by Thomas Hardy
CHAPTER XII
FARMERS--A RULE--AN EXCEPTION
The first public evidence of Bathsheba's decision to be a farmer inher own person and by proxy no more was her appearance the followingmarket-day in the cornmarket at Casterbridge.
The low though extensive hall, supported by beams and pillars,and latterly dignified by the name of Corn Exchange, was throngedwith hot men who talked among each other in twos and threes, thespeaker of the minute looking sideways into his auditor's face andconcentrating his argument by a contraction of one eyelid duringdelivery. The greater number carried in their hands ground-ashsaplings, using them partly as walking-sticks and partly for pokingup pigs, sheep, neighbours with their backs turned, and restfulthings in general, which seemed to require such treatment in thecourse of their peregrinations. During conversations each subjectedhis sapling to great varieties of usage--bending it round his back,forming an arch of it between his two hands, overweighting it on theground till it reached nearly a semicircle; or perhaps it was hastilytucked under the arm whilst the sample-bag was pulled forth and ahandful of corn poured into the palm, which, after criticism, wasflung upon the floor, an issue of events perfectly well known tohalf-a-dozen acute town-bred fowls which had as usual crept into thebuilding unobserved, and waited the fulfilment of their anticipationswith a high-stretched neck and oblique eye.
Among these heavy yeomen a feminine figure glided, the single one ofher sex that the room contained. She was prettily and even daintilydressed. She moved between them as a chaise between carts, was heardafter them as a romance after sermons, was felt among them like abreeze among furnaces. It had required a little determination--farmore than she had at first imagined--to take up a position here, forat her first entry the lumbering dialogues had ceased, nearly everyface had been turned towards her, and those that were already turnedrigidly fixed there.
Two or three only of the farmers were personally known to Bathsheba,and to these she had made her way. But if she was to be thepractical woman she had intended to show herself, business mustbe carried on, introductions or none, and she ultimately acquiredconfidence enough to speak and reply boldly to men merely known toher by hearsay. Bathsheba too had her sample-bags, and by degreesadopted the professional pour into the hand--holding up the grainsin her narrow palm for inspection, in perfect Casterbridge manner.
Something in the exact arch of her upper unbroken row of teeth, andin the keenly pointed corners of her red mouth when, with partedlips, she somewhat defiantly turned up her face to argue a point witha tall man, suggested that there was potentiality enough in thatlithe slip of humanity for alarming exploits of sex, and daringenough to carry them out. But her eyes had a softness--invariably asoftness--which, had they not been dark, would have seemed mistiness;as they were, it lowered an expression that might have been piercingto simple clearness.
Strange to say of a woman in full bloom and vigor, she always allowedher interlocutors to finish their statements before rejoining withhers. In arguing on prices, she held to her own firmly, as wasnatural in a dealer, and reduced theirs persistently, as wasinevitable in a woman. But there was an elasticity in her firmnesswhich removed it from obstinacy, as there was a _naivete_ in hercheapening which saved it from meanness.
Those of the farmers with whom she had no dealings (by far thegreater part) were continually asking each other, "Who is she?"The reply would be--
"Farmer Everdene's niece; took on Weatherbury Upper Farm; turned awaythe baily, and swears she'll do everything herself."
The other man would then shake his head.
"Yes, 'tis a pity she's so headstrong," the first would say. "But weought to be proud of her here--she lightens up the old place. 'Tissuch a shapely maid, however, that she'll soon get picked up."
It would be ungallant to suggest that the novelty of her engagementin such an occupation had almost as much to do with the magnetismas had the beauty of her face and movements. However, the interestwas general, and this Saturday's _debut_ in the forum, whatever itmay have been to Bathsheba as the buying and selling farmer, wasunquestionably a triumph to her as the maiden. Indeed, the sensationwas so pronounced that her instinct on two or three occasions wasmerely to walk as a queen among these gods of the fallow, like alittle sister of a little Jove, and to neglect closing pricesaltogether.
