4750 
 
 IV147 
 
 1905 
 
mm 
 
 Lr^iT^."''^' 
 
 CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 BOUGHT WITH THE INCOME 
 OF THE SAGE ENDOWMENT 
 FUND GIVEN IN 1891 BY 
 
 HENRY WILLIAMS SAGE 
 
Cornell university Library 
 PR 4750.M47 1905 
 
 
 ™"7^"^4"013 478 064 o'-J 
 
The original of tliis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013478064 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
^150 
 
 1^05 
 
 "^■^ta^^l 
 
 
 ^Jff 
 
PREFACE 
 
 JxEADERS of the following story who have not yet 
 arrived at middle age are asked to bear in mind that, 
 in the days recalled by the tale, the home Corn Trade, 
 on which so much of the action turns, had an importance 
 that can hardly be realized by those accustomed to the 
 sixpenny loaf of the present date, and to the present 
 indifference of the public to harvest weather. 
 
 The incidents narrated arise mainly out of three events, 
 which chanced to range themselves in the order and at 
 or about the intervals of time here given, in the real 
 history of the town called Casterbridge and the neigh- 
 bouring country. They were the sale of a wife by her 
 husband, the uncertain harvests which immediately pre- 
 ceded the repeal of the Corn Laws, and the visit of a 
 Royal personage to the aforesaid part of England. 
 
 The present edition of the volume contains nearly a 
 chapter which has never yet appeared in any English copy, 
 though it was printed in the serial issue of the tale, and in 
 the American edition. The restoration was made at the 
 instance of some good judges across the Atlantic, who 
 strongly represented that the home edition suffered from the 
 
 V 
 
PREFACE 
 
 omission. Some shorter passages and names, omitted or 
 altered for reasons which no longer exist, in the original 
 printing of both English and American editions, have also 
 been replaced or inserted for the first time. 
 
 The story is more particularly a study of one man's deeds 
 and character than, perhaps, any other of those included 
 in my little Exhibition of Wessex life. Objections have 
 been raised to the Scotch language of Mr. Farfrae, the 
 second character ; and one of his fellow-countrymen went 
 so far as to declare that men beyond the Tweed did not 
 and never could say "warrld," "cannet," " advairrtisment," 
 and so on. As this gentleman's pronunciation in correcting 
 me seemed to my Southron ear an exact repetition of what 
 my spelling implied, I was not struck with the truth of 
 his remark, and somehow we did not get any forwarder in 
 the matter. It must be remembered that the Scotchman 
 of the tale is represented not as he would appear to other 
 Scotchmen, but as he would appear to people of outer 
 regions. Moreover, no attempt is made herein to repro- 
 duce his entire pronunciation phonetically, any more than 
 that of the Wessex speakers. I should add, however, 
 that this new edition of the book has had the accidental 
 advantage of a critical overlooking by a professor of the 
 tongue in question — one of undoubted authority : — in fact 
 he is a gentleman who adopted it for urgent personal 
 reasons in the first year of his existence. 
 
 Furthermore, a charming non-Scottish lady, of strict 
 
 veracity and admitted penetration, the wife of a well-known 
 
 Caledonian, came to the writer shortly after the story was 
 vi 
 
PREFACE 
 
 first published, and inquired if Farfrae were not drawn 
 from her husband, for he seemed to her to be the living 
 portrait of that (doubtless) happy man. It happened that 
 I had never thought of her husband in constructing 
 Farfrae. I trust therefore that Farfrae may be allowed 
 to pass, if not as a Scotchman to Scotchmen, as a Scotch- 
 man to Southerners. 
 
 T. H. 
 February 1895. 
 

 \J NE evening of late summer, before the present cen- 
 tury had reached its thirtieth year, a young man and 
 woman, the latter carrying a child, were approaching the 
 large village of Weydon-Priors, in Upper Wessex, on 
 foot. They were plainly but not ill clad, though the 
 thick hoar of dust which had accumulated on their 
 shoes and garments from an obviously long journey lent 
 a disadvantageous shabbiness to their appearance just 
 now. 
 
 The man was of fi ne figure, s warthy, and stern in 
 aspect; and he showed in profile a facial angle so 
 slightly inclined as to be almost perpendicular. He 
 wore a short jacket of brown corduroy, newer than the 
 remainder of his suit, which was a fustian waistcoat 
 with white horn buttons, breeches of the same, tanned 
 leggings, and a straw hat overlaid with black glazed 
 canvas. At his back he carried by a looped strap a 
 rush basket, from which protruded at one end the 
 crutch of a hay-knife, a wimble for hay-bonds being 
 also visible in the aperture. His measured, springless 
 walk was the walk of the skilled countryman as distinct 
 from the desultory shamble of the general labourer; 
 while in the turn and plant of each foot there was, 
 further, a dogged and cynical indifference, personal to 
 himself, showing its presence even in the regularly inter- 
 
 I A 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 changing fnstian folds, now in the left leg, now in the 
 right, as he paced along. 
 
 What was really peculiar, however, in this couple's 
 progress, and would have attracted the attention of any 
 casual observer otherwise disposed to overlook them, 
 was the perfect silence they preserved. They walked 
 side by side in such a way as to suggest afar off the 
 low, easy, confidential chat of people full of reciprocity; 
 but on closer view it could be discerned' that the man 
 was reading, or pretending to read, a ballad sheet 
 which he kept before his eyes with some difficulty by 
 the hand that was passed through the basket strap. 
 Whether this apparent cause were the real cause, or 
 whether it were an assumed one to escape an inter- 
 course that would have been irksome to him, nobody 
 but himself could have said precisely; but his taci- 
 turnity was unbroken, and the woman enjoyed no 
 society whatever from his presence. Virtually she 
 walked the highway alone, save for the child she bore. 
 Sometimes the man's bent elbow almost touched her 
 shoulder, for she kept as close to his side as was 
 possible without actual contact; but she seemed to 
 have no idea of taking his arm, nor he of offering it ; 
 and far from exhibiting surprise at his ignoring silence, 
 she appeared to receive it as a natural thing. If any 
 word at all were uttered by the little group, it was an 
 occasional whisper of the woman to the child — a tiny 
 
 girl in short clothes and blue boots of knitted yarn 
 
 and the murmured babble of the child in reply. 
 
 The chief — almost the only — attraction of the young 
 woman's face was its mobility. When she looked down 
 sideways to the girl she became pretty, and even hand- 
 some, particularly that in the action her features caught 
 slantwise the rays of the strongly coloured sun, which 
 made transparencies of her eyelids and nostrils, and set 
 fire on her lips. When she plodded on in the shade of 
 the hedge, silently thinking, she had the hard, half- 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 apathetic expression of one who deems anything pos- 
 sil^le_aJLjhe^ands^LIiDi£-and^jCliaBcg,_^except,„pgrhaps, 
 faii^ay. The first^phase was the-jrork^of Nature, the 
 second^robablyj)f (dxilization. 
 
 That the man and woman were husband and wife, 
 and the parents of the girl in arms, there could be 
 little doubt. No other than such relationship would 
 have accounted for the atmosphere of stale familiarity 
 which the trio carried along with them like a nimbus 
 as they moved down the road. 
 
 The wife mostly kept her eyes fixed ahead, though 
 with little interest — the scene for that matter being one 
 that might have been matched at almost any spot in 
 any county in England at this time of the year ; a road 
 neither straight nor crooked, neither level nor hilly, 
 bordered by hedges, trees, and other vegetation, which 
 had entered the blackened-green stage of colour that 
 the doomed leaves pass through on their way to dingy, 
 and yellow, and red. The grassy margin of the bank, 
 and the nearest hedgerow boughs, were powdered by 
 the dust that had been stirred over them by hasty 
 vehicles, the same dust as it lay on the road deadening 
 their footfalls like a carpet ; and this, with the aforesaid 
 total absence of conversation, allowed every extraneous 
 sound to be heard. 
 
 For a long time there was none, beyond the voice 
 of a~wealfbird singing a trite old evening song that 
 might doubtless have been heard on the hill at the 
 same hour, and with the self-same trills, quavers, and 
 breves, at any sunset of that season for centuries untold. 
 But as they approached the village sundry distant shouts 
 and rattles reached their ears from some elevated spot 
 in that direction, as yet screened from view by foliage. 
 When the outlying houses of Weydon-Priors could just 
 be descried, the family group was met by a turnip-hoer 
 with his hoe on his shoulder, and his dinner-bag sus- 
 pended from it. The reader promptly glanced up. 
 
 3 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 •Any trade doing here?' he asked phlegmatically, 
 designating the village in his van by a wave of the 
 broadsheet. And thinking the labourer did not under- 
 stand him, he added, 'Anything in the hay-trussing 
 line?' 
 
 The turnip-hoer had already begun shaking his head. 
 'Why, save the man, what wisdom's in him that 'a 
 should come to Weydon for a job of that sort this time 
 o' year ? ' 
 
 ' Then is there any house to let — a little small new 
 cottage just a builded, or such like ? ' asked the other. 
 
 The pessimist still maintained a negative. ' Pulling 
 down is more the nater of Weydon. There were five 
 houses cleared away last year, and three this ; and the 
 volk nowhere to go — no, not so much as a thatched 
 hurdle ; that's the way o' Weydon-Priors.' 
 
 The hay-trusser, which he obviously was, nodded 
 with some superciUousness. Looking towards the 
 village, he continued, 'There is something going on 
 here, however, is there not ? ' 
 
 ' Ay. 'Tis Fair Day. Though what you hear now 
 is little more than the clatter and scurry of getting 
 away the money o' children and fools, for the real 
 business is done earlier than this. I've been working 
 within sound o't all day, but I didn't go up — not I. 
 'Twas no business of mine.' 
 
 The trusser and his family proceeded on their way, 
 and soon entered the Fair-field, which showed standing- 
 places and pens where many hundreds of horses and 
 sheep had been exhibited and sold in the forenoon, but 
 were now in great part taken away. At present, as 
 their informant had observed, but little real business 
 remained on hand, the chief being the sale by auction 
 of a few inferior animals, that could not otherwise be 
 disposed of, and had been absolutely refused by the 
 better class of traders, who came and went early. Yet 
 the crowd was denser now than during the morning 
 4 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 hours, the frivolous contingent of visitors, including 
 journeymen out for a holiday, a stray soldier or two 
 home on furlough, village shopkeepers, and the like, 
 having latterly flocked in ; persons whose activities 
 found a congenial field among the peep-shows, toy- 
 stands, waxworks, inspired monsters, disinterested medi- 
 cal men who travelled for the public good, thimble- 
 riggers, nick-nack vendors, and reade rs of F ate. 
 
 Neither of our pedestrians had much heart for these 
 things, and they looked around for a refreshment tent 
 among the many which dotted the down. Two, which 
 stood nearest to them in the ochreous haze of expiring 
 sunlight, seemed almost equally inviting. One was 
 formed of new, milk-hued canvas, and bore red flags on 
 its summit ; it announced ' Good Home-brewed Beer, 
 Ale, and Cyder.' The other was less newj a little 
 iron stove-pipe came out of it at the back, and in front 
 appeared the placard, ' Good Furmity Sold Hear.' 
 The man mentally weighed the two inscriptions, and 
 inclined to the former tent. 
 
 ' No — no — the other one,' said the woman. ' I 
 always like furmity; and so does Elizabeth- Jane ; and 
 so will you. It is nourishing after a long hard day.' 
 
 ' I've never tasted it,' said the man. However, he 
 gave way to her representations, and they entered the 
 furmity booth forthwith. 
 
 A rather numerous company appeared within, seated 
 at the long narrow tables that ran down the tent on 
 each side. At the upper end stood a stove, containing 
 a charcoal fire, over which hung a large three-legged 
 crock, sufficiently polished round the rim to show that 
 it was made of bell-metal. A haggish creature of about 
 fifty presided, in a white apron, which, as it threw an 
 air of respectability over her as far as it extended, was 
 made so wide as to reach nearly round her waist. She 
 slowly stirred the contents of the pot. The dull scrape 
 of her large spoon was audible throughout the tent as 
 
 5 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 she thus kept from burning the mixture of corn in the 
 grain, milk, raisins, currants, and .what not, that com- 
 posed the antiquated slop in which she dealt. Vessels 
 holding the separate ingredients stood on a white-clothed 
 table of boards and trestles close by. 
 
 The young man and woman ordered a basin each 
 of the mixture, steaming hot, and sat down to consume 
 it at leisure. This was very well so far, for furmity, 
 as the woman had said, was nourishing, and as proper 
 a food as could be obtained within the four seasj 
 though, to those not accustomed to it, the grains of 
 wheat, swollen as large as lemon-pips, which floated 
 on its surface, might have a deterrent effect at first. 
 
 But there was more in that tent than met the cursory 
 glance ; and the man, with the instinct of a perverse 
 character, scented it quickly. After a mincing attack 
 on his bowl, he watched the hag's proceedings from the 
 corner of his eye, and saw the game she played. He 
 winked to her, and passed up his basin in reply to her 
 nod ; when she took a bottle from under the table, slily 
 measured out a quantity of its contents, and tipped 
 the same into the man's furmity. The liquor poured 
 in was rum. The man as slily sent back money in 
 payment. 
 
 He found the concoction, thus strongly laced, much 
 more to his satisfaction than it had been in its natural 
 state. His wife had observed the proceeding with much 
 uneasiness; but he persuaded her to have hers laced 
 also, and she agreed to a milder allowance after some 
 misgiving. 
 
 The man finished his basin, and called for another, 
 the rum being signalled for in yet stronger proportion. 
 The effect of it was soon apparent in his manner, and 
 his wife but too sadly perceived that in strenuously 
 steering off the rocks of the licensed liquor-tent she 
 had only got into maelstrom depths here amongst the 
 smugglers. 
 
 6 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 The child began to prattle impatiently, aud-the wife 
 more than once said to her husband, ' j^hfteQ how 
 about our lodging? You know we may have trouble 
 in getting it if we don't go soon.' 
 
 But he turned a deaf ear to those bird-like chirpings. 
 He talked loud to the company. The child's black 
 eyes, after slow, round, ruminating gazes at the candles 
 when they were lighted, fell together ; then they opened, 
 then shut again, and she slept. 
 
 At the end of the first basin the man had risen to 
 serenity; at the second he was jovial; at the third, 
 argumentative; at the fourth, the qualities signified 
 by the shape of his face, the occasional clench of his 
 mouth, and the fiery spark of his dark eye, began to 
 tell in his conduct ; he was overbearing — even brilliantly 
 quarrelsome. 
 
 The conversation took a high turn, as it often does 
 on such occasions. The ruin of good men by bad 
 wives, and, more particularly, the frustration of many a 
 promising youth's high aims and hopes, and the extinc- 
 tion of his energies, by an early imprudent marriage, 
 was the theme. 
 
 ' I did for myself that way thoroughly,' said the 
 trusser, with a contemplative bitterness that was well- 
 nigh resentful. ' I married at eighteen, like the fool 
 that I was; and this is the consequence o't.' He 
 pointed at himself and family with a wave of the 
 hand intended to bring out the penuriousness of the 
 exhibition. 
 
 The young woman his wife, who seemed accustomed 
 to such remarks, acted as if she did not hear them, 
 and continued her intermittent private words on tender 
 trifles to the sleeping and waking child, who was just 
 big enough to be placed for a moment on the bench 
 beside her when she wished to ease her arms. The 
 man continued — 
 
 • I haven't more than fifteen shillings in the world, 
 7 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 and yet I am a good experienced hand in my line. I'd 
 challenge England to beat me in the fodder business ; 
 and if I were a free man again, I'd be worth a thousand 
 pound before I'd done o't. But a fellow never knows these 
 httle things till all chance of acting upon 'em is past.' 
 
 The auctioneer selling the old horses in the field 
 outside could be heard saying, ' Now this is the last 
 lot — now who'll take the last'lot for a song? Shall I 
 say forty shillings ? 'Tis a very promising brood-mare, 
 a trifle over five years old, and nothing the matter with 
 the hoss at all, except that she's a Httle holler in the 
 back and had her left eye knocked out by the kick of 
 another, her own sister, coming along the road.' 
 
 ' For my part I don't see why men who have got 
 wives, and don't want 'em, shouldn't get rid of 'em as 
 these gipsy fellows do their old horses,' said the man 
 in the tent. ' Why shouldn't they put 'em up and sell 
 'em by auction to men who are in want of such articles ? 
 Hey? Why, begad, I'd sell mine this minute if anybody 
 would buy her ! ' 
 
 ■There's them that would do that,' some of the 
 guests replied, looking at the woman, who was by no 
 means ill-favoured. 
 
 ' True,' said a smoking gentleman, whose coat had 
 the fine polish about the collar, elbows, seams, and 
 shoulder-blades that long-continued friction with grimy 
 surfaces will produce, and which is usually more desired 
 on furniture than on clothes. From his appearance he 
 had possibly been in former time groom or coachman 
 to some neighbouring county family. 'I've had my 
 breedings in as good circles, I may say, as any man,' 
 he added, ' and I know true cultivation, or nobody do ; 
 and I can declare she's got it — ^in the bone, mind ye, I 
 say — as much as any female in the fair — though it may 
 want a little bringing out.' Then, crossing his legs, he 
 resumed his pipe with a nicely-adjusted gaze at a point 
 in the air. 
 
 8 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 The fuddled young husband stared for a few seconds 
 at this unexpected praise of his wife, half in doubt of 
 the wisdom of his own attitude towards the possessor 
 of such qualities. But he speedily lapsed into his 
 former conviction, and said harshly — 
 
 ' Well, then, now is your chance ; I am open to an 
 offer for this gem o' creation.' 
 
 She turned to her husband and murmured, ' Michael, 
 you have talked this nonsense in public places before. 
 A joke is a joke, but you may make it once too often, 
 mind ! ' 
 
 'I know I've said it before; I meant it. All I 
 want is a buyer.' 
 
 At the moment a swallow, one among the last of the 
 season, which had by chance found its way through an 
 opening into the upper part of the tent, flew to and fro 
 in quick curyes above their heads, causing all eyes to 
 follow it absently. In watching the bird till it made its 
 escape the assembled company neglected to respond to 
 the workman's offer, and the subject dropped. 
 
 But a quarter of an hour later the man, who had 
 gone on lacing his furmity more and more heavily, 
 though he was either so strong-minded or such an in- 
 trepid toper that he still appeared fairly sober, recurred 
 to the old strain, as in a musical fantasy the instrument 
 fetches up the original theme. ' Here — I am waiting 
 to know about this offer of mine. The woman is no 
 good to me. Who'll have her ? ' 
 
 The company had by this time decidedly degene- 
 rated, and the renewed inquiry was received with a 
 laugh of appreciation. The woman whispered; she 
 was imploring and anxious : ' Come, come, it is getting 
 dark, and this nonsense won't do. If you don't come 
 along, I shall go without you. Come ! ' 
 
 She waited and waited ; yet he did not move. In 
 ten minutes the man broke in upon the desultory con- 
 versation of the furmity drinkers with, ' I asked this 
 
 B 9 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 question, and nobody answered to't. Will any Jack 
 Rag or Tom Straw among ye buy my goods ? ' 
 
 The woman's manner changed, and her face assumed 
 the grim shape and colour of which mention has been 
 made. 
 
 'Mike, Mike,' said she; 'this is getting serious. 
 Oh ! — too serious ! ' 
 
 ' Will anybody buy her ? ' said the man. 
 
 ' I wish somebody would,' said she firmly. ' Her 
 present owner is not at all to her liking ! ' 
 
 ' Nor you to mine,' said he. ' So we are agreed 
 about that. Gentlemen, you hear ? It's an agreement 
 to part. She shall take the girl if she wants to, and 
 go her ways. I'll take my tools, and go my ways. 
 'Tis simple as Scripture history. Now then, stand up, 
 Susan, and show yourself.' 
 
 ' Don't, my chiel,' whispered a buxom staylace 
 dealer in voluminous petticoats, who sat near the 
 woman ; ' yer good man don't know what he's saying.' 
 
 The woman, however, did stand up. ' Now, who's 
 auctioneer ? ' cried the hay-trusser. 
 
 ' I be,' promptly answered a short man, with a 
 nose resembling a copper knob, a damp voice, and eyes 
 like button-holes. ' Who'll make an offer for this lady ? ' 
 
 The woman looked on the ground, as if she main- 
 tained her position by a supreme effort of will. 
 
 ' Five shillings,' said some one, at which there was 
 a laugh. 
 
 ' No insults,' said the husband. ' Who'll say a 
 guinea ? ' 
 
 Nobody answered; and the female dealer in stay- 
 laces interposed. 
 
 'Behave yerself moral, good man, for Heaven's 
 love! Ah, what a cruelty is the poor soul married 
 to ! Bed and board is dear at some figures, 'pon my 
 'vation 'tis ! ' 
 
 ' Set it higher, auctioneer,' said the trusser. 
 
 lO 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 ' Two guineas ! ' said the auctioneer ; and no one 
 replied. 
 
 ' If they don't take her for that, in ten seconds 
 they'll have to give more,' said the husband. ' Very 
 well. Now, auctioneer, add another.' 
 
 ' Three guineas — going for three guineas ! ' said 
 the rheumy man. 
 
 ' No bid ? ' said the husband. ' Good Lord, why 
 she's cost me fifty times the money, if a penny. 
 Go on.' 
 
 ' Four guineas ! ' cried the .auctioneer. 
 
 ' I'll tell ye what — I won't sell her for less than 
 five,' said the husband, bringing down his fist so that 
 the basins danced. ' I'll sell her for five guineas to 
 any man that will pay me the money, and treat her 
 well; and he shall have her for ever, and never hear 
 aught o' me. But she shan't go for less. Now then — 
 five guineas — and she's yours. Susan, you agree ? ' 
 
 She bowed her head with absolute indifference. 
 
 ' Five guineas,' said the auctioneer, ' or she'll be 
 withdrawn. Do anybody give it? The last time. 
 Yes or no ? ' 
 
 ' Yes,' said a loud voice from the doorway. 
 
 All eyes were turned. Standing in the triangular 
 opening which formed the door of the tent was a sailor, 
 who, unobserved by the rest, had arrived there within 
 the last two or three minutes. A dead silence followed 
 his affirmation. 
 
 ' You say you do ? ' asked the husband, staring 
 at him. 
 
 ' I say so,' replied the sailor. 
 
 ' Saying is one thing, and paying is another. W'here's 
 the money ? ' 
 
 The sailor hesitated a moment, looked anew at the 
 woman, came in, unfolded five crisp pieces of paper, and 
 threw them down upon the table-cloth. They were 
 Bank-of-England notes for five pounds. Upon the face 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 of this he chinked down the shillings severally — one, 
 two, three, four, five. 
 
 The sight of real money in full amount, in answer 
 to a challenge for the same till then deemed slightly 
 hypothetical, had a great effect upon the spectators. 
 Their eyes became riveted upon the faces of the chief 
 actors, and then upon the notes as they lay, weighted 
 by the shillings, on the table. 
 
 Up to this moment it could not positively have been 
 asserted that the man, in spite of his tantalizing declara- 
 tion, was really in earnest. The spectators had indeed 
 taken the proceedings throughout as a piece of mirthful 
 irony carried to extremes ; and had assumed that, being 
 out of work, he was, as a consequence, out of temper 
 with the world, and society, and his nearest kin. But 
 with the demand and response of real cash the jovial 
 frivolity of the scene departed. A lurid colour seemed 
 to fill the tent, and change the aspect of all therein. 
 The mirth-wrinkles left the listeners' faces, and they 
 waited with parting lips. 
 
 ' Now,' said the woman, breaking the silence, so 
 that her low dry voice sounded quite loud, ' before you 
 go further, Michael, listen to me. If you touch that 
 money, I and this girl go with the man. Mind, it is a 
 joke no longer.' 
 
 ' A joke ? Of course it is not a joke ! ' shouted 
 her husband, his resentment rising at her suggestion. 
 ' I take the money : the sailor takes you. That's plain 
 enough. It has been done elsewhere — and why not 
 here?' 
 
 "Tis quite on the understanding that the young 
 woman is willing,' said the sailor blandly. ' I wouldn't 
 hurt her feelings for the world.' 
 
 'Faith, nor I,' said her husband. 'But she is 
 willing, provided she can have the child. She said so 
 only the other day when I talked o't ! ' 
 
 • That you swear ? ' said the sailor to her. 
 
 12 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 ' I do,' said she, after glancing at her husband's 
 face and seeing no repentance there. 
 
 'Very -well, she shall have the child, and the 
 bargain's complete,' said the trusser. He took the 
 sailor's notes and deliberately folded them, and put 
 them with the shillings in a high remote pocket, with 
 an air of finality. 
 
 The sailor looked at the woman and smiled. ' Come 
 along ! ' he said kindly. ' The little one too — the 
 more the merrier ! ' She paused for an instant, with a 
 close glance at him. Then dropping her eyes again, 
 and saying nothing, she took up the child and followed 
 him as he made towards the door. On reaching it, she 
 turned, and pulling off her wedding-ring, flung it across 
 the booth in the hay-trusser's face. 
 
 ' Mike,' she said, ' I've lived with thee a couple of 
 years, and had nothing but temper! Now I'm no 
 more to 'ee; I'll try my luck elsewhere. 'Twill be 
 better for me and the child, both. So good-bye ! ' 
 
 Seizing the sailor's arm with her right hand, and 
 mounting the little girl on her left, she went out of 
 the tent sobbing bitterly. 
 
 A stolid look of concern filled the husband's face, 
 as if, after all, he had not quite anticipated this ending ; 
 and some of the guests laughed. 
 
 ' Is she gone ? ' he said. 
 
 'Faith, ayj she gone clane enough,' said some 
 rustics near the door. 
 
 He rose and walked to the entrance with the careful 
 tread of one conscious of his alcoholic load. Some 
 others followed, and they stood looking into the twi- 
 light. The difference between the peacefulness of in- 
 ferior nature and the wilful hostilities of mankind was 
 very apparent at this place. In contrast with the 
 harshness of the act just ended within the tent was the 
 ■ sight of several horses crossing their necks and rubbing 
 each other lovingly as they waited in patience to be 
 
 13 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 harnessed for the homeward journey. Outside the fair, 
 in the valleys and woods, all was quiet. The sun had 
 recently set, and the west heaven was hung with rosy 
 cloud, which seemed permanent, yet slowly changed. 
 To watch it was like looking at some grand feat of 
 stagery from a darkened auditorium. In presence of 
 this scene, after the other, there was a natural instinct 
 to abjure man as the blot on an otherwise kindly 
 universe; till it was remembered that all terrestrial 
 conditions were intermittent, and that mankind might 
 some night be innocently sleeping when these quiet 
 objects were raging loud. 
 
 ' Where do the sailor live ? ' asked a spectator, 
 when they had vainly gazed around. 
 
 'God knows that,' replied the man who had seen 
 high life. ' He's without doubt a stranger here.' 
 
 ' He came in about five minutes ago,' said the 
 furmity woman, joining the rest with her hands on her 
 hips. ' And then 'a stepped back, and then 'a looked 
 in again. I'm not a penny the better for him.' 
 
 ' Serves the husband well be-right,' said the stay- 
 lace vendor. 'A comely respectable Isody like her — 
 what can a man want more ? I glory in the woman's 
 sperrit. I'd ha' done it myself — od send if I wouldn't, 
 if a husband had behaved so to me ! I'd go, and 'a 
 might call, and call, till lus keacorn was raw ; but I'd 
 never come back — no, not till the great trumpet, 
 would I ! • 
 
 'Well, the woman will be better off,' said another 
 of a more deliberative turn. ' For seafaring naters be 
 very good shelter for shorn lambs, and the man do 
 seem to have plenty of money, which is what she's not 
 been used to lately, by all showings.' 
 
 ' Mark me— I'll not go after her ! ' said the trusser, 
 
 returning doggedly to his seat. 'Let her go! If 
 
 she's up to such vagaries she must suffer for *em. 
 
 She'd no business to take the maid — 'tis my maid; 
 
 14 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 and if it were the doing again she shouldn't have 
 her!' 
 
 Perhaps from some little sense of having counten- 
 anced an indefensible proceeding, perhaps because it 
 was late, the customers thinned away from the tent 
 shortly after this episode. The man stretched his 
 elbows forward on the table, leant his face upon his 
 arms, and soon began to snore. The furmity seller 
 decided to close for the night, and after seeing the 
 rum-bottles, milk, corn, raisins, &c., that remained on 
 hand, loaded into the cart, came to where the man 
 reclined. She shook him, but could not wake him. 
 As the tent was not to be struck that night, the fair 
 continuing for two or three days, she decided to let 
 the sleeper, who was obviously no tramp, stay where 
 he was, and his basket with him. Extinguishing the 
 last candle, and lowering the flap of the tent, she left 
 it, and drove away. 
 
II 
 
 The morning sun was streaming through the crevices 
 of the canvas when the man awoke. A warm glow 
 >i pervaded the whole atmosphere of the marquee, and 
 •i a single big blue fly buzzed musically round and round 
 it. Besides the buzz of the fly there was not a sound. 
 He looked about — at the benches — at the table sup- 
 ported by trestles — at his basket of tools— ^t the stove 
 where the furmity had been boiled — -at the empty 
 basins — at some shed grains of 'wheat — at the corks 
 which dotted the grassy floor. Among the odds and 
 ends he discerned a little shining object, and picked it 
 up. It was his wife's ring. 
 
 A confused picture of the events of the previous 
 evening seemed to come back to him, and he thrust 
 his hand into his breast-pocket. A rustling revealed 
 the sailor's bank-notes thrust carelessly in. 
 
 This second verification of his dim memories was 
 enough; he knew now they were not dreams. He 
 remained seated, looking on the ground for some time. 
 •I must get out of this as soon as I can,' he said 
 deliberately at last, with the air of one who could not 
 catch his thoughts without pronouncing them. 'She's-^ 
 gone — to be sure she is — gone with that ^ilar who 
 bought her, and Uttle Elizabeth- Jane. We walked here, 
 and I had the furmity, and rum in ijt^-and sold her' 
 i6 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 Yes, that's what's happened, and here am I. Now> 
 what am I to do — am I sober enough to walk, I 
 wonder ? ' He stood up, found that he was in fairly 
 good condition for progress, unencumbered. Next he 
 shouldered his tool basket, and found he could carry 
 it. Then lifting the tent door he emerged into the 
 open air. 
 
 Here the man looked around with gloomy curiosity? 
 The freshness of the September morning inspired and 
 braced him as he stood. He and his family had been 
 weary when they arrived the night before, and they 
 had observed but Uttle of the place; so that he now 
 beheld it as a new thing. It exhibited itself as the 
 top of an open down, bounded on one extreme by a 
 plantation, and approached by a winding road. At the 
 bottom stood the village which lent its name to the 
 upland, and the annual fair that was held thereon^' 
 The spot stretched downward into valleys, and onward 
 to other uplands, dotted with barrows, and tr^ched 
 with the remains of prehistoncjia£tS;__The wjiefe scene 
 lay under the rays of ff newlyrisen sunJ^;BjHich had not 
 as yet dried a single bla9u of-lhSneavily dewed grass, 
 whereon the shadows of the yellow and red vans were 
 projected far away, those thrown by the felloe of each 
 wheel being elongated in shape to the orbit of a comet. 
 All the gipsies and showmen who had remained on 
 the ground lay snug within their carts and tents, or« 
 wrapped in horse-cloths under them, and were silent 
 and still as death, with the exception of an occasional 
 snore that revealed their presence. But the Seven 
 Sleepers had a dog ; and dogs of the mysterious breeds 
 that vagrants own, that are as much like cats as dogs, 
 and as much like foxes as cats, also lay about here. 
 A little one started up under one of the carts, barked 
 as a matter of principle, and quickly lay down again. 
 He was the only positive spectator of the hay-trusser's 
 exit from the Weydon Fair-field. 
 
 17 B 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 This seemed to accord with his desire. He went 
 on in silent thought, unheeding the yellowhammers 
 which flitted about the hedges with straws in their 
 bills, the crowns of the mushrooms, and the tinkling 
 of local sheep-bells, whose wearers had had the good 
 fortune not to be included in the fair. AVhen he 
 reached a lane, a good mile from the scene of the 
 previous evening, the man pitched his basket, and 
 leant upon a gate. A difficult problem or two occupied 
 his mind. 
 
 'Did I tell my name to anybody last night, or 
 didn't I tell my name?' he said to himself; and at 
 last concluded that he did not. His general demeanour 
 was enough to show how he was surprised and nettled 
 that his wife had taken him so literally — as much could 
 be seen in his face, and in the way he nibbled a straw 
 which he pulled from the hedge. He knew that she i 
 BUtigt have been somewhat £j^eUfed-t o do . th is ; moreove^ 
 she must have believed that there was some sort of 
 binding force in the transaction. On this latter pointy 
 he felt almost certain, knowing her freedom from levity! 
 of character, and the extreme simplicity of her intellect. I 
 There may, too, have been enough recklessness and! 
 resentment beneath her ordinary placidity to make her i 
 stifle any momentary doubts. On a previous occasion! 
 when he had declared, during a fuddle, that he would! 
 dispose of her as he had done, she had replied that| 
 she would not hear him say that many times more j 
 before it happened, in the resign,ed tones of a fatalist. \ 
 . . . ' Yet she knows I am not in my senses when 
 I do that ? ' he exclaimed. ' Well, I must walk about 
 till I find her. . . . Seize her, why didn't she know 
 better than bring me into this disgrace ! ' he roared 
 out. ' She wasn't queer if I was. 'Tis like Susan to 
 show such idiotic simplicity. Meek — that meekness 
 has done me more harm than the bitterest temper ! ' 
 "^ When he was calmer, he turned to his original con- 
 
 i8 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 viction that he must somehow find her and his little 
 Elizabeth-Jane, and put up with the shame as best he 
 could. It was of his own making, and he ought to 
 bear it. But first he resolved to register an oath, a 
 greater oath than he had ever sworn before: and to 
 do it properly he required a fit place and imagery ; for 
 there was something fetichistic in this man's beliefs. 
 
 He shouldered his basket and moved on, casting 
 his eyes inquisitively round upon the landscape as he 
 walked, and at the distance of three or four miles 
 perceived the roofs of a village and the tower of a 
 church. He instantly made towards the latter object. 
 The village was quite still, it being that motionless 
 hour of rustic daily life which fills the interval between 
 the departure of the field-labourers to their work, and 
 the rising of their wives and daughters to prepare the 
 breakfast for their return. Hence he reached the 
 church without observation, and the door being only 
 latched, he entered. The hay-trusser deposited his 
 basket by the font, went up the nave till he reached 
 the altar-rails, and opening the gate, entered the sacra- 
 rium, where he seemed to feel a sense of the strange- 
 ness for a moment ; then he knelt upon the foot-pace. 
 Dropping his head upon the clamped book which lay 
 on the Communion-table, he said aloud — 
 
 ' I, Michael Henchard, on this morning of the 
 sixteenth of September, do take an oath here in this 
 solemn place that I will avoid all strong liquors for the 
 space of twenty years to come, being a year for every 
 year that I have lived. And this I swear upon the 
 book before me; and may I be strook dumb, Hind, 
 and helpless, if I break this my oath ! ' 
 
 When he had said it and kissed the big book, the 
 hay-trusser arose, and seemed relieved at having made 
 a start in a new direction. While standing in the 
 porch a moment, he saw a thick jet of wood smoke 
 suddenly start up from the red chimney of a cottage 
 
 19 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 near, and knew that the occupant had just ht h<!r fire. 
 He went round to the door, and the housewife agreed 
 to prepare him some breakfast for a trifling payment, 
 which was done. Then he started on the search for 
 his wife and child. 
 
 The perplexing nature of the undertaking became 
 apparent soon enough. Though he examined and 
 inquired, and walked hither and thither day after day, 
 no such characters as those he described had any- 
 where been seen since the evening of the fair. To add 
 to the difficulty, he could gain no sound of the sailor's 
 name. As money was short with him, he decided, 
 after some hesitation, to spend the sailor's money in 
 the prosecution of this search; but it was equally in 
 vain. The truth was, that a certain shyness of reveal- 
 ing his conduct prevented Michael Henchard from 
 following up the investigation with the loud hue-and- 
 cry such a pursuit demanded to render it effectual; 
 and it was probably for this reason that he obtained 
 no clue, though everything was done by him that did 
 not involve an explanation of the circumstances under 
 which he had lost her. 
 
 Weeks counted up to months, and still he searched 
 on, maintaining himself by small jobs of work in the 
 intervals. By this time he had arrived at a seaport, 
 and there he derived intelUgence that persons answering 
 somewhat to his description had emigrated a little time 
 before. Then he said he would search no longer, and 
 that he would go and settle in the district which he had 
 had for some time in his mind. Next day he started, 
 journeying south-westward, and did not pause, except 
 for nights' lodgings, till he reached the town of Caster- 
 bridge, in a far distant part of Wessex. 
 
HI 
 
 1 HE highroad into the village of Weydon Priors was 
 again carpeted with dust. The trees had put on as 
 of yore their aspect of dingy green, and where the 
 Henchard family of three had once walked along, two 
 persons not unconnected with that family walked now. 
 
 The scene in its broad aspect had so much of its 
 previous character, even to the voices and rattle from 
 the neighbouring village down, that it might for that 
 matter have been the afternoon following the previously 
 recorded episode. Change was only to be observed in 
 details ; but here it was obvious that a long procession 
 of years had passed by. One of the two who walked 
 the road was she who had figured as the young wife 
 of Henchard on the previous occasion ; now her face 
 had lost much of its rotundity; her skin had under- 
 gone a textural change; and though her hair had not 
 lost colour, it was considerably thinner than heretofore. 
 She was dressed in the mourning clothes of a widow. 
 Her companion, also in black, appeared as a well- 
 formed young woman of eighteen, completely possessed 
 of that ephemeral precious essence youth, which is itself 
 beauty, irrespective of complexion or contour. 
 
 A glance was sufficient to inform the eye that this 
 was Susan Henchard's grown-up daughter. 'While 
 life's middle summer had set its hardening mark on 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 the mother's face, her former spring-like specialities 
 were transferred so dexterously by Time to the second 
 figure, her child, that the absence of certain facts 
 within her mother's knowledge from the girl's mind 
 would have seemed for the moment, to one reflecting 
 on those facts, to be a curious imperfection in Nature's 
 powers of continuity. 
 
 They walked with joined hands, and it could be per- 
 ceived that this was the act of simple affection. The 
 daughter carried in her outer hand a withy basket of 
 old-fashioned make ; the mother a blue bundle, which 
 contrasted oddly with her black stuff gown. 
 
 Reaching the outskirts of the village, they pursued 
 the same track as formerly, and ascended to the fair.- 
 Here, too, it was evident that the years had told. Certain 
 mechanical improvements might have been noticed in 
 the roundabouts and highfliers, machines for testing 
 rustic strength and weight, and in the erections devoted 
 to shooting for nuts. But the real business of the fair 
 had considerably dwindled. The new periodical great 
 markets of neighbouring towns were beginning to inter- 
 fere seriously with the trade carried on here for centuries. 
 The pens for sheep, the tie-ropes for horses, were about 
 half as long as they had been. The stalls of tailors, 
 hosiers, coopers, linen-drapers, and other such trades 
 had almost disappeared, and the vehicles were far less 
 numerous. The mother and daughter threaded the 
 crowd for some little distance, and then stood still. 
 
 'Why did we hinder our time by coming in here? 
 I thought you wished to get onward ? ' said the maiden. 
 
 ' Yes, my dear Elizabeth- Jane,' explained the other. 
 ' But I had a fancy for looking up here.' 
 
 'Why?' 
 
 ' It was here I first met with Newson — on such a 
 day as this.' 
 
 'First met with father here? Yes, you have told 
 me so before. And now he's drowned and gone from 
 
 22 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 J15J,' As she spoke the girl drew a card from her 
 pocket and looked at it with a sigh. It was edged with 
 black, and inscribed within a design resembling a mural 
 tablet were the words, ' In affectionate memoiy of 
 Richard Newson, mariner, who was unfortunately lost 4 
 at sea, in the month of November 184 — , aged forty- 
 one years.' 
 
 ' And it was here,' continued her mother, with more 
 hesitation, ' that I last saw the relation we are going to 
 look for — Mr. Michael Henchard.' 
 
 ' What is his exact kin to us, mother ? I have never 
 clearly had it told me.' 
 
 ' He is, or was — for he may be dead — a connection 
 by marriage,' said her mother deliberately. 
 
 ' That's exactly what you have said a score of times 
 before ! ' repUed the young woman, looking about her 
 inattentively. ' He's not a near relation, I suppose ? ' 
 
 ' Not by any means.' 
 
 ' He was a hay-trusser, wasn't he, when you last 
 heard of him ? ' 
 
 ' He was.' 
 
 ' I suppose he never knew me ? ' the girl innocently 
 continued. 
 
 Mrs. Henchard paused for a moment, and answered 
 uneasily, ' Of course not, Elizabeth- Jane. But come 
 this way.' She moved on to another part of the field. 
 
 ' It is not much use inquiring here for anybody, I 
 should think,' the daughter observed, as she gazed round 
 about. ' People at fairs change like the leaves of trees ; 
 and I daresay you are the only one here to-day who was 
 here all those years ago.' 
 
 ' I am not so sure of that,' said Mrs. Newson, as 
 she now called herself, keenly eyeing something under 
 a green bank a little way off. ' See there.' 
 
 The daughter looked in the direction signified. The 
 object pointed out was a tripod of sticks stuck into the 
 earth, from which hung a three-legged crock, kept hot 
 
 23 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 by a smouldering wood fire beneath. Over the pot 
 stooped an old woman, haggard, wrinkled, and almost 
 in rags. She stirred the contents of the pot with a 
 large spoon, and occasionally croaked in a broken voice, 
 ' Good furmity sold here ! ' 
 
 It was indeed the former mistress of the furmity 
 tent — once thriving, cleanly, white-aproned, and chink- 
 ing with money — now tentless, dirty, owning no tables 
 or benches, and having scarce any customers except 
 two small whitey-bfown boys, who came up and asked 
 for 'A ha'p'orth, please — ^good measure,' which she 
 served in a couple of chipped yellow basins of com 
 monest clay. 
 
 ' She was here at that time,' resumed Mrs. Newson, 
 making a step as if to draw nearer. 
 
 ' Don't speak to her — it isn't respectable ! ' urged 
 the other. 
 
 ' I will just say a word — you, Elizabeth- Jane, can 
 stay here.' 
 
 The girl was not loth, and turned to some stalls of 
 coloured prints while her mother went forward. The 
 old woman begged for the latter's custom as soon as 
 she saw her, and responded to Mrs. Henchard-Newson's 
 request for a penn)rworth with more alacrity than she 
 had shown in selling sixpenn3rworths in her younger 
 days. Wtea,the^i^^a2uUiado.\»Jba4ja]5en ^e basin 
 Qf_thin poor slop that stood for Jlj^ejaph^oncoBtton 
 aLthe former time, the hag opened a little' "basket be- 
 ^lindthe fire,_ and looking up slily, whispered, 'Just a 
 jtjMi^Hro' -rum la it ? — smuggled, yott know — say two 
 pfenn^Eth^rr'twiUmake it slip down like cordial 1 ' 
 
 Her customer smiled bitterly at this survival of the 
 old trick, and shook her head with a meaning the old 
 woman was far from translating. She pretended to eat 
 a little of the furmity with the leaden spoon offered, and 
 as she did so, said blandly to the hag, 'You've seen 
 better days ? ' 
 
 24 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 ' Ah, ma'am — well ye may say it ! ' responded the 
 old woman, opening the sluices of her neart forthwith. 
 ' I've stood in this fair-ground, maid, wife, and widow, 
 these nine-and-thirty year, and in that time have known 
 what it was to do business with the richest stomachs in 
 the land ! Ma'am, you'd hardly believe that I was once 
 the owner of a great pavilion-tent that was the attraction 
 of the fair. Nobody could come, nobody could go, 
 without having a dish of Mrs. Goodenough's furmity. 
 I knew the clergy's taste, the dandy gent's taste ; I knew 
 the town's taste, the country's taste. I even knowed 
 the taste of the coarse shameless females. But seize 
 my life — the world's no memory ; straightforward deal- 
 ings don't bring profit — 't js the sl y anH fyf. nnr|prhanrl 
 t^f..get on in Jiiese times ! ' 
 
 Mrs. Newson glanced round — her daughter was still 
 bending over the distant stalls. 'Can you call to 
 mind,' she said cautiously to the old woman, ' the sale 
 of a wife by her husband in your tent eighteen years 
 ago to-day ? ' 
 
 The hag reflected, and half shook her head. ' If it 
 had been a big thing I should have minded it in a 
 moment,' she said. 'I can mind every serious fight 
 o' married parties, every murder, every manslaughter, 
 even every pocket-picking — ^leastwise large ones — that 
 't has been my lot to witness. But a selling? Was 
 it done quiet-like ? ' 
 
 ' Well, yes. I think so.' 
 
 The furmity woman half shook her head again. 
 ' And yet,' she said, ' I do. At any rate, I can mind 
 a man doing something o' the sort — a man in a cord 
 jacket, with a basket of tools ; but. Lord bless ye, we 
 don't gi'e it head-room, we don't, such as that. The 
 only reason why I can mind the man is that he came 
 back here to the next year's fair, and told me quite 
 private-like that if a woman ever asked for him I was 
 to say he had gone to — where ? — Casterbridge — yes — 
 
 c 25 
 
tHB MAVOR OF CASTERSRIDGE 
 
 to Casterbridge, said he. But, Lord's my life, I 
 shouldn't ha' thought of it again ! ' 
 
 Mrs. Newson would have rewarded the old woman 
 as far as her small means afforded, had she not dis- 
 creetly borne in mind that it was by that unscrupulous 
 person's liquor her husband had been degraded. She 
 briefly thanked her informant, and rejoined Elizabeth, 
 who greeted her with, ' Mother, do let's go on — it was 
 hardly respectable for you to buy refreshments there. 
 I see none but the lowest do.' 
 
 ' I have learned what I wanted, however,' said her 
 mother quietly. ' The last time our relative visited 
 this fair he said he was living at Casterbridge. It is 
 a long, long way from here, and it was many years ago 
 that he said it ; but there I think we'll go.' 
 
 With this they descended out of the fair, and went 
 onward to the village, where they obtained a night's 
 lodging. 
 
IV 
 
 HeNCHARD'S wife acted for the best, but she had 
 involved herself in difSculties. A hundred times she 
 had been upon the point of telling her daugiiter, 
 Elizabeth-Jane, the true story of her life, the tragical 
 crisis of which had been the transaction at Weydon 
 Fair, when she was not much older than the girl now 
 beside her. But she had refrained. An innocent 
 maiden had thus grown up in the belief that the re- 
 lations between the genial sailor and her mother were 
 the ordinary ones that they had always appeared to 
 be. The risk of endangering a child's strong affection 
 by disturbing ideas which had grown with her growth 
 was to Mrs, Henchard too fearful a thing to con- 
 template. It had seemed, indeed, folly to think of 
 making Elizabeth- Jane wise. 
 
 But Susan Henchard's fear of losing her dearly 
 loved daughter's heart by a revelation had little to do 
 with any sense of wrong-doing on her own part. Her 
 simplicity — the original ground of Henchard's con- 
 tempt for her — had allowed her to live on in the 
 conviction that Newson had acquired a morally real 
 and justifiable right to her by his purchase — though 
 the exact bearings and legal limits of that right were 
 vague. It may seem strange to sophisticated minds 
 that a sane young matron could believe in the serious- 
 
 27 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 ness of such a transfer ; and were there not numerous 
 other instances of the same belief the thing might 
 scarcely be credited. But she was by no means the 
 first or last peasant woman who had religiously adhered 
 to her purchaser, as too many rural records show. 
 
 The history of Susan Henchard's adventures in the 
 interim can be told in two or three sentences. Abso- 
 lutely helpless, she had been taken off to Canada, 
 where they had lived several years without any great 
 worldly success, though she worked as hard as any 
 woman could to keep their cottage cheerful and well- 
 provided. When Elizabeth- Jane was about twelve years 
 old the three returned to England, and settled at Fal- 
 mouth, where Newson made a living for a few years as 
 boatman and general handy shoreman. 
 
 He then engaged in the Newfoundland trade, and 
 it was during this period that Susan had an awakening. 
 A friend to whom she confided her history ridiculed 
 her grave acceptance of her position ; and all was over 
 with her peace of mind. When Newson came home 
 at the end of one winter he saw that the delusion he 
 had so carefully sustained had vanished for ever. 
 
 There was then a time of sadness, in which she 
 told him her doubts if she could live with him longer. 
 Newson left home again on the Newfoundland trade 
 when the season came round. The news of his loss 
 at sea a little later on solved a problem which had 
 become torture to her meek conscience. She saw him 
 no more. 
 
 Of Henchard they heard nothing. To the liege 
 subjects of Labour, the England of those day was a 
 continent, and a mile a geographical degree. 
 
 Elizabeth-Jane developed early into womanliness. 
 
 ' One day, a month or so after receiving intelligence of 
 
 Newton's death off the Bank of Newfoundland, when 
 
 the. girl was about eighteen, she was sitting on a 
 
 willow chair in the cottage they still occupied, working 
 
 28 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 twine nets for the fishermen. Her mother was in a 
 back corner of the same room, engaged in the same 
 labour; and dropping the heavy wood needle she was 
 filling, she surveyed her daughter thoughtfully. The 
 sun shone in at the door upon the young woman's 
 head and hair, which was worn loose, so that the rays 
 streamed into its depths as into a hazel copse. Her 
 face, though somewhat wan and incomplete, possessed 
 the raw materials of beauty in a promising degree. 
 There was an under-handsomeness in it, struggling to 
 reveal itself through the provisional curves of im- 
 maturity, and the casual disfigurements that resulted 
 from the straitened circumstances of their lives. She 
 was handsome in the bone, hardly as yet handsome 
 in the flesh. She possibly might never be fully hand- 
 some, unless the carking accidents of her daily existence 
 could be evaded before the mobile parts of her coun- 
 tenance had settled to their final mould. 
 
 The sight of the girl made her mother sad — not 
 vaguely, but by logical inference. They both were still 
 in that strait-waistcoat of poverty from which she had 
 tried so many times to be delivered for the girl's sake. 
 The woman had long perceived how zealously and con- 
 stantly the young mind of her companion was struggling 
 for enlargement ; and yet now, in her eighteenth year, 
 it still remained but little unfolded. The desire — sober 
 and repressed — of Elizabeth-Jane's heart was indeed to 
 see, to hear, and to understand. How could she become 
 a woman of wider knowledge, higher repute — ' better,' 
 as she termed it — this was her constant inquiry of her 
 mother. She sought further into things than other girls 
 in her position ever did, and her mother groaned as she 
 felt she could not aid in the search. 
 
 The sailor was now lost to them; and Susan's 
 staunch, religious adherence to him as her husband in 
 principle, till her views had been disturbed by enlighten- 
 ment, was demanded no more. She asked herself 
 
 29 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 whether the present moment, now that she was a free 
 woman again, were not as opportune a one as she would 
 find in a world where everything had been so inoppor- 
 tune, for making a desperate effort to advance Elizabeth. 
 To pocket her pride and search for the first husband 
 seemed, wisely or not, the best initiatory step. He had 
 possibly drunk himself into his tomb. But he might, 
 on the other hand, have had too much sense to do so ; 
 for in her time with him he had been given to bouts 
 only, and y[£^j2-"^ " ^"^'''Hfll flm"^'?'"'^ 
 
 At any rate, the propriety of returning to him, if he 
 lived, was unquestionable. The awkwardness of search- 
 ing for him lay in enlightening Elizabeth, a proceeding 
 which her mother could not endure to contemplate. 
 She finally resolved to undertake the search without 
 confiding to the girl her former relations with Henchard, 
 leaving it to him if they found him to take what steps 
 he might choose to that end. This will account for 
 their conversation at the fair, and the half-informed state 
 in which Elizabeth was led onward. 
 
 In this attitude they proceeded on their journey, 
 trusting solely to the dim light afforded of Henchard's 
 whereabouts by the furmity woman. The strictest eco- 
 nomy was indispensable. Sometimes they might have 
 been seen on foot, sometimes on farmers' waggons, 
 sometimes in carriers' vans ; and thus they drew near 
 to Casterbridge. Elizabeth- Jane discovered to her alarm 
 that her mother's health was not what it once had been, 
 and there was ever and anon in her talk that renuncia- 
 tory tone which showed that, but for the girl, she would 
 not be very sorry to quit a life she was growing thoroughly 
 weary of. 
 
 It was on a Friday evening, near the middle of 
 September, and just before dusk, that they reached the 
 summit of a hill within a mile of the place they sought. 
 There were high-banked hedges to the coach-road here, 
 and they mounted upon the green turf within, and sat 
 30 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 down. The spot commanded a full view of the town 
 and its environs. 
 
 ' What an old-fashioned place it seems to be ! ' 
 said Elizabeth- Jane, while her silent mother mused on 
 other things than topography. ' It is huddled all to- 
 gether ; and it is shut in by a square wall of trees, like 
 a plot of garden ground by a box-edging.' 
 
 Its squareness was, indeed, the characteristic which 
 most struck the eye in this antiquated borough, the 
 borough of Casterbridge — at that time, recent as it 
 was, untouched by the faintest sprinkle of modernism. 
 It was compact as a box of dominoes. It had no 
 suburbs — in the ordinary sense. Country and town 
 met at a mathematical line. 
 
 To hir js of JJTfi more soaring kind Casterbridge 
 musTKaveappeared on~{KisTine~evefltng_as_ajjaQaaic- 
 worE"of subdued reSilljrcwnSj^greys^ and crystals, held 
 together by a rectangular frame_ of deep greenT "Tq the 
 Iggel eye of humanity it stood as an indistinct mass 
 behind a dense stockade of limes and chestauts, set in 
 the midst of miles of' rotund down and concave field. 
 The mass became gradually dissected by the vision into 
 towers, gables, chimneys, and casements, the highest 
 glazings shining bleared and bloodshot with the coppery 
 fire they caught from the belt of sunlit cloud in the 
 west. 
 
 From the centre of each side of this tree-bound 
 square ran avenues east, west, and south into the wide 
 expanse of corn-land and combe to the distance of a 
 mile or so. It was by one of these avenues that the 
 pedestrians were about to enter. Before they had risen 
 to proceed, two men passed outside the hedge, engaged 
 in argumentative conversation. 
 
 'Why, surely,' said Elizabeth, as they receded, 
 ' those men mentioned the name of Henchard in their 
 talk — the name of our relative ? ' 
 
 ' J thought so too,' said Mrs. Newson, 
 
 4? 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 « That seems a hint to us that he is still here.' 
 
 ' Yes.' 
 
 'Shall I run after them, and ask them about 
 him' 
 
 ' No, no, no ! Not for the world just yet. He 
 may be in the workhouse, or in the stocks, for all we 
 know.' 
 
 ' Dear me — why should you think that, mother ? ' 
 
 "Twas just something to say — that's all!' But we 
 must make private inquiries.' 
 
 Having sufficiently rested, they proceeded on their 
 way at evenfall. The dense trees of the avenue rendered 
 the road dark as a tunnel, though the open land on 
 each side was still under a faint daylight; in other 
 words, they passed down a midnight between two 
 gloamings. The features of the town had a keen 
 interest for Elizabeth's mother, now that the human 
 side came to the fore. As soon as they had wandered 
 about they could see that the stockade of gnarled trees 
 which framed in Casterbridge was itself an avenue, 
 standing on a low green bank or escarpment, with a 
 ditch yet visible without. Within the avenue and bank 
 was a wall more or less discontinuous, and within the 
 wall were packed the abodes of the burghers. 
 
 Though the two women did not know it, these 
 external features were but the ancient defences of the 
 town, planted as a promenade. 
 
 The lamplights now glimmered through the engird- 
 ling trefes, conveying a sense of great snugness and 
 comfort inside, and renderinfTt the same time the un- 
 lighted country without strangely solitary and vacant 
 in aspect, considering its nearness to life. The differ- 
 ence between burgh and champaign was increased, too, 
 by sounds which now reached them above others — the 
 notes of a brass band. The travellers returned into 
 the High Street, where there were timber houses with 
 overhanging stories, whose small-paned lattices were 
 32 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGB 
 
 screened by dimity curtains on a drawing-string, and 
 under whose barge-boards old cobwebs waved in the 
 breeze. There were houses of brick-nogging, which de- 
 rived their chief support from those adjoining. There 
 were slate roofs patched with tiles, and tile roofs 
 patched with slate, with occasionally a roof of thatch. 
 
 The agricultural and pastoral character of the people 
 upon whom the town depended for its existence was 
 shown by the class of objects displayed in the shop 
 windows. Scythes, reap-hooks, sheep-shears, bill-hooks, 
 spades, mattocks, and hoes at the ironmonger's; bee- 
 hives, butter-firkins, churns, milking stools and pails, 
 hay-rakes, field-flagons, and seed-lips at the cooper's ; 
 cart-ropes and plough-harness at the saddler's ; carts, 
 wheel-barrows, and mill-gear at the wheelwright's and 
 machinist's ; horse-embrocations at the chemist's ; at the 
 glover's and leather-cutter's, hedging-gloves, thatcher's 
 knee-caps, ploughman's leggings, villager's pattens and 
 clogs. 
 
 T hey came tn a g ri^^y.led ch urch, whose massi ve 
 square tower rose unbro ken into .thg _jdai;kcp3'Tig gVy, 
 t KeTSwe i" parts' being'illuminated by the nearest lam ps 
 sulhciently TO ijllUW li uw COmplgfeTv the mortar fro m 
 the joints~ot the stonewor k had been ni b bled out;. by 
 tinie and wea ther^ which had planted in the crevice s 
 tlg[g"m a"5e~ little tufts of stone-croPand_ grass almos t 
 gc far Ti p gg thi» ve;ry ■\) ^TT\mypr\tS'. From this tower 
 the clocKstruck eight, and thereupon a bell began to 
 toll with a peremptory clang. The curfew was still 
 rung in Casterbridge, and it was utilized by the in- 
 habitants as a signal for shutting their shops. No 
 sooner did the deep notes of the bell throb between 
 the house-fronts than a clatter of shutters arose 
 through the whole length of the High Street. In a 
 few minutes business at Casterbridge was ended for 
 the day. 
 
 Other clocks struck eight from time to time — one 
 33 c 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 gloomily from the gaol, another from the gable of an 
 almshouse, with a preparative creak of machinery, 
 more audible than the note of the bell; a row of tall, 
 varnished case-clocks from the interior of a clock- 
 maker's shop joined in one after another just as the 
 shutters were enclosing them, like a row of actors 
 delivering their final speeches before the fall of the 
 curtain; then chimes were heard stammering out the 
 Sicilian Mariners' Hymn; so that chronologists of the 
 advanced school were appreciably on their way to the 
 next hour before the whole business of the old one was 
 satisfactorily wound up. 
 
 In an open space before the church walked a woman 
 with her gown-sleeves rolled up so high that the edge 
 of her under-linen was visible, and her skirt tucked up 
 through her pocket hole. She carried a loaf under her 
 arm from which she was pulling pieces of bread, and 
 handing them to some other women who walked with 
 her; which pieces they nibbled critically. The sight 
 reminded Mrs. Henchard-Newson and her daughter that 
 they had an appetite ; and they inquired of the woman 
 for the nearest baker's. 
 
 ' Ye may as well look for manna-food as good bread 
 in Casterbridge just now,' she said, after directing them. 
 ' They can blare their trumpets and thump their drums, 
 and have their roaring dinners' — waving her hand 
 towards a point further along the street, where the brass 
 band could be seen standing in front of an illuminated 
 building — ' but we must needs be put-to for want of a 
 wholesome crust. There's less good bread than good 
 beer in Casterbridge now.' 
 
 ' And less good beer than swipes,' said a man with 
 his hands in his pockets. 
 
 ' How does it happen there's no good bread ? ' asked 
 Mrs. Henchard. 
 
 ' Oh, 'tis the corn-factor — ^he's the man that our 
 millers and bakers all deal wi', and he has §ol(J 'era 
 34 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 growed wheat, which they didn't know was growed, so 
 they say, till the dough ran all over the ovens like quick- 
 silver ; so that the loaves be as flat as toads, and like 
 suet pudden inside. I've been a wife, and I've been a 
 mother, and I never see such unprincipled bread in 
 Casterbridge as this before. — But you must be a real 
 stranger here not to know what's made all the poor volks 
 plim like blowed blathers this week ? ' 
 
 ' I am,' said Elizabeth's mother shyly. 
 
 Not wishing to be observed further till she knew 
 more of her future in this place, she withdrew with her 
 daughter from the speaker's side. Getting a couple of 
 biscuits at the shop indicated as a temporari^ substitute 
 for a meal, they next bent their steps instinctively to 
 where the music was playing. 
 
A. FEW score yards brought them to the spot where 
 the town band was now shaking the window-panes with 
 the strains of ' The Roast Beef of Old England.' 
 
 The building before whose doors they had pitched 
 their music-stands was the chief hotel in Casterbridge 
 — namely, the King's Arms. A spacious bow-window 
 projected into the street over the main portico, and 
 from the open sashes came the babble of voices, the 
 jingle of glasses, and the drawing of corks. The 
 blinds, moreover, being left unclosed, the whole interior 
 of this room could be surveyed from the top of some 
 steps opposite, for which reason a knot of idlers had 
 gathered there. 
 
 ' We might, perhaps, after all, make a few inquiries 
 about — our relation, Mr. Henchard,' whispered Mrs. 
 Newson, who, since her entry into Casterbridge, had 
 seemed strangely weak and agitated. 'And this, I 
 think, would be a good place for trying it — ^just to ask, 
 you know, how he stands in the town — if he is here, 
 as I think he must be. You, Elizabeth-Jane, had 
 better be the one to do it. I'm too worn out to do 
 anything — pull down your fall first.' 
 
 She sat down upon the lowest step, and Elizabeth- 
 Jane obeyed her directions and stood among the idlers. 
 
 •What's going on to-night?' asked the girl, after 
 36 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 singling out an old man, and standing by him long 
 enough to acquire a neighbourly right of converse. 
 
 'Well, ye must be a stranger sure,' said the old 
 man, without taking his eyes from the window. ' Why, 
 'tis a great public dinner of the gentle-people and such 
 like leading volk — wi' the Mayor in the chair. As we 
 plainer fellows baint invited, they leave the winder- 
 shutters open that we may get jist a sense o't out here. 
 If you mount the steps you can see 'em. That's Mr. 
 Henchard, the Mayor, at the end of the table, a facing 
 ye; and that's the Council men right and left. . . . 
 Ah, lots of them when they begun life were no more 
 than I be now ! ' 
 
 ' Henchard ! ' said Elizabeth- Jane, surprised, but by 
 no means suspecting the whole force of the revelation. 
 She ascended to the top of the door-steps. 
 
 Her mother, though her head was bowed, had 
 already caught from the inn-window tones that strangely 
 riveted her attention, before the old man's words, ' Mr. 
 Henchard, the Mayor,' reached her ears. She arose, 
 and stepped up to her daughter's side as soon as she 
 could do so without showing exceptional eagerness. 
 
 The interior of the hotel dining-room was spread 
 out before her, with its tables, and glass, and plate, 
 and inmates. Facing the window, in the chair of 
 dignity, sat a man about forty years of age; of heavy 
 frame, large features, and commanding voice; his 
 general build being rather coarse than compact. He 
 had a rich complexion, which verged on swarthiness, 
 a flashing black eye, and dark, bushy brows and hair. 
 When he indulged in an occasional loud laugh at some 
 remark among the guests, his large mouth parted so far 
 back as to show to the rays of the chandelier a full 
 score or more of the two-and-thirty sound white teeth 
 that he obviously still could boast of. 
 
 That laugh was not encouraging to strangers; and 
 hence it may have been well that it was rarely heard. 
 
 37 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 Many theories might have been built upon it. It fell 
 in well with conjectures of a temperament which would 
 have no pity for weakness, but would be ready to yield 
 ungrudging admiration to greatness and strength. Its 
 producer's personal goodness, if he had any, would be 
 of a very fitful cast — an occasional almost oppressive 
 generosity rather than a mild and constant kindness. 
 
 Susan Henchard's husband — in law, at least — sat 
 before them, matured in shape, stiffened in line, ex- 
 aggerated in traits; disciplined, thought-marked — in a 
 word, older. Elizabeth, encumbered with no recollec- 
 tions as her mother was, regarded him with nothing 
 more than the keen curiosity and interest which the 
 discovery of such unexpected social standing in the 
 long-sought relative naturally begot. He was dressed 
 in an old-fashioned evening suit, an expanse of frilled 
 shirt showing on his broad breast ; jewelled studs, and 
 a heavy gold chain. Three glasses stood at his right 
 hand ; but, to his wife's surprise, the two for wine were 
 empty, while the third, a tumbler, was half full of water. 
 
 When last she had seen him he was sitting in a 
 corduroy jacket, fustian waistcoat and breeches, and 
 tanned leather leggings, with a basin of hot furmity 
 before him. Time,_ the magi,cian,_^d wrought much 
 here. Watching him, an3rthus thinking of past days, 
 she became so moved that she shrank back against the 
 jamb of the deep doorway to which the steps gave 
 access, the shadow from it conveniently hiding her 
 features. She forgot her daughter, till a touch from 
 Elizabeth- Jane aroused her. 'Have you seen him, 
 mother ? ' whispered the girl. 
 
 'Yes, yes,' answered her companion hastily. 'I 
 have seen him, and it is enough for me ! Now I only 
 want to go — pass away — die.' 
 
 ' Why— oh what ? ' She drew closer, and whispered 
 in her mother's ear, « Does he seem to you not likely 
 to befriend us ? I thought he looked a generous man 
 38 
 
THE MAYOR OP CAST ERBRIDGE 
 
 What a gentleman he is, isn't he ? and how his diamond 
 studs shine ! How strange that you should have said 
 he might be in the stocks, or in the workhouse, or 
 dead ! Did ever anything go more by contraries ! 
 Why do you feel so afraid of him ? I am not at all ; 
 I'll call upon him — he can but say he don't own such 
 remote kin.' 
 
 ' I don't know at all — I can't tell what to set about. 
 I feel so down.' 
 
 ' Don't be that, mother, now we have got here and 
 all ! Rest there where you be a little while — I will look 
 on and find out more about him.' 
 
 ' I don't think I can ever meet Mr. Henchard. He 
 is not how I thought he would be — he overpowers me I 
 I don't wish to see him any more.' 
 
 ' But wait a little time and consider.' 
 
 Elizabeth- Jane had never been so much interested in 
 anything in her life as in their present position, partly 
 from the natural elation she felt at discovering herself 
 akin to a coach; and- she gazed again at the scene. 
 The younger guests were talking and eating with anima- 
 tion ; their elders were searching for tit-bits, and sniffing 
 and grunting over their plates like sows nuzzling for 
 acorns. Three drinks seemed to be sacred to the com- 
 pany — port, sherry, and rum; outside which old-estab- 
 lished trinity few or no palates ranged. 
 
 A row of ancient rummers with ground figures on 
 their sides, and each primed with a spoon, was now 
 placed down the table, and these were promptly filled 
 with grog at such high temperatures as to raise serious 
 considerations for the articles exposed to its vapours. 
 But Elizabeth-Jane noticed that, though this filling 
 went on with great promptness up and down the 
 table, nobody filled the Mayor's glass, who still drank 
 large quantities of water from the tumbler behind 
 the clump of crystal vessels intended for wine and 
 spirits. 
 
 39 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 'They don't fill Mr. Henchard's wine-glasses," she 
 ventURjd to say to her elbow acquaintance, the old 
 man. 
 
 ' Oh no ; don't ye know him to be the celebrated 
 abstaining worthy of that name ? He scorns all tempt- 
 ing hquors; never touches nothing. Oh yes, he've 
 strong qualities that way. I have heard tell that he 
 sware a gospel oath in by-gone times, and has bode 
 by it ever since. So they don't press him, knowing 
 it would be unbecoming in the fece of that; for yer 
 gospel oath is a serious thing.' 
 
 Another elderly man, hearing this discourse, now 
 joined in by inquiring, ' How much longer have he 
 got to suffer from it, Solomon Longways ? ' 
 
 'Another two year, they say. I don't know the 
 why and the wherefore of his fixing such a time, for 
 'a never has told anybody. But 'tis exactly two 
 calendar years longer, they say. A powerful mind to 
 hold out so long ! ' 
 
 ' True. . . . But there's great strength in hope. 
 Knowing that in four-and-twenty months' time ye'll be 
 out of your bondage, and able to make up for all you've 
 suffered, by partaking without stint — why, it keeps a 
 man up, no doubt.' 
 
 ' No doubt, Christopher Coney, no doubt. And 'a 
 must need such reflections — a lonely widow man,' said 
 Longways. 
 
 ' When did he lose his wife ? ' asked Elizabeth. 
 
 'I never knowed her. 'Twas afore he came to 
 Casterbridge,' Solomon Longways replied, with ter- 
 minative emphasis, as if the fact of his ignorance of 
 Mrs. Henchard were sufficient to deprive her history 
 of all interest. ' But I know that 'a's a banded tee- 
 totaller, and that if any of his men be ever so little 
 overtook by a drop, he's down upon 'em as stern as 
 the Lord upon the jovial Jews.* 
 
 « Has he many men, then ? ' said Elizabeth- Jane. 
 40 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 ' Many ! Why, my good maid, he's the powerfullest 
 member of the Town Council, and quite a principal 
 man in the country round besides. Never a big dealing 
 in wheat, barley, oats, hay, roots, and such-like but 
 Henchard's got a hand in it. Ay, and he'll go into 
 other things too; and that's where he makes his mis- 
 take. He worked his way up from nothing when 'a 
 came here; and now he's a pillar of the town. Not 
 but what he's been shaken a little to-year about this 
 bad corn he has supplied in his contracts. I've seen 
 the sun rise over Durnover Moor these nine-and-sixty 
 year, and though Mr. Henchard has never cussed me 
 unfairly ever since I've worked for'n, seeing I be but a 
 little small man, I must say that I have never before 
 tasted such rough bread as has been made from 
 Henchard's wheat lately. 'Tis that growed out that 
 ye could a'most call it malt, and there's a list at bottom 
 o' the loaf as thick as the sole of one's .shoe.' 
 
 The band now struck up another melody, and by 
 the time it was ended the dinner was over, and 
 speeches began to be made. The evening being calm, 
 and the windows still open, these orations could be 
 distinctly heard. Henchard's voice arose above the 
 rest; he was telling a story of his hay-dealing experi- 
 ences, in which he had outwitted a sharper who had 
 been bent upon outwitting him. 
 
 ' Ha-ha-ha ! ' responded his audience at the upshot 
 of the story; and hilarity was general till a new voice 
 arose with, 'This is all very well; but how about the 
 bad bread ? ' 
 
 It came from the lower end of the table, where 
 there sat a group of minor tradesmen who, although 
 part of the company, a,ppeared to be a little below the 
 social level of the others; and who seemed to nourish 
 a certain independence of opinion, and carry on dis- 
 cussions not quite in harmony with those at the head ; 
 just as the west end of a church is sometimes per- 
 
 D 41 
 
The mayor of casterbridge 
 
 Sistently found to sing out of time and tune with the 
 leading spirits in the chancel. 
 
 This interruption about the bad bread afforded 
 infinite satisfaction to the loungers outside, several of 
 whom were in the mood which finds its pleasure in 
 others' discomfiture; and hence they echoed pretty 
 freely, ' Hey ! How about the bad bread, Mr. Mayor ? ' 
 Moreover, feeUng none of the restraints of those who 
 shared the feast, they could afford to add, ' You rather 
 ought to tell the story o' that, sir ! ' 
 
 The interruption was sufficient to compel the Mayor 
 to notice it. 
 
 'Well, I admit that the wheat turned out badly,' 
 he said. ' But I was taken in in buying it as much 
 as the bakers who bought it o' me.' 
 
 ' And the poor folk who had to eat it whether or no,' 
 said the inharmonious man outside the window. 
 
 Henchard's face darkened. There was temper under 
 the thin bland surface — the temper which, artificially 
 intensified, had banished a wife nearly a score of years 
 before. 
 
 ' You must make allowances for the accidents of a 
 large business,' he said. 'You must bear in mind 
 that the weather just at the har/est of that corn was, 
 worse than we have known it for years. However, I 
 have mended my arrangements on account o't. Since 
 I have found my business too large to be well looked 
 after by myself alone, I have advertised for a thorough 
 good man as manager of the corn department. When 
 I've got him you will find these mistakes will no longer 
 occur — matters will be better looked into.' 
 
 ' But what are you going to do to repay us for the 
 past?' inquired the man who had before spoken, and 
 who seemed to be a baker or miller. 'Will you re- 
 place the grown flour we've still got by sound grain ? ' 
 
 Henchard's face had become still more stern at these 
 interruptions, and he drank from his tumbler of water 
 43 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 as if to calm himself or gain time. Instead of voucli- 
 safing a direct reply, he stiffly observed — 
 
 ' If anybody will tell me how to turn grown wheat 
 i/to wholesome wheat, I'll take it back with pleasure. 
 But it can't be done.' 
 
 Henchard was not to be drawn again. Having said 
 this, he sat down. 
 
VI 
 
 rN OW the group outside the window had within the 
 last few minutes been reinforced by new arrivals, some 
 of them respectable shopkeepers and their assistants, 
 who had come out for a whiff of air after putting up 
 the shutters for the night; some of them of a lower 
 class. Distinct from either there appeared a stranger 
 — a young man of remarkably pleasant aspect — ^who 
 carried in his hand a carpet-bag of the smart floral 
 pattern prevalent in such articles at that time. 
 
 He was fair and ruddy, bright-eyed, and slight in 
 build. He might possibly have passed by without 
 stopping at all, or at most for half a minute to glance 
 in at the scene, had not his advent coincided with the 
 discussion on corn and bread; in which event this 
 history had never been enacted. But the subject 
 seemed to arrest him, and he whispered some inquiries 
 of the other bystanders, and remained listening. 
 
 When he heard Henchard's closing words, ' It can't 
 be done,' he smiled impulsively, drew out his pocket- 
 book, and wrote down a few words by the aid of the 
 light in the window. He tore out the leaf, folded and 
 directed it, and seemed about to throw it in through 
 the open sash upon the dining-table ; but, on second 
 thoughts, edged himself through the loiterers, till he 
 reached the door of the hotel, where one of the waiters 
 44 
 
THE MAYOR 01^ CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 who had been serving inside was now idly leanSxig 
 against the door-post. 
 
 ' Give this to the Mayor at once,' he said, handing 
 in his hasty note. 
 
 Elizabeth-Jane had seen his movements and heard 
 the words, which attracted her both by their subject 
 and by their accent — a strange one for those parts. It 
 was quaint and northerly. 
 
 The waiter took the note, while the young stranger 
 continued — \ 
 
 'And can ye tell me of a respectable hotel that's 
 a little more moderate than this ? ' 
 
 The waiter glanced indifferently up and down the 
 street. 
 
 'They say the Three Mariners, just below here, is 
 a very good place,' he languidly answered ; ' but I have 
 never stayed there myself.' 
 
 The Scotchman, as he seemed to be, thanked him, 
 and strolled on in the direction of the Three Mariners 
 aforesaid, apparently more concerned about the ques- 
 tion of an inn than about the fate of his note, now that 
 the momentary impulse of writing it was over. While 
 he was disappearing slowly down the street the waiter 
 left the door, and Elizabeth- Jane saw with some interest 
 the note brought into the dining-room and handed to 
 the Mayor. 
 
 Henchard looked at it carelessly, unfolded it with 
 one hand, and glanced it through. Thereupon it was 
 curious to note an unexpected effect. The nettled, 
 clouded aspect which had held possession of his face 
 since the subject of his corn-dealings had been broached, 
 changed itself into one of arrested attention. He read 
 the note slowly, and fell into thought, not moody, but 
 fitfully intense, as that of a man who has been captured 
 by an idea. 
 
 By this time toasts and speeches had given place to 
 songs, the wheat subject being quite forgotten. Men 
 
 45 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 were putting their heads together in twos and threes, 
 telling good stories, with pantomimic laughter which 
 reached convulsive grimace. Some were beginning to 
 look as if they did not know how they had come there, 
 what they had come for, or how they were going to get 
 home again; and provisionally sat on with a dazed 
 smile. Square-built men showed a tendency to become 
 hunchbacks ; men with a dignified presence lost it in a 
 curious obliquity of figure, in which their features grew 
 disarranged and one-sided; whilst the heads of a few 
 who had dined with extreme thoroughness were some- 
 how sinking into their shoulders, the corners of their 
 mouth and eyes being bent upwards by the subsidence. 
 Only Henchard did not conform to these flexuous 
 changes; he remained stately and vertical, silently 
 thinking. 
 
