THE SHEEP-WASHING -- THE OFFER
BOLDWOOD did eventually call upon her. She wasnot at home. Of course not. he murmured. In con-templating Bathsheba as a woman, he had forgotten theaccidents of her position as an agriculturist -- that beingas much of a farmer, and as extensive a farmer, ashimself, her probable whereabouts was out-of-doors atthis time of the year. This, and the other oversightsBoldwood was guilty of, were natural to the mood, andstill more natural to the circumstances. The great aidsto idealization in love were present here: occasionalobservation of her from a distance, and the absence ofsocial intercourse with her -- visual familiarity, oralstrangeness. The smaller human elements were keptout of sight; the pettinesses that enter so largely intoall earthly living and doing were disguised by theaccident of lover and loved-one not being on visitingterms; and there was hardly awakened a thought inBoldwood that sorry household realities appertained toher, or that she, like all others, had moments ofcommonplace, when to be least plainly seen was to bemost prettily remembered. Thus a mild sort ofapotheosis took place in his fancy, whilst she still livedand breathed within his own horizon, a troubled creaturelike himself.It was the end of May when the farmer determinedto be no longer repulsed by trivialities or distracted bysuspense. He had by this time grown used to being inlove; the passion now startled him less even when ittortured him more, and he felt himself adequate to thesituation. On inquiring for her at her house they hadtold him she was at the sheepwashing, and he went offto seek her there.The sheep-washing pool was a perfectly circular basinof brickwork in the meadows, full of the clearest water.To birds on the wing its glassy surface, reflecting thelight sky, must have been visible for miles around as aglistening Cyclops' eye in a green face. The grassabout the margin at this season was a sight to rememberlong -- in a minor sort of way. Its activity in suckingthe moisture from the rich damp sod. was almost a pro-cess observable by the eye. The outskirts of this levelwater-meadow were diversified by rounded and hollowpastures, where just now every flower that was not abuttercup was a daisy. The river slid along noiselesslyas a shade, the swelling reeds and sedge forming aflexible palisade upon its moist brink. To the northof the mead were trees, the leaves of which were new,soft, and moist, not yet having stiffened and darkenedunder summer sun and drought, their colour beingyellow beside a green -- green beside a yellow.From the recesses of this knot of foliage the loudnotes of three cuckoos were resounding through thestill air.Boldwood went meditating down the slopes with hiseyes on his boots, which the yellow pollen from thebuttercups had bronzed in artistic gradations. A tribu-tary of the main stream flowed through the basin of thepool by an inlet and outlet at opposite points of itsdiameter. Shepherd Oak, Jan Coggan, Moon, Poor-grass, Cain Ball, and several others were assembledhere, all dripping wet to the very roots of their hair,and Bathsheba was standing by in a new riding-habit --the most elegant she had ever worn -- the reins of herhorse being looped over her arm. Flagons of ciderwere rolling about upon the green. The meek sheepwere pushed into the pool by Coggan and MatthewMoon, who stood by the lower hatch, immersed to theirwaists; then Gabriel, who stood on the brink, thrustthem under as they swam along, with an instrumentlike a crutch, formed for the purpose, and also forassisting the exhausted animals when the wool becamesaturated and they began to sink. They were let outagainst the stream, and through the upper opening, allimpurities flowing away below. Cainy Ball and Joseph,who performed this latter operation, were if possiblewetter than the rest; they resembled dolphins under afountain, every protuberance and angle of their clothesdribbling forth a small rill.Boldwood came close and bade her good-morning, withsuch constraint that she could not but think he hadstepped across to the washing for its own sake, hopingnot to find her there; more, she fancied his brow severeand his eye slighting. Bathsheba immediately contrivedto withdraw, and glided along by the river till she wasa stone's throw off. She heard footsteps brushing thegrass, and had a consciousness that love was encirclingher like a perfume. Instead of turning or waiting,Bathsheba went further among the high sedges, butBoldwood seemed determined, and pressed on till theywere completely past the bend of the river. Here,without being seen, they could hear the splashing andshouts of the washers above.Miss Everdene! said the farmer.She trembled, turned, and said Good morning.His tone was so utterly removed from all she hadexpected as a beginning. It was lowness and quietaccentuated: an emphasis of deep meanings, their form,at the same time, being scarcely expressed. Silencehas sometimes a remarkable power of showing itself asthe disembodied soul of feeling wandering without itscarcase, and it is then more impressive than speech.In the same way, to say a little is often to tell morethan to say a great deal. Boldwood told everything inthat word.As the consciousness expands on learning that whatwas fancied to be the rumble of wheels is the reverbera-tion of thunder, so did Bathsheba's at her intuitiveconviction.I feel -- almost too much -- to think. he said, with asolemn simplicity. I have come to speak to you with-out preface. My