by Thomas Hardy
CHAPTER L
THE SHEEP FAIR--TROY TOUCHES HIS WIFE'S HAND
Greenhill was the Nijni Novgorod of South Wessex; and the busiest,merriest, noisiest day of the whole statute number was the day ofthe sheep fair. This yearly gathering was upon the summit of ahill which retained in good preservation the remains of an ancientearthwork, consisting of a huge rampart and entrenchment of an ovalform encircling the top of the hill, though somewhat broken down hereand there. To each of the two chief openings on opposite sides awinding road ascended, and the level green space of ten or fifteenacres enclosed by the bank was the site of the fair. A few permanenterections dotted the spot, but the majority of visitors patronizedcanvas alone for resting and feeding under during the time of theirsojourn here.
Shepherds who attended with their flocks from long distances startedfrom home two or three days, or even a week, before the fair, drivingtheir charges a few miles each day--not more than ten or twelve--andresting them at night in hired fields by the wayside at previouslychosen points, where they fed, having fasted since morning. Theshepherd of each flock marched behind, a bundle containing his kitfor the week strapped upon his shoulders, and in his hand his crook,which he used as the staff of his pilgrimage. Several of the sheepwould get worn and lame, and occasionally a lambing occurred on theroad. To meet these contingencies, there was frequently provided, toaccompany the flocks from the remoter points, a pony and waggon intowhich the weakly ones were taken for the remainder of the journey.
The Weatherbury Farms, however, were no such long distance from thehill, and those arrangements were not necessary in their case. Butthe large united flocks of Bathsheba and Farmer Boldwood formed avaluable and imposing multitude which demanded much attention, andon this account Gabriel, in addition to Boldwood's shepherd and CainBall, accompanied them along the way, through the decayed old town ofKingsbere, and upward to the plateau,--old George the dog of coursebehind them.
When the autumn sun slanted over Greenhill this morning and lightedthe dewy flat upon its crest, nebulous clouds of dust were to be seenfloating between the pairs of hedges which streaked the wide prospectaround in all directions. These gradually converged upon the base ofthe hill, and the flocks became individually visible, climbing theserpentine ways which led to the top. Thus, in a slow procession,they entered the opening to which the roads tended, multitude aftermultitude, horned and hornless--blue flocks and red flocks, buffflocks and brown flocks, even green and salmon-tinted flocks,according to the fancy of the colourist and custom of the farm.Men were shouting, dogs were barking, with greatest animation, butthe thronging travellers in so long a journey had grown nearlyindifferent to such terrors, though they still bleated piteously atthe unwontedness of their experiences, a tall shepherd rising hereand there in the midst of them, like a gigantic idol amid a crowdof prostrate devotees.
The great mass of sheep in the fair consisted of South Downs and theold Wessex horned breeds; to the latter class Bathsheba's and FarmerBoldwood's mainly belonged. These filed in about nine o'clock, theirvermiculated horns lopping gracefully on each side of their cheeks ingeometrically perfect spirals, a small pink and white ear nestlingunder each horn. Before and behind came other varieties, perfectleopards as to the full rich substance of their coats, and onlylacking the spots. There were also a few of the Oxfordshire breed,whose wool was beginning to curl like a child's flaxen hair, thoughsurpassed in this respect by the effeminate Leicesters, which were inturn less curly than the Cotswolds. But the most picturesque by farwas a small flock of Exmoors, which chanced to be there this year.Their pied faces and legs, dark and heavy horns, tresses of woolhanging round their swarthy foreheads, quite relieved the monotonyof the flocks in that quarter.
All these bleating, panting, and weary thousands had entered and werepenned before the morning had far advanced, the dog belonging to eachflock being tied to the corner of the pen containing it. Alleys forpedestrians intersected the pens, which soon became crowded withbuyers and sellers from far and near.
In another part of the hill an altogether different scene beganto force itself upon the eye towards midday. A circular tent, ofexceptional newness and size, was in course of erection here. Asthe day drew on, the flocks began to change hands, lightening theshepherd's responsibilities; and they turned their attention tothis tent and inquired of a man at work there, whose soul seemedconcentrated on tying a bothering knot in no time, what was goingon.