 The clock struck nine. Elizabeth- Jane turned to her 
 companion. ' The evening is drawing on, mother,' she 
 said. ' What do you propose to do ? ' 
 
 She was surprised to find how irresolute her mother 
 had become. 'We must get a place to lie down in,' 
 she murmured. ' I have seen — Mr. Henchard ; and 
 that's all I wanted to do.' 
 
 ' That's enough for to-night, at any rate,' Elizabeth- 
 Jane replied soothingly. ' We can think to-morrow 
 what is best to do about him. The question now is — 
 is it not ? — how shall we find a lodging ? ' 
 
 As her mother did not reply, Elizabeth- Jane's mind 
 reverted to the words of the waiter, that the Three 
 Mariners was an inn of moderate charges. A recom- 
 mendation good for one person was probably good for 
 another. ■ Let's go where the young man has gone to,' 
 she said. ' He is respectable. What do you say ? ' 
 
 Her mother assented, and down the street they 
 went. 
 
 In the meantime the Mayor's thoughtfulness, en- 
 gendered by the note as stated, continued to hold him 
 46 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 in abstraction j till, whispering to his neighbour to take 
 his place, he found opportunity to leave the chair. This 
 was just after the departure of his wife and Elizabeth. 
 
 Outside the door of the assembly-room he saw the 
 waiter, and beckoning to him, asked who brought the 
 note which had been handed in a quarter of an hour 
 before. 
 
 ' A young man, sir — a sort of traveller. He was a 
 Scotchman seemingly.' 
 
 ' Did he say how he had got it ? ' 
 
 •He wrote it himself, sir, as he stood outside the 
 window.' 
 
 'Oh — wrote it himself. ... Is the young man in 
 the hotel ? ' 
 
 • No, sir. He went to the Three Mariners, I 
 believe.' 
 
 The Mayor walked up and down the vestibule of the 
 hotel with his hands under his coat tails, as if he were 
 merely seeking a cooler atmosphere than that of the 
 room he had quitted. But there could be no doubt 
 that he was in reality still possessed to the full by the 
 new idea, whatever that might be. At length he went 
 back to the door of the dining-room, paused, and found 
 that the songs, toasts, and conversation were proceeding 
 quite satisfactorily without his presence. The Corpora- 
 tion, private residents, and major and minor tradesmen 
 had, in fact, gone in for comforting beverages to such 
 an extent, that they had quite forgotten, not only the 
 Mayor, but all those vast political, religious, and social 
 differences which they felt necessary to maintain in the 
 daytime, and which separated them like iron grills. 
 Seeing this, the Mayor took his hat, and when the 
 waiter had helped him on with a thin hoUand overcoat, 
 went out and stood under the portico. 
 
 Very few persons were now in the street; and his 
 eyes, by a sort of attraction, turned and dwelt upon a 
 spot about a hundred yards further down. It was the 
 
 47 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 house to which the writer of the note had gone — the 
 Three Mariners — whose two prominent gables, bow- 
 window, and passage-light could be seen from where 
 he stood. Having kept his eyes on it for a while, he 
 strolled in that direction. 
 
 This ancient house of accommodation for man and 
 beast, now, unfortunately, pulled down, was built of 
 mellow sandstone, with mullioned windows of the same 
 material, markedly out of perpendicular from the settle- 
 ment of foundations. The bay window projecting into 
 the street, whose interior was so popular among the 
 frequenters of the inn, was closed with shutters, in each 
 of which appeared a heart-shaped aperture, somewhat 
 more attenuated in the right and left ventricles than is 
 seen in Nature. Inside these illuminated holes, at a 
 distance of about three inches, were ranged at this hour, 
 as every passer knew, the ruddy polls of Billy Wills the 
 glazier, Smart the shoemaker, Buzzford the general 
 dealer, and others of a secondary set of worthies, of 
 a grade Somewhat below that of the diners at the 
 King's Arms, each with his yard of clay. 
 
 A four-centred Tudor arch was over the entrance, 
 and over the arch the signboard, now visible in the 
 rays of an opposite lamp. Hereon the Mariners, who 
 had been represented by the artist as persons of two 
 dimensions only — in other words, flat as a shadow- 
 were standing in a row in paralyzed attitudes. Being 
 on the sunny side of the street, the three Comrades 
 had suffered largely from warping, splitting, fading, and 
 shrinkage, so that they were but a half-invisible film 
 upon the reality of the grain, and knots, and nails, 
 which composed the signboard. As a matter of fact, 
 this state of things was not so much owing tO Stannidge 
 the landlord's neglect, as from the lack of a painter 
 in Casterbridge who would undertake to reproduce the 
 features of men so traditional. 
 
 A long, narrow, dimly-lit passage gave access to the 
 48 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 inn, within which passage the horses going to their 
 stalls at the back, and the coming and departing human 
 guests, rubbed shoulders indiscriminately, the latter run- 
 ning no slight risk of having their toes trodden upon 
 by the animals. The good stabling and the good 
 ale of the Mariners, though somewhat difficult to reach 
 on account of there being but this narrow way to 
 both, were nevertheless perseveringly sought out by 
 the sagacious old heads who knew what was what in 
 Casterbridge. 
 
 Henchard stood without the inn for a few instants ; 
 then lowering the dignity of his presence as much as 
 possible by buttoning the brown-holland coat over his 
 shirt-front, and in other ways toning himself down to 
 his ordinary everyday appearance, he entered the inn 
 door. 
 
VII 
 
 Elizabeth- JANE and her mother had arrived some 
 twenty minutes earlier. Outside the house they had 
 stood and considered whether even this homely place, 
 though recommended as moderate, might not be too 
 serious in its prices for their light pockets. Finally, 
 however, they had found courage to enter, and duly 
 met Stannidge, the landlord ; a silent man, who drew 
 and carried frothing measures to this room and to that, 
 shoulder to shoulder with his waiting-maids — a stately 
 slowness, however, entering into his ministrations by 
 contrast with theirs, as became one whose service was 
 somewhat optional. It would have been altogether 
 optional but for the orders of the landlady, a person 
 who sat in the bar, corporeally motionless, but with 
 a flitting eye and quick ear, with which she observed 
 and heard through the open door and hatchway the press- 
 ing needs of customers whom her husband overlooked 
 though close at hand. Elizabeth and her mother were 
 passively accepted as sojourners, and shown to a small 
 bedroom under one of the gables, where they sat down. 
 The principle of the inn seemed to be to compen- 
 sate for the antique awkwardness, crookedness, and 
 obscurity of the passages, floors, and windows, by 
 quantities of clean linen spread about everywhere, and 
 this had a dazzling effect upon the travellers. 
 
 50 
 
The mayor of casterbridge 
 
 ' 'Tis too good for us — we can't meet it ! ' said the 
 elder woman, looking round the apartment with mis- 
 giving as soon as they were left alone. 
 
 ' I fear it is, too,' said Elizabeth. ' But we must be 
 respectable.' 
 
 ' We must pay our way even before we must be 
 respectable,' replied her mother. ' Mr. Henchard is too 
 high for us to make ourselves known to him, I much 
 fear ; so we've only our own pockets to depend on.' 
 
 ' I know what I'll do,' said Elizabeth- Jane, after an 
 interval of waiting, during which their needs seemed 
 quite forgotten under the press of business below. 
 And leaving the room, she descended the stairs and 
 penetrated to the bar. 
 
 If there was one good thing more than another 
 which characterized this single-hearted girl, it was a 
 willingness to sacrifice her personal comfort and dignity 
 to the common weal. 
 
 ' As you seem busy here to-night, and mother's not 
 well off, might I take out part of our accommodation 
 by helping ? ' she asked of the landlady. 
 
 The latter, who remained as fixed in the arm-chair 
 as if she had been melted into it when in a liquid 
 state, and could not now be unstuck, looked the girl 
 up and down inquiringly, with her hands on the chair- 
 arms. Such arrangements as the one Elizabeth pro- 
 posed were not uncommon in country villages; but, 
 though Casterbridge was old-fashioned, the custom was 
 well-nigh obsolete here. The mistress of the house, 
 however, was an easy woman to strangers, and she 
 made no objection. Thereupon Elizabeth, being in- 
 structed by nods and motions from the taciturn land- 
 lord as to where she could find the different things, 
 trotted up and down stairs with materials for her own 
 and her parent's meal. 
 
 While she was doing this, the wood partition in 
 the centre of the house thrilled to its centre with the 
 
 51 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 tugging of a bell-pull upstairs. A bell below tinkled 
 a note that was feebler in sound than the twanging of 
 wires and cranks that had produced it. 
 
 ''Tis the Scotch gentleman,' said the landlady 
 omnisciently J and turning her eyes to Elizabeth, 
 ' Now then, can you go and see if his supper is on 
 the tray ? If it is, you can take it up to him. The 
 front room over this.' 
 
 Elizabeth-Jane, though hungry, willingly postponed 
 serving herself awhile, and applied to the cook in the 
 kitchen, whence she brought forth the tray of supper 
 viands, and proceeded with it upstairs to the apart- 
 ment indicated. The accommodation of the Three 
 Mariners was far from spacious, despite the fair area 
 of ground it covered. The room demanded by in- 
 trusive beams and rafters, partitions, passages, stair- 
 cases, disused ovens, settles, and four-posters, left 
 comparatively small quarters for human beings. More- 
 over, this being at a time before home-brewing was 
 abandoned by the smaller victuallers, and a house in 
 which the twelve-bushel strength was still religiously 
 adhered to by the landlord in his ale, the quality of 
 the liquor was the chief attraction of the premises, so 
 that everything had to make way for utensils and 
 operations in connection therewith. Thus Elizabeth 
 found that the Scotchman was located in a room quite 
 close to the small one that had been allotted to herself 
 and her mother. 
 
 When she entered, nobody was present but the 
 young man himself — the same whom she had seen 
 lingering without the windows of the King's Arms 
 Hotel. He was now idly reading a copy of the local 
 paper, and was hardly conscious of her entry, so that 
 she looked at him quite coolly, and saw how his fore- 
 head shone where the light caught it, and how nicely 
 his hair was cut, and the sort of velvet-pile or down 
 that was on the skin at the back of liis neck, and how 
 52 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 his cheek was so truly curved as to be part of a globe, 
 and how clearly drawn were the lids and lashes which 
 hid his bent eyes. 
 
 She set down the tray, spread his supper, and went 
 away without a word. On her arrival below, the land- 
 lady, who was as kind as she was fat and lazy, saw that 
 Elizabeth- Jane was rather tired, though in her earnest- 
 ness to be useful she was waiving her own needs 
 altogether. Mrs. Stannidge thereupon said, with a 
 considerate peremptoriness, that she and her mother 
 had better take their own suppers if they meant to 
 have any. 
 
 Elizabeth fetched their simple provisions, as she 
 had fetched the Scotchman's, and went up to the little 
 chamber where she had left her mother, noiselessly 
 pushing open the door with the edge of the tray. To 
 her surprise her mother, instead of being reclined on 
 the bed where she had left her, was in an erect position, 
 with lips parted. At Elizabeth's entry she lifted her 
 finger. 
 
 The meaning of this was soon apparent. The room 
 allotted to the two women had at one time served as 
 a dressing-room to the Scotchman's chamber, as was 
 evidenced by signs of a door of communication between 
 them — now screwed up, and pasted over with the wall 
 paper. But, as is frequently the case with hotels of far 
 higher pretensions than the Three Marinefs, every word 
 spoken in either of these rooms was distinctly audible 
 in the other. Such sounds came through now. 
 
 Thus silently conjured, Elizabeth deposited the 
 tray, and her mother whispered as she drew near, 
 ' 'Tis he.' 
 
 ' Who ? ' said the girl. 
 
 ' The Mayor.' 
 
 The tremors in Susan Henchard's tone might have 
 led any person, but one so perfectly unsuspicious of 
 the truth »$ the ^ri was, to surmise some closer 
 
 53 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 connection than the admitted simple kinship, as a 
 means of accounting for them. 
 
 Two men were indeed talking in the adjoining 
 chamber, the young Scotchman and Henchard, who, 
 having entered the inn while Elizabeth-Jane was in 
 the kitchen waiting for the supper, had been deferen- 
 tially conducted upstairs by host Stannidge himself. 
 The girl noiselessly laid out their little meal, and 
 beckoned to her mother to join her, which Mrs. 
 Henchard mechanically did, her attention being fixed 
 on the conversation through the door. 
 
 ' I merely strolled in on my way home to ask you 
 a question about something that has excited my curi- 
 osity,' said the Mayor, with careless geniality. < But I 
 see you have not finished supper.' 
 
 ' Ay, but I will be done in a little ! Ye needn't go, 
 sir. Take a seat. I've almost done, and it makes no 
 difference at all.' 
 
 Henchard seemed to take the seat offered, and in a 
 moment he resumed : ' Well, first I should ask, did 
 you write this ? ' A rustling of paper followed. 
 
 ' Yes, I did,' said the Scotchman. 
 
 ' Then,' said Henchard, ' I am under the impres- 
 sion that we have met by accident while waiting for 
 the morning to keep an appointment with each other ? 
 My name is Henchard j ha'n't you replied to an 
 advertisement for a corn-factor's manager that I put 
 into the paper — ^ha'n't you come here to see me 
 about it ? ' 
 
 ' No,' said the Scotchman, with some surprise. 
 
 ' Surely you are the man,' went on Henchard in- 
 sistingly, ' who arranged to come and see me ? Joshua, 
 Joshua, Jipp — ^Jopp — what was his name ? ' 
 
 * You're wrong ! ' said the young man ' My name 
 
 is Donald Farfrae. It is true I am in the corren trade 
 
 — but I have replied to no advairrtisment, and arranged 
 
 to see RQ Q^e. I am on my way to Bristol — from 
 
 54 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 there to the other side of the warrld, to try my fortune 
 in the great wheat-growing districts of the West ! I 
 have some inventions useful to the trade, and there 
 is no scope for developing them heere.' 
 
 ' To America — well, well,' said Henchard, in a tone 
 of disappointment, so strong as to make itself felt hke 
 a damp atmosphere. ' And yet I could have sworn 
 you were the man ! ' 
 
 The Scotchman murmured another negative, and 
 there was a silence, till Henchard resumed : ' Then I 
 am truly and sincerely obhged to you for the few words 
 you wrote on that paper.' 
 
 ' It was nothing, sir.' 
 
 ' Well, it has a great importance for me just now. 
 This row about my grown wheat, which I declare to 
 Heaven I didn't know to be bad till the people came 
 complaining, has put me to my wits' end. I've some 
 hundreds of quarters of it on hand ; and if your 
 renovating process will make it wholesome, why, you 
 can see what a quag 'twould get me out of. I saw in 
 a moment there might be truth in it. But I should 
 like to have it proved ; and of course you don't care 
 to tell the steps of the process sufficiently for me to 
 do that, without my paying ye well for't first.' 
 
 The young man reflected a moment or two. ' I 
 don't know that I have any objection,' he said. ' I'm 
 going to another country, and curing bad corn is not 
 the line I'll take up there. Yes, I'll tell ye the whole 
 of it — you'll make more out of it here than I will in a 
 foreign country. Just look heere a minute, sir. I can 
 show ye by a sample in my carpet-bag.' 
 
 The click of a lock followed, and there was a sift- 
 ing and rustling ; then a discussion about so many 
 ounces to the bushel, and drying, and refrigerating, 
 and so on. 
 
 ' These few grains will be sufficient to show ye with,' 
 came in the young fellow's voice ; and after a pause, 
 
 55 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 during which some operation seemed to be intentlj 
 watched by them both, he exclaimed, ' There, now, do 
 you taste that.' 
 
 ' It's complete ! — quite restored, or — well — nearly.' 
 
 ' Quite enough restored to make good seconds out 
 of it,' said the Scotchman. ' To fetch it back entirely 
 is impossible; Nature won't stand so much as that, 
 but heere you go a great way towards it. Well, sir, 
 that's the process ; I don't value it, for it can be but 
 of Uttle use in countries where the weather is more 
 settled than in ours ; and I'll be only too glad if it's 
 ,^f service to you.' 
 
 ' But hearken to me,' pleaded Henchard. ' My 
 business, you know, is in corn and in hay; but I was 
 brought up as a hay-trusser simply, and hay is what 
 I understand best, though I now do more in corn than 
 in the other. If you'll accept the place, you shal} 
 manage the corn branch entirely, and receive a com- 
 mission in addition to salary.' 
 
 'You're liberal — very liberal; but no, no — I can- 
 net ! ' the young man still replied, with some distress 
 in his accents. 
 
 ' So be it ! ' said Henchard conclusively. ' Now — 
 to change the subject — one good turn deserves another ; 
 don't stay to finish that miserable supper. Come to 
 my house ; I can find something better for ye than cold 
 ham and ale.' 
 
 Donald Farfrae was grateful — said he feared he must 
 decline — that he wished to leave early next day. 
 
 'Very well,' said Henchard quickly, 'please your- 
 self. But I tell you, young man, if this holds good 
 for the bulk, as it has done for the sample, you have 
 saved my credit, stranger though you be. \Vhat shall 
 I pay you for this knowledge ? ' 
 
 - Nothing at all, nothing at all. It nay not prove 
 necessary to ye to use it often, and I don't value it 
 at all. I thought I might just as well let ye know, 
 56 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 as you were in a difficulty, and they were harrd 
 upon ye.' 
 
 Henchard paused. ' 1 shan't soon forget this,' he 
 said. 'And from a stranger! ... I couldn't believe 
 you were not the man I had engaged ! Says I to my- 
 self " He knows who I am, and recommends himself 
 by this stroke." And yet it turns out, after all, that 
 you are not the man who answered my advertisement, 
 but a stranger ! ' 
 
 ' Ay, ay ; that's so,' said the young man. 
 
 Henchard again suspended his words, and then his 
 voice came thoughtfully: 'Your forehead, Farfrae, is 
 something like my poor brother's— nOAv dead and gone; 
 and the nose, too, isn't unlike his. You must be, what 
 — five foot nine, I reckon ? I am six foot one and a 
 half out of my shoes. But what of that ? In my busi- 
 ness, 'tis true that strength and bustle build up a firm. 
 But judgment and knowledge are what keep it established. 
 Unluckily, I am bad at science, Farfrae ; bad at figures 
 -^a rule o' thumb sort of man. You are just the re- 
 verse—I -can see that. I have been looking for such 
 as you these two year, and yet you are not for me. 
 Well, before I go, let me ask this : Though you are not 
 the young man I thought you were, what's the differ- 
 ence ? Can't ye stay just the same ? Have you really 
 made up your mind about this American notion? I 
 won't mince matters. I feel you would be invaluable 
 to me — that needn't be said — and if you will bide and 
 be my manager, I will make it worth your while.' 
 
 ' My plans are fixed,' said the young man, in negative 
 tones. ' I have formed a scheme, and so we need na 
 say any more about it. But will you not drink with 
 me, sir ? I find this Casterbridge ale warreming to the 
 stomach.' 
 
 ' No, no ; I fain would, but I can't,' said Henchard 
 gravely, the scraping of his chair informing the listeners 
 that he was rising to leave. 'When I was a young 
 
 E 57 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 man I went in for that sort of thing too strong — far 
 too strong — and was well-nigh ruined by it ! I did a 
 deed on account of it which I shall be ashamed of to 
 my djdng day. It made such an impression on me 
 that I swore, there and then, that I'd drink nothing 
 stronger than tea for as many years as I was old that 
 day. I have kept my oath ; and though, Farfrae, I am 
 sometimes that dry in the dog days that I could drink 
 a quarter-barrel to the pitching, I think o' my oath, and 
 touch no strong drink at all.' 
 
 'I'll no' press ye, sir — I'll no' press ye. I respect 
 your vow.' 
 
 ' Well, I shall get a manager somewhere, no doubt,' 
 said Henchard, with strong feeling in his tones. ' But 
 it will be long before I see one that would suit me so 
 well ! ' 
 
 The young man appeared much moved by Hen- 
 chard's warm convictions of his value. He was silent 
 till thej' reached the door. 'I wish I could stay — 
 sincerely I would like to,' he replied. 'But no — it 
 cannet be ! it cannet ! I want to see the warrld.' 
 
 58 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 VIII 
 
 1 HUS they parted ; and Elizabeth- Jane and her 
 mother remained each in her thoughts over their meal, 
 the mother's face being strangely bright since Henchard's 
 avowal of shame for a past action. The quivering of 
 the partition to its core presently denoted that Donald 
 Farfrae had again rung his bell, no doubt to have his 
 supper removed ; for humming a tune, and walking up 
 and down, he seemed to be attracted by the lively bursts 
 of conversation and melody from the general company 
 below. He sauntered out upon the landing, and de- 
 scended the staircase. 
 
 When Elizabeth- Jane had carried down his supper 
 tray, and also that used by her mother and herself, she 
 found the bustle of serving to be at its height below, 
 as it always was at this hour. The young woman 
 shrank from having anything to do with the ground- 
 floor serving, and crept silently about observing the 
 scene — so new to her, fresh from the seclusion of a 
 seaside cottage. In the general sitting-room, which was 
 large, she remarked the two or three dozen strong- 
 backed chairs that stood round against the wall, each 
 fitted with its genial occupant; the sanded floor; the 
 black settle which, projecting endwise from the wall 
 within the door, permitted Elizabeth to be a spectator of 
 all that went on, without herself being particularly seen. 
 
 59 
 
 > 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 The young Scotchman had just joined the guests. 
 These, in addition to the respectable master-tradesmen 
 occupying the seats of privilege in the bow-window and 
 its neighbourhood, included an inferior set at the un- 
 lighted end, whose seats were mere benches against the 
 wall, and who drank from cups instead of from glasses. 
 Among the latter she noticed some of those personages 
 who had stood outside the windows of the King's Arms. 
 
 Behind their backs was a small window, with a wheel 
 ventilator in one of the panes, which would suddenly 
 start off spinning with a jingling sound, as suddenly 
 stop, and as suddenly start again. 
 
 While thus furtively making her survey, the opening 
 words of a song greeted her ears from behind the settle, 
 in a melody and accent of peculiar charm. There had 
 been some singing before she came down ; and now the 
 Scotchman had made himself so soon at home that, at 
 the request of some of the master-tradesmen, he, too, was 
 favouring the room with a ditty. 
 
 Elizabeth- Jane was fond of music ; she could not help 
 pausing to listen j and the longer she listened the more 
 she was enraptured. She had never heard any singing 
 like this ; and it was evident that the majority of the 
 audience had not heard such frequently, for they were 
 attentive to a much greater degree than usual. They 
 neither whispered, nor drank, nor dipped their pipe- 
 stems in their ale to moisten them, nor pushed the mug 
 to their neighbours. The singer himself grew emotional, 
 till she could imagine a tear in his eye as the words 
 went on : — 
 
 ' It's hame, and it's hame, hame fain would I be. 
 Oh hame, hame, hame to my ain countree ! 
 There's an eye that ever weeps, and a fair face will be fain. 
 As I pass through Annan Water with my bonnie bands again ; 
 When the flower is in the bud, and the leaf upon the tree, 
 The lark shall sing me hame to my ain countree 1 ' 
 
 60 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 There was a burst of applause, and a deep silence 
 which was even more eloquent than the applause. It 
 was of such a kind that the snapping of a pipe-stem too 
 long for him by old Solomon Longways, who was one 
 of those gathered at the shady end of the room, seemed 
 a harsh and irreverent act. Then the ventilator in the 
 window-pane spasmodically started off for a new spin, 
 and the pathos of Donald's song was temporarily effaced. 
 
 ' 'Twas not amiss — not at all amiss ! ' muttered 
 Christopher Coney, who was also present. And re- 
 moving his pipe a finger's breadth from his lips, he said 
 aloud, ' Draw on with the next verse, young gentleman, 
 please.' 
 
 ' Yes. Let's have it again, stranger,' said the glazier, 
 a stout, bucket-headed man, with a white apron rolled 
 up round his waist. ' Folk s don't lift up their hearts 
 like that in this part of the world.' And turning aside, 
 he said in undertones, 'Who is the young man? — 
 Scotch, d'ye say ? ' 
 
 'Yes, straight from the mountains of Scotland, I 
 believe,' replied Coney. 
 
 Young Farfrae repeated the last verse. It was plain 
 that nothing so pathetic had been heard at the Three 
 Mariners for a considerable time. The difference of 
 accent, the excitability of the singer, the intense local 
 feeling, and the seriousness with which he worked him- 
 self up to a climax, surprised this set of worthies, who 
 were only too prone to shut up their emotions with 
 caustic words. 
 
 ' Danged if our country down here is worth singing 
 about like that ! ' continued the glazier, as the Scotch- 
 man again melodized with a dying fall, ' My ain 
 countree 1 ' ' When you take away from among us 
 the fools and the rogues, and the lammigers, and the 
 wanton hussies, and the slatterns, and such like, there's 
 oust few left to ornament a song with in Casterbridge, 
 or the country round.' 
 
 61 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 •True,' said Buzzford, the dealer, looking at the 
 grain of the table. ' Casterbridge is a old, hoary 
 place o' wickedness, by all account. 'Tis recorded in 
 history that we rebelled against the King one or two 
 hundred years ago, in the time of the Romans, and that 
 lots of us was hanged on Gallows Hill, and quartered, 
 and our different jints sent about the country like 
 butcher's meat ; and for my part I can well believe it.' 
 
 ' What did ye come away from yer own country for, 
 young maister, if ye be so wownded about it ? ' in- 
 quired Christopher Coney, from the background, with 
 the tone of a man who preferred the original subject. 
 ' Faith, it wasn't worth your while on our account, for, 
 as Maister Billy Wills says, we be bruckle folk here — 
 the best o' us hardly honest sometimes, what with 
 hard winters, and so many mouths to fill, and God- 
 a'mighty sending his little taties so terrible small to 
 fill 'em with. We don't think about flowers and fair 
 faces, not we — except in the shape o' cauliflowers and 
 pigs' chaps.' 
 
 ' But, no ! ' said Donald Farfrae, gazing round into 
 their faces with earnest concern ; ' the best of ye hardly 
 honest — not that surely? None of ye has been steal- 
 ing what didn't belong to him ? ' 
 
 ' Lord ! no, no ! ' said Solomon Longways, smiling 
 grimly. ' That's only his random way o' speaking. 
 'A was always such a man of under-thoughts.' (And 
 reprovingly towards Christopher): 'Don't ye be so 
 over-familiar with a gentleman that ye know nothing of 
 — and that's travelled a'most from the North Pole.' 
 
 Christopher Coney was silenced, and as he could 
 get no public sympathy, he mumbled his feelings to 
 himself: 'Be dazed, if I loved my country half as 
 well as the young feller do, I'd live by claning my 
 neighbour's pigsties afore I'd go away ! For my part 
 I've no more love for my country than I have for 
 Botany Bay ! ' 
 
 62 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 'Come,' said Longways; 'let the young man draw 
 onward with his ballet, or we shall be here all night.' 
 
 ' That's all of it,' said the singer apologetically. 
 
 ' Soul of my body, then we'll have another ! ' said 
 the general dealer. 
 
 ' Can you turn a strain to the ladies, sir ? ' inquired 
 a fat woman with a figured purple apron, the waist- 
 string of which was overhung so far by her sides as 
 to be invisible. 
 
 ' Let him breathe — let him breathe. Mother Cuxsom. 
 He hain't got his second wind yet,' said the master 
 glazier. 
 
 ' Oh yes, but I have ! ' exclaimed the young man ; 
 and he at once rendered ' O Nannie ' with faultless 
 modulations, and another or two of the like sentiment, 
 winding up at their earnest request with • Auld Lang 
 Syne.' 
 
 By this time he had completely taken possession of 
 the hearts of the Three Mariners' inmates, including 
 even old Coney. Notwithstanding an occasional odd 
 gravity which awoke their sense of the ludicrous for the 
 moment, they began to view him through a golden haze 
 which the tone of his mind seemed to raise around him. 
 Casterbridge had sentiment — Casterbridge had romance; 
 but this stranger's sentiment was of differing quality. 
 Or rather, perhaps, the difference was mainly super- 
 ficial; he was to them like the poet of a new school 
 who takes his contemporaries by storm; who is not 
 really new, but is the first to articulate what all his 
 listeners have felt, though but dumbly till then. 
 
 The silent landlord came and leant over the settle 
 while the young man sang; and even Mrs. Stannidge 
 managed to unstick herself from the framework of her 
 chair in the bar, and get as far as the door-post, which 
 movement she accomplished by rolling herself round, 
 as a cask is trundled on the chine by a drayman with- 
 out losing the perpendicular. 
 
 63 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 'And are you going to bide in Casterbridge, sir?' 
 she asked. 
 
 ' Ah — no ! ' said the Scotchman, with melancholy 
 fatality in his voice, ' I'm only passing thirrough 1 I 
 am on my way to Bristol, and on frae there to foreign 
 parts.' 
 
 ' We be truly sorry to hear it,' said Solomon Long- 
 ways. 'We can ill afford to lose tuneful wynd-pipes 
 like yours when they fall amcing us. And verily, to 
 mak' acquaintance with a man a come from so far, from 
 the land o' perpetual snow, as we may say, where wolves 
 and wild boars and other dangerous animalcules be as 
 common as blackbirds hereabout — why, 'tis a thing we 
 can't do every day; and there's good sound informa- 
 tion for bide-at-homes like we when such a man opens 
 his mouth.' 
 
 ' Nay, but ye mistake my country,' said the young 
 man, looking round upon them with tragic fixity, till 
 his eye lighted up and his cheek kindled with a sudden 
 enthusiasm to right their errors. ' There are not per- 
 petual snow and wolves at all in it ! — except snow in 
 winter, and — well — a little in summer just sometimes, 
 and a " gaberlunzie " or two stalking about here and 
 there, if ye may call them dangerous. Eh, but you 
 should take a summer jarreny to Edinboro', and Arthur's 
 Seat, and all round there, and then go on to the lochs, 
 aijd all the Highland scenery — in May and June — 
 and you would never say 'tis the land of wolves and 
 perpetual snow ! ' 
 
 ' Of course not — it stands to reason,' said Buzzford. 
 ' 'Tis barren ignorance that leads to such words. He's 
 a simple home-spun man, that never was fit for good 
 company — think nothing of him, sir.' 
 
 'And do ye carry your flock bed, and your quilt, 
 and your crock, and your bit of chiney ? or do ye go 
 in bare bones, as I may say?' inquired Christopher 
 Coney. 
 
 64 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 'I've sent on my luggage — though it isn't much; 
 for the voyage is long.' Donald's eyes dropped into 
 a remote gaze as he added : ' But I said to myself, 
 " Never a one of the prizes of life will I come by unless 
 I undertake it ! " and I decided to go.' 
 
 A general sense of regret, in which Elizabeth-Jane 
 shared not least, made itself apparent in the company. 
 As she looked at Farfrae from the back of the settle, 
 she decided that his statements showed him to be no 
 less thoughtful than his fascinating melodies revealed 
 him to be cordial and impassioned. She admired the 
 serious light in which he looked at serious things. He 
 had seen no jest in ambiguities and- roguery, as the 
 Casterbridge toss-pots had done; and rightly not — 
 there was none. She disliked those wretched humours 
 of Christopher Coney and his tribe; and he did not 
 appreciate them. /He seemed to feel exactly as she ^^ 
 felt about life and its surroundings — that they were a \ 
 tragical, rather than a comical, thing; that though one i 
 could be gay on occasion, moments of gaiety were in- / 
 terludes, and no part of the actual drama. It was / 
 extraordinary how similar their views were. 
 
 Though it was still early, the young Scotchman ex- 
 pressed his wish to retire, whereupon the landlady 
 whispered to Elizabeth to run upstairs and turn down 
 his bed. She took a candlestick and proceeded on her 
 mission, which was the act"^ a few moments only. 
 When, candle in hand, she reached the top of the stairs 
 on her way down again, Mr. Farfrae was at the foot 
 coming up. She could not very well retreat ; they 
 met and passed in the turn of the staircase. 
 
 She must have appeared interesting in some way — 
 notwithstanding her plain dress — or rather, possibly, 
 in consequence of it, for she was a girl characterized 
 by earnestness and soberness of mien, with which 
 simple drapery accorded well. Her face flushed, too, 
 at the slight awkwardness of the meeting, and she 
 
 6s E 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 passed him with her eyes, bent on the candle-flame 
 that she carried just below her nose. Thus it happened 
 that when confronting her he smiled ; and then, with 
 the manner of a temporarily light-hearted man, who 
 has started himself on a flight of song whose momentum 
 he cannot readily check, he softly tuned an old ditty 
 that she seemed to suggest — 
 
 ' As I came in by my bower door, 
 As day was waxin' wearie, 
 Oh wha came tripping down the stair 
 But bonnie Peg my dearie.' 
 
 Elizabeth- Jane, rather disconcerted, hastened on ; and 
 the Scotchman's voice died away, humming more of 
 the same within the closed door of his room. 
 
 Here the scene and sentiment ended for the present. 
 When, soon after, the girl rejoined her mother, the 
 latter was still in thought — on quite another matter 
 than a young man's song. 
 
 ' We've made a mistake,' she whispered (that the 
 Scotchman might not overhear). ' On no account 
 ought ye to have helped serve here to-night. Not 
 because of ourselves, but for the sake of him. If he 
 should befriend us, and take us up, and then find out 
 what you did when staying here, 'twould grieve and 
 wound his natural pride as Mayor of the town.' 
 
 Elizabeth, who would perhaps have been more 
 alarmed at this than her mother had she known the 
 real relationship, was not much disturbed about it as 
 things stood. Her 'he' was another man than her 
 potor mother's. ' For myself,' she said, ' I didn't at 
 all mind waiting a little upon him. He's so respect- 
 able, and educated — far above the rest of 'em in the inn. 
 They thought him very simple not to know their grim 
 broad way of talking about themselves here. But of 
 course he didn't know — he was too refined in his mind 
 to know such things ! ' Thus she earnestly pleaded. 
 66 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 Meanwhile, the 'he' of her mother was not so far 
 away as even they thought. After leaving the Three 
 Mariners he had sauntered up and down the empty 
 High Street, passing and repassing the inn in his 
 promenade. When the Scotchman sang, his voice had 
 reached Henchard's ears through the heart-shaped holes 
 in the window-shutters, and had led him to pause 
 outside them a long while. 
 
 ' To be sure, to be sure, how that fellow does draw 
 me ! ' he had said to himself. ' I suppose 'tis because 
 I'm so lonely. I'd have given him a third share in 
 the business to have stayed 1 ' 
 
 67 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 IX 
 
 Vv HEN Elizabeth-Jane opened the hinged casement 
 next morning, the mellow air brought in the feel of 
 imminent autumn almost as distinctly as if she had 
 been in the remotest hamlet. Casterbridge was the 
 jcomplement of the rural life around; not its urban 
 opposite. Bses>.aiui._butterfli^_in_Jiie.„corniSslds at 
 tJieJajx "L^b^Jll^r-i yho ';ii'?si'''^d tp get- to the thp^Hs 
 
 at the bottom^toflli_jiciL_oiaiJioi^ _couESf» bnt^flew 
 StJaJght ''(TnwnHigh g jt.rp.et— with ni.i t ..any apparent , con- 
 
 sclousness__that _^^-were~tTaiv©fsing- str-a 
 And in autumn airy spheres of thistledown floated into 
 the same street, lodged upon the shop fronts, blew 
 into drains ; and innumerable tawny and yellow leaves 
 skimmed along the pavement, and stole through people's 
 doorways into their passages, with a hesitating scratch 
 on the floor, like the skirts of timid visitors. 
 
 Hearing voices, one of which was close at hand, 
 she withdrew her head, and glanced from behind the 
 window-curtains. Mr. Henchard — now habited no 
 longer as a great personage, but as a thriving man of 
 business — was pausing on his way up the middle of 
 the street, and the Scotchman was looking from the 
 window adjoining her own. Henchard, it appeared, 
 had gone a little way past the inn before he had 
 noticed his acquaintance of the previous evening. He 
 68 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 came back a few steps, Donald Farfrae opening the 
 ■window further. 
 
 ' And you are off soon, I suppose ? ' said Henchard 
 upwards. 
 
 'Yes — almost this moment, sir,' said the other. 
 • Maybe I'll walk on till the coach makes up on me.' 
 
 ' Which way ? ' 
 
 ' The way ye are going.' 
 
 ' Then shall we walk together to the top o' town ? ' 
 
 ' If ye'U wait a minute,' said the Scotchman. 
 
 In a few minutes the latter emerged, bag in hand. 
 Henchard looked at the bag as at an enemy. It showed 
 there was no mistake about the young man's departure. 
 ' Ah, my lad,' he said, ' you should have been a wise 
 man, and have stayed with me.' 
 
 ' Yes, yes — it might have been wiser,' said Donald, 
 looking microscopically at the houses that were furthest 
 off. ' It is only telling ye the truth when I say my 
 plans are vague.' 
 
 They had by this time passed on from the precincts 
 of the inn, and Elizabeth-Jane heard no more. She 
 saw that they continued in conversation, Henchard 
 turning to the other occasionally, and emphasizing 
 some remark with a gesture. Thus they passed the 
 King's Arms Hotel, the Market House, the churchyard 
 wall, ascending to the upper end of the long street till 
 they were small as two grains of corn ; when they bent 
 suddenly to the right into the Bristol Road, and were 
 out of view. 
 
 < He was a good man — and he's gone,' she said to 
 herself. 'I was nothing to him, and there was no 
 reason why he should have wished me good-bye.' 
 
 The simple thought, with its latent sense of slight, 
 had moulded itself out of the following little fact : 
 when the Scotchman came out at the door he had by 
 accident glanced up at her; and then he had looked 
 away again without nodding, or smiling, or saying a word. 
 
 69 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 ' You are still thinking, mother,' she said, when she 
 turned inwards. 
 
 ' Yes ; I am thinking of Mr. Henchard's sudden 
 liking for that young man. He was always so. Now, 
 surely, if he takes so warmly to people who are not 
 related to him at all, may he not take as warmly to his 
 own kin ? ' 
 
 While they debated this question a procession of 
 five large waggons went past, laden with hay up to the 
 bedroom windows. They came in from the country, 
 and the steaming horses had probably been travelling 
 a great part of the night. To the sl^ft of each hung 
 a little board, on which was painted in white letters, 
 ' Henchard, corn-factor and hay-merchant.' The spec- 
 tacle renewed his wife's conviction that, for her daughter's 
 sake, she should strain a point to rejoin him. 
 
 The discussion was continued during breakfast, and 
 the end of it was that Mrs. Henchard decided, for good 
 or for ill, to send Elizabeth- Jane with a message to 
 Henchard, to the effect that his relative Susan, a sailor's 
 widow, was in the town ; leaving it to him to say whether 
 or not he would recognize her. What had brought her 
 to this determination were chiefly two things. He had 
 been described as a lonely widower; and he had ex- 
 pressed'shame for a past transaction of his life. There 
 was promise in both. 
 
 ' If he says no,' she enjoined, as Elizabeth-Jane 
 stood, bonnet on, ready to depart ; ' if he thinks it 
 does not become the good position he has reached to 
 in the town, to own — to let us call on him as — ^his 
 distant kinsfolk, say, "Then, sir, we would rather not 
 intrude; we will leave Casterbridge as quietly as we 
 have come, and go back to our own country." . . . 
 I almost feel that I would rather he did say so, as I 
 have not seen him for so many years, and we are so 
 —little allied to him ! ' 
 
 ' And if he say yes ? ' inquired the more sanguine one. 
 70 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 • In that case,' answered Mrs. Henchard cautiously, 
 ' ask him to write me a note, saying when and how 
 he will see us — or »/<;.' 
 
 Elizabeth- Jane went a few steps towards the landing. 
 ' And tell him,' continued her mother, « that I fully 
 know I have no claim upon him — that I am glad to 
 find he is thriving ; that I hope his life may be long 
 and happy — there, go.' Thus with a half-hearted 
 willingness, a smothered reluctance, did the poor for- 
 giving woman start her unconscious daughter on this 
 errand. 
 
 It was about ten o'clock, and market-day, when 
 Elizabeth paced up the High Street, in no great hurry; 
 for to herself her position was only that of a poor 
 relation deputed to hunt up a rich one. The front 
 doors of the private houses were mostly left open at 
 this warm autumn time, no thought of umbrella stealers 
 disturbing the minds of the placid burgesses. Hence, 
 through the long, straight, entrance passages thus un- 
 closed could be seen, as through tunnels, the mossy 
 gardens at the back, glowing with nasturtiums, fuchsias, 
 scarlet geraniums, ' bloody warriors,' snapdragons, and 
 dahlias, this floral blaze being backed by crusted grey 
 stone-work remaining from a yet remoter Casterbridge 
 than the venerable one visible in the street. The old- 
 fashioned fronts of these houses, which had older than 
 old-fashioned backs, rose sheer from the pavement, 
 into which the bow-windows protruded like bastions, 
 necessitating a pleasing chassez-dichassez movement to 
 the time-pressed pedestrian at every few yards. He 
 was bound also to evolve other Terpsichorean figures 
 in respect of door-steps, scrapers, cellar-hatches, church 
 buttresses, and the overhanging angles of walls which, 
 originally „jiiiobfePusive, had become bow-legged and 
 knock-kneed. 
 
 In addition to these fixed obstacles which spoke so 
 cheerfully of individual unrestraint as to boundaries, 
 
 71 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 movables occupied the path and roadway to a perplex- 
 ing extent. First the vans of the carriers in and out 
 of Casterbridge, who hailed from Mellstock, Weather- 
 bury, The Hintocks, Sherton-Abbas, Kingsbere, Over- 
 combe, and many other towns and villages round. 
 Their owners were numerous enough to be regarded 
 as a tribe, and had almost distinctiveness enough to 
 be regarded as a race. Their vans had just arrived, 
 and were drawn up on each side of the street in close 
 file, so as to form at places a wall between the pave- 
 ment and the roadway. Moreover every shop pitched 
 out half its contents upon trestles and boxes on the 
 kerb, extending the display each week a little further 
 and further into the roadway, despite the expostula- 
 tions of the two feeble old constables, until there re- 
 mained but a tortuous defile for carriages down the 
 centre of the street, which afforded fine opportunities 
 for skill with the reins. Over the pavement on the 
 sunny side of the way hung shopbUnds so constructed 
 as to give the passenger's hat a smart buffet oif his 
 head, as from the unseen hands of Cranstoun's Goblin 
 Page, celebrated in romantic lore. 
 
 Horses for sale were tied in rows, their forelegs on 
 the pavement, their hind legs in the street, in which 
 position they occasionally nipped little boys by the 
 shoulder who were passing to school. And any inviting 
 recess in front of a house that had been modestly kept 
 back from the general line was utilized by pig-dealers 
 as a pen for their stock. 
 
 The yeomen, farmers, dairymen, and townsfolk, who 
 came to transact business in these ancient streets, 
 spoke in other ways than by articulation. Not to 
 hear the words of your interlocutor in metropolitan 
 centres is to know nothing of his meaning. Here the 
 face, the arms, the hat, the stick, the body throughout 
 spoke equally with the tongue. To express satisfaction 
 the Casterbridge market-man added to his utterance a 
 73 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 broadening of the cheeks, a crevicing of the eyes, a 
 throwing back of the shoulders, which was intelligible 
 from the other end of the street. If he wondered, 
 though all Henchard's carts and waggons were rattling 
 past him, you knew it from perceiving the" inside of his 
 crimson mouth, and a target-like circling of his eyes. 
 Deliberation caused sundry attacks on the moss of 
 adjoining walls with the end of his stick, a change of 
 his hat from the horizontal to the less so ; a sense of 
 tediousness announced itself in a lowering of the person 
 by spreading the knees to a lozenge-shaped aperture 
 and contorting the arms. Chicanery, subterfuge, had 
 hardly a place in the streets of this honest borough 
 to all appearance ; and it was said that the lawyers in 
 the Court House hard by occasionally threw in strong 
 arguments for the other side out of pure generosity 
 (though apparently by mischance) when advancing 
 their own. 
 
 Thus Casterbridge was in most respects but the 
 pole, focus, or nerve-knot of the surrounding country 
 life ; diifering from the many manufacturing towns 
 which are as foreign bodies set down, like boulders on 
 a plain, in a green world with which they have nothing 
 in common. Casterbridge lived by agriculture at one 
 remove further from the fountain-head than the adjoin- 
 ing villages — no more. The townsfolk understood every 
 fluctuation in the rustic's condition, for it affected their 
 receipts as much as the labourer's ; they entered into 
 the troubles and joys which moved the aristocratic 
 families ten miles round — for the same reason. And 
 even at the dinner-parties of the professional families 
 the subjects of discussion were corn, cattle-disease, 
 sowing and reaping, fencing and planting ; while politics 
 were viewed, by them less from their own standpoint 
 of burgesses with rights and privileges than from the 
 standpoint of their county neighbours. 
 
 All the venerable contrivances and confusions which 
 73 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 delighted the eye by their quaintness, and in a measure 
 reasonableness, in this rare old market-town, were metro- 
 politan novelties to the unpractised eyes of Elizabeth- 
 Jane, fresh from netting fish-seines in a sea-side cottage. 
 Very little inquiry was necessary to guide her footsteps, 
 Henchard's house was one of the best, faced with dull 
 red-and-grey old brick. The front door was open, 
 and, as in other houses, she could see through the 
 passage to the end of the garden — nearly a quarter of 
 a mile off. 
 
 Mr. Henchard was not in the house, but in the 
 store-yard. She was conducted into the mossy garden, 
 and through a door in the wall, which was studded with 
 rusty nails speaking of generations of fruit-trees that had 
 been trained there. The door opened upon the yard, 
 and here she was left to find him as she could. It was 
 a place flanked by hay-barns, into which tons of fodder, 
 all in trusses, were being packed from the waggons she 
 had seen pass the inn that morning. On other sides of 
 the yard were wooden granaries on stone staddles, to 
 which access was given by Flemish ladders, and a store- 
 house several floors high. Wherever the doors of these 
 places were open, a closely packed throng of bursting 
 wheat-sacks could be seen standing inside, with the air 
 of awaiting a famine that would not come. 
 
 She wandered about this place, uncomfortably con- 
 scious of the impending interview, till she was quite 
 weary of searching ; she ventured to inquire of a boy 
 in what quarter Mr. Henchard could be found. He 
 directed her to an office which she had not seen before, 
 and knocking at the door she was answered by a cry of 
 • Come in.' 
 
 Elizabeth turned the handle ; and there stood before 
 her, bending over some sample-bags on a table, not the 
 corn-merchant, but the young Scotchman Mr. Farfrae — 
 in the act of pouring some grains of wheat from one 
 hand to the other. His hat hung on a peg behind him, 
 74 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 and the roses of his carpet-bag glowed from the corner 
 of the room. 
 
 Having toned her feelings and arranged words on 
 her lips for Mr. Henchard, and for him alone, she was 
 for the moment confounded. 
 
 ' Yes, what is it ? ' said the Scotchman, like a man 
 who permanently ruled there. 
 
 She said she wanted to see Mr. Henchard. 
 
 ' Ah, yes ; will you wait a minute ? He's engaged 
 just now,' said the young man, apparently not recogniz- 
 ing her as the girl at the inn. He handed her a chair, 
 bade her sit down, and turned to his sample-bags again. 
 While Elizabeth-Jane sits waiting in great amaze at the 
 young man's presence we may briefly explain how he 
 came there. 
 
 When the two new acquaintances had passed out of 
 sight that morning towards the Bath and Bristol road 
 they went on silently, except for a few commonplaces, 
 till they had gone down an avenue on the town walls 
 called the Chalk Walk, leading to an angle where the 
 North and West escarpments met. From this high 
 corner of the square earthworks a vast extent of country 
 could be seen. A footpath ran steeply down the green 
 slope, conducting from the shady promenade on the 
 walls to a road at the bottom of the scarp. It was by 
 this path the Scotchman had to descend. 
 
 ' Well, here's success to ye,' said Henchard, holding 
 out his right hand and leaning with his left upon the 
 wicket which protected the descent. In the act there 
 was the inelegance of one whose feelings are nipped and 
 wishes defeated. ' I shall often think of this time, and 
 of how you came at the very moment to throw a light 
 upon my difficulty.' 
 
 Still holding the young man's hand he paused, and 
 then added deliberately : ' Now I am not the man to 
 let a cause be lost for want of a word. And before ye 
 are gone for ever I'll speak. Once more, will ye stay ? 
 
 75 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 There it is, flat and plain. You can see that it isn't 
 all selfishness that makes me press 'ee ; for my business 
 is not quite so scientific as to require an intellect 
 entirely out of the common. Others would do for the 
 place without doubt. Some selfishness perhaps there 
 is, but there is more ; it isn't for me to repeat what. 
 Come bide with me — and name your own terms. I'll 
 agree to 'em willingly and 'ithout a word of gainsaying j 
 for, hang it, Farfrae, I like thee well ! ' 
 
 The young man's hand remained steady in Hen- 
 chard's for a moment or two. He looked over the 
 fertile country that stretched beneath them, then back- 
 ward along the shaded walk reaching to the top of the 
 town. His face flushed. 
 
 ' I never expected this — I did not ! ' he said. ' It's 
 Providence ! Should any one go against it ? No ; I'll 
 not go to America ; I'll stay and be your man ! ' 
 
 His hand, which had lain lifeless in Henchard'^ 
 returned the latter's grasp. 
 
 ' Done,' said Henchard. 
 
 ' Done,' said Donald Farfrae. 
 
 The face of Mr. Henchard beauied forth a satisfaction 
 that was almost fierce in its strength. ' Now you are 
 my friend ! ' he exclaimed. ' Come back to my house ; 
 let's clinch it at once by clear terms, so as to be com- 
 fortable in our minds.' Farfrae caught up his bag and 
 retraced the North- West Avenue in Henchard's company 
 as he had come. Henchard was all confidence now. 
 
 ' I am the most distant fellow in the world when I 
 don't care for a man,' he said. 'But when a man 
 takes my fancy he takes it strong. Now I am sure 
 you can eat another breakfast? You couldn't have 
 eaten much so e^rly, even if they had anything at that 
 place to gi'e thee, which they hadn't ; so come to my 
 house and we will have a solid, staunch tuck-in, and 
 settle terms in black-and-white if you like; though 
 ipy wQrd's pay bond. I can always niake a good xnea\ 
 76 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 in the morning. I've got a splendid cold pigeon-pie 
 going just now. You can have some home-brtwed if 
 you want to, you know.' 
 
 ' It is too airly in the morning for that,' said Farfras 
 with a smile. 
 
 •Well, of course, I didn't know. I don't drink it 
 because of my oath ; but I am obliged to brew for my 
 work-people.' 
 
 Thus talking they returned, and entered Henchard's 
 premises by the back way or traffic entrance. Here 
 the matter was settled over the breakfast, at which 
 Henchard heaped the young Scotchman's plate to a 
 prodigal fulness. He would not rest satisfied till 
 Farfrae had written for his luggage from Bristol, and 
 despatched the letter to the post-office. Mrhen it was 
 done this man of strong impulses declared that his new 
 friend should take up his abode in his house — at least 
 till some suitable lodgings could be found. 
 
 He then took Farfrae round and showed him the 
 place, and the stores of grain, and other stock ; and 
 finally entered the offices where the younger of them 
 had already been discovered by Elizabeth. 
 
nV HILE she still sat under the Scotchman's eyes a 
 man came up to the door, reaching it as Henchard 
 opened the door of the inner office to admit Elizabeth. 
 The new-comer stepped forward like the quicker cripple 
 at Bethesda, and entered in her stead. She could 
 hear his words to Henchard: 'Joshua Jopp, sir — by 
 appointment — the new manager.' 
 
 'The new manager! — he's in his office,' said 
 Henchard bluntly. 
 
 ' In his office ! ' said the man, with a stultified air. 
 
 • I mentioned Thursday,' said Henchard ; ' and as 
 you did not keep your appointment, I have engaged 
 another manager. At first I thought he must be 
 you. Do you think I can wait when business is in 
 question ? ' 
 
 'You said Thursday or Saturday, sir,' said the 
 new-comer, pulling out a letter. 
 
 'Well, you are too late,' said the corn-factor. 'I 
 can say no more.' 
 
 ' You as good as engaged me,' murmured the man. 
 
 ' Subject to an interview,' said Henchard. ' I am 
 sorry for you — ^very sorry indeed. But it can't be 
 helped.' 
 
 There was no more to be said, and the man came 
 out, encountering Elizabeth- Jane in his passage. She 
 78 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 could see that his mouth twitched with anger, and 
 that bitter disappointment was written in his face 
 everywhere. 
 
 Elizabeth-Jane now entered, and stood before the 
 master of the premises. His dark pupils — which 
 always seemed to have a red spark of light in them, 
 though this could hardly be a physical fact — turned 
 indifferently round under his dark brows until they 
 rested on her figure. • Now then, what is it, my young 
 woman ? ' he said blandly. 
 
 ' Can I speak to you — not on business, sir ? ' said she. 
 
 ' Yes — I suppose.' He looked at her more thought- 
 fully. 
 
 ' I am sent to tell you, sir,' she innocently went 
 on, ' that a distant relative of yours by marriage, Susan 
 Newson, a sailor's widow, is in the town; and to ask 
 whether you would wish to see her.' 
 
 The rich rouge-et-noir of his countenance underwent 
 a slight change. 'Oh — Susan is — still alive?' he 
 asked with difficulty. 
 
 ' Yes, sir.' 
 
 ' Are you her daughter ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, sir — ^her only daughter.' 
 
 'What — do you call yourself — your Christian 
 name ? ' 
 
 ' Elizabeth- Jane, sir.' 
 
 ' Newson ? ' 
 
 « Elizabeth- Jane Newson.' 
 
 This at once suggested to Henchard that the trans- 
 action of his early married life at Weydon Fair was 
 unrecorded in the family history. It was more than 
 he could have expected. His wife had behaved kindly 
 to him in return for his unkindness, and had never 
 proclaimed her wrong to her child or to the world. 
 
 •I am — a good deal interested in your news,' he 
 said. ' And as this is not a matter of business, but 
 pleasure, suppose we go indoors.' 
 
 79 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 It was with a gentle delicacy of manner, surprising 
 to Elizabeth, that he showed her out of the office, and 
 through the outer room, where Donald Farfrae was 
 overhauling bins and samples with the inquiring in- 
 spection of a beginner in charge. Henchard preceded 
 her through the door in the wall to the suddenly changed 
 scene of the garden and flowers, and onward into the 
 house. The dining-room to which he introduced her 
 still exhibited the remnants of the lavish breakfast laid 
 for Farfrae. It was furnished to profusion with heavy 
 mahogany furniture of the deepest red-Spanish hues 
 Pembroke tables, with leaves hanging so low that they 
 well-nigh touched the floor, stood against the walls on 
 legs and feet shaped like those of an elephant, and on 
 one lay three huge foUo volumes — a Family Bible, a 
 ' Josephus,' and a ' Whole Duty of Man.' In the 
 chimney corner was a fire-grate with a fluted semi-cir- 
 cular back, having urns and festoons cast in relief 
 thereon ; and the chairs were of the kind which, since 
 that day, has cast lustre upon the names of Chippendale 
 and Sheraton, though, in point of fact, their patterns 
 may have been such as those illustrious carpenters never 
 saw or heard of. 
 
 ' Sit down — Elizabeth- Jane — sit down,' he said, with 
 a shake in his voice as he uttered her name ; and sitting 
 down himself he allowed his hands to hang between his 
 knees, while he looked upon the carpet. • Your mother, 
 then, is quite well ? ' 
 
 ' She is rather worn out, sir, with travelling.' 
 
 ' A sailor's widow — ^when did he die ? ' 
 
 • Father was lost last spring.' 
 
 Henchard winced at the word ' father,' thus applied. 
 ' Do you and she come from abroad — America or Aus- 
 tralia ? ' he asked. 
 
 ' No. We have been in England some years. I was 
 twelve when we came here from Canada.' 
 
 'Ah; exactly' By such conversation he discovered 
 80 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 the circumstances -which had enveloped his wife and 
 her child in such total obscurity that he had long ago 
 believed them to be in their graves. These things 
 being clear, he returned to the present. ' And where 
 is your mother staying ? ' 
 
 • At the Three Mariners.' 
 
 'And you are her daughter Elizabeth- Jane ? ' repeated 
 Henchard. He arose, came close to her, and glanced 
 in her face. ' I think,' he said, suddenly turning away 
 with a wet eye, ' you shall take a note from me to your 
 mother. I should like to see her. . , . She is not le.'t 
 very well off by her late husband ? ' His eye fell on 
 Elizabeth's clothes, which, though a respectable suit of 
 black, and her very best, were decidedly old-fashioned, 
 even to Casterbridge eyes. 
 
 ' Not very well,' she said, glad that he had divined 
 this without her being obliged to express it. 
 
 He sat down at the table and wrote a few lines; 
 next taking from his pocket-book a five-pound note, 
 which he put in the envelope with the letter, adding to it, 
 as by an after-thought, five shillings. Sealing the whole 
 up carefully, he directed it to ' Mrs. Newson, Three 
 Mariners Inn,' and handed the packet to Elizabeth. 
 
 ' Deliver it to her personally, please,' said Henchard. 
 ' Well, I am glad to see you here, Elizabeth- Jane — ^very 
 glad. We must have a long talk together — but not 
 just now.' 
 
 He took her hand at parting, and held it so warmly 
 that she, who had known so little friendship, was much 
 affected, and tears rose to her aerial-grey eyes. The 
 instant that she was gone Henchard's state showed 
 itself more distinctly ; having shut the door, he sat in 
 his dining-room stiffly erect, gazing at the opposite wall 
 as if he read his history there. 
 
 ' Begad ! ' he suddenly exclaimed, jumping up. ' I 
 didn't think of that. Perhaps these are impostors — 
 and Susan and the child dead after all 1 ' 
 
 8i F 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 However, a something in Elizabeth- Jane soon assured 
 him that, as regarded her, at least, there could be little 
 doubt. And a few hours would settle the question of 
 her mother's identity; for he had arranged in his note 
 to see her that evening. 
 
 ' It never rains but it pours ! ' said Henchard. His 
 keenly excited interest in his new friend the Scotchman 
 was now eclipsed by this event; and Donald Farfrae 
 saw so little of him during the rest of the day that he 
 wondered at the suddenness of his employer's moods. 
 
 In the meantime Elizabeth had reached the inn. Her 
 mother, instead of taking the note with the curiosity of 
 a poor woman expecting assistance, was much moved 
 at sight of it. She did not read it at once, asking 
 Elizabeth to describe her reception, and the very words 
 Mr. Henchard used. Elizabeth's back was turned when 
 her mother opened the letter. It ran thus : — 
 
 ' Meet me at eight o'clock this evening, if you can, 
 at the Ring on the Budmouth road. The place is easy 
 to find. I can say no more now. The news upsets 
 me almost. The girl seems to be in ignorance. Keep 
 her so till I have seen you. M. H.' 
 
 He said nothing about the enclosure of five guineas. 
 The amount was significant; it may tacitly have said 
 to her that he bought her back again. She waited rest- 
 lessly for the close of the day, telling Elizabeth-Jane 
 that she was invited to see Mr. Henchard; that she 
 would go alone. But she said nothing to show that 
 the place of meeting was not at his house, nor did she 
 hand the note to Elizabeth. 
 
XI 
 
 1 HE Ring at Casterbridge was merely the local name 
 of one of the finest Roman Amphitheatres, if not the 
 very finest, remaining in Britain. 
 
 Casterbridge announced old Rome in every street, 
 alley, and precinct. It looked Roman, bespoke the art 
 of Rome, concealed dead men of Rome. It was im- 
 possible to dig more than a foot or two deep about the 
 town fields and gardens without coming upon some tall 
 soldier or other of the Empire, who had lain there in 
 his silentj^jiebtrHSJJie rest for a space of fifteen hundred 
 years. He was mostly found lying on his side, in an 
 oval scoop in the chalk, like a chicken in its shell ; his 
 knees drawn up to his chest; sometimes with the remains 
 of his spear against his arm ; a fibula or brooch of bronze 
 on his breast or forehead ; an urn at his knees, a jar at 
 his throat, a bottle at his mouth ; and mystified conjec- 
 ture pouring down upon him from the eyes of Caster- 
 bridge street boys and men, who had turned a moment 
 to gaze at the familiar spectacle as they passed by. 
 
 Imaginative inhabitants, who would have felt an un- 
 pleasantness at the discovery of a comparatively modern 
 skeleton in their gardens, were quite unmoved by these 
 hoary shapes. They had lived so long ago, their time 
 was so unlike the present, their hopes and motives were 
 so widely removed from ours, that between them and 
 
 83 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 the living there seemed to stretch a gulf too wide for 
 even a spirit to pass. 
 
 The Amphitheatre was a huge circular enclosure, 
 with a notch at opposite extremities of its diameter north 
 and south. From its sloping internal form it might 
 have been called the spittoon of the Jotvms. It was to 
 Casterbridge what the ruined CoUseum is to modem 
 Rome, and was nearly of the same magnitude. The 
 dusk of evening was the proper hour at which a true 
 impression of this suggestive place could be received. 
 Standing in the middle of the arena at that time there 
 by degrees became apparent its real vastness, which a 
 cursory view from the summit at noon-day was apt to 
 obscure. Melancholy, impressive, lonely, yet accessible 
 from every part of the town, the historic circle was the 
 frequent spot for appointments of a furtive kind. In- 
 trigues were arranged there; tentative meetings were 
 there experimented after divisions and feuds. But one 
 kind of appointinent — in itself the most common of any 
 '—seldom had place in the Amphitheatre : that of happy 
 lovers. 
 
 Why, seeing that it was pre-eminently an airy, acces- 
 sible, and sequestered spot for interviews, the cheerful- 
 lest form of those occurrences never took kindly to the 
 soil of the ruin, would be a curious inquiry. Perhaps 
 it was because its associations had about them something 
 sinister. Its history proved that. Apart from th^,.san- 
 gftioajs; nature of the games originally played therein, 
 such incidents attached to its past as these : that for 
 scores of years the town-gallows had stood at one 
 corner; that in 1705 a woman who had murdered her 
 husband was half-strangled and then burnt there in 
 the presence of ten thousand spectators. Tradition 
 reports that at a certain Stage of the burning her heart 
 burst and leapt out of her body, to the terror of them 
 all, and that not one of those ten thousand people ever 
 cared particularly for hot roast after that. In addition 
 84 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE ^ 
 
 to these old tragedies, pugilistic encounters almost to- 
 the death had come off down to recent dates in that 
 secluded arena, entirely invisible to the outside world, 
 save by climbing to the top of the enclosure, which 
 few townspeople in the daily round of their lives ever 
 took the trouble to do. So that, though close to the 
 turnpike-road, crimes might be perpetrated there unseen 
 at mid-day. 
 
 Some boys had latterly tried to impart gaiety to the 
 ruin by using the central arena as a cricket-ground. But 
 the game usually languished, for the aforesaid reason — 
 the dismal privacy which the earthen circle enforced, 
 shutting out every appreciative passer's vision, every 
 commendatory remark from outsiders — everything, ex- 
 cept the sky; and to play at games in such circum- 
 stances was like acting to an empty house. Possibly, 
 too, the boys were timid, for some old people said that 
 at certain moments in the summer time, in broad day- 
 light, persons sitting with a book, or dozing in the 
 arena, had, on lifting their eyes, beheld the slopes lined 
 with a gazing legion of Hadrian's soldiery as if watching 
 the gladiatorial combat; and had heard the roar of 
 their excited voices ; that the scene would remain but 
 a moment, like a lightning flash, and then disappear. 
 
 It was related that there still remained under the 
 south entrance arched cells for the reception of the 
 wild animals and athletes who*took part in the games. 
 The arena was still smooth and circular, as if used for 
 its original purpose not so very long ago. The sloping 
 pathways by which spectators had ascended to their 
 seats were pathways yet. But the whole was grown 
 over with grass, which now, at the end of summer, was 
 bearded with withered bents that formed waves under 
 the brush of the wind, returning to the attentive ear 
 ^olian modulations, and detaining for moments Ihe 
 flying globes of thistledown. 
 
 Henchard had chosen this spot as being the safest 
 
 85 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 from observation which he could think of for meeting 
 his long-lost wife, and at the same time as one easily 
 to be found by a stranger after nightfall. As Mayor 
 of the town, with a reputation to keep up, he could 
 not invite her to come to his house till some definite 
 course had been decided on. 
 
 Just before eight he approached the deserted earth- 
 work, and entered by the south path which descended 
 over the dibris of the former dens. In a few moments 
 he could discern a female figure creeping ii. by the 
 great north gap, or public gateway. They met in the 
 middle of the arena. Neither spoke just at first — there 
 was no necessity for speech — and the poor woman leant 
 'against Henchard, who supported her in his arms. 
 
 ' I don't drink,' he said in a low, halting, apologetic 
 voice. 'You hear, Susan? — I don't drink now — I 
 haven't since that night.' Those were his first words. 
 
 He felt her bow her head in acknowledgment that 
 she understood. After a minute or two he again 
 began : 
 
 ' If I had known you were living, Susan ! But there 
 was every reason to suppose you and the child were 
 dead and gone. I took every possible step to find 
 you — travelled — advertised. My opinion at last was 
 that you had started for some colony with that man, 
 and had been drowned on your voyage out. Why did 
 you keep silent like this ? ' 
 
 ' O Michael ! because of him — what other reason 
 could there be ? I thought I owed him faithfulness to 
 the end of one of our lives — foolishly I believed there 
 was something solemn and binding in the bargain ; I 
 thought that even in honour I dared not desert him 
 when he had paid so much for me in good faith. I 
 meet you now only as his widow — I consider myself 
 that, and that I have no claim upon you. Had he not 
 died, I should never have come — never t Of that you 
 may be sure.' 
 
 86 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 ' Tut-tut ! How could you be so simple ? ' 
 
 ' I don't know. Yet it would have been very wicked 
 — if I had not thought like that 1 ' said Susanj almost 
 crying. 
 
 'Yes — yes — so it would. It is only that which 
 makes me feel ye an innocent woman. But — to lead 
 me into this ! ' 
 
 • What, Michael ? ' she asked, alarmed. 
 
 •Why, this diflSculty about our living together 
 again, and Elizabeth-Jane. She cannot be told all 
 — she would so despise us both that — I could not 
 bear it ! ' 
 
 ' That was why she was brought up in ignorance of 
 you. I could not bear it either.' 
 
 ' Well — we must talk of a plan for keeping her in 
 her present belief, and getting matters straight in spite 
 of it. You have heard I am in a large way of business 
 here — that I am Mayor of the town, and churchwarden, 
 and I don't know what all ? ' 
 
 ' Yes,' she murmured. 
 
 ' These things, as well as the dread of the girl dis- 
 covering our disgrace, makes it necessary to act with 
 extreme caution. So that I don't see how you two can 
 return openly to my house as the wife and daughter I 
 once treated badly, and banished from me ; and there's 
 the rub o't.' 
 
 ' We'll go away at once. I only came to see ' 
 
 ' No, no, Susan ; you are not to go — you mistake 
 me ! ' he said, with kindly severity. ' I have thought 
 of this plan : that you and Elizabeth take a cottage in 
 the town as the widow Mrs. Newson and her daughter ; 
 that I meet you, court you, and marry you, Elizabeth- 
 Jane coming to my house as my step-daughter. The 
 thing is so natural and easy that it is half done in 
 thinking o't. This would leave my shady, headstrong, 
 disgraceful life as a young man absolutely unopened; 
 the secret would be yours and mine only; and I should 
 
 87 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 have the pleasure of seeing my own only child under 
 my roof, as well as my wife.' 
 
 ' I am quite in your hands, Michael,' she said 
 meekly. ' I came here for the sake of Elizabeth ; for 
 myself, if you tell me to leave again to-morrow morn- 
 ing, and never come near you more, I am content 
 to go.' 
 
 ' Now, now ; we don't want to hear that,' said 
 Henchard gently. ' Of course you won't leave again. 
 Think over the plan I have proposed for a few hours ; 
 and if you can't hit upon a better one we'll adopt it. 
 I have to be away for a day or two on business, unfor- 
 tunately; but during that time you can get lodgings — 
 the only ones in the town fit for you are those over the 
 china-shop in High Street — and you can also look for 
 a cottage.' 
 
 ' If the lodgings are in High Street they are dear, 
 I suppose ? ' 
 
 ' Never mind — you musf start genteel if our plan 
 is to be carried out. Look to me for money. Have 
 you enough till I come back ? ' 
 
 ' Quite,' said she. 
 
 ' And are you comfortable at the inn ? ' 
 
 ' O yes.' 
 
 ' And the girl is quite safe from learning the shame 
 of her case and ours? — that's what makes me most 
 anxious of all.' 
 
 'You would be surprised to find how unlikely she 
 is to dream of the truth. How could she ever suppose 
 such a thing ? ' 
 
 ' True ! ' 
 
 'I like the idea of repeating our marriage,' said 
 Mrs. Henchard, after a pause. 'It seems the only 
 right course, after all this. Now I think -I must go 
 back to Elizabeth- Jane, and tell her that our kins- 
 man, Mr. Henchard, kindly wishes us to stay in the 
 town.' 
 
 88 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 ' Very well — arrange that yourself. I'll go some 
 way with you.' 
 
 ' No, no. Don't run any risk 1 ' said his wife 
 anxiously. ' I can find my way back — it is not late. 
 Please let me go alone.' 
 
 ' Right,' said Henchard. ' But just one word. Do 
 you forgive me, Susan ? ' 
 
 She murmured something; but seemed to find it 
 difficult to frame her answer. 
 
 ' Never mind — all in good time,' said he. ' Judge 
 me by my future works — good-bye ! ' 
 
 He retreated, and stood at the upper side of the 
 Amphitheatre while his wife passed out through the 
 lower way, and descended under the trees to the town. 
 Then Henchard himself went homeward, going so fast, 
 that by the time he reached his door he was almost 
 upon the heels of the unconscious woman from whom 
 he had just parted. He watched her up the street, 
 and turned into his house. 
 
XII 
 
 On entering his own door, after watching his wife out 
 of sight, the Mayor walked on through the tunnel- 
 shaped passage into the garden, and thence by the 
 back door towards the stores and granaries. A light 
 shone from the office-window, and there being no blind 
 to screen the interior, Henchard could see Donald 
 Farfrae still seated where he had left him, initiating 
 himself into the managerial work of the house by 
 overhauling the books. Henchard entered, merely 
 observing, ' Don't let me interrupt you, if ye will stay 
 so late.' 
 
 He stood behind Farfrae's chair, watching his dex- 
 terity in clearing up the numerical fogs which had been 
 allowed to grow so thictTH-HehchardVbooks as almost 
 to baffle even the Scotchman's perspicacity. The corn- 
 factor's mien was half admiring, and yet it was not 
 without a dash of pity for the tastes of any one who 
 could care to give his mind to such finnikin details. 
 Henchard himself was mentally and physically unfit 
 for grubbing subtleties from soiled paper; he had in 
 a modern sense received the education of Achilles, 
 and found penmanship a tantalizing art. 
 
 « You shall do no more to-night,' he said at length, 
 spreading his great hand over the paper. 'There's 
 time enough to-morrow. Come indoors with me and 
 90 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 have some supper. Now you shall ! I am deter- 
 mined on't.' He shut the account-books with friendly 
 force. 
 
 Donald had wished to get to his lodgings ; but he 
 already saw that his friend and employer was a man 
 who knew no moderation in his requests and impulses, 
 and he yielded gracefully. He liked Henchard's 
 warmth, even if it inconvenienced him; the great 
 difference in their characters adding to the liking. 
 
 They locked up the office, and the young man 
 followed his companion through the private little door 
 which, admitting directly into Henchard's garden, per- 
 mitted a passage from the utilitarian to the beautiful 
 at one step. The garden was silent, dewy, and full 
 of perfume. It extended a long way back from the 
 house, first as lawn and flower-beds, then as fruit- 
 garden, where the long-tied espaliers, as old as the 
 old house itself, had grown so stout, and cramped, and 
 gnarled that they had pulled their stakes out of the 
 ground and stood distorted and writhing in vegetable 
 agony, like leafy Laocoons. The flowers which smelt 
 so sweetly were not discernible; and they passed 
 through them into the house. 
 
 The hospitalities of the morning were repeated, and 
 when they were over Henchard said, ' Pull your chair 
 round to the fireplace, my dear fellow, and let's make 
 a blaze — there's nothing I hate like a black grate, even 
 in September.' He applied a light to the laid-in fuel, 
 and a cheerful radiance spread around. 
 
 ' It is odd,' said Henchard, ' that two men should 
 meet as we have done on a purely business ground, 
 and that at the end of the first day I should wish to 
 speak to 'ee on a family matter. But, damn it all, I 
 am a lonely man, Farfrae : I have nobody else to speak 
 to ; and why shouldn't I tell it to 'ee ? ' 
 
 ' I'll be glad to hear it, if I can be of any service,' 
 said Donald, allowing his eyes to travel over the intri- 
 
 91 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 cate wood-carvings of the chimney-piece, representing 
 garlanded lyres, shields, and quivers, on either side of 
 a draped ox-skull, and flanked by heads of Apollo and 
 Diana in low relief. 
 
 'I've not been always what I ain now,' continued 
 Henchard, his firm deep voice being ever so little 
 shaken. He was plainly under that strange influence 
 which sometimes prompts men to confide to the new- 
 found friend what they will not tell to the old. 'I 
 began life as a working hay-trusser, and when I was 
 eighteen I married on the strength o' my calling. 
 Would you think me a married man ? ' 
 
 ' I heard in the town that you were a widower.' 
 
 'Ah, yes — you would naturally have heard that. 
 Well, I lost my wife eighteen years ago — by my own 
 fault. . . . This is how it came about. One summer 
 evening I was travelling for employment, and she was 
 walking at my side, carr5dng the baby, our only child. 
 We came to a booth in a country fair. I was a drinking 
 man at that time.' 
 
 Henchard paused a moment, threw himself back so 
 that his elbow rested on the table, his forehead being 
 shaded by his hand, which, however, did not vihide the 
 marks of, introspective inflexibility on his features as 
 he narrated in fullest detail the incidents of the 
 transaction with the sailor. The tinge of indifference 
 which had at first been visible in the Scotchman now 
 disappeared. 
 
 Henchard went on to describe his attempts to find 
 his wife; the oath he swore; the solitary Ufe he led 
 during the years which followed. 'I have kept my 
 oath for eighteen years,' he went on ; ' I have risen to 
 what you see me now.' 
 
 «Ay!' 
 
 'Well — no wife could I hear of in all that time; 
 and being by nature something of a woman-hater, I 
 have found it no hardship to keep at a distance from 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 the sex. No wife could I hear of, I say, till this veiy 
 day. And now — she has come back.' 
 
 ' Come back, has she ! ' 
 
 ' This morning — this very morning. And what's to 
 be done ? ' 
 
 • Can ye no' take her and live with her, and make 
 some amends ? ' 
 
 'That's what I've planned and proposed. But, 
 Farfrae,' said Henchard gloomily, • by doing right 
 with Susan I wrong another innocent woman.' 
 
 • Ye don't say that ? ' 
 
 ' In the nature of things, Farfrae, it is almost im- 
 possible that a man of my sort should have the good 
 fortune to tide through twenty years o' life without 
 making more blunders than one. It has been my 
 custom for many years to run across to Jersey in the 
 way of business, particularly in the potato and root 
 season. I do a large trade wi' them in that line. 
 Well, one autumn when stopping there I fell quite ill, 
 and in my illness I sank into one of those gloomy fits 
 I sometimes suffer from, on account o' the loneliness 
 of my domestic life, when the world seems to have the 
 blackness of hell, and, like Job, I could curse the day 
 that gave me birth.' 
 
 ' Ah, now, I never feel like it,' said Farfrae. 
 
