Page 26 of Far from the Madding Crowd

SCENE ON THE VERGE OF THE HAY-MEAD

”AH, Miss Everdene!” said the sergeant, touching hisdiminutive cap. ”Little did I think it was you I wasspeaking to the other night. And yet, if I had reflected,the ”Queen of the Corn-market” (truth is truth at anyhour of the day or night, and I heard you so named inCasterbridge yesterday), the ”Queen of the Corn-market.”I say, could be no other woman. I step across now tobeg your forgiveness a thousand times for having beenled by my feelings to express myself too strongly for astranger. To be sure I am no stranger to the place --I am Sergeant Troy, as I told you, and I have assistedyour uncle in these fields no end of times when I was alad. I have been doing the same for you today.””I suppose I must thank you for that, SergeantTroy.” said the Queen of the Corn-market, in an in-differently grateful tone.The sergeant looked hurt and sad. ”Indeed youmust not, Miss Everdene.” he said. ”Why could youthink such a thing necessary?””I am glad it is not.””Why? if I may ask without offence.””Because I don't much want to thank you for any”thing.””I am afraid I have made a hole with my tonguethat my heart will never mend. O these intolerabletimes: that ill-luck should follow a man for honestlytelling a woman she is beautiful! 'Twas the most Isaid -- you must own that; and the least I could say --that I own myself.””There is some talk I could do without more easilythan money.””Indeed. That remark is a sort of digression.””No. It means that I would rather have your roomthan your company.””And I would rather have curses from you thankisses from any other woman; so I'll stay here.”Bathsheba was absolutely speechless. And yet shecould not help feeling that the assistance he was render-ing forbade a harsh repulse.”Well.” continued Troy, ”I suppose there is a praisewhich is rudeness, and that may be mine. At thesame time there is a treatment which is injustice, andthat may be yours. Because a plain blunt man, whohas never been taught concealment, speaks out hismind without exactly intending it, he's to be snappedoff like the son of a sinner.””Indeed there's no such case between us.” she said,turning away. ”I don't allow strangers to be bold andimpudent -- even in praise of me.””Ah -- it is not the fact but the method which offendsyou.” he said, carelessly. ”But I have the sad satis-faction of knowing that my words, whether pleasing oroffensive, are unmistakably true. Would you have hadme look at you, and tell my acquaintance that you arequite a common-place woman, to save you the embar-rassment of being stared at if they come near you?Not I. I couldn't tell any such ridiculous lie abouta beauty to encourage a single woman in England intoo excessive a modesty.””It is all pretence -- what you are saying!” exclaimedBathsheba, laughing in spite of herself at the sergeant'ssly method. ”You have a rare invention, SergeantTroy. Why couldn't you have passed by me thatnight, and said nothing? -- that was all I meant toreproach you for.””Because I wasn't going to. Half the pleasure ofa feeling lies in being able to express it on the spur ofthe moment, and I let out mine. It would have beenjust the same if you had been the reverse person -- uglyand old -- I should have exclaimed about it in the sameway. ””How long is it since you have been so afflicted withstrong feeling, then?””Oh, ever since I was big enough to know lovelinessfrom deformity.””'Tis to be hoped your sense of the difference youspeak of doesn't stop at faces, but extends to morals aswell. ””I won't speak of morals or religion -- my own oranybody else's. Though perhaps I should have been avery good Christian if you pretty women hadn't mademe an idolater.”Bathsheba moved on to hide the irrepressible dimp-lings of merriment. Troy followed, whirling his crop.”But -- Miss Everdene -- you do forgive me?””Hardly. ””Why?””You say such things.””I said you were beautiful, and I'll say so still; for,by -- so you are! The most beautiful ever I saw, ormay I fall dead this instant! Why, upon my -- -- ””Don't -- don't! I won't listen to you -- you are soprofane!” she said, in a restless state between distressat hearing him and a penchant to hear more.”I again say you are a most fascinating woman.There's nothing remarkable in my saying so, is there?I'm sure the fact is evident enough. Miss Everdene,my opinion may be too forcibly let out to please you,and, for the matter of that, too insignificant to convinceyou, but surely it is honest, and why can't it be ex-cused? ””Because it -- it isn't a correct one.” she femininelymurmured.”O, fie -- fie-! Am I any worse for breaking thethird of that Terrible Ten than you for breaking theninth?””Well, it doesn't seem quite true to me that I amfascinating.” she replied evasively.”Not so to you: then I say with all respect that, ifso, it is owing to your modesty, Miss Everdene. Butsurely you must have been told by everybody of whateverybody notices? and you should take their wordsfor it.””They don't say so exactly.””O yes, they must!””Well, I mean to my face, as you do.” she went on,allowing herself to be further lured into a conversationthat intention had rigorously forbidden.”But you know they think so?””No -- that is -- I certainly have heard Liddy saythey do, but -- --” She paused.Capitulation -- that was the purport of the simplereply, guarded as it was -- capitulation, unknown to her-self. Never did a fragile tailless sentence convey amore perfect meaning. The careless sergeant smiledwithin himself, and probably too the devil smiled froma loop-hole in Tophet, for the moment was