Far from the Madding Crowd Thomas Hardy (best books for 20 year olds .TXT) đ
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- Author: Thomas Hardy
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âYes.â
âAnd when the wedding was over, weâd have it put in the newspaper list of marriages.â
âDearly I should like that!â
âAnd the babies in the birthsâ âevery man jack of âem! And at home by the fire, whenever you look up, there I shall beâ âand whenever I look up there will be you.â
âWait, wait, and donât be improper!â
Her countenance fell, and she was silent awhile. He regarded the red berries between them over and over again, to such an extent, that holly seemed in his after life to be a cipher signifying a proposal of marriage. Bathsheba decisively turned to him.
âNo; âtis no use,â she said. âI donât want to marry you.â
âTry.â
âI have tried hard all the time Iâve been thinking; for a marriage would be very nice in one sense. People would talk about me, and think I had won my battle, and I should feel triumphant, and all that, But a husbandâ ââ
âWell!â
âWhy, heâd always be there, as you say; whenever I looked up, there heâd be.â
âOf course he wouldâ âI, that is.â
âWell, what I mean is that I shouldnât mind being a bride at a wedding, if I could be one without having a husband. But since a woman canât show off in that way by herself, I shanât marryâ âat least yet.â
âThatâs a terrible wooden story!â
At this criticism of her statement Bathsheba made an addition to her dignity by a slight sweep away from him.
âUpon my heart and soul, I donât know what a maid can say stupider than that,â said Oak. âBut dearest,â he continued in a palliative voice, âdonât be like it!â Oak sighed a deep honest sighâ ânone the less so in that, being like the sigh of a pine plantation, it was rather noticeable as a disturbance of the atmosphere. âWhy wonât you have me?â he appealed, creeping round the holly to reach her side.
âI cannot,â she said, retreating.
âBut why?â he persisted, standing still at last in despair of ever reaching her, and facing over the bush.
âBecause I donât love you.â
âYes, butâ ââ
She contracted a yawn to an inoffensive smallness, so that it was hardly ill-mannered at all. âI donât love you,â she said.
âBut I love youâ âand, as for myself, I am content to be liked.â
âOh Mr. Oakâ âthatâs very fine! Youâd get to despise me.â
âNever,â said Mr. Oak, so earnestly that he seemed to be coming, by the force of his words, straight through the bush and into her arms. âI shall do one thing in this lifeâ âone thing certainâ âthat is, love you, and long for you, and keep wanting you till I die.â His voice had a genuine pathos now, and his large brown hands perceptibly trembled.
âIt seems dreadfully wrong not to have you when you feel so much!â she said with a little distress, and looking hopelessly around for some means of escape from her moral dilemma. âHow I wish I hadnât run after you!â However she seemed to have a shortcut for getting back to cheerfulness, and set her face to signify archness. âIt wouldnât do, Mr. Oak. I want somebody to tame me; I am too independent; and you would never be able to, I know.â
Oak cast his eyes down the field in a way implying that it was useless to attempt argument.
âMr. Oak,â she said, with luminous distinctness and common sense, âyou are better off than I. I have hardly a penny in the worldâ âI am staying with my aunt for my bare sustenance. I am better educated than youâ âand I donât love you a bit: thatâs my side of the case. Now yours: you are a farmer just beginning; and you ought in common prudence, if you marry at all (which you should certainly not think of doing at present), to marry a woman with money, who would stock a larger farm for you than you have now.â
Gabriel looked at her with a little surprise and much admiration.
âThatâs the very thing I had been thinking myself!â he naively said.
Farmer Oak had one-and-a-half Christian characteristics too many to succeed with Bathsheba: his humility, and a superfluous moiety of honesty. Bathsheba was decidedly disconcerted.
âWell, then, why did you come and disturb me?â she said, almost angrily, if not quite, an enlarging red spot rising in each cheek.
âI canât do what I think would beâ âwould beâ ââ
âRight?â
âNo: wise.â
âYou have made an admission now, Mr. Oak,â she exclaimed, with even more hauteur, and rocking her head disdainfully. âAfter that, do you think I could marry you? Not if I know it.â
He broke in passionately. âBut donât mistake me like that! Because I am open enough to own what every man in my shoes would have thought of, you make your colours come up your face, and get crabbed with me. That about your not being good enough for me is nonsense. You speak like a ladyâ âall the parish notice it, and your uncle at Weatherbury is, I have heerd, a large farmerâ âmuch larger than ever I shall be. May I call in the evening, or will you walk along with me oâ Sundays? I donât want you to make-up your mind at once, if youâd rather not.â
âNoâ ânoâ âI cannot. Donât press me any moreâ âdonât. I donât love youâ âso âtwould be ridiculous,â she said, with a laugh.
No man likes to see his emotions the sport of a merry-go-round of skittishness. âVery well,â said Oak, firmly, with the bearing of one who was going to give his days and nights to Ecclesiastes for ever. âThen Iâll ask you no more.â
V Departure of Bathsheba; A Pastoral TragedyThe news which one day reached Gabriel, that Bathsheba Everdene had left the neighbourhood, had an influence upon him which might have surprised any who never suspected that the more emphatic the renunciation the less absolute its character.
It may have been observed that there is no regular path for getting out of love as there is for getting in. Some people look upon marriage as a shortcut that way, but it has been known to fail. Separation, which
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