 ' Then pray to God that you never may, young man. 
 While in this state I was taken pity on by a woman — 
 a young lady I should call her, for she was of good 
 family, well bred, and well educated — the daughter of 
 some harum-scarum military officer who had got into 
 diificulties, and had his pay sequestjaied. He was 
 dead now, and her mother too,"£iS3r^he was as lonely 
 as I. This young creature was staying at the board- 
 ing-house where I happened to have my lodging ; and 
 when I was pulled down she took upon herself to nurse 
 m<i. From that she got to have a foolish liking for me. 
 Heaven knows why, for I wasn't worth it. But being 
 93 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 together in the same house, and her feelings warm, we 
 got naturally intimate. I won't go into particulars of 
 what our relations were. It is enough to say that we 
 honestly meant to marry. There arose a scandal, which 
 did me no harm, but was of course ruin to her. Though, 
 Farfrae, between you and me, as man and man, I 
 solemnly declare that philandering with womankind has 
 neither been my vice nor my virtue. She was terribly 
 careless of appearances, and I was perhaps more, be- 
 cause o' my dreary state ; and it was through this that 
 the scandal arose. At last I was well, and came away. 
 When I was gone she suffered much on my account, 
 and didn't forget to tell me so in letters one after 
 anothe;? j till, latterly, I felt I owed her something, and 
 thought that, as I had not heard of Susan for so long, 
 I would make this other one the only return I could 
 make, and ask her if she would run the risk of Susan 
 being alive (very slight as I believed) and marry me, 
 such as I was. She jumped for joy, and we should no 
 doubt soon have been married — but, behold, Susan 
 appears ! ' 
 
 Donald showed his deep concern at a complication 
 so far beyond the degree of his simple experiences. 
 
 ' Now see what injury a man may cause around him ! 
 Even after that wrong-doing at the fair when I was 
 young, if I had never been so selfish as to let this giddy 
 girl devote herself to me over at Jersey, to the injury of 
 her name, all might now be well. Yet, as it stands, I 
 must bitterly disappoint one of these women; and it 
 is the second. My first duty is to Susan — there's no 
 doubt about that.' 
 
 ' They are both in a very melancholy position, and 
 that's true ! ' murmured Donald. 
 
 ' They are ! For myself I don't care — 'twill all end 
 one way. But these two.' Henchard paused in reverie. 
 ' I feel I should like to treat the second, no less than 
 the first, as kindly as a man can in such a case.' 
 94 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 ' Ah, well, it cannet be helped ! ' said the other, with 
 philosophic woefulness. ' You mun write to the young 
 lady, and in your letter you must put it plain and honest 
 that it turns out she cannet be your wife, the first having 
 come back ; that ye cannet see her more ; and that — 
 ye wish her weel.' 
 
 'That won't do. 'Od seize it, I must do a little 
 more than that ! I must — though she did always brag 
 about her rich uncle or rich aunt, and her expectations 
 from 'em — I must send a useful sum of money to her, 
 I suppose — ^just as a little recompense, poor girl. . . . 
 Now, will you help me in this, and draw up an explana- 
 tion to her of all I've told ye, breaking it as gently as 
 you can ? I'm so bad at letters.' 
 
 ' And I will.' 
 
 ' Now, I haven't told you quite all yet. My wife 
 Susan has my daughter with her — the baby that was 
 in her arms at the fair ; and this girl knows nothing of 
 me beyond that I am some sort of relation by marriage. 
 She has grown up in the belief that the sailor to whom 
 I made over her mother, and who is now dead, was her 
 father, and her mother's husband. What her mother 
 has always felt, she and I together feel now — that we 
 can't proclaim our disgrace to the girl by letting her 
 know the truth. Now what would you do ? — I want 
 your advice.' 
 
 'I think I'd run the risk, and tell her the truth. 
 She'll forgive ye both.' 
 
 ' Never ! ' said Henchard. ' I am not going to let 
 her know the truth. Her mother and I be going to 
 marry again ; and it will not only help us to keep our 
 child's respect, but it will be more proper. Susan looks 
 upon herself as the sailor's widow, and won't think o' 
 living with me as formerly without another religious 
 ceremony — and she's right.' 
 
 Farfrae thereupon said no more. The letter to the 
 young Jersey woman was carefully framed by him, and 
 
 95 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 the interview ended, Henchard saying, as the Scotch- 
 man left, ' I feel it a great relief, Farfrae, to tell some 
 friend o' this ! You see now that the Mayor of Caster- 
 bridge is not so^jhpwngjl jus mind a s it seems he 
 might be from the state of hispocEet? " 
 
 ' I do. And I am sorry for ye ! ' said Farfrae. 
 
 When he was gone, Henchard copied the letter, and, 
 enclosing a cheque, took it to the post-office, from which 
 he walked back thoughtfully. 
 
 ' Can it be that it will go off so easily ! ' he said. 
 ' Poor thing — God knows ! Now then, to make amends 
 to Susan 1 ' 
 
XIII 
 
 i HE cottage which Michael Henchard hired for his 
 wife Susan, under her name of Newson — in pursuance 
 of their plan — was in the upper or western part of 
 the town, near the wall, and the avenue which over- 
 shadowed it. The evening sun seemed to shine more 
 yellowly there than anywhere else this autumn — stretch- 
 ing its rays, as the hours grew later, under the lowest 
 sycamore boughs, and steeping the ground-floor of the 
 dwelling, with its green shutters, in a substratum of 
 radiance which the foliage screened from the upper 
 parts. Beneath these sycamores on the town walls 
 could be seen from the sitting-room the tumuli and 
 earth forts of the distant uplands ; making it altogether 
 a pleasant spot, with the usual touch of melancholy 
 that a past-marked prospect lends. 
 
 As soon as the mother and daughter were comfort- 
 ably installed, with a white -aproned servant and all 
 complete, Henchard paid them a visit, and remained to 
 tea. During the entertainment Elizabeth was carefully 
 hoodwinked by the very general tone of the conversa- 
 tion that prevailed — a proceeding which seemed to 
 afford some humour to Henchard, though his wife was 
 not particularly happy in it. The visit was repeated 
 again and again with business-like determination by 
 the Mayor, who seemed to have schooled himself into 
 
 97 G 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 a course of strict mechanical Tightness towards this 
 woman of prior claim, at any expense to the later one 
 and to his own sentiments. 
 
 One afternoon the daughter was not indoors when 
 Henchard came, and he said drily, ' This is a very 
 good opportunity for me to ask you to name the happy 
 day, Susan.' 
 
 The poor woman smiled faintly j she did not enjoy 
 pleasantries on a situation into which she had entered 
 solely for the sake of her girl's reputation. She liked 
 them so little, indeed, that there was room for wonder 
 why she had countenanced deception at all, and had 
 not bravely let the girl know her history. But the 
 flesh is weak; and the true explanation came in due 
 course. 
 
 ' O Michael ! ' she said, ' I am afraid all this is 
 taking up your time and giving trouble — when I did 
 not expect any such thing ! ' And she looked at him 
 and at his dress as a man of affluence, and at the 
 furniture he had provided for the room — ornate and 
 lavish to her eyes. 
 
 ' Not at all,' said Henchard, in rough benignity. 
 • This is only a cottage — it costs me next to nothing. 
 And as to taking up my time ' — here his red and black 
 visage kindled with satisfaction — ' I've a splendid fellow 
 to superintend my business now — a man whose like 
 I've never been able to lay hands on before. I shall 
 soon be able to leave everything to him, and have more 
 time to call my own than I've had for these last twenty 
 years.' 
 
 Henchard's visits here grew so frequent and so 
 regular that it soon became whispered, and then openly 
 discussed, in Casterbridge, that the masterful, coercive 
 Mayor of the town was captured and enervated by the 
 genteel widow, Mrs. Newson. His well-known haughty 
 indifference to the society of womankind, his silent 
 avoidance of converse with the sex, contributed a 
 98 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 piquancy to what would otherwise have been an un- 
 romantic matter enough. That such a poor fragile 
 woman should be his choice was inexplicable, except 
 on the ground that the engagement was a family affair 
 in which sentimental passion had no place ; for it was 
 known that they were related in some way. Mrs. 
 Henchard was so pale that the boys called her ' The 
 Ghost.' Sometimes Henchard overheard this epithet 
 when they passed together along the Walks — as the 
 avenues on the walls were named — at which his face 
 would darken with an expression of destructiveness 
 towards the speakers ominous to see; but he said 
 nothing. 
 
 He pressed on the preparations for his union, or 
 rather reunion, with this pale creature in a dogged, 
 unflinching spirit which did credit to his conscientious- 
 ness. Nobody would have conceived from his outward 
 demeanour that there was no amatory fire or pulse of 
 romance acting as stimulant to the bustle going on in 
 his gaunt, great house ; nothing but three large resolves 
 — one, to make amends to his neglected Susan ; another, 
 to provide a comfortable home for Elizabeth- Jane under 
 his paternal eye ; and a third, to castigate himself with 
 the thorns which these restitutory acts brought in their 
 train; among them the lowering of his dignity in 
 public opinion by marrying so comparatively humble a 
 woman. 
 
 Susan Henchard entered a carriage for the first time 
 in her Ufe when she. stepped into the plain brougham 
 which drew up at the door on the wedding-day to take 
 her and Elizabeth- Jane to church. It was a windless 
 morning of warm .November rain, which floated down 
 like meal, and lay in a powdery form on the nap of 
 hats and coats. Few people had gathered round the 
 church door, though they were well packed within. 
 The Scotchman, who assisted as groomsman, was of 
 course the only one present, beyond the chief actors, 
 
 99 
 
/ 
 
 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 who knew the true situation of the contracting parties. 
 He, however, was too inexperienced, too thoughtful, 
 too judicial, too strongly conscious of the serious side 
 of the business, to enter into the scene in its dramatic 
 aspect. That required the special genius of Christopher 
 Coney, Solomon Longways, Buzzford, and their fellows. 
 But they knew nothing of the secret; though, as the 
 time for coming out of church drew on, they gathered 
 on the pavement adjoining, and expounded the subject 
 according to their lights. 
 
 ' 'Tis five-and-forty years since I had my settlement 
 in this here town,' said Coney ; ' but daze me if ever I 
 see a man wait so long before to take so little ! There's 
 a chance even for thee after this, Nance Mockridge.' 
 The remark was addressed to a woman who stood 
 behind his shoulder — the same who had exhibited Hen- 
 chard's bad bread -in public when Elizabeth and her 
 mother entered Casterbridge. 
 
 ' Be cust if I'd marry any such as he, or thee either,' 
 replied that lady. ' As for thee, Christopher, we know 
 what ye be, and the less said the better. And as for 
 he — well, there — (lowering her voice) 'tis said 'a was a 
 poor parish 'prentice — I wouldn't say it for all the world 
 — but 'a was a poor parish 'prentice, that began life wi' 
 no more belonging to 'en than a carrion crow.' 
 
 • And now he's worth ever so much a minute,' mur- 
 mured Longways. ' When a man is said to be worth 
 so and so a minute, he's a man to be considered ! ' 
 
 Turning, he saw a circular disc reticulated with 
 creases, and recognized the smiling countenance of the 
 fat woman who had asked for another song at the Three 
 Mariners. 'Well, Mother Cuxsom,' he said, 'how's 
 this ? Here's Mrs. Newson, a mere skellinton, has got 
 another husband to keep her, while a woman of your 
 tonnage have not.' 
 
 ' I have not. Nor another to beat me. . . , Ah, yes, 
 Cuxsom's gone, and so shall leather breeches ! ' 
 loo 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 'Yesj vdth the blessing of God leather breeches 
 shall go.' 
 
 "Tisn't worth my old while to think of another 
 husband,' continued Mrs. Cuxsom. « And yet I'll lay 
 my life I'm as respectable bom as she.' 
 
 ' True J your mother was a very good woman — I can 
 mind her. She were rewarded by the Agricultural 
 Society for having begot the greatest number of healthy 
 children without parish assistance, and other virtuous 
 marvels.' 
 
 ' 'Twas that that kept us so low upon ground — that 
 great family.' 
 
 ' Ay. Where the pigs be many the wash runs thin.' 
 
 ' And dostn't mind how mother would sing, Chris- 
 topher ? ' continued Mrs. Cuxsom, kindling at the retro- 
 spection ; ' and how we went with her to the party at 
 Mellstock, do ye mind ? — at old Dame Ledlow's, farmer 
 Shinar's sister, do ye mind ? — she we used to call Toad- 
 skin, because her face were so yaller &nd freckled, do ye 
 mind ? ' 
 
 ' I do, hee-hee, I do ! ' said Christopher Coney. 
 
 ' And well do I — for I was getting up husband-high 
 at that time — one-half girl, and t'other half woman, 
 as one may say. And canst mind' — she prodded 
 Solomon's shoulder with her finger-tip, while her eyes 
 twinkled between the crevices of their lids — ' canst 
 mind the sherry-wine, and the zilver-snuffers, and how 
 Joan Dummett was took bad when we were coming 
 home, and Jack Griggs was forced to carry her through 
 the mud j and how 'a let her fall in Dairyman Sweet- 
 apple's cow-barton, and we had to clane her gown wi' 
 grass — never such a mess as 'a were in ? ' 
 
 'Ay — that I do — hee-hee, such doggery as there 
 was in them ancient days, to be sure ! Ah, the miles 
 I used to walk then ; and now I can hardly step over 
 a furrow ! ' 
 
 Their reminiscences were cut short by the appearance 
 
 lOI 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 of the reunited pair — Henchard looking round upon 
 the idlers with that ambiguous gaze of his, which at 
 one moment seemed to mean satisfaction, and at 
 another fiery disdain. 
 
 ' Well — there's a difference between 'em, though he 
 do call himself a teetotaller,' said Nance Mockridge. 
 ' She'll wish her cake dough afore she's done of him. 
 There's a bluebeardy look about 'en j and 'twill out in 
 time.' 
 
 ' Stuff — he's well enough ! Some folk want their 
 luck buttered. If I had a choice as wide as the ocean 
 sea I wouldn't wish for a better man. A poor twank- 
 ing woman like her — 'tis a godsend for her, and hardly 
 a pair of jumps or night-rail to her name.' 
 
 The plain little brougham drove off in the mist, and 
 the idlers dispersed. ' Well, we hardly know how to 
 look at things in these times ! ' said Solomon. ' There 
 was a man dropped down dead yesterday, not so very 
 many miles from here ; and what wi' that, and this 
 moist weather, 'tis scarce worth one's while to begin 
 any work o' consequence to-day. I'm in such a low 
 key with drinking nothing but small table ninepenny 
 this last week or two that I shall call and warm up at 
 the Mar'ners as I pass along.' 
 
 ' I don't know but that I may as well go with 'ee, 
 Solomon,' said Christopher ; ' I'm as clammy as a 
 cockle-snail.' 
 
XIV 
 
 A MARTINMAS summer of Mrs. Henchard's life set 
 in with her entry into her husband's large house and 
 respectable social orbit j and it was as bright as such 
 summers well can be. Lest she should pine for deeper 
 affection than he could give, he made a point of show- 
 ing some semblance of it in external action. Among 
 other things he had the iron railings, that had smiled 
 sadly in dull rust for the last eighty years, painted 
 a bright green, and the heavy-barred, small-paned 
 Georgian sash windows enlivened with three coats of 
 white. He was as kind to her as a man, mayor, and 
 churchwarden could possibly be. The house was large, 
 the rooms lofty, and the landings wide; and the two 
 unassuming women scarcely made a perceptible addition 
 to its contents. 
 
 To Elizabeth- Jane the time was a most triumphant 
 one. The freedom she experienced, the indulgence 
 with which she was treated, went beyond her expecta- 
 tions. The reposeful, easy, affluent life to wiiich her 
 mother's marriage had introduced her was, in truth, 
 the beginning of a great change in Elizabeth. She 
 foimd she could have nice personal possessions and 
 ornaments for the asking, and, as the mediaeval saying 
 puts it, 'Take, have, and keep, are pleasant words.' 
 With peace of mind came development, and with 
 103 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 development beauty. Knowledge — the result of great 
 natural insight — she did not lack; learning, accom- 
 plishments — those, alas, she had not; but as the 
 •winter and spring passed by, her thin face and figure 
 filled out in rounder and softer curves ; the lines and 
 contractions upon her young brow went away; the 
 muddiness of skin which she had looked upon as her 
 lot by nature departed with a change to abundance 
 of good things, and a bloom came upon her cheek. 
 Perhaps, too, her grey, thoughtful eyes revealed an 
 arch gaiety sometimes ; but this was infrequent ; the 
 sort of wisdom which looked from their pupils did not 
 readily keep company with these lighter moods. Like 
 all people who have known rough times, light-hearted- 
 ness seemed to her too irrational and inconsequent to 
 be indulged in except as a reckless dram now and 
 then ; for she had been too early habituated to anxious 
 reasoning to drop the habit suddenly, ghf fplt naif 
 e f thos e-i i ps^ an ,(i down a.ja£-sm]it whicb Jbeset^ o - m anv 
 PfiOple , with out cause ; n ever — to paraphrase a recent 
 poet — never a gloom in Elizabeth-Jane's soul but she 
 well knew how it came there; and her present cheer- 
 fulness was fairly proportionate to her solid guarantees 
 for the same. 
 
 It might have been supposed that, given a girl 
 rapidly becoming good-looking, comfortably circum- 
 stanced, and for the first time in her life commanding 
 ready money, she would go and make a fool of herself 
 by dress. But no. The reasonableness of almost 
 everything that Elizabeth did was nowhere more con- 
 spicuous than in this question of clothes. To keep in 
 the rear of opportunity in matters of indulgence is as 
 valuable a habit as to keep abreast of opportunity in 
 matters of enterprise. TMs unsophisticated girl did 
 it by an innate perceptiveness that was almost genius. 
 Thus she refrained from bursting out like a water- 
 flower that spring, and clothing herself in puffings and 
 104 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 knick-knacks, as most of the Casterbridge girls would 
 have done ia her circumstances. Her triumph was 
 tempered by circumspection; she had still that 5eld- 
 mouse fear of the coulter of destiny despite fair pro- 
 mise, which is common among the thoughtful who 
 have suffered early from poverty and oppression. 
 
 ' I won't be too gay on any account,' she would 
 say to herself. ' It would be tempting Providence to 
 hurl mother and me down, and afflict us again as He 
 used to do.' 
 
 We now see her in a black silk bonnet, velvet 
 mantle or silk spencer, dark dress, and carrying a 
 sunshade. Ill this latter article she drew the line at 
 fringe, and had it plain edged, with a little ivory ring 
 for keeping it closed. It was odd about the necessity 
 for that sunshade. She discovered that with the 
 clarification of her complexion and the birth of pink 
 cheeks her skin had grown more sensitive to the sun's 
 rays. She protected those cheeks forthwith, deeming 
 spotlessness part of womanliness. 
 
 Henchard had become very fond of her, and she 
 went out with him more frequently than with her 
 mother now. Her appearance one day was so attrac- 
 tive that he looked at her critically. 
 
 ' I happened to have the ribbon by me, so I made 
 it up,' she faltered, thinking him perhaps dissatisfied 
 with some rather bright trimming she had donned for 
 the first time. 
 
 'Ay — of course — to be sure,' he replied in his 
 leonine way. • Do as you like — or rather as your 
 niother"~a3 vises ye. 'Od send — I've nothing to say 
 to't ! ' 
 
 Indoors she appeared with her hair divided by a 
 parting that arched like a white rainbow from ear to 
 ear. All in front of this line was covered with a thick 
 encampment, of curls ; all behind was dressed smoothly, 
 and drawn to a knob. 
 
 H - 105 
 
\l 
 
 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 The three members of the family were sitting at 
 breakfast one day, and Henchard was looking silently, 
 as he often did, at this head of hair, which in colour was 
 brown — rather light than dark. ' I thought Elizabeth- 
 Jane's hair — didn't you tell me that Elizabeth-Jane's 
 hair promised to be black when she was a baby ? ' he 
 said to his wife. 
 
 She looked startled, jerked his foot warningly, and 
 murmured, ' Did I ? ' 
 
 As soon as Elizabeth was gone to her own room 
 Henchard resumed. 'Begad, I nearly forgot myself 
 just now ! What I meant was that the girl's hair 
 certainly looked as if it would be darker, when she 
 was a baby.' 
 
 ' It did ; but they alter so,' replied Susan. 
 
 ' Their hair gets darker, I know — but I wasn't aware 
 it lightened ever ? ' 
 
 ' Oh yes.' And the same uneasy expression came 
 out on her face, to which the future held the key. It 
 passed as Henchard went on : 
 
 ' Well, so much the better. Now, Susan, I "want 
 to have her called Miss Henchard — not Miss Newson. 
 Lot's o' people do it already in carelessness — it is her 
 legal name — so it may as well be made her usual 
 name — I don't like t'other name at all for my own 
 flesh and blood. I'll advertise it in the Casterbridge 
 paper — that's the way they do it. She won't object.' 
 
 ' No. Oh no. But ' 
 
 'Well, then, I shall do it,' said he, peremptorily. 
 'Surely, if she's willing, you must wish it as much 
 as I ? ' 
 
 ' Oh yes — if she agrees let us do it by all means,' 
 she replied. 
 
 Then Mrs. Henchard acted somewhat inconsistently; 
 
 it might have been called falsely, but that her manner 
 
 was emotional and full of the earnestness of one who 
 
 wishes to do right at great hazard. She went to Eliza- 
 
 io6 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 beth-Jane, whom she found sewing in her own sitting- 
 room upstairs, and told her what had been proposed 
 about her surname. ' Can you agree — is it not a slight 
 upon Newson — now he's dead and gone ? ' 
 
 Elizabeth reflected. ' I'll think of it, mother,' she 
 answered. 
 
 When, later in the day, she saw Henchard, she 
 adverted to the matter at once, in a way which showed 
 that the line of feeling started by her mother had been 
 persevered in. ' Do you wish this change so very much, 
 sir ? ' she asked. 
 
 •Wish it? Why, my blessed fathers, what an ado 
 you women make aboiit a trifle ! I proposed it — that's 
 all. Now, 'Lizabeth-Jane, just please yourself. Curse 
 me if I care what you do. Now, you understand, don't 
 'ee go agreeing to it to please me.' 
 
 Here the subject dropped, and nothing more was 
 said, and nothing was done, and Elizabeth still passed 
 as Miss Newson, and not by her legal name. 
 
 Meanwhile the great corn and hay traffic conducted 
 by Henchard throve undet,the management of Donald 
 Farfrae as it had never thriven before. It had formerly 
 moved in jolts ; now it went on oiled castors. The old 
 crude viv& voce system of Henchard, in which everything 
 depended upon his memory, and bargains were made by 
 the tongue alone, was swept away. Letters and ledgers 
 took the place of ' I'll do't,' and ' you shall hae't ; ' and, 
 as in all such cases of advance, the rugged picturesque- 
 ness of the old method disappeared with its incon- 
 veniences. 
 
 The position of Elizabeth- Jane's room — rather high 
 in the house, so that it commanded a view of the hay- 
 stores and granaries across the garden — afforded her 
 opportunity for accurate observation of what went on 
 there. She saw that Donald and Mr. Henchard were 
 inseparables. When walking together Henchard would 
 lay his arm familiarly on his manager's shoulder, as if 
 107 
 
THE MAYOR OP CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 Farfrae were a younger brother, bearing so heavily that 
 his slight figure bent under the weight. Occasionally 
 she would hear a perfect cannonade of kughter from 
 Henchard, arising from something Donald had Said, the 
 latter looking quite innocent and not laughing at all. 
 In Henchard's somewhat lonely life he evidently found 
 the young man as desirable for comradeship as he was 
 useful for consultations. Donald's brightness of intellect 
 maintained in the corn-factor the admiration it had won 
 at the first hour of their meeting. The poor opinion, 
 and but ill-concealed, that he entertained of the slim 
 Farfrae's physical girth, strength, and dash, was more 
 than counterbalanced by the immense respect he had 
 for his brains. 
 
 Her quiet eye discerned that Henchard's tigerish 
 affection for the younger man, his constant liking to 
 have Farfrae near him, now and then resulted ia a 
 tendency to domineer, which, however, was checked in 
 a moment when Donald exhibited marks of real offence. 
 One day, looking down on their figures from on high, 
 she heard the latter remark, as they stood in the doorway 
 between garden and yard, that their habit of walking 
 and driving about together rather neutrahzed Farfrae's 
 value as a second pair of eyes, which should be used in 
 places where the principal was not. ' Od damn it,' 
 cried Henchard, ' what's all the world ! I like a fellow 
 to talk to. Now come along and hae some supper, and 
 don't take too much thought about things, or ye'U drive 
 me crazy.' 
 
 When she walked with her mother, on the other 
 hand, she often beheld the Scotchman looking at them 
 with a Curious interest. The fact that he had met her 
 at the Three Mariners was insufficient to account for 
 it, since on the occasions on which she had entered 
 his room he had never raised his eyes. Besides, it was 
 at her mother more particularly than at herself that 
 he looked, to Elizabeth- Jane's half-unconscious, simple» 
 io8 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 minded, perhaps pardonable, disappointment. Thus 
 she could not account for this interest by her own 
 attractiveness, and she decided that it might be 
 apparent only — a way of turning his eyes that Mr. 
 Farfrae had. 
 
 She did not divine the ample explanation of his 
 manner, without personal vanity, that was afforded by 
 the fact of Donald being the depositary of Henchard's 
 confidence in respect of his past treatment of the pale, 
 chastened mother who walked by her side. Her con- 
 jectures on that past never went further than faint 
 ones based on things casually heard and seen — mere 
 guesses that Henchard and her mother might have 
 been lovers in their younger days, who had quarrelled 
 and parted. 
 
 Casterbridge, as has been hinted, was a place de- 
 posited in the block upon a corn-field. There was no 
 suburb in the modern sense, or transitional inter- 
 mixture of town and down. It stood, with regard to 
 the wide fertile land adjoining, clean-cut and distinct, 
 like a chess-board on a green table-cloth. The farmer's 
 boy could sit under his barley-mow and pitch a stone 
 into the ofiSce-window of the town-clerk; reapers at 
 work among the sheaves nodded to acquaintances 
 standing on the pavement-corner ; the red-robed judge, 
 when he condemned a sheep-stealer, pronounced sen- 
 tence to the tune of Baa, that floated in at the window 
 from the remainder of the flock browsing hard by ; and 
 at executions the waiting crowd stood in a meadow 
 immediately before the drop, out of which the cows 
 had been temporarily driven to give the spectators 
 room. 
 
 The corn grown on the upland side of the borough 
 was garnered by farmers who lived in an eastern purlieu 
 called Durnover. Here wheat-ricks overhung the old 
 Roman street, and thrust their eaves against the church 
 tower j green-thatched barns, with doorways as high as 
 109 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 the gates of Solomon's ten^le, opened directly upon 
 the main thoroughfare. Barns indeed were so numer- 
 ous as to alternate with every half-dozen houses along 
 the way. Here lived burgesses who daily walked the 
 fallow ; shepherds in an intra-mural squeeze. A street 
 of farmers' homesteads — a street ruled by a mayor and 
 corporation, yet echoing with the thump of the flail, 
 the flutter of the winnowing-fan, and the purr of the 
 milk into the pails — a street which had nothing 
 urban in it whatever — this was the Durnover end of 
 Casterbridge. 
 
 Henchard, as was natural, dealt largely with this 
 nursery or bed of small farmers close at hand — and his 
 waggons were often down that way. One day, when 
 arrangements were in progress for getting home corn 
 from one of the aforesaid farms, Elizabeth- Jane received a 
 note by hand, asking her to oblige the writer by coming 
 at once to a granary on Durnover Hill. As this was 
 the granary whose contents Henchard was removing, 
 she thought the request had something to do with his 
 business, and proceeded thither as soon as she had put 
 on her bonnet. The granary was just within the farm- 
 yard, and stood on stone staddles, high enough for 
 persons to walk under. The gates were open, but 
 nobody was within. However, she entered and waited. 
 Presently she saw a figure approaching the gate — that 
 of Donald Farfrae. He looked up at the church clock, 
 and came in. By some unaccountable shyness, some 
 wish not to meet him there alone, she quickly ascended 
 the step-ladder leading to the granary door, and entered 
 it before he had seen her. Farfrae advanced, imagining 
 himself in solitude ; and a few drops of rain beginning 
 to fall, he moved and stood under the shelter where 
 she had just been standing. Here he leant against one 
 of the staddles, and gave himself up to patience. He, 
 too, was plainly expecting some one; could it be her- 
 self? if so, why? In a few minutes he looked at his 
 no 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 watch, and then pulled out a note, a duplicate of the 
 one she had herself received. 
 
 The situation began to be very awkward, and the 
 longer she waited the more awkward it became. To 
 emerge from a door just above his head and descend the 
 ladder, and show she had been in hiding there, would 
 look so very foolish, that she still waited on. A win- 
 nowing machine stood close beside her, and to relieve 
 her suspense she gently moved the handle ; whereupon 
 a cloud of wheat husks flew out into her face, and 
 covered her clothes and bonnet, and stuck into the 
 fur of her victorine. He must have heard the slight 
 movement, for he looked up, and then ascended the 
 steps. 
 
 ' Ah — it's Miss Newson,' he said as soon as he could 
 see into the granary. ' I didn't know you were there. 
 I have kept the appointment, and am at your service.' 
 
 ' O Mr. Farfrae,' she faltered ; ■ so have I. But I 
 didn't know it was you who wished to see me, other- 
 wise I ' 
 
 ' I wished to see you ? Oh no — at least, that is, 
 I am afraid there may be a mistake.' 
 
 ' Didn't you ask me to come here ? Didn't you 
 write this ? ' Elizabeth held out her note. 
 
 ' No. Indeed, at no hand would I have thought of 
 it ! And for you — didn't you ask me ? This is not 
 your writing ? ' And he held up his. 
 
 ' By no means.' 
 
 ' And is that really so ! Then it's somebody wanting 
 to see us both. Perhaps we would do well to wait a 
 little longer.' 
 
 Acting on this consideration they lingered, Elizabeth- 
 Jane's face being arranged to an expressioa..Qf jtret.er-, 
 natural composure, and the young Scot, at every footstep 
 in the street without, looking from under the granary 
 to see if the passer were about to enter and declare 
 himself their summoner. They watched individual 
 
THE MAYOR OP CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 drops of rain creeping down the thatch of the opposite 
 rick — straw after straw— till they reached the bottom; 
 but nobody came, and the granary roof began to drip. 
 
 ' The person is not likely to be coming,' said Farfrae. 
 • It's a trick perhaps, and if so, it's a great pity t© waste 
 our time like this, and so much to be done.' 
 
 ' 'Tis a great liberty,' said Elizabeth. 
 
 ' It's true, Miss Newson. We'll hear news of this 
 some day, depend on't, and who it was that did it. I 
 wouldn't stand for it hindering myself j but you, Miss 
 Newson ' 
 
 ' I don't mind — much,' she replied. 
 
 ' Neither do I.' 
 
 They lapsed again into silence. ' You are anxious 
 to get back to Scotland, I suppose, Mr. Farfrae?' she 
 inquired. 
 
 ' Oh no, Miss Newson. Why would I be ? ' 
 
 ' I only supposed you might be from the song you 
 sang at the Three Mariners — about Scotland and home, 
 I mean — which you seemed to feel so deep down in 
 your heart ; so that we all felt for you.' 
 
 'Ay — and I did sing there— I did But, 
 
 Miss Newson' — and Donald's voice musically undu- 
 lated between two semitones, as it always did when 
 he became earnest — 'it's well you feel a song, for a 
 few minutes, and your eyes they get quite tearful ; but 
 you finish it, and for all you felt you don't mind it or 
 think of it again for a long while. Oh no, I don't want 
 to go back ! Yet I'll sing the song to you wi' pleasure 
 whenever you like. I could sing it now, and not mind 
 at all ! ' 
 
 ' Thank you, indeed. But I fear I must go — rain 
 or no.' 
 
 'Ay! Then, Miss Newson, ye had better say 
 nothing about this hoax, and take no heed of it. And 
 if the person should say anything to you, be civil to 
 him or her, as if you did not mind it — so you'll take 
 
 112 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 the clever person's laugh away.' In speaking his eyes 
 became fixed upon her dress, still sown with wheat 
 husks. * There's husks and dust on you. Perhaps you 
 don't know it ? ' he said, in tones of extreme delicacy. 
 ' And it's very bad to let rain come upon clothes when 
 there's chaff on them. It washes in and spoils them. 
 Let me help you — blowing is the best.' 
 
 As Elizabeth neither assented nor dissented, Donald 
 Farfrae began blowing her back hair, and her side hair, 
 and her neck, and the crown of her bonnet, and the 
 fur of her victorine, Elizabeth saying, ' Oh, thank you,' 
 at every puff. At last she was fairly clean, though 
 Farfrae, having got over his first concern at the situa- 
 tion, seemed in no manner of hurry to be gone. 
 
 • Ah — now I'll go and get ye an umbrella,' he said. 
 
 She declined the offer, stepped out and was gone. 
 Farfrae walked slowly after, looking thoughtfully at her 
 diminishing figure, and whisthng in undertones, ' As I 
 came dcwn through Cannobie.' 
 
XV 
 
 At first Miss Newson's budding beauty was not re- 
 garded with much interest by anybody in Casterbridge. 
 Donald Farfrae's gaze, it is true, was now attracted by 
 the Mayor's so-called step-daughter, but he was only 
 one. The truth is that she was but a poor illustrative 
 instance of the prophet Baruch's sly definition : ' The 
 virgin that loveth to go gay.' 
 
 When she walked abroad she seemed to be occupied 
 with an inner chamber of ideas, and to have slight need 
 for visible objects. She formed curious resolves on 
 checking gay fancies in the matter of clothes, because 
 it was inconsistent with her past life to blossom gaudily 
 the moment she had become possessed of money. But 
 nothing is more insidious than the evolution of wishes 
 from mere fancies, and of wants from mere wishes. 
 Henchard gave Elizabeth- Jane a box of delicately-tinted 
 gloves one spring day. She wanted to wear them to 
 show her appreciation of his kindness, but she had no 
 bonnet that would harmonize. As an artistic indulgence 
 she thought she would have such a bonnet. When she 
 had a bonnet that would go with the gloves she had 
 no dress that would go with the bonnet. It was now 
 absolutely necessary to finish; she ordered the requi- 
 site article, and found that she had no sunshade to go 
 with the dress. In for a penny in for a pound; she 
 ?i4 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 bought the sunshade, and the whole structure was at 
 last complete. 
 
 Everybody was attracted, and some said that her 
 bygone simplicity was tlje- art -that -conceals art, the 
 'delicate imposition' of RochefoucauW} she had pro- 
 duced an effect, a contfasV-aBdr-i-t^haa been done on 
 purpose. As a matter of fact this was not true, but 
 it had its result ; for as soon as Casterbridge thought 
 her artful it thought her worth notice. ' It is the first 
 time in my life that I have been so much admired,' 
 she said to herself; 'though perhaps it is by those 
 whose admiration is not worth having.' 
 
 But Donald Farfrae admired her, too; and alto- 
 gether the time was an exciting one; sex had never 
 before asserted itself in her so strongly, for in former 
 days she had perhaps been too i' ■'personally human 
 to be distinctively feminine. After an unprecedented 
 success one day she came indoors, went upstairs, and 
 leant upon her bed face downwards, quite forgetting 
 the possible creasing and damage. ' Good Heaven,' 
 she whispered, ' can it be ? Here am I setting up as 
 the town beauty ! ' 
 
 When she had thought it over, her usual fear of 
 exaggerating appearances engendered a deep sadness. 
 •There is something wrong in all this,' she mused. 
 'If they only knew what an unfinished girl I am — 
 that I can't talk Italian, or use globes, or show any of 
 the accomplishments they learn at boarding-schools, 
 how they would despise me ! Better sell all this finery 
 and buy myself grammar-books and dictionaries and a 
 history of all the philosophies ! ' 
 
 She looked from the window, and saw Henchard and 
 Farfrae in the hay-yard talking, with that impetuous 
 cordiality on the Mayor's part, and genial modesty 
 on the younger man's, that was now so generally ob- 
 servable in their intercourse. Friendship between man 
 and man ; what a rugged strength there was in it, as 
 "5 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 evinced by these two. And yet the seed that was to 
 lift the foundation of this friendship was at that moment 
 taking root in a chink of its structure. 
 
 It was about six o'clock; the men were dropping 
 off homeward one by one. The last to leave was a 
 round-shouldered, blinking young man of nineteen or 
 twenty, whose mouth fell ajar on the slightest provoca- 
 tion, seemingly because there was no chin to support 
 it. Henchard called aloud to him as he went out of 
 the gate. ' Here — Abel Whittle ! ' 
 
 Whittle turned, and ran back a few steps. 'Yes, 
 sir,' he said, in breathless deprecation, as if he knew 
 what was coming next. 
 
 ' Once more — be in time to-morrow morning. You 
 see what's to be done, and you hear what I say, and 
 you know I'm not going to be trifled with any longer.' 
 
 ' Yes, sir.' Then Abel Whittle left, and Henchard 
 and Farfrae ; and Eli2a,beth saw no more of them. 
 
 Now there was good reason for this command on 
 Henchard's part. Poor Abel, as he was called, had an 
 inveterate habit of over-sleeping himself and coming 
 late to his work. His anxious will was to be among 
 the earliest; but if his comrades omitted to pull the 
 string that he always tied round his great toe and left 
 hanging out of the window for that purpose, his will 
 was as wind. He did not arrive in time. 
 
 As he was often second hand at the hay-weighing, 
 or at the crane which lifted the sacks, or was one of 
 those who had to accompany the waggons into the 
 country to fetch away stacks that had been purchased, 
 this affliction of Abel's was productive of much incon- 
 venience. For two mornings in the present week he 
 had kept the others waiting nearly an hour; hence 
 Henchard's threat. It now remained to be seen what 
 would happen to-morrow. 
 
 Six o'clock struck, and there was no Whittle. At 
 half-past six Henchard entered the yard; the waggon 
 Ii6 
 
THE MAYOR O^ CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 *as horsed that Abel was to accoiiipany ; and the other 
 man had been waiting twenty minutes. Then Hendhard 
 swQte, and Whittle coming up breathless at that instant, 
 the cOrn-factor turned on him, and declared with an oath 
 that this was the last time ; that if he were behind once 
 more, by God, he would come and drag him out o' bed. 
 
 'There is sommit wrong in my make, your wor- 
 shipful ! ' said Abel, ' especially in the inside, whereas 
 my poor dumb brain gets as dead as a clot afore I've 
 said my few scrags of prayers. Yes' — it came on as 
 a stripling, just afore I'd got man's wages, whereas I 
 never enjoy my bed at all, for no sooner do I lie down 
 than I be asleep, and afore I be awake I be up, I've 
 fretted my gizzard green about it, maister, but what 
 can 1 do ? Now last night, afore I went to bed, I only 
 had a scantling o' cheese and '- — - 
 
 ' I don't Want to hear it ! ' roared Henchard. « To- 
 morrow the waggons must start at four, and if you're 
 not here, stand clear. I'll mortify thy flesh for thee ! ' 
 
 ' But let me clear up my points, your worshipful '■— — 
 
 Henchard turned away. 
 
 He asked me and he questioned me, and then a' 
 wouldn't hear my points ! ' said Abel, to the yard in 
 general. ' Now, I shall twitch like a moment-hand all 
 night to-night for fear o' him ! ' 
 
 The journey to be taken by the waggons next day 
 was a long one, into Blackmoor Vale, and at four 
 o'clock lanterns were moving about the yard. But 
 Abel was missing. Before either of the other men 
 could run to Abel's and warn him, Henchard appeared 
 in the garden doorway. ' Where's Abel Whittle ? Not 
 come after all I've said ? Now I'll carry out my word, 
 by my blessed fathers^nothing else will do him any 
 good ! I'm going up that way.' 
 
 Henchard went ofiF, entered Abel's house, a little 
 cottage in Back Street, the door of which was never 
 locked, because the inmates had nothing to lose. 
 "7 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 Reaching Whittle's bedside, the corn-factor shouted a 
 bass note so vigorously that Abel started up instantly, 
 and beholding Henchard standing over him, was gal- 
 vanized into spasmodic movements which had not much 
 relation to getting on his clothes. 
 
 'Out of bed, sir, and off to the granary, or you 
 leave my employ to-day! 'Tis to teach ye a lesson. 
 March on j never mind your breeches ! ' 
 I The unhappy Whittle threw on his sleeve waistcoat, 
 and managed to get into his boots at the bottarfi of the 
 stairs, while Henchard thrust his hat over his head. 
 ^Vhittle then trotted on down Back Street, Henchard 
 walking sternly behind. 
 
 Just at this time Farfrae, who had been to Hen- 
 chard's house to look for him, came out of the back 
 gate, and saw something white fluttering in the morning 
 gloom, which he soon perceived to be the part of Abel's 
 shirt that showed below his waistcoat. 
 
 ' For maircy's sake, what object's this ? ' said Farfrae, 
 following Abel into the yard, Henchard being some 
 way in the rear by this time. 
 
 ' Ye see, Mr. Farfrae,' gibbered Abel with a resigned 
 smile of terror, ' he said he'd mortify my flesh if so be 
 I didn't get up sooner, and now he's a doing on't ! Ye 
 see it can't be helped, Mr. Farfrae ; things do happen 
 queer sometimes ! Yes — I'll go to Blackmoor Vale 
 half naked as I be, since he do command ; but I shall 
 kill myself afterwards ; I can't outlive the disgrace ; for 
 the women-folk will be looking out of their winders at 
 my mortification all the way along, and laughing me to 
 scorn as a man 'ithout breeches ! You know how I 
 feel such things, Maister Farfrae, and how forlorn 
 thoughts get hold upon me. Yes — I shall do myseU 
 harm — I feel it coming on ! ' 
 
 ' Get back home, and slip on your breeches, and 
 come to wark like a man ! If ye go not, you'll ha'e 
 your death standing there ! ' 
 ii8 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 ' I'm afeard I mustn't ! Mr. Henchard said ' 
 
 ' I don't care what Mr. Henchard said, nor anybody 
 else! 'Tis simple foolishness to do this. Go and 
 dress yourself instantly, Whittle.' 
 
 ' Hullo, hullo ! ' said Henchard, coming up behind. 
 « Who's sending him back ? ' 
 
 All the men looked towards Farfrae. 
 
 'I am,' said Donald. 'I say this joke has been 
 carried far enough.' 
 
 'And I say it hasn't! Get up in the waggon, 
 Whittle.' 
 
 ' Not if I am manager,' said Farfrae. ' He either 
 goes home, or I march out of this yard for good.' 
 
 Henchard looked at him with a face stern and red. 
 But he paused for a moment, and their eyes met. 
 Donald went up to him, for he saw* in Henchard's 
 look that he began to regret this. 
 
 ' Come,' said Donald quietly, ' a man o' your position 
 sljould ken better, sir ! It is tyrannical and no worthy 
 of you.' 
 
 ' 'Tis not tyrannical ! ' murmured Henchard, like 
 a sullen boy. ' It is to make him remember ! ' He 
 presently added, in a tone of one bitterly hurt : ' Why 
 did you speak to me before them like that, Farfrae? 
 You might have stopped till we were alone. Ah— I 
 know why ! I've told ye the secret o' my life — fool 
 that I was to do't — and you take advantage of me ! ' 
 
 ' I had forgot it,' said Farfrae simply. 
 
 Henchard looked on the ground, said nothing more, 
 and turned away. During the day Farfrae learnt from 
 the men that Henchard had kept Abel's old mother 
 in coals and snuff all the previous winter, which made 
 him less antagonistic to the corn-factor. But Henchard 
 continued moody and silent, and when one of the 
 men inquired of him if some oats should be hoisted 
 to an upper floor or not, he said shortly, 'Ask Mr. 
 Farfrae. He's master here ! ' 
 119 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIOGE 
 
 Morally he was; there could be no doubt of it 
 Henchard, who had hitherto been the most admired 
 man in his circle, was the most admired no longer. One '^.. 
 day the daughters of a deceased farmer in Durnover 
 wanted an opinion on the value of their haystack, and 
 sent a messenger to ask Mr. Farfrae to oblige them 
 with one. The messenger, who was a child, met in 
 the yard not Farfrae, but Henchard. 
 
 ' Very well,' he said. ' I'll come.' 
 
 ' But please will Mr. Farfrae come ? ' said the child. 
 
 'I am going that way. . . . Why Mr. Farfrae?' 
 said Henchard, with the fixed look of thought. ' Why 
 do people always want Mr. Farfrae ? ' 
 
 'I suppose because they like him- so— that's what 
 they say.' 
 
 ' Oh — I see— that's what they say — hey ? They 
 like him because he's cleverer than Mr. Henchard, and 
 because he knows more; and, in short, Mr. Henchard 
 can't hold a candle to him — hey ? ' 
 
 'Yes — that's just it, sir — some of it.' 
 
 ' Oh, there's more ? Of course there's more ! What 
 besides ? Come, here's sixpence for a fairing.' 
 
 ' " And he's better tempered, and Henchard's a fool 
 to him," they say. And when some of the women 
 were a walking home they said, "He's a diment — 
 he's a chap o' wax— he's the best — he's the horse for 
 my money," says they. And they said, " He's the most 
 understanding man o' them two by long chalks. I wish 
 he was the master instead of Henchard," they said.' 
 
 ' They'll talk any nonsense,' Henchard replied with 
 covered gloom. ' Well, you can go now. And / am 
 coming to value the hay, d'ye hear?— I.' The boy 
 departed, and Henchard murmured, 'Wish he were 
 master here, do they ? ' 
 
 He went towards Durnover. On his way he over- 
 took Farfrae. They walked on together, Henchard 
 looking mostly on the ground. 
 
 130 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 ' You're no yoursel' the day ? ' Donald inquired. 
 
 ' Yes, I am very well,' said Henchard. 
 
 • But ye are a bit down — surely ye are down ? Why, 
 there's nothing to be angry about ! 'Tis splendid stuff 
 that we've got from Blackmoor Vale. By-the-by, the 
 people in Durnover want their hay valued.' 
 
 ' Yes. I am going there.' 
 
 ' I'll go with ye.' 
 
 As Henchard did not reply, Donald practised a 
 piece of music sotto voce, till, getting near the bereaved 
 people's door, he stopped himself with — 
 
 'Ah, as their father is dead, I won't go on with 
 such as that. How could I forget ? ' 
 
 'Do you care so very much about hurting folks' 
 feelings ? ' observed Henchard with a half sneer. ' You 
 do, I know — especially mine ! ' 
 
 ' I am sorry if I have hurt yours, sir,' replied Donald, 
 standing still, with a second expression of the same 
 sentiment in the regretfulness of his face. ' Why 
 should you say it — think it ? ' 
 
 The cloud lifted from Henchard's brow, and as 
 Donald finished the corn-merchant turned to him, 
 regarding his breast rather than his face. 
 
 ' I have been hearing things that vexed me,' he said. 
 ''Twas that made me short in my manner — made me 
 overlook what you really are. Now, I don't want to 
 go in here about this hay — Farfrae, you can do it 
 better than I. They sent for ye, too. I have to attend 
 a meeting of the Town Council at eleven, and 'tis 
 drawing on for't.' 
 
 They parted thus in renewed friendship, Donald 
 forbearing to ask Henchard for meanings that were 
 not very plain to him. On Henchard's part there 
 was now again repose; and yet, whenever he thought 
 of Farfrae, -it was with a dim dread; and he often 
 regretted that he had told the young man his whole I 
 heart, and confided to him the secrets of his life. J 
 
 I 121 
 
XVI 
 
 On this account Henchard's manner towards Farfrae 
 insensibly became more reserved. He was courteous 
 — too courteous — and Farfrae was quite surprised at 
 the good breeding which now for the first time showed 
 itself among the qualities of a man he had hitherto 
 thought undisciplined, if warm and sincere. The corn- 
 factor seldom or never again put his arm upon the 
 young man's shoulder so as to nearly weigh him down 
 with the pressure of mechanized friendship. He left 
 off coming to Donald's lodgings and shouting into the 
 passage. ' Hoy, Farfrae, boy, come and have some 
 dinner with us ! Don't sit here in solitary confine- 
 ment ! But in the daily routine of their business 
 there was little change. 
 
 Thus their lives rolled on till a day of public rejoic- 
 ing was suggested to the country at large in celebration 
 of a national event that had recently taken place. 
 
 For some time Casterbridge, by nature slow, made 
 no response. Then one day Donald Farfrae broached 
 the subject to Henchard by asking if he would have 
 any objection to lend some rick-cloths to himself and 
 a few others, who contemplated getting up an enter- 
 tainment of some sort on the day named, and required 
 a shelter for the same, to which they might charge 
 admission at the rate of so much a head. 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 'Have as many cloths as you like,' Henchard 
 replied. 
 
 When his manager had gone about the business 
 Henchard was fired with emulation. It certainly had 
 been very remiss of him, as Mayor, he thought, to call 
 no meeting ere this, to discuss what should be done 
 on this hohday. But Farfrae had been so cursed 
 quick in his movements as to give old-fashioned 
 people in authority no chance of the initiative. How- 
 ever, it was not too late ; and on second thoughts he 
 determined to take upon his own shoulders the respon- 
 sibility of organizing some amusements, if the other 
 Councilmen would leave the matter in his hands. To 
 this they quite readily agreed, the majority being fine 
 old crusted characters who had a decided taste for 
 living without worry. 
 
 So Henchard set about iiis preparations for a really 
 brilliant thing — such as should be worthy of the 
 venerable town. As for Farfrae's little affair, Hen- 
 chard nearly forgot it; except once now and then 
 when, on it coming into his mind, he said to himself, 
 'Charge admission at so much a head — ^just like a 
 Scotchman ! — who is going to pay anything a head ? ' 
 The diversions which the Mayor intended to provide 
 were to be entirely free. 
 
 He had grown so dependent upon Donald that he 
 could scarcely resist calling him in to consult. Eut 
 by sheer self-coercion he refrained. No, he thought, 
 Farfrae would be suggesting such improvements in his 
 damned luminous way, that in spite of himself he, 
 Henchard, would sink to the position of second fiddle, 
 and only scrape harmonies to his manager's talents. 
 
 Everybody applauded the Mayor's proposed enter- 
 tainment, especially when it became known that he 
 meant to pay for it all himself. 
 
 Close to the town was an elevated green spot sur- 
 rounded by an ancient square earthwork — earthworks 
 123 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 square, and not square, were as common as blackberries 
 hereabout — a spot whereon the Casterbridge people 
 usually held any kind of merry-making, meeting, or 
 sheep-fair that required more space than the streets 
 would afford. On one side it sloped to the river 
 Froom, and from any point a view was obtained of 
 the country round for many miles. This pleasant 
 upland was to be the scene of Henchard's exploit. 
 
 He advertised about the town, in long posters of a 
 pink colour, that games of all sorts would take place 
 here; and set to work a httle battalion of men under 
 his own eye. They erected greasy-poles for climbing, 
 with smoked hams and local cheeses at the top. 
 They placed hurdles in rows for jumping over ; across 
 the river they laid a slippery pole, with a live pig of 
 the neighbourhood tied at the other end, to become 
 the property of the man who could walk over and get 
 it. There were also provided wheelbarrows for racing, 
 donkeys for the same, a stage for boxing, wrestling, 
 and drawing blood generally; sacks for jumping in. 
 Moreover, not forgetting his principles, Henchard pro- 
 vided a mammoth tea, of which everybody who lived 
 in the borough was invited to partake without payment. 
 The tables were laid parallel with the inner slope of 
 the rampart, and awnings were stretched overhead. 
 
 Passing to and fro the Mayor beheld the unattractive 
 exterior of Farfrae's erection in the West Walk, rick- 
 cloths of different sizes and colours being hung up to 
 the arching trees without any regard to appearance. 
 He was easy in his mind now, for his own- preparations 
 far transcended these. 
 
 The morning came. The sky, which had been 
 remarkably clear down to within a day or two, was 
 overcast, and the weather threatening, the wind having 
 an unmistakable hint of water in it. Henchard wished 
 he had not been quite so sure about the continuance of 
 a fair season. But it was too late to modify or post- 
 124 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 pone, and the proceedings went on. At twelve o'clock 
 the rain began to fall, small and steady, commencing 
 and increasing so insensibly that it was difficult to state 
 exactly when dry weather ended or wet established itself. 
 In an hour the slight moisture resolved itself into a 
 monotonous smiting of earth by heaven, in torrents to 
 which no end could be prognosticated. 
 
 A number of people had heroically gathered in the 
 field, but by three o'clock Henchard discerned that his 
 project was doomed to end in failure. The hams at the 
 top of the poles dripped watered smoke in the form of 
 a brown liquor, the pig shivered in the wind, the grain 
 of the deal tables showed through the sticking table- 
 cloths, for the awning allowed the rain to drift under at 
 its will, and to enclose the sides at this hour seemed a 
 useless undertaking. The landscape over the river dis- 
 appeared J the wind played on the tent-cords in .^Eolian 
 improvisations ; and at length rose to such a pitch that 
 the whole erection slanted to the ground, those who had 
 taken shelter within it having to crawl out on their hands 
 and knees. 
 
 But towards six the storm abated, and a drier breeze 
 shook the moisture from the grass bents. It seemed 
 possible to carry out the programme after all. The 
 awning was set up again j the band was called out from 
 its shelter, and ordered to begin, and where the tables 
 had stood a place was cleared for dancing. 
 
 ' But where are the folk ? ' said Henchard, after the 
 lapse of half-an-hour, during which time only two men 
 and a woman had stood up to dance. ' The shops are 
 all shut. Why don't they come ? ' 
 
 'They are at Farfrae's affair in the West Walk,' 
 answered a councilman who stood in the field with the 
 Mayor. 
 
 'A few, I suppose. But where are the body o' 
 'em?' 
 
 ' All out of doors are there.' 
 
 125 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 ' Then the more fools they ! ' 
 
 Henchard walked away moodily. One or two young 
 fellows gallantly came to climb the poles, to save the 
 hams from being wasted ; but as there were no specta- 
 tors, and the whole scene presented the most melancholy 
 appearance, Henchard gave orders that the proceedings 
 were to be suspended, and the entertainment closed, the 
 food to be distributed among the poor people of the 
 town. In a short time nothing was left in the field but 
 a few hurdles, the tents, and the poles. 
 
 Henchard returned to his house, had tea mth. his 
 wife and daughter, and then walked out. It was now 
 dusk. He soon saw that the tendency of all prome- 
 naders was towards a particular spot in the Walks, and 
 evenfually proceeded thither himself. The notes of a 
 stringed band came from the enclosure that Farfrae had 
 erected — the pavilion, as he called it — and when he 
 reached it he perceived that a gigantic tent had been 
 ingeniously constructed without poles or ropes. The 
 densest point of the avenue of sycamores had been 
 selected, where the boughs made a closely interlaced 
 vault overhead; to these boughs the canvas had been 
 hung, and a barrel roof was the result. The end towards 
 the wind was enclosed, the other end was open. Hen- 
 chard went round and saw the interior. 
 
 In form it was like the nave of a cathedral with one 
 gable removed, but the scene within was anything but 
 devotional. A reel or fling of some sort was in pro- 
 gress ; and the usually sedate Farfrae was in the midst 
 of the other dancers in the costume of a wild High- 
 lander, flinging himself about and spinning to the tune. 
 For a moment Henchard could not help laughing. 
 Then he perceived the immense admiration for the 
 Scotchman that revealed itself in the women's faces; 
 and when this exhibition was over, and a new dance 
 proposed, and Donald had disappeared for a time to 
 return in his natural garments, he had an unlimited 
 126 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 choice of partners, every girl being in a coming-on dis- 
 position towards one who so thoroughly understood the 
 poetry of motion as he. 
 
 All the town crowded to the Walk, such a delightful 
 idea of a ball-room never having occurred to the inhabi- 
 tants before. Among the rest of the onlookers were 
 Elizabeth and. her mother — the former thoughtful yet 
 much interested, her eyes beaming with a longing linger- 
 ing light, as if Nature had been advised by Correggio 
 in their creation. The dancing progressed with unabated 
 spirit, and Henchard walked and waited till his wife 
 should be disposed to go home. He did not care to 
 keep in the light, and when he went into the dark it was 
 worse, for there he heard remarks of a kind which were 
 becoming too frequent : 
 
 ' Mr. Henchard's rejoicings couldn't say good morn- 
 ing to this,' said one. ' A man must be a headstrong 
 stunpoll to think folk would go up to that bleak place 
 to-day.' 
 
 The other answered that people said it was not only 
 in such things as those that the Mayor was wanting. 
 'Where would his business be if it were not for this 
 young fellow ? 'Twas verily Fortune sent him to Hen- 
 chard. His accounts were like a bramblewood when 
 Mr. Farfrae came. He used to reckon his sacks by 
 chalk strokes all in a row like garden-palings, measure 
 his ricks by stretching with his arms, weigh his trusses 
 by a lift, judge his hay by a ' chaw,' and settle the price 
 with a curse. But now this accomplished young man 
 does it all by ciphering and mensuration. Then the 
 wheat — that sometimes used to taste so strongly of mice 
 when made into bread that people could fairly tell the 
 breed — Farfrae has a plan for purifying, so that nobody 
 would dream the smallest four-legged beast had walked 
 over it once. Oh yes, everybody is full of him, and the 
 care Mr. Henchard has to keep him, to be sure ! ' con- 
 cluded this gentleman. 
 
 127 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 « But he won't do it for long, good-now,' said the 
 other. 
 
 ^No!' said Henchard to himself behind the tree. 
 'Or if he do, he'll be honeycombed clean out of all 
 the character and standing that he's built up in these 
 eighteen year ! ' 
 
 He went back to the dancing pavilion. Farfrae was 
 footing a quaint little dance with Elizabeth- Jane — an 
 old country thing, the only one she knew, and though 
 he considerately toned down his movements to suit her 
 demurer gait, the pattern of the shining little nails in 
 the soles of his boots became familiar to the eyes of 
 every bystander. The tune had enticed her into it; 
 being a tune of a busy, vaulting, leaping sort — some low 
 notes on the silver string of each fiddle, then a skipping 
 on the small, like running up and down ladders — 
 ' Miss M'Leod of Ayr ' was its name, so Mr. Farfrae had 
 said, and that it was very popular in his own country. 
 
 ^It was soon over, and the girl looked at Henchard 
 for approval; but he did not give it. He seemed not 
 to see her. ' Look here, Farfrae,' he said, like one 
 whose mind was elsewhere, ' I'll go to Port-Bredy Great 
 Market to-morrow myself. You can stay and put things 
 right in your clothes-box, and recover strength to your 
 knees after your vagaries.' He planted on Donald an 
 antagonistic glare that had begun as a smile. 
 
 Some other townsmen came up, and Donald drew 
 aside. ' What's this, Henchard,' said Alderman Tubber, 
 applying his thumb to the corn-factor like a cheese-taster. 
 'An opposition randy to yours, eh? Jack's as good 
 as his master, eh ? Cut ye out quite, hasn't he ? ' 
 
 'You see, Mr. Henchard,' said the lawyer, another 
 good-natured friend, ' where you made the mistake was 
 in going so far afield. You should have taken a leaf 
 out of his book, and have had your sports in a sheltered 
 place like this. But you didn't think of it, you see; 
 and he did, and that's where he's beat you.' 
 128 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 • He'll be top-sawyer soon of you two, and carry all 
 afore him,' added jocular Mr. Tubber. 
 
 ' No,' said Henchard gloomily. ' He won't be that, 
 because he's shortly going to leave me.' He looked 
 towards Donald, who had again come near. ' Mr. 
 Farfrae's time as my manager is drawing to a close — 
 isn't it, Farfrae ? ' 
 
 The young man, who could now read the lines and 
 folds of Henchard's strongly-traced face as if they were 
 clear verbal inscriptions, quietly assented; and when 
 people deplored the fact, and asked why it was, he 
 simply replied that Mr. Henchard no longer required 
 his help. 
 
 Henchard went home, apparently satisfied. But in 
 the morning, when his jealous temper had passed away, 
 his heart sank within him at what he had said and done. 
 He was the more disturbed when he found that this 
 time Farfrae was determined to take him at his word. 
 
XVII 
 
 ElIZABETH-JANE had perceived from Henchard's 
 manner that in assenting to dance she had made a 
 mistake of some kind. In her simplicity she did not 
 know what it was, till a hint from a nodding acquaint- 
 ance enlightened her. As the Mayor's step-daughter, 
 she learnt, she had not been quite in her place in tread- 
 ing a measure amid such a mixed throng as filled the 
 dancing pavilion. 
 
 Thereupon her ears, cheeks, and chin glowed like 
 live coals at the dawning of the idea that her tastes 
 were not good enough for her position, and would bring 
 her into disgrace. 
 
 This made her very miserable, and she looked about 
 for her mother ; but Mrs. Henchard, who had less idea 
 of conventionality than Elizabeth herself, had gone away, 
 leaving her daughter to return at her own pleasure. The 
 latter moved on into the dark dense old avenues, or 
 rather vaults of living woodwork, which ran along the 
 town boundary, and stood reflecting. 
 
 A man followed in a few minutes, and her face being 
 towards the shine from the tent, he recognized her. It 
 was Farfrae — just come from the dialogue with Henchard 
 which had signified his dismissal. 
 
 ' And it's you. Miss Newson ? — and I've been look- 
 ing for ye everywhere ! ' he said, overcoming a sadness 
 130 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 imparted by the estrangement with the corn-merchant. 
 ' May I walk on with you as far as your street-corner ? ' 
 
 She thought there might be something wrong in 
 this, but did not utter any objection. So together 
 they went on, first down the West Walk, and then into 
 the Bowling Walk, till Farfrae said, ' It's like that I'm 
 going to leave you soon.' 
 
 She faltered 'Why?' 
 
 ' Oh — as a mere matter of business — nothing more. 
 But we'll not concern ourselves about it — it is for the 
 best. I hoped to have another dance with you.' 
 
 She said she could not dance — in any proper way. 
 
 ' Oh, but you do ! It's the feeling for it rather than 
 the learning of steps that makes pleasant dancers. . . . 
 I fear I offended your father by getting up this ! And 
 now, perhaps, I'll have to go to another part o' the 
 warrld altogether ! ' 
 
 This seemed such a melancholy prospect that Eliza- 
 beth-Jane breathed a sigh — letting it ofif in fragments 
 that he might not hear her. But darkness makes people 
 truthful, and the Scotchman went on impulsively — per- 
 haps he had heard her after all : 
 
 ' I wish I was richer. Miss Newson ; and your step- 
 father had not been offended ; I would ask you some- 
 thing in a short time — yes, I would ask you to-night. 
 But that's not for me ! ' 
 
 What he would have asked her he did not say ; and 
 instead of encouraging him she remained incompetently 
 silent. Thus afraid one of another, they continued 
 their promenade along the walls till they got near the 
 bottom of the Bowling Walk ; twenty steps further and 
 the trees would end, and the street-corner and lamps 
 appear. In consciousness of this they stopped. 
 
 ' I never found out who it was that sent us to Durn- 
 over granary on a fool's errand that day,' said Donald, 
 in his undulating tones. ' Did ye ever know yourself, 
 Miss Newson?' 
 
 131 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 * Never,' said she. 
 
 ' I wonder why they did it ! ' 
 
 ' For fun, perhaps.' 
 
 'Perhaps it was not for fun. It might have been 
 that they thought they would like us to stay waiting 
 there, talking to one another ? Ay, well ! I hope you 
 Casterbridge folk will no forget me if I ga' 
 
 ' That I'm sure we won't ! ' she said earnestly. ' I 
 — wish you wouldn't go at all.' 
 
 They had got into the lamplight. ' Now, I'll think 
 over that,' said Donald Farfrae. 'And I'll not come 
 up to your door ; but part from you here ; lest it make 
 your father more angry still.' 
 
 They parted, Farfrae returning into the dark Bowl- 
 ing Walk, and Elizabeth-Jane going up the street. 
 Without any consciousness of what she was doing she 
 started running with all her might till she reached her 
 father's door. ■ Oh dear me — what am I at ? ' she 
 thought, as she pulled up breathless. 
 
 Indoors she fell to conjecturing the meaning of Far- 
 frae's enigmatic words about not daring to ask her what 
 he fain would. Elizabeth, that silent observing woman, 
 had long noted how he was rising in favour among the 
 townspeople; and knowing Henchard's nature now, 
 she had feared that Farfrae's days as manager were 
 numbered; so that the announcement gave her little 
 surprise. Would Mr. Farfrae stay in Casterbridge de- 
 spite his words and her father's dismissal ? His occult 
 breathings to her might be solvable by his course in 
 that respect. 
 
 The next day was windy — so windy that walking in 
 the garden she picked up a portion of the draft of a 
 letter on business in Donald Farfrae's writing, which 
 had flown over the wall from the office. The useless 
 scrap she took indoors, and began to copy the cali- 
 graphy, which she much admired. The letter began 
 ' Dear Sir,' and presently writing on a loose slip ' Eliza- 
 133 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 beth-Jane,' she laid the latter over 'Sir,' making the 
 phrase ' Dear Elizabeth- Jane.' When she saw the efl'ect 
 a quick red ran up her face and warmed her through, 
 though nobody was there to see what she had done. 
 She quickly tore up the slip, and threw it away. After 
 this she grew cool, and laughed at herself, walked about 
 the room, and laughed again; not joyfully, but dis- 
 tressfully rather. 
 
 It was quickly known in Casterbridge that Farfrae 
 and Henchard had decided to dispense with each other. 
 Elizabeth- Jane's anxiety to know if Farfrae were going 
 away from the town reached a pitch that disturbed her, 
 for she could no longer conceal from herself the cause. 
 At length the news reached her that he was not going 
 to leave the place. A man following the same trade as 
 Henchard, but on a very small scale, had sold his busi- 
 ness to Farfrae, who was forthwith about to start as corn 
 and hay-merchant on his own account. 
 
 Her heart fluttered when she heard of this step of 
 Donald's, proving that he meant to remain; and yet, 
 ■would a man who cared one little bit for her have en- 
 dangered his suit by setting up a business in opposition 
 to Mr. Henchard's? Surely not; and it must have 
 been a passing impulse only which had led him to 
 address her so softly. 
 
 To solve the problem whether her appearance on 
 the evening of the dance were such as to inspire a fleet- 
 ing love at first sight, she dressed herself up exactly as 
 she had dressed then — the muslin, the spencer, the 
 sandals, the parasol — and looked in the mirror. The 
 picture glassed back was, in her opinion, precisely of 
 such a kind as to inspire that fleeting regard, and no 
 more — 'just enough to make him silly, and not enough 
 to keep him so,' she said luminously; and Elizabeth 
 thought, in a much lower key, that by this time he had 
 discovered how plain and homely was the informing 
 spirit of that pretty outside. 
 133 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 Hence, when she felt her heart going out to him, 
 she would say to herself with a mock pleasantry that 
 carried an ache with it, ' No, no, Elizabeth- Jane — such 
 dreams are not for you ! ' She tried to prevent herself 
 from seeing him, and thinking of him; succeeding 
 fairly well in the former atternpt, in the latter not so 
 completely. 
 
 Henchard, who had been hurt at finding that Far- 
 frae did not mean to put up with his temper any longer, 
 was incensed beyond measure when he learnt what the 
 young man had done as an alternative. It was in the 
 town-hall, after a council meeting, that he first became 
 aware of Farfrae's coup, for establishing himself inde- 
 pendently in the town ; and his voice nlight have been 
 heard as far as the town-pump expressing his feelings 
 to his fellow councilmen. Those tones showed that, 
 though under a long reign of self-control he had become 
 Mayor and churchwarden and what not, there was still 
 the same unruly volcanic stuff beneath the rind of 
 Michael Henchard as when he had sold his wife at 
 Weydon Fair. 
 
 ' Well, he's a friend of mine, and I'm a friend of his 
 — or if we are not, what are we? 'Od send, if I've 
 not been his friend, who has, I should like to know? 
 Didn't he come here without a sound shoe to his voot ? 
 Didn't I keep him here — help him to a living ? Didn't 
 I help him to money, or whatever he wanted ? I stuck 
 out for no terms — I said " Name your own price." I'd 
 have shared my last crust with that young fellow at one 
 time, I liked him so well. And now he's defied me! 
 But damn him, I'll have a tussle with him now — at 
 fair buying and selling, mind — at fair buying and selling ! 
 And if I can't overbid such a stripling as he, then I'm 
 not wo'th a varden ! We'll show that we know our busi- 
 ness as well as one here and there ! ' 
 
 His friends of the Corporation did not specially 
 respond. Henchard was less popular now than he had 
 134 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 been when, nearly two years before, they had voted 
 him to the chief magistracy on account of his amazing 
 energy. While they had collectively profited by this 
 quality of the corn-factor's, they had been made to 
 wince individually on more than one occasion. So he 
 went out of the hall and down the street alone. 
 
 Reaching home he seemed to recollect something 
 with a sour satisfaction. He called Elizabeth-Jane. 
 Seeing how he looked when she entered she appeared 
 alarmed. 
 
 ' Nothing to find fault with,' he said, observing her 
 concern. ' Only I want to caution you, my dear. That 
 man, Farfrae — it is about him. I've seen him talking 
 to you two or three times — ^he danced with 'ee at the 
 rejoicings, and came home with 'ee. Now, now, no 
 blame to you. But just hearken : Have you made him 
 any foolish promise ? Gone the least bit beyond sniff 
 and snaff at all ? ' 
 
 ' No. I have promised him nothing.' 
 
 'Good. All's well that end's well. I particularly 
 wish you not to see him again.' 
 
 ' Very well, sir.' 
 
 ' You promise ? ' 
 
 She hesitated for a moment, and then said — 
 
 ' Yes, if you much wish it.' 
 
 ' I do. He's an enemy to our house ! ' 
 
 When she had gone he sat down, and wrote in a 
 heavy hand to Farfrae thus : — 
 
 • Sir, — I make request that henceforth you and my 
 step-daughter be as strangers to each other. She on 
 her part has promised to welcome no more addresses 
 from you ; and I trust, therefore, you will not attempt 
 to force them upon her. M. Henchard.' 
 
 One would almost have supposed Henchard to have 
 had policy to see that no better modus vivendi could 
 I3S 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 be arrived at with Farfrae than by encouraging him 
 to become his son-in-law. But such a scheme for 
 buying over a rival had nothing to recommend it to 
 the Mayor's headstrong faculties. With all domestic 
 finesse of that kind he was hopelessly at variance. 
 Loving a man or hating him, his diplomacy was as 
 wrongheaded as a buffalo's; and his wife had not 
 ventured to suggest the course which she, for many 
 reasons, would have welcomed gladly. 
 
 Meanwhile, Donald Farfrae had opened the gates of 
 commerce on his own account at a spot on Durnover 
 Hill — as far as possible from Henchard's stores, and 
 with every intention of keeping clear of his former 
 friend and employer's customers. There was, it seemed 
 to the younger man, room for both of them and to 
 spare. The town was small, but the com and hay- 
 trade was proportionately large, and with his native 
 sagacity he saw opportunity for a share of it. 
 
 So determined was he to do nothing which should 
 seem like trade-antagonism to the Mayor that he refused 
 his first customer — a large farmer of good repute — 
 because Henchard and this man had dealt together 
 within the preceding three months. 
 
 ' He was once my friend,' said Farfrae, ' and it's 
 not for me to take business from him. I am sorry to 
 disappoint you, but I cannot hurt the trade of a man 
 who's been so kind to me.' 
 
 In spite of this praiseworthy course the Scotchman's 
 trade increased. Whether it vere that his northern 
 energy was an over-mastering force among the easy- 
 going Wessex worthies, or whether it was sheer luck, 
 the fact remained that whatever he touched he pros- 
 pered in. Like Jacob in Padan-Aram, he would no 
 sooner humbly limit himself to the ringstraked-and- 
 spotted exceptions of trade, than the ringstraked-and- 
 spotted would multiply and prevail. 
 
 But most probably luck had little to do with it 
 136 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 Character is Fate, said Novalis, and Farfrae's character 
 was just the reverse of Henchard's, who might not 
 inaptly be described as Faust has been described — as a 
 vehement gloomy being, who had quitted the ways of 
 vulgar men, without light to guide him on a better way. 
 
 Farfrae duly received the request to discontinue 
 attentions to Elizabeth-Jane. His acts of that kind 
 had been so slight that the request was almost super- 
 fluous. Yet he had felt a considerable interest in her, 
 and after some cogitation he decided that it would be 
 as well to enact no Romeo part just then — for the 
 young girl's sake no less than his own. Thus the 
 incipient attachment was stifled down. 
 
 A time came when, avoid collision with his former 
 friend as he might, Farfrae was compelled, in sheer 
 self-defence, to close with Henchard in mortal com- 
 mercial combat. He could no longer parry the fierce 
 attacks of the latter by simple avoidance. As soon as 
 their war of prices began everybody was interested, and 
 some few guessed the end. It was, in some degree. 
 Northern insight matched against Southron doggedness 
 — the dirk against the cudgel — and Henchard's weapon 
 - ■was--GrrS'''wEch7Tf"ir diS* not deal ruin at the first or 
 second stroke, left him afterwards well-nigh at his 
 antagonist's mercy. 
 
 Almost every Saturday they encountered each other 
 amid the crowd of farmers which thronged about the 
 market-place in the weekly course of their business. 
 Donald was always ready, and even ansdous, to say a 
 few friendly words ; but the Mayor invariably gazed 
 stormfully past him, like one who had endured and 
 lost on his account, and could in no sense forgive the 
 wrong ; nor did Farfrae's snubbed manner of perplexity 
 at all appease him. The large farmers, corn-merchants, 
 millers, auctioneers, and others had each an official 
 stall in the corn-market room, with their names painted 
 thereon j and when to the familiar series of ' Henchard,' 
 
THE MAYOR OP CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 • Everdene,' ' Shinar,' ' Darton,' and so on, was added 
 one inscribed ' Farfrae,' in staring new letters, Henchard 
 was stung into bitterness ; like Bellerophon, he wandered 
 away from the crowd, cankered in souL 
 
 From that day Donald Farfrae's name was seldom 
 mentioned in Henchard's house. If at breakfast or 
 dinner Elizabeth- Jane's mother inadvertently alluded to 
 her favourite's movements, the girl would implore her 
 by a look to be silent ; and her husband would say, 
 ' What — are you, too, my enemy ? ' 
 
XVIII 
 
 i HERE came a shock which had been foreseen foi 
 some time by Elizabeth, as the box passenger foresees 
 the approaching jerk from some channel across the 
 highway. 
 
 Her mother was ill — too unwell to leave her room. 
 Henchard, who treated her kindly, except in moments 
 of irritation, sent at once for the richest, busiest doctor, 
 whom he supposed to be the best. Bedtime came, and 
 they burnt a light all night. In a day or two she 
 rallied. 
 
 Elizabeth, who had been staying up, did not appear 
 at breakfast on the second morning, and Henchard sat 
 down alone. He was startled to see a letter for him 
 from Jersey in a writing he knew too well, and had ex- 
 pected least to behold again. He took it up in his 
 hands and looked at it as at a picture, a vision, a vista 
 of past enactments ; and then he read it as an unim- 
 portant finale to conjecture. 
 
 The writer said that she at length perceived how im- 
 possible it would be for any further communications to 
 proceed between them now that his re-marriage had taken 
 place. That such re-union had been the only straight- 
 forward course open to him she was bound to admit. 
 ' On calm reflection, therefore,' she went on, ' I quite 
 forgive you for landing me in such a dilemma, remem- 
 139 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 bering that you concealed nothing before our ill-advised 
 acquaintance ; and that you really did set before me in 
 your grim way the fact of there being a certain risk in 
 intimacy with you, slight as it seemed to be after 
 eighteen years of silence on your wife's part. I thus 
 look upon the whole as a misfortune of mine, and not 
 a fault of yours. 
 
 ' So that, Michael, I must ask you to overlook those 
 letters with which I pestered you day after day in the 
 heat of my feelings. They were written whilst I thought 
 your conduct to me cruel ; but now I know more par- 
 ticulars of the position you were in I see how incon- 
 siderate my reproaches were. 
 
 ' Now you will, I am sure, perceive that the one con- 
 dition which will make any future happiness possible 
 for me, is that the past connection between our lives be 
 kept secret outside this isle. Speak of it I know you 
 will not j and I can trust you not to write of it. One 
 safeguard more remains to be mentioned — that no 
 writings of mine, or trifling articles belonging to me, 
 should be left in your possession through neglect or 
 forgetfulness. To this end may I request you to return 
 to me any such you may have, particularly the letters 
 written in the first abandonment of feeling. 
 
 ' For the handsome sum you forwarded to me as a 
 plaster to the wound, I heartily thank you. 
 
 ' I am now on my way to Bristol, to see my only 
 relative. She is rich, and I hope will do something for 
 me. I shall return through Casterbridge and Bud- 
 mouth, where I shall take the packet-boat. Can you 
 meet me with the letters and other trifles ? I shall be 
 in the coach which changes horses at the Antelope Hotel 
 at half-past five Wednesday evening ; I shall be wearing 
 a Paisley shawl with a red centre, and thus may easily 
 be found. I should prefer this plan of receiving them 
 to having them sent. — I remain still, yours ever, 
 
 ' LUCETTA.' 
 