the turning-point of a career. Her tone and mien signified beyondmistake that the seed which was to lift the foundationhad taken root in the chink: the remainder was a merequestion of time and natural changes.”There the truth comes out!” said the soldier, inreply. ”Never tell me that a young lady can live in abuzz of admiration without knowing something about it.Ah.” well, Miss Everdene, you are -- pardon my bluntway -- you are rather an injury to our race than other-wise.”How -- indeed?” she said, opening her eyes.”O, it is true enough. I may as well be hung fora sheep as a lamb (an old country saying, not of muchaccount, but it will do for a rough soldier), and so Iwill speak my mind, regardless of your pleasure, andwithout hoping or intending to get your pardon. Why,Miss Everdene, it is in this manner that your goodlooks may do more. harm than good in the world.”The sergeant looked down the mead in critical abstrac-ion. ”Probably some one man on an average falls in”love, with each ordinary woman. She can marry him:he is content, and leads a useful life. Such women asyou a hundred men always covet -- your eyes will be-witch scores on scores into an unavailing fancy for youyou can only marry one of that many. Out of thesesay twenty will endeavour to. drown the bitterness ofespised love in drink; twenty more will mope awaytheir lives without a wish or attempt to make a mark inhe world, because they have no ambition apart fromtheir attachment to you; twenty more -- the susceptibleperson myself possibly among them -- will be alwaysdraggling after you, getting where they may just seeyou, doing desperate things. Men are such constantfools! The rest may try to get over their passion withmore or less success. But all these men will besaddened. And not only those ninety-nine men, butthe ninety-nine women they might have married aresaddened with them. There's my tale. That's why Isay that a woman so charming as yourself, Miss Ever-dene, is hardly a blessing to her race.”The handsome sergeant's features were during thisspeech as rigid and stern as John Knox's in addressinghis gay young queen.Seeing she made no reply, he said, ”Do you readFrench?””No; I began, but when I got to the verbs, fatherdied.” she said simply.”I do -- when I have an opportunity, which latterlyhas not been often (my mother was a Parisienne) -- andthere's a proverb they have, Qui aime bien chatie bien -- ”He chastens who loves well.” Do you understandme?”Ah!” she replied, and there was even a little tremu-lousness in the usually cool girl's voice; ”if you canonly fight half as winningly as you can talk, you areable to make a pleasure of a bayonet wound!” Andthen poor Bathsheba instantly perceived her slip inmaking this admission: in hastily trying to retrieve it,she went from bad to worse. ”Don't, however, supposethat I derive any pleasure from what you tell me.””I know you do not -- I know it perfectly.” said Troy,with much hearty conviction on the exterior of his face:and altering the expression to moodiness; ”when adozen men arfe ready to speak tenderly to you, andgive the admiration you deserve without adding thewarning you need, it stands to reason that my poorrough-and-ready mixture of praise and blame cannotconvey much pleasure. Fool as I may be, I am not soconceited as to suppose that!””I think you -- are conceited, nevertheless.” saidBathsheba, looking askance at a reed she was fitfullypulling with one hand, having lately grown feverishunder the soldier's system of procedure -- not becausethe nature of his cajolery was entirely unperceived, butbecause its vigour was overwhelming.”I would not own it to anybody else -- nor do Iexactly to you. Still, there might have been some self-conceit in my foolish supposition the other night. Iknew that what I said in admiration might be anopinion too often forced upon you to give any pleasurebut I certainly did think that the kindness of yournature might prevent you judging an uncontrolledtongue harshly -- which you have done -- and thinkingbadly of me and wounding me this morning, when Iam working hard to save your hay.””Well, you need not think more of that: perhaps youdid not mean to be rude to me by speaking out yourmind: indeed, I believe you did not.” said the shrewdwoman, in painfully innocent earnest. ”And I thankyou for giving help here. But -- but mind you don'tspeak to me again in that way, or in any other, unlessI speak to you.””O, Miss Bathsheba! That is to hard!””No, it isn't. Why is it?””You will never speak to me; for I shall not behere long. I am soon going back again to the miser-able monotony of drill -- and perhaps our regiment willbe ordered out soon. And yet you take away the onelittle ewe-lamb of pleasure that I have in this dull lifeof mine. Well, perhaps generosity is not a woman'smost marked characteristic.””When are you going from here?” she asked, withsome interest.”In a month.””But how can it give you pleasure to speak to me?””Can you ask Miss Everdene -- knowing as you do -- what my offence is based on?””I you do care so much for a silly trifle of thatkind, then, I don't mind doing it.” she uncertainly anddoubtingly answered. ”But you can't really care for aword from me? you only say so -- I think you onlysay so.””that's unjust -- but I won't repeat the remark. Iam too gratified to get such a mark of your friendshipat any price to cavil at the tone. I do Miss Everdene,care for it. You may think a man foolish to want amere word -- just a good morning. Perhaps he is -- Idon't know. But you have never been a man lookingupon a woman, and that woman yourself.””Well.””Then you know