to be a strolling player. Were he to makehimself known, that chapter of his life must at all risksbe kept for ever from her and from the Weatherburypeople, or his name would be a byword throughout theparish. He would be nicknamed ”Turpin” as long ashe lived. Assuredly before he could claim her these fewpast months of his existence must be entirely blotted out.”Shall I get you another cup before you start,ma'am?” said Farmer Boldwood.I thank you,” said Bathsheba. ”But I must be goingat once. It was great neglect in that man to keep mewaiting here till so late. I should have gone two hoursago, if it had not been for him. I had no idea ofcoming in here; but there's nothing so refreshing as acup of tea, though I should never have got one if youhadn't helped me.”Troy scrutinized her cheek as lit by the candles,and watched each varying shade thereon, and thewhite shell-like sinuosities of her little ear. She tookout her purse and was insisting to Boldwood on payingfor her tea for herself, when at this moment Pennywaysentered the tent. Troy trembled: here was his schemefor respectability endangered at once. He was aboutto leave his hole of espial, attempt to follow Pennyways,and find out if the ex-bailiff had recognized him, whenhe was arrested by the conversation, and found he wastoo late.”Excuse me, ma'am.” said Pennyways; ”I've someprivate information for your ear alone.”I cannot hear it now.” she said, coldly. ThatBathsheba could not endure this man was evident; infact, he was continually coming to her with some taleor other, by which he might creep into favour at theexpense of persons maligned.”I'll write it down.” said Pennyways, confidently. Hestooped over the table, pulled a leaf from a warpedpocket-book, and wrote upon the paper, in a roundhand --”YOUR husband is here. I've seen him. Who's the foolnow?”This he folded small, and handed towards her.Bathsheba would not read it; she would not even putout her hand to take it. Pennyways, then, with a laughof derision, tossed it into her lap, and, turning away,left her.From the words and action of Pennyways, Troy,though he had not been able to see what the ex-bailiffwrote, had not a moment's doubt that the note referredto him. Nothing that he could think of could be doneto check the exposure. ”Curse my luck!” he whispered,and added imprecations which rustled in the gloom likea pestilent wind. Meanwhile Boldwood said, taking upthe note from her lap --”Don't you wish to read it, Mrs. Troy? If not,I'll destroy it.””Oh, well.” said Bathsheba, carelessly, ”perhaps it isunjust not to read it; but I can guess what it is about.He wants me to recommend him, or it is to tell me ofsome little scandal or another connected with my work-people. He's always doing that.”Bathsheba held the note in her right hand. Bold-wood handed towards her a plate of cut bread-and-butter; when, in order to take a slice, she put the noteinto her left hand, where she was still holding the purse,and then allowed her hand to drop beside her close tothe canvas. The moment had come for saving his game,and Troy impulsively felt that he would play the card,For yet another time he looked at the fair hand, andsaw the pink finger-tips, and the blue veins of thewrist, encircled by a bracelet of coral chippings whichshe wore: how familiar it all was to him! Then, withthe lightning action in which he was such an adept, henoiselessly slipped his hand under the bottom of thetent-cloth, which was far from being pinned tightly down,lifted it a little way, keeping his eye to the hole,snatched the note from her fingers, dropped the canvas,and ran away in the gloom towards the bank and ditch,smiling at the scream of astonishment which burst fromher. Troy then slid down on the outside of the rampart,hastened round in the bottom of the entrenchment toa distance of a hundred yards, ascended again, andcrossed boldly in a slow walk towards the front entranceof the tent. His object was now to get to Pennyways,and prevent a repetition of the announcement untilsuch time as he should choose.Troy reached the tent door, and standing among thegroups there gathered, looked anxiously for Pennyways,evidently not wishing to make himself prominent byinquiring for him. One or two men were speaking ofa daring attempt that had just been made to rob ayoung lady by lifting the canvas of the tent beside her.It was supposed that the rogue had imagined a slip ofpaper which she held in her hand to he a bank note,for he had seized it, and made off with it, leaving herpurse behind. His chagrin and disappointment at dis-covering its worthlessness would be a good joke, it wassaid. However, the occurrence seemed to have becomeknown to few, for it had not interrupted a fiddler, whohad lately begun playing by the door of the tent, northe four bowed old men with grim countenances andwalking-sticks in hand, who were dancing ”MajorMalley's Reel” to the tune. Behind these stoodPennyways. Troy glided up to him, beckoned, andwhispered a few words; and with a mutual glance ofconcurrence the two men went into the night together.
CHAPTER LI