 140 
 
The mayor op casterbridge 
 
 Henchard breathed heavily. 'Poor thing — better 
 you had not known me ! Upon my heart and soul, if 
 ever I should be left in a position to carry out that 
 marriage with thee, I ought to do it — I ought to do it, 
 indeed 1 ' 
 
 The contingency that he had in his mind was, of 
 course, the death of Mrs. Henchard. 
 
 As requested, he sealed up Lucetta's letters, and put 
 the parcel aside till the day she had appointed; this 
 plan of returning them by hand being apparently a little 
 ruse of the young lady for exchanging a word or two 
 with him on past times. He would have preferred not 
 to see her ; but deeming that there could be no great 
 harm in acquiescing thus far, he went at dusk and stood 
 opposite the coach-ofSce. 
 
 The evening was chilly, and the coach was late. 
 Henchard crossed over to it while the horses were being 
 changed ; but there was no Lucetta inside or out. Con- 
 cluding that something had happened to modify her 
 arrangements he gave the matter up and went home, 
 not without a sense of relief. 
 
 Meanwhile Mrs. Henchard was weakening visibly. 
 She could not go out of doors any more. One day, 
 after much thinking which seemed to distress her, she 
 said she wanted to write something. A desk was put 
 upon her bed with pen and paper, and at her request 
 she was left alone. She remained writing for a short 
 time, folded her paper carefully, called Elizabeth- Jane 
 to bring a taper and wax, and then, still refusing assist- 
 ance, sealed up the sheet, directed it, and locked it in 
 her desk. She had directed it in these words : — 
 
 * Mr. Michael Henchard. Not to be opened till Eliza- 
 beth-Jan^s wedding-day' 
 
 The latter sat up with her mother to the utmost of 
 
 her strength night after night. To learn to take the 
 
 universe seriously there is no quicker way than to watch 
 
 — to be a ' waker,' as the country-people call it. Between 
 
 141 
 
THE MAYOR OP CASTERBRlDGE 
 
 the hours at which the last toss-pot went by and the 
 first sparrow shook himself, the silence in Casterbridge 
 — barring the rare sound of the watchman — was broken 
 in Elizabeth's ear only by the time-piece in the bedroom 
 ticking frantically against the clock on the stairs ; ticking 
 harder and harder till it seemed to clang like a gong ; 
 and all this while the subtle-souled girl asking herself 
 why she was born, why sitting in a room, and blinking 
 at the candle; why things around her had taken the 
 shape they wore in preference to every other possible 
 shape. Why they stared at her so helplessly, as if wait- 
 ing for the touch of some wand that should release them 
 from terrestrial constraint ; what that chaos called con- 
 sciousness, which spun in her at this moment like a top, 
 tended to, and began in. Her eyes fell together ; she 
 was awake, yet she was asleep. 
 
 A word from her mother roused her. Without 
 preface, and as the continuation of a scene already 
 progressing in her mind, Mrs. Henchard said: 'You 
 remember the note sent to you and Mr. Farfrae — asking 
 you to meet some one in Durnover Barton — and that 
 you thought it was a trick to make fools of you ? ' 
 
 'Yes.' 
 
 ' It was not to make fools of you — ^it was done to 
 bring you together. 'Twas I did it.' 
 
 ' Why ? ' said Elizabeth, with a start. 
 
 ' I — wanted you to marry Mr. Farfrae.' 
 
 'O mother!' Elizabeth-Jane bent down her head 
 so much that she looked quite into her own lap. 
 But as her mother did not go on, she said, 'What 
 reason ? ' 
 
 'Well, I had a reason. 'Twill out one day. I 
 wish it could have been in my time! But there — ^ 
 nothing is as you wish it ! Henchard hates him.' 
 
 'Perhaps they'll be friends again,' murmured the 
 girl. 
 
 'I don't know — I don't know.' After tliis her 
 142 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 mother was silent, and dozed ; and she spoke on the 
 subject no more. 
 
 Some little time later on, Farfrae was passing Hen- 
 chard's house on a Sunday morning, when he observed 
 that the blinds were all down. He rang the bell so 
 softly that it only sounded a single full note and a 
 small one ; and then he was informed that Mrs. Hen- 
 chard was dead — just dead — that very hour. 
 
 At the town-pump there were gathered when he 
 passed a few old inhabitants, who came there for water 
 whenever they had, as at present, spare time to fetch 
 it, because it was purer from that original fount than 
 from their own wells. Mrs. Cuxsom, who had been 
 standing there for an indefinite time with her pitcher, 
 was describing the incidents of Mrs. Henchard's death, 
 as she had learnt them from the nurse. 
 
 ' And she was as white as marble-stone,' said Mrs. 
 Cuxsom. 'And likewise such a thoughtful woman, 
 too — ah, poor soul — that a' minded every little thing 
 that wanted tending. "Yes," says she, "when I'm 
 gone, and my last breath's blowed, look in the top 
 drawer o' the chest in the back room by the window, 
 and you'll find all my coffin clothes ; a piece of flannel 
 — that's to put under me, and the little piece is to 
 put under my head; and my new stockings for my 
 feet — they are folded alongside, and all my other 
 things. And there's four ounce pennies, the heaviest 
 I could find, a-tied up in bits of linen, for weights — ■ 
 two for my right eye and two for my left," she said. 
 " And when you've used 'em, and my eyes don't open 
 no more, bury the pennies, good souls, and don't ye 
 go spending 'em, for I shouldn't like it. And open 
 the windows as soon as I am carried out, and make 
 it as cheerful as you can for Elizabeth- Jane." ' 
 
 ' Ah, poor heart ! ' 
 
 •Well, and Martha did it, and buried the ounce 
 pennies in the garden. But if ye'U believe words, that 
 M3 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 man, Christopher Coney, went and dug 'em up, and 
 spent 'em at the Three Mariners. "Faith," he said, 
 "why should death rob life o' fourpence? Death's 
 not of such good report that we should respect 'en to 
 that extent," says he.' 
 
 ' 'Twas a cannibal deed ! ' deprecated her listeners. 
 
 'Gad, then, I won't quite ha'e it,' said Solomon 
 Longways. ' I say it to-day, and 'tis a Sunday morn- 
 ing, and I ■Wouldn't speak wrongfully for a zilver zix- 
 pence at such a time. I don't see noo harm in it. To 
 respect the dead is sound doxology; and I wouldn't 
 sell skellintons — 'leastwise respectable skellintons — to 
 be varnished for 'natomies, except I were out o' work. 
 But money is scarce, and throats get dry. Why should 
 death rob life o' fourpence? I say there was no 
 treason in it.' 
 
 •Well, poor soul; she's helpless to hinder that or 
 anything now,' answered Mother Cuxsom. 'And all 
 her shining keys will be took from her, and her cup- 
 boards opened; and little things a' didn't wish seen, 
 anybody will see ; and her wishes and ways will all be 
 as nothing 1 ' 
 
XIX 
 
 HeNCHARD and Elizabeth sat conversing by the 
 fire. It was three weeks after Mrs. Henchard's funeral ; 
 the candles were not lighted, and a restless, acrobatic 
 flame, poised on a coal, called from the shady walls 
 the smiles of all shapes that could respond— ^the old 
 pier-glass, with gilt columns and huge entablature, the 
 picture-frames, sundry knobs and handles, and the 
 brass rosette at the bottom of each riband bell-pull on 
 either side of the chimney-piece. 
 
 • Ehzabeth, do you tlunk much of old times ? ' said 
 Henchard. 
 
 'Yes, sir; often,' said she. 
 
 ' Who do you put in your pictures of 'em ? ' 
 
 ' Mother and father — nobody else hardly.' 
 
 Henchard always looked like one bent on resisting 
 pain when Elizabeth-Jane spoke of Richard Newson 
 as ' father.' • Ah ! I am out of all that, am I not ? ' 
 he said. . . . ' Was Newson a kind father ? ' 
 
 'Yes, sir; very.' 
 
 Henchard's face settled into an expression of stolid 
 loneliness which gradually modulated into something 
 softer. 'Suppose I had been your real father?' he 
 said. ' Would you have cared for me as much as you 
 cared for Richard Newson ? ' 
 
 ' I can't think it,' she said quickly. ' I can think 
 of no other as my father, except my father.' 
 
 MS K 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGB 
 
 Henchard's wife was dissevered from him by death; 
 his friend and helper Farfrae by estrangement; £liza< 
 beth-Jane by ignorance. It seemed to him that only 
 one of them could possibly be recalled, and that was 
 the girl. His mind began vibrating between the wish 
 to reveal himself to her, and the policy of leaving well 
 alone, till he could no longer sit still. He walked up 
 and down, and then he came and stood behind her 
 chair, looking down upon the top of her head. He 
 could no longer restrain his impulse. ' What did your 
 mother tell you about me — my history ? ' he asked. 
 
 ' That you were related by marriage.' 
 
 ' She should have told more — ^before you knew me I 
 Then my task would not have been such a hard one. 
 .... Elizabeth, it is I who am your father, and not 
 Richard Newson. Shame alone prevented your wretched 
 parents from owning this to you while both of 'em were 
 alive.' 
 
 The back of Elizabeth's head remained still, and 
 her shoulders did not denote even the movements of 
 breathing. Henchard went on : ' I'd rather have your 
 scorn, your fear, anything than your ignorance; 'tis 
 that I hate ! Your mother and I were man and wife 
 when we were young. What you saw was our second 
 marriage. Your mother was too honest. We had thought 
 each other dead — and — Newson became her husband.' 
 
 This was the nearest approach Henchard could 
 make to the full truth. As far as he personally was 
 concerned he would have screened nothing; but he 
 showed a respect for the young girl's sex and years 
 worthy of a better man. 
 
 When he had gone on to give details which a whole 
 series of slight and unregarded incidents in her past 
 life strangely corroborated ; when, in short, she believed 
 his story to be true, she became greatly agitated, and, 
 turning round to the table, flung her face upon it 
 weeping. 
 
 146 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTeRSRIDGE 
 
 ' Don't cry — don't ciy ! ' said Henchard, with vehe- 
 ment pathos, ' I can't bear it, I won't bear it. I am 
 your father ; why should you cry ? Am I so dreadful, 
 so hateful to 'ee? Don't take against me, Elizabeth- 
 Jane ! ' he cried, grasping her wet hand. ' Don't take 
 against me — though I was a drinking man once, and 
 used your mother roughly — I'll be kinder to you than 
 he was! I'll do anything, if you will only look upon 
 me as your father ! ' 
 
 She tried to stand up and confront him trustfully; 
 but she could not; she was troubled at his presence, 
 like the brethren at the avowal of Joseph. 
 
 ' I don't want you to come to me all of a sudden,' 
 said Henchard in jerks, and moving like a great tree 
 in a wind. ' No, Elizabeth, I don't. I'll go away and 
 not see you till to-morrow, or when you like ; and then 
 I'll show 'ee papers to prove my words. There, I am 
 
 gone, and won't disturb you any more 'Twas 
 
 I that chose your name, my daughter; your mother 
 wanted it Susan. There, don't forget 'twas I gave you 
 your name ! ' He went out at the door and shut her 
 softly in, and she heard him go away into the garden. 
 But he had not done. Before she had moved, or in 
 any way recovered from the effect of his disclosure, he 
 reappeared. 
 
 • One word more, Elizabeth,' he said. ' You'll take 
 my surname now — hey ? Your mother was against it ; 
 but it will be much more pleasant to me. 'Tis legally 
 yours, you know. But nobody need know that. You 
 shall take it as if by choice. I'll talk to my lawyer — 
 I don't know the law of it exactly; but will you do 
 this — let me put a few lines into the newspaper that 
 such is to be your name ? ' 
 
 ' If it is my name I must have it, mustn't I ? ' she 
 asked. 
 
 ' Well, well ; usage is everything in these matters.' 
 
 ' I wcnder why mother didn't wish it? ' 
 147 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 ' Oh, some whim of the poor soul's. Now get a bit 
 of paper and draw up a paragraph as I shall tell you. 
 But let's have a light.' 
 
 ' I can see by the firelight,' she answered. ' Yes— 
 I'd rather.' 
 
 ' Very well.' 
 
 She got a piece of paper, and bending over the 
 fender, wrote at his dictation words which he had 
 evidently got by heart from some advertisement or 
 other — words to the effect that she, the writer, hitherto 
 known as Elizabeth- Jane Newson, was going to call her- 
 self Elizabeth- Jane Henchard forthwith. It was done, 
 and fastened up, and directed to the office of the 
 Casterbridge Chronicle. 
 
 ' Now,' said Henchard, with the blaze of satisfaction 
 that he always emitted when he had carried his point 
 — though tenderness softened it this time — 'I'U go 
 upsi^airs and hunt for some documents that will prove 
 it all to you. But I won't trouble you with them till 
 to-morrow. Good night, my Elizabeth- Jane ! ' 
 
 He was gone before the bewildered girl could realize 
 what it all meant, or adjust her filial sense to the new 
 centre of gravity. She was thankful that he had left 
 her to herself for the evening, and sat down over the 
 fire. Here she remained in silence, and wept — not 
 for her mother now, but for the genial sailor, Richard 
 Newson, to whom she seemed doing a wrong. 
 
 Henchard, in the meantime, had gone upstairs. 
 Papers of a domestic nature he kept in a drawer in 
 his bedroom, and this he unlocked. Before turning 
 them over he leant back and indulged in reposeful 
 thought. Elizabeth was his at last, and she was a girl 
 of such good sense and kind heart that she would be 
 sure to like him. He was the kind of man to whom 
 some human object for pouring out his heat upon — 
 were it emotive or were it choleric — was almost a 
 necessity. The craving of his heart for the re-establish- 
 148 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 ment of this tenderest human tie had been great during 
 his wife's lifetime, and now he had submitted to its 
 mastery without reluctance and without fear. He bent 
 over the drawer again, and proceeded in his search. 
 
 Among the other papers had been placed the con- 
 tents of his wife's little desk, the keys of which had 
 been handed to him at her request. Here was the 
 letter addressed to him with the restriction, ' Not to be 
 opened Hll Elizabeth-Jan^ s wedding-day.' 
 
 Mrs. Henchard, though more patient than her hus- 
 band, had been no practical hand at anything. In 
 sealing up the sheet, which was folded and tucked in 
 without an envelope, in the old-fashioned way, she had 
 overlaid the junction with a large mass of wax without 
 the requisite under-touch of the same. The seal had 
 cracked, and the letter was open. Henchard had no 
 reason to suppose the restriction one of serious weight, 
 and his feeling for his late wife had not been of the 
 nature of deep respect. ' Some trifling fancy or other of 
 poor Susan's, I suppose,' he said ; and without curiosity 
 he allowed his eyes to scan the letter : — 
 
 ' My dear Michael, — For the good of all three of 
 us, I have kept one thing a secret from you till now. 
 I hope you will understand why; I think you will; 
 though perhaps you may not forgive me. But, dear 
 Michael, I have done it for the best. I shall be in my 
 grave when you read this, and Elizabeth- Jane will have 
 a home. Don't curse me, Mike — think of how I was 
 situated. I can hardly write it, but here it is. Eliza- 
 beth-Jane is not your Elizabeth- Jane — the child who 
 was in my arms when you sold me. No; she died 
 three months after that, and this hving one is my 
 other husband's. I christened her by the same name 
 we had given to the first, and she filled up the ache 
 I felt ^ the other's loss. Michael, I am dying, and I 
 might have held my tongue; but I could not Tell 
 149 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 her husband of this or not, as you may judge; and 
 forgive, if you can, a woman you once deeply wronged, 
 as she forgives you. Susan Henchard.' 
 
 Her husband regarded the paper as if it were a 
 window-pane through which he saw for miles. His 
 lip twitched, and he seemed to compress his frame, as 
 if to bear better. His usual habit was not to consider 
 whether destiny were hard upon him or not — the shape 
 of his ideas in cases of affliction being simply a moody 
 'I am to suffer, I perceive.' 'So much scourging as 
 this, then, is it for me?' But now through his 
 passionate head there stormed this thought — that the 
 blasting disclosure was what he had deserved. 
 
 His wife's extreme reluctance to have the girl's 
 name altered from Newson to Henchard was now 
 accounted for fully. It furnished another illustration 
 of that honesty in dishonesty which had characterized 
 her in other things. 
 
 He remained unnerved and purposeless for near a 
 couple of hours ; till he suddenly said, ' Ah — I wonder 
 if it is true ! ' 
 
 He jumped up in an impulse, kicked off his slippers, 
 and went with a candle to the door of Elizabeth- Jane's 
 room, where he put his ear to the keyhole and listened. 
 She was breathing profoundly. Henchard softly turned 
 the handle, entered, and shading the light, approached 
 the bedside. Gradually bringing the light from behind 
 a screening curtain he held it in such a manner that 
 it fell slantwise on her face without shining on her eyes. 
 He steadfastly regarded her features. 
 
 They were fair : his were dark. But this was an 
 unimportant preliminary. In sleep there come to the 
 surface buried genealogical facts, ancestral curves, dead 
 men's traits, which the mobility of daytime animation 
 screens and overwhelms. In the present statuesque 
 repose of the young girl's countenance Richard Newson's 
 ISO 
 
The maVor op casterbridge 
 
 was unmistakably reflected. He could not endure the 
 sight of her, and hastened away. 
 
 Misery taught him nothing more than defiant en- 
 durance of it. His wife was dead, and the first impulse 
 for revenge died with the thought that she was be- 
 yond him. He looked out at the night as at a fiend. 
 Henchard, like all his kind, was superstitious, and he 
 could not help thinking that the concatenation of 
 events this evening had produced was the scheme of 
 some sinister intelligence bent on punishing him. Yet 
 they had developed naturally. If he had not revealed 
 his past history to Elizabeth he would not have searched 
 the drawer for papers, and so on. The mockery was, 
 that he should have no sooner taught a girl to claim 
 the shelter of his paternity than he discovered her to 
 have no kinship with him. 
 
 This ironical sequence of things angered him like 
 an impish trick from a fellow-creature. Like Prester 
 John's, his table had been spread, and infernal harpies 
 had snatched up the food. He went out of the house, 
 and moved sullenly onward down the pavement till he 
 came to the bridge at the bottom of the High Street. 
 Here he turned in upon a bypath on the river bank, 
 skirting the north-eastern limits of the town. 
 
 These precincts embodied the mournful phases of 
 Casterbridge life, as the south avenues embodied its 
 cheerful moods. The whole way along here was sun- 
 less, even in summer time; in spring, white frosts 
 lingered here when other places were steaming with 
 warmth ; while in winter it was the seed-field of all the 
 aches, rheumatisms, and torturing cramps of the year. 
 The Casterbridge doctors must have pined away for 
 want of sufficient nourishment, but for the configuration 
 of the landscape on the north-eastern side. 
 
 The river — slow, noiseless, and dark — the Schwarz- 
 wasser of Casterbridge — ran beneath a low cliff, the two 
 together forming a defence which had rendered walls 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 and artificial earthworks on this side unnecessary. Here 
 ■were ruins of a Franciscan priory, and a mill attached 
 to the same, the water of which roared down a back- 
 hatch like the voice of desolation. Above the cliff, 
 and behind the river, rose a pile of buildings, and in 
 the front of the pile a square mass cut into the sky. 
 It was like a pedestal lacking its statue. This missing 
 feature, without which the design remained incomplete, 
 was, in truth, the corpse of a man j for the square mass 
 formed the base of the gallows, the extensive buildings 
 at the back being the county gaol. , In the meadow 
 where Henchard now walked the mob were jaront to 
 gather whenever an execution took place, and there to 
 the tune of the roaring weir they stood and watched 
 the spectacle. 
 
 The exaggeration which darkness imparted to the 
 glooms of this region impressed Henchard more than 
 he had expected. The lugubrious harmony of the 
 spot with his domestic situation was too perfect for 
 him, impatient of effects, scenes, and adumbrations. 
 It reduced his heartburning to melancholy, and he ex- 
 claimed, ' Why the deuce did I come here ! ' He went 
 on past the cottage in which the old local hangman 
 had lived and died, in times before that calling was 
 monopolized over all England by a single gentleman; 
 and climbed up by a steep back lane into the town. 
 
 For the sufferings of that night, engendered by his 
 bitter disappointment, he might well have been pitied. 
 He was like one who had half fainted, and could neither 
 recover nor complete the swoon. In words he could 
 blame his wife, but not in his heart ; and had he obeyed 
 the wise directions outside her letter this pain would 
 have been spared him for long — possibly for ever, 
 Elizabeth-Jane seeming to show no ambition to quit 
 her safe and secluded maiden courses for the specula- 
 tive path of matrimony. 
 
 The morning came after this night of unrest, and 
 152 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 with it the necessity for a plan. He was far to/) self- 
 willed to recede from a position, especially as it would 
 involve humiliation. His daughter he had asserted her 
 to be, and his daughter she should always think herself, 
 no matter what hypocrisy it involved. 
 
 But he was ill-prepared for the first step in this new 
 situation. The moment he came into the breakfast- 
 room Elizabeth advanced with open confidence to him 
 and took him by the arm. 
 
 ' I have thought and thought all night of it,' she said 
 frankly. ' And I see that everything must be as you 
 say. And I am going to look upon you as the father 
 that you are, and not to call you Mr. Henchard any 
 more. It is so plain to me now. Indeed, father, it is. 
 For, of course, you would not have done half the things 
 you have done for me, and let me have my own way so 
 entirely, and bought me presents, if I had only been 
 your stepdaughter! He — Mr. Newson — whom my 
 poor mother married by such a strange mistake ' (Hen- 
 chard was glad that he had disguised matters here), 
 ' was very kind — oh, so kind ! ' (she spoke with tears 
 in her eyes) ; ' but that is not the same thing as being 
 one's real father after all. Now, father, breakfast is 
 ready ! ' said she cheerfully. 
 
 Henchard bent and kissed her cheek. The moment 
 and the act he had contemplated for weeks with a thrill 
 of pleasure; yet it was no less than a miserable in- 
 sipidity to him now that it had come. His reinstation 
 of her mother had been chiefly for the girl's sake, and 
 the fruition of the whole scheme was such dust and 
 ashes as this. 
 
XX 
 
 Of all the enigmas which ever confronted a girl there 
 can have been seldom one like that which followed 
 Henchard's announcement of himself to Elizabeth as 
 her father. He had done it in an ardour and an agita- 
 tion which had half carried the point of affection with 
 her; yet, behold, from the next morning onwards his 
 manner was constrained as she had never seen it before. 
 
 The coldness soon broke out into open chiding. 
 One grievous failiiig of Elizabeth's was her occasional 
 pretty and picturesque use of dialect words — those 
 terrible marks of the beast to the truly genteel. 
 
 It was dinner-time — they never met except at meals — 
 and she happened to say when he was rising from table, 
 wishing to show him something, ' If you'll bide where 
 you be a minute, father, I'll get it.' 
 
 ' " Bide where you be," ' he echoed sharply. • Good 
 God, are you only fit to carry wash to a pig-trough, 
 that ye use such words as those ? ' 
 
 She reddened with shame and sadness. 
 
 ' I msant " Stay where you are," father,' she said, in a 
 low, humble voice. ' I ought to have been more careful.' 
 
 He made no reply, and went out of the room. 
 
 The sharp reprimand was not lost upon her, and in 
 time it came to pass that for ' fay ' she said ' succeed ; ' 
 that she no longer spoke of • dumbledores ' but of 
 IS4 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 ' humble bees ; ' no longer said of young men and 
 women that they ' walked together,' but that they were 
 ' engaged ; ' that she grew to talk of ' greggles ' as ' wild 
 hyacinths ; ' that when she had not slept she did not 
 quaintly tell the servants next morning that she had been 
 ' hag-rid,' but that she had ' suffered from indigestion.' 
 
 These improvements, however, are somewhat in 
 advance of the story. Henchard, being uncultivated 
 himself, was the bitterest critic the fair girl could pos- 
 sibly have had of her own lapses — really slight now, 
 for she read omnivorously. A gratuitous ordeal was 
 in store for her in the matter of her handwriting. 
 She was passing the dining-room door one evening, 
 and had occasion to go in for something. It was not 
 till she had opened the door that she knew the Mayor 
 was there in the company of a man with whom he 
 transacted business. 
 
 ' Here, Elizabeth- Jane,' he said, looking round at 
 her, 'just write down what I tell you — a few words 
 of an agreement for me and this gentleman to sign. 
 I am a poor tool with a pen.' 
 
 ' Be jowned, and so be I,' said the gentleman. 
 
 She brought forward blotting-book, paper, and ink, 
 and sat down. 
 
 ' Now then — " An agreement entered into this six- 
 teenth day of October " — write that first.' 
 
 She started the pen in an elephantine march across 
 the sheet. It was a splendid round, bold hand of her 
 own conception, a style that would have stamped a 
 woman as Minerva's own in more recent days. But 
 other ideas reigned then : Henchard's creed was that 
 proper young girls wrote ladies'-hand — nay, he believed 
 that bristling characters were as innate and mseparablc 
 a part of refined womanhood as sex itself. Hence 
 when, instead of scribbling, like the Princess Ida, — 
 
 ' In such a hand as when a field of corn 
 Bows all its ears before the roaring E^st, ' 
 
 155 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 Elizabeth- Jane produced a line of chain-shot and sand- 
 bags, he reddened in angry shame for her, and, 
 peremptorily saying, ' Never mind — I'll finish it,' dis- 
 missed her there and then. 
 
 Her considerate disposition became a pitfall to her 
 now. She was, it must be admitted, sometiities pro- 
 vokingly and unnecessarily willing to saddle herself 
 with manual labours. She would go to the kitchen 
 instead of ringing, ' Not to make Phoebe come up 
 twice.' She went down on her knees, shovel in hand, 
 when the cat overturned the coal-scuttle; moreover, 
 she would persistently thank the parlour -maid for 
 everything, till one day, as soon as the girl was gone 
 from the room, Henchard broke out with, ' Good God, 
 why dostn't leave off thanking that girl as if she were 
 a goddess-born ! Don't I pay her a dozen pound a 
 year to do things for 'ee ? ' Elizabeth shrank so visibly 
 at the exclamation that he became sorry a few minutes 
 after, and said that he did not mean to be so rough. 
 
 These domestic exhibitions were the small protrud- 
 ing needle-rocks which suggested rather than revealed 
 what was underneath. But his passion had less terror 
 for her than his coldness. The increasing frequency 
 of the latter mood told her the sad news that he dis- 
 liked her with a growing dislike. The more interest- 
 ing that her appearance and manners became under 
 the softening influences which she could now command, 
 and in her wisdom did command, the more she seemed 
 to estrange him. Sometimes she caught him looking 
 at her with a louring invidiousness that she could hardly 
 bear. Not knowing his secret, it was a cruel mockery-^ 
 that she should for the first time excite his animosity 
 when she had taken his surname. 
 
 • But the mdst terrible ordeal was to come. Elizabeth 
 had latterly been accustomed of an afternoon to present 
 a cup of cider or ale and bread-and-cheese to Nanct 
 Mockridge, who worked in the yard, wimbling hay 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 bonds. Nance accepted this offering thankfully at first ; 
 afterwards as a matter of course. On a day when 
 Henchard was on the premises he saw his step-daughter 
 enter the hay-barn on this errand; and, as there was 
 no clear spot on which to deposit the provisions, she 
 at once set to work arranging two trusses of hay as a 
 table, Mockridge meanwhile standing with her hands 
 on her hips, easefuUy looking at the preparations on her 
 behalf 
 
 ' Elizabeth, come here ! ' said Henchard ; and she 
 obeyed. 
 
 ' Why do you lower yourself so confoundedly ? ' he 
 said with suppressed passion. ' Haven't I told you 
 o't fifty times ? Hey ? Making yourself a drudge for 
 a common workwoman of such a character as hers ! 
 Why, ye'U disgrace me to the dust ! ' 
 
 Now these words were uttered loud enough to reach 
 Nance inside the barn door, who fired up immediately 
 at the slur upon her personal character. Coming to 
 the door, she cried, regardless of consequences, ' Come 
 to that, Mr. Michael Henchard, I can let 'ee know 
 she've waited on worse ! ' 
 
 ' Then she must have had more charity than sense,' 
 said Henchard. 
 
 ' Oh no, she hadn't. 'Twere not for charity but for 
 hire; and at a pubhc-house in this town ! ' 
 
 ' It is not true I ' cried Henchard indignantly. 
 
 •Just ask her,' said Nance, folding her naked arms 
 in such a manner that she could comfortably scratch 
 her elbows. 
 
 Henchard glanced at EUzabeth-Jane, whose com- 
 plexion, now pink and white from confinement, lost 
 nearly all of the former colour. ' What does this 
 mean ? ' he said to her. ' Anything or nothing ? ' 
 
 < It is true,' said Elizabeth-Jane. ' But it was 
 only ' 
 
 ' Did you do it, or didn't you ? Whero was it ? ' 
 
 IS7 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 •At the Three Mariners; one evening for a little 
 while, when we were staying there.' 
 
 Nance glanced triumphantly at Henchard, and 
 sailed into the barn ; for, assuming that she was to be 
 discharged on the instant, she had resolved to make 
 the most of her victory. Henchard, however, said 
 nothing about discharging her. Unduly sensitive on 
 such points by reason of his own past, he had the look 
 o^ one completely ground down to the last indignity. 
 Elizabeth followed him to the house like a culprit; 
 but when she got inside she could not see him. Nor 
 did she see him again that day. 
 
 Convinced of the scathing damage to his local 
 repute and position that must have been caused by 
 such a fact, though it had never before reached his 
 own ears, Henchard showed a positive distaste for the 
 presence of this girl not his own, whenever he encoun- 
 tered her. He mostly dined with the farmers at the 
 market-room of one of the two chief hotels, leaving her 
 in utter solitude. Could he have seen how she made 
 use of those silent hours he might have found reason 
 to reverse his judgment on her quality. She read and 
 took notes incessantly, mastering facts with painful 
 laboriousness, but never flinching from her self-imposed 
 task. She began the study of Latin, incited by the 
 Roman characteristics of the town she lived in. ' If I 
 am not well-informed it shall be by no fault of my own,' 
 she would say to herself through the tears that would 
 occasionally glide down her peachy cheeks when she 
 was fairly baffled by the portentous obscurity of many 
 of these educational works. 
 
 Thus she lived on, a dumb, deep-feeling, great-eyed 
 creature, construed by not a single contiguous being; 
 quenching with patient fortitude her incipient interest in 
 Farfrae, because it seemed to be one-sided, unmaidenly, 
 and unwise. True, that for reasons best known to 
 herself, she had, since Farfrae's dismissal, shifted her 
 iS8 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 quarters from the back room affording a view of the 
 yard (which she had occupied with such zest) to a front 
 chamber overlooking the street; but as for the young 
 man, whenever he passed the house he seldom or never 
 turned his head. 
 
 Winter had almost come, and unsettled weather made 
 her still more dependent upon indoor resources. But 
 there were certain early winter days in Casterbridge — 
 days of firmamental exhaustion which followed angry 
 south-westerly tempests — when, if the sun shone, the 
 air was like velvet. She seized on these days for her 
 periodical visits to the spot where her mother lay buried 
 — the still-used burial-ground of the old Roman-British 
 city, whose curious feature was this, its continuity as a 
 place of sepulture. Mrs. Henchard's dust mingled with 
 the dust of women who lay ornamented with glass hair- 
 pins and amber necklaces, and men who held in their 
 mouths coins of Hadrian, Posthumus, and the Con- 
 stantines. 
 
 Half-past ten in the morning was about her hour for 
 seeking this spot — a time when the town avenues were 
 deserted as the avenues of Karnac. Business had long 
 since passed down them into its daily cells, and Leisure 
 had not arrived there. So Elizabeth-Jane walked and 
 read, or looked over the edge of the book to think, and 
 thus reached the churchyard. 
 
 There, approaching her mother's grave, she saw a 
 solitary dark figure in the middle of the gravel-walk. 
 This figure, too, was reading; but not from a book: 
 the words which engrossed it being the inscription on 
 Mrs. Henchard's tombstone. The personage was in 
 mourning like herself, was about her age and size, and 
 might have been her wraith or double, but for the fact 
 that it was a lady much more beautifully dressed than 
 she. Indeed, comparatively indifferent as Elizabeth- 
 Jane was to dress, unless for some temporary whim or 
 purpose, her eyes were arrested by the artistic perfection 
 »S9 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 of the lady's appearance. Her gait, too, had a flexuous- 
 ness about it, which seemed to avoid angularity of move- 
 ment less from choice than from predisposition. It 
 was a revelation to Elizabeth that human beings could 
 reach this stage of external development — she had never 
 suspected it. She felt all the freshness and grace to be 
 stolen from herself on the instant by the neighbourhood 
 of such a stranger. And this was in face of the fact 
 that Elizabeth could now have been writ handsome, 
 while the young lady was simply pretty. 
 
 Had she been envious she might have hated the 
 woman j but she did not do that — she allowed herself 
 the pleasure of feeling fascinated. She wondeted where 
 the lady had come from. The stumpy and practical 
 walk of honest homeliness which mostly prevailed there, 
 the two styles of dress thereabout, the simple and the 
 mistaken, equally avouched that this figure was no 
 Casterbridge woman's, even if a book in her hand 
 resembling a guide-book had not also suggested it. 
 
 The stranger presently moved from the tombstone 
 of Mrs. Henchard, and vanished behind the corner of 
 the wall. Elizabeth went to the tomb hetself ; beside 
 it were two footprints distinct in the soil, signifying that 
 the lady had stood there a long tinle. She returned 
 homeward, musing on what she had seen, as she might 
 have mused on a rainbow or the Northern Lights, a 
 rare butterfly or a cameo. 
 
 Interesting as things had been out of doors, at home 
 it turned out to be one of her bad days. Henchard, 
 whose two years' mayoralty was ending, had been made 
 aware that he was not to be chosen to fill a vacancy in 
 the list of aldermen ; and that Farfrae was likely to be- 
 come one of the Council. This caused the unfortunate 
 discovery that she had played the waiting-maid iri the 
 town of which he was Mayor to rankle in his mind 
 yet more poisonously. He had learnt by personal in- 
 quiry at the time that it was to Donald Farfrae — that 
 i6r 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 treacherous upstart — that she had thus humiliated 
 herself. And though Mrs. Stannidge seemed to attach 
 no great importance to the incident — the cheerful souls 
 at the Three Mariners having exhausted its aspects 
 long ago — such was Henchard's haughty spirit that the 
 simple thrifty deed was regarded as little less than a 
 social catastrophe by hirri. 
 
 Ever since the evening of his wife's arrival with her 
 datighter there had been something in the air which 
 had changed his luck. That dinner at the King's 
 Arms with his friends had been Henchard's Austerlitz : 
 he had had his successes since, but his course had 
 not been upward. He was not to be numbered among 
 the aldermen — that Peerage of burghers — as he had 
 expected to be, and the consciousness of this soured 
 him to-day. 
 
 ' Well, where have you been ? ' he said to her, with 
 off-hand laconism. 
 
 ' I've been strolling in the Walks and churchyard, 
 father, till I feel quite leery.' She clapped her hand 
 to her mouth, but too late. 
 
 This was just enough to incense Henchard after the 
 other crosses of the day. ' I won't have you talk like 
 that 1 ' he thundered. ' " Leery," indeed. One would 
 think you worked upon a farm ! One day I learn 
 that you lend a hand in public-houses. Then I heat 
 you talk like a clodhopper. I'm burned, if it goes on, 
 this house can't hold us two.' 
 
 The only way of getting a single pleasant thought 
 to go to sleep upon after this was by recalling the lady 
 she had seen that day, and hoping she might see her 
 again. 
 
 Meanwhile Henchard was sitting up, thinking over 
 his jealous folly in forbidding Farfrae to pay his 
 addresses to this girl who did not belong to him, 
 when if he had allowed them to go on he might not 
 have been encumbered with her. At last he said to 
 i6i L 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 himself with satisfaction as he jumped up and went 
 to the writing-table : ' Ah ! he'll think it means peace, 
 and a marriage portion — not that I don't want my 
 house to be troubled with her, and no portion at all ! ' 
 He wrote as follows : — 
 
 'Sir, — On consideration, I don't wish to interfere 
 with your courtship of Elizabeth- Jane, if you care for 
 her. I therefore withdraw my objection ; excepting 
 in this — that the business be not carried on in my 
 house. — Yours, M. Henchard. 
 
 ' Mr. Farfrae.' 
 
 The morrow, being fairly fine, found EUzabeth-Jane 
 again in the churchyard; but while looking for the 
 lady she was startled by the apparition of Farfrae, who 
 passed outside the gate. He glanced up for a moment 
 from a pocket-book in which he appeared to be making 
 figures as he went ; whether or not he saw her he took 
 no notice, and disappeared. 
 
 Unduly depressed by a sense of her own super- 
 fluity, she thought he probably scorned her ; and quite 
 broken in spirit, sat down on a bench. She fell into 
 painful thought on her position, which ended with her 
 saying quite loud, ' Oh, I wish I was dead with dear 
 mother ! ' 
 
 Behind the bench was a little promenade under the 
 wall where people sometimes walked instead of on the 
 gravel. The bench seemed to be touched by some- 
 thing ; she looked round, and a face was bending over 
 her, veiled, but still distinct, the face of the young 
 woman she had seen yesterday. 
 
 Elizabeth-Jane looked confounded for a moment, 
 knowing she had been overheard, though there was 
 pleasure in her confusion. ' Yes, I heard you,' said 
 the lady, in a vivacious voice, answering her look. 
 • What can have happened ? ' 
 163 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 » 
 
 ' I don't — I can't tell you,' said Elizabeth, putting 
 her hand to her face to hide a quick flush that had 
 come. 
 
 There was no movement or word for a few seconds ; 
 then the girl felt that the young lady was sitting down 
 beside her. 
 
 ' I guess how it is with you,' said the latter. ' That 
 was your mother.' She waved her hand towards the 
 tombstone. Elizabeth looked up at her as if inquiring 
 of herself whether there should be confidence. The 
 lady's manner was so desirous, so anxious, that the 
 girl decided there should be confidence. ' It was my 
 mother,' she said, ' my only friend.' 
 
 ' But your father, Mr. Henchard. He is living ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, he is living,' said Elizabeth-Jane. 
 
 ' Is he not kind to you ? ' 
 
 ' I've no wish to complain of him.' 
 
 ' There has been a disagreement ? ' 
 
 ' A little.' 
 
 ' Perhaps you were to blame, suggested the stranger. 
 
 ' I was — in many ways,' sighed the meek Elizabeth. 
 ' I swept up the coals when the servant ought to have 
 done it J and I said I was leery; — and he was angry 
 with me.' 
 
 The lady seemed to warm towards her for that 
 reply. ' Do you know the impression your words 
 give me ? ' she said ingenuously. ' That he is a hot- 
 tempered man — a little proud — perhaps ambitious; 
 but not a bad man.' Her anxiety not to condemn 
 Henchard, while siding with Elizabeth, was curious. 
 
 ' Oh no ; certainly not bad' agreed the honest girl. 
 ' And he has not even been unkind to me till lately — 
 since mother died. But it has been very much to bear 
 while it has lasted. All is owing to my defects, I dare- 
 say; and my defects are owing to my history.' 
 
 ' What is your history ? ' 
 
 Elizabeth- Jane looked wistfully at her questioner. She 
 163 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 found that her questioner was looking at her; turned 
 her eyes down; and then seemed compelled to look 
 back again. 'My history is not gay or attractive,' 
 she said. 'And yet I can tell it, if you really want 
 to know.' 
 
 The lady assured her that she did want to know ; 
 whereupon Elizabeth-Jane told the tale of her life as 
 she understood it, which was in general the true one, 
 except that the sale at the fair had no part therein. 
 
 Contrary to the girl's expectation her new friend was 
 not shocked. This cheered her; and it was not till 
 she thought of returning to that home in which she 
 had been treated so roughly of late that her spirits fell. 
 
 ' I don't know how to return,' she murmured. ' I 
 think of going away. But what can I do ? Where can 
 Igo?' 
 
 ' Perhaps it will be better soon,' said her friend 
 gently. ' So I would not go far. Now what do you 
 think of this : I shall soon want somebody to live in 
 my house, partly as housekeeper, partly as companion ; 
 would you mind coming to me ? But perhaps -' 
 
 ' Oh yes,' cried Elizabeth, with tears in her eyes. 
 ' I would, indeed- — I would do anything to be inde- 
 pendent ; for then perhaps my father might get to love 
 me. But, ah ! ' 
 
 ' What ? ' 
 
 ' I am no accomplished person. And a companion 
 to you must be that.' 
 
 ' Oh, not necessarily.' 
 
 ' Not ? But I can't help using rural words some- 
 times, when I don't mean to.' 
 
 ' Never mind, I shall like to know them.' 
 
 ' And — oh, I know I shan't do ! ' — she cried with 
 a distressful laugh. ' I accidentally learned to write 
 round hand instead of ladies'-hand. And, of course, 
 you want some one who can write that ? ' 
 
 « Well, no.' 
 
 164 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 ' What; not necessary to write ladies'-hand ? ' cried 
 the joyous Elizabeth. 
 
 ' Not at all.' 
 
 ' But where do you live ? ' 
 
 ' In Casterbridge, or rather I shall be living here 
 after twelve o'clock to-day.' 
 
 Elizabeth, expressed her astonishment. 
 
 ' I have been staying at Budmouth for a few days 
 while my house was getting ready. The house I am 
 going into is that one they call High Place Hall — the 
 old stone one overlooking the Market. Two or three 
 rooms are fit for occupation, though not all : I sleep 
 there to-night for the first tinie. Now will you think 
 over rtiy proposal, and meet me here the first fine day 
 next week, and say if you are still in the same mind ? ' 
 
 Elizabeth, her eyes shitiing at this prospect of d, 
 change froth an unbearable position, joyfully assented/ 
 and the two parted at the gate of the churchyard. 
 
XXI 
 
 As a maxim glibly repeated from childhood remains 
 practically unmarked till some mature experience en- 
 forces it, so did this High Place Hall now for the first 
 time really show itself to Elizabeth- Jane, though her 
 ears had heard its name on a hundred occasions. 
 
 Her mind dwelt upon nothing else but the stranger, 
 and the house, and her own chance of living there, all 
 the rest of the day. In the afternoon she had occasion 
 to pay a few bills in the town and do a little shopping, 
 when she learnt that what was a new discovery to her- 
 self had become a common topic about the streets. 
 High Place Hall was undergoing repair j a lady was 
 coming there to live shortly ; all the shop-people knew 
 it, and had already discounted the chance of her being 
 a customer. - , ^ 
 
 Elizabeth- Jane could, however, add a capping touch 
 to information so new to her in the bulk. The lady, 
 she Said, had arrived that day. 
 
 When the lamps were lighted, and it was yet not so 
 dark as to render chimneys, attics, and roofs invisible, 
 Elizabeth, almost with a lover's feeling, thought she 
 would like to look at the outside of High Place Hall. 
 She went up the street in that direction. 
 
 The Hall, with its grey facade and parapet, was the 
 only residence of its sort so near the centre of the 
 i66 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 town. It had, in the first place, the characteristics of 
 a country mansion — birds' nests in its chimneys, damp 
 nooks where fungi grew, and irregularities of surface 
 direct from Nature's trowel. At night the forms of 
 passengers were patterned by the lamps in black shadows 
 upon the pale walls. 
 
 This evening motes of straw lay around, and other 
 signs of the premises having been in that lawless con- 
 dition which accompanies the entry of a new tenant. 
 The house was entirely of stone, and formed an example 
 of dignity without great size. It was not altogether 
 aristocratic, still less consequential, yet the old-fashioned 
 stranger instinctively said, ' Blood built it, and Wealth 
 enjoys it,' however vague his opinions of those acces- 
 sories might be. 
 
 Yet as regards the enjoying it, the stranger would 
 have been wrong, for until this very evening, when the 
 new lady had arrived, the house had been empty for 
 a year or two, while before that interval its occupancy 
 had been irregular. The reason of its unpopularity was 
 soon made manifest. Its rooms overlooked the market- 
 place ; and such a prospect from such a house was not 
 considered desirable or seemly by its would-be occupiers. 
 
 Elizabeth's eyes sought the upper rooms, and saw 
 lights there. The lady had obviously arrived. The 
 impression that this woman of comparatively practised 
 manner had made upon the studious girl's mind was 
 so deep that she enjoyed standing ^der an opposite 
 archway merely to think that the charming lady was 
 inside the confronting walls, and to wonder what she 
 was doing. Her admiration for the architecture of 
 that front was entirely on account of the inmate it 
 screened. Though for that matter the architecture 
 deserved admiration, or at least study, on its own 
 account. It was Palladian-, and like most architecture 
 erected since the Gothic age, was a compilation rather 
 than a design. But its reasonableness made it im- 
 167 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 pressive. It was not rich, but rich enough. A timely 
 consciousness of the ultimate vanity of human architec- 
 ture, no less than of other human things, had prevented 
 artistic superfluity. 
 
 Men had till quite recently been going in and out 
 with parcels and packing-cases, rendering the door and 
 hall within like a public thoroughfare. Elizabeth trotted 
 through the open door in the dusk, but becoming 
 alarmed at her own temerity, she went quickly out again 
 by another which stood open in the lofty wall of the 
 back court. To her surprise she found herself in one 
 of the little-used blind alleys of the town. Looking 
 round at the door which had given her egress, by the 
 light of the solitary lamp fixed in the alley, she saw that 
 it was arched and old — older even than the house itself. 
 The door was studded, and the keystone of the arch was 
 a mask. Originally the mask had exhibited a comic leer, 
 as could still be discerned ; but generations of Caster- 
 bridge boys had thrown stones at the mask, aiming at 
 its open mouth; and the blows thereof had chipped 
 off the lips and jaws as if they had been eaten away by 
 disease. The appearance was so ghastly by the weakly 
 lamp glimmer that she could not bear to look at it — the 
 first unpleasant feature of her visit. 
 
 The position of the queer old door and the odd 
 presence of the leering mask suggested one thing above 
 all others as appertaining to the mansion's past history 
 — intrigue. By the alley it had been possible to come 
 unseen from all sorts of quarters in the town — the old 
 play-house, the old bull-stake, the old cock-pit, the pool 
 wherein nameless infants had been used to disappear. 
 High Place Hall could boast of its conveniences un- 
 doubtedly. 
 
 She turned to come away in the nearest direction 
 homeward, which was up the alley, but hearing foot- 
 steps approaching in that quarter, and having no great 
 wish to be found in such a place at such a time, she 
 i68 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 quickly retreated. There being no other way out, she 
 stood behind a brick pier till the intruder should have 
 gone his ways. 
 
 Had she watched she would have been surprised. 
 She would have seen that the pedestrian on coming 
 up made straight for the arched doorway : that as he 
 paused with his hand upon the latch the lamplight fell 
 upon the face of Henchard. 
 
 But Ehzabeth-Jane clung 50 closely to her nook that 
 she discerned nothing of this. Henchard passed in, 
 as ignorant of her presence as she was ignorant of his 
 identity, and disappeared in the darkness. Elizabeth 
 came out a second time into the alley, and made the 
 best of her way home. 
 
 Henchard's chiding, by begetting in her a nervous 
 fear of doing anything definable as unlady-ljke, had 
 operated thus curiously in keeping them unknown to 
 each other at a critical moment. Much might have 
 resulted from recognition--at the least a query on 
 either side in one and the self-same form : What could 
 he or she possibly be doing there ? 
 
 Henchard, whatever his business at the lady's hpuse, 
 reached his own home only a few minutes later than 
 Elizabeth- Jane. Her plan was to broach the question 
 of leaving his roof this evening ; the events of the day 
 had urged her to the course. But its execution de- 
 pended upon his mood, and she anxiously awaited his 
 manner towards her. She found that it had changed. 
 He showed no further tendency to be angry ; he showed 
 something worse. Absolute indifference had taken the 
 place of irritability; and his coldness was such that it 
 encouraged her to departure, even more than hot temper 
 could have done, 
 
 ' Father, have you any objection to my going away ? ' 
 she asked. 
 
 * Going away 1 No— 'none whatever. Where are 
 you going?' 
 
 »^9 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 She thought it undesirable and unnecessary to say 
 anything at present about her destination to one ■who 
 took so little interest in her. He would know that 
 soon enough. ' I have heard of an opportunity of 
 getting more cultivated and finished, and being less 
 idle,' she answered, with hesitation. 'A chance of a 
 place in a household where I can have advantages of 
 *^udy, and seeing refined life.' 
 
 'Then make the best of it, in Heaven's name — ^if 
 you can't get cultivated where you are.' 
 
 ' You don't object ? ' 
 
 ' Object — I ? Ho — no ! Not at all.' After a pause 
 he said, ' But you won't have enough money for this 
 lively scheme without help, you know? If you like 
 I should be willing to make you an allowance, so that 
 you be not bound to live upon the starvation wages 
 refined folk are likely to pay 'ee.' 
 
 She thanked him for this oifer. 
 
 ' It had better be done properly,' he added after a 
 pause. ' A small annuity is what I should like you to 
 have — so as to be independent of me — and so that I 
 may be independent of you. Would that please ye ? ' 
 
 ' Certainly.' 
 
 ' Then I'll see about it this very day.* He seemed 
 relieved to get her off his hands by this arrangement, and 
 as far as they were concerned the matter was settled. 
 She now simply waited to see the lady again 
 
 The day and the hour came; but a drizzling rain 
 fell. Elizabeth-Jane, having now changed her orbit 
 from one of gay independence to laborious self-help, 
 thought the weather good enough for such declined 
 glory as hers, if her friend would only face it — a matter 
 of doubt. She went to the boot-room where her 
 pattens had hung ever since her apotheosis ; took them 
 down, had their mildewed leathers blacked, and put 
 them on as she had done in old times. Thus mounted, 
 au i with cloak and umbrella, she went off to the place 
 170 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 of appointment — intending, if the lady were not there, 
 to call at the house. 
 
 One side of the churchyard — the side towards the 
 weather — ^was sheltered by an ancient thatched mud 
 wall whose eaves overhung as much as one or two feet. 
 At the back of the wall was a corn-yard with its granary 
 and barns — the place wherein she had met Farfrae many 
 months earlier. Under the projection of the thatch she 
 saw a figure. The young lady had come. 
 
 Her presence so exceptionally substantiated the girl's 
 utmost hopes that she almost feared her good fortune. 
 Fancies find room in the strongest minds. Here, in a 
 churchyard old as civilization, in the worst of weathers, 
 was a strange woman of curious fascinations never seen 
 elsewhere : there might be some devilry about her 
 presence. However, Elizabeth went on to the church 
 tower, on whose summit the rope of a flag-staff rattled 
 in the wind ; and thus she came to the wall. 
 
 The lady had such a cheerful aspect in the drizzle 
 that Elizabeth forgot her fancy. ' Well,' said the lady, 
 a little of the whiteness of her teeth appearing with the 
 word through the black fleece that protected her face, 
 « have you decided ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, quite,' said the other eagerly. 
 
 ' Your father^is willing ? ' 
 
 •Yes.' 
 
 ' Then come along.' 
 
 ' When ? ' 
 
 ' Now — as soon as you like. I had a good mind 
 to send to you to come to my house, thinking you 
 might not venture up here in the wind. But as I 
 like getting out of doors, I thought I wculd come and 
 see first.' 
 
 « It was my own thought.' 
 
 •That shows we shall agree. Then can yqu come 
 to-day? My house is so hollow and dismal that I 
 want some livirg thing there.' 
 171 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 ' I think I might be able to,' said the girl, reflecting. 
 
 Voices were borne over to them at that instant on 
 the wind , and raindrops from the other side of the 
 wall. There came such words as ' sacks,' ' quarters,' 
 'threshing,' 'tailing,' 'next Saturday's market,' each 
 sentence being disorganized by the gusts like a face in 
 a cracked mirror. Both the women listened. 
 
 ' Who are those ? ' said the lady. 
 
 ' One is my father. He rents that yard and barn.' 
 
 The lady seemed to forget the immediate business 
 in listening to the technicalities of the corn trade. 
 At last she said suddenly, ' Did you tell him where 
 you/ were going to ? ' 
 
 'No.' 
 
 ' Oh — how was that ? ' 
 
 'I thought it safer to get away first — as he is so 
 uncertain in his temper.' 
 
 ' Perhaps you are right. . . . Besides, I have never 
 told you my name. It is Miss Templeman. . . . Are 
 they gone — on the other side ? ' 
 
 ' No. They have only gone up into the granary.' 
 
 • Well, it is getting damp here. I shall expect you 
 to-day — this evening, say, at six.' 
 
 ' Which way shall I come, ma'am.' 
 
 'The front way — through the door. There is no 
 other.' 
 
 Elizabeth- Jane had been thinking of the door in 
 the alley. 
 
 ' Perhaps, as you have not mentioned your destina- 
 tion, you may as well keep silent upon it till you are 
 clear oflF. Who knows but that he may alter his 
 mind ? ' 
 
 Elizabeth- Jane shook her head. ' On consideration 
 I don't fear it,' she said sadly. ' He has grown quite 
 cold to me.' 
 
 ' Very well. Six o'clock then.' 
 
 When they had emerged upon the open road and 
 172 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 parted, they found enough to do in holding their I lowed 
 umbrellas to the wind. Nevertheless the lady Icioked 
 in at the corn-yard gates as she passed them, and 
 paused on one foot for a moment. But nothing was 
 visible there save the ricks, and the humpbacked barn, 
 cushioned with moss, and the granary, rising against 
 the church-tower behind, where the smacking of the 
 rope against the flag-staff still went on. 
 
 Now Henchard had not the slightest suspicion that 
 Elizabeth-Jane's movement was to be so prompt. Hence 
 when, just before six, he reached home and saw a fly at 
 the door from the King's Arms, and his step-daughter, 
 with all her little bags and boxes, getting into it, he was 
 taken by surprise. 
 
 'But you said I might go, father?' she explained 
 through the carriage window. 
 
 ' Said ! — yes. But I thought you meant next month, 
 or next year. 'Od, seize it — ^you take time by the fore- 
 lock 1 This, then, is how you be going to treat me for 
 all my trouble about ye ? ' 
 
 ' O father ! how can you speak like that ? It is 
 unjust of you 1 ' she said with spirit. 
 
 ' Well, well, have your own way,' he replied. He 
 entered the house, and, seeing that all her things had 
 not yet been brought down, went up to her room to 
 look on. He had never been there since she had 
 occupied it. Evidences of her care, of her endeavours 
 for improvement, were visible all around, in the form 
 of books, sketches, maps, and little arrangements for 
 tasteful effects. Henchard had known nothing of these 
 efforts. He gazed at them, turned suddenly about, and 
 came down to the door. 
 
 ' Look here,' he said, in an altered voice — ^he never 
 called her by name now — ' don't 'ee go away from me. 
 It may be I've spoke roughly to you — but I've been 
 grieved beyond everytliing by you — there's something 
 that caused it.* 
 
 173 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 ' By me ? ' she said, with deep concern. ' What 
 have I done ? ' 
 
 ' I can't tell you now. But if you'll stop, and go on 
 living as my daughter, I'll tell you all in time.' 
 
 But the proposal had come ten minutes too late. 
 She was in the fly — was already, in iihagination, at the 
 house of the lady whose manner had such channs for 
 her. • Father,' she said, as considerately as she could, 
 ' I think it best for us that I go on now. I need not 
 stay long ; I shall not be far away j and if you want me 
 badly I can soon come back again.' 
 
 He nodded ever so slightly, as a receipt of her de- 
 cision, and no more. ' You are not going far, you say. 
 What will be your address, in case I wish to write to 
 you ? Or am I not to know ? ' 
 
 ' Oh yes — certainly. It is only in the town — High 
 Place Hall.' 
 
 ' Where ? ' said Henchard, his face stilling. 
 
 She repeated the words. He neither moved noi 
 spoke, and waving her hand to him in utmost friend- 
 liness, she signified to the flyman to drive up the 
 street. 
 
XXII 
 
 W E go back for a moment to the preceding night, to 
 account for Henchard's attitude. 
 
 At the hour when Elizabeth- Jane was contemplating 
 her stealthy reconnoitring excursion to the abode of 
 the lady of her fancy, he had been not a little amazed 
 at receiving a letter by hand in Lucetta's well-known 
 characters. The self-repression, the resignation of her 
 previous communication had vanished from her mood ; 
 she wrote with some of the natural lightness which had 
 marked her in their early acquaintance. 
 
 ' High Place Hall. 
 
 ' My DEAR Mr. Henchard, — Don't be surprised. It 
 is for your good and mine, as I hope, that I have come 
 to live at Casterbridge — for how long I cannot tell. 
 That depends upon another ; and he is a man, and a 
 merchant, and a Mayor, and one who has the first right 
 to my affections. 
 
 ' Seriously, mon ami, I am not so light-hearted as I 
 may seem to be from this. I have come here in conse- 
 quence of hearing of the death of your wife — whom you 
 used to think of as dead so many years before ! Poor 
 woman, she seems to have been a sufferer, though 
 uncomplaining, and though weak in intellect not an im- 
 becile. I am glad you acted fairly by her. As soon as I 
 175 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 knew she was no more, it was brought home to me very 
 forcibly by my conscience that I ought to endeavour to 
 disperse the shade which my Hourderie flung over my 
 name, by asking you to carry out your promise to me. 
 I hope you are of the same mind, and that you will take 
 steps to this end. As, however, I did not know how 
 you were situated, or what had happened since our 
 separation, I decided to come and establish myself here 
 before communicating with you. 
 
 ' You probably feel as I do about this. I shall be 
 able to see you in a day or two. Till then, farewell. — 
 
 Yours, LUCETTA. 
 
 ^P.S. — I was unable to keep my appointment to meet 
 you for a moment or two in passing through Caster- 
 bridge the other day. My plans were altered by a family 
 event, which it will surprise you to hear of.' 
 
 Henchard had already heard that High Place Hall 
 was being prepared for a tenant. He said with a puzzled 
 air to the first person he encountered, ' Who is coming 
 to live at the Hall?' 
 
 ' A lady of the name of Templeman, I believe, sir,' 
 said his informant. 
 
 Henchard thought it over. 'Lucetta is related to 
 her, I suppose,' he said to himself. ' ' Yes, I must put 
 her in her proper position, undoubtedly.' 
 
 It was by no means with the oppression that would 
 once have accompanied the thought that he regarded 
 the moral necessity now ; it was, indeed, with interest, if 
 not warmth. His bitter disappointment at finding Eliza- 
 beth-Jane to be none of his, and himself a childless man, 
 had left an emotional void in Henchard that he uncon- 
 sciously craved to fill. In this frame of mind, though 
 without strong feeling, he had strolled up the blind 
 alley and into High Place Hall by the postern at which 
 Elizabeth had so nearly encountered him. He had 
 gone on thence into the court, and inquired of a man 
 176 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 whom he saw unpacking china from a crate, if Miss Le 
 Sueur was living there. Miss Le Sueur had been the 
 name under which he had known Lucetta — or ' Lucette,' 
 as she had called herself at th^t time. 
 
 The man replied in the negative ; that Miss Temple- 
 man only had come. Henchard went away, concluding 
 that Lucetta had not as yet settled in. 
 
 He was in this interested stage of the inquiry when 
 he witnessed Elizabeth-Jane's departure the next day. 
 On hearing her announce the address, there suddenly 
 took possession of him the strange thought that Lucetta 
 and Miss Templeman were one and the same person, 
 for he could recall that in her season of intimacy with 
 him the name of the rich relative whom he had deemed 
 somewhat a mythical personage had been given as 
 Templeman. Though not a fortune-hunter, the possi- 
 bility that Lucetta had been sublimed into a lady of 
 means by some munificent testament on the part of 
 this relative lent a charm to her image which it might 
 not otherwise have acquired. He was getting on 
 towards the dead level of middle age, when material 
 things increasingly possess the mind. 
 
 But Henchard was not left long in suspense. 
 Lucetta was rather addicted to scribbling, as had been 
 shown by the torrent of letters after \hs fiasco in their 
 marriage arrangements, and hardly had Elizabeth gone 
 away when another note came to the Mayor's house 
 from High Place Hall. 
 
 'I am in residence,' she said, ' and comfortable, 
 though getting here has been a wearisome undertaking. 
 You probably know what I am going to tell you, or do 
 you not? My good Aunt Templeman, the banker's 
 widow, whose very existence you used to doubt, much 
 more her affluence, has lately died, and bequeathed 
 some of her property to me. I will not enter into 
 details except to say that I have taken her name — as a 
 means of escape from mine, and its wrongs. 
 
 177 M 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 ' I an.i now my own mistress, and have chosen to 
 reside in Casterbridge — to be tenant of High Place 
 Hall, that at least you may be put to no trouble if you 
 wish to see me. My first intention was to keep you 
 in ignorance of the changes in my life till you should 
 meet me in the street; but I have thought better 
 of this. 
 
 'You probably are aware of my arrangement with 
 your daughter, and have doubtless laughed at the — 
 what shall I call it? — practical joke (in all affection) 
 of my getting her to live with me. But my first 
 meeting with her was purely an accident. Do you see, 
 Michael, partly why I have done it ? — why, to give you 
 an excuse for coming here as if to visit her, and thus to 
 form my acquaintance naturally. She is a dear, good 
 girl, and she thinks you have treated her with undue 
 severity. You may have done so in your haste, but 
 not deliberately, I am sure. As the result has been to 
 bring her to me I am not disposed to upbraid you. — 
 In haste, yours always, Lucetta.' 
 
 The excitement which these announcements pro- 
 duced in Henchard's gloomy soul was to him most 
 pleasurable. He sat over his dining-table long and 
 dreamily, and by an almost mechanical transfer the 
 sentiments which had run to waste since his estrange- 
 ment from Elizabeth-Jane and Donald Farfrae gathered 
 around Lucetta before they had grown dry. She was 
 plainly in a very coming-on disposition for marriage. 
 But what else could a poor woman be who had given 
 her time and heart to him so thoughtlessly, at that 
 former time, as to lose her credit by it? Probably 
 conscience no less than affection had brought her here. 
 On the whole he did not blame her. 
 
 • The artful little woman ! ' he said, smiling (with 
 refer 2nce to Lucetta's adroit and pleasant manoeuvre 
 with Elizabeth-Jane). 
 
 178 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 To feel that he would like to see Lucetta was with 
 Henchard to start for her house. He put on his hat 
 and went. It was between eight and nine o'clock when 
 he reached her door. The answer brought him was 
 that Miss Templeman was engaged for that evening; 
 but that she would be happy to see him the next day. 
 
 ' That's rather like giving herself airs ! ' he thought. 
 
 •And considering what we ' But after all, she 
 
 plainly had not expected him, and he took the refusal 
 quietly. Nevertheless he resolved not to go next day. 
 ' These cursed women — there's not an inch of straight 
 grain in 'em ! ' he said. 
 
 Let us follow the track of Mr. Henchard's thought 
 as if it were a clue line, and view the interior of High 
 Place Hall on this particular evening. 
 
 On Elizabeth-Jane's arrival she had been phlegmati- 
 cally asked by an elderly woman to go upstairs and take 
 off her things. She had replied with great earnestness 
 that she would not think of giving that trouble, and on 
 the instant divested herself of her bonnet and cloak in 
 the passage. She was then conducted to the first door 
 on the landing, and left to find her way further alone. 
 
 The room disclosed was prettily furnished as a 
 boudoir or small drawing-room, and on a sofa with 
 two cylindrical pillows reclined a dark-haired, large- 
 eyed, pretty woman, of unmistakably French extraction 
 on one side or the other. She was probably some years 
 older than Elizabeth, and had a sparkling light in her 
 eye. In front of the sofa was a small table, with a pack 
 of cards scattered upon it faces upward. 
 
 The attitude had been so full of abandonment that 
 she bounded up like a spring on hearing the door open. 
 
 Perceiving that it was Elizabeth she lapsed into 
 ease, and came across to her with a reckless skip that 
 innate grace only prevented from being boisterous. 
 
 ' Why, you are late,' she said, taking holi of 
 Elizabeth-Jane's hands. 
 
 179 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 • There were so many little things to put up.' 
 
 'And you seem dead-alive and tired. Let me try 
 to enliven you by some wonderful tricks I have learnt, 
 to kill time. Sit there and don't move.' She gathered 
 up the pack of cards, pulled the table in front of her, 
 and began to deal them rapidly, telling Elizabeth to 
 choose some. 
 
 ' Well, have you chosen ? ' she asked, flinging down 
 the last card 
 
 ' No,' stammered Elizabeth, arousing herself from 
 a reverie. ' I quite forgot, I was thinking of — you, and 
 me — and how strange it is that I am here.' 
 
 Miss Templeman looked at Elizabeth- Jane with in- 
 terest, and laid down the cards. 'Ah! never mind,' 
 she said. ' I'll Ue here while you sit by me ; and we'll 
 talk.' 
 
 Elizabeth drew up silently to the head of the sofa, 
 but with obvious pleasure. It could be seen that in 
 years she was younger than her entertainer, while in 
 manner and general vision she seemed more of the 
 sage. Miss Templeman deposited herself on the sofa 
 in her former flexuous position, and throwing her arm 
 above her brow — somewhat in the pose of a well- 
 known conception of Titian's — talked up at Elizabeth- 
 Jane invertedly across her forehead and arm. 
 
 ' I must tell you something,' she said. ' I wonder 
 if you have suspected it. I have only been mistress 
 of a large house and fortune a little while.' 
 
 ' Oh ! only a little while ? ' murmured Elizabeth- Jane, 
 her countenance slightly falling. 
 
 ' As a girl I lived about in garrison towns and else- 
 where with my father, till I was quite flighty and un- 
 settled. He was an officer in the army. I should not 
 have mentioned this had I not thought it best you 
 should know the truth.' 
 
 'Yes, yes.* She looked thoughtfully round the 
 room — at the little square piano with brass inlayings, 
 1 80 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 at the window-curtains, at the lamp, at the fair and 
 dark kings and queens on the card-table, and finally 
 at the inverted face of Lucetta Templeman, whose large 
 lustrous eyes had such an odd effect upside down. 
 
 Elizabeth's mind ran on acquirements to an almost 
 morbid degree. ' You speak French and Italian 
 fluently, no doubt,' she said. < I have not been able 
 to get beyond a wretched bit of Latin yet.' 
 
 'Well, for that matter, in my native isle speaking 
 French does not go for much. It is rather the other 
 way.' 
 
 ' Where is your native isle ? ' 
 
 It was with rather more reluctance that Miss Temple- 
 man said, 'Jersey. There they speak French on one 
 side of the street and English on the other, and a 
 mixed tongue in the middle of the road. But it is 
 a long time since I was there. Bath is where my 
 people really belong to, though my ancestors in Jersey 
 were as good as anybody in England. They were the 
 Le Sueurs, an old family who have done great things 
 in their time. I went back and lived there after my 
 father's death. But I don't value such past matters, 
 and am quite an English person in my feelings and 
 tastes.' 
 
 Lucetta's tongue had for a moment outrun her dis- 
 cretion. She had arrived at Casterbridge as a Bath 
 lady, and there were obvious reasons why Jersey should 
 drop out of her life. But Elizabeth had tempted her 
 to make free, and a deliberately formed resolve had 
 been broken. 
 
 It could not, however, have been broken in safer 
 company. Lucetta's words went no further, and after 
 this day she was so much upon her guard that there 
 appeared no chance of her identification with the young 
 Jersey woman who had been Henchard's dear comrade 
 at a critical time. Not the least amusing of her safe- 
 guards was her resolute avoidance of a French word, 
 i8i 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 if one by accident came to her tongue more readily 
 than its English equivalent. She shirked it with the 
 suddenness of the weak Apostle at the accusation, 
 ' Thy speech bewrayeth thee ! ' 
 
 Expectancy sat visibly upon Lucetta the next morn- 
 ing. She dressed herself for Mr, Henchard, and rest- 
 lessly awaited his call before mia-day; as he did not 
 come she waited on through the afternoon. But she 
 did not tell Elizabeth that the person expected was the 
 girl's stepfather. 
 
 They sat in adjoining windows of the same room in 
 Lucetta's great stone mansion, netting, and looking out 
 upon the market, which formed an animated scene. 
 Elizabeth could see the crown of her stepfather's hat 
 among the rest beneath, and was not aware that Lucetta 
 watched the same object with yet intenser interest. He 
 moved about amid the throng, at this point lively as an 
 ant-hill; elsewhere more reposeful, and broken up by 
 stalls of fruit and vegetables. The farmers as a rule 
 preferred the open carrefour for their transactions, 
 despite its inconvenient jostlings and the danger from 
 crossing vehicles, to the gloomy sheltered market-room, 
 provided for them. Here they surged on this one day 
 of the week, forming a little world of leggings, switches, 
 and sample-bags J men of extensive stomachs, sloping 
 like mountain sides ; men whose heads in walking 
 swayed as the trees in November gales; who in con- 
 versing varied their attitudes much, lowering themselves 
 by spreading their knees, and thrusting their hands 
 into the pockets of remote inner jackets. Their faces 
 radiated tropical warmth; for though when at home 
 their countenances varied with the seasons, their market- 
 faces all the year round were glowing little fires. 
 
 All over-clothes here were worn as if they were an 
 
 inconvenience, a hampering necessity. Some men were 
 
 well-dressed; but the majority were careless in that 
 
 respect, appearing in suits which were historical re- 
 
 182 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 cords of their wearer's deeds, sun-scorchings, and daily 
 struggles for many years past. Yet many carried ruffled 
 cheque-books in their pockets which regulated at the 
 bank hard by a balance of never less than four figures. 
 In fact, what these gibbous human shapes specially 
 represented was ready money — money insistently ready 
 ■ — not ready next year like a nobleman's — often not 
 merely ready at the bank like a professional man's, but 
 ready in their large plump hands. 
 
 It happened that to-day there rose in the midst of 
 them all two or three tall apple-trees standing as if they 
 grew on the spot ; till it was perceived that they were 
 held by men from the cider-districts who came here to 
 sell them, bringing the clay of their county on their 
 boots. Elizabeth-Jane, who had often observed them, 
 said, ' I wonder if the same trees come every week ? ' 
 
 ' What trees ? ' said Lucetta, absorbed in watching 
 for Henchard. 
 
 Elizabeth replied vaguely, for an incident checked 
 her. Behind one of the trees stood Farfrae, briskly 
 discussing a sample-bag with a farmer. Henchard had 
 come up, accidentally encountering the young man, 
 ■whose face seemed to inquire, ' Do we speak to each 
 other ? ' 
 
 She saw her stepfather throw a shine into his eye, 
 which answered ' No ! ' Elizabeth-Jane sighed. 
 
 'Are you particularly interested in anybody out 
 there ? ' said Lucetta. 
 
 ' Oh no,' said her companion, a quick red shooting 
 over her face. 
 
 Luckily Farfrae's figure was immediately covered by 
 the apple-tree. 
 
 Lucetta looked hard at her. ' Quite sure ? ' she 
 said. 
 
 ' Oh yes,' said EKzabeth-Jane. 
 
 Again Lucetta looked out. ' They are all farmers, 
 I suppose ? ' she said. 
 
 183 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 «No, There's Mr. Bulge — he's a wine msrchant; 
 there's Benjamin Brownlet — a horse dealer; and 
 Kitson, the pig breeder; and Yopper, the auctioneer; 
 besides maltsters, and millers — and so on.' Farfrae 
 stood out quite distinctly now; but she did not 
 mention him. 
 
 The Saturday afternoon slipped on thus desultorily. 
 The market changed from the sample-showing hour to 
 the idle hour before starting homewards, when tales 
 were told. Henchard had not called on Lucetta, 
 though he had stood so near. He must have been 
 too busy, she thought. He would come on Sunday 
 or Monday. 
 
 The days came, but not the visitor, though Lucetta 
 repeated her dressing with scrupulous care. She was 
 disheartened. It may at once be declared that Lucetta 
 no longer bore towards Henchard all that warm alle- 
 giance which had characterized her in their first ac- 
 quaintance ; the then unfortunate issue of things had 
 chilled pure love considerably. But there remained a 
 conscientious wish to bring about her union with him, 
 now that there was nothing to hinder it—to right her 
 position — ^which in itself was a happiness to sigh for. 
 With strong social reasons on her side why their 
 marriage should take place, there had ceased to be any 
 worldly reason on his why it should be postponed, 
 since she had succeeded to fortune. 
 
 Tuesday was the great Candlemas fair. At breakfast 
 she said to Elizabeth- Jane quite coolly : ' I imagine 
 your father may call to see you to-day. I suppose 
 he stands close by in the market-place, with the rest of 
 the corn-dealers ? ' 
 
 She shook her head. ' He won't o?me.' 
 
 'Why?' 
 
 «He has taken against me,' she said in a husky 
 voice. 
 
 ' You have quarrelled more deeply than I know of.' 
 184 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 Elizabeth, wishing to shield the man she believed 
 to be her father from any charge of unnatural dislike, 
 said 'Yes.' 
 
 'Then where you are is, of all places, the one he 
 will avoid ? ' 
 
 Elizabeth nodded sadly. 
 
 Lucetta looked blank, twitched up her lovely eye- 
 brows and lip, and burst into hysterical sobs. Here 
 was a disaster — her ingenious scheme completely stul- 
 tified ! 
 
 ' Oh, my dear Miss Templeman — ^what's the matter ? ' 
 cried her companion. 
 
 ' I like your company much ! ' said Lucetta, as soon 
 as she could speak. 
 
 ' Yes, yes — and so do I yours ! ' Elizabeth chimed 
 in soothingly. 
 
 ' But — but ' She could not finish the sentence, 
 
 which was, naturally, that if Henchard had such a 
 rooted dislike for the girl as now seemed to be the 
 case, Elizabeth- Jane would have to be got rid of — a 
 disagreeable necessity. 
 
 A provisional resource suggested itself. ' Miss Hen- 
 chard — will you go on an errand for me as soon 
 as breakfast is over? — Ah, that's very good of you. 
 
 Will you go and order ' Here she enumerated 
 
 several commissions at sundry shops, which would 
 occupy EUzabeth's time for the next hour or two, at 
 least. 
 
 ' And have you ever seen the Museum ? ' 
 
 Elizabeth- Jane had not. 
 
 'Then you should do so at once. You can finish 
 the morning by going there. It is an old house in a 
 back street — I forget where — but you'll find out — and 
 there are crowds of interesting things — skeletons, teeth, 
 old pots and pans, ancient boots and shoes, birds' eggs 
 — all charmingly instructive. You'll be sure to stay till 
 you get quite hungry.' 
 
 185 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 Elizabeth hastily put on her things and departed. 
 • I wonder why she wants to get rid of me to-day ! ' she 
 said sorrowfully, as she went. That her absence, rather 
 than her services or instruction, was in request, had 
 been readily apparent to Elizabeth-Jane, simple as she 
 seemed, and difficult as it was to attribute a motive for 
 the desire. 
 
 She had not been gone ten minutes when one of 
 Lucetta's servants was sent to Henchard's with a note. 
 The contents were briefly : — 
 
 • Dear Michael, — You will be standing close to my 
 house to-day for two or three hours in the course of 
 your business, so do please call and see me. I am 
 sadly disappointed that you have not come before, for 
 can I help anxiety about my own equivocal relation to 
 you ? — especially now my aunt's fortune has brought 
 me more prominently before society ? Your daughter's 
 presence here may be the cause of your neglect; and 
 I have therefore sent her away for the morning. Say 
 you come on business — I shall be quite alone. 
 
 ' LUCETTA.' 
 
 When the messenger returned her mistress gave 
 directions that if a gentleman called he was to be 
 admitted at once, and sat down to await results. 
 
 Sentimentally she did not much care to see him — 
 his delays had wearied her ; but it was necessary j and 
 with a sigh she arranged herself picturesquely in the 
 chair ; first this way, then that ; next so that the light 
 fell over her head. Next she flung herself on the couch 
 in the cyma-recta curve which so became her, and, with 
 her arm over her brow, looked towards the door. This, 
 she decided, was the best position after all; and thus 
 she remained till a man's step was heard on the stairs. 
 Whereupon Lucetta, forgetting her curve (for Nature 
 was too stroBg for Art as yet), jumped up, and ran and 
 i86 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 hid herself behind one of the window-curtains in a 
 freak of timidity. In spite of the waning of passion 
 the situation was an agitating one — she had not seen 
 Henchard since his (supposed) temporary parting from 
 her in Jersey. 
 