"The Royal Hippodrome Performance of Turpin's Ride to York and theDeath of Black Bess," replied the man promptly, without turning hiseyes or leaving off tying.
As soon as the tent was completed the band struck up highlystimulating harmonies, and the announcement was publicly made, BlackBess standing in a conspicuous position on the outside, as a livingproof, if proof were wanted, of the truth of the oracular utterancesfrom the stage over which the people were to enter. These were soconvinced by such genuine appeals to heart and understanding boththat they soon began to crowd in abundantly, among the foremost beingvisible Jan Coggan and Joseph Poorgrass, who were holiday keepinghere to-day.
"That's the great ruffen pushing me!" screamed a woman in front ofJan over her shoulder at him when the rush was at its fiercest.
"How can I help pushing ye when the folk behind push me?" saidCoggan, in a deprecating tone, turning his head towards the aforesaidfolk as far as he could without turning his body, which was jammed asin a vice.
There was a silence; then the drums and trumpets again sent forththeir echoing notes. The crowd was again ecstasied, and gave anotherlurch in which Coggan and Poorgrass were again thrust by those behindupon the women in front.
"Oh that helpless feymels should be at the mercy of such ruffens!"exclaimed one of these ladies again, as she swayed like a reed shakenby the wind.
"Now," said Coggan, appealing in an earnest voice to the public atlarge as it stood clustered about his shoulder-blades, "did ye everhear such onreasonable woman as that? Upon my carcase, neighbours,if I could only get out of this cheese-wring, the damn women mighteat the show for me!"
"Don't ye lose yer temper, Jan!" implored Joseph Poorgrass, in awhisper. "They might get their men to murder us, for I think by theshine of their eyes that they be a sinful form of womankind."
Jan held his tongue, as if he had no objection to be pacified toplease a friend, and they gradually reached the foot of the ladder,Poorgrass being flattened like a jumping-jack, and the sixpence, foradmission, which he had got ready half-an-hour earlier, having becomeso reeking hot in the tight squeeze of his excited hand that thewoman in spangles, brazen rings set with glass diamonds, and withchalked face and shoulders, who took the money of him, hastilydropped it again from a fear that some trick had been played to burnher fingers. So they all entered, and the cloth of the tent, to theeyes of an observer on the outside, became bulged into innumerablepimples such as we observe on a sack of potatoes, caused by thevarious human heads, backs, and elbows at high pressure within.
At the rear of the large tent there were two small dressing-tents.One of these, alloted to the male performers, was partitioned intohalves by a cloth; and in one of the divisions there was sitting onthe 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 briefly accounted for. Thebrig aboard which he was taken in Budmouth Roads was about to starton a voyage, though somewhat short of hands. Troy read the articlesand joined, but before they sailed a boat was despatched across thebay to Lulwind cove; as he had half expected, his clothes were gone.He ultimately worked his passage to the United States, where he madea precarious living in various towns as Professor of Gymnastics,Sword Exercise, Fencing, and Pugilism. A few months were sufficientto give him a distaste for this kind of life. There was a certainanimal form of refinement in his nature; and however pleasant astrange condition might be whilst privations were easily warded off,it was disadvantageously coarse when money was short. There was everpr
esent, too, the idea that he could claim a home and its comfortsdid he but chose to return to England and Weatherbury Farm. WhetherBathsheba thought him dead was a frequent subject of curiousconjecture. To England he did return at last; but the fact ofdrawing nearer to Weatherbury abstracted its fascinations, and hisintention to enter his old groove at the place became modified. Itwas with gloom he considered on landing at Liverpool that if hewere to go home his reception would be of a kind very unpleasantto contemplate; for what Troy had in the way of emotion was anoccasional fitful sentiment which sometimes caused him as muchinconvenience as emotion of a strong and healthy kind. Bathsheba wasnot a woman to be made a fool of, or a woman to suffer in silence;and how could he endure existence with a spirited wife to whom atfirst entering he would be beholden for food and lodging? Moreover,it was not at all unlikely that his wife would fail at her farming,if she had not already done so; and he would then become liable forher maintenance: and what a life such a future of poverty with herwould be, the spectre of Fanny constantly between them, harrowinghis temper and embittering her words! Thus, for reasons touching ondistaste, regret, and shame commingled, he put off his return fromday to day, and would have decided to put it off altogether if hecould have found anywhere else the ready-made establishment whichexisted for him there.