The numerous evidences of her power to attract were only thrown intogreater relief by a marked exception. Women seem to have eyes intheir ribbons for such matters as these. Bathsheba, without lookingwithin a right angle of him, was conscious of a black sheep among theflock.
It perplexed her first. If there had been a respectable minority oneither side, the case would have been most natural. If nobody hadregarded her, she would have taken the matter indifferently--suchcases had occurred. If everybody, this man included, she would havetaken it as a matter of course--people had done so before. But thesmallness of the exception made the mystery.
She soon knew thus much of the recusant's appearance. He was agentlemanly man, with full and distinctly outlined Roman features,the prominences of which glowed in the sun with a bronze-likerichness of tone. He was erect in attitude, and quiet in demeanour.One characteristic pre-eminently marked him--dignity.
Apparently he had some time ago reached that entrance to middle ageat which a man's aspect naturally ceases to alter for the term ofa dozen years or so; and, artificially, a woman's does likewise.Thirty-five and fifty were his limits of variation--he might havebeen either, or anywhere between the two.
It may be said that married men of forty are usually ready andgenerous enough to fling passing glances at any specimen of moderatebeauty they may discern by the way. Probably, as with personsplaying whist for love, the consciousness of a certain immunity underany circumstances from that worst possible ultimate, the having topay, makes them unduly speculative. Bathsheba was convinced thatthis unmoved person was not a married man.
When marketing was over, she rushed off to Liddy, who was waitingfor her beside the yellow gig in which they had driven to town.The horse was put in, and on they trotted--Bathsheba's sugar, tea,and drapery parcels being packed behind, and expressing in someindescribable manner, by their colour, shape, and general lineaments,that they were that young lady-farmer's property, and the grocer'sand draper's no more.
"I've been through it, Liddy, and it is over. I shan't mind itagain, for they will all have grown accustomed to seeing me there;but this morning it was as bad as being married--eyes everywhere!"
"I knowed it would be," Liddy said. "Men be such a terrible class ofsociety to look at a body."
"But there was one man who had more sense than to waste his time uponme." The information was put in this form that Liddy might not for amoment suppose her mistress was at all piqued. "A very good-lookingman," she continued, "upright; about forty, I should think. Do youknow at all who he could be?"
Liddy couldn't think.
"Can't you guess at all?" said Bathsheba with some disappointment.
"I haven't a notion besides, 'tis no difference, since he took lessnotice of you than any of the rest. Now, if he'd taken more, itwould have mattered a great deal."
Bathsheba was suffering from the reverse feeling just then, and theybowled along in silence. A low carriage, bowling along still morerapidly behind a horse of unimpeachable breed, overtook and passedthem.
"Why, there he is!" she said.
Liddy looked. "That! That's Farmer Boldwood--of course 'tis--theman you couldn't see the other day when he called."
"Oh, Farmer Boldwood," murmured Bathsheba, and looked at him as heoutstripped them. The farmer had never turned his head once, butwith eyes fixed on the most advanced point along the road, passed asunconsciously and abstractedly as if Bathsheba and her charms werethin air.
"He's an interesting man--don't you think so?" she remarked.
"O yes, very. Everybody owns it," replied Liddy.
"I wonder why he is so wrapt up and indifferent, and seemin
gly so faraway from all he sees around him."
"It is said--but not known for certain--that he met with some bitterdisappointment when he was a young man and merry. A woman jiltedhim, they say."
"People always say that--and we know very well women scarcely everjilt men; 'tis the men who jilt us. I expect it is simply his natureto be so reserved."
"Simply his nature--I expect so, miss--nothing else in the world."
"Still, 'tis more romantic to think he has been served cruelly, poorthing'! Perhaps, after all, he has!"
"Depend upon it he has. Oh yes, miss, he has! I feel he must have."
"However, we are very apt to think extremes of people. I shouldn'twonder after all if it wasn't a little of both--just between thetwo--rather cruelly used and rather reserved."
"Oh dear no, miss--I can't think it between the two!"
"That's most likely."
"Well, yes, so it is. I am convinced it is most likely. You may takemy word, miss, that that's what's the matter with him."