 She could hear the servant showing the visitor into 
 the room, shutting the door upon him, and leaving as 
 if to go and look for her mistress. Lucetta flung hack 
 the curtain with a nervous greeting. The man before 
 her was not Henchard. 
 
XXIII 
 
 A CONJECTURE that her visitor might be some 
 other person had, indeed, flashed through Lucetta's 
 mind when she was on the point of bursting out ; but 
 it was just too late to recede. 
 
 He was years younger than the Mayor of Caster- 
 bridge; fair, fresh, and slenderly handsome. He wore 
 genteel cloth leggings with white buttons, polished boots 
 with infinite lace holes, light cord breeches under a black 
 velveteen coat and waistcoat ; and he had a silver-topped 
 switch in his hand. Lucetta blushed, and said with 
 a curious mixture of pout and laugh on her face — ' Oh, 
 I've made a mistake ! ' 
 
 The visitor, on the contrary, did not laugh half a 
 wrinkle. 
 
 ' But I'm very sorry ! ' he said, in deprecating tones. 
 ' I came and I inquired for Miss Henchard, and they 
 showed me up heere, and in no case would I have 
 caught ye so unmannerly if I had known I ' 
 
 ' I was the unmannerly one,' said she. 
 
 'But is it that I have come to the wrong house, 
 madam?' said Mr. Farfrae, blinking a little in his 
 bewilderment and nervously tapping his legging with 
 his switch. 
 
 • Oh no, sir, — sit down. You must come and sit 
 down now you are here,' replied Lucetta kindly, to 
 i88 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 relieve his embarrassment. • Miss Henchard will be 
 here directly.' 
 
 Now this was not strictly true; but that something 
 about the young man — that hyperborean crispness, 
 stringency, and charm, as of a well -braced musical 
 instrument, which had awakened the interest of Hen- 
 chard, and of Elizabeth - Jane, and of the Three 
 Mariners' jovial crew, at sight, made his unexpected 
 presence here attractive to Lucetta. He hesitated, 
 looked at the chair, thought there was no danger in it 
 (though there was), and sat down. 
 
 Farfrae's sudden entry was simply the result of 
 Henchard's permission to him to see Elizabeth, if he 
 were minded to woo her. At first he had taken no 
 notice of Henchard's brusque letter ; but an exception- 
 ally fortunate business transaction put him on good 
 terms with everybody, and revealed to him that he could 
 undeniably marry if he chose. Then who so pleasing, 
 thrifty, and satisfactory in every way as Elizabeth- Jane ? 
 Apart from her personal recommendations, a recon- 
 cihation with his former friend Henchard would, in the 
 natural course of things, flow from such a union. He 
 therefore forgave the Mayor his curtness ; and this 
 morning on his way to the fair he had called at her 
 house, where he learnt that she was staying at Miss 
 Templeman's. A little stimulated at not finding her 
 ready and waiting — so fanciful are men ! — he hastened 
 on to High Place Hall, to encounter no Elizabeth, but 
 its mistress herself. 
 
 ' The fair to-day seems a large one,' she said, when, 
 by a natural deviation, their eyes sought the busy scene 
 without. ' Your numerous fairs and markets keep me 
 interested. How many things I think of while I watch 
 from here ! ' 
 
 He seemed in doubt how to answer, and the 
 babble without reached them as they sat — ^voices as 
 of wavelets on a lopping sea, one ever and anon 
 1S9 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 rising above the rest. 'Do you look out often?' he 
 asked. 
 
 ' Yes — very often.' 
 
 ' Do you look for any one you know ? ' 
 
 AVhy should she have answered as she did ? 
 
 ' I look as at a picture merely. But,' she went on, 
 turning pleasantly to him, ' I may do so now — I may 
 look for you. You are always there, are you not ? Ah 
 — I don't mean it seriously ! But it is amusing to look 
 for somebody one knows in a crowd, even if one does 
 not want him. It takes off the terrible oppressiveness 
 of being surrounded by a throng, and having no point 
 of junction with it through a single individual.' 
 
 • Ay ! Maybe you'll be very lonely, ma'am ? ' 
 
 ' Nobody knows how lonely.' 
 
 ' But you are rich, they say ? ' 
 
 ' If so, I don't know how to enjoy my riches. I came 
 to Casterbridge thinking I should like to live here. But 
 I wonder if I shall.' 
 
 ' Where did ye come from, ma'am ? ' 
 
 ' The neighbourhood of Bath.' 
 
 ' And I from near Edinboro',' he murmured. ' It's 
 better to stay at home, and that's true ; but a man must 
 live where his money is made. It is a great pity, but it's 
 always so ! Yet I've done very well this year. Oh yes,' 
 he went on with ingenuous enthusiasm. ' You see that 
 man with the drab kerseymere coat ? I bought largely 
 of him in the autumn when wheat was down, and then 
 afterwards when it rose a little I sold off all I had ! It 
 brought only a small profit to me; while the farmers 
 kept theirs, expecting higher figures — yes, though the 
 rats were gnawing the ricks hollow. Just when I sold 
 the markets went lower, and I bought up the corn of 
 those who had been holding back at less price than my 
 first purchases. And then,' cried Farfrae impetuously, 
 his face alight, 'I sold it a few weeks after, when it 
 happened to go up again! And so, by contenting 
 190 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 mysel' with small profits frequently repeated, I soon 
 made five hundred pounds — yes ! ' — (bringing down his 
 hand upon the table, and quite forgetting where he was) 
 — 'while the others by keeping theirs in hand made 
 nothing at all ! ' 
 
 Lucetta regarded him with a critical interest. He 
 was quite a new type of person to her. At last his eye 
 fell upon the lady's and their glances met. 
 
 ' Ay, now, I'm wearying you ! ' he exclaimed. 
 
 She said, ' No, indeed,' colouring a shade. 
 
 « What then ? ' 
 
 • Quite otherwise. You are most interesting.' 
 
 It was now Farfrae who showed the modest pink. 
 
 ' I mean all you Scotchmen,' she added in hasty 
 correction. ' So free from Southern extremes. We 
 common people are all one way or the other — warm or 
 cold, passionate or frigid. You have both temperatures 
 going on in you at the same time.' 
 
 ' But how do you mean that ? Ye were best to 
 explain clearly, ma'am.' 
 
 ' You are animated — then you are thinking of getting 
 on. You are sad the next moment — then you are 
 thinking of Scotland and friends.' 
 
 • Yes. I think of home sometimes 1 ' he said simply. 
 
 • So do I — as far as I can. But it was an old 
 house where I was born, and they pulled it down for 
 improvements, so I seem hardly to have any home to 
 think of now.' 
 
 Lucetta did not add, as she might have done, that 
 the house was in St. Helier, and not in Bath. 
 
 'But the mountains, and the mists and the rocks, 
 they are there ! And don't they seem like home ? ' 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 'They do to me — they do to me,' he murmured. 
 
 And his mind could be seen flying away northwards. 
 
 V\Tiether its origin were national or personal, it was 
 
 quite true what Lucetta had said, that the curious 
 
 191 
 
THE MAYOlJ OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 double strands in Farfrae's thread of life — the com- 
 mercial and the romantic — were very distinct at times. 
 Like the colours in a variegated cord those contrasts 
 could be seen intertwisted, yet not mingling. 
 
 ■ You are wishing you were back again,' said she. 
 
 'Ah, no, ma'am,' said Farfrae, suddenly recalling 
 himself. 
 
 The fair without the windows was now raging thick 
 and loud. It was the chief hiring fair of the year, and 
 differed quite from the market of a few days earlier. 
 In substance it was a whitey-brown crowd flecked with 
 white — this being the body of labourers waiting for 
 places. The long bonnets of the women, like waggon- 
 tilts, their cotton gowns and checked shawls, mixed with 
 the carters' smockfrocks ; for they, too, entered into the 
 hiring. Among the rest, at the corner of the pavement, 
 stood an old shepherd, who attracted the eyes of 
 Lucetta and Farfrae by his stillness. He was evidently 
 a chastened man. The battle of life had been a sharp 
 one with him, for, to begin with, he was a man of small 
 frame. He was now so bowed by hard work and years 
 that, approaching from behind, a person could hardly 
 see his head. He had planted the stem of his crook 
 in the gutter, and was resting upon the bow, which was 
 polished to silver brightness by the long friction of his 
 hands. He had quite forgotten where he was, and 
 what he had come for, his eyes being bent on the 
 ground. A little way off negotiations were proceeding 
 which had reference to him ; but he did not hear them, 
 and there seemed to be passing through his mind 
 pleasant visions of the hiring successes of his prime, 
 when his skill laid open to him any farm for the asking. 
 
 The negotiations were between a farmer from a 
 distant county and the old man's son. In these there 
 was a difficulty. The farmer would not take the crust 
 without the crumb of the bargain, in other words, the 
 old man without the younger; and the son had a 
 igz 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 sweetheart on his present farm, who stood by, waiting 
 the issue with pale lips. 
 
 ' I'm sorry to leave ye, Nelly,' said the young man 
 with emotion. ' But, you see, I can't starve father, and 
 he's out o' work at Lady-day. 'Tis only seventy mile.' 
 
 The girl's lips quivered. ' Seventy mile ! ' she 
 murmured. ' Ah ! 'tis enough ! I shall never see 'ee 
 again ! ' It was, indeed, a hopeless length of traction 
 for Dan Cupid's magnet; for young men were young 
 men at Casterbridge as elsewhere. 
 
 ' Oh ! no, no — I never shall,' she insisted, when he 
 pressed her hand ; and she turned her face to Lucetta's 
 wall to hide her weeping. The farmer said he would 
 give the young man half-an-hour for his answer, and 
 went away, leaving the group sorrowing. 
 
 Lucetta's eyes, full of tears, met Farfrae's. His, 
 too, to her surprise, were moist at the scene. 
 
 ' It is very hard,' she said with strong feelings. 
 ' Lovers ought not to be parted like that ! Oh, if I 
 had my wish, I'd let people live and love at their 
 pleasure ! ' 
 
 ' Maybe I can manage that they'll not be parted,' 
 said Farfrae. ' I want a young carter ; and perhaps 
 I'll take the old man too — ^yes ; he'll not be very 
 expensive, and doubtless he will answer ma pairrpose 
 somehow.' 
 
 ' Oh, you are so good ! ' she cried, delighted. ' Go 
 and tell them, and let me know if you have suc- 
 ceeded ! ' 
 
 Farfrae went out, and she saw him speak to the 
 group. The eyes of all brightened; the bargain was 
 soon struck. Farfrae returned to her immediately it 
 was concluded. 
 
 ' It is kind-hearted of you, indeed,' said Lucetta. 
 'For my part, I have resolved that all my servants 
 shall have lovers if they want them ! Do tjfike the 
 same resolve 1 ' 
 
 193 N 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 Farfrae looked more serious, waving his head a htilf 
 turn. ' I must be a little stricter than that,' he said. 
 
 'Why?' 
 
 ' You are a — a thriving woman ; and I am a strug- 
 gling hay-and-corn merchant.' 
 
 < I am a very ambitious woman.' 
 
 ' Ah, well, I cannet explain. I don't know how to 
 talk to ladies, ambitious or no; and that's true,' said 
 Donald with grave regret. 'I try to be civil to a' 
 folk — no more ! ' 
 
 ' I see you are as you say,' replied she, sensibly 
 getting the upper hand in these exchanges of senti- 
 ment. Under this revelation of insight Farfrae again 
 looked out of the window into the thick of the fair. 
 
 Two farmers met and shook hands, and being quite 
 near the window their remarks could be heard as 
 others' had been. 
 
 ' Have you seen young Mr. Farfrae this morning ? ' 
 asked one. ' He promised to meet me here at the 
 stroke of twelve; but I've gone athwart and about 
 the fair half-a-dozen times, and never a sign of him : 
 though he's mostly a man to his word.' 
 
 ' I quite forgot the engagement,' murmured Farfrae. 
 
 ' Now you must go,' said she ; ' must you not ? ' 
 
 ' Yes,' he replied. But he still remained. 
 
 ' You had better go,' she urged. ' You will lose a 
 customer.' 
 
 ' Now, Miss Templeman, you will make me angry,' 
 exclaimed Farfrae. 
 
 'Then suppose you don't go; but stay a little 
 longer ? ' 
 
 He looked anxiously at the farmer who was seeking 
 him, and who just then ominously walked across to 
 where Henchard was standing, and he looked into the 
 room and at her. ' I like staying ; but I fear I must 
 go ! ' he said. ' Business ought not to be neglected, 
 ought it?' 
 
 »94 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 • Not for a single minute.' 
 
 'It's true. I'll come another time — if I may, 
 ma'am ? ' 
 
 'Certainly,' she said. 'What has happened to us 
 to-day is very curious.' 
 
 ' Something to think over when we are alone, it's 
 like to be ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, I don't know that. It is commonplace after 
 all.' 
 
 ' No, I'll not say that. Oh no ! ' 
 
 ' Well, whatever it has been, it is now over ; and 
 the market calls you to be gone.' 
 
 ' Yes, yes. Market — business ! I wish there were 
 no business in the warrld.' 
 
 Lucetta almost laughed — she would quite have 
 laughed — but that there was a little emotion going 
 in her at the time. ' How you change ! ' she said. 
 ' You should not change like this.' 
 
 ' I have never wished such things before,' said the 
 Scotchman, with a simple, shamed, apologetic look for 
 his weakness. ' It is only since coming here, and 
 seeing you ! ' 
 
 ' If that's the case, you had better not look at me 
 any longer. Dear me, I feel I have quite demoralized 
 you! ' 
 
 'But look or look not, I will see you in my 
 thoughts. Well, I'll go — thank you for the pleasure 
 of this visit.' 
 
 ' Thank you for staying.' 
 
 ' Maybe I'll get into my market-mind when I've been 
 out a few minutes,' he murmured. ' But I don't know 
 — I don't know ! ' 
 
 As he went she said eagerly, « You may hear them 
 
 speak of me in Casterbridge as time goes on. If they 
 
 tell you I'm a coquette, which some may, because of 
 
 the iicidents of my life, don't believe it, for I am not.' 
 
 ' I swear I will not 1 ' he said fervidly. 
 
 I9S 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 Thus the two. She had enkindled the young man's 
 enthusiasm till he was quite brimming with sentiment ; 
 while he, from merely affording her a new form of 
 idleness, had gone on to wake her serious solicitude. 
 Why was this ? They could not have told. 
 
 Lueetta as a young girl would hardly have looked 
 at a tradesman. But her ups and downs, capped by 
 her indiscretions with Henchard, had made her un- 
 critical as to station. In her poverty she had met 
 with repulse from the society to which she had be- 
 longed, and she had no great zest for renewing an 
 attempt upon it now. Her heart longed for some ark 
 into which it could fly and be at rest. Rough or smooth 
 she did not care, so long as it was warm. 
 
 Farfrae was shown out, it having entirely escaped 
 him that he had called to see Elizabeth. l/ucetta at 
 the window watched him threading the maze of farmers 
 and farmers' men. She could see by his gait that he 
 was conscious of her eyes, and her heart went out 
 to him for his modesty — pleaded with her sense of his 
 unfitness that he might be allowed to come again. 
 He entered the market-house, and she could see him 
 no more. 
 
 Three minutes later, when she had left the window, 
 knocks, not of multitude but of strength, sounded 
 through the house, and the waiting-maid tripped up. 
 
 ' The Mayor,' she said. 
 
 Lueetta had reclined herself, and was looking 
 dreamily through her fingers. She did not answer at 
 once, and the maid repeated the information with the 
 addition, ' And he's afraid he hasn't much time to spare, 
 he says.' 
 
 ' Oh ! Then tell him that as I have a headache I 
 won't detain him to-day.' 
 
 The message was taken down, and she heard the 
 door close. 
 
 Lueetta had come to Casterbridge to quicken Hen- 
 196 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 chard's feelings with regard to her. She had quickened 
 thenij and now she was indifferent to the achievement. 
 
 Her morning view of Elizabeth- Jane as a disturbing 
 element changed, and she no longer felt strongly the 
 necessity of getting rid of the girl for her stepfather's 
 sake. When the young woman came in, sweetly un- 
 conscious of the turn in the tide, Lucetta went up to 
 her, and said quite sincerely — 
 
 ' I'm so glad you've come. You'll live with me a 
 long time, won't you ? ' 
 
 Elizabeth as a watch-dog to keep her father off — 
 what a new idea. Yet it was not unpleasing. Hen- 
 chard had neglected her all these days, after compro- 
 mising her indescribably in the past. The least he 
 could have done when he found himself free, and her- 
 self affluent, would have been to respond heartily and 
 promptly to her invitation. 
 
 Her emotions rose, fell, undulated, filled her with wild 
 surmise at their suddenness ; and so passed Lucetta's 
 experiences of that day. 
 
XXIV 
 
 Poor EUzabeth-Jane, little thinking what her malig- 
 nant star had done to blast the budding attentions she 
 had won from Donald Farfrae, was glad to hear Lucetta's 
 words about remaining. 
 
 For in addition to Lucetta's house being a home, 
 that raking view of the market-place which it afforded 
 had as much attraction for her as for Lucetta. The 
 carrefour was like the regulation Open Place in spec- 
 tacular dramas, where the incidents that occur always 
 happen to bear on the lives of the adjoining residents. 
 Farmers, merchants, dairymen, quacks, hawkers, ap- 
 peared there from week to week, and disappeared as the 
 afternoon wasted away. It was the node of all orbits. 
 
 From Saturday to Saturday was as from day to day 
 with the two young women now. In an emotional 
 sense they did not live at all during the intervals. 
 Wherever they might go wandering on other days, on 
 market-day they were sure to be at home. Both stole 
 sly glances out of the window at Farfrae's shoulders and 
 poll." His face they seldom saw, for, either through 
 shyness, or not to disturb his mercantile mood, he 
 avoided looking towards their quarters. 
 
 Thus things went on, till a certain market-morning 
 brought a new sensation. Elizabeth and I-ucetta were 
 sitting at breakfast when a parcel containing two dresses 
 iq8 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 arrived for the latter from London. She called Eliza, 
 beth from her breakfast, and entering her friend's bed- 
 room Elizabeth saw the gowns spread out on the bed, 
 one of a deep cherry colour, the other lighter — a glove 
 lying at the end of each sleeve, a bonnet at the top 
 of each neck, and parasols across the gloves, Lucetta 
 standing beside the suggested human figure in an atti- 
 tude of contemplation. 
 
 ' I wouldn't think so hard about it,' said Elizabeth, 
 marking the intensity with which Lucetta was alternating 
 the question whether this or that would suit best. 
 
 'But settling upon new clothes is so trying,' said 
 Lucetta. ' You are that person ' (pointing to one of 
 the arrangements), 'or you are that totally different 
 person ' (pointing to the other), ' for the whole of the 
 coming spring : and one of the two, you don't know 
 which, may turn out to be very objectionable.' 
 
 It was finally decided by Miss Templeman that she 
 would be the cherry-coloured person at all hazards. The 
 dress was pronounced to be a fit, and Lucetta walked 
 with it into the front room, Elizabeth following her. 
 
 The morning was exceptionally bright for the time of 
 year. The sun fell so flat on the houses and pavement 
 opposite Lucetta's residence that they poured their bright- 
 ness into her rooms. Suddenly, after a rumbling of 
 wheels, there were added to this steady light a fantastic 
 series of circling irradiations upon the ceiling, and the 
 companions turned to the window. Immediately oppo- 
 site a vehicle of strange description had come to a stand- 
 still, as if it had been placed there for exhibition. 
 
 It was the new-fashioned agricultural implement 
 called a horse-drill, till then unknown, in its modern 
 shape, in this part of the country, where the venerable 
 seed-lip was still used for sowing as in the days of the 
 Heptarchy. Its arrival created about as much sensa- 
 tion in the corn-market as a flying machine would 
 create at Charing Cross. The farmers crowded round 
 199 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 it, women drew near it, children crept under and into 
 it. The machine was painted in bright hues of green, 
 yellow, and red, and it resembled as a whole a com- 
 pound of hornet, grasshopper, and shrimp, magnified 
 enormously. Or it might have been likened to an up- 
 right musical instrument with the front gone. That was 
 how it struck Lucetta. ' Why, it is a sort of agricultural 
 piano,' she said. 
 
 ' It has something to do with corn,' said Elizabeth. 
 
 ' I wonder who thought of introducing it here ? ' 
 
 Donald Farfrae was in the minds of both as the in- 
 novator, for though not a farmer he was closely leagued 
 with farming operations. And as if in response to 
 their thought he came up at that moment, looked at 
 the machine, walked round it, and handled it as if he 
 knew something about its make. The two watchers 
 had inwardly started at his coming, and Elizabeth left 
 the window, went to the back of the room, and stood 
 as if absorbed in the panelling of the wall. She hardly 
 knew that she had done this till Lucetta, animated by 
 the conjunction of her new attire with the sight of 
 Farfrae, spoke out : ' Let us go and look at the instru- 
 ment, whatever it is.' 
 
 Elizabeth- Jane's bonnet and shawl were pitchforked 
 on in a moment, and they went out. Among all the 
 agriculturists gathering round, the only appropriate 
 possessor of the new machine seemed to be Lucetta, 
 because she alone rivalled it in colour. 
 
 They examined it curiously ; observing the rows of 
 trumpet-shaped tubes one within the other, the Uttle 
 scoops, like revolving salt-spoons, which tossed the 
 seed into the upper ends of the tubes that conducted 
 it to the ground ; till somebody said, ' Good morning, 
 Elizabeth-Jane.' She looked up, and there was her 
 stepfather. 
 
 His greeting had been somewhat dry and thunderous, 
 and Elizabeth-Jane, embarrassed out of her equanimity, 
 200 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 Stammered at random, 'This is the lady I live with, 
 father — Miss Templeman.' 
 
 Henchard put his hand to his hat, which he brought 
 down with a great wave till it met his body at the 
 knee. Miss Templeman bowed. ' I am happy to 
 become acquainted with you, Mr. Henchard,' she said. 
 ' This is a curious machine.' 
 
 ' Yes,' Henchard replied ; and he proceeded to ex- 
 plain it, and still more forcibly to ridicule it. 
 
 ' Who brought it here ? ' said Lucetta. 
 
 ' Oh, don't ask me, ma'am ! ' said Henchard. ' The 
 thing — why 'tis impossible it should act. 'Twas brought 
 here by one of our machinists on the recommendation 
 
 of a jumped-up jackanapes of a fellow who thinks ' 
 
 His eye caught Elizabeth-Jane's imploring face, and he 
 stopped, probably thinking that the suit might be pro- 
 gressing. 
 
 He turned to go away. Then something seemed 
 to occur which his stepdaughter fancied must really be 
 a hallucination of hers. A murmur apparently came 
 from Henchard's lips in which she detected the words, 
 ' You refused to see me ! ' reproachfully addressed to 
 Lucetta. She could not believe that they had been 
 uttered by her stepfather; unless, indeed, they might have 
 been spoken to one of the yellow-gaitered farmers near 
 them. Yet Lucetta seemed silent ; and then all thought 
 of the incident was dissipated by the humming of a 
 song, which sounded as though from the interior of the 
 machine. Henchard had by this time vanished into the 
 market-house, and both the women glanced towards the 
 corn-drill. They could see behind it the bent back of a 
 man who was pushing his head into the internal works to 
 master their simple secrets. The hummed song went on — 
 
 ' 'Tw — s on a s — m — r aftern — n, 
 
 A wee be — re the s — n w — nt d — n, 
 
 When Kitty wi' a braw n — w g — yva 
 
 C — me ow're the h — lis to Gowrie.' 
 
 201 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 Elizabeth-Jane had apprehended the singer in A 
 moment, and looked guilty of she did not know what. 
 Lucetta next recognized him, and more mistress of 
 herself said archly, ' The " Lass of Gowrie " from the 
 inside of a seed-drill — what a phenomenon ! ' 
 
 Satisfied at last with his investigation, the young 
 man stood upright, and met their eyes across the 
 summit. 
 
 ' We are looking at the wonderful new drill,' Miss 
 Templeman said. ' But practically it is a stupid thing 
 — is it not ? ' she added, on the strength of Henchard's 
 infornfiation. 
 
 ' Stupid ? Oh no ! ' said Farfrae gravely. ' It will 
 revolutionize sowing heerabout ! No more sowers 
 flinging their seed about broadcast, so that some falls 
 by the wayside and some among thorns, and all that. 
 Each grain will go straight to its intended place,' and 
 nowhere else whatever ! ' 
 
 ' Then the romance of the sower is gone for good,' 
 observed Elizabeth- Jane, who felt herself at one with 
 Farfrae in Bible-reading at least. ' " He that observeth 
 the wind shall not sow," so the Preacher said; but 
 his words will not be to the point any more. How 
 things change ! ' 
 
 ' Ay ; ay. . . . It must be so ! ' Donald admitted, 
 his gaze fixing itself on a blank point far away. ' But 
 the machines are already very common in the East 
 and North of England,' he added apologetically. 
 
 Lucetta seemed to be rather outside this train of 
 sentiment, her acquaintance with the Scriptures being 
 somewhat limited. ' Is the machine yours ? ' she asked 
 of Farfrae. 
 
 ' Oh no, madam,' said he, becoming embarrassed 
 and deferential at the sound of her voice, though with 
 Elizabeth-Jane he was quite at his ease. ' No, no — I 
 DT.erely recommended that it should be got.' 
 
 In the silence which followed Farfrae appeared only 
 
 202 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 conscious of her; to have passed from perception of 
 Elizabeth into a brighter sphere of existence than she 
 appertained to. Lucetta, discerning that he was much 
 mixed that day, partly in his mercantile mood and 
 partly in his romantic one, said gaily to him — 
 
 ' Well, don't forsake the machine for us,' and went 
 indoors with her companion. 
 
 The latter felt that she had been in the way, though 
 why was unaccountable to her. Lucetta explained the 
 matter somewhat by saying, when they were again in 
 the sitting-room — 
 
 ' I had occasion to speak to Mr. Farfrae the other 
 day, and so I knew him this morning.' 
 
 Lucetta was very kind towards Elizabeth that day. 
 Together they saw the market thicken, and in course 
 of time thin away with the slow decline of the sun 
 towards the upper end of the town, its rays taking 
 the street endways and enfilading the long thorough- 
 fare from top to bottom. The gigs and vans dis- 
 appeared one by one till there was not a vehicle in 
 the street. The time of the riding world was over; 
 the pedestrian world held sway. Field labourers and 
 their wives and children trooped in from the villages 
 for their weekly shopping, and instead of a rattle of 
 wheels and a tramp of horses ruling the sound as earlier, 
 there was nothing but the shuffle of many feet. All 
 the implements were gone ; all the farmers ; all the 
 moneyed class. The character of the town's trading 
 had changed from bulk to multiplicity, and pence 
 were handled now as pounds had been handled earlier 
 in the day. 
 
 Lucetta and Elizabeth looked out upon this, for 
 though it was night, and the street lamps were lighted, 
 they had kept their shutters unclosed. In the faint 
 blink of the fire they spoke more freely. 
 
 ' Your father was distant with you,' said Lucetta. 
 
 ' Yes.' And having forgotten the momentary 
 303 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 mystery of Henchard's seeming speech to Lucetta, she 
 continued, ' It is because he does not think I am 
 respectable. I have tried to be so more than you can 
 imagine, but in vain! My mother's separation from 
 my father was unfortunate for me. You don't know 
 what it is to have shadows like that upon your life.' 
 
 Lucetta seemed to wince. ' I do not — of that kind 
 precisely,' she said, ' but you may feel a — sense of dis- 
 grace — shame — in other ways.' 
 
 ' Have you ever had any such feeling ? ' said the 
 younger innocently. 
 
 ' Oh no,' said Lucetta quickly. ' I was thinking of 
 — what happens sometimes when women get themselves 
 in strange positions in the eyes of the world from no 
 fault of their own.' 
 
 ' It must make them very unhappy afterwards.' 
 . ' It makes them anxious ; for might not other women 
 despise them ? ' 
 
 'Not altogether despise them. Yet not quite like 
 or respect them.' 
 
 Lucetta winced again. Her past was by no means 
 secure from investigation, even in Casterbridge. For 
 one thing, Henchard had never returned to her the 
 cloud of letters she had written and sent him in her 
 first excitement. Possibly they were destroyed ; but she 
 could have wished that they had never been written. 
 
 The rencounter with Farfrae and his bearing towards 
 Lucetta had made the reflective Elizabeth more obser- 
 vant of her brilliant and amiable companion. A few 
 days afterwards, when her eyes met Lucetta's as the 
 latter was going out, she somehow knew that Miss 
 Templeman was nourishing a hope of seeing the attrac- 
 tive Scotchman. The fact was printed large all over 
 Lucetta's cheeks and eyes to any one who read her as 
 Elizabeth- Jane was beginning to do. Lucetta passed 
 on and closed the street door. 
 
 A seer's spirit took possession of Elizabeth, impelling 
 204 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 her to sit down by the fire, and divine events so surely 
 from data already her own that they could be held as 
 witnessed. She followed Lucetta thus mentally — saw 
 her encounter Donald somewhere as if by chance — saw 
 him wear his special look when meeting women, with 
 an added intensity because this one was Lucetta. She 
 depicted his impassioned manner ; beheld the indecision 
 of both between their lothness to separate and their 
 desire not to be observed; depicted their shaking of 
 hands ; how they probably parted with frigidity in their 
 general contour and movements, only in the smaller 
 features showing the spark of passion, thus invisible to 
 all but themselves. This discerning silent witch had 
 not done thinking of these things when Lucetta came 
 noiselessly behind her, and made her start. 
 
 It was all true as she had pictured — she could have 
 sworn it. Lucetta had a heightened luminousness in her 
 eye over and above the advanced colour of her cheeks. 
 
 ' You've seen Mr. Farfrae,' said Elizabeth demurely. 
 
 ' Yes,' said Lucetta. ' How did you know ? ' 
 
 She knelt down on the hearth and took her friend's 
 hands excitedly in her own. But after all she did not say 
 when or how she had seen him or what he had said. 
 
 That night she became restless j in the morning she 
 was feverish ; and at breakfast-time she told her com- 
 panion that she had something on her mind — some- 
 thing which concerned a person in whom she was 
 interested much. Elizabeth was earnest to listen and 
 sympathize. 
 
 ' This person — a lady — once admired a man much 
 — very much,' she said tentatively. 
 
 ' Ah,' said Elizabeth- Jane. 
 
 ' They were intimate — rather. He did not think so 
 deeply of her as she did of him. But in an impulsive 
 moment, purely out of reparation, he proposed to make 
 her his wife. She agreed. But there was an unexpected 
 hitch in the proceedings ; though she had been so far 
 
 205 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 compromised with him that she felt she could never be- 
 long to another man, as a pure matter of conscience, 
 even if she should wish to. After that they were much 
 apart, heard nothing of each other for a long time, and 
 she felt her hfe quite closed up for her.' 
 
 ' Ah — poor girl ! ' 
 
 ' She suffered much on account of him ; though I 
 should add that he could not altogether be blamed for 
 what had happened. At last the obstacle which sepa- 
 rated them was providentially removed; and he came 
 to marry her.' 
 
 ' How delightful ! ' 
 
 ' But in the interval she — my poor friend — had seen 
 a man she liked better than him. Now comes the 
 point : Could she in honour dismiss the first ? ' 
 
 « A new man she liked better — that's bad ! ' 
 
 ' Yes,' said Lucetta, looking pained at a boy who was 
 swinging the town pump-handle. ' It is bad ! Though 
 you must remember that she was forced into an equivo- 
 cal position with the first man by an accident — that he 
 was not so well educated or refined as the second, and 
 that she had discovered some qualities in the first that 
 rendered him less desirable as a husband than she had 
 at first thought him to be.' 
 
 ' I cannot answer,' said Elizabeth- Jane thoughtfully. 
 ' It is so difficult. It wants a Pope to settle that ! ' 
 
 ' You prefer not to, perhaps ? ' Lucetta showed in 
 . her appealing tone how much she leant on Elizabeth's 
 judgment. 
 
 'Ye 3; Miss Templeman,' admitted Elizabeth. 'I 
 would rather not say.' 
 
 Nevertheless, Lucetta seemed relieved by the simple 
 fact of having opened out the situation a little, and 
 was slowly convalescent of her headache. ' Bring me a 
 looking-glass. How do I appear to people ? ' she said 
 languidly. 
 
 ' Well — a little worn,' answered Elizabeth, eyeing her 
 zo6 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 as a critic eyes a doubtful painting ; fetching the glass she 
 enabled Lucetta to survey herself in it, which Lucetta 
 anxiously did. 
 
 ' I wonder if I wear well, as times go ! ' she observed 
 after a while. 
 
 ' Yes — fairly. 
 
 ' Where am I worst ? ' 
 
 • Under your eyes — I notice a little brownness there.' 
 
 * Yes. That is my worst place, I know. How many 
 years more do you think I shall last before I get hope- 
 lessly plain ? ' 
 
 There was something curious in the way in which 
 
 the 
 
 may 
 
 Be five years,' she said judicially. ' Or, with a quiet 
 life, as many as ten. With no love you might calculate 
 on ten.' 
 
 Lucetta seemed to reflect on this as on an unalter- 
 able, impartial verdict. She told Elizabeth- Jane no more 
 of the past attachment she had roughly adumbrated as 
 the experiences of a third person ; and Elizabeth, who 
 in spite of her philosophy was very tender-hearted, wept 
 that night in bed at the thought that her pretty, rich 
 Lucetta did not treat her to the full confidence of names 
 and dates in her confessions. For by the ' she ' of 
 Lucetta's story Elizabeth had not been beguiled. 
 
XXV 
 
 The next phase of the supersession of Henchard in 
 Lucetta's heart was an experiment in calling on her 
 performed by Farfrae with some apparent trepidation. 
 Conventionally speaking, he conversed with both Miss 
 Templeman and her companion; but in fact it was 
 rather that Elizabeth sat invisible in the room. Donald 
 appeared not to see her at all, and answered her wise 
 little remarks with curtly indifferent monosyllables, 
 his looks and faculties hanging on the woman who 
 could boast of a more Protean variety in her phases, 
 moods, opinions, and also principles, than could 
 Elizabeth. Lucetta had persisted in dragging her into 
 the circle; but she had remained like an awkward 
 third point which that circle would not touch. 
 
 Susan Henchard's daughter bore up against the 
 frosty ache of the treatment, as she had borne up 
 under worse things, and contrived as soon as possible 
 to get out of the inharmonious room without being 
 missed. The Scotchman seemed hardly the same 
 Farfrae who had danced with her, and walked with 
 her, in a delicate poise between love and friendship — 
 that period in the history of a love when alone it can 
 be said to be unalloyed with pain. 
 
 She stoically looked from her bedroom window, and 
 contemplated her fate as if it were written on the top 
 2o8 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 of the church-tower hard by. ' Yes,' she said at last, 
 bringing down her palm upon the sill with a pat : < He 
 is the second man of that story she told me ! ' 
 
 All this time Henchard's smouldering sentiments 
 towards Lucetta had been fanned into higher and 
 higher inflammation by the circumstances of the case, 
 He was discovering that the young woman, for whom 
 he once felt a pitying warmth, which had been almost 
 chilled out of him by reflection, was, when now quali- 
 fied with a slight inaccessibility and a more matured 
 beauty, the very being to make him satisfied with life. 
 Day after day proved to him, by her silence, that it 
 was no use to think of bringing her round by holding 
 aloof; so he gave in, and called upon her again, 
 Elizabeth- Jane being absent. 
 
 He crossed the room to her with a heavy tread of 
 some awkwardness, his strong, warm gaze upon her — 
 like the sun beside the moon in comparison with 
 Farfrae's modest look — and with something of a hail- 
 fellow bearing, as, indeed, was not unnatural. But she 
 seemed so transubstantiated by her change of position, 
 and held out her hand to him in such cool friendship, 
 that he became deferential, and sat down with a per- 
 ceptible loss of power. He understood but little of 
 fashion in dress, yet enough to feel himself inadequate 
 in appearance beside her whom he had hitherto been 
 dreaming of as almost his property. She said some- 
 thing very polite about his being good enough to call. 
 This caused him to recover balance. He looked her 
 oddly in the face, losing his awe. 
 
 'Why, of course I have called, Lucetta,' he said. 
 • What does that nonsense mean ? You know I 
 couldn't have helped myself if I had wished — that is, 
 if I had any kindness at all. I've called to say that 
 I am ready, as soon as custom will permit, to give you 
 my name, in return for your devotion, and what you 
 lost by it, in thinking too little of yourself and too 
 209 o 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 much of me; to say that you can fix the day or month, 
 with my full consent, whenever in your opinion it 
 would be seemly: you know more of these things 
 than I.' 
 
 ' It is full early yet,' she said evasively. 
 
 ' Yes, yes ; I suppose it is. But you know, Lucetta, 
 I felt directly my poor ill-used Susan died, and when 
 I could not iDear the idea of marrying again, that after 
 what had happened between us it was my duty not to 
 let any unnecessary delay occur before putting things 
 to rights. Still, I wouldn't call in a hurry, because — 
 well, you can guess how this money you've come 
 into made me feel.' His voice slowly fell; he was 
 conscious that in this room his accents and manner 
 wore a roughness not observable in the street. He 
 looked about the room, at the novel hangings and 
 ingenious furniture with which she had surrounded 
 herself. 
 
 ' Upon my life, I didn't know such furniture as this 
 could be bought in Casterbridge,' he said. 
 
 ' Nor can it be,' said she. ' Nor will it till fifty 
 years more of civilization have passed over the town. 
 It took a waggon and four horses to get it here.' 
 
 « H'm. The fact is, your setting up like this makes 
 my bearing towards you rather awkward.' 
 
 'Why?' 
 
 An answer was not really needed, and he did not 
 furnish one. ' Well,' he went on, ' there's nobody 
 in the world I would have wished to see enter into 
 this wealth before you, Lucetta, and nobody, I am 
 sure, who will become it more.' He turned to her 
 ynth congratulatory admiration so fervid that she 
 shrank somewhat, notwithstanding that she knew him 
 so well. 
 
 ' I am greatly obliged to you for all that,' said she, 
 rather with an air of speaking ritual. The stint of 
 reciprocal feeling was perceived, and Henchard showed 
 310 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 chagrin at once — nobody was more quick to show that 
 than he. 
 
 'You may be obliged or not for't. Though the 
 things I say may not have the poHsh of what you've 
 lately learnt to expect for the first time in your life, 
 they are real, my lady Lucetta.' 
 
 ' That's rather a rude way of speaking to me,' pouted 
 Lucetta, with stormy eyes. 
 
 ' Not at all ! ' replied Henchard hotly. ' But there, 
 there, I don't want to quarrel with 'ee. I come with an 
 honest proposal for silencing your Jersey enemies, and 
 you ought to be thankful.' 
 
 . • How can you speak so ! ' she answered, firing 
 quickly. ' Knowing that my only crime was the in- 
 dulging in a foolish girl's passion for you with too 
 little regard for correctness, and that I was what f call 
 innocent all the time they called me guilty, you ought 
 not to be so cutting ! I suffered enough at that worry- 
 ing time, when you wrote to tell me of your wife's 
 return, and my consequent dismissal, and if I am 
 a little independent now, surely the privilege is due 
 to me ! ' 
 
 'Yes, it is,' he said. 'But it is not by what is, 
 in this life, but by what appears, that you are judged ; 
 and I therefore think you ought to accept me — for your 
 own good name's sake. What is known in your native 
 Jersey may get known here.' 
 
 ' How you keep on about Jersey ! I am English ! ' 
 
 ' Yes, yes. Well, what do you say to my proposal ? ' 
 
 For the first time in their acquaintance Lucetta 
 had the move ; and yet she was backward. ' For the 
 present let things be,' she said with some embarrass- 
 ment. ' Treat me as an acquaintance ; and I'll treat 
 
 you as one. Time will ' she stopped; and he 
 
 said nothing to fill the gap for awhile, there being no 
 pressure of half acquaintance to drive them into speech 
 if they were not minded for it. 
 
 211 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 'That's the way the wind blows, is it?' he said 
 at last grimly, nodding an affirmative to his own 
 thoughts. 
 
 A yellow flood of reflected sunlight filled the room 
 for a few instants. It was produced by the passing of 
 a load of newly trussed hay from the country, in a 
 waggon marked with Farfrae's name. Beside it rode 
 
 f wil"'' l? ,i"isp1£..«R-Ji orseback. j M C ^ftal n Snoo . h n mn rjS 
 
 —as a wfiTnari's fac e become sjheH-4he-inau.^iS-iQyes 
 j kes npnn hpi; gaieTike ai Tapparit ion. 
 
 A turn of the eye by Henct^rd, a glance from the 
 window, and the secret of her inaccessibility would 
 have been revealed. But Henchard in estimating her 
 tone was looking down so plumb-straight that he did 
 not note the warm consciousness upon Lucetta's face. 
 
 ' I shouldn't have thought it — I shouldn't have 
 thought it of women ! ' he said emphatically by-and- 
 by, rising and shaking himself into activity; while 
 Lucettar--wa^_sa-aiiaous__to_jiiK!2i-^im._irQgj_att^ sus- 
 picioiiLof Jhe truth,_ that, she .^ked him to be in no 
 '. hurry. 'Qfinf^gTnrtL l.some apples , sTie' insisted upon 
 
 He wouI3^ot take it. 'No, no; such is not for 
 me,' he said drily, and moved to the door. At going 
 out he turned his eye upon her. 
 
 'You came to live in Casterbridge entirely on my 
 account,' he said. ' Yet now you are here you won't 
 have anything to say to my offer 1 ' 
 I He had hardly gone down the staircase when she 
 dropped upon the sofa, and jumped up again in a fit 
 of desperation. ' I will love him ! ' she cried passion- 
 ately; 'as for kirn — he's hot-tempered and stern, and 
 it would be madness to bind myself to him knowing 
 that. I won't be a slave to the past — I'll love where 
 I choose ! ' 
 
 Yet having decided to break away from Henchard, 
 one might have supposed her capable of aiming higher 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 than Farfrae. But Lucetta reasoned nothing : she 
 feared hard words from the people with whom she had 
 been earlier associated; she had no relatives left; and- 
 with native Ughtness of heart took kindly to what fate 
 offered. 
 
 Elizabeth-Jane, surveying the position of Lucetta 
 between her two lovers from the crystalline sphere of a 
 straightforward mind, did not fail to perceive that her 
 father, as she called him, and Donald Farfrae became 
 more desperately enamoured of her friend every day. 
 On Farfrae's side it was the unforced passion of youth. 
 On Henchard's the artificially stimulated coveting of 
 maturer age. 
 
 The pain she experienced from the almost absolute 
 obliviousness to her existence that was shown by the 
 pair of them became at times half dissipated by her 
 sense of its humorousness. AVhen Lucetta had pricked 
 her finger they were as deeply concerned as if she were 
 dying; when she herself had been seriously sick or in 
 danger they uttered a conventional word of sympathy 
 at the news, and forgot all about it immediately. But, 
 as regarded Henchard, this perception of hers also 
 caused her some filial grief; she could not help asking 
 what she had done to be neglected so, after the profes- 
 sions of solicitude he had made. As regarded Farfrae, 
 she thought, after honest reflection, that it was quite 
 natural. What was she beside Lucetta ? — as one of the 
 ' meaner beauties of the night,' when the moon had risen 
 in the skies. 
 
 She had learnt the lesson of renunciation . anTi was 
 a§JaSilBE~si*i ^^^ wreck_ofjeafJa._da^z;sJsisto^l.»th 
 the diurnal settmg'bf ^lKe sun. If her earthly career 
 haH^ taught^heFTew book philosophies it had at least 
 wel practised her in this. Yet her experience had 
 consisted less in a series of pure disappointments 
 than in a series of substitutions. Continually it had 
 213 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 happened that what she had desired had not been 
 granted her, and that what had been granted her she 
 had not desired. So she viewed with an approach to 
 equanimity the now cancelled days when Donald had 
 been her undeclared lover, and wondered what unwished- 
 for tiling Heaven might send her in place of him. 
 
XXVI 
 
 It chanced that on a fine spring morning Henchard 
 aiid Farfrae met in the chestnut-walk which ran along 
 the south wall of the town. Each had just come out 
 from his early breakfast, and there was not another soul 
 near. Henchard was reading a letter from Lucetta, sent 
 in answer to a note from him, in which she made some 
 excuse for not immediately granting him a second inter- 
 view that he had desired. 
 
 Donald had ^o wish to enter into conversation with 
 his former friend on their present constrained terms ; 
 neither would he pass him in scowling silence. He 
 nodded, and Henchard did the same. They had re- 
 ceded from each other several paces when a voice cried 
 ' Farfrae ! ' It was Henchard's, who stood regarding 
 him. 
 
 ' Do you remember,' said Henchard, as if it were the 
 presence of the thought and not of the man which made 
 him speak, ' do you remember my story of that second 
 woman — who suffered for her thoughtless intimacy with 
 me?' 
 
 ' I do,' said Farfrae. 
 
 ' Do you remember my telling 'ee how it all began, 
 and how it ended ? ' 
 'Yes.' 
 ' Well, I have oflfered to marry her now that I can j 
 
 2IS 
 
tHE MAVoR of CASTERBRlDGfi 
 
 but she won't marry me. Now what would you think 
 ■of her — I put it to you ? ' 
 
 ' Well, ye owe her nothing more now,' said Farfrae 
 heartily. 
 
 ' It is true,' said Henchard, and went on. 
 
 That he had looked up from a letter to ask his 
 questions completely shut out from Farfrae's mind all 
 vision of Lucetta as the culprit. Indeed, her present 
 position was so different from that of the young woman 
 of Henchard's story as of itself to be sufficient to blind 
 him absolutely to her identity. As for Henchard, he 
 was reassured by Farfrae's words and manner against 
 a suspicion which had crossed his mind. They were 
 not those of a conscious rival. 
 
 Yet that there was rivalry by some one he was firmly 
 persuaded. He could feel it in the air around Lucetta, 
 see it in the turn of her pen. There was an antago- 
 nistic force in exercise, so that when he had tried to 
 hang near her he seemed standing in a refluent current. 
 That it was not innate caprice he was more and more 
 certain. Her windows gleamed as if they did not want 
 him; her curtains seemed to hang slily, as if they 
 screened an ousting presence. To discover whose 
 presence that was — ^whether really Farfrae's after all, or 
 another's-^he exerted himself to the utmost to see her 
 again ; and at length succeeded. 
 
 At the interview, when she offered him tea, he made 
 it a point to launch a cautious inquiry if she knew Mr. 
 Farfrae. 
 
 Oh yes, she knew him, she declared ; she could not 
 help knowing almost everybody in Casterbridge, living 
 in such a gazebo over the centre and arena of the 
 town. 
 
 ' Pleasant young fellow,' said Henchard. 
 
 ' Yes,' said Lucetta. 
 
 'We both know him,' said kind Elizabeth- Jane, to 
 relieve her 'companion's divined embarrassment. 
 
 2t6 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGB 
 
 There was a knock at the door ; literally, three fuH 
 knocks and a little one at the end. 
 
 'That kind of knock nieans half-and-half — some^ 
 body between gentle and simple,' said the corn- 
 rnerchant to himself. ' I shouldn't wonder therefore 
 if it is he.' In a few seconds surely enough Donald I Vc 
 
 walked in. y' J ,.,;'' ' 
 
 Lucetta was full of little fidgets and flutters, which fs (-yO .i'*' 
 increased Henchard's suspicions without affording any ^^ i"* \i 
 special proof of their correctness. He was well-'ijigh ^ )* 
 ferocious at the sense of the queer situation iji which / 
 
 he stood towards this woman. One who had re- / 
 
 preached him for deserting her wherj calumniated, who 
 had urged claims upon Jus consideration on that ac- 
 count, who had lived waiting for him, who at the first 
 decent moment had come to ask him to rectify, by 
 jnaking her his, the false position into which she had 
 placed herself for his sake ; such she had been. And 
 now he sat at her tea-table eager to gain her atten- 
 tion, arid, in his amatory rage, feeling the other man 
 present to be a villain, just as any young fool of a lover 
 might feel. 
 
 They sat stiffly side by side at the darkening table, 
 like some Tuscan painting of the two disciples supping 
 at Emmaus. Lucetta, forming the third and chief 
 figure, was opposite thepij Elizabeth- Jane, being out 
 of the game, and out of the group, could observe from 
 gfar all things: that there were long spaces of taci- 
 turnity, when all exterior circumstance was subdued 
 to the touch of spoons and chin^, the click of a heel 
 on the pavement under the window, the passing of a 
 wheelbarrow or cart, the whistling of the carter, the 
 gush of water into householders' buckets at the town- 
 pump opposite ; the exchange of greetings among their 
 neighbours, and the rattle of the yokes by which they 
 carried off their evening supply. 
 
 ' More bread-and-butter ? ' said Iiucetta to Henchard 
 
 P 217 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 and Farfrae equally, holding out between them a plateful 
 of long slices. Henchard took a slice by one end and 
 /-¥") Donald by the other j each feeling certain he was the 
 
 man meant ; neither let go, and the slice came in two. 
 
 ' Oh — I am so sorry ! ' cried Lucetta, with a nervous 
 titter. Farfrae tried to laugh ; but he was too much in 
 love to see the incident in any but a tragic light. 
 
 ' How ridiculous of all three of them ! ' said Elizabeth 
 to herself. 
 
 Henchard left the house with a ton of conjecture, 
 though without a grain of proo f, that the counter-attrac- 
 tion was"Taffrae; and therefore he would not make up 
 his mind. Yet to Elizabeth- Jane it was plain as the 
 town-pump that Donald and Lucetta were incipient lovers. 
 More than once, in epite of her care, Lucetta had been 
 unable to restrain her glance from flitting across into 
 Farfrae's eyes like a bird to its nest. But Henchard 
 was constructed upon too large a scale to discern such 
 minutiae as these by an evening light, which to him were 
 as the notes of an insect that lie above the compass of 
 the human ear. 
 
 But he was disturbed. And the sense of occult 
 rivalry in suitorship was so much superadded to the 
 palpable rivalry of their business lives. To the coarse 
 materiality of that rivalry it added an inflaming soul. 
 
 The thus vitalized antagonism took the form of 
 action by Henchard sending for Jopp, the manager 
 originally displaced by Farfrae's arrival. Henchard had 
 frequently met this man about the streets, observed that 
 his clothing spoke of neediness, heard that he lived in 
 Mixen Lane — a back slum of the town, the J>is aller of 
 Casterbridge domiciliation — itself almost a proof that a 
 man had reached a stage when he would not stick at 
 trifles. 
 
 Jopp came after dark, by the gates of the store-yard, 
 and felt his way through the hay and straw to the office 
 where Henchard sat in solitude awaiting him. 
 218 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 ' I am again out of a foreman,' said the corn-factor. 
 ' Are you in a place ? ' 
 
 ' Not so much as a beggar's, sir.' 
 
 ' How much do you ask ? ' 
 
 Jopp named his price, which was very moderate. 
 
 ' When can you come ? ' 
 
 ' At this hour and moment, sir,' said Jopp, who, 
 standing hands-pocketed at the street corner till the 
 sun had faded the shoulders of his coat to scarecrow 
 green, had regularly watched Henchard in the market- 
 place, measured him, and learnt him, by virtue of the 
 power which the still man has in his stillness of knowing 
 the busy one better than he knows himself. Jopp, too, 
 had had a convenient experience ; he was the only one 
 in Casterbridge besides Henchard and the close-lipped 
 Elizabeth who knew that Lucetta came truly fi'om 
 Jersey, and but proximately from Bath. ' I know 
 Jersey, too, sir,' he said. ' Was living there when you 
 used to do business that way. Oh yes — have often seen 
 ye there.' 
 
 ' Indeed ! Very good. Then the thing is settled. 
 The testimonials you showed me when you first tried 
 for't are sufficient.' 
 
 That characters deteriorate in time of need possibly 
 did not occur to Henchard. Jopp said, ' Thank you,' 
 and stood more fiimly, in the consciousness that at last 
 he officially belonged to that spot. 
 
 * Now,' said Henchard, digging his strong eyes into 
 Jopp's face, ' one thing is necessary to me, as the biggest 
 corn-and-hay-dealer in these parts. The Scotchman, 
 who's taking the town trade so bold into his hands, 
 must be cut out. D'ye hear ? We two can't live side 
 by side — that's clear and certain.' 
 
 ' I've seen it all,' said Jopp. 
 
 ' By fair competition I mean, of course,' Henchard 
 continued. ' But as hard, keen, and unflinching as fair 
 — rather more so. By such a desperate bid against 
 219 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 him for the farmers' custom as will grind him into the 
 ground — starve him out. I've capital, mind ye, and 
 I can do it.' 
 
 ' I'm all that way of thinking,' said the new foreman. 
 Jopp's dislike of Farfrae as the man who had once 
 usurped his place, while it made him a willing tool, 
 made him, at the same time, commercially as unsafe 
 a colleague as Henchard could have chosen. 
 
 ' I sometimes think,' he added, ' that he must have 
 some glass that he sees next year in. He has such a 
 knack of making everything bring him fortune.' 
 
 - He's deep beyond all honest men's discerning ; but 
 we must make him shallower. We'll under-sell him, 
 and over-buy him, and so snuff him out.' 
 
 They then entered into specific details of the pro- 
 cess by which this would be accomplished, and parted 
 at a late hour. 
 
 Elizabeth-Jane heard by accident that Jopp had 
 been engaged by her stepfather. She was so fully 
 convinced that he was not the right man for the place 
 that, at the risk of making Henchard angry, she ex- 
 pressed her apprehension to him when they met. But 
 it was done to no purpose. Henchard shut up her 
 argument with a sharp rebuff. 
 
 The season's weather seemed to favour their scheme. 
 The time was in the years immediately before foreign 
 competition had revolutionized the trade in grain, when 
 still, as from the earliest ages, the wheat quotations 
 from month to month depended entirely upon the 
 home harvest. A bad harvest, or the prospect of one, 
 would double the price of corn in a few weeks ; and 
 the promise of a good yield would lower it as rapidly. 
 Prices were like the roads of the period, steep in 
 gradient, reflecting in their phases the local conditions, 
 without engineeriEg, levellings, or averages. 
 
 The farmer's income was ruled by the wheat-crop 
 within his own horizon, and the wheat-crop by the 
 
 220 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 weather. Thus, in person, he became a sort of flesh- 
 barometer, with feelers always directed to the sky and 
 wind around him. The local atmosphere was every- 
 thing to him; the atmospheres of other countries a 
 matter of indifference. The people, too, who were not 
 farmers, the rural multitude, saw in the god of the 
 weather a more important personage than they do now. 
 Indeed, the feeling of the peasantry in this matter was 
 so intense as to be almost unrealizable in these equable 
 days. - Their impulse was well-nigh to prostrate them- 
 selves in lamentation before untimely rains and tempests, 
 wliich came as the Alastor of those households whose 
 crime it was to be poor. 
 
 After midsummer they watched the weather-cocks 
 as men waiting in antechambers watch the lackey. 
 Sun elated them; quiet rain sobered them; weeks of 
 watery tempest stupefied them. That aspect of the 
 sky which they now regard as disagreeable they then 
 beheld as furious. 
 
 It was June, and the weather was very unfavourable. 
 Casterbridge, being, as it were, the bell-board on which 
 all the adjacent hamlets and villages sounded their 
 notes, was decidedly dull. Instead of new articles in 
 the shop-windows, those that had been rejected in the 
 foregoing summer were brought out again ; superseded 
 reap-hooks, badly-shaped rakes, shop-worn leggings, and 
 time-stiffened water-tights reappeared, furbished up as 
 near to new as possible. 
 
 Henchard, backed by Jopp, read a disastrous gar- 
 nering, and resolved to base his strategy against Farfrae 
 upon that reading. But before acting he wished — what 
 so many have wished — that he could know for cer- 
 tain what was at present only strong probability. He 
 was superstitious— as such headstrong natures often 
 are— and he nourished in his mind an idea bearing 
 on the matter; an idea he shrank from disclosing 
 even to Jopp. 
 
 321 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 In a lonely hamlet a few miles from the town — so 
 lonely, that what are called lonely villages were teem- 
 ing by comparison — there lived a man of curious 
 repute as a forecaster or weather-prophet. The way 
 to his house was crooked and miry — even difficult in 
 the present unpropitious season. One evening when ' 
 it was raining so heavily that ivy and laurel resounded 
 like distant musketry, and an out-door man could be 
 excused for shrouding himself to his ears and eyes, 
 such a shrouded figure on foot might have been per- 
 ceived travelling in the direction of the hazel-copse 
 which dripped over the prophet's cot. The turnpike- 
 road became a lane, the lane a cart-track, the cart- 
 track a bridle-path, the bridle-path a foot-way, the 
 foot-way overgrown. The solitary walker slipped here 
 and there, and stumbled over the natural springes 
 formed by the brambles, till at length he reached the 
 house, which, with its garden, was surrounded with a 
 high, dense hedge. The cottage, comparatively a 
 large one, had been built of mud by the occupier's 
 own hands, and thatched also by himself. Here he 
 had always lived, and here it was assumed he would 
 die. 
 
 He existed on unseen supplies ; for it was an 
 anomalous thing that while there was Jiardly a soul 
 in the neighbourhood but affected to laugh at this 
 man's assertions, uttering the formula, ' There's nothing 
 in 'em,' with full assurance on the surface of their 
 faces, very few of them were unbelievers in their 
 secret hearts. Whenever they consulted him they did 
 it ' for a fancy.' When they paid him they said, ' Just 
 a trifle for Christmas,' or 'Candlemas,' as the case 
 might be. 
 
 He would have preferred more honesty in his 
 clients, and less sham ridicule ; but fundamental belief 
 consoled him for superficial irony. As stated, he was 
 enabled to live ; people supported him with their backs 
 
 222 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 turned. He was sometimes astonished that men 
 could profess so httle and believe so much at his 
 house, when at church they professed so much and 
 beheved so little. 
 
 Behind his back he was called ' WidSiiai,' on accoun t 
 of.his-xepiitatiQn.;.JtQjtiisJ[aQa ' Mr. ' Fall. 
 
 The hedge of his garden formed an arch over the 
 entrance, and a door was inserted as in a wall. Outside 
 the door the tall traveller stopped, bandaged his face 
 with a handkerchief as if he were suffering from tooth- 
 ache, and went up the path. The window shutters 
 were not closed, and he could see the prophet within, 
 preparing his supper. 
 
 In answer to the knock Fall came to the door, 
 candle in hand. The visitor stepped back a little from 
 the light, and said, ' Can I speak to ye ? ' in significant 
 tones. The other's invitation to come in was responded 
 to by the country formula, ' This will do, thank ye,' after 
 which the householder has no alternative but to come 
 out. He placed the candle on the corner of the dresser, 
 took his hat from a nail, and joined the stranger in the 
 porch, shutting the door behind him. 
 
 ' I've long heard that you can — do things of a sort ? ' 
 began the other, repressing his individuality as much as 
 he could. 
 
 • Maybe so, Mr. Henchard,' said the weather-caster. 
 
 • Ah — why do you call me that ? ' asked the visitor 
 with a start. 
 
 ' Because it's your name. Feeling you'd come, I've 
 waited for ye; and thinking you might be leery from 
 your walk, I laid two supper plates- — look ye here.' He 
 threw operi the door and disclosed, the supper-table, at 
 which appeared a second chair, knife and fork, plate 
 and mug, as he had declared. 
 
 Henchard felt like Saul at his reception by Samuel ; 
 he remained in silence for a few moments, then throw- 
 ing off the disguise of frigidity which he had hitherto 
 223 
 
THE MAYOR OF CAsTERBftlDGE 
 
 preserved, he said, 'Then 1 hd,v6 not come in vain. 
 . . . Now, for instance, can ye chatm away warts ? ' 
 
 ' Without trouble.' 
 
 ' Cure the evil ? ' 
 
 'That I've done— with consideration — if they will 
 wear the toad-bag by night as Well as by day.' 
 
 ' Forecast the weather ? ' 
 
 ' With labour and time.' 
 
 'Then take this,' said Henchard. "Tis a crown- 
 piece. Now, what is the harvest fortnight to be ? When 
 can I know ? ' 
 
 'I've worked it out already, and you can know at 
 once.' (The fact was that five farmers had already been 
 there on the same errand from different parts of the 
 country.) ' By the sun, moon, and Stars, by the clouds, 
 the winds, the trees, and grass, the candle^flame and 
 swallows, the smell of the herbs ; likewise by the cats' 
 eyes, the ravens, the leeches, the spiders, and the dung- 
 mixen, the last fortnight in August will be— rain and 
 tempest.' 
 
 ' You are not certain, of course ? ' 
 
 ' As one can be in a world where all's unsure. 'Twill 
 be more like living in Revelations this autumn than in 
 England. Shall I sketch it out for ye in a scheme ? ' 
 
 'Oh no, no,' said Henchard. 'I don't altogether 
 believe in forecasts, come to second thoughts on such. 
 But I ' 
 
 'You don't — you don't — 'tis quite understood,' 
 said Wide-oh, without a sound of scorn. 'You 
 have given me a crown because you've one too many. 
 But won't you join me at supper, now 'tis waiting 
 and all?' 
 
 Henchard would gladly have joined ; for the savour 
 of the stew had floated from the cottage into the porch 
 with such appetizing distinctness, that the meat, the 
 onions, the pepper, and the herbs could be severally 
 tecogniied by his nose. But as sitting down to hob 
 224 
 
The mayor of casterbridge 
 
 and-nob there would have seemed to mark him too 
 implicitly as the weather-caster's apostle, he declined, 
 and went his way. 
 
 The next Saturday Henchard bought grain to Such 
 an enormous extent that there was quite a talk about 
 his purchases among his neighbours, the lawyer, the 
 wine merchant, and the doctor; also on the next, and 
 on all available days. When his granaries were full to 
 choking, all the weathercocks of Casterbridge creaked 
 and set their faces in another direction, as if tired of 
 the south-west. The weather changed ; the sunlight, 
 which had been like tin for weeks, assumed the hues 
 of topaz. The temperament of the welkin passed from 
 the phlegmatic to the sanguine; an excellent harvest 
 was almost a certainty; and as a consequence prices 
 rushed down. 
 
 All these transformations, lovely to the outsider, to 
 the wrong-headed corn-dealer were terrible. He was 
 reminded of what he had well known before, that a man 
 might gamble upon the square green areas of fields as 
 readily as upon those of a card-room. 
 
 Henchard had backed bad weather, and apparently 
 lost. He had mistaken the turn of the flood for the 
 turn of the ebb. His dealings had been so extensive 
 that settlement could not long be postponed, and to 
 settle, he was obliged to sell off corn that he had bought 
 only a few weeks before at figures higher by many 
 shillings a quarter. Much of the corn he had never 
 seen; it had not even been moved from the ricks 
 in which it lay stacked miles away. Thus he lost 
 heavily. 
 
 In the blaze of an early August day he met Farfrae 
 in the market-place. Farfrae knew of his dealings 
 (though he did not guess their intended bearing on 
 himself) and commiserated him; for since their ex- 
 change of words in the South Walk they had been 
 on stiffly speaking terms. Henchard for the moment, 
 225 p 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 appeared to resent the sympathy j but he suddenly took 
 a careless turn. 
 
 ' Ho, no, no ! — nothing serious, man ! ' he cried with 
 fierce gaiety. ' These things always happen, don't they } 
 I know it has been said that figures have touched me 
 tight lately; but is that anjrthing rare? The case is 
 not so bad as folk make out perhaps. And dammy, a 
 man must be a fool to mind the common hazards of 
 trade ! ' 
 
 But he had to enter the Casterbridge Bank that day 
 for reasons which had never before sent him there — 
 and to sit a long time in the partners' room with a 
 constrained bearing. It was rumoured soon after that 
 much real property, as well as vast stores of produce, 
 in the town and neighbourhood, which had stood in 
 Henchard's name, was actually the property of his 
 bankers. 
 
 Coming down the steps of the bank he encountered 
 Jopp. The gloomy transactions just completed within 
 had added fever to the original sting of Farfrae's 
 sympathy that morning, which Henchard fancied might 
 be satire disguised, so that Jopp met with anything 
 but a bland reception. The latter was in the act of 
 taking off his hat to wipe his forehead, and saying, 
 « A fine hot day,' to an acquaintance. 
 
 ' You can wipe and wipe, and say, " A fine hot day," 
 can ye ! ' cried Henchard in a savage undertone, im- 
 prisoning Jopp between himself and the bank wall. 
 ' If it hadn't been for your blasted advice it might have 
 been a fine day enough ! Why did ye let me go on, 
 hey? — when a word of doubt from you or anybody 
 would have made me think twice I For you can never 
 be sure of weather till 'tis past.' 
 
 'My advice, sir, was to do what you thought 
 best.' 
 
 ' A useful fellow ! And the sooner you help some- 
 body else in that way the better I ' Henchard continued 
 226 
 
THE MAYOR OP CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 his address to Jopp in similar terms till it ended in 
 Jopp's dismissal there and then, Henchard turning 
 upon his heel and leaving him. 
 
 ' You shall-'be sorry for this, sir ; sorry as a man 
 can be ! ' said Jopp, standing pale, and looking after 
 the corn-merchant as he disappeared in the crowd of 
 market-men hard by. 
 
XXVII 
 
 I T was the eve of harvest. Prices being low Farfrae 
 was buying. As was usual, after reckoning too surely 
 on famine weather, the local farmers had flown to the 
 other extreme, and (in Farfrae's opinion) were selling 
 off too recklessly — calculating with just a trifle too much 
 certainty upon an abundant yield. So he went on buy- 
 ing old corn at its comparatively ridiculous price : for 
 the produce of the previous year, though not large, had 
 been of excellent quality. 
 
 When Henchard had squared his affairs in a disas- 
 trous way, and got rid of his burdensome purchases at 
 a monstrous loss, the harvest began. There were three 
 days of excellent weather, and then — ' What if that curst 
 conjuror should be right after all ! ' said Henchard. 
 
 The fact was, that no sooner had the sickles begun 
 to play than the atmosphere suddenly felt as if cress 
 would grow in it without other nourishment. It rubbed 
 people's cheeks like damp flannel when they walked 
 abroad. There was a gusty, high, warm wind ; isolated 
 raindrops starred the window-panes at remote distances : 
 the sunlight would flap out like a quickly opened fan, 
 throw the pattern of the window upon the floor of the 
 room in a milky, colourless shine, and withdraw as 
 suddenly as it had appeared. 
 
 From that day and hour it was dear that there 
 228 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 was not to be so successful an ingathering after all. 
 If Henchard had only waited long enough he might 
 at least have avoided loss, though he had not made a 
 profit. But the momentum of his character knew no 
 patience. At this turn of the scales he remained 
 silent. The movements of his mind seemed to tend to 
 the thought that some power was working against him. 
 
 ' I wonder,' he asked himself with eerie misgiving j 
 ' I wonder if it can be that somebody has been roasting 
 a waxen image of me, or stirring an unholy brew to 
 confound me ! I don't believe in such power ; and 
 yet — what if they should ha' been doing it 1 ' Even 
 he could not admit that the perpetrator, if any, might 
 be Farfrae. These isolated hours of superstition came 
 to Henchard in time of moody depression, when all 
 his practical largeness of view had oozed out of him. 
 
 Meanwhile Donald Farfrae prospered. He had pur- 
 chased in so depressed a market that the present 
 moderate stiffness of prices was sufiScient to pile for 
 him a large heap of gold where a little one had been. 
 
 ' Why, he'll soon be Mayor ! ' Said Henchard. It 
 was indeed hard that the speaker should, of all others, 
 have to follow the triumphal chariot of this man to 
 the Capitol. 
 
 The rivalry of the masters was taken up by the men. 
 
 September night-shades had fallen upon Caster- 
 bridge j the clocks had struck half-past eight, and the 
 moon had risen. The streets of the town were 
 curiously silent for such a comparatively early hour. 
 A sound of jangling horse-bells and heavy wheels 
 passed up the street. These were followed by angry 
 voices outside Lucetta's house, which led her and 
 Elizabeth-Jane to run to the windows, and pull up 
 the blinds. 
 
 The opposite Market House and Town Hall abutted 
 against its next neighbour the Church except in the 
 lower storey, where an arched thoroughfere gave 
 229 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 admittance to a large square called Bull Stake. A 
 stone post rose in the midst, to which the oxen had 
 formerly been tied for baiting with dogs to make them 
 tender before they were killed in the adjoining 
 shambles. In a corner stood the stocks. 
 
 The thoroughfare leading to this spot was now 
 blocked by two four-horse waggons and horses, one 
 laden with hay-trusses, the leaders having already 
 passed each other, and become entangled head to tail. 
 The passage of the vehicles might have been practicable 
 if empty; but built up with hay to the bedroom 
 windows as one was, it was impossible. 
 
 ' You must have done it a' purpose ! ' said Farfrae's 
 waggoners. 'You can hear my horses' bells half-a- 
 mile such a night as this ! ' 
 
 ' If ye'd been minding your business instead of 
 zwailing along in such a gawk-hammer way, you would 
 have zeed me ! ' retorted the wroth representative of 
 Henchard. 
 
 However, according to the strict rule of the road it 
 appeared that Henchard's man was most in the wrong ; 
 he therefore attempted to back into the High Street. 
 In doing this the near hind-wheel rose against the 
 churchyard wall, and the whole mountainous load went 
 over, two of ^h^ four wheels rising in the air, and the 
 legs of the t^i^Aorse. 
 
 Instead ofconsidering how to gather up the load, 
 the two men closed in a fight with their fists. Before 
 the first round was quite over Henchard came upon 
 the spot, somebody having run for him. 
 
 Henchard sent the two men staggering in contrary 
 directions by collaring one with each hand, turned to 
 the horse that was down, and extricated him after some 
 trouble. He then inquired into the circumstances; 
 and seeing the state of his waggon and its load, began 
 hotly rating Farfrae's man. 
 
 Lucetta and Elizabeth-Jane had by this time run 
 230 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 down to the door and opened it, whence they watched 
 the bright heap of new hay lying in the moon's rays, 
 and passed and re-passed by the forms of Henchard 
 and the waggoners. The women had witnessed what 
 nobody else had seen — the origin of the mishap ; and 
 Lucetta spoke. 
 
 ' I saw it all, Mr. Henchard,' she cried ; ' and your 
 man was most in the wrong ! ' 
 
 Henchard paused in his harangue and turned. ' Oh, 
 I didn't notice you, Miss Templeman,' said he. ' My 
 man in the wrong ? Ah, to be sure ; to be sure ! But 
 I beg your pardon notwithstanding. The other's is 
 the empty waggon, and he must have been most to 
 blame for coming on.' 
 
 ' No ; I saw it, too,' said Elizabeth- Jane. ' And I 
 can assure you he couldn't help it.' 
 
 'You can't trust their senses ! ' murmured Henchard's 
 man. 
 
 ' Why not ? ' asked Henchard sharply. 
 
 • Why, you see, sir, all the women side with Farfrae 
 — ^being a damn young dand — of the sort that he is — ■ 
 one that creeps into a maid's heart like the giddying 
 worm into a sheep's brain — making crooked seem 
 straight to their eyes ! ' 
 
 ' But do you know what that lady is you talk about 
 in such a fashion? Do you know that I pay my 
 attentions to her, and have for some time? Just be 
 careful ! ' 
 
 ' Not I. I know nothing, sir, outside eight shillings 
 a week.' 
 
 ' And that Mr. Farfrae is well aware of that ? He's 
 sharp in trade, but he wouldn't do anything so under- 
 hand as what you hint at.' 
 
 Whether because Lucetta heard this low dialogue, 
 
 or not, her white figure disappeared from her doorway 
 
 inward, and the door was shut before Henchard could 
 
 reach it to converse with her further. This disappointed 
 
 231 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 him, for he had been sufEciently disturbed by what the 
 man had said to wish to speak to her more closely. 
 Wliile pausing the old constable came up. 
 
 ' Just see that nobody drives against that hay and 
 waggon to-night, Stubberd,' said the corn-merclmnt. < It 
 must bide till the morning, for all hands are in the 
 fields still. And if any coach or road-waggon wants to 
 come along, tell 'em they must gp round by the back 
 street, and be hanged to 'em. . . . Any case to-morrow 
 up in Hall ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, sir. One in number, sir.' 
 
 < Oh, what's that ? ' 
 
 ' An old flagrant female, sir, swearing and committing 
 a nuisance in a horrible profane manner against the 
 church wall, sir, as if 'twere no more than a pot-house ! 
 That's all, sir.' 
 
 ' Oh. The Mayor's out o' town, isn't be ? ' 
 
 ' He is, sir.' 
 
 ' Very well, then I'll be there. Don't forget to keep 
 an eye on that hay. Good night t'ye,' 
 
 During those moments Henchard had determined to 
 follow up Lucetta, notwithstanding her eliasiveness, and 
 he knocked for admission. 
 
 The answer he received was an expression of Miss 
 Templeman's sorrow at being unable to see him p-gain 
 that evening, because she had an engagement to go out, 
 
 Henchard walked away from the door to the opposite 
 side of the street, and stood by his hay in 4 lonely 
 reverie, the constable having strolled elsewhere, and the . 
 horses being removed. Though the moon was not 
 -bright as yet there were no lamps lighted, and he entered 
 the shadow of one of the projecting jambs which formed 
 the thoroughfare to Bull Stake; here he watched Lucetta'g 
 door. 
 
 Candle-lights were flitting in and out of her bedroorrii 
 and it" was obvious that she was dressing for the ap- 
 pointment, whatever the nature of that might be at such 
 232 
 
THE MAYOR OP CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 an hour. The lights disappeared, the clock struck nine, 
 and almost at the moment Farfrae came round the 
 opposite corner and knocked. That she had been wait- 
 ing just inside for him was certain, for she instantly 
 opened the door herself. They went together by the 
 way of a back lane westward, avoiding the front street ; 
 guessing at last where they were going, he determined 
 to follow. 
 
 The harvest had been so delayed by the capricious 
 weather, that whenever a fine day occurred all sinews 
 were strained to save what could be saved of the damaged 
 crops. On account of the rapid shortening of the days 
 the harvesters worked by moonlight. Hence to-night 
 the wheat-fields abutting on the two sides of the square 
 formed by Casterbridge town were animated by the 
 gathering hands. Their shouts and laughter had reached 
 Henchard at the Market House, while he stood there 
 waiting, and he had little doubt from the turn which 
 Farfrae and Lucetta had taken that they were bound for 
 the spot. 
 
 Nearly the whole town had gone into the fields. The 
 Casterbridge populace still retained the primitive habit 
 of helping one another in time of need ; and thus, 
 though the corn belonged to the farming section of the 
 little community — that inhabiting the Durnover quarter 
 — the remainder was no less interested in the labour of 
 getting it home. 
 
 •Reaching the end of the lane Henchard crossed the 
 shaded avenue on the walls, slid down the green ram- 
 part, and stood amongst the stubble. The ' stitches ' or 
 shocks rose like tents about the yellow expanse, those 
 in the distance becoming lost in the moonlit hazes. 
 
 He had entered at a point removed from the scene 
 of immediate operations ; but two others had entered at 
 that place, and he could see them winding among the 
 shocks. They were pa)dng no regard to the direction 
 of their walk, whose vague serpentining soon began to 
 233 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 bear down towards Henchard. A meeting promised to 
 be awkward, and he therefore stepped into the hollow of 
 the nearest shock, and sat down. 
 
 ' You have my leave,' Lucetta was saying gaily. 
 ' Speak what you like.' 
 
 ' Well, then,' replied Farfrae, with the unmistakable 
 inflection of the lover pure, which Henchard had never 
 heard in full resonance on his lips before, ' you are sure 
 to be much sought after for your position, wealth, talents, 
 and beauty. But will ye resist the temptation to be 
 one of those ladies with lots of admirers — ay — and be 
 content to have only a homely one ? ' 
 
 'And he the speaker?' said she, laughing. 'Very 
 well, sir, what next ? ' 
 
 ' Ah ! I'm afraid that what I feel will make me 
 forget my manners ! ' 
 
 'Then I hope you'll never have any, if you lack 
 them only for that cause.' After some broken words, 
 which Henchard lost, she added, 'Are you sure you 
 won't be jealous ? ' 
 
 Farfrae seemed to assure her that he would not, by 
 taking her hand. 
 
 'You are convinced, Donald, that I love nobody 
 else,' she presently said. ' But I should wish to have 
 my own way in some things.' 
 