At this time--the July preceding the September in which we findat Greenhill Fair--he fell in with a travelling circus which wasperforming in the outskirts of a northern town. Troy introducedhimself to the manager by taming a restive horse of the troupe,hitting a suspended apple with a pistol-bullet fired from theanimal's back when in full gallop, and other feats. For hismerits in these--all more or less based upon his experiences as adragoon-guardsman--Troy was taken into the company, and the playof Turpin was prepared with a view to his personation of the chiefcharacter. Troy was not greatly elated by the appreciative spirit inwhich he was undoubtedly treated, but he thought the engagement mightafford him a few weeks for consideration. It was thus carelessly,and without having formed any definite plan for the future, that Troyfound himself at Greenhill Fair with the rest of the company on thisday.
And now the mild autumn sun got lower, and in front of the pavilionthe following incident had taken place. Bathsheba--who was drivento the fair that day by her odd man Poorgrass--had, like every oneelse, read or heard the announcement that Mr. Francis, the GreatCosmopolitan Equestrian and Roughrider, would enact the part ofTurpin, and she was not yet too old and careworn to be without alittle curiosity to see him. This particular show was by far thelargest and grandest in the fair, a horde of little shows groupingthemselves under its shade like chickens around a hen. The crowd hadpassed in, and Boldwood, who had been watching all the day for anopportunity of speaking to her, seeing her comparatively isolated,came up to her side.
"I hope the sheep have done well to-day, Mrs. Troy?" he said,nervously.
"Oh yes, thank you," said Bathsheba, colour springing up in thecentre of her cheeks. "I was fortunate enough to sell them all justas we got upon the hill, so we hadn't to pen at all."
"And now you are entirely at leisure?"
"Yes, except that I have to see one more dealer in two hours' time:otherwise I should be going home. He was looking at this large tentand the announcement. Have you ever seen the play of 'Turpin's Rideto York'? Turpin was a real man, was he not?"
"Oh yes, perfectly true--all of it. Indeed, I think I've heard JanCoggan say that a relation of his knew Tom King, Turpin's friend,quite well."
"Coggan is rather given to strange stories connected with hisrelations, we must remember. I hope they can all be believed."
"Yes, yes; we know Coggan. But Turpin is true enough. You havenever seen it played, I suppose?"
"Never. I was not allowed to go into these places when I was young.Hark! What's that prancing? How they shout!"
"Black Bess just started off, I suppose. Am I right in supposingyou would like to see the performance, Mrs. Troy? Please excuse mymistake, if it is one; but if you would like to, I'll get a seat foryou with pleasure." 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, and had onlywithheld her feet from the ladder because she feared to go in alone.She had been hoping that Oak might appear, whose assistance in suchcases was always accepted as an inalienable right, but Oak wasnowhere to be seen; and hence it was that she said, "Then if you willjust look in first, to see if there's room, I think I will go in fora minute or two."
And so a short time after this Bathsheba appeared in the tent withBoldwood at her elbow, who, taking her to a "reserved" seat, againwithdrew.
This feature consisted of one raised bench in a very conspicuouspart of the circle, covered with red cloth, and floored with a pieceof carpet, and Bathsheba immediately found, to her confusion, thatshe was the single reserved individual in the tent, the rest ofthe crowded spectators, one and all, standing on their legs on theborders of the arena, where they got twice as good a view of theperformance for half the money. Hence as many eyes were turned uponher, enthroned alone in this place of honour, against a scarletbackground, as upon the ponies and clown who were engaged inpreliminary exploits in the centre, Turpin not having yet appeared.Once there, Bathsheba was forced to make the best of it and remain:she sat down, spreading her skirts with some dignity over theunoccupied space on each side of her, and giving a new and feminineaspect to the pavilion. In a few minutes she noticed the fat rednape of Coggan's neck among those standing just below her, and JosephPoorgrass's saintly profile a little further on.