nothing of what such an experienceis like -- and Heaven forbid that you ever should!””Nonsense, flatterer! What is it like? I aminterested in knowing.””Put shortly, it is not being able to think, hear, orlook in any direction except one without wretchedness,nor there without torture.””Ah, sergeant, it won't do -- you are pretending!” shesaid, shaking her head.” Your words are too dashingto be true.””I am not, upon the honour of a soldier””But why is it so? -- Of course I ask for mere pas-time.”Because you are so distracting -- and I am sodistracted. ””You look like it.””I am indeed.””Why, you only saw me the other night!””That makes no difference. The lightning works in-stantaneously. I loved you then, at once -- as I do now.”Bathsheba surveyed him curiously, from the feetupward, as high as she liked to venture her glance,which was not quite so high as his eyes.”You cannot and you don”t.” she said demurely.”There is-no such sudden feeling in people. I won'tlisten to you any longer. Hear me, I wish I knew whato'clock it is -- I am going -- I have wasted too much timehere already!”The sergeant looked at his watch and told her.”What, haven't you a watch, miss?” he inquired.”I have not just at present -- I am about to get anew one.””No. You shall be given one. Yes -- you shall.A gift, Miss Everdene -- a gift.”And before she knew what the young -- man wasintending, a heavy gold watch was in her hand.”It is an unusually good one for a man like me topossess.” he quietly said. ”That watch has a history.Press the spring and open the back.”She did so.”What do you see?””A crest and a motto.””A coronet with five points, and beneath, Cedit amorrebus -- ”Love yields to circumstance.” It's the mottoof the Earls of Severn. That watch belonged to thelast lord, and was given to my mother's husband, amedical man, for his use till I came of age, when it wasto be given to me. It was all the fortune that ever Iinherited. That watch has regulated imperial interestsin its time -- the stately ceremonial, the courtly assigna-tion, pompous travels, and lordly sleeps. Now it isyours.”But, Sergeant Troy, I cannot take this -- I cannot!”she exclaimed, with round-eyed wonder. ”A gold watch!What are you doing? Don't be such a dissembler!”The sergeant retreated to avoid receiving back hisgift, which she held out persistently towards him.Bathsheba followed as he retired.”Keep it -- do, Miss Everdene -- keep it!” said theerratic child of impulse. ”The fact of your possessingit makes it worth ten times as much to me. A moreplebeian one will answer my purpose just as well, andthe pleasure of knowing whose heart my old one beatsagainst -- well, I won't speak of that. It is in farworthier hands than ever it has been in before.””But indeed I can't have it!” she said, in a perfectsimmer of distress. ”O, how can you do such a thing;that is if you really mean it! Give me your deadfather's watch, and such a valuable one! You shouldnot be so reckless, indeed, Sergeant Troy!””I loved my father: good; but better, I love youmore. That's how I can do it.” said the sergeant, withan intonation of such exquisite fidelity to nature that it.was evidently not all acted now. Her beauty, which,whilst it had been quiescent, he had praised in jest,had in its animated phases moved him to earnest; andthough his seriousness was less than she imagined, itwas probably more than he imagined himself.Bathsheba was brimming with agitated bewilderment,and she said, in half-suspicious accents of feeling, ”Canit be! O, how can it be, that you care for me, andso suddenly,! You have seen so little of me: I maynot be really so -- so nice-looking as I seem to you.Please, do take it; O, do! I cannot and will not haveit. Believe me, your generosity is too great. I havenever done you a single kindness, and why should yoube so kind to me?”A factitious reply had been again upon his lips, butit was again suspended, and he looked at her with anarrested eye. The truth was, that as she now stood --excited, wild, and honest as the day -- her alluringbeauty bore out so fully the epithets he had bestowedupon it that he was quite startled at his temerity inadvancing them as false. He said mechanically, ”Ah,why?” and continued to look at her.”And my workfolk see me following you about thefield, and are wondering. O, this is dreadful!” shewent on, unconscious of the transmutation she waseffecting.”I did not quite mean you to accept it at first, for itas my one poor patent of nobility.” he broke out,bluntly; ”but, upon my soul, I wish you would now.Without any shamming, come! Don't deny me thehappiness of wearing it for my sake? But you are toolovely even to care to be kind as others are.””No, no; don”t say so! I have reasons for reservewhich I cannot explain.””bet it be, then, let it be.” he said, receiving backthe watch at last; ”I must be leaving you now. Andwill you speak to me for these few weeks of my stay?””Indeed I will. Yet, I don't know if I will! O,why did you come and disturb me so!””Perhaps in setting a gin, I have caught myself.Such things have happened. Well, will you let mework in your fields?” he coaxed.”Yes, I suppose so; if it is any pleasure to you.””Miss Everdene, I thank you.”No, no.””Good-bye!”The sergeant brought his hand to the cap on theslope of his head, saluted, and returned to the distantgroup of haymakers.Bathsheba could not face the haymakers now. Herheart erratically flitting hither and thither from per-plexed excitement, hot, and almost tearful, she retreatedhomeward, murmuring, O, what have I done! Whatdoes it mean! I wish I knew how much of it wastrue!



CHAPTER XXVII