 ' In everything ! What special thing did you mean ? ' 
 
 ' If I wished not to live always in Casterbridge, for 
 instance j on finding that I should not be happy here ? ' 
 
 Henchard did not hear the reply; he might have 
 done so and much more, but he did not care to play 
 the eavesdropper. They went on towards the scene of 
 activity, where the sheaves were being handed, a dozen 
 a minute, upon the carts and waggons which carried 
 them away. 
 
 Lucetta inssted on parting from Farfrae when they 
 drew near the workpeople. He had some business 
 with them, and, though he entreated her to wait a few 
 234 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 minutes, she was inexorable, and tripped off homeward 
 alone. 
 
 Henchard thereupon left the field, and followed her. 
 His state of mind was such that on reaching Lucetta's 
 door he did not knock, but opened it, and walked 
 straight up to her sitting-room, expecting to find her 
 there. But the room was empty, and he perceived 
 that in his haste he had somehow passed her on the 
 way hither. He had not to wait many minutes, how- 
 ever, for he soon heard her dress rustling in the hall, 
 followed by a soft closing of the door. In a moment 
 she appeared. 
 
 The light was so low that she did not notice Hen- 
 chard at first. As soon as she saw him she uttered a 
 little cry, almost of terror. 
 
 ' How can you frighten me so ? ' she exclaimed, with 
 a flushed face. ' It is past ten o'clock, and you have 
 no right to surprise me here at such a time.' 
 
 ' I don't know that I've not the right. At any rate, 
 I have the excuse. Is it so necessary that I should stop 
 to think of manners and customs ? ' 
 
 ' It is too late for propriety, and might injure me.' 
 
 ' I called an hour ago, and you would not see me, 
 and I thought you were in when I called now. It is 
 you, Ivucetta, who are doing wrong. It is not proper in 
 'ee to throw me over like this. I have a little matter to 
 remind you of, which you seem to forget.' 
 
 She sank into a chair, and turned pale. 
 
 ' I don't want to hear it — I don't want to hear it ! ' 
 she said through her hands, as he, standing close to the 
 edge of her gown, began to allude to the Jersey days. 
 
 ' But you ought to hear it,' said he. 
 
 ' It came to nothing ; and through you. Then why 
 not leave me the freedom that I gained with such 
 sorrow! Had I found that you proposed to marry 
 me for pure love I might have felt bound now. But 
 I soon learnt that you had planned it out of mere 
 235 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 charity — almost as an unpleasant duty — ^because I had 
 nursed you, and compromised myself, and you thought 
 you must repay me. After that I did not care for you 
 so deeply as before.' 
 
 • 'Why did you come here to find me, then ? ' 
 
 'I thought I ought to marry you for conscience' 
 Sake, since you were free, even though I — did not like 
 you so well.' 
 
 ' And why then don't you think so now ? ' 
 
 She was silent. It was only too obvious that con- 
 science had ruled well enough till new love had inter- 
 vened, and usurped that rule. In feeling this she 
 herself forgot for the moment her partially justifying 
 argument — that having discovered Henchard's infirmi- 
 ties of temper, she had some excuse for not risking 
 her happiness in his hands after once escaping them. 
 The only thing she could say was, ' I was a poor girl 
 then; and now my circumstances have altered, so I 
 am hardly the same person.' 
 
 ' That's true. And it makes the case awkward for 
 me. But I don't want to touch your money. I am 
 quite willing that every penny of your property shall 
 remain to your personal use. Besides, that argument 
 has nothing in it. The man you are thinking of is no 
 better than I.' 
 
 ' If you were as good as he you would leave me 1 ' 
 she cried passionately. 
 
 This unluckily aroused Henchard. 'You cannot 
 in honour refuse me,' he said. ' And unless you give 
 me your promise tlus very night to be my wife, before 
 a witness, I'll reveal our intimacy — in common fairness 
 to other men ! ' 
 
 A look of resignation settled upon her. Henchard 
 saw its bitterness ; and had Lucetta's heart been given 
 to any other man in the world than Farfrae he would 
 probably have had pity upon her at that moment. But 
 the supplanter was the upstart (as Henchard called him) 
 236 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 who had mounted into prominence upon his shoulders, 
 and he could bring himself to show no mercy. 
 
 Without another word she rang the bell, and directed 
 that Elizabeth-Jane should be fetched from her room. 
 The latter appeared, surprised in the midst of her 
 lucubrations. As soon as she saw Henchard she went 
 across to him dutifully. 
 
 ' Elizabeth- Jane,' he said, taking her hand, ' I want 
 you to hear this.' And turning to Lucetta : ' Will you, 
 or will you not, marry me ? ' 
 
 ' If you — wish it, I must agree 1 ' 
 
 ' You say yes ? ' 
 
 ' I do.' 
 
 No sooner had she given the promise than she fell 
 back in a fainting state. 
 
 ' What dreadful thing drives her to say this, father, 
 when it is such a pain to her ? ' asked Elizabeth, kneel- 
 ing down by Lucetta. ' Don't compel her to do any- 
 thing against her will ! I have lived with her, and 
 know that she cannot bear much.' 
 
 ' Don't be a no'thern simpleton ! ' said Henchard 
 drily. 'This promise will leave him free for you, ii 
 you want him, won't it ? ' 
 
 At this Lucetta seemed to wake from her swoon 
 with a start. 
 
 • Him ? Who are you talking about ? ' she said wildly. 
 
 ' Nobody, as far as I am concerned,' said Elizabeth 
 firmly. 
 
 ' Oh — well. Then it is my mistake,' said Henchard. 
 ' But the business is between me and Miss Templenaan. 
 She agrees to be my wife.' 
 
 ' But don't dwell on it just now,' entreated Elizabeth, 
 holding Lucetta's hand. 
 
 ' I don't wish to, if she promises,' said Henchard. 
 
 ' I have, I have,' groaned Lucetta, her limbs hanging 
 like flails, from very misery and faintness. 'Michael, 
 please don't argue it any more ! ' 
 237 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 'I will not,' he said. And taking up his hat he 
 went away. 
 
 Elizabeth-Jane continued to kneel by Lucetta. 
 ' What is this ? ' she said. ' You called my father 
 " Michael " as if you knew him well ? And how is it 
 he has got this power over you, that you promise to 
 marry him against your will? Ah — you have many 
 many secrets from me ! ' 
 
 ' Perhaps you have some from me,' Lucetta mur- 
 mured, with closed eyes, little thinking, however, so 
 unsuspicious was she, that the secret of Elizabeth's 
 heart concerned the young man who had caused this 
 damage to her own. 
 
 ' I would not — do anything against you at all ! ' 
 stammered Elizabeth, keeping in all signs of emotion 
 till she was ready to burst. ' I cannot understand how 
 my father can command you so; I don't sympathize 
 with him in it at all. I'll go to him and ask him to 
 release you.' 
 
 ' No, no,' said Lucetta. ' Let it all be.' 
 
XXVIII 
 
 i HE next morning Henchard went to the Town Hall 
 opposite Lucetta's house, to attend Petty Sessions, 
 being still a magistrate for the year by virtue of his late 
 position as Mayor. In passing he looked up at her 
 windows, but nothing of her was to be seen. 
 
 Henchard, as a Justice of the Peace, may at first 
 seem to be an even greater incongruity than Shallow 
 and Silence themselves. But his rough and ready 
 perceptions, his sledge-hammer directness, had often 
 served him better than nice legal knowledge in de- 
 spatching such simple business as fell to his hands in 
 this Court. To-day, Dr. Chalkfield, the Mayor for the 
 year, being absent, the corn-merchant took the big 
 chair, his eyes still abstractedly stretching out of the 
 window to the ashlar front of High Place Hall. 
 
 There was one case only, and the offender stood 
 before him. She was an old woman of mottled coun- 
 tenance, attired in a shawl of that nameless tertiary 
 hue which comes, but cannot be made — a hue neither 
 tawny, russet, hazel, nor ash; a sticky black bonnet 
 that seemed to have been worn in the country of the 
 Psalmist where the clouds drop fatness ; and an apron 
 that had been white in times so comparatively recent 
 as still to contrast visibly with the rest of her clothes. 
 The steeped aspect of the woman as a whole showed 
 239 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 her tD be no native of the country-side or even of a 
 country-town. 
 
 She looked cursorily at Henchard and the second 
 magistrate, and Henchard looked at her, with a 
 momentary pause, as if she had reminded him indis- 
 tinctly of somebody or something which passed from 
 his mind as quickly as it had come. ' Well, and what 
 has she been doing?' he said, looking down at the 
 charge-sheet. 
 
 ' She is charged, sir, with the offence of disorderly 
 female and nuisance,' v/hispered Stubberd. 
 
 ' Where did she do that ? ' said the other magistrate. 
 
 ' By the church, sir, of all the horrible places in the 
 world ! — I caught her in the act, your worship.' 
 
 ' Stand back then,' said Henchard, ' and let's hear 
 what you've got to say.' 
 
 Stubberd was sworn, the magistrate's clerk dipped 
 his pen, Henchard being no note-taker himself, and the 
 constable began — 
 
 ' Hearing a' illegal noise I went down the street 
 at twenty-five minutes past eleven p.m. on the night 
 of the fifth instinct, Hannah Dominy. When I 
 had ' 
 
 ' Don't go on so fast, Stubberd,' said the clerk. 
 
 The constable waited, with his eyes on the clerk's 
 pen, till the latter stopped scratching, and said, 'yes.' 
 Stubberd continued : ' When I had proceeded to the 
 spot, I saw defendant at another spot, namely, the 
 gutter.' He paused, watching the point of the clerk's 
 pen again. 
 
 ' Gutter, yes, Stubberd.' 
 
 ' Spot measuring twelve feet nine inches or there- 
 abouts, from where I ' Still careful not to outrun 
 
 the clerk's penmanship, Stubberd pulled up again ; for 
 having got his evidence by heart, it was immaterial to 
 him whereabouts he broke off. 
 
 ' I object to that,' spoke up the old woman, ' " spot 
 240 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 measuring twelve feet nine or thereabouts from where 
 I," is not good evidence ! ' 
 
 The magistrates consulted, and the second one said 
 that the bench was of opinion that twelve feet nine 
 inches from a tnan on his oath was admissible evidence. 
 
 Stubberd, with a suppressed gaze of victorious rec- 
 titude at" the old woman, continued : ' Was standing 
 myself. She was wambling about quite dangerous to 
 the thoroughfare, and when I approached to draw near, 
 she insulted me.' 
 
 ' " Insulted me." . . . Yes, what did she say ? ' 
 
 ' She said, " Put away that dee lantern," she says.' 
 
 •Yes.' 
 
 « Says she, " Dost hear, old turmit-head ? Put away 
 that dee lantern. I have floored fellows a dee sight 
 finer-looking than a dee fool like thee, you son of a 
 bee, dee me if I haint," she says.' 
 
 ' I object to that conversation ! ' interposed the old 
 woman. ' I was not capable enough to hear what I said, 
 and what is said out of my hearing is not evidence.' 
 
 There was another stoppage for consultation, a book 
 was referred to, and finally Stubberd was allowed to 
 go on again. The truth was that the old woman had 
 appeared in court so many more times than the magis- 
 trates themselves, that they were obliged to keep a 
 sharp look-out upon their procedure. However, when 
 Stubberd had rambled on a little further, Henchard 
 broke out impatiently, ' Come — we don't want to hear 
 any more of them cust D's and B's ! Say the words 
 out Hke a man, and don't be so modest, Stubberd; 
 or else leave it alone ! ' Turning to the woman, ' Now 
 then, have you any questions to ask him, or anything 
 to say ? ' 
 
 'Yes,' she replied with a twinkle in her eyej and 
 the clerk dipped his pen. 
 
 ' Twenty years ago I was a selling of furmity in a 
 
 tent at Weydon Fair ' 
 
 341 Q 
 
\' 
 
 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 « " Twenty years ago " — well, that's beginning at the 
 beginning ; suppose you go back to the Creation ! ' 
 said the clerk, not without satire. 
 
 But Hehchard stared, and quite forgot what was 
 evidence and what was not. 
 
 ' A man and a woman with a little child came into 
 my tent,' the woman continued. ' They sat down 
 and had a basin apiece. Ah, Lord's my life ! I was of 
 a more respectable station in the world then than I am 
 now, being a land smuggler in a large way of business ; 
 and I used to season my furmity with rum for them 
 who asked for't. I did it for the man; and then he 
 had more and more ; till at last he quarrelled with his 
 wife, and offered to sell her to the highest bidder. A 
 sailor came in and bid five guineas, and paid the 
 money, and led her away. And the man who sold his 
 wife in that fashion is the man sitting there in the 
 great big chair.' The speaker concluded by nodding 
 her head at Henchard, and folding her arms. 
 
 Everybody looked at Henchard. His face seemed 
 strange, and in tint as if it had been powdered over 
 with ashes. 'We don't want to hear your hfe and 
 adventures,' said the second magistrate sharply, filling 
 the pause which followed. ' You've been asked if 
 you've anything to say bearing on the case.' 
 
 •That bears on the case. It proves that he's no 
 better than I, and has no right to sit there in judgment 
 upon me.' 
 
 ' 'Tis a concocted story,' said the derk. ' So hold 
 your tongue ! ' 
 
 ' No — 'tis true.' The words came from Henchard. 
 ♦ 'Tis as true as the light,' he said slowly. ' And upon 
 my soul, it does prove that I'm no better than she! 
 And to keep out of any temptation to treat her hard 
 for her revenge, I'll leave her to you.' 
 
 The sensation in the court was indescribably great. 
 Henchard left the chair, and came out, passing through 
 242 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 a group of people on the steps and outside that was 
 much larger than usual; for it seemed that the old 
 furmity dealer had mysteriously hinted to the denizens 
 of the lane in which she had been lodging since her 
 arrival, that she knew a queer thing or two about their 
 great local man Mr. Henchard, if she chose to tell it. 
 This had brought them hither. 
 
 'Why are there so many idlers round the Town 
 Hall to-day? said Lucetta to her servant when the 
 case was over. She had risen late, and had just looked 
 out of the window. < 
 
 ' Oh, please, ma'am, 'tis this larry about Mr. Henchard. 
 A woman has proved that before he became a gentleman 
 he sold his wife for five guineas in a booth at a fair.' 
 
 In all the accounts which Henchard had given her 
 of the separation from his wife Susan for so many 
 years, of his belief in her death, and so on, he had 
 never clearly explained the actual and immediate cause 
 of that separation. The story she now heard for the 
 first time. 
 
 A gradual misery overspread Lucetta's face as she 
 dwelt upon the promise wrung from her the night 
 before. At bottom, then, Henchard was this. How 
 terrible a contingency for a woman who should commit 
 herself to his care. 
 
 During the day she went out to the Ring, and to 
 other places, not coming in till nearly dusk. As soon 
 as she saw Elizabeth- Jane after her return indoors she 
 told her that she had resolved to go away from home to 
 the seaside for a few days — to Port-Bredy ; Casterbridge 
 was so gloomy. 
 
 Elizabeth, seeing that she looked wan and disturbed, 
 encouraged her in the idea, thinking a change would 
 afford her relief. She could not help suspecting that 
 the gloom which seemed to have come over Casterbridge 
 in Lucetta's eyes might be partially owing to the fact 
 that Farfrae was away from home. 
 243 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 Elizabeth saw her friend depart for Port-Bredy, and 
 took charge of High Place Hall till her return. After 
 two or three days of solitude and incessant rain Hen- 
 chard called at the house. He seemed disappointed to 
 hear of Lucetta's absence, and though he nodded with 
 outward indifference, he went away handling his beard 
 with a nettled mien. 
 
 The next day he called again. ' Is she come now ? ' 
 he asked. 
 
 ■ Yes. She returned this morning,' replied his step- 
 daughter. ' But she is not indoors. She has gone for 
 a walk along the turnpike-road to Port-Bredy. She will 
 be home by dusk.' 
 
 After a few words, which only served to reveal his 
 restless impatience, he left the house again. 
 
XXIX 
 
 A.T this hour Lucetta was bounding along the road to 
 Port-Bredy just as Elizabeth had announced. That she 
 had chosen for her afternoon walk the road along which 
 she had returned to Casterbridge three hours earlier in 
 a carriage was curious — if anything should be called 
 curious in concatenations of phenomena wherein each 
 is known to have its accounting cause. It was the day 
 of the chief market — Saturday^and Farfrae for once 
 had been missed from his corn-stand in the dealers' 
 room. Nevertheless, it was known that he would be 
 home that night — ' for Sunday,' as Casterbridge ex- 
 pressed it. 
 
 Lucetta, in continuing her walk, had at length reached 
 the end of the ranked trees which bordered the highway 
 in this and other directions out of the town. This end 
 marked a mile ; and here she stopped. 
 
 The spot was a vale between two gentle acclivities, 
 and the road, still adhering to its Roman foundation, 
 stretched onward straight as a surveyor's line till lost 
 to sight on the most distant ridge. There was neither 
 hedge nor tree in the prospect now, the road clinging 
 to the stubbly expanse of corn-land like a stripe to an 
 undulating garment. Near her was a barn — the single 
 building of any Tsind within her horizon. 
 
 She strained her eyes up the lessening road, but 
 245 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 nothing appeared thereon — not so much as a speck. 
 She sighed one word — ' Donald ! ' and turned her face 
 to the town for retreat. 
 
 Here the case was different. A single figure was 
 approaching her — Elizabeth-Jane's. 
 
 Lucetta, in spite of her loneliness, seemed a little 
 vexed. Elizabeth's face, as soon as she recognized her 
 friend, shaped itself into affectionate lines while yet 
 beyond speaking distance. ' I suddenly thought I would 
 come and meet you,' she said, smiling. 
 
 Lucetta's reply was taken from her lips by an un- 
 expected diversion. A by-road on her right hand de- 
 scended from the fields into the highway at the point 
 where she stood, and down the track a bull was ram- 
 bling uncertainly towards her and EUzabeth, who, facing 
 the other way, did not observe him. 
 
 In the latter quarter of each year cattle were at once 
 the mainstay and the terror of families about Caster- 
 bridge and its neighbourhood, where breeding was 
 carried on with Abrahamic success. The head of stock 
 driven into and out of the town at this season to be sold 
 by the local auctioneer was very large; and all these 
 horned beasts, in travelling to and fro, sent women and 
 children to shelter as nothing else could do. In the 
 main the animals would have walked along quietly 
 enough; but the Casterbridge tradition was that to 
 drive stock it was indispensable that hideous cries, 
 coupled with Yahoo antics and gestures, should be 
 used, large sticks flourished, stray dogs called in, and 
 in general everything done that was likely to infuriate 
 the viciously disposed and terrify the mild. Nothing 
 was commoner than for a householder, on going out 
 of his parlour, to find his hall or passage full of little 
 children, nursemaids, aged women, or a ladies' school, 
 who apologized for their presence by saying, 'A bull 
 passing down street from the sale.' 
 
 Lucetta and Elizabeth regarded the animal in doubt, 
 246 
 
The mayor of casterbridgE 
 
 he meanwhile drawing vaguely towards them. It was 
 a large specimen of the breed, in colour rich dun, 
 though disfigured at present by splotches of mud about 
 his seamy sides. His horns were thick and tipped with 
 brass ; his two nostrils like the Thames Tunnel as seen 
 in the perspective toys of yore. Between them, through 
 the gristle of his nose, was a stout copper ring, welded 
 on, and irremovable as Gurth's collar of brass. To 
 the ring was attached an ash staff about a yard long, 
 which the bull with the motions of his head flung about 
 like a flail. 
 
 It was not till they observed this dangling stick that 
 the young women were really alarmed ; for it revealed 
 to them that the bull was an old one, too savage to be 
 driven, which had in some way escaped, the staff being 
 the means by which the drover controlled him and 
 kept his horns at arms' length. 
 
 They looked round for some shelter or hiding-place, 
 and thought of the barn hard by. As long as they had 
 kept their eyes on the bull he had shown some defer- 
 ence in his manner of approach; but no sooner did 
 they turn their backs to seek the barn than he tossed 
 his head, and decided to thoroughly terrify them. This 
 caused the two helpless girls to run wildly, whereupon 
 the bull advanced in a deliberate charge. 
 
 The barn stood behind a green slimy pond, and it 
 was closed save as to one of the usual pair of doors 
 facing them, which had been propped open by a hurdle- 
 stake, and for this opening they made. The interior 
 had been cleared by a recent bout of threshing, except 
 at one end, where there was a stack of dry clover. 
 Elizabeth- Jane took in the situation. ' We must climb 
 up there,' she said. 
 
 But before they had even approached it they heard 
 
 the bull scampering through the pond without, and in 
 
 a second he dashed into the barn, knocking down 
 
 the hurdle-stake in passing; the heavy door slammed 
 
 247 
 
tHE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGfi 
 
 behind him ; and all three were imprisoned in the bam 
 together. The mistaken creature saw them, and stalked 
 towards the end of the barn into which they had fled. 
 The girls doubled so adroitly that their pursuer was 
 against the wall when the fugitives were already half way 
 to the other end. By the time that his length would 
 allow him to turn and follow them thither they had 
 crossed over ; thus the pursuit went on, the hot air from 
 his nostrils blowing over them like a sirocco, and not a 
 moment being attainable by Elizabeth or Lucetta in 
 which to open the door. What might have happened 
 had their situation continued cannot be said ; but in a 
 a few moments a rattling of the door distracted their 
 adversary's attention, and a man appeared. He ran 
 forward towards the leading-staff, seized it, and wrenched 
 the animal's head as if he would snap it off. The wrench 
 was in reality so violent that the thick neck seemed to 
 have lost its stiffness and to become half paralysed, whilst 
 the nose dropped blood. The premeditated human 
 contrivance of the nose-ring was too cunning for impul- 
 sive brute force, and the creature flinched. 
 
 The man was seen in the partial gloom to be large- 
 framed and unhesitating. He led the bull to the door, 
 and the light revealed Henchard. He made the bull 
 fast without, and re-entered to the succour of Lucetta ; 
 for he had not perceived EUzabeth, who had climbed 
 on to the clover-heap. Lucetta was hysterical, and 
 Henchard took her in his arms and carried her to the 
 door. 
 
 ' You — ^have saved me ! ' she cried, as soon as she 
 could speak. 
 
 ' I have returned your kindness,' he responded 
 tenderly. ' You once saved me.' 
 
 'How — comes it to be you — you?' she asked, not 
 heeding his reply. 
 
 ' I came out here to look for you. I have been 
 wanting to tell you something these two or three days; 
 248 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 but you have been away, and I could not. Perhaps 
 you cannot talk now ? ' 
 
 ' Oh — no ! Where is Elizabeth ? ' 
 
 ' Here am I ! ' cried the missing one cheerfully ; and 
 without waiting for the ladder to be placed she slid 
 down the face of the clover-stack to the floor. 
 
 Henchard supporting Lucetta on one side, and 
 Elizabeth- Jane on the other, they went slowly along 
 the rising road. They had reached the top and were 
 descending again when Lucetta, now much recovered, 
 recollected that she had dropped her muff in the barn. 
 
 ' I'll run back,' said Elizabeth- Jane. ■ I don't mind 
 it at all, as I am not tired as you are.' She thereupon 
 hastened down again to the barn, the others pursuing 
 their way. 
 
 Elizabeth soon found the muff, such an article being 
 by no means small at that time. Coming out she paused 
 to look for a moment at the bull, now rather to be pitied 
 with his bleeding nose, having perhaps rather intended 
 a practical yoke than a murder. Henchard had secured 
 him by jamming the staff into the hinge of the barn- 
 door, and wedging it there with a stake. At length she 
 turned to hasten onward, after her contemplation, when 
 she saw a green-and-black gig approaching from the 
 contrary direction, the vehicle being driven by Farfrae. 
 
 His presence here seemed to explain Lucetta's walk 
 that way. Donald saw her, drew up, and was hastily 
 made acquainted with what had occurred. At Eliza- 
 beth-Jane mentioning how greatly Lucetta had been 
 jeopardized, he exhibited an agitation different in kind 
 no less than in intensity from any she had seen in 
 him before. He became so absorbed in the circum- 
 stances that he scarcely had sufficient knowledge of 
 what he was doing to think of helping her up beside 
 him. 
 
 'She has gone on with Mr. Henchard, you say?' 
 he inquired at last. 
 
 249, 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 •Yes. He is taking her home. They are almost 
 there by this time.' 
 
 ' And you are sure she can get home ? * 
 
 Elizabeth- Jane was quite sure. 
 
 « Your stepfather saved her ? ' 
 
 « Entirely.' 
 
 Farfrae checked his horse's pace ; she guessed why. 
 He was thinking that it would be best not to intrude 
 on the other two just now. Henchard had saved 
 Lucetta, and to provoke a possible exhibition of her 
 deeper affection for himself was as ungenerous as it 
 was unwise. 
 
 The immediate subject of their talk being exhausted, 
 she felt more embarrassed at sitting thus beside her 
 past lover ; but soon the two figures of the others were 
 visible at the entrance to the town. The face of the 
 woman was frequently turned back, but Farfrae did 
 not whip on the horse. When these reached the town 
 walls Henchard and his companion had disappeared 
 down the street; Farfrae set down Elizabeth- Jane, 
 on her expressing a particular wish to alight there, 
 and drove round to the stables at the back of his 
 lodgings. 
 
 On this account he entered the house through his 
 garden, and going up to his apartments found them in 
 a particularly disturbed state, his boxes being hauled 
 out upon the landing, and his bookcase standing in 
 three pieces. These phenomena, however, seemed to 
 cause him not the least surprise. ' When will every- 
 thing be sent up ? ' he said to the mistress of the house, 
 who was superintending. 
 
 ' I am afraid not before eight, sir,' said she. ' You 
 see we wasn't aware till this morning that you were 
 going to move, or we could have been forwarder.' 
 
 ' A — well, never mind, never mind 1 ' said Farfrae 
 cheerily. ' Eight o'clock will do well enough if it be 
 not later. Now, don't ye be standing here talking, ox 
 250 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 it will be twelve, I doubt.' Thus speaking he went out 
 by the front door and up the street. 
 
 During this interval Henchard and Lucetta had 
 had experiences of a different kind. After Elizabeth's 
 departure for the muff, the corn-merchant opened him- 
 self frankly, holding her hand within his arm, though 
 she would fain have withdrawn it. ' Dear Lucetta, I 
 have been very, very anxious to see you these two or 
 three days,' he said ; ' ever since I saw you last ! I 
 have thought over the way I got your promise that 
 night. You said to me, ' If I were a man I should 
 not insist.' That cut me deep. I felt that there was 
 some truth in it. I don't want to make you wretched ; 
 and to marry me just now would do that as nothing 
 else could — ^it is but too plain. Therefore I agree to 
 an indefinite engagement — to put off all thought of 
 marriage for a year or two.' 
 
 ' But — but — can I do nothing of a different kind ? ' 
 said Lucetta. ' I am full of gratitude to you — you have 
 saved my life. And your care of me is like coals of fire 
 on my head ! I am a monied person now. Surely I 
 can do something in return for your goodness — some- 
 thing practical ? ' 
 
 Henchard remained in thought. He had evidently 
 not expected this. ' There is one thing you might do, 
 Lucetta,' he said. ' But not exactly of that kind.' 
 
 ' Then of what kind is it ? ' she asked with renewed 
 misgiving. 
 
 ' I must tell you a secret to ask it. You may 
 
 have heard that I have been unlucky this year ? I did 
 what I have never done before — speculated rashly; and 
 I lost. That's just put me in a strait.' 
 
 ' And you would wish me to advance some money ? ' 
 
 ' No, no ! ' said Henchard, almost in anger. ' I'm 
 not the man to sponge on a woman, even though she 
 may be so nearly my own as you. No I.i'cetta ; what 
 you can do is this ; and it would save me. My great 
 
 2Sl 
 
\ 
 
 THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 creditor is Grower, and it is at his hands I shall suffer 
 if at anybody's ; while a fortnight's forbearance on his 
 part would be enough to allow me to pull through. 
 This may be got out of him in one way — that you 
 would let it be known to him that you are my intended 
 — that we are to be quietly married in the next fort- 
 night. Now stop, you haven't heard all ! Let 
 
 him have this story, without, of course, any prejudice 
 to the fact that the actual engagement between us is 
 to be a long one. Nobody else need know : you could 
 go with me to Mr. Grower and just let me speak to 
 ye before him as if we were on such terms. We'll 
 ask him to keep it secret. He will willingly wait then. 
 At the fortnight's end I shall be able to face him j and 
 I can coolly tell him all is postponed between us for a 
 j year or two. Not a soul in the town need know how 
 
 \ you've helped me. Since you wish to be of use, there's 
 
 your way.' 
 
 It being now what the people called the • pinking in ' 
 of the day, that is, the quarter-hour just before dusk, 
 he did not at first observe the result of his own words 
 upon her. 
 
 ' If it were anything else,' she began, and the dryness 
 of her lips was represented in her voice. 
 
 ' But it is such a little thing ! ' he said, with a deep 
 reproach. ' Less than you have offered — ^just the be- 
 ginning of what you have so lately promised ! I could 
 have told him as much myself, but he would not have 
 believed me.' 
 
 • It is not because I won't — it is because I absolutely 
 can't,' she said, with rising distress. 
 
 ' You are provoking 1 ' he burst out. ' It is enough 
 to make me force you to carry out at once what you 
 have promised.' 
 
 ' I cannot ! ' she insisted desperately. 
 
 •Why? When I have only within these few minutes re- 
 leased you from your promise to do the thing off-hand.' 
 353 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 ' Because he was a witness 1 ' 
 
 ' Witness ? Of what ? ' 
 
 • If I must tell you . Don't, don't upbraid me ! ' 
 
 • Well ! Let's hear what you mean ? ' 
 
 • Witness of my marriage — Mr. Grower was I ' 
 ' Marriage ? ' 
 
 ' Yes. With Mr. Farfrae. O Michael ! I am already 
 his wife. We were married this week at Port-Bredy. 
 There were reasons against our doing it here. Mr. 
 Grower was a witness because he happened to be at 
 Port-Bredy at the time.' 
 
 Henchard stood as if idiotized. She was so alarmed 
 at his silence that she murmured something about 
 lending him sufficient money to tide over the perilous 
 fortnight. 
 
 'Married him?' said Henchard at length. «My 
 good — what, married him whilst — bound to marry 
 me?' 
 
 ' It was like this,' she explained, with tears in her 
 eyes and quavers in her voice ; ' don't — don't be cruel ! 
 I loved him so much, and I thought you might tell 
 him of the past — and that grieved me! And then, 
 when I had promised you, I learnt of the rumour that 
 you had — sold your iirst wife at a fair, like a horse or 
 cow! How could I keep my promise after hearing 
 that? I could not risk myself in your hands; it 
 would have been letting myself down to take your 
 name after such a scandal. But I knew I should lose 
 Donald if I did not secure him at once — for you would 
 carry out your threat of telling him of our former 
 acquaintance, as long as there was a chance of keeping 
 me for yourself by doing so. But you will not do so 
 now, will you, Michael ; for it is too late to separate us ? ' 
 
 The notes of St. Peter's bells in full peal had been 
 wafted to them while he spoke; and now the genial 
 thumping of the town band, renowned for its unstinted 
 use of the drum-stick, throbbed down the street. 
 253 
 
The MAVoR OP CASTERfiRIDGE 
 
 ' Then this racket they are making is on account of 
 it, I suppose ? ' said he. 
 
 'Yes — I think he has told them, or else Mr. Grower i, 
 has. . . . May I leave ;-you now? My — he was de- 
 tained at Port-Bredy totday, and sent me on a few 
 hours before him.' 
 
 ' Then it is Ais wife's life I have saved this afternoon.' 
 
 ' Yes — and he will be for ever grateful to you.' 
 
 ' I am much obliged to him. . . . Oh, you false 
 woman ! ' burst from Henchard. ' You promised me ! ' 
 
 ' Yes, yes ! But it was under compulsion, and I did 
 not know all your past ' 
 
 ' And now I've a mind to punish you as you deserve ! 
 One word to this bran-new husband of how you courted 
 me, and your precious happiness is blown to atoms ! ' 
 
 ' Michael — pity me, and be generous ! ' 
 
 ' You don't deserve pity ! You did ; but you don't 
 now.' 
 
 ' I'll help you to pay off your debt.' 
 
 ' A pensioner of Farfrae's wife — not I ! Don't stay 
 with me longer — I shall say something worse. Go 
 home ! ' 
 
 She disappeared under the trees of the south walk 
 as the band came round the corner, awaking the echoes 
 of every stock and stone in celebration of her happiness. 
 Lucetta took no heed, but ran up the back street and 
 reached her own home unperceived. 
 
XXX 
 
 FaRFRAE'S words to his landlady had referred to 
 the removal of his boxes and other effects from his late 
 lodgings to Lucetta's house. The work was not heavy, 
 but it had been much hindered on account of the fre- 
 quent pauses necessitated by exclamations of surprise 
 at the event, of which the good woman had been briefly 
 informed by letter a few hours earlier. 
 
 At the last moment of leaving Port-Bredy, Farfrae, 
 like John Gilpin, had been detained by important cus- 
 tomers, whom, even in the exceptional circumstances, 
 he was not the man to neglect. Moreover, there was 
 a convenience in Lucetta arriving first at her house. 
 Nobody there as yet knew what had happened; and 
 she was best in a position to break the news to the 
 inmates, and give directions for her husband's accom- 
 modation. He had, therefore, sent on his two-days' 
 bride in a hired brougham, whilst he went across the 
 country to a certain group of wheat and barley ricks 
 a few miles off, telling her the hour at which he might 
 be expected the same evening. This accounted for 
 her trotting out to meet him after their separation of 
 four hours. 
 
 By a strenuous effort, after leaving Henchard, she 
 calmed herself in readiness to receive Donald at High 
 Place Hall when he came on from his lodgings. One 
 25s 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 supreme fact empowered her to this, the sense that, 
 come what would, she had secured him. Half-an-hour 
 after her arrival he walked in, and she met him with 
 a relieved gladness, which a month's perilous absence 
 could not have intensified. 
 
 ' There is one thing I have not done ; and yet it is 
 important,' she said earnestly, when she had finished 
 talking about the adventure with the buU. ' That is, 
 broken the news of our marriage to my dear EHzabeth- 
 Jane.' 
 
 ' Ah, and you have not ? ' he said thoughtfully. ' I 
 gave her a lift from the barn homewards; but I did 
 not tell her either ; for I thought she might have heard 
 of it in the town, and was keeping back her congratula- 
 tions from shjmess, and aU that.' 
 
 ' She can hardly have heard of it. But I'll find out ; 
 I'll go to her now. And, Donald, you don't mind her 
 living on with me just the same as before ? She is so 
 quiet and unassuming.' 
 
 'Oh no, indeed I don't,' Farfrae answered with, 
 perhaps, a faint awkwardness. 'But I wonder if she 
 would care to ? ' 
 
 ' Oh yes ! ' said Lucetta eagerly. ' I am sure she 
 would like to. Besides, poor thing, she has no other 
 home.' 
 
 Farfrae looked at her, and saw that she did not sus- 
 pect the secret of her more reserved friend. He liked 
 her all the better for the blindness. ' Arrange as you 
 like with her, by all means,' he said. 'It is I who 
 have come to your house, not you to mine.' 
 
 ' I'll run and speak to her,' said Lucetta. 
 
 When she got upstairs to Elizabeth-Jane's room, 
 the latter had taken off" her out-door things, and was 
 resting over a book. Lucetta found in a moment that 
 she had not yet learnt the news. 
 
 'I did not come down to you. Miss Templeman,' 
 she said simply. ' I was coming to ask if you had 
 256 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 quite recovered from your fright, but I found you 
 had a visitor. AVhat are the bells ringing for, I 
 wonder? And the band, too, is playing. Somebody 
 must be married; or else they are practising for 
 Christmas.' 
 
 Lucetta uttered a vague 'Yes,' and seating herself 
 by the other young woman, looked musingly at her. 
 'What a lonely creature you are,' she presently said; 
 ' never knowing what's going on, or what people are 
 talking about everywhere with keen interest. You 
 should get out, and gossip about as other women do, 
 and then you wouldn't be obliged to ask me a ques- 
 tion of that kind. Well, now, I have something to 
 tell you.' 
 
 Elizabeth- Jane said she was so glad, and made herself 
 receptive. 
 
 ' I must go rather a long way back,' said Lucetta, 
 the difficulty of explaining herself satisfactorily to the 
 pondering one beside her growing more apparent at 
 each syllable. ' You remember that trying case of con- 
 science I told you of some time ago — about the first 
 lover, and the second lover ? ' She let out in jerky 
 phrases a leading word or two of the story she had 
 told. 
 
 ' Oh yes — I remember ; the story of your friend' 
 said Elizabeth drily, regarding the irises of Lucetta's 
 eyes as though to catch their exact shade. 'The two 
 lovers — the old and the new : how she wanted to marry 
 the second, but felt she ought to marry the first; so 
 that the good she would have done she did not, and 
 the evil that she would not, that she did — exactly like 
 the Apostle Paul.' 
 
 ' Oh no ; she didn't do evil exactly ! ' said Lucetta 
 hastily. 
 
 ' But you said that she — or as I may say you ' — 
 answered Elizabeth, dropping the mask, ' were in honour 
 and conscience bound to marry the first ? ' 
 
 257 R 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 Lucetta's blush at being seen through came and 
 went again before she replied anxiously, ' You will never 
 breathe this, will you, Elizabeth- Jane ? ' 
 
 ' Certainly not, if you say not.' 
 
 ' Then I will tell you that the case is more compli- 
 cated — ^worse, in fact — than it seemed in my story. I 
 and the first man were thrown together in a strange 
 way, and felt that we ought to be united, as the world 
 had talked of us. He was a widower, as he supposed. 
 He had not heard of his first wife for many years. But 
 the wife returned, and we parted. She is now dead; 
 and the husband comes paying me addresses again, 
 saying, " Now we'll complete our purpose." But, Eliza- 
 beth-Jane, all this amounts to a new courtship of me 
 by him ; I was absolved from all vows by the return of 
 the other woman.' 
 
 ' Have you not lately renewed your promise ? ' said 
 the younger with quiet surmise. She had divined Man 
 Number One. 
 
 ' That was wrung from me by a threat.' 
 
 ' Yes, it was. But I think when any one gets 
 coupled up with a man in the past so unfortunately as 
 you have done, she ought to become his wife, if she 
 can, even if she were not the sinning party.' 
 
 Lucetta's countenance lost its sparkle. ' He turned 
 out to be a man I should be afraid to marry,' she 
 pleaded. ' Really afraid ! And it was not till after my 
 renewed promise that I knew it.' 
 
 ' Then there is only one course left to honesty. You 
 must remain a single woman.' 
 
 ' But think again ! Do consider ' 
 
 ' I am certain,' interrupted her companion hardily. 
 ' I have guessed very well who the man is. My father j 
 and I say it is him or nobody for you.' 
 
 Any suspicion of impropriety was to Elizabeth- Jane 
 like a red rag to a bull. Her craving for correctness 
 of procedure was, indeed, almost vicious. Owing to 
 258 
 
The mayor of casterbridge 
 
 her early troubles with regard to her mother, a sem- 
 blance of irregularity had terrors for her which those 
 ■whose names are safeguarded from suspicion know 
 nothing of. 'You ought to marry Mr. Henchard or 
 nobody — certainly not another man ! ' she went on 
 with a quivering lip, in whose movement two passions 
 shared. 
 
 ' I don't admit that ! ' said Lucetta passionately. 
 
 ' Admit it or not, it is true ! ' 
 
 Lucetta covered her eyes with her right hand, as 
 if she could plead no more, holding out her left to 
 Elizabeth-Jane. 
 
 ' Why, you have married him ! ' cried the latter, 
 jumping up with pleasure after a glance at Lucetta's 
 fingers. ' When did you do it ? Why did you not 
 tell me, instead of teasing me like this ? How very 
 honourable of you ! He did treat my mother badly 
 once, it seems, in a moment of intoxication. And it 
 is true that he is stern sometimes. But you will 
 rule him entirely, I am sure, with your beauty and 
 wealth and accomplishments. You are the woman 
 he will adore, and we shall all three be happy together 
 now! ' 
 
 ' Oh, my Elizabeth- Jane ! ' cried Lucetta distress- 
 fully. ' 'Tis somebody else that I have married ! I 
 was so desperate — so afraid of being forced to anything 
 else — so afraid of revelations that would quench his 
 love for me, that I resolved to do it off-hand, come 
 what might, and purchase a week of happiness at any 
 cost!' 
 
 < You — have — married Mr. Farfrae ! ' cried Elizabeth- 
 Jane, in Nathan tones. ( 
 
 Lucetta bowed. She had recovered herself. 
 
 •The bells are ringing on that account,' she said. 
 ' My husband is downstairs. He will live here till a 
 more suitable house is ready for us; and I have told 
 him that I want you to stay with me just as before.' 
 259 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 « Let me think of it alone,' the girl quickly replied, 
 corking up the turmoil of her feeling with grand 
 control, 
 
 •You shall. I am sure we shall be happy to- 
 gether.' 
 
 Lucetta departed to join Donald below, a vague 
 uneasiness floating over her joy at seeing him quite at 
 home there. Not on account of her friend Elizabeth 
 did she feel it : for of the bearings of Elizabeth- Jane's 
 emotions she had not the least suspicion ; but on 
 Henchard's alone. 
 
 Now the instant decision of Susan Henchard's 
 daughter was to dwell in that house no more. Apart 
 from her estimate of the propriety of Lucetta's conduct, 
 Farfrae had been so nearly her avowed lover that she 
 felt she could not abide there. 
 
 It was still early in the evening when she hastily 
 put on her things and went out. In a few minutes, 
 knowing the ground, she had found a suitable lodging, 
 and arranged to enter it that night. Returning and 
 entering noiselessly she took off her pretty dress and 
 arrayed herself in a plain one, packing up the other 
 to keep as her best; for she would have to be very 
 economical now. She wrote a note to leave for Lucetta, 
 who was closely shut up in the drawing-room with 
 Farfrae; and then Elizabeth- Jane called a man with 
 a wheelbarrow; and seeing her boxes put into it she 
 trotted off down the street to her rooms. They were 
 in the street in which Henchard lived, and almost 
 opposite his door. 
 
 Here she sat down and considered the means of 
 subsistence. The little annual sum settled on her by 
 her stepfather would keep body and soul together. A 
 wonderful skill in netting of all sorts — acquired in child- 
 hood by making_seijies.in Newson's home — might serve 
 her in good stead ; and her studies, which were pursued 
 unremittingly, might serve her in still better. 
 260 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 By this time the marriage that had taken place was 
 known throughout Casterbridge ; had been discussed 
 noisily on kerbstones, confidentially behind counters, 
 and jovially at the Three Mariners. Whether Farfrae 
 would sell his business and set up for a gentleman on 
 his wife's money, or whether he would show indepen- 
 dence enough to stick to his trade in spite of his brilliant 
 alliano2, was a great point of interest. 
 
XXXI 
 
 i HE letort of the furmity-woman Before the magis- 
 trates had spread ; and in four-and-twenty hours there 
 was not a person in Casterbridge who remained unac- 
 quainted with the story of Henchard's mad. freak at 
 Weydon Priors Fair, long years before. The amends he 
 had made in after hfe were lost sight of in the dramatic 
 glare of the original act. Had the incident been well- 
 known of old and always, it might by this time have 
 grown to be lightly regarded as the rather tall wild oat, 
 but well-nigh the single one, of a young man with whom 
 the steady and mature (if somewhat headstrong) burgher 
 of to-day had scarcely a point in common. But the act 
 having lain as dead and buried ever since, the interspace 
 of years was unperceived ; and the black spot of his 
 youth wore the aspect of a recent crime. 
 
 Small as the court incident had been in itself, it 
 formed the edge or turn in the incline of Henchard's 
 ' fortunes. Qfl. thfit rlny nlmmt nt.ihnt miniitpjip 
 passed theridge of pr.QS.p .erity and honour, and began 
 to ^ esceruTrapidly on the other side. It was strange 
 how soon hesan1ri«-cstESmr Socially he had received 
 a startling fillip downwards ; and, having already lost 
 commercial buoyancy from rash transactions, the velocity 
 of his descent in both aspects became accelerated every 
 hour. 
 
 263 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 He now gazed more at the pavements, and less at 
 the house-fronts, when he walked about ; more at the 
 feet and leggings of men, and less into the pupils of 
 their eyes with the blazing regard which formerly had 
 made them blink. 
 
 New events combined to undo him. It had been 
 a bad year for others besides himself, and the heavy 
 failure of a debtor whom he had trusted generously 
 completed the overthrow of his tottering credit. And 
 now, in his desperation, he failed to preserve that strict 
 correspondence between bulk and sample, which is the 
 soul of commerce in grain. For this, one of his men 
 was mainly to blame; that worthy, in his great un- 
 wisdom, having picked over the sample of an enormous 
 quantity of second-rate corn which Henchard had in 
 hand, and removed the pinched, blasted, and smutted 
 grains in great numbers. The produce, if honestly 
 offered, would have created no scandal ; but the blun- 
 der of misrepresentation, coming at such a moment, 
 dragged Henchard's name into the ditch. 
 
 The details of his failure were of the ordinary kind. 
 One day Elizabeth- Jane was passing the King's Arms, 
 when she saw people bustling in and out more than 
 usual when there was no market. A bystander in- 
 formed her, with some surprise at her ignorance, that 
 it was a meeting of the Commissioners under Mr. 
 Henchard's bankruptcy. She felt quite tearful, and 
 when she heard that he was present in the hotel she 
 wished to go in and see him, but was advised not to 
 intrude that day. 
 
 The room in which debtor and creditors had as- 
 sembled was a front one, and Henchard, looking out 
 of the window, had caught sight of Elizabeth-Jane 
 through the wire blind. His examination had closed, 
 and the creditors were leaving. The appearance of 
 Elizabeth threw him into a reverie; till, turning his 
 face from the window, and towering above all the rest, 
 263 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 he called their attention for a moment more. His 
 countenance had somewhat changed from its flush of 
 prosperity ; the black hair and whiskers were the same 
 as ever, but a film of ash was over the rest. 
 
 'Gentlemen,' he said, 'over and above the assets 
 that we've been talking about, and that appear on the 
 balance-sheet, there be these. It all belongs to ye, as 
 much as everything else I've got, and I don't wish to 
 keep it from you, hot I.' Saying this, he took his 
 gold watch from his pocket, and laid it on the table; 
 then his purse — the yellow canvas money-bag, such as 
 was carried by all farmers and dealers — untjdng it, 
 and shaking the money out upon the table beside the 
 watch. The latter he drew back quickly for an instant, 
 to remove the hair-guard made and given him by 
 Lucetta. ' There, now you have all I've got in the 
 world,' he said. 'And I wish for your sakes 'twas 
 more.' 
 
 The creditors, farmers almost to a man, looked at 
 the watch, and at the money, and into the street ; when 
 Farmer James Everdene spoke. 
 
 'No, no, Henchard,' he said warmly. 'We don't 
 want that. 'Tis honourable in ye ; but keep it. What 
 do you say, neighbours — do ye agree ? ' 
 
 'Ay, sure: we don't wish it at all,' said Grower, 
 another creditor. 
 
 • Let him keep it, of course,' murmured another in 
 the background — a silent, reserved young man, named 
 Boldwood ; and the rest responded unanimously. 
 
 ' Well,' said the senior Commissioner, addressing 
 Henchard, ' though the case is a desperate one, I am 
 bound to admit that I have never met a debtor who 
 behaved more fairly. I've proved the balance-sheet to 
 be as honestly made out as it could possibly be ; we 
 have had no trouble; there have been no evasions 
 and no concealments. The rashness of dealing which 
 led to this unhappy situation is obvious enough ; but 
 364 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 as far as I can see every attempt has been made to 
 avoid wronging anybody.' 
 
 Henchard was more affected by this than he cared 
 to let them perceive, and he turned aside to the window 
 again. A general murmur of agreement followed the 
 Commissioner's words ; and the meeting dispersed. 
 When they were gone Henchard regarded the watch 
 they had returned to him. < 'Tisn't mine by rights,' 
 he said to himself. 'Why the devil didn't they take 
 it ? — I don't want what don't belong to me ! ' Moved 
 by a recollection he took the watch to the maker's 
 just opposite, sold it there and then for what the trades- 
 man offered, and went with the proceeds to one among 
 the smaller of his creditors, a cottager of Durnover, 
 in straitened circumstances, to whom he handed the 
 money. 
 
 When everything was ticketed that Henchard had 
 owned, and the auctions were in progress, there was 
 quite a sympathetic reaction in the town, which till 
 then for some time past had done nothing but con- 
 demn him. Now that Henchard's whole career was 
 pictured distinctly to his neighbours, and they could 
 see how admirably he had used his one talent of energy 
 to create a position of affluence out of absolutely nothing 
 — which was really all he could show when he came to 
 the town as a journeyman hay-trusser, with his wimble 
 and knife in his basket — they wondered and regretted 
 Hs fall. 
 
 Try as she might, Elizabeth could never meet with 
 him. She believed in him still, though nobody else 
 did ; and she wanted to be allowed to forgive him for 
 his roughness to her, and to help him in his trouble. 
 
 She wrote to him; he did not reply. She then 
 went to his house — the great house she had lived in so 
 happily for a time — with its front of dun brick, vitrified 
 here and there, and its heavy sash-bars — but Henchard 
 was to be found there no more. The ex- Mayor had left 
 
 s 265 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 the home of his prosperity, and gone into Jopp's cottage 
 by the Priory Mill — the sad purUeu to which he had 
 wandered on the night of his discovery that she was not 
 his daughter. Thither she went. 
 
 Elizabeth thought it odd that he had fixed on this 
 spot to retire to, but assumed that necessity had no 
 choice. Trees which seemed old enough t,o have been 
 planted by the friars still stood around, and the back 
 hatch of the original mill yet formed a cascade which 
 had raised its terrific roar for centuries. The cottage 
 itself was built of old stones from the long dismantled 
 Priory, scraps of tracery, moulded window-jambs, and 
 arch-labels, being mixed in with the rubble of the walls. 
 
 In this cottage he occupied a couple of rooms, Jopp, 
 whom Henchard had employed, abused, cajoled, and 
 dismissed by turns, being the householder. But even 
 here her stepfather could not be seen. 
 
 ' Not by his daughter ? ' pleaded Elizabeth. 
 
 ' By nobody — at present : that's his order,' she was 
 informed. 
 
 Afterwards she was passing by the corn-stores and 
 hay-barns which had been the headquarters of his 
 business. She knew that he ruled there no longer ; but 
 it was with amazement that she regarded the familiar 
 gateway. A smear of decisive lead-coloured paint had 
 been laid on to obliterate Henchard's name, though its 
 letters dimly loomed through like ships in a fog. Over 
 these, in fresh white, spread the name of Farfrae. 
 
 Abel Whittle was edging his skeleton in at the 
 wicket, and she said, ' Mr. Farfrae is master here ? ' 
 
 ' Yaas, Miss Henchet,' he said, ' Mr. Farfrae have 
 bought the concern and all of we work-folk with it ; . 
 and 'tis better for us than 'twas — though I shouldn't 
 say that to you as a daughter-law. We work harder, 
 but we hain't made afeard now. It was fear made my 
 few poor hairs so thin ! No busting out, no slamming 
 of doors, no meddling with yer eternal soul and all 
 266 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 that; and though 'tis a shilling a week less I'm the 
 richer manj for what's all the world if yer mind is 
 always in a larry, Miss Henchet ? ' 
 
 The intelligence was in a general sense true ; and 
 Henchard's stores, which had remained in a paralyzed 
 condition during the settlement of his bankruptcy, were 
 stirred into activity again when the new tenant had pos- 
 session. Thenceforward the full sacks, looped with the 
 shining chain, went scurrying up and down under the 
 cat-head, hairy arms were thrust out from the diiferent 
 door-ways, and the grain was hauled in ; trusses of 
 hay were tossed anew in and out of the barns, and 
 the wimbles creaked j while the scales and steelyards 
 began to be busy where guess-work had formerly been 
 the rule. 
 
XXXII 
 
 Two bridges stood near the lower part of Caster- 
 bridge town. The first, of weather-stained brick, was 
 immediately at the end of High Street, where a diverg- 
 ing branch from that thoroughfare ran round to the 
 low-lying Durnover lanes ; so that the precincts of the 
 bridge formed the merging point of respectability and 
 indigence. The second bridge, of stone, was further 
 out on the highway — in fact, fairly in the meadows, 
 though still within the town boundary. 
 
 These bridges had speaking countenances. Every 
 projection in each was worn down to obtuseness, 
 partly by weather, more by friction from generations of 
 loungers, whose toes and heels had from year to year 
 made restless movements against these parapets, as 
 they had stood there meditating on the aspect of affairs. 
 In the case of the more friable bricks and stones even 
 the flat faces were worn into hollows by the same mixed 
 mechanism. The masonry of the top was clamped 
 with iron at each joint ; since it had been no uncom- 
 mon thing for desperate men to wrench the coping off 
 and throw it down the river, in reckless defiance of the 
 magistrates. 
 
 For to this pair of bridges gravitated all the failures 
 of the town ; those who had failed in business, in love, 
 in sobriety, in crime. Why the unhappy hereabout 
 268 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 usually chose the bridges for their meditations in pre- 
 ference to a railing, a gate, or a stile, was not so clear. 
 
 There was a marked difference of quality between 
 the personages who haunted the near bridge of brick, 
 and the personages who haunted- the far one of stone. 
 Those of lowest character preferred the former, ad- 
 joining the town ; they did not mind the glare of the 
 public eye. They had been of comparatively no ac- 
 count during their successes ; and, though they might 
 feel dispirited, they had no particular sense of shame 
 in their ruin. Their hands were mostly kept in their 
 pockets; they wore a leather strap round their waists, 
 and boots that required a great deal of lacing, but 
 seemed never to get any. Instead of sighing at their 
 adversities they spat, and instead of saying the iron 
 had entered into their souls, they said they were down 
 on their luck. Jopp in his times of distress had often 
 stood here ; so had Mother Cuxsom, Christopher 
 Coney, and poor Abel Whittle. 
 
 The miserabks who would pause on the remoter 
 bridge were of a politer stamp. They included bank- 
 rupts, hypochondriacs, persons who were what is called 
 • out of a situation ' from fault or lucklessness, the in- 
 efficient of the professional class — shabby-genteel men, 
 who did not know how to get rid of the weary time 
 between breakfast and dinner, and the yet more weary 
 time between dinner and dark. The eyes of this 
 species were mostly directed over the parapet upon the 
 running water below. A man seen there looking thus 
 fixedly into the river was pretty sure to be one whom 
 the world did not treat kindly for some reason or 
 other. While one in straits on the townward bridge 
 did not mind who saw him so, and kept his back to 
 the parapet to survey the passers-by, one in straits on 
 this never faced the road, never turned his head at 
 coming footsteps, but, sensitive to his own condition, 
 watched the current whenever a stranger approached, 
 269 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 'v as if some strange fish interested him, though every 
 
 \ finned thing had been poached out of the river years 
 
 before. 
 
 There and thus they would muse ; if their grief were 
 the grief of oppression they would wish themselves 
 kings ; if their grief were poverty, wish themselves 
 millionaires ; if sin, they would wish they were saints or 
 angels; if despised love, that they were some much- 
 courted Adonis of county fame. Some had been 
 known to stand and think so long with this fixed gaze 
 downward, that eventually they had allowed their poor 
 carcases to follow that gaz2 ; and they were discovered 
 the next morning in the pool beneath out of reach of 
 --thi^ir troubles. 
 
 _>To this bridge came Henchard, as other unfor- 
 tunates had come before him, his way thither being 
 by the riverside path on the chilly edge of the town. 
 Here he was standing one windy afternoon when 
 Durnover church clock struck five. While the gusts 
 were bringing the notes to his ears across the damp 
 intervening flat a man passed behind him, and greeted 
 Henchard by name. Henchard turned slightly, and 
 saw that the comer was Jopp, his old foreman, now 
 employed elsewhere, to whom, though he hated him, he 
 had gone for lodgings because Jopp was the one man 
 in Casterbridge whose observation and opinion the fallen 
 corn-merchant despised to the point of indifference. 
 
 Henchard returned him a scarcely perceptible nod, 
 and Jopp stopped. 
 
 ' He and she are gone into their new house to-day,' 
 said Jopp. 
 
 ' Oh,' said Henchard absently. ' Which house is 
 that?' 
 
 ' Your old one.' 
 
 ' Gone into my house ? ' And, starting up, Henchard 
 added, ' My house of all others in the town ! ' 
 
 'Well, as somebody was sure to live there, and 
 270 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 you coiildn't, it can do ye no harm that he's the 
 man.' 
 
 It was quite true : he felt that it was doing him no 
 harm. Farfrae, who had already taken the yards and 
 stores, had acquired possession of the house for the 
 obvious convenience of its contiguity. And yet this act 
 of his taking up residence within those roomy chambers 
 while he, their former tenant, lived in a cottage, galled 
 Henchard indescribably. 
 
 Jopp continued : • And you heard of that fellow who 
 bought all the best furniture at your sale? He was 
 bidding for no other than Farfrae all the while ! It has 
 never been moved out of the house, as he'd already got 
 the lease.' 
 
 ' My furniture too ! Siirply fip'11 Vmy jyy |inrly anri 
 
 soul likewise ! ' 
 
 — '-There's no--saying he won't, if you be willing to 
 sell.' And having planted these wounds in the heart 
 of his once imperious master, Jopp went on his way ; 
 while Henchard stared and stared into the racing river 
 till the bridge seemed moving backward with him. 
 
 The low land grew blacker, and the sky a deeper 
 grey. When the landscape looked like a picture blotted 
 in with ink, another traveller approached the great stone 
 bridge. He was driving a gig, his direction being also 
 townwards. On the round of the middle of the arch 
 the gig stopped. ' Mr. Henchard ? ' came from it in the 
 voice of Farfrae. Henchard turned his face. 
 
 Finding that he had guessed rightly, Farfrae told the 
 man who accompanied him to drive home; while he 
 alighted, and went up to his former friend. 
 
 ' I have heard that you think of emigrating, Mr. 
 Henchard,' he said. ' Is it true ? I have a real reason 
 for asking.' 
 
 Henchard withheld his answer for several instants, 
 and then said, ' Yes ; it is true. I am going where you 
 were going to a few years ago, when I prevented you 
 271 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 and got you to bide here. 'Tis turn and turn about, 
 isn't it ! Do ye mind how we stood like this in the 
 Chalk Walk when I persuaded ye to stay ? You then 
 stood without a chattel to your name, and I was the 
 master of the house in Corn Street. But now I stand 
 without a stick or a rag, and the master of that house is 
 you.' 
 
 'Yes, yes; that's so! It's the way o' the warrid.^- 
 said Farfrae. ' '" 
 
 ' Ha, ha, true ! ' cried Henchard, throwing himself 
 into a mood of jocularity. ' Up and down ! I'm used 
 to it. What's the odds after all ! ' 
 
 ' Now listen to me, if it's no taking up your time,' 
 said Farfrae, 'just as I listened to you. Don't go. 
 Stay at home.' 
 
 ' But I can do nothing else, man ! ' said Henchard 
 scornfully. ' The little money I have will just keep body 
 and soul together for a few weeks, and no more. I 
 have not felt incUned to go back to journey-work yet ; 
 but I can't stay doing nothing, and my best chance is 
 elsewhere.' 
 
 ' No ; but what I propose is this — if ye will listen. 
 Come and live in your old house. We can' spare some 
 rooms very well — I am sure my wife would not mind it 
 at all — until there's an opening for ye.' 
 
 Henchard started. Probably the picture drawn by 
 the unsuspecting Donald of himself under the same 
 roof with Lucetta was too striking to be received with 
 equanimity. ' No, no,' he said gruffly ; ' we should 
 quarrel.' 
 
 'You should hae a part to yourself,' said Farfrae; 
 •and nobody to interfere wi' you. It will be a deal 
 healthier than down there by the river where you live 
 now.' 
 
 Still Henchard refused. 'You don't know what 
 you ask,' he said. 'However, I can do no less than 
 thank 'ee.' 
 
 272 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 They walked into the town together side by side, as 
 they had done when Henchard persuaded the young 
 Scotchman to remain. 'Will you come in and have 
 some supper ? ' said Farfrae, when they reached the 
 middle of the town, where their paths diverged right 
 and left. 
 
 ' No, no.' 
 
 ' By-the-bye, I had nearly forgot. I bought a good 
 deal of your furniture.' 
 
 ' So I have heard.' 
 
 ' Well, it was no that I wanted it so very much for 
 myself j but I wish ye to pick out all that you care 
 to have — such things as may be endeared to ye by 
 associations, or particularly suited to your use. And 
 take them to your own house — it will not be depriving 
 me ; we can do with less very well, and I will have 
 plenty of opportunities of getting more.' 
 
 ' What — give it to me for nothing ? ' said Henchard. 
 ' But you paid the creditors for it ! ' 
 
 ' Ah, yes ; but maybe it's worth more to you than it 
 is to me.' 
 
 Henchard was a little moved. ' I — sometimes think 
 I've wronged ye ! ' he said, in tones which showed the 
 disquietude that the night shades hid in his face. He 
 shook Farfrae abruptly by the hand, and hastened away 
 as if uriwilling to betray himself further. Farfrae saw 
 him turn through the thoroughfare into Bull Stake and 
 vanish down towards the Priory Mill. 
 
 Meanwhile Elizabeth-Jane, in an upper room no 
 larger than the Prophet's chamber, and with the silk 
 attire of her palmy days packed away in a box, was 
 netting with great industry between the hours which 
 she devoted to studpng such books as she could get 
 hold of. 
 
 Her lodgings being nearly opposite her stepfather's 
 former residence, now Farfrae's, she could see Donald 
 and Lucetta speeding in and out of their door with 
 273 s 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 all the bounding enthusiasm of their situation. She 
 avoided looking that way as much as possible, but it 
 was hardly in human nature to keep the eyes averted 
 when the door slammed. 
 
 While living on thus quietly she heard the news 
 that Henchard had caught cold and was confined to his 
 room — possibly a result of standing about the meads 
 in damp weather. She went off to his house at once. 
 This time she was determined not to be denied admit- 
 tance, and made her way upstairs. He was sitting up 
 in the bed with a greatcoat round him, and at first 
 resented her intrusion. ' Go away — go away,' he said. 
 ' I don't like to see ye 1 ' 
 
 ' But, father ' 
 
 ■ I don't like to see ye,' he repeated. 
 
 However, the ice was broken, and she. remained. 
 She made the room more comfortable, gave direc- 
 tions to the people below, and by the time she went 
 away had reconciled her stepfather to her visiting 
 him. 
 
 The effect, either of her ministrations or of her mere 
 presence, was a rapid recovery. He soon was well 
 enough to go out; and now things seemed to wear 
 a new colour in his eyes. He no longer thought of 
 emigration, and thought more of Elizabeth. The 
 having nothing to do made him more dreary than any 
 other circumstance ; and one day, with better views of 
 Farfrae than he had held for some time, and a sense 
 that honest work was not a thing to be ashamed of, he 
 stoically went down to Farfrae's yard and asked to be 
 taken on as a journeyman hay-trusser. He was engaged 
 at once. This hiring of Henchard was done through a 
 foreman, Farfrae feeling that it was undesirable to come 
 personally in contact with the ex-cornfactor more than 
 was absolutely necessary. While anxious to help him 
 he was well aware by this time of his uncertain temper, 
 and thought reserved relations best. For the same 
 274 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 reason his orders to Henchard to proceed to this and 
 that country farm trussing in the usual way were always 
 given through a third person. 
 
 For a time these arrangements worked well, it being 
 the custom to truss in the respective stack-yards, before 
 bringing it away, the hay bought at the different farms 
 about the neighbourhood ; so thkt Henchard was often 
 absent at such places the whole week long. When this 
 was all done, and Henchard had become in a measure 
 broken in, he came to work daily on the home pre- 
 mises like the rest. And thus the once flourishing 
 merchant and Mayor and what not stood as a day- 
 labourer in the barns and granaries he formerly had 
 owned. 
 
 ' I have worked as a journeyman before now, ha'n't 
 I ? ' he would say in his defiant way ; ' and why 
 shouldn't I do it again ? ' But he looked a far different 
 journeyman from the one he had been in his earlier 
 days. Then he had worn clean, suitable clothes, light 
 and cheerful in hue; leggings yellow as marigolds, 
 corduroys immaculate as new flax, and a neckerchief 
 like a flower-garden. Now he wore the remains of an 
 old blue cloth suit of his gentlemanly times, a rusty 
 silk hat, and a once black satin stock, soiled and shabby. 
 Clad thus, he went to and fro, still comparatively an 
 active man — for he was not much over forty — and 
 saw with the other men in the yard Donald Farfrae 
 going in and out the green door that led to the garden, 
 and the big house, and Lucetta. 
 
 At the beginning of the winter it was rumoured 
 about Casterbridge that Mr. Farfrae, already in the 
 Town Council, was to be proposed for Mayor in a year 
 or two. 
 
 'Yes; she was wise, she was wise in her genera- 
 tion ! ' said Henchard to himself when he heard of this 
 one day on his way to Farfrae's hay-barn. He thought 
 it over as he wimbled his bonds, and the piece of news 
 27s 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 acted as a reviviscent breath to that old view of his — 
 of Donald Farfrae as his triumphant rival who rode 
 rough-shod over him. 
 
 ' A fellow of his age going to be Mayor, indeed ! ' 
 he murmured with a corner-drawn smile on his mouth. 
 ' But 'tis her money that floats en upward. Ha-ha — 
 how cust odd it is ! Here be I, his former master, 
 working for him as man, and he the man standing as 
 master, with my house and my furniture and my what- 
 you-may-call wife all his own.' 
 
 He repeated these things a hundred times a day. 
 During the whole period of his acquaintance with 
 Lucetta he had never wished to claim her as his own 
 so desperately as he now regretted her loss. It was 
 no mercenary hankering after her fortune that moved 
 him J though that fortune had been the means of 
 making her so much the more desired by giving her 
 the air of independence and sauciness which attracts 
 men of his composition. It had given her servants, 
 house, and fine clothing — a setting that invested 
 Lucetta with a startling novelty in the eyes of him 
 who had known her in her narrow days. 
 
 He accordingly lapsed into moodiness, and at every 
 allusion to the possibility of Farfrae's near election to 
 the municipal chair his former hatred of the Scotchman 
 returned. Concurrently with this he underwent a moral 
 change. It resulted in his significantly saying every now 
 and then, in tones of recklessness, « Only a fortnight 
 more ! ' — ' Only a dozen days ! ' and so forth, lessening 
 his figures day by day. 
 
 ' Why d'ye say only a dozen days ? ' asked Solomon 
 Longways as he worked beside Henchard in the granary 
 weighing oats. 
 
 ' Because in twelve days I shall be released from my 
 oath.' 
 
 •What oath?' 
 
 • The oath to drink no spirituous liquid. In twelve 
 276 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 days it will be twenty years since I swore it, and then I 
 mean to enjoy myself, please God ! ' 
 
 Elizabeth- Jane sat at her window one Sunday, and 
 while there she heard in the street below a conversation 
 which introduced Henchard's name. She was wonder- 
 ing what was the matter, when a third person who was 
 passing by asked the question in her mind. 
 
 ' Michael Henchard have busted out drinking after 
 taking nothing for twenty years ! ' 
 
 Elizabeth- Jane jumped up, put on her things, and 
 went out. 
 
XXXIII 
 
 A.T this date there prevailed in Casterbridge a convivial 
 custom — scarcely recognized as such, yet none the less 
 established. On the afternoon of every Sunday a large 
 contingent of the Casterbridge journeymen — steady 
 church-goers and sedate characters — having attended 
 service, filed from the church doors across the way to 
 the Three Mariners Inn. The rear was usually brought 
 up by the choir, with their bass-viols, fiddles, and flutes 
 under their arms. 
 
 The great point, the point of honour, on these sacred 
 occasions was for each man to strictly limit himself 
 to half-a-pint of liquor. This scrupulosity was so well 
 understood by the landlord, that the whole company 
 was served in cups of that measure. They were all 
 exactly alike — straight-sided, with leafless lime-trees done 
 in eel-brown on the sides — one towards the drinker's 
 lips, the other confronting his comrade. To wonder 
 how many of these cups the landlord possessed altogether 
 was a favourite exercise of children in the marvellous. 
 Forty at least might have been seen at these times in 
 the large room, forming a ring round the margin of the 
 great sixteen-legged oak table, like the monolithic circle 
 at Stonehenge in its pristine days. Outside and above 
 the forty cups came a circle of forty smoke-jets from 
 forty clay pipes ; outside the pipes the countenances of 
 378 
 
THE MAYOR Of CASTfeRBRlDGE 
 
 the forty church-goers, supported at the back by a circle 
 of forty chairs. 
 
 The conversation was not the conversation of week- 
 days, but a thing aUogether finer in point and higher 
 in tone. They invariably discussed the sermon, dis- 
 secting it, weighing it, as above or below the average 
 — the general tendency being to regard it as a scientific 
 feat or performance which had no relation to their own 
 lives, except as between critics and the thing criticized. 
 The bass-viol player and the clerk usually spoke with 
 more authority than the rest on account of their official 
 connection with the preacher. 
 
 Now the Three Mariners was the inn chosen by 
 Henchard as the place for closing his long term of 
 dramless years. He had so timed his entry as to be 
 well established in the large room by the time the forty 
 church-goers entered to their customary cups. The 
 flush upon his face proclaimed at once that the vow 
 of twenty years had lapsed, and the era of recklessness 
 begun anew. He was seated on a small table, drawn 
 up to the side of the massive oak board reserved for 
 the churchmen, a few of whom nodded to him as they 
 took their places, and said, ' How be ye, Mr. Henchard ? 
 Quite a stranger here.' 
 
 Henchard did not take the trouble to reply for a 
 few moments, and his eyes rested on his stretched-out 
 legs and boots. ' Yes,' he said at length ; ' that's true. 
 I've been down in spirit for weeks ; some of ye know 
 the cause. I am better now; but not quite serene. 
 I want you fellows of the choir to strike up a tune; 
 and what with that and this brew of Stannidge's, I am 
 in hopes of getting altogether out of my minor key.' 
 
 ' With all my heart,' said the first fiddle. ' We've 
 let back our strings, that's true ; but we can soon pull 
 'em up again. Sound A, neighbours, and give the man 
 a stave.' 
 
 • I don't care a curse what the words be,' said 
 279 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 Henchard. ' Hymns, ballets, or rantipole rubbish ; the 
 Rogue's March or the cherubim's warble — 'tis all the 
 same to me if 'tis good harmony, and well put out.' 
 
 'Well — ^heh, heh — ^it may be we can do that, and 
 not a man among us that have sat in the gallery less 
 than twenty year,' said the leader of the band. ' As 'tis 
 Sunday, neighbours, suppose we raise the Fourth Psa'am, 
 to Samuel Wakely's tune, as improved by me ? ' 
 
 •Hang Samuel Wakely's tune, as improved by 
 thee ! ' said Henchard. ' Chuck across one of your 
 psalters — old Wiltshire is the only tune worth singing 
 — the psalm-tune that would make my blood ebb and 
 flow like the sea when I was a steady chap. I'U find 
 some words to fit en.' He took one of the psalters, 
 and began turning over the leaves. 
 
 Chancing to look out of the window at that moment 
 he saw a flock of people passing by, and perceived 
 them to be the congregation of the upper church, now 
 just dismissed, their sermon having been a longer one 
 than that the lower parish was favoured with. Among 
 the rest of the leading inhabitants walked Mr. Councillor 
 Farfrae, with Lucetta upon his arm, the observed and 
 imitated of all the smaller tradesmen's womankind. 
 Henchard's mouth changed a Uttle, and he continued 
 to turn over the leaves. 
 
 ' Now then,' he said, ' Psalm the Hundred-and- 
 Ninth, to the tune of Wiltshire : verses ten to fifteen. 
 I gi'e ye the words : 
 
 " His seed shall orphans be, his wife 
 A widow plunged in grief; 
 His vagrant children beg their bread 
 Where none can give reliei 
 
 • His ill-got riches shall be made 
 To usurers a prey ; 
 The fruit of all his toil shall be 
 » By strangers borne away. 
 
 280 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGB 
 
 " None shall be found that to his wants 
 Their mercy will extend, 
 Or to his helpless orphan seed 
 The least assistance lend. 
 
 " A swift destruction soon shall seize 
 On his unhappy race ; 
 And the next age his hated name 
 Shall utterly deface."' 
 
 ' I know the Psa'am — I know the Psa'am ! ' said the 
 leader hastily ; ' but I would as lief not sing it. 'Twasn't 
 made for singing. We chose it once when the gipsy 
 stole the pa'son's mare, thinking to please him, but he 
 were quite upset. Whatever Servant David were think- 
 ing about when he made a Psalm that nobody can sing 
 without disgracing himself, I can't fathom ! Now then, 
 the Fourth Psalm, to Samuel Wakely's tune, as improved 
 by me.' 
 
 ' 'Od seize your sauce — I tell ye to sing the Hun- 
 dred-and-Ninth, to Wiltshire, and sing it you shall ! ' 
 roared Henchard. ' Not a single one of all the droning 
 crew of ye goes out of this room till that Psalm is 
 sung ! ' He slipped off the table, seized the poker, and 
 going to the door placed his back against it. 'Now 
 then, go ahead, if you don't wish to have your cust 
 pates broke ! ' 
 
 « Don't 'ee, don't 'ee take on so ! — As 'tis the Sab- 
 bath-day, and 'tis Servant David's words and not ours, 
 perhaps we don't mind for once, hey ? ' said one of the 
 terrified choir, looking round upon the rest. So the 
 instruments were tuned and the comminatory verses 
 sung. 
 
 ' Thank ye, thank ye,' said Henchard in a softened 
 voice, his eyes growing downcast, and his manner that 
 of a man much moved by the strains. 'Don't you 
 blame David,' he went on in low tones, shaking his 
 head without raising his eyes. ' He knew what he was 
 281 
 
tHfi MiVYOR 6f tASTERBftlDcE 
 
 about, when he wrote that ! ... If I could afford it, 
 be hanged if I wouldn't keep a church choir at my own 
 expense to play and sing to me at these low, dark tim s 
 of my life. But the bitter thing is, that when I was 
 rich I didn't need what I could have, and now I be 
 poor I can't have what I need ! ' 
 
 While they paused, Lucetta and Farfrae passed again, 
 this time homeward, it being their custom to take, like 
 others, a short walk out on the highway and back, be- 
 tween church and tea-time. 'There's the man we've 
 been singing about,' said Henchard. 
 
 The players and singers turned their heads, and 
 saw his meaning. ' Heaven forbid ! ' said the bass- 
 player. 
 
 ' 'Tis the man,' repeated Henchard doggedly. 
 
 ' Then if I'd known,' said the performer on the 
 clarionet solemnly, ' that 'twas meant for a living man, 
 nothing should have drawn out of my wynd-pipe the 
 breath for that Psalm, so help me ! ' 
 
 ' Nor from mine,' said the first singer. ' But, thought 
 I, as it was made so long ago, and so far away, perhaps 
 there isn't much in it, so I'll oblige a neighbour ; for 
 there's nothing to be said against the tune.' 
 
 ' Ah, my boys, you've sung it,' cried Henchard trium- 
 phantly. ' As for him, it was partly by his songs that 
 he got over me, and heaved me out. ... I could 
 double him up like that — and yet I don't.' He laid 
 the poker across his knee, bent it as if it were a twig, 
 flung it' down, and came away from the door. 
 
 It was at this time that Elizabeth- Jane, having heard 
 where her stepfather was, entered the room with a pale 
 and agonized countenance. The choir and the rest of 
 the company moved off, in accordance with their half- 
 pint regulation. Elizabeth- Jane went up to Henchiird, 
 and entreated him to accompany her home. 
 
 By this hour the volcanic fires of his nature had 
 burnt down, and having drunk no great quantity as yet, 
 282 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 he was inclined to acquiesce. She took his arm, and 
 together they went on. Henchard walked blankly, 
 like a blind man, repeating to himself the last words 
 of the singers — 
 
 ' And the next age his hated name 
 Shall utterly deface 1 ' 
 
 At length he said to her, ' I am a man to my word. I 
 have kept my oath for twenty years ; and now I can 
 drink with a good conscience. ... If I don't do for 
 him — well, I am a fearful practical joker when I choose ! 
 He has taken away everything from me, and by heavens, 
 if I meet him I won't answer for my deeds ! ' 
 
 These half-uttered words alarmed Elizabeth — all the 
 more by reason of the still determination of Henchard's 
 mien. 
 