The interior was shadowy with a peculiar shade. The strange luminoussemi-opacities of fine autumn afternoons and eves intensified intoRembrandt effects the few yellow sunbeams which came through holesand divisions in the canvas, and spirted like jets of gold-dustacross the dusky blue atmosphere of haze pervading the tent, untilthey alighted on inner surfaces of cloth opposite, and shone likelittle lamps suspended there.
Troy, on peeping from his dressing-tent through a slit for areconnoitre before entering, saw his unconscious wife on high beforehim as described, sitting as queen of the tournament. He startedback in utter confusion, for although his disguise effectuallyconcealed his personality, he instantly felt that she would be sureto recognize his voice. He had several times during the day thoughtof the possibility of some Weatherbury person or other appearing andrecognizing him; but he had taken the risk carelessly. If they seeme, let them, he had said. But here was Bathsheba in her own personand the reality of the scene was so much intenser than any of hisprefigurings that he felt he had not half enough considered thepoint.
She looked so charming and fair that his cool mood about Weatherburypeople was changed. He had not expected her to exercise this powerover him in the twinkling of an eye. Should he go on, and carenothing? He could not bring himself to do that. Beyond a politicwish to remain unknown, there suddenly arose in him now a sense ofshame at the possibility that his attractive young wife, who alreadydespised him, should despise him more by discovering him in so mean acondition after so long a time. He actually blushed at the thought,and was vexed beyond measure that his sentiments of dislike towardsWeatherbury should have led him to dally about the country in thisway.
But Troy was never more clever than when absolutely at his wit's end.He hastily thrust aside the curtain dividing his own little dressingspace from that of the manager and proprietor, who now appeared asthe individual called Tom King as far down as his waist, and as theaforesaid 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't want to see,who'll discover me and nab me as sure as Satan 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 ca
n't speak hispart, but that he'll perform it just the 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'll manage," said theother, who perhaps felt it would be extremely awkward to offend hisleading man just at this time. "I won't tell 'em anything about yourkeeping silence; go on with the piece and say nothing, doing whatyou can by a judicious wink now and then, and a few indomitable nodsin the heroic places, you know. They'll never find out that thespeeches are omitted."
This seemed feasible enough, for Turpin's speeches were not many orlong, the fascination of the piece lying entirely in the action andaccordingly the play began, and at the appointed time Black Bessleapt into the grassy circle amid the plaudits of the spectators.At the turnpike scene, where Bess and Turpin are hotly pursued atmidnight by the officers, and the half-awake gatekeeper in histasselled nightcap denies that any horseman has passed, Cogganuttered a broad-chested "Well done!" which could be heard all overthe fair above the bleating, and Poorgrass smiled delightedly with anice sense of dramatic contrast between our hero, who coolly leapsthe gate, and halting justice in the form of his enemies, who mustneeds pull up cumbersomely and wait to be let through. At the deathof Tom King, he could not refrain from seizing Coggan by the hand,and whispering, with tears in his eyes, "Of course he's not reallyshot, Jan--only seemingly!" And when the last sad scene came on, andthe body of the gallant and faithful Bess had to be carried out on ashutter by twelve volunteers from among the spectators, nothing couldrestrain Poorgrass from lending a hand, exclaiming, as he askedJan to join him, "Twill be something to tell of at Warren's infuture years, Jan, and hand down to our children." For many a yearin Weatherbury, Joseph told, with the air of a man who had hadexperiences in his time, that he touched with his own hand the hoofof Bess as she lay upon the board upon his shoulder. If, as somethinkers hold, immortality consists in being enshrined in others'memories, then did Black Bess become immortal that day if she neverhad done so before.
Meanwhile Troy had added a few touches to his ordinary make-up forthe character, the more effectually to disguise himself, and thoughhe had felt faint qualms on first entering, the metamorphosiseffected by judiciously "lining" his face with a wire rendered himsafe from the eyes of Bathsheba and her men. Nevertheless, he wasrelieved when it was got through.