life is not my own since I have beheldyou clearly, Miss Everdene -- I come to make you anoffer of marriage.Bathsheba tried to preserve an absolutely neutralcountenance, and all the motion she made was that ofclosing lips which had previously been a little parted.I am now forty-one years old. he went on. I mayhave been called a confirmed bachelor, and I was aconfirmed bachelor. I had never any views of myselfas a husband in my earlier days, nor have I made anycalculation on the subject since I have been older.But we all change, and my change, in this matter, camewith seeing you. I have felt lately, more and more,that my present way of living is bad in every respect.Beyond all things, I want you as my wife.I feel, Mr. Boldwood, that though I respect youmuch, I do not feel -- what would justify me to -- inaccepting your offer. she stammered.This giving back of dignity for dignity seemed toopen the sluices of feeling that Boldwood had as yetkept closed.My life is a burden without you. he exclaimed, ina low voice. I want you -- I want you to let me sayI love you again and again!Bathsheba answered nothing, and the mare uponher arm seemed so impressed that instead of croppingthe herbage she looked up.I think and hope you care enough for me to listento what I have to tell! Bathsheba's momentary impulse at hearing this wasto ask why he thought that, till she remembered that,far from being a conceited assumption on Boldwood'spart, it was but the natural conclusion of serious reflec-tion based on deceptive premises of her own offering.I wish I could say courteous flatteries to you. thefarmer continued in an easier tone, and put my ruggedfeeling into a graceful shape: but I have neither powernor patience to learn such things. I want you for mywife -- so wildly that no other feeling can abide in me;but I should not have spoken out had I not been ledto hope.The valentine again! O that valentine! shesaid to herself, but not a word to him. If you can love me say so, Miss Everdene. If not -- don't say no! Mr. Boldwood, it is painful to have to say I amsurprised, so that I don't know how to answer you withpropriety and respect -- but am only just able to speakout my feeling -- I mean my meaning; that I am afraidI can't marry you, much as I respect you. You are toodignified for me to suit you, sir. But, Miss Everdene!I -- I didn't -- I know I ought never to have dreamtof sending that valentine -- forgive me, sir -- it was awanton thing which no woman with any self-respectshould have done. If you will only pardon my thought-lessness, I promise never to -- -- No, no, no. Don't say thoughtlessness! Make methink it was something more -- that it was a sort ofprophetic instinct -- the beginning of a feeling that youwould like me. You torture me to say it was done inthoughtlessness -- I never thought of it in that light, andI can't endure it. Ah! I wish I knew how to win you!but that I can't do -- I can only ask if I have already gotyou. If I have not, and it is not true that you havecome unwittingly to me as I have to you, I can say nomore. I have not fallen in love with you, Mr. Boldwood --certainly I must say that. She allowed a very smallsmile to creep for the first time over her serious face insaying this, and the white row of upper teeth, and keenly-cut lips already noticed, suggested an idea of heartless-ness, which was immediately contradicted by the pleasanteyes.But you will just think -- in kindness and conde-scension think -- if you cannot bear with me as a husband!I fear I am too old for you, but believe me I will takemore care of you than would many a man of your ownage. I will protect and cherish you with all my strength -- I will indeed! You shall have no cares -- be worriedby no household affairs, and live quite at ease, MissEverdene. The dairy superintendence shall be done bya man -- I can afford it will -- you shall never have somuch as to look out of doors at haymaking time, or tothink of weather in the harvest. I rather cling; to thechaise, because it is he same my poor father and motherdrove, but if you don't like it I will sell it, and you shallhave a pony-carriage of your own. I cannot say howfar above every other idea and object on earth you seemto me -- nobody knows -- God only knows -- how muchyou are to me!Bathsheba's heart was young, and it swelled withsympathy for the deep-natured man who spoke sosimply. Don't say it! don't! I cannot bear you to feel somuch, and me to feel nothing. And I am afraid theywill notice us, Mr. Boldwood. Will you let the matterrest now? I cannot think collectedly. I did not knowyou were going to say this to me. O, I am wicked tohave made you suffer so! She was frightened as wellas agitated at his vehemence. Say then, that you don't absolutely refuse. Do notquite refuse?I can do nothing. I cannot answer.I may speak to you again on thesubject?Yes.I may think of you?Yes, I suppose you may think of me.And hope to obtain you?No -- do not hope! Let us go on.I will call upon you again to-morrow.No -- please not. Give me time.Yes -- I will give you any time. he said earnestly andgratefully. I am happier now.No -- I beg you! Don't be happier if happinessonly comes from my agreeing. Be neutral, Mr. Bold-wood! I must think.I will wait. he said.And then she turned away. Boldwood dropped hisgaze to the ground, and stood long like a man who did notknow where he was. Realities then returned upon himlike the pain of a wound received in an excitementwhich eclipses it, and he, too, then went on.
CHAPTER XX