 ' What will you do ? ' she asked cautiously, while 
 trembling with disquietude, and guessing Henchard's 
 allusion only too well. 
 
 Henchard did not answer, and they went on till 
 they had reached his cottage. ' May I come in ? ' she 
 said. 
 
 ' No, no ; not to-day,' said Henchard ; and she went 
 away ; feeling that to caution Farfrae was almost her 
 duty, as it was certainly her strong desire. 
 
 As on the Sunday, so on the week-days, Farfrae and 
 Lucetta might have been seen flitting about the town 
 like two butterflies — or rather like a bee and a butter- 
 fly in league for life. She seemed to take no pleasure 
 in going anywhere except in her husband's company ; 
 and hence when business would not permit him to waste 
 an afternoon she remained indoors, waiting for the time 
 to pass till his return, her face being visible to Elizabeth- 
 Jane from her window aloft. The latter, however, did 
 not say to herself that Farfrae should be thankful for 
 such devotion, but, full of her reading, she cited Rosa- 
 283 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 liud's exclamation: 'Mistress, know yourself; down 
 on your knees and thank Heaven fasting for a good 
 man's love.' 
 
 She kept her eye upon Henchard also. One day 
 he answered her inquiry for his health by saying that 
 he could not endure Abel Whittle's pitying eyes upon 
 him while they worked together in the yard. ' He is 
 such a fool,' said Henchard, ' that he can never get 
 out of his mind the time when I was master there.' 
 
 ' I'll come and wimble for you instead of him, if 
 you will allow me,' said she. Her motive on going to 
 the yard was to get an opportunity of observing the 
 general position of affairs on Farfrae's premises now 
 that her stepfather was a workman there. Henchard's 
 threats had alarmed her so much, that she wished to 
 see his behaviour when the two were face to face. 
 
 For two or three days after her arrival Donald did 
 not make any appearance. Then one afternoon the 
 green door opened, and through came, first Farfrae, 
 and at his heels Lucetta. Donald brought his wife 
 forward without hesitation, it being obvious that he had 
 no suspicion whatever of any antecedents in common 
 between her and the now journeyman hay-trusser. 
 
 Henchard did not turn his eyes toward either of 
 the pair, keeping them fixed on the bond he tvristed, 
 as if that alone absorbed him. A feeling of delicacy, 
 which ever prompted Farfrae to avoid anything that 
 might seem like triumphing over a fallen rival, led him 
 to keep away from the hay-barn where Henchard and 
 his daughter were working, and to go on to the corn 
 department. Meanwhile Lucetta, never having been 
 informed that Henchard had entered her husband's 
 service, rambled straight on to the barn, where she 
 came suddenly upon Henchard, and gave vent to a 
 little ' Oh ! ' which the happy and busy Donald was 
 too far off to hear. Henchard, with withering humility 
 of demeanour, touched the brim of his hat to her as 
 284 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 Whittle and the rest had done, to which she breathed 
 a dead-ahve ' Good afternoon.' 
 
 ' I beg your pardon, ma'am ? ' said Henchard, as if 
 he had not heard. 
 
 ' I said good afternoon,' she faltered. 
 
 ' Oh yes, good afternoon, ma'am,' he replied, touch- 
 ing his hat again. ' I am glad to see you, ma'am.' 
 Lucetta looked embarrassed, and Henchard continued : 
 ' For we humble workmen here feel it a great honour 
 that a lady should look in and take an interest in us.' 
 
 She glanced at him entreatingly ; the sarcasm was 
 too bitter, too unendurable. 
 
 ' Can you tell me the time, ma'am ? ' he asked. 
 
 ' Yes,' she said hastily j ' half-past four.' 
 
 ' Thank ye. An hour and a half longer before we 
 are released from work. Ah, ma'am, we of the lower 
 classes know nothing of the gay leisure that such as 
 you enjoy ! ' 
 
 As soon as she could do so Lucetta left him, nodded 
 and smiled to Elizabeth- Jane, and joined her husband 
 at the other end of the enclosure, where she could be 
 seen leading him away by the outer gates, so as to 
 avoid passing Henchard again. That she had been 
 taken by surprise was obvious. The result of this 
 casual rencounter was that the next morning a note 
 was put into Henchard's hand by the postman. 
 
 'Will you,' said Lucetta, with as much bitterness 
 as she could put into a small communication, 'will 
 you kindly undertake not to speak to me in the biting 
 undertones you used to-day, if I walk through the 
 yard at any time ? I bear you no ill-will, and I am 
 only too glad that you should have employment of my 
 dear husband; but in common fairness treat me as 
 his wife, and do not try to make me wretched by 
 covert sneers. I have committed no crime, and done 
 you no injury.' 
 
 ' Poor fool 1 ' said Henchard with fond savagery, 
 28s 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 holding out the note. 'To know no better than 
 commit herself in writing like this ! Why, if I were 
 to show that to her dear husband — pooh ! ' He threw 
 the letter into the fire. 
 
 Lucetta took care not to come again among the hay 
 and corn. She would rather have died than run the 
 risk of encountering Henchard at such close quarters 
 a second time. The gulf between them was growing 
 wider every day. Farfrae was always considerate to 
 his fallen acquaintance ; but it was impossible that he 
 should not, by degrees, cease to regard the ex-corn- 
 merchant as more than one of his other workmen. 
 Henchard saw this, and concealed his feelings under a 
 cover of stolidity, fortifying his heart by drinking more 
 freely at the Three Mariners every evening. 
 
 Often did Elizabeth-Jane, in her endeavours to pre- 
 vent his taking other liquor, carry tea to him in a httle 
 basket at five o'clock. Arriving one day on this errand, 
 she found her stepfather was measuring up clover-seed 
 and rape-seed in the corn-stores on the top floor, and 
 she ascended to him. Each floor had a door opening 
 into the air under a cat-head, from which a chain dangled 
 for hoisting the sacks. 
 
 When Elizabeth's head rose through the trap she 
 perceived that the upper door was open, and that her 
 stepfather and Farfrae stood just within it in conversa- 
 tion, Farfrae being nearest the dizzy edge, and Henchard 
 a little way behind. Not to interrupt them she re- 
 mained on the steps without raising her head any higher. 
 While waiting thus she saw — or fancied she saw, for she 
 had a terror of feeling certain — her stepfather slowly 
 raise his hand to a level behind Farfrae's shoulders, a 
 curious expression taking possession of his face. The 
 young man was quite unconscious of the action, which 
 was so indirect that, if Farfrae had observed it, he might 
 almost have regarded it as an idle outstretching of the 
 arm. But it would have been possible, by a compara- 
 286 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 lively light touch, to push Farfrae off liis balance, and 
 send him head over heels into the air. 
 
 Elizabeth felt quite sick at heart on thinking of 
 what this might have meant. As soon as they turned 
 she mechanically took the tea to Henchard, left it, and 
 went away. Reflecting, she endeavoured to assure herself 
 that the movement was an idle eccentricity, and no more. 
 Yet, on the other hand, his subordinate position in an 
 establishment where he once had been master might be 
 acting on him like an irritant poison ; and she finally 
 resolved to caution Donald. 
 
XXXIV 
 
 Next morning, accordingly, she rose at five o clock, 
 and went into the street. It was not yet light ; a dense 
 fog prevailed, and the town was as silent as it was dark, 
 except that from the rectangular avenues which framed 
 in the borough there came a chorus of tiny rappings, 
 caused by the fall of water drops condensed on the 
 boughs ; now it was wafted from the West Walk, now 
 from the South Walk ; and then from both quarters 
 simultaneously. She moved on to the bottom of Corn 
 Street, and, knowing his time well, waited only a few 
 minutes before she heard the familiar bang of his door, 
 and then his quick walk towards her. She met him at 
 the point where the last tree of the engirding avenue 
 flanked the last house in the street. 
 
 He could hardly discern her till, glancing inquiringly, 
 he said, ' What — Miss Henchard — and are ye up so 
 early ? ' 
 
 She asked him to pardon her for waylaying him at 
 such an unseemly time. ' But I am anxious to mention 
 something,' she said. 'And I wished not to alarm 
 Mrs. Farfrae by calling.' 
 
 'Yes?' said he, with the cheeriness of a superior. 
 ' And what may it be ? It's very kind of ye, I'm sure.' 
 She now felt the difficulty of conveying to his mind 
 the exact aspect of possibilities in her own. But she 
 288 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 soi-iehow began, and introduced Henchard's name. ' I 
 sometimes fear,' she said with an effort, ' that he may 
 be betrayed into some attempt to — insult you, sir.' 
 
 ' But we are the best of friends ? ' 
 
 ' Or to play some practical joke upon you, sir. 
 Remember that he has been hardly used.' 
 
 ' But we are quite friendly ? ' 
 
 ' Or to do something — that would injure you — 
 hurt you — wound you.' Every word cost her twice 
 its length of pain. And she could see that Farfrae 
 was still incredulous. Henchard, a poor man in his 
 employ, was not, to Farfrae's view, the Henchard who 
 had ruled him. Yet he was not only the same man, 
 but that man, with his sinister qualities, formerly latent, 
 quickened into life by his buffetings. 
 
 Farfrae, happy, and thinking no evil, persisted jn 
 making light of her fears. Thus they parted, and she 
 wenf- liomeward, journeymen now being in the street, 
 •waggoners going to the harness-makers for articles left 
 to be repaired, farm-horses going to the shoeing-smiths, 
 and the sons of labour being generally on the move. 
 Elizabeth entered her lodging unhappily, thinking she 
 had done no good, and only made herself appear foolish 
 by her weak note of warning. 
 
 But Donald Farfrae was one of those men upon 
 whom an incident is never absolutely lost. He revised 
 impressions from a subsequent point of view, and the 
 impulsive judgment of the moment was not always his 
 permanent one. The vision of Elizabeth's earnest face 
 in the rimy dawn came back to him several times during 
 the day. Knowing the solidity of her character, he did 
 not treat her hints altogether as idle sounds. 
 
 But he did not desist from a kindly scheme on 
 Henchard's account that engaged him just then ; and 
 when he met Lawyer Joyce, the town-clerk, later in 
 the day, he spoke of it as if nothing had occurred to 
 damp it. 
 
 389 T 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 'About that little seedsman's shop,' he said; 'the 
 shop overlooking the churchyard, which is to let. It 
 is not for myself I want it, but for our unlucky fellow- 
 townsman, Henchard. It would be a new beginning 
 for him, if a small one ; and I have told the Council 
 that I would head a private subscription among them 
 to set him up in it — that I would be fifty pounds, if 
 they would make up the other fifty among them.' 
 
 'Yes, yes; so I've heard; and there's nothing to 
 say against it for that matter,' the town-clerk replied, 
 in his plain, frank way. 'But, Farfrae, others see 
 what you don't. Henchard hates ye — ay, hates ye; 
 and 'tis right that you should know it. To my know- 
 ledge he was at the Three Mariners last night, saying 
 in public that about you which a man ought not to 
 say about another.' 
 
 ' Is that so — and is that so ? ' said Farfrae, looking 
 down. 'Why should he do it?' added the young 
 man bitterly; 'what harm have I done him that he 
 should try to wrong me ? ' 
 
 ' God only knows,' said Joyce, lifting his eyebrows. 
 • It shows much long-suffering in you to put up with 
 him, and keep him in your employ.' 
 
 ' But I cannet discharge a man who was once a 
 good friend to me? How can I forget that when I 
 came here 'twas he enabled me to make a footing for 
 mysel' ? No, no. As long as I've a day's wark to 
 offer he shall do it if he chooses. 'Tis not I who will 
 deny him such a little as that. But I'll drop the idea 
 of establishing him in a shop till I can think more 
 about it.' 
 
 It grieved Farfrae much to give up this scheme. 
 But a damp having been thrown over it by these and 
 other voices in the air, he went and countermanded 
 his orders. The then occupier of the shop was in it 
 when Farfrae spoke to him, and feeling it necessary 
 to give some explanation of his withdrawal from the 
 290 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 negotiation, Donald mentioned Henchard's name, and 
 stated that the intentions of the Council had been 
 changed. 
 
 The occupier was much disappointed, and straight- 
 way informed Henchard, as soon as he saw him, that a 
 scheme of the Council for setting him up in a shop 
 had been knocked on the head by Farfrae. And thus 
 out of error enmity grew. 
 
 When Farfrae got indoors that evening the tea- 
 kettle was singing on the high hob of the semi-egg- 
 shaped grate. Lucetta, light as a sylph, ran forward 
 and seized his hands, whereupon Farfrae duly kissed 
 her. 
 
 ' Oh ! ' she cried playfully, turning to the window. 
 ' See — the blinds are not drawn down, and the people 
 can look in — what a scandal ! ' 
 
 When the candles were lighted, the curtains drawn, 
 and thef twa^ sat at tea, she noticed that he looked 
 serious. 'Without directly inquiring why, she let her 
 eyes linger solicitously on his face. 
 
 ' Who has called ? ' he absently asked. • Any folk 
 for me ? ' 
 
 ' No,' said Lucetta. ' What's the matter, Donald ? ' 
 
 « Well — nothing worth talking of,' he responded 
 sadly. 
 
 ' Then, never mind it. You will get through it. 
 Scotchmen are always lucky.' 
 
 ' No — not always ! ' he said, shaking his head gloomily 
 as he contemplated a crumb on the table. ' I know 
 many who have not been so ! There was Sandy Mac- 
 farlane, who started to America to try his fortune, and 
 he was drowned ; and Archibald Leith, he was murdered ! 
 And poor Willie Dunbleeze and Maitland Macfreeze — 
 they fell into bad courses, and went the way of all 
 such ! ' 
 
 t Why — you old goosey — I was only speaking in a 
 general sense, of course! You art always so literal 
 291 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 Now when we have finished tea, sing me that funny 
 song about high-heeled shoon and siller tags, and the 
 one-and-forty wooers.' 
 
 ' No, no. I couldna sing to-night ! It's Henchard 
 ■ — ^he hates me ; so that I may not be his friend if I 
 would. I would understand why there should be a 
 wee bit envy ; but I cannet see a reason for the whole 
 intensity of what he feels. Now, can you, Lucetta ? 
 It is more like old-fashioned rivalry in love than just a 
 bit of rivalry in trade.' 
 
 Lucetta had grown somewhat wan. ' No,' she re- 
 plied. 
 
 ' I give him employment — I cannet refuse it. But 
 neither can I blind myself to the fact that with a 
 man of passions such as his, there is no safeguard for 
 conduct ! ' 
 
 ' What have you heard — O Donald, dearest ? ' said 
 Lucetta in alarm. The words on her lips were ' any- 
 thing about me ? ' — but she did not utter them. She 
 could not, however, suppress her agitation, and her eyes 
 filled with tears. 
 
 ' No, no — it is not so serious as ye fancy,' declared 
 Farfrae soothingly ; though he did not know its serious- 
 ness so well as she. 
 
 ' I wish you would do what we have talked of,' 
 mournfully remarked Lucetta. ' Give up business, and 
 go away from here. We have plenty of money, and 
 why should we stay ? ' 
 
 Farfrae seemed seriously disposed to discuss this 
 move, and they talked thereon till a visitor was an- 
 nounced. Their neighbour Alderman Vatt came in. 
 
 'You've heard, I suppose, of poor Doctor Chalk- 
 field's death? Yes — died this afternoon at five,' said 
 Mr. Vatt. Chalkfield was the Councilman who had suc- 
 ceeded to the Mayoralty in the preceding November. 
 
 Farfrae was sorry at the intelligence, and Mr. Vatt 
 continued : ' Well, we know he's been going some days, 
 393 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 and as his family is well provided for we must take it 
 all as it is. Now I have called to ask ye this — quite 
 privately. If I should nominate 'ee to succeed him, 
 and there should be no particular opposition, will 'ee 
 accept the chair ? ' 
 
 ' But there are folk whose turn is before mine ; and 
 I'm over young, and maybe thought pushing ! ' said 
 Farfrae after a pause. 
 
 ' Not at all. I don't speak for myself only, several 
 have named it. You won't refuse ? ' 
 
 ' We thought of going away,' interposed Lucetta, 
 looking at Farfrae anxiously. 
 
 ' It was only a fancy,' Farfrae murmured. • I 
 wouldna refuse if it is the wish of a respectable 
 majority in the Council.' 
 
 ' Very well, then, look upon yourself as elected. 
 We have had older men long enough.' 
 
 When he was gone Farfrae said musingly, • See now 
 how it's ourselves that are ruled by the powers above 
 us ! We plan this, but we do that. If they want to 
 make me Mayor I will stay, and Henchard must rave 
 as he will.' 
 
 From this evening onward Lucetta was very uneasy. 
 If she had not been imprudence incarnate, she would 
 not have acted as she did when she met Henchard by 
 accident a day or two later. It was in the bustle of 
 the market, when no one could readily notice their 
 discourse. 
 
 ' Michael,' said she, ' I must again ask you what I 
 asked you months ago — to return me any letters or 
 papers of mine that you may have — unless you have 
 destroyed them! You must see how desirable it is 
 that the time at Jersey should be blotted out, for the 
 good of all parties.' 
 
 'Why, bless the woman ! — I packed up every scrap 
 of your handwriting to give you in the coach — but 
 you never appeared.' 
 
 293 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 She explained how the death of her aunt had pre- 
 vented her taking the journey on that day. ' And what 
 became of the parcel then ? ' she asked. 
 
 He could not say — he would consider. When she 
 was gone he recollected that he had left a heap of use- 
 less papers in his former dining-room safe — built up in 
 the wall of his old house — now occupied by Farfrae. 
 The letters might have been amongst them. 
 
 A grotesque grin shaped itself on Henchard's face. 
 Had that safe been opened ? 
 
 On the very evening which followed this there was 
 a great ringing of bells in Casterbridge, and the com- 
 bined brass, wood, catgut, and leather bands played 
 round the town with more prodigality of percussion- 
 notes than ever. Farfrae was Mayor — the two-hun- 
 dredth odd of a series forming an elective dynasty 
 dating back to the days of Charles I. — and the fair 
 Lucetta was the courted of the town. . . . But, ah ! 
 vithat worm i' the bud — Henchard ; what he could tell ! 
 
 He, in the meantime, festering with indignation at 
 some erroneous intelligence of Farfrae's opposition to 
 the scheme for installing him in the little seed-shop, 
 was greeted with the news of the municipal election 
 (which, by reason of Farfrae's comparative youth and 
 his Scottish nativity — a thing unprecedented in the 
 case — had an interest far beyond the ordinary). The 
 bell-ringing and the band-playing, loud as Tamer- 
 lane's trumpet, goaded the downfallen Henchard in- 
 describably: the ousting now seemed to him to be 
 complete. 
 
 The next morning he went to the corn-yard as 
 usual, and about eleven o'clock Donald entered through 
 the green door, with no trace of the worshipful about 
 him. The yet more emphatic cliange of places between 
 him and Henchard which this election had established 
 renewed a slight embarrassment in the manner of the 
 modest younger man ; but Henchard showed the front 
 294 
 
The mayor of casterbridge 
 
 of one who had overlooked all this ; and Farfrae met 
 his amenities half-way at once. 
 
 ' I was going to ask you,' said Henchard, ' about a 
 packet that I may possibly have left in my old safe in 
 the dining-room.' He added particulars. 
 
 ' If so, it is there now,' said Farfrae. ' I have never 
 opened the safe at all as yet ; for I keep ma papers at 
 the bank, to sleep easy o' nights.' 
 
 ' It was not of much consequence — to me,' said 
 Henchard. ' But I'll call for it this evening, if you 
 don't mind ? ' 
 
 It was quite late when he fulfilled his promise. 
 He had primed himself with grog, as he did very fre- 
 quently now, and a curl of sardonic humour hung on 
 his lip as he approached the house, as though he 
 were contemplating some terrible form of amusement. 
 Whatever it was, the incident of his entry did not 
 diminish its force, this being his first visit to the house 
 since he had lived there as owner. The ring of the 
 bell spoke to him like the voice of a familiar drudge 
 who had been bribed to forsake him ; the movements 
 of the doors were revivals of dead days. 
 
 Farfrae invited him into the dining-room, where he 
 at once unlocked the iron safe built into the wall, his, 
 Henchard's safe, made by an ingenious locksmith under 
 his direction. Farfrae drew thence the parcel, and 
 other papers, with apologies for not having returned 
 them. 
 
 ' Never mind,' said Henchard drily. ' The fact is 
 they are letters mostly. . . . Yes,' he went on, sitting 
 down and unfolding Lucetta's passionate bundle, ' here 
 they be. That ever I should see 'em again ! I hope 
 Mrs. Farfrae is well after her exertions of yesterday ? ' 
 
 ' She has felt a bit weary ; and has gone to bed early 
 on that account.' 
 
 Henchard returned to the letters, sorting them over 
 with interest, Farfrae being seated at the other end of 
 29s 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 the dining-table. 'You don't forget, of course,' he 
 resumed, ' that curious chapter in the history of my 
 past, which I told you of, and that you gave me some 
 assistance in? These letters are, in fact, related to 
 that unhappy business. Though, thank God, it is all 
 over now.' 
 
 ' What became of the poor woman ? ' asked Farfrae. 
 
 'Luckily she married, and married well,' said 
 Henchard. ' So that these reproaches she poured out 
 on me do not now cause me any twinges, as they 
 might otherwise have done. . . . Just listen to what 
 an angry woman will say ! ' 
 
 Farfrae, willing to humour Henchard, though quite 
 uninterested, and bursting with yawns, gave well- 
 mannered attention. 
 
 ' " For me," ' Henchard read, ' " there is practically 
 no future. A creature too unconventionally devoted 
 to you— ^who feels it impossible that she can be wife 
 of any other man ; and who is yet no more to you 
 than the first woman you meet in the street — such am 
 I. I quite acquit you of any intention to wrong me, 
 yet you are the door through which wrong has come 
 to me. That in the event of your present wife's death 
 you will place me in her position is a consolation so far 
 as it goes — but how far does it go ? Thus I sit here, 
 forsaken by my few acquaintance, and forsaken by you ! " ' 
 
 'That's how she went on io me,' said Henchard, 
 ' acres of words like that, when what had happened 
 was what I could not cure.' 
 
 'Yes,' said Farfrae absently, 'it is the way wi' 
 women.' But the fact was that he knew very little of 
 the sex; yet detecting a sort of resemblance in style 
 between the effusions of the woman he worshipped 
 and those of the supposed stranger, he concluded that 
 Aphrodite ever spoke thus, whosesoever the personality 
 she assumed. 
 
 Henchard unfolded another letter, and read it through 
 
 •■ 2g6 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 likewise, stopping at the subscription as before. ' Her 
 name I don't give,' he said blandly. 'As I didn't 
 marry her, and another man did, I can scarcely do that 
 in fairness to her." 
 
 ' Tr-rue, tr-rue,' said Farfrae. ' But why didn't you 
 marry her when your wife Susan died ? ' Farfrae asked 
 this, and the other questions, in the comfortably in- 
 different tone of one whom the matter very remotely 
 concerned. 
 
 ' Ah — well you may ask that ! ' said Henchard, the 
 new-moon-shaped grin adumbrating itself again upon 
 his mouth. ' In spite of all her protestations, when 
 I came forward to do so, as in generosity boupd, she 
 was not the woman for me.' 
 
 ' She had already married another^ — maybe ? ' 
 
 Henchard seemed to think it would be sailing too 
 near the wind to descend further into particulars, and 
 he answered ' Yes.' 
 
 ' The young lady must have had a heart that bore 
 transplanting very readily ! ' 
 
 ' She had, she had,' said Henchard emphatically. 
 
 He opened a third and fourth letter, and read. 
 This time he approached the conclusion as if the 
 signature were indeed coming with the rest. But 
 again he stopped short. The truth was that, as may 
 be divined, he had quite intended to effect a grand 
 catastrophe at the end of this drama by reading out 
 the name ; he had come to the house with no other 
 thought. But sitting here in cold blood he could not 
 do it. Such a wrecking of hearts appalled even him. 
 His quality was such that he could have annihllaied" 
 them both in the heat of action; but to accomplish 
 the deed by oral poison was beyond the nerve of his 
 enmity. 
 
XXXV 
 
 As Donald stated, Lucetta had retired early to her 
 room because of fatigue. She had, however, not gone 
 to rest, but sat in the bedside chair reading, and 
 thinking over the events of the day. At the ringing 
 of the door-bell by Henchard she wondered who it 
 should be that would call at that comparatively late 
 hour. The dining-room was almost under her bed- 
 room J she could hear that somebody was admitted 
 there, and presently the indistinct murmur of a person 
 reading became audible. 
 
 The usual time for Donald's arrival upstairs came 
 and passed, yet still the reading and conversation went 
 on. This was very singular. She could think of 
 nothing but that some extraordinary crime had been 
 committed, and that the visitor, whoever he might be, 
 was reading an account of it from a special edition of 
 the Casterbridge Chronicle. At last she left the room, 
 and descended the stairs. The dining-room door was 
 ajar, and in the silence of the resting household the 
 voice and the words were recognizable before she 
 reached the lower flight. She stood transfixed. Her 
 own words greeted her, in Henchard's voice, like spirits 
 from the grave. 
 
 Lucetta leant upon the banister with her cheek 
 against the smooth hand-rail, as if she would make a 
 298 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 friend of it in her misery. Rigid in this position, 
 more and more words fell successively upon her ear. 
 But what amazed her most was the tone of her 
 husband. He spoke merely in the accents of a man 
 who made a present of his time. 
 
 • One word,' he was saying, as the crackling of paper 
 denoted that Henchard was unfolding yet another 
 sheet. ' Is it quite fair to this young woman's memory 
 to read at such length to a stranger what was intended 
 for your eye alone ? ' 
 
 ' Well, yes,' said Henchard. ' By not giving her 
 name I make it an example of all womankind, and not 
 a scandal to one.' 
 
 ' If I were you I would destroy them,' said Farfrae, 
 giving more thought to the letters than he had hitherto 
 done. 'As another man's wife it would injure the 
 woman if it were known.' 
 
 ' No, I shall not destroy them,' murmured Hen- 
 chard, putting the letters away. Then he arose, and 
 Lucetta heard no more. 
 
 She went back to her bedroom in a semi-paralyzed 
 state. For very fear she could not undress, but sat on the 
 edge of the bed, waiting. Would Henchard let out the 
 secret in his parting words ? Her suspense was terrible. 
 Had she confessed all to Donald in their early acquaint- 
 ance he might possibly have got over it, and married her 
 just the same — unlikely as it had once seemed ; but for 
 her or any one else to tell him now would be fatal. 
 
 The door slammed; she could hear her husband 
 bolting it. After looking round in his customary way 
 he came leisurely up the stairs. The spark in her eyes 
 well-nigh went out when he appeared round the bed- 
 room door. Her gaze hung doubtful for a moment, 
 then to her joyous amazement she saw that he looked 
 at her with the rallying smile of one who had just 
 been relieved of a scene that was irksome. She could 
 hold out no longer, and sobbed hysterically. 
 299 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 When he had restored her Farfrae naturally enough 
 spoke of Henchard. ' Of all men he was the least 
 desirable as a visitor,' he said ; ' but it is my belief that 
 he's jilst a bit crazed. He has been reading to me a 
 long lot of letters relating to his past life ; and I could 
 do no less than indulge him by listening.' 
 
 This was sufficient. Henchard, then, had not told. 
 Henchard's last words to Farfrae, in short, as he stood 
 on the door-step, had been these : ' Well— I'm much 
 obliged to 'ee for listening. I may tell more about her 
 some day.' 
 
 Finding this, she was much perplexed as to Hen- 
 chard's motives in opening the matter at all; for in 
 such cases we attribute to an enemy a power of con- 
 sistent action which we never find in ourselves or in 
 our friends ; and forget that abortive efforts from want 
 of heart are as possible to revenge as to generosity. 
 
 Next morning Lucetta remained in bed, rheditating 
 how to parry this incipient attack. The bold stroke of 
 telling Donald the truth, dimly conceived, was yet too 
 bold ; for she dreaded lest, in doing so, he, like the rest 
 of the world, should believe that the episode was rather 
 her fault than her misfortune. She decided to employ 
 persuasion — not with Donald, but with the enemy him- 
 self. It seemed the only practicable weapori left her 
 as a woman. Having laid her plan she rose, and wrote 
 to him who kept her on these tenterhooks : — 
 
 ' I overheard your interview with my husband last 
 night, and saw the drift of your revenge. The Very 
 thought of it crushes me ! Have pity on a distressed 
 woman ! If you could see me you would relent. You 
 do not know how anxiety has told upon me lateily. I 
 will be at the Ring at the time you leave work—just 
 before the sun goes down. Please come that Way. I 
 cannot rest till I have seen you face to face, and heard 
 from your mouth that you will carry this horse-play 
 no further.' 
 
 300 
 
tHE MAVoR 6F CASTERBRIDGfi 
 
 To herself she said, on closing up this appeal : ' If 
 ever tears and pleadings have served the weak to fight 
 the strong, let them do so now ! ' 
 
 With this view she made a toilette which differed 
 from all she had ever attempted before. To heighten 
 her natural attractions had hitherto been the unvarying 
 endeavour of her adult life, and one in which she was 
 no novice. But now she neglected this, and even pro- 
 ceeded to impair the natural presentation. She had 
 not slept all the previous night, and this had produced 
 upon her naturally pretty though slightly worn features 
 the aspect of a countenance ageing prematurely from 
 extreme sorrow. She selected — as much from want 
 of spirit as design — her poorest, plainest, and longest 
 discarded attire. 
 
 To avoid the contingency of being recognized she 
 veiled herself, and slipped out of the house quickly. 
 The sun was resting on the hill like a drop of blood on 
 an eyelid by the time she had got up the road opposite 
 the amphitheatre, which she speedily entered. The 
 interior was shadowy, and emphatic of the absence of 
 every living thing. 
 
 She was not disappointed in the fearful hope with 
 which she awaited him. Henchard came over the top, 
 descended, and Lucetta waited breathlessly. But having 
 reached the arena she saw a change in his bearing: 
 he stood still, at a little distance from her ; she could 
 not think why. 
 
 Nor could any one else have known. The truth 
 was that in appointing this spot, and this hour, for the 
 rendezvous, Lucetta had unwittingly backed up her 
 entreaty by the strongest argument she could have used 
 outside words, with this man of moods, glooms, and 
 superstitions Her figure in the midst of the huge 
 enclosure, the unusual plainness of her dress, her atti- 
 tude of hope and appeal, so strongly revived in his soul 
 the memory of another ill-used woman who had stood 
 301 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 there and thus in bygone days, and had now passed 
 away into her rest, that he was unmanned, and his 
 heart smote him for having attempted reprisals on 
 one of a sex so weak. When he approached her, 
 and before she had spoken a word, her point was half 
 gained. 
 
 His manner as he had come down had been one 
 of cynical carelessness; but he now put away his 
 grim half-smile, and said, in a kindly subdued tone, 
 ' Good-night t'ye. Of course I'm glad to come if you 
 want me.' 
 
 ' Oh, thank you,' she said apprehensively. 
 
 ' I am sorry to see 'ee looking so ill,' he stammered, 
 with unconcealed compunction. 
 
 She shook her head. ' How can you be sorry,' she 
 asked, ' when you deliberately cause it ? ' 
 
 ' What ! ' said Henchard uneasily. ' Is it anything 
 I have done that has pulled you down like that ? ' 
 
 ' It is all your doing,' said she. ' I have no other 
 grief. My happiness would be secure enough but for 
 your threats. O Michael ! don't wreck me like this ! 
 You might think that you have done enough ! When 
 I came here I was a young woman ; now I am rapidly 
 becoming an old one. Neither my husband nor any 
 other man will regard me with interest long.' 
 
 Henchard was disarmed. His old feeling of super- 
 cilious pity for womankind in general was intensified 
 by this suppliant appearing here as the double of the 
 first. Moreover, that thoughtless want of foresight 
 ^ which had led to all her trouble remained with poor 
 
 Lucetta still ; she had come to meet him here in this 
 I compromising way without perceiving the risk. Such 
 
 a woman was very small deer to hunt ; he felt ashamed, 
 \ lost all zest and desire to humiliate Luretta there and 
 
 { then, and no longer envied Farfrae his bargain. He 
 
 \ had married money, but nothing more. Henchard was 
 
 anxious to wash his hands of the game. 
 302 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 ' Well, what do you want me to do ? ' he said gently. 
 ' I am sure I shall be very willing. My reading of 
 those letters was only3_sort_of_graadcaL4ake,_and_Il 
 revealed nothing.' '' 
 
 'To give me back the letters and any papers you 
 may have that breathe of matrimony or worse.' 
 
 ' So be it. Every scrap shall be yours. . . . But, 
 between you and me, Lucetta, he is sure to find out 
 something of the matter, sooner or later.' 
 
 ' Ah ! ' she said with eager tremulousness ; ' but not 
 till I have proved myself a faithful and deserving wife 
 to him, and then he may forgive me everything ! ' 
 
 Henchard silently looked at her : he almost envied 
 Farfrae such love as that, even now. ' H'm — I hope 
 so,' he said. ' But you shall have the letters without 
 fail. And your secret shall be kept. I swear it.' 
 
 ' How good you are ! — ^how shall I get them ? ' 
 
 He reflected, and said he would send them the next 
 morning. ' Now don't doubt me,' he added. ' I can 
 keep my word.' 
 
XXXVI 
 
 Returning from her appointment Lucetta saw a 
 man waiting by the lamp nearest to her own door. 
 When she stopped to go in he came and spoke to her 
 It was Jopp. 
 
 He begged her pardon for addressing her. But he 
 had heard that Mr. Farfrae had been applied to by a 
 neighbouring corn-merchant to recommend a working 
 partner ; if so, he wished to offer himself. He could 
 give good security, and had stated as much to Mr. 
 Farfrae in a letter; but he would feel much obliged 
 if Lucetta would say a word in his favour to het 
 husband. 
 
 ' It is a thing I know nothing about,' said Lucetta 
 coldly. 
 
 ' But you can testify to my trustworthiness better 
 than anybody, ma'am,' said Jopp. ' I was in Jersey 
 several years, and knew you there by sight.' 
 
 'Indeed,' she replied. 'But I knew nothing of 
 you.' 
 
 ' I think, ma'am, that a word or two from you would 
 secure for me what I covet very much,' he persisted. 
 
 She steadily refused to have anything to do with 
 the affair, and, cutting him short, because of her 
 anxiety to get indoors before her husband should miss 
 her, left him on the pavement. 
 304 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 He watched her till she had vanished, and then 
 went home. When he got there he sat down in the 
 fireless chimney corner looking at the iron dogs, and 
 the wood laid across them for heating the morning 
 kettle. A movement upstairs disturbed him, and 
 Henchard came down from his bed-room, where he 
 seemed to have been rummaging boxes. 
 
 'I wish,' said Henchard, 'you would do me a 
 service, Jopp, now — to-night, I mean, if you can. 
 Leave this at Mrs. Farfrae's for her. I should take it 
 myself, of course, but I don't wish to be seen there.' 
 
 He handed a package in brown paper, sealed. Hen- 
 chard had been as good as his word. Immediately on 
 coming indoors he had searched over his few belong- 
 ings ; and every scrap of Lucetta's writing that he 
 possessed was here. Jopp indifferently expressed his 
 willingness. 
 
 ' Well, how have ye got on to-day ? ' his lodger asked. 
 * Any prospect of an opening ? ' 
 
 ' I am afraid not,' said Jopp, who had not told the 
 other of his application to Farfrae. 
 
 ' There never will be in Casterbridge,' declared Hen- 
 chard decisively. ' You must roam further afield.' He 
 said good-night to Jopp, and returned to his own part 
 of the house. 
 
 Jopp sat on till his eyes were attracted by the 
 shadow of the candle-snuff on the wall, and looking at 
 the original he found that it had formed itself into a 
 head like a red-hot cauliflower. Henchard's packet 
 next met his gaze. He knew there had been something 
 of the nature of wooing between Henchard and the 
 now Mrs. Farfrae ; and his vague ideas on the subject 
 narrowed themselves down to these : Henchard had a 
 parcel belonging to Mrs. Farfrae, and he had reasons 
 for not returning that parcel to her in person. What 
 could be inside it ? So he went on and on till, ani- 
 mated by resentment at Lucetta's haughtiness, as ha 
 305 u 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 thought it, and curiosity to learn if there were any weak 
 sides to this transaction with Henchard, he examined 
 the package. The pen and all its relations being 
 awkward tools in Henchard's hands, he had afiSxed the 
 seals without an impression, it never occurring to him 
 that the efficacy of such a fastening depended on this. 
 Jopp was far less of a tyro ; he lifted one of the seals 
 with his penknife, peeped in at the end thus opened, 
 saw that the bundle consisted of letters ; and, having 
 satisfied himself thus far, sealed up the end again by 
 simply softening the wax with the candle, and went off 
 with the parcel as requested. 
 
 His path was by the river-side at the foot of the 
 town. Coming into the light at the bridge which stood 
 at the end of High Street, he beheld lounging thereon 
 Mother Cuxsom and Nance Mockridge. 
 
 ' We be just going down Mixen Lane way, to look 
 into Peter's Finger afore creeping to bed,' said Mrs. 
 Cuxsom. ' There's a fiddle and tambourine going on 
 there. Lord, what's all the world — do ye come along 
 too, Jopp — 'twon't hinder ye five minutes.' 
 
 Jopp had mostly kept himself out of this company, 
 but present circumstances made him somewhat more 
 reckless than usual, and without many words he de- 
 cided to go to his destination that way. 
 
 Though the upper part of Durnover was mainly 
 composed of a curious congeries of barns and farm- 
 steads, there was a less picturesque side to the parish. 
 This was Mixen Lane, now in great part pulled down. 
 
 Mixen Lane was the AduUam of all the surrounding 
 villages. It was the hiding-place of those who were 
 in distress, and in debt, and trouble of every kind. 
 Farm-labourers and other peasants, who combined a 
 little poaching with their farming, and a little brawling 
 and bibbing with their poaching, found themselves 
 sooner or later in Mixen Lane. Rural mechanics too 
 306 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 idle to mechanize, rural servants too rebellious to serve, 
 drifted or were forced into Mixen Lane. 
 
 The lane and its surrounding thicket of thatched 
 cottages stretched out like a spit into the moist and 
 misty lowland. Much that was sad, much that was 
 low, some things that were baneful, could be seen in 
 Mixen Lane. Vice ran freely in and out certain of 
 the doors of the neighbourhood; recklessness dwelt 
 under the roof with the crooked chimney ; shame in 
 some bow-windows ; theft (in times of privation) in 
 the thatched and mud-walled houses by the sallows. 
 Even slaughter had not been altogether unknown here. 
 In a block of cottages up an alley there might have 
 been erected an altar to disease in years gone by. 
 Such was Mixen Lane in the times when Henchard 
 and Farfrae were Mayors. 
 
 Yet this mildewed leaf in the sturdy and flourishing 
 Casterbridge plant lay close to the open country ; not 
 a hundred yards from a row of noble elms, and com- 
 manding a view across the moor of airy uplands and 
 corn-fields, and mansions of the great. A brook divided 
 the moor from the tenements, and to outward view 
 there was no way across it — no way to the houses but 
 round about by the road. But under every house- 
 holder's stairs there was kept a mysterious plank nine 
 inches wide ; which plank was a secret bridge. 
 
 If you, as one of those refugee householders, came 
 in from business after dark — and this was the business 
 time here — you stealthily crossed the moor, approached 
 the border of the aforesaid brook, and whistled opposite 
 the house to which you belonged. A shape thereupon 
 made its appearance on the other side bearing the 
 bridge on end against the sky; it was lowered; you 
 crossed, and a hand helped you to land yourself, to- 
 gether with the pheasants and hares gathered from 
 neighbouring manors. You sold them slily the next 
 morning, and the day after you stood before the magis- 
 307 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 trates, ^nth the eyes of all your sympathizing neigh- 
 bours concentrated on your back. You disappeared 
 for a time ; then you were again found quietly living in 
 Mixen Lane. 
 
 Walking along the lane at dusk the stranger was 
 struck by two or three peculiar features therein. One 
 was an intermittent rumbling from the back premises of 
 the inn half-way up; this meant a skittle alley. Another 
 was the extensive prevalence of whistling in the various 
 domiciles — a piped note of some kind coming from 
 nearly every open .door. Another was the frequency 
 of white aprons over dingy gowns among the women 
 around the doorways. A white apron is a suspicious 
 vesture in situations where spotlessness is difficult; 
 moreover, the industry and cleanliness which the white 
 apron expressed were belied by the postures and gaits 
 of the women who wore it — their knuckles being mostly 
 on their hips (an attitude which lent them the aspect 
 of two-handled mugs), and their shoulders against door- 
 posts ; while there was a curious alacrity in the turn of 
 each honest woman's head upon her neck, and in the 
 twirl of her honest eyes, at any noise resembling a 
 masculine footfall along the lane. 
 
 Yet amid so much that was bad needy respectability 
 also found a home. Under some of the roofs abode 
 pure and virtuous souls whose presence there was 
 due to the iron hand of necessity, and to that alone. 
 Families from decayed villages — families of that once 
 bulky, but now nearly extinct, section of village society 
 called ' liviers,' or lifeholders — copy-holders and others, 
 whose roof-trees had fallen for some reason or other, 
 compelling them to quit the rural spot that had been 
 their home for generations — came here, unless they 
 chose to He under a hedge by the wayside. 
 
 The inn called Peter's Finger was the churcli of 
 Mixen Lane. 
 
 ' It was centrally situate, as such places shotild be^ 
 308 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 and bore about the same social relation to the Three 
 Mariners as the latteir bore to the King's Arms. At 
 first sight the inn "was so respectable as to be puzzling. 
 The front door was kept shut, and the step was so clean 
 that evidently but few persons entered over its sanded 
 surface. But at the corner of the public-house was an 
 alley, a mere slit, dividing it from the next building. 
 Half-way up the alley was a narrow door, shiny and 
 paintless from the rub of infinite hands and shoulders. 
 This was the actual entrance to the inn. 
 
 A pedestrian would be seen abstractedly passing 
 along Mixen Lane ; and then, in a moment, he would 
 vanish, causing the gazer to blink like Ashton at the 
 disappearance of Ravenswood. That abstracted pedes- 
 trian had edged into the slit by the adroit fillip of his 
 person sideways ; from the slit he edged into the tavern 
 by a similar exercise of skill. 
 
 The company at the Three Mariners were persons 
 of quality in comparison with the company which 
 gathered here; though it must be admitted that the 
 lowest fringe of the Mariner's party touched the crest 
 of Peter's at points. Waifs and strays of all sorts 
 loitered about here. The landlady was a virtuous 
 woman, who had been unjustly sent to gaol as an 
 accessory to something or other after the fact. She 
 underwent her year, and had worn a martyr's coun- 
 tenance ever since, except at times of meeting the 
 constable who apprehended het, when she winked her 
 eye. 
 
 To this house Jopp and his acquaintances had 
 arrived. The settles on which they sat down Were 
 thin and tall, their tops beitig guyed by pieces of twine 
 to hooks in the ceiling; for when the guests grew 
 boisterous the settles would rock and overturn with- 
 out some such security. The thunder of bowls echoed 
 from the backyard; swingels hung behind the blower 
 of the chimney ; and ex-poachers and ex-gamekeepers, 
 309 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 whom squires had persecuted without a cause, sat 
 elbowing each other — men who in past times had met 
 in fights under the moon, till lapse of sentences on the 
 one part, and loss of favour and expulsion from service 
 on the other, brought them here together to a common 
 level, where they sat calmly discussing old times. 
 
 ' Dos't mind how you could jerk a trout ashore with 
 a bramble, and not ruffle the stream, Charl ? ' a deposed 
 keeper was saying. ' 'Twas at that I caught 'ee once, 
 if you can mind ? ' 
 
 ' That can I. But the worst larry for me was that 
 pheasant business at Yalbury Wood. Your wife swore 
 false that time, Joe — oh, by Gad, she did — there's no 
 denying it.' 
 
 ' How was that ? ' asked Jopp. 
 
 'Why — Joe closed wi' me, and we rolled down to- 
 gether, close to his garden hedge. Hearing the noise, 
 out ran his wife with the oven pyle, and it being dark 
 under the trees she • couldn't see which was uppermost. 
 " Where beest thee, Joe, under or top ? " she screeched. 
 " Oh — under, by Gad ! " says he. She then began to 
 rap down upon my skull, back, and ribs, with the pyle 
 till we'd roll over again. " Where beest now, dear Joe, 
 under or top ? " she'd scream again. By George, 'twas 
 through her I was took ! And then when we got up 
 in hall she sware that the cock pheasant was one of 
 her rearing, when 'twas not your bird at all, Joe ; 'twas 
 Squire Brown's bird — that's whose 'twas — one that 
 we'd picked off as we passed his wood, an hour afore. 
 It did hurt my feelings to be so wronged ! . . . . Ah 
 well — 'tis over now.' 
 
 'I might have had ye days afore that,' said the 
 keeper. 'I was within a few yards of ye dozens of 
 times, with a sight more of birds than that poor one.' 
 
 'Yes — 'tis not our greatest doings that the world 
 gets wind of,' said the furmity-woman, who, lately 
 settled in this purlieu, sat among the rest. Having 
 310 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 travelled a great deal in her time, she spoke with cos- 
 mopolitan largeness of idea. It was she who presently 
 asked Jopp what was the parcel he kept so snugly 
 under his arm. 
 
 ' Ah, therein lies a grand secret,' said Jopp. ' It is 
 the passion of love. To think that a woman should 
 love one man so well, and hate another so unmerci- 
 fully.' 
 
 ' Who's the object of your meditation, sir ? ' 
 
 'One that stands high in this town. I'd like to 
 shame her ! Upon my life, 'twould be as good as a 
 play to read her love-letters, the proud piece of silk 
 and wax-work ! For 'tis her love-letters that I've got 
 here.' 
 
 ' Love-letters ? then let's hear 'em, good soul,' said 
 Mother Cuxsom. ' Lord, do ye mind, Richard, what 
 fools we used to be when we were younger? Getting 
 a schoolboy to write ours for us ; and giving him a 
 penny, do ye mind, not to tell other folks what he'd 
 put inside, do ye mind ? ' 
 
 By this time Jopp had pushed his finger under the 
 seals, and unfastened the letters, tumbling them over 
 and picking up one here and there at random, which 
 he read aloud. These passages soon began to uncover 
 the secret which Lucetta had so earnestly hoped to 
 keep buried, though the epistles, being allusive only, 
 did not make it altogether plain. 
 
 ' Mrs. Farfrae wrote that ! ' said Nance Mockridge. 
 •'Tis a humbling thing for us, as respectable women, 
 that one of the same sex could do it. And now she's 
 vowed herself to another man ! ' 
 
 ' So much the better for her,' said the aged furmity- 
 woman. 'Ah, I saved her from a real bad marriage, 
 and she's never been the one to thank me.' 
 
 ' I say, what a good foundation for a skimmity-ride,' 
 said Nance. 
 
 ' True,' said Mrs. Cuxsom, reflecting. ' 'Tis as good 
 311 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 aground for a skimmity-ride as ever I knowed; and 
 it ought not to be wasted. The last one seen in 
 Casterbridge must have been ten years ago, if a day.' 
 
 At this moment there was a shrill whistle, and the 
 landlady said to the man who had been called Charl, 
 ' 'Tis Jim coming in. Would ye go and let down the 
 bridge for me ? ' 
 
 Without replying Charl and his comrade Joe rose, 
 and receiving a lantern from her went out at the back 
 door and down the garden-path, which ended abruptly 
 at the edge of the stream already mentioned. Beyond 
 the stream was the open moor, from which a clammy 
 breeze smote upon their faces as they advanced. Tak- 
 ing up the board that had lain in readiness, one of 
 them lowered it across the water, and the instant its 
 further end touched the ground footsteps entered upon 
 it, and there appeared from the shade a stalwart man 
 with straps round his knees, a double-barrelled gun 
 under his arm and some birds slung up behind liim. 
 They asked him if he had had much luck. 
 
 ' Not much,' he said indifferently. ' All safe 
 inside ? ' 
 
 Receiving a reply in the affirmative he went on 
 inwards, the others withdrawing the bridge and begin- 
 ning to retreat in his rear. Before, however, they had 
 entered the house a cry of ' Ahoy ' from the moor led 
 them to pause. 
 
 The cry was repeated. They pushed the lantern 
 into an out-house, and went back to the brink of the 
 stream. 
 
 ' Ahoy — is this the way to Casterbridge ? ' said some 
 one from the other side. 
 
 ' Not in particular,' said Charl. ' There's a river 
 afore ye.' 
 
 'I don't care — lere's for through it!' said the 
 man in the moor. ' I've had travelling enough for 
 to-day.' 
 
 312 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 ' Stop a minute, then,' said Charl, finding that the 
 man was no enemy. 'Joe, bring the plank and lan- 
 tern ; here's somebody that's lost his way. You should 
 have kept along the turnpike road, friend, and not 
 have strook across here.' 
 
 ' I should — as I see now. But I saw a light here, 
 and says I to myself, that's a short cut, depend on't.' 
 
 The plank was now lowered; and the stranger's 
 form shaped itself from the darkness. He was a 
 middle-aged man, with hair and whiskers prematurely 
 grey, and a broad and genial face. He had crossed 
 on the plank without hesitation, and seemed to see 
 nothing odd in the transit. He thanked them, and 
 walked between them up the garden. ' What place is 
 this ? ' he asked, when they reached the door. 
 
 ' A public-house.' 
 
 •Ah. Perhaps it will suit me to put up at. Now 
 then, come in and wet your whistle at my expense for 
 the lift over you have given me.' 
 
 They followed him into the inn, where the increased 
 light exhibited him as one who would stand higher in 
 an estimate by the eye than in one by the ear. He 
 was dressed with a certain clumsy richness — his coat 
 being furred, and his head covered by a cap of seal- 
 skin, which, though the nights were chilly, must have 
 been warm for the day time, spring being somewhat 
 advanced. In his hand he carried a small mahogany 
 case, strapped, and clamped with brass. 
 
 Apparently surprised at the kind of company which 
 confronted him through the kitchen door, he at once 
 abandoned his idea of putting up at the house; but 
 taking the situation lightly, he called for glasses of the 
 best, paid for them as he stood in the passage, and 
 turned to proceed on his way by the front door. This 
 was barred, and while the landlady was unfastening it 
 the conversation about the skimmington was continued 
 in the sitting-room, and reached his ears. 
 
 X 313 
 
The kAYoR OP CASTERfeftl&Gfi 
 
 'What do they mean by a " skimmity-ride " ? ' he 
 asked. 
 
 ' Oh, sir ! ' said the landlady, swinging her long ear- 
 rings with deprecating modesty ; ' tis a' old foolish 
 thing they do in these parts when a man's wife is — 
 well, not too particularly his own. But as a respectable 
 householder I don't encourage it.' 
 
 •Still, are they going to do it shortly? It is a 
 good sight to see, I suppose ? ' 
 
 ' Well, sir ! ' she simpered. And then, bursting into 
 naturalness, and glancing from the corner of her eye, 
 ' 'Tis the funniest thing under the sun ! And it costs 
 money.' 
 
 • Ah ! I remember hearing of some such thing. 
 Now I shall be in Casterbridge for two or three weeks 
 to come, and should not mind seeing the performance. 
 Wait a moment.' He turned back, entered the sitting- 
 room, and said, ' Here, good folks ; I should like to see 
 the old custom you are talking of, and I don't mind 
 being something towards it — take that.' He threw a 
 sovereign on the table and returned to the landlady at 
 the door, of whom, having inquired the way into the 
 town, he took his leave. 
 
 ■ There were more where that one came from,' said 
 Charl, when the sovereign had been taken up and 
 handed to the landlady for safe keeping. ' By George ! 
 we ought to have got a few more while we had him 
 here.' 
 
 ' No, no,' answered the landlady. ' This is a re- 
 spectable house, thank God! And I'll have nothing 
 done but what's honourable.' 
 
 ' Well,' said Jopp ; • now we'll consider the business 
 begun, and will soon get it in train.' 
 
 ' We will ! ' said Nance. ' A good laugh warms my 
 heart more than a cordial, and that's the truth on't.' 
 
 Jopp gathered up the letters, and it being now 
 somewhat late, he did not attempt to call at Farfrae's 
 314 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 with them that night. He reached home, sealed them 
 up as before, and delivered the parcel at its address 
 next morning. Within an hour its contents were 
 reduced to ashes by Lucetta, who, poor soul ! was 
 inclined to fall down on her knees in thankfulness 
 that at last no evidence remained of the unlucky 
 episode with Henchard in her past. For though hers 
 had been rather the laxity of inadvertence than of in- 
 tention, that episode, if known, was not the less likely 
 to operate fatally between herself and her husband. 
 
XXXVIl 
 
 oUCH was the state of things when the current affairs 
 of Casterbridge were interrupted by an event of such 
 magnitude that its influence reached to the lowest social 
 stratum there, stirring the depths of its society simul- 
 taneously with the preparations for the skimmington. 
 It was one of those excitements which, when they 
 move a country town, leave a permanent mark upon 
 its chronicles, as a warm summer permanently marks 
 the ring in the tree-trunk corresponding to its date. 
 
 A Royal Personage was about to pass through the 
 borough, on his course further west, to inaugurate an 
 immense engineering work out that way. He had con- 
 sented to halt half-an-hour or so in the town, and to 
 receive an address from the corporation of Casterbridge, 
 which, as a representative centre of husbandry, wished 
 thus to express its sense of the great services he had 
 rendered to agricultural science and economics, by his 
 zealous promotion of designs for placing the art of 
 farming on a more scientific footing. 
 
 Royalty had not been seen in Casterbridge since 
 the days of the third King George, and then only by 
 candlelight for a few minutes, when that monarch, on 
 a night-journey, had stopped to change horses at the 
 King's Arms. The inhabitants therefore decided to 
 make a thorough f&te carillonnee of the unwonted 
 316 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 occasion. Half-an-hour's pause was not long, it is 
 true; but much might be done in it by a judicious 
 grouping of incidents, above all, if the weather were 
 fine. 
 
 The address was prepared on parchment, by an 
 artist who was handy at ornamental lettering, and was 
 laid on with the best gold-leaf and colours that the 
 sign-painter had in his shop. The Council met on the 
 Tuesday before the appointed day, to arrange the details 
 of procedure. While they were sitting, the door of the 
 Council Chamber standing open, they heard a heavy 
 footstep coming up the stairs. It advanced along the 
 passage, and Henchard entered the room, in clothes 
 of frayed and threadbare shabbiness, the very clothes 
 which he had used to wear in the primal days when he 
 had sat among them. 
 
 'I have a feeling,' he said, advancing to the table 
 and laying his hand upon the green cloth, ' that I 
 should like to join ye in this reception of our illus- 
 trious visitor. I suppose I could walk with the rest ? ' 
 
 Embarrassed glances were exchanged by the Coun- 
 cil, and Grower nearly ate the end of his quill-pen, so 
 gnawed he it during the silence. Farfrae, the young 
 Mayor, who by virtue of his office sat in the large chair, 
 intuitively caught the sense of the meeting, and as 
 spokesman was obliged to utter it, glad as he would 
 have been that the duty should have fallen to another 
 tongue. 
 
 ' I hardly see that it would be proper, Mr. Henchard,' 
 said he. ' The Council are the Council, and as ye are 
 no longer one of the body, there would be an irregu- 
 larity in the proceeding. If ye were included, why 
 not others ? ' 
 
 ' I have a particular reason for wishing to assist at 
 the ceremony.' 
 
 Farfrae looked round. 'I think I have expressed 
 the feeling of the Council,' he said. 
 317 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 ' Ye?, yes,' trom Dr. Bath, Lawyer Long, Alderman 
 Tubber, and several more. 
 
 ' Then I am not to be allowed to have anything to 
 do with it officially ? ' 
 
 ' I am afraid so ; it is out of the question, indeed. 
 But of course you can see the doings full well, such 
 as they are to be, like the rest of the spectators.' 
 
 Henchard did not reply to that very obvious sug- 
 gestion, and, turning on his heel, went away. 
 
 It had been only a passing fancy of his, but opposi- 
 tion crystallized it into a determination. ' I'll welcome 
 his Royal Highness, or nobody shall ! ' he went about 
 saying. ' I am not going to be sat upon by Farfrae, 
 or any of the rest of the paltry crew ! You shall 
 see.' 
 
 The eventful morning was bright, a full-faced sun 
 confronting early window-gazers eastward, and all per- 
 ceived (for they were practised in weather-lore) that 
 there was permanence in the glow. Visitors soon 
 began to flock in from county houses, villages, remote 
 copses, and lonely uplands, the latter in oiled boots 
 and tilt bonnets, to see the reception, or if not to see 
 it, at any rate to be near it. There was hardly a 
 workman in the town who did not put a clean shirt 
 on. Solomon Longways, Christopher Coney, Buzzford, 
 and the rest of that fraternity, showed their sense of 
 the occasion by advancing their customary eleven 
 o'clock pint to half-past ten; from which they found 
 a difficulty in getting back to the proper hour for 
 several days. 
 
 Henchard had determined to do no work that day. 
 He primed himself in the morning with a glass of rum, 
 and walking down the street met Elizabeth-Jane, 
 whom he had not seen for a week. ' It was lucky,' 
 he said to her, ' my twenty years had expired before 
 this came on, or I should never have had the nerve to 
 carry it out.' 
 
 318 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 ' Carry out what ? ' said she, alarmed. 
 
 ' This welcome I am going to give our Royal 
 visitor 
 
 She was perplexed. 'Shall we go and see it to- 
 gether ? ' she said. 
 
 ' See it ! I have *other fish to fry. You see it. It 
 will be worth seeing ! ' 
 
 She could do nothing to elucidate this, and decked 
 herself out with a heavy heart. As the appointed time 
 drew near she got sight again of her stepfather. She 
 thought he was going to the Three Mariners ; but no, 
 he elbowed his way through the gay throng to the 
 shop of Woolfrey, the draper. She waited in the 
 crowd without. 
 
 In a few minutes he emerged, wearing, to her sur- 
 prise, a brilliant rosette, while more surprising still, in 
 his hand he carried a flag, of somewhat homely con- 
 struction, formed by tacking one of the small Union 
 Jacks, which abounded in the town to-day, to the end 
 of a deal wand — probably the roller from a piece of 
 calico. Henchard rolled up his flag on the doorstep, 
 put it under his arm, and went down the street. 
 
 Suddenly the taller members of the crowd turned 
 their heads, and the shorter stood on tiptoe. It was 
 said that the Royal cortege approached. The railway 
 had stretched out an arm towards Casterbridge at this 
 time, but had not reached it by several miles as yet ; 
 so that the intervening distance, as well as the re- 
 mainder of the journey, was to be traversed by road, 
 in the old fashion. People thus waited — the county 
 families in their carriages, the masses on foot — and 
 watched the far-stretching London highway to the ring- 
 ing of bells and chatter of tongues. 
 
 From the background Elizabeth- Jane watched the 
 
 scene. Some seats had been arranged from which 
 
 ladies could witness the spectacle, and the front seat 
 
 was occupied by Lucetta, the Mayor's wife, just at 
 
 319 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 present. In the road under her eyes stood Henchard. 
 She appeared so bright and pretty that, as it seemed, 
 he was experiencing the momentary weakness of wishing 
 for her notice. But he was far from attractive to a 
 woman's eye, ruled as that is so largely by the super- 
 ficies of things. He was not only a journeyman, 
 unable to appear as he formerly had appeared, but he 
 disdained to appear as well as he might. Everybody else, 
 from the Mayor to the washerwoman, shone in new ves- 
 ture according to means; but Henchard had doggedly 
 retained the fretted and weather-beaten garments of 
 bygone years. 
 
 Hence, alas, this occurred : Lucetta's eyes slid over 
 him to this side and to that without anchoring on a 
 feature — ^as gaily dressed women's eyes will too often do 
 on such occasions. Her manner signified quite plainly 
 that she meant to know him in public no more. 
 
 But she was never tired of watching Donald, as he 
 stood in animated converse with his friends a few yards 
 off, wearing round his young neck the official gold 
 chain with great square links, like that round the Royal 
 unicorn. Every trifling emotion that her husband 
 showed as he talked had its reflex on her face and lips, 
 which nioved in little duplicates to his. She was living 
 his part rather than her own, and cared for no one's 
 situation but Farfrae's that day. 
 
 At length a man stationed at the furthest turn of 
 the high road, namely, on the second bridge of which 
 mention has been made, gave a signal; and the Cor- 
 poration in their robes proceeded from the front of the 
 Town Hall to the archway erected at the entrance to 
 the town. The carriages containing the Royal visitor 
 and his suite arrived at the spot in a cloud of dust, a 
 procession was formed, and the whole came on to the 
 Town Hall at a walking pace. 
 
 This spot was the centre of interest. There were 
 a few clear yards in front of the Royal carriage; and 
 320 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 into this space a man stepped before any one could 
 prevent him. It was Henchard. He had unrolled 
 his private flag, and removing his hat he advanced 
 to the side of the slowing vehicle, waving the Union 
 Jack to and fro with his left hand, while he blandly 
 held out his right to the illustrious Personage. 
 
 All the ladies said with bated breath, 'Oh, look 
 there ! ' and Lucetta was ready to faint. Elizabeth- 
 Jane peeped through the shoulders of those in front, 
 saw what it was, and was terrified; and then her in- 
 terest in the spectacle as a strange phenomenon got 
 the better of her fear. 
 
 Farfrae, with Mayoral authority, immediately rose to 
 the occasion. He seized Henchard by the shoulder, 
 dragged him back, and told him roughly to be off. 
 Henchard's eyes met his, and Farfrae observed the 
 fierce light in them, despite his excitement and irrita- 
 tion. For a moment Henchard stood his ground 
 rigidly; then by an unaccountable impulse gave way 
 and retired. Farfrae glanced to the ladies' gallery, and 
 saw that his Calphurnia's cheek was pale. 
 
 ' Why — it is your husband's old patron ! ' said Mrs. 
 Blowbody, a lady of the neighbourhood who sat beside 
 Lucetta. 
 
 ' Patron ! ' said Donald's wife with quick indignation. 
 
 • Do you say the man is an acquaintance of Mr. 
 Farfrae's ? ' observed Mrs. Bath, the physician's wife, a 
 new-comer to the town, through her recent marriage 
 with the doctor. 
 
 ' He works for my husband,' said Lucetta. 
 
 «0h — is that all? They have been saying to me 
 that it was through him your husband first got a 
 footing in Casterbridge. What stories people will 
 tell ! ' 
 
 ' They will indeed. It was not so at all. Donald's 
 genius would have enabled him to get a footing any- 
 where, without anybody's help 1 He would have been 
 321 X 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 just the same if there had been no Henchard in the 
 world.' 
 
 It was partly Lucetta's ignorance of the circum- 
 stances of Donald's arrival which led her to speak thus ; 
 partly the sensation that everybody seemed bent on 
 snubbing her at this triumphant time. The incident 
 had occupied but a few moments, but it was necessarily 
 witnessed by the Royal personage, who, however, with 
 practised tact, affected not to have noticed anything un- 
 usual. He alighted, the Mayor advanced, the address 
 was read ; the visitor replied, then said a few words to 
 Farfrae, and shook hands with Lucetta as the Mayor's 
 wife. The ceremony occupied but a few minutes, and 
 the carriages rattled heavily as Pharaoh's chariots down 
 Corn Street and out upon the Budmouth Road, in con- 
 tinuation of the journey coastward. 
 
 In the crowd stood Coney, Buzzford, and Longways. 
 ' Some difference between him now and when he zung 
 at the Dree Mariners,' said the first. ' 'Tis wonderful 
 how he could get a lady of her quality to go snacks wi' 
 en in such quick time.' 
 
 ' True. Yet how folk do worship fine clothes ! 
 Now there's a better-looking woman than she that 
 nobody notices at all, because she's akin to that hontish 
 fellow Henchard.' 
 
 ' I could worship ye, Buzz, for saying that,' remarked 
 Nance Mockridge. ' I do like to see the trimming 
 pulled off such Christmas candles. I am quite unequal 
 to the part of villain myself, or I'd gi'e all my small 
 silver to see that lady toppered. . . . And perhaps I' 
 shall soon,' she added significantly. 
 
 'That's not a noble passiont for a 'oman to keep 
 up,' said Longways. 
 
 Nance did not reply, but every one knew what she 
 meant. The ideas diffused by the reading of Lucetta's 
 letters at Peter's Finger had condensed into a scan- 
 dal, which was spreading like a miasmatic fog through 
 323 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 Mixen Lane, and thence up the back streets of 
 Casterbridge. 
 
 This mixed assemblage of idlers known to each 
 other presently fell apart into two bands, by a process 
 of natural selection, the frequenters of Peter's Finger 
 going off Mixen Lane-wards, where most of them lived, 
 while Coney, Buzzford, Longways, and that connection 
 remained in the street. 
 
 ' You know what's brewing down there, I suppose ? ' 
 said Buzzford mysteriously to the others. 
 
 Coney looked at him. ' Not the skimmity-ride ? ' 
 
 Buzzford nodded. 
 
 ' I have my doubts if it will be carried out,' said 
 Longways. ' If they are getting it up they are keeping 
 it mighty close.' 
 
 ' I heard they were thinking of it a fortriight ago, at 
 all events.' 
 
 ' If I were sure o't I'd lay information,' said Long- 
 ways emphatically. ' 'Tis too rough a joke, and apt to 
 wake riots in towns. We know that the Scotchman is 
 a right enough man, and that his lady has been a right 
 enough 'oman since she came here, and if there was 
 anything wrong about her afore, that's their business, 
 not ours.' 
 
 Coney reflected. Farfrae was still liked in the com- 
 munity ; but it must be owned that, as the Mayor and 
 man of money, engrossed with affairs and ambitions, he 
 had lost in the eyes of the poorer inhabitants some- 
 thing of that wondrous charm which he had had for 
 them as a light-hearted, penniless young man, who sang 
 ditties as readily as the birds in the trees. Hence the 
 anxiety to keep him from annoyance showed not quite 
 the ardour that would have animated it in former days. 
 
 ' Suppose we make inquiration into it, Christopher,' 
 continued Longways j 'and if we find there's really 
 anything in it, drop a letter to them most concerned, 
 and advise 'em to keep out of the way ? ' ■ 
 323 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 This course was decided on, and the group separated, 
 Buzzford saying to Coney, ' Come, my ancient friend j 
 let's move on.' There's nothing more to see here." 
 
 These well-intentioned ones would have been sur- 
 prised had they known how ripe the great jocular plot 
 really was. 'Yes, to-night,' Jopp had said to the 
 Peter's party at the corner of Mixen Lane. 'As a 
 wind-up to the Royal visit the hit will be all the more 
 pat by reason of their great elevation to-day.' 
 
 To him, at least, it was not a joke, but a retaliation. 
 
XXXVIII 
 
 i HE proceedings had been brief — too brief — to 
 Lucetta, whom an intoxicating Weltlust had fairly 
 mastered; but they had brought her a great triumph 
 nevertheless. The shake of the Royal hand still 
 lingered in her fingers ; and the chit-chat she had 
 overheard, that her husband might possibly receive 
 the honour of knighthood, though idle to a degree, 
 seemed not the wildest vision; stranger things had 
 occurred to men so good and captivating as her 
 Scotchman was. 
 
 After the collision with the Mayor, Henchard had 
 withdrawn behind the ladies' stand; and there he 
 stoody regarding with a stare of abstraction the spot on 
 the lappel of his coat where Farfrae's hand had seized 
 it. He put his own hand there, as if he could hardly 
 realize such an outrage from one whom it had once 
 been his wont to treat with ardent generosity. While 
 pausing in this half-stupefied state the conversation of 
 Lucetta with the other ladies reached his ears; and 
 he distinctly heard her deny him — deny that he had 
 assisted Donald, that he was anything more than a 
 common journeyman. 
 
 He moved on homeward, and met Jopp in the 
 archway to the Bull Stake. ' So you've had a snub,' 
 said Jopp. 
 
 325 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 ' And what if I have ? ' answered Henchard sternly. 
 
 ' Why, I've had one too, so we are both under the 
 same cold shade.' He briefly related his attempt to 
 win Lucetta's intercession. 
 
 Henchard merely heard his story, without taking it 
 deeply in. His own relation to Farfrae and Lucetta 
 overshadowed all kindred ones. He went on saying 
 brokenly to himself, ' She has supplicated to me in 
 her time ; and now her tongue won't own me nor her 
 eyes see me ! . . . And he — how angry he looked. 
 Tp-?lTrn7i ^ ii it^ l iMi'Tf u M i P-JL ivprp a biiU breaki ng s fence . 
 ... I took it like a lamb, for I saw it could not be 
 settled there. He can rub brine on a green wound ! 
 , . . But he shall pay for it, and she shall be sorry. 
 It must come to a tussle — face to face ; and then we'll 
 see how a coxcomb can front a man ! ' 
 
 Without further reflection the fallen merchant, bent 
 on some wild . purpose, ate a hasty dinner, and went 
 forth to find Farfrae. After being injured by him as 
 a rival, and snubbed by him as a journeyman, the 
 crowning degradation had been reserved for this day 
 — that he should be shaken at the collar by him as a 
 vagabond in the face of the whole tov/n. 
 
 The crowds had dispersed. But for the green 
 arches which still stood as they were erected Caster- 
 bridge life had resumed its ordinary shape. Henchard 
 went down Corn Street till he came to Farfrae's house, 
 where he knocked, and left a message that he would 
 be glad to see his employer at the granaries as soon 
 as he conveniently could come there. Having done 
 this he proceeded round to the back and entered 
 the yard. 
 
 Nobody was present, for, as he had been aware, the 
 labourers and carters were enjoying a half-holiday on 
 account of the events of the morning — though the carters 
 would have to return for a short time later on, to feed 
 and litter down the horses. He had reached the 
 326 
 
The MaVoR op CAStERBftlDCE 
 
 granary steps and was about to ascend, when he said 
 to himself aloud, ' I'm stronger than he.' 
 
 Henchard returned to a shed, where he selected a 
 short piece of rope from several pieces that were lying 
 about ; hitching one end of this to a nail, he took the 
 other in his right hand and turned himself bodily 
 round, while keeping his arm against his side ; by this 
 contrivance he pinioned the latter effectively. He now 
 went up the ladders to the top floor of the corn- 
 stores. 
 
 It was empty, except of a few sacks, and at the 
 further end was the door often mentioned, opening 
 under the cathead and chain that hoisted the sacks. 
 He fixed the door open, and looked over the sill. 
 There was a depth of thirty or forty feet to the ground ; 
 here was the spot on which he had been standing with 
 Farfrae when Elizabeth-Jane had seen him lift his arm, 
 with many misgivings as to what the movement por- 
 tended. 
 
 He retired a few steps into the loft and waited. 
 From this elevated perch his eye could sweep the roofs 
 round about, the upper parts of the luxurious chestnut 
 trees, now delicate in leaves of a week's age, and the 
 drooping boughs of the limes; Farfrae's garden and 
 the green door leading therefrom. In course of time 
 — ^he could not say how long — that green door opened 
 and Farfrae came through. He was dressed as if for 
 a journey. The low light of the nearing evening caught 
 his head and face when he emerged from the shadow 
 of the wall, warming them to a complexion of flame- 
 colour. Henchard watched him with his mouth firmly 
 set, the squareness of his jaw and the verticality of 
 his profile being unduly marked. 
 
 Farfrae came on with one hand in his pocket, and 
 
 humming a tune in a way which told that the words 
 
 were most in his mind. They were those of the song 
 
 he had sung when he arrived years before at the Three 
 
 327 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 Mariners, a poor young man, adventuring for life and 
 fortune, and scarcely knowing whitherward : — 
 
 • " And here's a hand, my trusty fiere, 
 And gie's a hand o' thine." ' 
 
 Nothing moved Henchard like an old melody. He 
 sank back. ' No ; I can't do it ! ' he gasped. ' Why 
 does the infernal fool begin that now ! ' 
 
 At length Farfrae was silent, and Henchard looked 
 out of the loft door. 'Will ye come up here?' he 
 said. 
 
 ' Ay, man,' said Farfrae. ' I couldn't see ye. What's 
 wrang ? ' 
 
 A minute later Henchard heard his feet on the 
 lowest ladder. He heard him land on the first floor, 
 ascend and land on the second, begin the ascent to 
 the third. And then his head rose through the trap 
 behind, 
 
 ' What are you doing up here at this time ? ' he 
 asked, coming forward. 'Why didn't ye take your 
 holiday like the rest of the men ? ' He spoke in a 
 tone which had just severity enough in it to show 
 that he remembered the untoward event of the fore- 
 noon. 
 
 Henchard said nothing; but, going back, he closed 
 the stair hatchway, and stamped upon it so that it went 
 tight into its frame; he next turned to the wondering 
 young man, who by this time observed that one of 
 Henchard's arms was bound to his side. 
 
 ' Now,' said Henchard quietly, ' we stand face to 
 face — man and man. Your money and your fine wife 
 no longer hft 'ee above me as they did but now, and 
 my poverty does not press me down.' 
 
 ' What does it all mean ? ' asked Farfrae simply 
 
 ' Wait a bit, my lad. You should ha' thought twice 
 before you affronted to extremes a man who had nothing 
 328 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 to lose. I've stood your rivalry, which ruined me, and 
 your snubbing, which humbled me ; but your hustUng, 
 that disgraced me, I won't stand ! ' 
 
 Farfrae warmed a little at this. ' Ye'd no business 
 there,' he said. 
 
 ' As much as any one among ye ! What, you 
 forward stripling, tell a man of my age he'd no busi- 
 ness there I ' The anger-vein swelled in his forehead 
 as he spoke. 
 
 •You insulted Royalty, Henchard; and 'twas my 
 duty, as the chief magistrate, to stop you.' 
 
 ' Royalty be damned/ said Henchard. ' I am as 
 loyal as you, come to that ! ' 
 
 ' I am not here to argue. Wait till you cool doon, 
 wait till you cool; and you will see things the same 
 way as I do.' 
 
 ' You may be the one to cool first,' said Henchard 
 grimly. ' Now this is the case. Here be we, in this 
 four-square loft, to finish out that little wrestle you 
 began this morning. There's the door, forty foot 
 above ground. One of us two puts the other out by 
 that door — the master stays inside. If he likes he may 
 go down afterwards and give the alarm that the other 
 has fallen out by accident — or he may tell the truth — 
 that's his business. As the strongest man I've tied 
 one arm to take no advantage of 'ee. D'ye under- 
 stand ? Then here's at 'ee ! ' 
 
 There was no time for Farfrae to do aught but one 
 thing, to close with Henchard, for the latter had come 
 on at once. It was a wrestling match, the object of 
 each being to give his antagonist a back fall ; and on 
 Henchard's part, unquestionably, that it should be 
 through the door. 
 
 At the outset Henchard's hold by his only hand, 
 
 the right, was on the left side of Farfrae's collar, which 
 
 he firmly grappled, the latter holding Henchard by 
 
 his collar with the contrary hand. With his right he 
 
 329 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 endeavoured to get hold of his antagonist's left arm, 
 which, however, he could not do, so adroitly did Hen- 
 chard keep it in the rear as he gazed upon the lowered 
 eyes of his fair and slim antagonist. 
 
 Henchard planted the first toe forward, Farfrae 
 crossing him with his ; and thus far the struggle had 
 very much the appearance of the ordinary wrestling 
 of those parts. Several minutes were passed by them 
 in this attitude, the pair rocking and writhing like trees 
 in a gale, both preserving an absolute silence. By this 
 time their breathing could be heard. Then Farfrae 
 tried to get hold of the other side of Henchard's collar, 
 which was resisted by the larger man exerting all his 
 force in a wrenching movement, and this part of the 
 struggle ended by his forcing Farfrae down on his 
 knees by sheer pressure of one of his muscular arms. 
 Hampered as he was, however, he could not keep him 
 there, and Farfrae finding his feet again the struggle 
 proceeded as before. 
 
 By a whirl Henchard brought Donald dangerously 
 near the precipice ; seeing his position the Scotchman 
 for the first time locked himself to his adversary, and 
 all the efforts of that infuriated Prince of Darkness — 
 as he might have been called from his appearance just 
 now — were inadequate to lift or loosen Farfrae for a 
 time. By an extraordinary effort he succeeded at last, 
 though not until they had got far back again from the 
 fatal door. In doing so Henchard contrived to turn 
 Farfrae a complete somersault. Had Henchard's other 
 arm been free it would have been all over with Farfrae 
 then. But again he regained his feet, wrenching Hen- 
 chard's arm considerably, and causing him sharp pain, 
 as could be seen from the twitching of his face. He 
 instantly delivered the younger man an annihilating 
 turn by the left fore-hip, as it used to be expressed, 
 and following up his advantage thrust him towards the 
 door, never loosening his hold till Farfrae's fair head 
 330 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 was hanging over the ■window-sill, and his arm dangling 
 down outside the wall. 
 