There was a second performance in the evening, and the tent waslighted up. Troy had taken his part very quietly this time,venturing to introduce a few speeches on occasion and was justconcluding it when, whilst standing at the edge of the circlecontiguous to the first row of spectators, he observed within ayard of him the eye of a man darted keenly into his side features.Troy hastily shifted his position, after having recognized in thescrutineer the knavish bailiff Pennyways, his wife's sworn enemy,who still hung about the outskirts of Weatherbury.
At first Troy resolved to take no notice and abide by circumstances.That he had been recognized by this man was highly probable; yetthere was room for a doubt. Then the great objection he had felt toallowing news of his proximity to precede him to Weatherbury in theevent of his return, based on a feeling that knowledge of his presentoccupation would discredit him still further in his wife's eyes,returned in full force. Moreover, should he resolve not to return atall, a tale of his being alive and being in the neighbourhood wouldbe awkward; and he was anxious to acquire a knowledge of his wife'stemporal affairs before deciding which to do.
In this dilemma Troy at once went out to reconnoitre. It occurredto him that to find Pennyways, and make a friend of him if possible,would be a very wise act. He had put on a thick beard borrowed fromthe establishment, and in this he wandered about the fair-field. Itwas now almost dark, and respectable people were getting their cartsand gigs ready to go home.
The largest refreshment booth in the fair was provided by aninnkeeper from a neighbouring town. This was considered anunexceptionable place for obtaining the necessary food and rest:Host Trencher (as he was jauntily called by the local newspaper)being a substantial man of high repute for catering through all thecountry round. The tent was divided into first and second-classcompartments, and at the end of the first-class division was a yetfurther enclosure for the most exclusive, fenced off from the bodyof the tent by a luncheon-bar, behind which the host himself stoodbustling about in white apron and shirt-sleeves, and looking as ifhe had never lived anywhere but under canvas all his life. In thesepenetralia were chairs and a table, which, on candles being lighted,made quite a cozy and luxurious show, with an urn, plated tea andcoffee pots, china teacups, and plum cakes.
Troy stood at the entrance to the booth, where a gipsy-woman wasfrying pancakes over a little fire of sticks and selling them at apenny a-piece, and looked over the heads of the people within. Hecould see nothing of Pennyways, but he soon discerned Bathshebathrough an opening into the reserved space at the further end. Troythereupon retreated, went round the tent into the darkness, andlistened. He could hear Bathsheba's voice immediately inside thecanvas; she was conversing with a man. A warmth overspread hisface: surely she was not so unprincipled as to flirt in a fair!He wondered if, then, she reckoned upon his death as an absolutecertainty. To get at the root of the matter, Troy took a penknifefrom his pocket and softly made two little cuts crosswise in thecloth, which, by folding back the corners left a hole the size of awafer. Close to this he placed his face, withdrawing it again in amovement of surprise; for his eye had been within twelve inches ofthe top of Bathsheba's head. It was too near to be convenient. Hemade another hole a little to one side and lower down, in a shadedplace beside her chair, from which it was easy and safe to surveyher by looking horizontally.
Troy took in the scene completely now. She was leaning back, sippinga cup of tea that she held in her hand, and the owner of the malevoice was Boldwood, who had apparently just brought the cup to her,Bathsheba, being in a negligent mood, leant so idly against thecanvas that it was pressed to the shape of her shoulder, and she was,in fact, as good as in Troy's arms; and he was obliged to keep hisbreast carefully backward that she might not feel its warmth throughthe cloth as he gazed in.
Troy found unexpected chords of feeling to be stirred again withinhim as they had been stirred earlier in the day. She was handsomeas ever, and she was his. It was some minutes before he couldcounteract his sudden wish to go in, and claim her. Then he thoughthow the proud girl who had always looked down upon him even whilst itwas to love him, would hate him on discovering him to be a strollingplayer. Were he to make himself known, that chapter of his lifemust at all risks be kept for ever from her and from the Weatherburypeople, or his name would be a byword throughout the parish. Hewould be nicknamed "Turpin" as long as he lived. Assuredly beforehe could claim her these few past months of his existence must beentirely blotted out.
"Shall I get you another cup before you start, ma'am?" said FarmerBoldwood.
"Thank you," said Bathsheba. "But I must be going at once. It wasgreat neglect in that man to keep me waiting here till so late. Ishould have gone two hours ago, if it had not been for him. I had noidea of coming in here; but there's nothing so refreshing as a cup oftea, though I should never have got one if you hadn't helped me."
Troy scrutinized her cheek as lit by the candles, and watched eachvarying shade thereon, and the white shell-like sinuosities of herlittle ear. She took out her purse and was insisting to Boldwood onpaying for her tea for herself, when at this moment Pennyways enteredthe tent. Troy trembled: here was his scheme for respectabilityendangered at once. He was about to leave his hole of espial,attempt to follow Pennyways, and find out if the ex-bailiff hadrecognized him, when he was arrested by the conversation, and foundhe was too late.
"Excuse me, ma'am," said Pennyways; "I've some private informationfor your ear alone."
"I cannot hear it now," she said, coldly. That Bathsheba could notendure this man was evident; in fact, he was
continually coming toher with some tale or other, by which he might creep into favour atthe expense of persons maligned.
"I'll write it down," said Pennyways, confidently. He stooped overthe table, pulled a leaf from a warped pocket-book, and wrote uponthe paper, in a round hand--
"YOUR HUSBAND IS HERE. I'VE SEEN HIM. WHO'S THE FOOL NOW?"
This he folded small, and handed towards her. Bathsheba would notread it; she would not even put out her hand to take it. Pennyways,then, with a laugh of derision, tossed it into her lap, and, turningaway, left her.
From the words and action of Pennyways, Troy, though he had not beenable to see what the ex-bailiff wrote, had not a moment's doubt thatthe note referred to him. Nothing that he could think of could bedone to check the exposure. "Curse my luck!" he whispered, andadded imprecations which rustled in the gloom like a pestilent wind.Meanwhile Boldwood said, taking up the 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 is unjust not toread it; but I can guess what it is about. He wants me to recommendhim, or it is to tell me of some little scandal or another connectedwith my work-people. He's always doing that."
Bathsheba held the note in her right hand. Boldwood handed towardsher a plate of cut bread-and-butter; when, in order to take a slice,she put the note into her left hand, where she was still holdingthe purse, and then allowed her hand to drop beside her close tothe canvas. The moment had come for saving his game, and Troyimpulsively felt that he would play the card. For yet another timehe looked at the fair hand, and saw the pink finger-tips, and theblue veins of the wrist, encircled by a bracelet of coral chippingswhich she wore: how familiar it all was to him! Then, with thelightning action in which he was such an adept, he noiselesslyslipped his hand under the bottom of the tent-cloth, which was farfrom being pinned tightly down, lifted it a little way, keeping hiseye to the hole, snatched the note from her fingers, dropped thecanvas, and ran away in the gloom towards the bank and ditch, smilingat the scream of astonishment which burst from her. Troy then sliddown on the outside of the rampart, hastened round in the bottom ofthe entrenchment to a distance of a hundred yards, ascended again,and crossed boldly in a slow walk towards the front entrance ofthe tent. His object was now to get to Pennyways, and prevent arepetition of the announcement until such time as he should choose.
Troy reached the tent door, and standing among the groups theregathered, looked anxiously for Pennyways, evidently not wishing tomake himself prominent by inquiring for him. One or two men werespeaking of a daring attempt that had just been made to rob a younglady by lifting the canvas of the tent beside her. It was supposedthat the rogue had imagined a slip of paper which she held in herhand to be a bank note, for he had seized it, and made off withit, leaving her purse behind. His chagrin and disappointment atdiscovering its worthlessness would be a good joke, it was said.However, the occurrence seemed to have become known to few, for ithad not interrupted a fiddler, who had lately begun playing by thedoor of the tent, nor the four bowed old men with grim countenancesand walking-sticks in hand, who were dancing "Major Malley's Reel"to the tune. Behind these stood Pennyways. Troy glided up to him,beckoned, and whispered a few words; and with a mutual glance ofconcurrence the two men went into the night together.