 'Now,' said Henchard between his gasps, 'this is 
 the end of what you began this morning. Your life 
 is in my hands.' 
 
 ' Then take it, take it ! ' said Farfrae. ' Ye've wished 
 to long enough ! ' 
 
 Henchard looked down upon him in silence, and 
 their eyes met. ' O Farfrae ! — that's not true ! ' he 
 said bitterly. ' God is my witness that no man ever 
 loved another as I did thee at one time. . . . And 
 now — though I came here to kill 'ee, I cannot hurt 
 thee ! Go and give me in charge — do what you will 
 — I care nothing for what comes of me ! ' 
 
 He withdrew to the back part of the loft, and flung 
 himself into a corner upon some sacks, in the aban- 
 donment of remorse. Farfrae regarded him in silence ; 
 then went to the hatch and descended through it. 
 Henchard would fain have recalled him ; but his 
 tongue failed in its task, and the young man's steps 
 died on his ear. 
 
 Henchard took his full measure of shame and self- 
 reproach. The scenes of his first acquaintance with 
 Farfrae rushed back upon him — that time when the 
 curious mixture of romance and thrift in the young 
 man's composition so commanded his heart that Far- 
 frae could play upon him as on an instrument. So 
 thoroughly subdued was he that he remained on the 
 sacks in a crouching attitude, unusual for a man, and 
 for such a man. Its womanliness sat tragically on the 
 figure of so stern a piece of virility. He heard a con- 
 versation below, the opening of the coach-house door, 
 and the putting in of a horse, but took no notice. 
 
 Here he stayed till the thin shades thickened to 
 
 opaque obscurity, and the loft-door became an oblong 
 
 of gray light — the only visible shape around. At length 
 
 he arose, shook the dust from his clothes wearily, felt 
 
 33^ 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 his way to the hatch, and gropingly descended the steps 
 till he stood in the yard. 
 
 ' He thought highly of me once,' he murmured. 
 • Now he'll hate me and despise me for ever ! ' 
 
 He became possessed by an overpowering wish to 
 see Farfrae again that night, and by some desperate 
 pleading to attempt the well-nigh impossible task of 
 winning pardon for his late mad attack. But as he 
 walked towards Farfrae's door, he recalled the un- 
 heeded doings in the yard while he had lain above in 
 a sort of stupor. Farfrae he remembered had gone to 
 the stable and put the horse into the gig ; while doing 
 so. Whittle had brought him a letter ; Farfrae had then 
 said that he would not go towards Budmouth as he 
 had intended — that he was unexpectedly summoned to 
 Weatherbury, and meant to call at Mellstock on his 
 way thither, that place lying but one or two miles out 
 of his course. 
 
 He must have come prepared for a journey when 
 he first arrived in the yard, unsuspecting enmity ; and 
 he must have driven off (though in a changed direction) 
 without saying a word to any one on what had occurred 
 between themselves. 
 
 It would therefore be useless to call at Farfrae's 
 house till very late. 
 
 There was no help for it but to wait till his return, 
 though waiting was almost torture to his restless and 
 self-accusing soul. He walked about the streets and 
 outskirts of the town, lingering here and there till he 
 reached the stone bridge of which mention has been 
 made, an accustomed halting-place with him now. 
 Here he spent a long time, the purl of waters through 
 the weirs meeting his ear, and the Casterbridge lights 
 glimmering at no great distance off. 
 
 While leaning thus upon the parapet, his listless 
 attention was awakened by sounds of an unaccustomed 
 kind from the town quarter. They were a confusion 
 332 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 of rhythmical noises, to which the streets added yet 
 more confusion by encumbering them with echoes. 
 His first incurious thought that the clangour arose 
 from the town band, engaged in an attempt to round 
 off a memorable day by a burst of evening harmony, 
 was contradicted by certain peculiarities of reverbera- 
 tion. But inexplicability did not rouse him to more 
 than a cursory heed ; his sense of degradation was too 
 strong for the admission of foreign ideas ; and he leant 
 against the parapet as before. 
 
XXXIX 
 
 \VhEN Farfrae descended out of the loft breathless 
 from his encounter with Henchard, he paused at the 
 bottom to recover himself. He arrived at the yard 
 with the intention of putting the horse into the gig 
 himself (all the men having a hoUday), and driving to 
 a village on the Budmouth Road. Despite the fearful 
 struggle he decided still to persevere in his journey, 
 so as to recover himself before going indoors and meet- 
 ing the eyes of Lucetta. He wished to consider his 
 course in a case so serious. 
 
 When he was just on the point of driving off, ^Vhittle 
 arrived, with a note badly addressed, and bearing the 
 word 'immediate' upon the outside. On opening it 
 he was surprised to see that it was unsigned. It con- 
 tained a brief request that he would go to Weather- 
 bury that evening about some business which he was 
 conducting there. Farfrae knew nothing that could 
 make it pressing ; but as he was bent upon going out 
 he yielded to the anonymous request, particularly as he 
 had a call to make at Mellstock which could be included 
 in the same tour. Thereupon he told Whittle of his 
 change of direction, in words which Henchard had over- 
 heard ; and set out on his way. Farfrae had not directed 
 his man to take the message indoors, and Whittle had 
 not been supposed to do so on his own responsibility. 
 334 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 Now the anonymous letter was the well-intentioned 
 but clumsy contrivance of Longways and other of Far- 
 frae's men, to get him out of the way for the evening, 
 in order that the satirical mummery should fall flat, if 
 it were attempted. By giving open information they 
 would have brought down upon their heads the venge- 
 ance of those among their comrades who enjoyed these 
 boisterous old games ; and therefore the plan of sending 
 a letter recommended itself by its indirectness. 
 
 For poor Lucetta they took no protective measure, 
 believing with the majority there was some truth in 
 the scandal, which she would have to bear as she best 
 might. 
 
 It was about eight o'clock, and Lucetta was sitting 
 in the drawing-room alone. Night had set in for more 
 than half-an-hour, but she had not had the candles 
 lighted, for when Farfrae was away she preferred waiting 
 for him by the firelight, and, if it were not too cold, 
 keeping one of the window-sashes a little way open that 
 the sound of his wheels might reach her ears early. She 
 was leaning back in her chair, in a more hopeful mood 
 than she had enjoyed since her marriage. The day had 
 been such a success ; and the temporary uneasiness 
 which Henchard's show of effrontery had wrought in 
 her disappeared with the quiet disappearance of Hen- 
 chard himself under her husband's reproof. The float- 
 ing evidences of her absurd passion for him, and its 
 consequences, had been destroyed, and she really seemed 
 to have no cause for fear. 
 
 The reverie in which these and other subjects mingled 
 was disturbed by a hubbub in the distance, that in- 
 creased moment by moment. It did not greatly sur- 
 prise her, the afternoon having been given up to 
 recreation by a majority of the populace since the 
 passage of the Royal equipages. But her attention 
 was at once riveted to the matter by the voice of a 
 maid-servant next door, who spoke from an upper 
 335 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 window across the street to some other maid even 
 more elevated than she. 
 
 ' Which way be they going now ? ' inquired the first 
 with interest. 
 
 ' I can't be sure for *a moment,' said the second, 
 'because of the maker's chimbley. Oh yes — I can 
 see 'em. Well, I declare, I declare ! ' 
 
 • What, what ? ' from the first, more enthusiastically. 
 
 ' They are coming up Corn Street after all ! They 
 sit back to back ! ' 
 
 ' What — two of 'em — are there two figures ? ' 
 
 'Yes. Two images on a donkey, back to back, 
 their elbows tied to one another's ! She's facing the 
 head, and he's facing the tail.' 
 
 ' Is it meant for anybody particular ? ' 
 
 ' Well — it mid be. The man has got on a blue 
 coat and kerseymere leggings ; he has black whiskers, 
 and a reddish face. 'Tis a stuffed figure, with a 
 mask.' 
 
 The din was increasing now — then it lessened a 
 little. 
 
 ' There — I shan't see, after all ! ' cried the disap- 
 pointed first maid. 
 
 ' They have gone into a back street — that's all,' said 
 the one who occupied the enviable position in the attic. 
 ' There — now I have got 'em all endways nicely ! ' 
 
 ' What's the woman like ? Just say, and I can tell 
 in a moment if 'tis meant for one I've in mind.' 
 
 ' My — why — 'tis dressed just as she was dressed 
 when she sat in the front seat at the time the play- 
 actors came to the Town Hall ! ' 
 
 Lucetta started to her feet; and almost at the 
 instant the door of the room was quickly and softly 
 opened. Elizabeth- Jane advanced into the firelight. 
 
 ' I have come to see you,' she said breathlessly. ' I 
 did not stop to knock — forgive me ! I see you have 
 not shut your shutters, and the window is open.' 
 336 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 Without waiting for Lucetta's reply she crossed 
 quickly to the window, and pulled out one of the 
 shutters. Lucetta glided to her side. ' Let it be — 
 hush ! ' she said peremptorily, in a dry voice, while 
 she seized Elizabeth-Jane by the hand, and held up 
 her finger. Their intercourse had been so low and 
 hurried that not a word had been lost of the conversa- 
 tion without ; which had thus proceeded : — 
 
 ' Her neck is uncovered, and her hair in bands, 
 and her back-comb in place ; she's got on a puce silk, 
 and white stockings, and coloured shoes.' 
 
 Again Elizabeth- Jane attempted to close the window, 
 but Lucetta held her by main force. 
 
 ' Tis me ! ' she said, with a face pale as death. • A 
 procession — a scandal — an effigy of me, and him ! ' 
 
 The look of Elizabeth betrayed that the latter knew 
 it already. 
 
 ' Let us shut it out,' coaxed Elizabeth-Jane, noting 
 that the rigid wildness of Lucetta's features were grow- 
 ing yet more rigid and wild with the nearing of the 
 noise and laughter. ' Let us shut it out ! ' 
 
 ' It is of no use ! ' she shrieked out. ' He will 
 see it, won't he? Donald will see it! He is just 
 coming home — and it will break his heart — he will 
 never love me any more — and oh, it will kill me — 
 kill me ! ' 
 
 Elizabeth- Jane was frantic now. ' Oh, can't some- 
 thing be done to stop it ? ' she cried. ' Is there nobody 
 to do it — not one ? ' 
 
 She relinquished Lucetta's hands, and ran to the 
 door. Lucetta herself, saying recklessly, <I will see 
 it ! ' turned to the window, threw up the sash, and went 
 out upon the balcony. Elizabeth immediately followed 
 her, and put her arm round her to pull her in. 
 Lucetta's eyes were straight upon the spectacle of the 
 uncanny revel, now advancing rapidly. The numerous 
 lights around the two effigies threw them up into lurid 
 337 ^ 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 distinctness ; it was impossible to mistake the pair for 
 other than the intended victims. 
 
 'Come in, come in,' implored Elizabeth; 'and let 
 me shut the window ! ' 
 
 ' She's me — she's me — even to the parasol — my 
 green parasol ! ' cried Lucett'i, with a wild laugh as she 
 stepped in. She stood motionless for one second — 
 then fell heavily to the floor. 
 
 Almost at the instant of her fall the rude music 
 of the skimmington ceased. The roars of sarcastic 
 laughter went oif in ripples, and the trampling died 
 out like the rustle of a spent wind. Elizabeth was only 
 indirectly conscious of this; she had rung the bell, 
 and was bending over Lucetta, who remained convulsed 
 on the carpet in the paroxysms of an epileptic seizure. 
 hihe rang again and again, in vain ; the probability 
 being that the servants had all run out of the house 
 to see more of the Demoniac Sabbath than they could 
 see within. 
 
 At last Farfrae's man, who had been agape on the 
 door-step, came up; then the cook. The shutters, 
 hastily pushed to by Elizabeth, were quite closed, a 
 light was obtained, Lucetta carried to her room, and 
 the man sent off for a doctor. While Elizabeth was 
 undressing her she recovered consciousness ; but as 
 soon as she remembered what had passed the fit re- 
 turned. 
 
 The doctor arrived with unhoped-for promptitude; 
 he liad been standing at his door, like others, wonder- 
 ing what the uproar meant. As soon as he saw the 
 unhappy sufferer he said, in answer to Elizabeth's mute 
 appeal, ' This is serious.' 
 
 ' It is a fit,' Elizabeth said. 
 
 « Yes. But a fit in the present state of her health 
 means mischief. You must send at once for Mr. 
 Farfrae. Where is he ? ' 
 
 •He has driven into the country, sir,' said the 
 338 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 parlour-maid ; ' to some place on the Budmouth Road. 
 He's likely to be back soon.' 
 
 'Never mind; he must be sent for, in case he 
 should not hurry.' The doctor returned to the bed- 
 side again. The man was despatched, and they soon 
 heard him clattering out of the yard at the back. 
 
 Meanwhile Mr. Benjamin Grower, that prominent 
 burgess of whom mention has been already made, 
 hearing the din of cleavers, tongs, tambourines, kits, 
 crouds, humstrums, serpents, rams'-horns, and other 
 historical kinds of music as he sat indoors in the High 
 Street, had put on his hat and gone out to learn the 
 cause. He came to the corner above Farfrae's, and 
 soon guessed the nature of the proceedings ; for being 
 a native of the town he had witnessed such rough jests 
 before. His first move was to search hither and thither 
 for the constables ; there were two in the town, shrivelled 
 men whom he ultimately found in hiding up an alley, yet 
 more shrivelled than usual, having some not ungrounded 
 fears that they mig,ht be roughly handled if seen. 
 
 ' What can we two poor lammigers do against such 
 a multitude ! ' expostulated Stubberd, in answer to Mr. 
 Grower's chiding. ' 'Tis tempting 'em to commit felo 
 de se upon us, and that would be the death of the per- 
 petrator; and we wouldn't be the cause of a fellow- 
 creature's death on no account, not we ! ' 
 
 ' Get some help, then ! Here, I'll come with you. 
 We'll see what a few words of authority can do. Quick 
 now ; have you got your staves ? ' 
 
 ' We didn't want the folk to notice us as law officers, 
 being so short-handed, sir; so we pushed our Gover'- 
 ment staves up this water-pipe.' 
 
 ' Out with 'em, and come along, for Heaven's sake ! 
 Ah, here's Mr. Blowbody; that's lucky.' (Blowbody 
 was the third of the three borough magistrates.) 
 
 « Well, what's the row ? ' said Blowbody. ' Got their 
 names — hey ? ' 
 
 339 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 • No. Now,' said Grower to one of the constables, 
 ' you go with Mr. Blowbody round by the Old Walk and 
 come up the street ; and I'll go with Stubberd straight 
 forward. By this plan we shall have 'em between us. 
 Get their names only : no attack or interruption.' 
 
 Thus they started. But as Stubberd with Mr. 
 Grower advanced into Corn Street, whence the sounds 
 had proceeded, they were surprised that no procession 
 could be seen. They passed Farfrae's, and looked to 
 the end of the street. The lamp flames waved, the 
 Walk trees soughed, a few loungers stood about with 
 their hands in their pockets. Everything was as usual. 
 
 ' Have you seen a motley crowd, making a disturb- 
 ance ? ' Grower said magisterially to one of these in a 
 fustian jacket, who smoked a short pipe and wore straps 
 round his knees. 
 
 'Beg yer pardon, sir?' blandly said the person 
 addressed, who was no other than Charl, of Peter's 
 Finger. Mr. Grower repeated the words. 
 
 Chail shook his head to the zero of childlike ignor- 
 ance. ' No ; we haven't seen anything ; have we, Joe ? 
 And you was here afore I.' 
 
 Joseph was quite as blank as the other in his reply. 
 
 ' H'm — that's odd,' said Mr. Grower. ' Ah — here's 
 a respectable man coming that I know by sight. Have 
 you,' he inquired, addressing the nearing shape of 
 Jopp, 'have you seen any gang of fellows making a 
 devil of a noise — skimmington riding, or something of . 
 the sort ? ' 
 
 ' Oh no — nothing, sir,' Jopp replied, as if receiving 
 the most singular news. 'But I've not been far to- 
 night, so perhaps ' 
 
 ' Oh, 'twas here — ^just here,' said the magistrate. 
 
 'Now I've noticed, come to think o't, that the 
 
 wind in the Walk trees makes a peculiar poetical-like 
 
 murmur to-night, sir ; more than common ; so perhaps 
 
 'twas that ? ' Jopp suggested, as he rearranged his hand 
 
 340 
 
THE MAYOR OP CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 in his greatcoat pocket (where it ingeniously supported 
 a pair of kitchen tongs and a cow's horn, thrust up 
 under his waistcoat). 
 
 ' No, no, no, — d'ye think I'm a fool ? Constable, 
 come this way. They must have gone into the back 
 street.' 
 
 Neither in back street nor in front street, however, 
 could the disturbers be perceived ; and Blowbody and 
 the second constable, who came up at this time, brought 
 similar intelligence. Effigies, donkey, lanterns, band, 
 all had disappeared like the crew of Comus. 
 
 'Now,' said Mr. Grower, 'there's only one thing 
 more we can do. Get ye half-a-dozen helpers, and go 
 in a body to Mixen Lane, and into Peter's Finger. 
 I'm much mistaken if you don't find a clue to the 
 perpetrators there.' 
 
 The rusty jointed executors of the law mustered 
 assistance as soon as they could, and the whole party 
 marched off to the lane of notoriety. It was no rapid 
 matter to get there at night, not a lamp or glimmer 
 of any sort offering itself to light the way, except an 
 occasional pale radiance through some window-curtain, 
 or through the chink of some door which could not be 
 closed because of the smoky chimney within. At last 
 they entered the inn boldly, by the till then bolted 
 front-door, after a prolonged knocking, of loudness com- 
 mensurate with the importance of their standing. 
 
 In the settles of the large room, guyed to the ceil- 
 ing by cords as usual for stability, an ordinary group 
 sat drinking and smoking with statuesque quiet of 
 demeanour. The landlady looked mildly at the in- 
 vaders, saying in honest accents, 'Good evening, 
 gentlemen; there's plenty of room. I hope there's 
 nothing amiss ? ' 
 
 They looked round the room. ' Surely,' said Stub- 
 berd to one of the men, ' I saw you by now in Corn 
 Street — Mr. Grower spoke to 'ee ? ' 
 341 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 The man, who was Charl, shook his head absently. 
 « I've been here this last hour, hain't I, Nance ? ' he 
 said to the woman who meditatively sipped her ale 
 near him. 
 
 ' Faith, that you have. I came in for my quiet 
 supper-time half-pint, and you was here then, as was 
 all the rest.' 
 
 The other constable was facing the clock-case, where 
 he saw reflected in the glass a quick motion by the 
 landlady. Turning sharply, he caught her dosing the 
 oven-door. 
 
 ' Something curious about that oven, ma'am ! ' he 
 observed advancing, opening it, and drawing out a 
 tambourine. 
 
 ' Oh,' she said, apologetically, ' that's what we keep 
 here to use when there's a little quiet dancing. You 
 see damp weather spoils it, so I put it there to keep 
 it dry.' 
 
 The constable nodded knowingly; but what he 
 knew was nothing. Nohow could anything be elicited 
 from this mute and inoffensive assembly. In a few 
 minutes the investigators went out, and joining those 
 of their auxiliaries who had been left at the door, they 
 pursued their way elsewhither. 
 
XL 
 
 i-yONG before this time Henchard, weary of his rumi- 
 nations on the bridge, had repaired towards the town. 
 When he stood at the bottom of the street a procession 
 burst upon his view, in the act of turning out of an 
 alley just above him. The lanterns, horns, and multi- 
 tude startled him; he saw the mounted images, and 
 knew what it all meant. 
 
 They crossed the way, entered another street, and 
 disappeared. He turned back a few steps and was lost 
 in grave reflection, finally wending his way homeward 
 by the obscure river-side path. Unable to rest there, 
 he went to his stepdaughter's lodging, and was told that 
 Elizabeth-Jane had gone to Mrs. Farfrae's. Like one 
 acting in obedience to a charm, and with a name- 
 less apprehension, he followed in the same direction, 
 in the hope of meeting her, the roysterers having 
 vanished. Disappointed in this, he gave the gentlest 
 of pulls to the door-bell, and then learnt particulars of 
 what had occurred, together with the doctor's impera- 
 tive orders that Farfrae should be brought home, and 
 how they had set out to meet him on the Budmouth 
 Road. 
 
 ' But he has gone to Mellstock and Weatherbury ! ' 
 exclaimed Henchard, now unspeakably grieved. ' Not 
 Budmouth way at all.' 
 
 343 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 But, alas ! for Henchard ; he had lost his good 
 name. They would not believe him, taking his words 
 but as the frothy utterances of recklessness. Though 
 Lucetta's life seemed at that moment to depend upon 
 her husband's return (she being in great mental agony 
 lest he should never know the unexaggerated truth of 
 her past relations with Henchard), no messenger was 
 despatched towards Weatherbury: Henchard, in a 
 state of bitter anxiety and contrition, determined to 
 seek Farfrae himself. 
 
 To this end he hastened down the town, ran along 
 the eastern road over Durnover moor, up' the hill 
 beyond, and thus onward in the moderate darkness 
 of this spring night till he had reached a second and 
 almost a third hill about three miles distant. In Yal- 
 bury Bottom, the plain at the foot of the hill, he listened. 
 At first nothing, beyond his own heart-throbs, was to 
 be heard but the slow wind making its moan among 
 the masses of spruce and larch of Yalbury Wood which 
 clothed the heights on either hand ; but presently there 
 came the sound of light wheels whetting their felloes 
 against the newly stoned patches of road, accompanied 
 by the distant glimmer of lights. 
 
 He knew it was Farfrae's gig descending the hill 
 from an indescribable personality in its noise, the 
 vehicle having been his own till bought by the 
 Scotchman at the sale of his effects. Henchard 
 thereupon retraced his steps, the gig coming up with 
 him as its driver slackened speed at the foot of the 
 decline. 
 
 It was a point in the highway near which the road 
 to Mellstock branched off from the homeward direction. 
 By diverging to that village, as he had intended to do, 
 Farfrae might probably delay his return by a couple 
 of hours. It soon appeared that his intention was to 
 do so still, the light swerving towards Cuckoo Lane, 
 the b?-road aforesaid. Farfrae's off gig-lamp flashed in 
 344 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 Henchard's face. At the same time, Farfrae discerned 
 his late antagonist. 
 
 ' Farfrae- — Mr. Farfrae ! ' cried the breathless Hen- 
 chard, holding up his hand. 
 
 Farfrae allowed the horse to turn several steps into 
 the branch lane before he pulled up. He then drew 
 rein, and said ' Yes ? ' over his shoulder, as one would 
 towards a pronounced enemy. 
 
 ' Come back to Casterbridge at once ! ' Henchard 
 said. 'There's something wrong at your house — re- 
 quiring your return. I've run all the way here on 
 purpose to tell ye.' 
 
 Farfrae was silent, and at his silence Henchard's 
 soul sank within him. Why had he not, before this, 
 thought of what was only too obvious ? He who, four 
 hours earlier, had enticed Farfrae into a deadly wrestle, 
 stood now in the darkness of late night-time on a 
 lonely road, inviting him to come a particular way, where 
 he might have confederates, instead of his purposed way, 
 where there might be a better opportunity of guarding 
 himself from attack. Henchard could almost feel this 
 view of things in course of passage through Farfrae's 
 mind. 
 
 ' I have to go to Mellstock,' said Farfrae coldly, as 
 he loosened his rein to move on. 
 
 'But,' implored Henchard, 'the matter is more 
 serious than your business at Mellstock. It is — your 
 wife ! She is ill. I can tell you particulars as we go 
 along.' 
 
 The very agitation and abruptness of Henchard in- 
 creased Farfrae's suspicion that this was a ruse to decoy 
 him on to the next wood, where might be effectually 
 compassed what, from policy or want of nerve, Hen- 
 chard had failed to do earlier in the day. He started 
 the horse. 
 
 'I know what you think,' deprecated Henchard, 
 running after, almost bowed down with despair as he 
 345 
 
The mayor of casTerbridge 
 
 perceived the image of unscrupulous villainy that he 
 assumed in his former friend's eyes. ' But I am not 
 what you think ! ' he cried hoarsely. ' Believe me, 
 Farfrae; I have come entirely on your own and your 
 wife's account. She is in danger. I know no more ; 
 and they want you to come. Your man has gone the 
 other way in a mistake. O Farfrae ! don't mistrust 
 me — I am a wretched man; but my heart is true to 
 you still ! ' 
 
 Farfrae, however, did distrust him utterly. He 
 knew his wife was with child, but he had left her not 
 long ago in perfect health ; and Henchard's treachery 
 was more credible than his story. He had in his time 
 heard bitter ironies from Henchard's lips, and there 
 might be ironies now. He quickened the horse's pace, 
 and had soon risen into the high country lying between 
 there and Mellstock, Henchard's spasmodic run after 
 him lending yet more substance to his thought of evil 
 purposes. 
 
 The gig and its driver lessened against the sky in 
 Henchard's eyes ; his exertions for Farfrae's good had 
 been in vain. Over this repentant sinner, at least, 
 there was to be no joy in heaven. He cursed himselif 
 like a less scrupulous Job, as a vehement man will do 
 when he loses self-respect, the last mental prop under 
 poverty. To this he had come after a time of emo- 
 tional darkness of which the adjoining woodland shade 
 afforded inadequate illustration. Presently he began to 
 walk back again along the way by which he had arrived. 
 Farfrae should at all events have no reason for delay 
 upon the road by seeing him there when he took his 
 journey homeward later on. 
 
 Arriving at Casterbridge, Henchard went again to 
 Farfrae's house to make inquiries. As soon as the 
 door opened anxious faces confronted his from the 
 staircase, hall, and landing ; and they all said in griev- 
 ous disappoiniment, ' Oh — it is not he ! ' The man, 
 346 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 finding his mistake, had long since returned, and all 
 hopes had been centred upon Henchard. 
 
 ' But haven't you found him ? ' said the doctor. 
 
 ' Yes. ... I cannot tell ye ! ' Henchard replied as 
 he sank down on a chair within the entrance. ' He 
 can't be home for two hours.' 
 
 ' H'm,' said the physician, returning upstairs. 
 
 ' How is she ? ' asked Henchard of Elizabeth, who 
 formed one of the group. 
 
 ' In great danger, father. Her anxiety to see her 
 husband makes her fearfully restless. Poor woman — • 
 I fear they have killed her ! ' 
 
 Henchard regarded the sympathetic speaker for a 
 few instants as if she struck him in a new light ; then, 
 without further remark, went out of the door and onward 
 to his lonely cottage. So much for man's rivalry, he 
 thought. Death was to have the oyster, and Farfrae 
 and himself the shells. But about Elizabeth- Jane ; in 
 the midst of his gloom she seemed to him as a pin-point 
 of light. He had liked the look of her face as she 
 answered him from the stairs. There had been affec- 
 tion in it, and above all things what he desired now 
 was affection from anything that was good and pure. 
 She was not his own; yet, for the first time, he had 
 a faint dream that he might get to like her as his own, 
 — if she would only continue to love him. 
 
 Jopp was just going to bed when Henchard got home. 
 As the latter entered the door Jopp said, ' This is rather 
 bad about Mrs. Farfrae's illness.' 
 
 ' Yes,' said Henchard shortly, though little dreaming 
 of Jopp's complicity in the night's harlequinade, and 
 raising his eyes Just sufficiently to observe that Jopp's 
 face was lined with anxiety. 
 
 'Somebody has called for you,' continued Jopp, 
 when Henchard was shutting himself into his own 
 apartment. 'A kind of traveller, or sea-captain of 
 some sort.' 
 
 347 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 ' Oh ! — who could he be ? ' 
 
 *He seemed a well-be-doing man — had grey hair 
 and a broadish face; but he gave no name, and no 
 message.' 
 
 ' Nor do I gi'e him any attention.' And, saying 
 this, Henchard closed his door. 
 
 The divergence to Mellstock delayed Farfrae's return - 
 very nearly the two hours of Henchard's estimate. 
 Among the other urgent reasons for his presence had 
 been the need of his authority to send to Bud- 
 mouth for a second physician; and when at length 
 Farfrae did come back he was in a state bordering 
 on distraction at his misconception of Henchard's 
 motives. 
 
 A messenger was despatched to Budmouth, late as 
 it had grown ; the night wore on, and the other doctor 
 came in the small hours. Lucetta had been much 
 soothed by Donald's arrival; he seldom or never left 
 her side; and when, immediately after his entry, she 
 had tried to lisp out to him the secret which so op- 
 pressed her, he checked her feeble words, lest talking 
 should be dangerous, assuring her there was plenty of 
 time to tell him everything. 
 
 Up to this time he knew nothing of the skimming- 
 ton-ride. The dangerous illness and miscarriage of 
 Mrs. Farfrae was soon rumoured through the town, 
 and an apprehensive guess having been given as to its 
 cause by the leaders in the exploit, compunction and 
 fear threw a dead silence over all particulars of their 
 orgie; while those immediately around Lucetta would 
 not venture to add to her husband's distress by allud- 
 ing to the subject. 
 
 What, and how much, Farfrae's wife ultimately ex- 
 plained to him of her past entanglement with Henchard, 
 when they were alone in the solitude of that sad night, 
 cannot be told. That she informed him of the bare 
 348 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 facts of her peculiar intimacy with the corn-merchant 
 became plain from Farfrae's own statements. But in 
 respect of her subsequent conduct — her motive in 
 coming to Casterbridge to unite herself with Henchard 
 — ^her assumed justification in abandoning him when 
 she discovered reasons for fearing him (though in truth 
 her inconsequent passion for another man at first sight 
 had most to do with that abandonment) — her method 
 of reconciling to her conscience a marriage with the 
 second when she was in a measure committed to the 
 first : to what extent she spoke of these things re- 
 mained Farfrae's secret alone. 
 
 Besides the watchman who called the hours and 
 weather in Casterbridge that night there walked a 
 figure up and down Corn Street hardly less frequently. 
 It was Henchard's, whose retiring to rest had proved 
 itself a futility as soon as attempted; and he gave it 
 up to go hither and thither, and make inquiries about 
 the patient every now and then. He called as much 
 on Farfrae's account as on Lucetta's, and on EUzabeth- 
 Jane's even more than on cither's. Shorn one by one 
 of all other interests, his life seemed centering on the 
 personality of the stepdaughter whose presence but 
 recently he could not endure. To see her on each 
 occasion of his inquiry at Lucetta's was a comfort to 
 him. 
 
 The last of his calls was made about four o'clock 
 in the morning, in the steely hght of dawn. Lucifer 
 was fading into day across Durnover Moor, the sparrows 
 were just alighting into the street, and the hens had 
 begun to cackle from the outhouses. When within a 
 few yards of Farfrae's he saw the door gently opened, 
 and a servant raise her hand to the knocker, to untie 
 the piece of cloth which had muffled it. He went 
 across, the sparrows in his way scarcely flying up from 
 the road-htter, so little did they believe in human 
 aggression at so early a time. 
 349 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 ' Why do you take off that ? ' said Henchard. 
 
 She turned in some surprise at his presence, and 
 did not answer for an instant or two. Recognizing 
 him, she said, 'Because they may knock as loud as 
 they will ; she will never hear it any more.' 
 
XLI 
 
 rlENCHARD went home. The morning having now 
 fully broke he lit his fire, and sat abstractedly beside 
 it. He had not sat there long when a gentle footstep 
 approached the house and entered the passage, a finger 
 tapping lightly at the door. Henchard's face brightened, 
 for he knew the motions to be Elizabeth's. She came 
 into his room, looking wan and sad. 
 
 ' Have you heard ? ' she asked. ' Mrs. Farfrae ! She 
 is — dead ! Yes, indeed — about an hour ago ! ' 
 
 ' I know it,' said Henchard. ' I have but lately come 
 in from there. It is so very good of 'ee, Elizabeth, to 
 come and tell me. You must be so tired out, too, 
 with sitting up. Now do you bide here with me this 
 morning. You can go and rest in the other room; 
 and I will call 'ee when breakfast is ready.' 
 
 To please him, and herself — for his recent kindliness 
 was winning a surprised gratitude from the lonely girl 
 — she did as he bade her, and lay down on a sort of 
 couch which Henchard had rigged up out of a settle 
 in the adjoining room. She could hear him moving 
 about in his preparations; but her mind ran most 
 strongly on Lucetta, whose death, in such fulness of 
 life, and amid such cheerful hopes of maternity, was 
 appallingly unexpected. Presently she fell asleep. 
 
 Meanwhile her stepfather in the outer room had set 
 351 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 the breakfast in readiness ; but finding that she dozed 
 he would not call her ; he waited on, looking into the 
 fire and keeping the kettle boiling with housewifely 
 care, as if it were an honour to have her in his house. 
 In truth, a great change had come over him with regard 
 to her, and he was developing the dream of a future lit 
 by her filial presence, as though that way alone could 
 happiness lie. 
 
 He was disturbed by another knock at the door, and 
 rose to open it, rather deprecating a call from anybody 
 just then. A stoutly built man stood on the doorstep, 
 with an alien, unfamiliar air about his figure and bear- 
 ing — an air which might have been called colonial by 
 people of cosmopolitan experience. It was the man 
 who had asked the way at Peter's Finger. Henchard 
 nodded, and looked inquiry. 
 
 ' Good morning, good morning,' said the stranger 
 with profuse heartiness. 'Is it Mr. Henchard I am 
 talking to ? ' 
 
 ' My name is Henchard.' 
 
 ' Then I caught 'ee at home — that's right. Morn- 
 ing's the time for business, says I. Can I laave a few 
 words with you ? ' 
 
 'By all means,' Henchard answered, showing the 
 way in. 
 
 ' You may remember me ? ' said his visitor, seating 
 himself. 
 
 Henchard observed him indifferently, and shook his 
 head. 
 
 ' Well — perhaps you may not. My name is Newson.' 
 
 Henchard's face and eyes seemed to die. The other 
 did not notice it. ' I know the name well,' Henchard 
 said at last, looking on the floor. 
 
 ' I make no doubt of that. Well, the fact is, I've 
 
 been looking for 'ee this fortnight past. I landed at 
 
 Havenpool and went through Casterbridge on my way 
 
 to Falmouth, and when I got there, they told me you 
 
 352 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 had some years before been living at Casterbridge. 
 Back came I again, and by long and by late I got here 
 by coach, ten minutes ago. " He lives down by the 
 mill," says they. So here I am. Now — that transac- 
 tion between us some twenty years agone — 'tis that 
 I've called about. 'Twas a curious business. I was 
 younger then than I am now, and perhaps the less said 
 about it, in one sense, the better.' 
 
 ' Curious business ! 'Twas worse than curious. 
 I cannot even allow that I'm the man you met then. 
 I was not in my senses, and a man's senses are him- 
 self.' 
 
 'We were young and thoughtless,' said Newson. 
 ' However, I've come to mend matters rather than 
 open arguments. Poor Susan — her's was a strange 
 experience.' 
 
 ' It was.' 
 
 ' She was a warm-hearted, home-spun woman. She 
 was not what they call shrewd or sharp at all — better 
 she had been.' 
 
 ' She was not.' 
 
 'As you in all likelihood know, she was simple- 
 minded enough to think that the sale was in a way 
 binding. She was as guiltless o' wrong-doing in that 
 particular as a saint in the clouds.' 
 
 'I know it, I know it. I found it out directly,' 
 said Henchard, still with averted eyes. 'There lay 
 the sting o't to me. If she had seen it as what it 
 was, she would never have left me. Never ! But how 
 should she be expected to know? What advantages 
 had she? None. She could write her own name, 
 and no more.' 
 
 'Well, it was not in my heart to undeceive her 
 when the deed was done,' said the sailor of former 
 days. ' I thought, and there was not much vanity in 
 thinking it, that she would be happier with me. She 
 was faiily happy, and I never would have undeceived 
 353 2 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 her till the day of her death. Your ch'ld died ; she 
 had another, and all went well. But a time came — 
 mind me, a time always does come. A time came 
 — it was some while after she and I and the child 
 returned from America — when somebody she had con- 
 fided her history to, told her my claim to her was a 
 mockery, and made a jest of her belief in my right. 
 After that she was never happy with me. She pined 
 and pined, and socked and sighed. She said she must 
 leave me, and then came the question of our child. 
 Then a man advised me how to act, and I did it, for 
 I thought it was best. I left her at Falmouth, and 
 went off to sea. When I got to the other side of the 
 Atlantic there was a storm, and it was supposed that a 
 lot of us, including myself, had been washed overboard. 
 I got ashore at Newfoundland, and then I asked myself 
 what I should do. ' Since I'm here, here I'll bide,' I 
 thought to myself; ' 'twill be most kindness to her, now 
 she's taken against me, to let her believe me lost ; for,' 
 I thought, ' while she supposes us both alive she'll be 
 miserable ; but if she thinks me dead she'll go back to 
 him, and the child will have a home.' I've never re- 
 turned to this country till a month ago, and I found that, 
 as I had supposed, she went to you, and my daughter 
 with her. They told me in Falmouth that Susan was 
 dead. But my Elizabeth- Jane — ^where is she ? ' 
 
 ' Dead likewise,' said Henchard doggedly. ' Surely 
 you learnt that too ? ' 
 
 The sailor started up, and took an enervated pace 
 or two down the room. ' Dead ! ' he said, in a low 
 voice. ' Then what's the use of my money to me ? ' 
 
 Henchard, without answering, shook his head, as if 
 that were rather a question for Newson himself than 
 for him. 
 
 ' \Vhere is she buried ? ' the traveller in juired. 
 
 'Beside her mother,' said Henchard, in the same 
 stolid tones. 
 
 354 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 • When did she die ? ' 
 
 ' A year ago and more,' replied the other without 
 hesitation. 
 
 The sailor continued standing. Henchard never 
 looked up from the floor. At last Newson said : ' My 
 journey hither has been for nothing! I may as well 
 go as I came! It has served me right. I'll trouble 
 you no longer.' 
 
 Henchard heard the retreating footsteps of Newson 
 upon the sanded floor, the mechanical lifting of the 
 latch, the slow opening and closing of the door that was 
 natural to a baulked or dejected man ; but he did not 
 turn his head. Newson's shadow passed the window. 
 He was gone. 
 
 Then Henchard, scarcely believing the evidence of 
 his senses, rose from his seat, amazed at what he had 
 done. It had been the impulse of a moment. The 
 regard he had lately acquired for Elizabeth, the new- 
 sprung hope of his loneliness that she would be to 
 him a daughter of whom he could feel as proud as of 
 the actual daughter she still believed herself to be, had 
 been stimulated by the unexpected coming of Newson 
 to a greedy exclusiveness in relation to her; so that 
 the sudden prospect of her loss had caused him to 
 speak mad lies like a child, in pure mockery of conse- 
 quences. He had expected questions to close in round 
 him, and unmask his fabrication in five minutes ; yet 
 such questioning had not come. But surely they would 
 come; Newson's departure could be but momentary; 
 he would learn all by inquiries in the town ; and return 
 to curse him, and carry his last treasure away ! 
 
 He hastily put on his hat, and went out in the 
 direction that Newson had taken. Newson's back was 
 soon visible up the road. Henchard followed; and 
 saw his visitor stop at the King's Arms, where the 
 morning coach which had brought him waited half-an- 
 hour for another coach which crossed there. The coach 
 355 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 Newson had come by was now about to move again. 
 Newson mounted ; his luggage was put in, and in a few 
 minutes the vehicle disappeared with him. 
 
 He had not so much as turned his head. It was an 
 act of simple faith in Henchard's words — faith so simple 
 as to be almost sublime. The young sailor who had 
 taken Susan Henchard on the spur of the moment, and 
 on the faith of a glance at her face, more than twenty 
 years before, was still living and acting under the form 
 of the grizzled traveller who had taken Henchard's words 
 on trust so absolute as to shame him as he stood. 
 
 Was Elizabeth-Jane to remain bis by virtue of this 
 hardy invention of a moment ? ' Perhaps not for long,' 
 said he. Newson might converse with his fellow- 
 travellers, some of whom might be Casterbridge people; 
 and the trick would be discovered. 
 
 This probability threw Henchard into a defensive 
 attitude, and instead of considering how best to right 
 the wrong, and acquaint Elizabeth's father with the truth 
 at once, he bethought himself of ways to keep the 
 position he had accidentally won. Towards the young 
 woman herself his affection grew more jealously strong 
 with each new hazard to which his claim to her was 
 exposed. 
 
 He watched "^he distant highway, expecting to see 
 Newson return on foot, enlightened and indignant, to 
 claim his child. But no figure appeared. Possibly he 
 had spoken to nobody on the coach, but buried his 
 grief in his own heart. 
 
 His grief! — what was it, after all, to that which he, 
 Henchard, would feel at the loss of her? Newson's 
 affection, cooled by years, could not equal his who had 
 been constantly in her presence. And thus his jealous 
 soul speciously argued to excuse the separation of father 
 and child. 
 
 He returned to the house half expecting that she 
 would have vanished. No ; there she was — ^just coming 
 3S6 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 out from the inner room, the marks of sleep upon hef 
 eyelids, and exhibiting a generally refreshed air. 
 
 ' O father ! ' she said, smiling. ' I had no sooner 
 lain down than I napped, though I did not mean to ? 
 I wonder I did not dream about poor Mrs. Farfrae, 
 after thinking of her so ; but I did not. How strange 
 it is that we do not often dream of latest events, 
 absorbing as they may be.' 
 
 ' I am glad you have been able to sleep,' he said, 
 taking her hand with anxious proprietorship — an act 
 which gave her a pleasant surprise. 
 
 They sat down to breakfast, and Elizabeth-Jane's 
 thoughts reverted to Lucetta. Their sadness added 
 charm to a countenance whose beauty had ever lain 
 in its meditative soberness. 
 
 ' Father,' she said, as soon as she recalled herself 
 to the outspread meal, ' it is so kind of you to get this 
 nice breakfast with your own hands, and I idly asleep 
 the while.' 
 
 ' I do it every day,' he replied. • You have left me ; 
 everybody has left me; how should I live but by my 
 own hands.' 
 
 ' You are very lonely, are you not ? ' 
 
 'Ay, child — to a degree that you know nothing of! 
 It is my own fault. You are the only one who has been 
 near me for weeks. And you will come no more.' 
 
 ' Why do you say that ? Indeed I will, if you would 
 like to see me.' 
 
 Henchard signified dubiousness. Though he had so 
 lately hoped that Elizabeth-Jane might again live in 
 his house as daughter, he would not ask her to do so 
 now. Newson rrjight return at any moment, and what 
 Elizabeth would think of him for his deception it were 
 best to bear apart from her. 
 
 When they had breakfasted his stepdaughter still 
 lingered, till the moment arrived at which Henchard 
 was accustomed to go to his daily work. Then she 
 357 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 arose, and with assurances of coming again, soon went 
 up the hill in the morning sunlight. 
 
 ' At this moment her heart is as warm towards me 
 as mine is towards her ; she would live with me here 
 in this humble cottage for the asking ! Yet before the 
 evening probably he will have come ; and then she will 
 scorn me ! ' 
 
 This reflection, constantly repeated by Henchard to 
 himself, accompanied him everywhere through the day. 
 His mood was no longer that of the rebellious, ironical, 
 reckless misadventurer ; but the leaden gloom of one 
 who has lost all that can make life interesting, or even 
 tolerable. There would remain nobody for him to be 
 proud of, nobody to fortify him; for Elizabeth-Jane 
 would soon be but as a stranger, and worse. Susan, 
 Farfrae, Lucetta, Elizabeth — all had gone from him, one 
 after one, either by his fault or by his misfortune. 
 
 In place of them he had no interest, hobby, or 
 desire. If he could have summoned music to his aid, 
 his existence might even now have been borne; for 
 with Henchard music was of regal power. The merest 
 trumpet or organ tone was enough to move him, and 
 high harmonies transubstantiated him. But fate had 
 ordained that he should be unable to call up this 
 Divine spirit in his need. 
 
 The whole land ahead of him was as darkness itself; 
 there was nothing to come, nothing to wait for. Yet 
 in the natural course of life he might possibly have to 
 linger on earth another thirty or forty years — scoffed 
 at ; at best pitied. 
 
 The thought of it was unendurable. 
 
 To the east of Casterbridge lay moors and meadows, 
 through which much water flowed. The wanderer in 
 this direction, who should stand still for a few moments 
 on a quiet night, might hear singular symphonies from 
 these waters, as from a lampless orchestra, all playing 
 in their sundry tones, from near and far parts of the 
 3S8 
 
THE MAYOR OP CASTERBRlDGfi 
 
 moor. At a hole in a rotten weir they executed a 
 recitative; where a tributary brook fell over a stone 
 breastwork they trilled cheerily; under an arch they 
 performed a metallic cymballing; and at Durnover 
 Hole they hissed. The spot at which their instrumen- 
 tation rose loudest was a place called Ten Hatches, 
 whence during high springs there proceeded a very 
 fugue of sounds. 
 
 The river here was deep and strong at all times, and 
 the hatches on this account were raised and lowered 
 by cogs and a winch. A path led from the second 
 bridge over the highway (so often mentioned) to these 
 Hatches, crossing the stream at their head by a narrow 
 plank-bridge. But after night-fall human beings were 
 seldom found going that way, the path leading to no 
 place in particular, and the passage being dangerous. 
 
 Henchard, however, leaving the town by the east 
 road, proceeded to the second, or stone bridge, and 
 thence struck into this path of solitude, following its 
 course beside the stream till the dark shapes of the 
 Ten Hatches cut the sheen thrown upon the river by 
 the weak lustre that still lingered in the west. In a 
 second or two he stood beside the weir-hole where the 
 water was at its deepest. He looked backwards and 
 forwards, and no creature appeared in view. He then 
 took off his coat and hat, and stood on the brink of 
 the stream with his hands clasped in front of him. 
 
 While his eyes were bent on the water beneath, there 
 slowly became visible a something floating in the cir- 
 cular pool formed by the wash of centuries; the pool 
 he was intending to make his death-bed. At first it 
 was indistinct, by reason of the shadow from the bank ; 
 but it emerged thence, and took shape, which was that 
 of a human body, lying stiff and stark upon the surface 
 of the stream. 
 
 In the circular current imparted by the central flow 
 the form was brought forward, till it passed under his 
 359 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 eyes ; and then he perceiTCd^_wrtlL.a_seJtisfi.-i3f- horrof 
 that it was himself. "Hot a man somewhat resembling 
 him, but one in all respects his counterpart, Ws actual 
 double, was floating as-if dead in Ten Hatches Hole. 
 
 The sense of the supernatural was stTong—in -this 
 unhappy man, and he turned away as one might have 
 done in the actual presence of an appalling miracle. 
 He covered his eyes and bowed .hia, head. Without 
 looking again into the stream he took his coat and hat, 
 and went slowly away. 
 
 Presently he found himself by the door of his own 
 dwelling. To his surprise Elizabeth- Jane was standing 
 there. She came forward, spoke, called him ' father 'just 
 as before. Newson, then, had not even yet returned. 
 
 ' I thought you seemed very sad this morning,' she 
 said, ' so I have come again to see you. Not that I 
 am anything but sad myself. But everybody and every- 
 thing seem against you so ; and I know you must be 
 suffering.' 
 
 How this woman divined things ! Yet she had not 
 divined their whole extremity. 
 
 He said to her, 'Are miracles still worked, do ye 
 think, Elizabeth ? I am not a read man. I don't know 
 so much as I could wish. I have tried to peruse and 
 learn all my life ; but the-roore I try to know the more 
 ignorant I seem.' 
 
 ' I don't quite think there are any miracles now-a- 
 days,' she said. 
 
 ' No interference in the case of desperate intentions, 
 for instance? Well, perhaps not, in a direct way. 
 Perhaps not. But will you come and walk with me, 
 and I will show 'ee what I mean.' 
 
 She agreed wiUingly, and he took her over the high^ 
 way, and by the lonely path to Ten Hatches. He 
 walked restlessly, as if some haunting shade, unseen 
 of her, hovered round him and troubled his glance. 
 She would gladly have talked of Lucetta, but feared 
 360 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 to disturb him. When they got near the weir he stood 
 still, and asked her to go forward and look into the 
 pool, and tell him what she saw. 
 
 She went, and soon returned to him. • Nothing,' 
 she said. 
 
 ' Go again,' said Henchard, ' and look narrowly.' 
 
 She proceeded to the river brink a second time. On 
 her return, after some delay, she told him that she saw 
 something floating there ; but what it was she could not 
 discern. It seemed to be a bundle of old clothes. 
 
 ' Are they like mine ? ' asked Henchard. 
 
 'Well — they are. Dear me — I wonder if 
 
 Father, let us go away I ' 
 
 'Go and look once more; and then we will get 
 home.' 
 
 She went back, and he could see her stoop till her 
 head was close to the margin of the pool. She sta.ted 
 up, and hastened back to his side. 
 
 ' Well,' said Henchard ; ' what do you say now ? ' 
 
 ' Let us go home.' 
 
 ' But tell me — do — what is it floating there ? ' 
 
 'The effigy,' she answered hastily. 'They must 
 have thrown it into the river, higher up amongst the 
 willows, to get rid of it in their alarm at discovery ; and 
 it must have floated down here.' 
 
 ' Ah — to be sure — the image o' me ! But where is 
 the other? "Why that one only ? . . . That performance 
 of theirs killed her, but kept me alive ! ' 
 
 Elizabeth- Jane thought and thought of these words 
 ' kept me alive,' as they slowly retraced their way to the 
 town, and at length guessed their meaning. ' Father ! 
 — I will not leave you alone like this ! ' she cried. ' May 
 I live with you, and tend upon you, as I used to do ? 
 I do not mind your being poor.' I would have agreed 
 to come this morning, but you did not ask me.' 
 
 ' May you come to me ? ' he cried bitterly. ' Eliza- 
 beth, don't mock me ! If you only would come 1 ' 
 361 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 ' I will,' said she. 
 
 ' How will you forgive all my roughness in former 
 days ? You cannot ! ' 
 
 ' I have forgotten it. Talk of that no more.' 
 
 Thus she assured him, and arranged their ^lans for 
 reunion ; and at length each went home. Then Hen- 
 chard shaved for the first time during many days, and 
 put on clean linen, and combed his hair : and was as 
 a man resuscitated thenceforward. 
 
 The next morning the fact turned out to be as 
 Elizabeth-Jane had stated; the efiSgy was discovered 
 by a cowherd, and that of Lucetta a little higher up in 
 the same stream. But as little as possible was said of 
 the matter, and the figures were privately destroyed. 
 
 Despite this natural solution of the mystery, Hen- 
 chard no less regarded it as an intervention that the 
 figure should have been floating there. Elizabeth- 
 Jane heard him say, ' Who is such a reprobate as 
 I ! And yet it seems that even I be in Somebody's 
 hand I 
 
XLII 
 
 JlJUT the emotional conviction that he was in Some- 
 body's hand began to die out of Henchard's breast as 
 time slowly removed into distance the event which 
 had given that feeling birth. The apparition of New- 
 son haunted him. He would surely return. 
 
 Yet Newson did not arrive. Lucetta had been 
 borne along the churchyard path; Casterbridge had 
 for the last time turned its regard upon her, before 
 proceeding to its work as if she had never lived. 
 But Elizabeth remained undisturbed in the belief 
 of her relationship to Henchard, and now shared 
 his home. Perhaps, after all, Newson was gone for 
 ever. 
 
 In due time the bereaved Farfrae had learnt the, at 
 least, proximate cause of Lucetta's illness and death; 
 and Ws first impulse was naturally enough to wreak 
 vengeance in the name of the law upon the perpe 
 trators of the mischief. He resolved to wait till the 
 funeral was over ere he moved in the matter. The 
 time having come he reflected. Disastrous as the 
 result had been, it was obviously in no way foreseen 
 or intended by the thoughtless crew who arranged the 
 motley procession. The tempting prospect of putting 
 to the blush people who stand at the head of affairs 
 363 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 —that supreme and piquant enjoyment of those who 
 writhe under the heel of the same — had alone animated 
 them, so far as he could see ; for he knew nothing of 
 Jopp's incitements. Other considerations were also 
 involved. Lucetta had confessed everything to him 
 before her death, and it was not altogether desirable 
 to make much ado about her history, alike for her 
 sake, for Henchard's, and for his own. To regard the 
 event as an untoward accident seemed, to Farfrae, 
 truest consideration for the dead one's memory, as 
 well as best philosophy. 
 
 Henchard and himself mutually forbore to meet. 
 For Elizabeth's sake the former had fettered his pride 
 sufficiently to accept the small seed business which some 
 of the Town Council, headed by Farfrae, had purchased, 
 to afford him a new opening. Had he been only per- 
 sonally concerned, Henchard, without doubt, would have 
 declined assistance even remotely brought about by the 
 man whom he had so fiercely assailed. But the sym- 
 pathy of the girl seemed necessary to his very existence ; 
 and on her account pride itself wore the garments of 
 humility. 
 
 Here they settled themselves; and on each day of 
 their lives Henchard anticipated her every wish with a 
 watchfulness in which paternal regard was heightened 
 by a burning jealous dread of rivalry. Yet that Newson 
 would ever now return to Casterbridge to claim her as 
 a daughter there was little reason to suppose. He was 
 a wanderer and a stranger, almost an alien ; he had not 
 seen his daughter for several years ; his affection for 
 her could not in the nature of things be keen ; other 
 interests would probably soon obscure his ^ recollections 
 of her, and prevent any such renewal of inquiry into the 
 past as would lead to a discovery that she was still a 
 creature of the present. To satisfy his conscience 
 somewhat, Henchard repeated to himself that the lie 
 which had retained for him the coveted treasure had not 
 364 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 been deliberately told to that end, but had come from 
 him as the last defiant word of an irony which took nj 
 thought of consequences. Furthermore he pleaded 
 within himself that no Newson could love her as he 
 loved her, or would tend her to his life's extremity as he 
 was prepared to do cheerfully. 
 
 Thus they lived on in the shop overlooking the 
 churchyard, and nothing occurred to mark their days 
 during the remainder of the year. Going out but seldom, 
 and never on a market-day, they saw Donald Farfrae 
 only at rarest intervals, and then mostly as a transitory 
 object in the distance of the street. Yet he was pur- 
 suing his ordinary avocations, smiling mechanically to 
 fellow - tradesmen, and arguing with bargainers — as 
 bereaved men do after a while. 
 
 Time, in his own grey style,' taught Farfrae how to 
 estimate his experience of Lucetta — all that it was, and 
 all that it was not. There are men whose hearts insist 
 upon a dogged fidelity to some image or cause, thrown 
 by chance into their keeping, long after their judg- 
 ment has pronounced it no rarity — even the reverse, 
 indeed; and without them the band of the worthy 
 is incomplete. But Farfrae was not of those. It 
 was inevitable that the insight, briskness, and rapidity 
 of his nature should take him out of the dead blank 
 which his loss threw about him. He could _not„but 
 perceive that by the death. of Lucetta lie had exchanged 
 a~'looming"mrseiyffora,.jisi.ple_. sorrow,- After, that re- 
 v^fectterTtif Tier history, which must have come sooner 
 or later in any circumstances, _ it was hard to believe 
 that life with her would have been productive of 
 further happiness. 
 
 But as a memory, notwithstanding such conditions, 
 Lucetta's image still lived on with him, her weaknesses 
 provoking only the gentlest criticism, and her sufferings 
 attenuating wrath at her concealments to a momentary 
 spark now and then. 
 
 36s 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 By the end of a year Henchard's little retail seed 
 and grain shop, not much larger than a cupboard, had 
 developed its trade considerably, and the stepfather 
 and daughter enjoyed much serenity in the pleasant, 
 sunny corner in which it stood. The quiet bearing of 
 one who brimmed with an inner activity characterized 
 Elizabeth-Jane at this period. She took long walks 
 into the country two or three times a week, mostly in 
 the direction of Budmouth. Sqmetimes it occurred 
 to him that when she sat with hini in the evening after 
 these invigorating walks she was civil rather than aflFec- 
 tionate; and he was troubled; one more bitter regret 
 being added to those he had already experienced at 
 having, by his severe censorship, frozen up her precious 
 affection when originally offered. 
 
 She had her own way in everything now. In 
 going and coming, in buying and selling, her word 
 was law. 
 
 'You have got a new muff, Elizabeth,' he said to 
 her one day quite humbly. 
 
 ' Yes ; I bought it,' she said. 
 
 He looked at it again as it lay on an adjoining table. 
 The fur was of a glossy brown, and, though he was no 
 judge of such articles, he thought it seemed an un- 
 usually good one for her to possess. 
 
 ' Rather costly, I suppose, my dear, was it not ? ' he 
 hazarded. 
 
 ' It was rather above my figure,' she said quietly. 
 ' But it is not showy.' 
 
 ' Oh no,' said the netted lion, anxious not to pique 
 her in the least. 
 
 Some little time after, when the year had advanced 
 into another spring, he paused opposite her empty bed- 
 room in passing it. He thought of the time when she 
 had cleared out of his then large and handsome house 
 in Corn Street, in consequence of his dislike and harsh- 
 ness, and he had looked into her chamber in just the 
 366 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 same way. The present room was much humbler, but 
 what struck him about it was the abundance of books 
 lying everywhere. Their number and quality made the 
 meagre furniture that supported them seem absurdly 
 disproportionate. Some, indeed many, must have been 
 recently purchased ; and though he encouraged her to 
 buy in reason, he had no notion that she indulged her 
 innate passion so extensively in proportion to the nar- 
 rowness of their income. For the first time he felt a 
 little hurt by what he thought her extravagance, and 
 resolved to say a word to her about it. But, before 
 he had found the courage to speak, an event hap- 
 pened which set his thoughts flying in quite another 
 direction. 
 
 The busy time of the seed trade was over ; and the 
 quiet weeks that preceded the hay-season had come 
 — setting their special stamp upon Casterbridge by 
 thronging the market with wood rakes, new waggons 
 in yellow, green, and red, formidable scythes, and 
 pitchforks of prong sufficient to skewer up a small 
 family. Henchard, contrary to his wont, went out 
 one Saturday afternoon towards the market-place, from 
 a curious feeling that he would like to pass a few 
 minutes on the spot of his former triumphs. Farfrae, 
 to whom he was still a comparative stranger, stood a 
 few steps below the Corn Exchange door — a usual 
 position with him at this hour — and he appeared lost 
 in thought about something he was looking at a little 
 way off. 
 
 Henchard's eyes followed Farfrae's, and he saw that 
 the object of his gaze was no sample-showing farmer, 
 but his own stepdaughter, who had just come out of a 
 shop over the way. She, on her part, was quite uncon- 
 scious of his attention, and in this was less fortunate 
 than those young women whose very plumes, like those 
 of Juno's bird, are set with Argus eyes whenever pos- 
 sible admirers are within ken. 
 367 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 Henchard went away, thinking .that ..perhaps. there 
 was nothing significant after all J,n„Jiirfrae'sJ[opji: at 
 Elizabeth- Jane at Jhatjuncture. Yet he could not 
 forget that the Scotchman had once shown a tender 
 interest in her, of a fleeting kind. Thereupon promptly 
 came to the surface that idiosyncrasy of Henchard's 
 which had ruled his courses from the beginning, and 
 had mainly made him what he was. Instead of think- 
 ing that a union between his cherished stepdaughter 
 and the energetic thriving Donald was a thing to be 
 __desired for her good and his own, he hated the very 
 possji 
 
 Time had been when such instinctive opposition 
 would have taken shape in action. But he was not 
 now the Henchard of former days. He schooled him- 
 self to accept her will, in this as in other matters, as 
 absolute and unquestionable. He dreaded lest an 
 antagonistic word should lose for him such regard as 
 he had regained from her by his devotion, feeling that 
 to retain this under separation was better than to incur 
 her dislike by keeping her near. 
 
 But the mere thought of such separation fevered 
 his spirit much, and in the evening he said, with the 
 stillness of suspense : ' Have you seen Mr. Farfrae to- 
 day, Elizabeth?' 
 
 Elizabeth- Jane started at the question ; and it was 
 with some confusion that she replied ' No.' 
 
 'Oh — that's right — that's right. ... It was only 
 that I saw him in the street when we both were there.' 
 He was wondering if her embarrassment justified him 
 in a new suspicion — that the long walks which she 
 had latterly been taking, that the new books which had 
 so surprised him, had anything to do with the young 
 man. She did not enlighten him, and lest silence 
 should allow her to shape thoughts unfavourable to 
 their present friendly relations, he diverted the dis- 
 course into another channel. 
 368 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 Henchard was, by original make, the last man to 
 act stealthily, for good or for evil. But the solicitm 
 iimor of his love — the dependence upon Elizabeth's 
 regard into which he had declined (or, iti anotlier sense, 
 to which he had advanced) — denaturalized him. He 
 would often weigh and consider for hours together the 
 meaning of such and such a deed or phrase of hers, - 
 when a blunt settling question would formerly have 
 been his first instinct. And now, uneasy at the thought 
 of a passion for Farfrae which should entirely displace 
 her mild filial sympathy with himself, he observed her 
 going and coming more narrowly. 
 
 There was nothing secret in Elizabeth- Jane's move- 
 ments beyond what habitual reserve induced; and it 
 may at once be owned on her account that she was 
 guilty of occasional conversations with Donald when 
 they chanced to meet. Whatever the origin of her 
 walks on the Budmouth Road, her return from those 
 walks was often coincident with Farfrae's emergence 
 from Corn Street for a twenty minutes' blow on that 
 rather windy highway — just to winnow the seeds and 
 chaif out of him before sitting down to tea, as he said. 
 Henchard became aware of this by going to the Ring, 
 and, screened by its enclosure, keeping his eye upon 
 the road till he saw them meet. His face assumed an 
 expression of extreme anguish. 
 
 l^^ig£»-Jtoa^l]S..^eans , tp^^rob mej,.'. h&'-ydsis— 
 ^i^d:^,^./, But he^ has. the- right. I do not wish to 
 interfere.' 
 
 The meeting, in truth, was of a very innocent kind, 
 and matters were by no means so far advanced between 
 the young people as Henchard's jealous grief inferred. 
 Could he have heard such conversation as passed he 
 would have been enlightened thus much : — 
 
 He. — 'You like walking this way, Miss Henchard 
 — and is it not so ? ' (uttered in his undulatory accents, 
 and with an appraising, pondering gaze at her). 
 
 369 2 A 
 
 /-■ 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 She. — 'Oh yes. I have chosen this road latterly. 
 I have no great reason for it.' 
 
 He. — ' But that may make a reason for others.' 
 
 She (reddening). — ' I don't know that. My reason, 
 however, such as it is, is that I wish to get a glimpse 
 of the sea every day.' 
 
 He. — ' Is it a secret why ? ' 
 
 She (reluctantly). — ' Yes.' 
 
 He (with the pathos of one of his native ballads). — 
 ' Ah, I doubt there will be any good in secrets ! A 
 secret cast a deep shadow over my life. And well you 
 know what it was.' 
 
 Elizabeth admitted that she did, but she refrained 
 from confessing why the sea attracted her. She could 
 not herself account for it fully, not knowing the secret 
 possibly to be that, in addition to early marine associa- 
 tions, her blood was a sailor's. 
 
 ' Thank you for those new books, Mr. Farfrae,' 
 she added shyly. ' I wonder if I ought to accept so 
 many ! ' 
 
 ' Ay ! why not ? It gives me more pleasure to get 
 them for you, than you to have them ! ' 
 
 ' It cannot ! ' 
 
 They proceeded along the road together tiU they 
 reached the town, and their paths diverged. 
 
 Henchard vowed that he would leave them to their 
 own devices, put nothing in the way of their courses, 
 whatever they might mean. If he were doomed to be 
 bereft of her, so it must be. In the situation which 
 their marriage would create he could see no locus standi 
 for himself at all. Farfrae would never recognize him 
 more than superciliously ; his poverty ensured that, no 
 less than his past conduct. And so Elizabeth would 
 grow to be a stranger to him, and the end of his life 
 would be friendless solitude. 
 
 With such a possibility impending he could not help 
 I watchfulness. Indeed, within certain lines, he had the 
 370 
 
THfi MAYOR OF CAStEftBklDGE 
 
 right to keep an eye upon her as his charge. The meet- 
 ings seemed to become matters of course with them on 
 special days of the week. 
 
 At last full proof was given him. He was standing 
 behind a wall close to the place at which Farfrae en- 
 countered her. He heard the young man address her 
 as ' Dearest Elizabeth- Jane,' and then kiss her, the girl 
 looking quickly round to assure herself that nobody- 
 was near. 
 
 When they were gone their way Henchard came 
 out from the wall, and. mournfully followed them to 
 Casterbridge. The chieir~TOUmifig trouble in this 
 engagement had not decreased. Both Farfrae and 
 Elizabeth-Jane, unlike the rest of the people, must 
 suppose Elizabeth to be his actual daughter, from 
 his own assertion while he himself had the same be- 
 lief; and though Farfrae must have so far forgiven 
 him as to have no objection to own him as a father- 
 in-law, intimate they could never be. Thus would 
 the girl, who was his only friend, be withdrawn from 
 him by degrees through her husband's influence, and 
 learn to despise him. 
 
 Had she lost her heart to any other man in the 
 world than the one he had rivalled, cursed, wrestled 
 with for Ufe in days before his spirit was broken, 
 Henchard would have said, ' I am content.' But 
 content with the prospect as now depicted was hard 
 to acquire. 
 
 There is an outer chamber of the brain in which 
 thoughts unowned, unsolicited, and of noxious kind, 
 are sometimes allowed to wander for a moment prior 
 to being sent off whence they came. One of these 
 thoughts sailed into Henchard's ken now. 
 
 Suppose he were to communicate to Farfrae the 
 
 fact that his betrothed was not the child of Michael 
 
 Henchard at all — ^legally, nobody's child; how would 
 
 that correct and leading townsman receive the informa- 
 
 371 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 tion ? He might possibly forsake Elizabeth- Jane, and 
 then she would be her stepsire's own again. 
 
 Henchard shuddered, and exclaimed, 'God forbid 
 such a thing ! Why should I still be subject to these 
 visitations of the devil, when I try so hard to keep 
 him away ? ' 
 
XLIII 
 
 W HAT Henchard saw thus early was, naturally enough, 
 seen at a little later date by other people. That Mr. 
 Farfrae 'walked with that bankrupt Henchard's step- 
 daughter, of all women,' became a common topic in 
 the town, the simple perambulating term being used 
 hereabout to signify a wooing ; and the nineteen superior 
 young ladies of Casterbridge, who had each looked upon 
 herself as the only woman capable of making the mer- 
 chant Councilman happy, indignantly left oif going to 
 the church Farfrae attended, left off conscious man- 
 nerisms, left off putting him in their prayers at night 
 amongst their blood relations; in short, reverted to 
 their natural courses. 
 
 Perhaps the only inhabitants of the town to whom 
 this looming choice of the Scotchman's gave unmixed 
 satisfaction were the members of the philosophic party, 
 which included Longways, Christopher Coney, Billy 
 Wills, Mr. Buzzford, and the like. The Three Mariners 
 having been, years before, the house in which they had 
 witnessed the young man and woman's first and humble 
 appearance on the Casterbridge stage, they took a kindly 
 interest in their career, not unconnected, perhaps, with 
 visions of festive treatment at their hands hereafter. 
 Mrs. Stannidge, having rolled into the large parlour 
 one evening, and said that it was a wonder such a man 
 373 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 as Mr. Farfrae, ' a pillow of the town,' who might have 
 chosen one of the daughters of the professional men, or 
 private residents, should stoop so low, Coney ventured 
 to disagree with her. 
 
 'No, ma'am, no wonder at all. 'Tis she that's a 
 stooping to he — that's my opinion. A widow man — 
 whose first wife was no credit to him — what is it for a 
 _ young perusing woman, that's her own mistress and 
 well-liked? But_asjaneat^_£atehing. up of iJangs-I see 
 much good in It. When a man have put up a tomb of 
 best marble-stone to the other onCj jis_heVe done^ and 
 weeped his S117and thought it all over,, ajjd said to his- 
 self,''^ T'other took me in ; I knowed this one first ; she's 
 a sensible piece for a partner, and there's no feithful 
 woman in high life now ; " — v/ell, he may do worse than 
 not to take her, if she's tender-inclined.' 
 
 ' Thus they talked af the Mariners. But we must guard 
 against a too liberal use of the conventional declaration 
 that a great sensation was caused by the prospective 
 event, that all the gossips' tongues were set wagging 
 thereby, and so on, even though such a declaration 
 might lend some eclat to the career of our poor only 
 heroine. When all has been said about busy rumourers, 
 / a superficial and temporary thing is the interest of any- 
 i body in affairs which do not directly touch them. It 
 would be a truer representation to say that Casterbridge 
 (ever excepting the nineteen young ladies) looked up 
 for a moment at the news, and withdrawing its atten- 
 tion, went on labouring and victualling, bringing up its 
 children, and burying its dead, without caring a tittle 
 for Farfrae's domestic plans. 
 
 Not a hint of the matter was thrown out to her step- 
 father by Elizabeth herself or by Farfrae either. Reason- 
 ing on the cause of their reticence he concluded that, 
 estimating him by his past, the throbbing pair were 
 afraid to broach the subject, and looked upon him as ai 
 irksome obstacle whom they would %e heartily glad to 
 374 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 get out of the wayX Embittered as he was against 
 society, this moody view of himself took deeper and 
 deeper hold of Henchard, till the daily necessity of 
 facing mankind, and of them particularly Elizabeth- Jane, 
 became well-nigh more than he could endure. His 
 health declined; he became morbidly sensitive. He 
 wished he could escape those who did not want him, 
 and hide his head for ever. 
 
 But what if he were mistaken in his views, and 
 there were no necessity that his own absolute separa- 
 tion from her should be involved in the incident of her 
 marriage ? 
 
 He proceeded to draw a picture of the alternative — 
 himself living like a fangless lion about the back rooms 
 of a house in which his stepdaughter was mistress ; an 
 inoffensive old man, tenderly smiled on by Elizabeth, 
 and good-naturedly tolerated by her husband. It was 
 terrible to his pride to think of descending so low; 
 and yet, for the girl's sake he might put up with any- 
 thing ; even from Farfrae ; even snubbings and master- 
 ful tongue scourgings. The privilege of being in the 
 house she occupied would almost outweigh the personal 
 humiliation. 
 
 Whether this were a dim possibility or the reverse, 
 the courtship — which it evidently now was — had an 
 absorbing interest for him. 
 
 Elizabeth, as has been said, often took her walks on 
 the Budmouth Road, and Farfrae as often made it con- 
 venient to create an accidental meeting with her there. 
 A quarter of a mile from the highway was the pre-historic 
 fort called Mai Dun, of huge dimensions and many ram- 
 parts, within or upon whose enclosures a human being, 
 as seen from the road, was but an insignificant speck. 
 Hither Henchard often resorted, glass in hand, and 
 scanned the hedgeless Via — for it was the original 
 track laid out by the legions of the Empire — to a 
 distance of two or three miles, his object being to 
 375 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 read the progress of affairs between Farfrae and his 
 charmer. 
 
 One day Henchard was at this spot when a mascu- 
 line figure came along the road from Budmouth, and 
 lingered. Applying his telescope to his eye Henchard 
 expected that Farfrae's features would be disclosed as 
 usual. But the lenses revealed that to-day the man 
 was not EUzabeth-Jane's lover. 
 
 It was one clothed as a merchant captain ; and as 
 he turned in his scrutiny of the road he revealed his 
 face. Henchard lived a lifetime the moment he saw 
 it. The face was Newson's. 
 
 Henchard dropped the glass, and for some seconds 
 made no other movement. Newson waited, and Hen- 
 chard waited — if that could be called a waiting which 
 was a transfixture. But Elizabeth- Jane did not come. 
 Something or other had caused her to neglect her 
 customary walk that day. Perhaps Farfrae and she 
 had chosen another road for variety's sake. But what 
 did that amount to? She might be here to-morrow, 
 and in any case Newson, if bent on a private meeting 
 and a revelation of the truth to her, would soon make 
 his opportunity. 
 
 Then he would tell her not only of his paternity, 
 but of the ruse by which he had been once sent away. 
 Elizabeth's strict nature would cause her for the first 
 time to despise her stepfather, would root out his image 
 as that of an arch-deceiver, and Newson would reign in 
 her heart in his stead. 
 
 But Newson did not see anything of her that morn- 
 ing. Having stood still awhile he at last retraced his 
 steps, and Henchard felt like a condemned man who 
 has a few hours' respite. When he reached his own 
 house he found her there. 
 
 ' O father ! ' she said innocently, • I have had a letter 
 — a strange one — not signed. Somebody has asked 
 me to meet him, either on the Budmouth Road at noon 
 376 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 to-day, or in the evening at Mr. Farfrae's. He says 
 he came to see me some time ago, but a trick was 
 played him, so that he did not. I don't understand 
 it; but between you and me I think Donald is at 
 the bottom of the mystery, and that it is a relation 
 of his who wants to pass an opinion on his choice. 
 But I did not like to go till I had seen you. Shall 
 I go?' 
 
 Henchard replied heavily, ' Yes j go.' 
 
 The question of his remaining in Casterbridge was 
 for ever disposed of by this closing in of Newson on 
 the scene. Henchard was not the man to stand the 
 certainty of condemnation on a matter so near his 
 heart. And being an old hand at bearing anguish in 
 silence, and haughty withal, he resolved to make as 
 light as he could of his intention, while immediately 
 taking his measures. 
 
 He surprised the young woman, whom he had looked 
 upon as his all in tjiis world, by saying to her, as if 
 he did not care about her more : ' I am going to leave 
 Casterbridge, Elizabeth-Jane.' 
 
 ' Leave Casterbridge ! ' she cried, ' and leave — me ? ' 
 
 • Yes, this little shop can be managed by you alone 
 as well as by us both; I don't care about shops and 
 streets and folk — I would rather get into the country 
 by myself, out of sight, and follow my own ways, and 
 leave you to yours.' 
 
 She looked down, and her tears fell silently. It 
 naturally seemed to her that this resolve of his had 
 come on account of her attachment, and its probable 
 result. She showed her devotion to Farfrae, however, 
 by mastering her emotion and speaking out. 
 
 ' I am sorry you have decided on this,' she said with 
 difficult firmness. 'For I thought it probable — pos- 
 sible — that I might marry Mr. Farfrae some little time 
 hence, and I did not know that you disapproved of 
 the step ! * 
 
 377 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 ' I approve of anything you desire to do, Izzy,' said 
 Henchard huskily. 'If I did not approve, it would 
 be no matter! I wish to go away. My presence 
 might make things awkward in the future; and, in 
 short, it is best that I go.' 
 
 Nothing that her affection could urge would induce 
 him to reconsider his determination ; for she could not 
 urge what she did not know — that when she should 
 learn he was not related to her other than as a step- 
 parent she would refrain from despising him, and that 
 when she knew what he had done to keep her in igno- 
 rance she would refrain from hating him. It was his 
 conviction that she would not so refrain; and there 
 existed as yet neither word nor event which could argue 
 it away. 
 
 'Then,' she said at last, 'you will not be able to 
 come to my wedding; and that is not as it ought 
 to be.' 
 
 ' I don't want to see it — I don't want to see it ! ' 
 he exclaimed ; adding more softly, ' but think of me 
 sometimes in your future life — you'll do that, Izzy ? — 
 think of me when you are living as the wife of the 
 richest, the foremost man in the town, and don't let 
 my sins, wAen you know them all, cause 'ee to quite 
 forget that though I loved 'ee late I loved 'ee well.' 
 
 ' It is because of Donald ! ' she sobbed. 
 
 ' I don't forbid you to marry him,' said Henchard. 
 
 • Promise not to quite forget me when ' He meant 
 
 when Newson should come. 
 
 She promised mechanically, in her agitation ; and 
 the same evening at dusk Henchard left the town, to 
 whose development he had been one of the chief stimu- 
 lants for many years. During the day he had bought 
 a new tool-basket, cleaned up his old hay-knife and 
 wimble, set himself up in fresh leggings, knee-naps and 
 corduroys, and in other ways gone back to the working 
 clothes of his young manhood, discarding for ever the 
 378 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 shabby-genteel suit of cloth and rusty silk hat that since 
 his decline had characterized him in the Casterbridge 
 street as a man who had seen better days. 
 
 He went secretly and alone, not a soul of the many 
 who had known him being aware of his departure. 
 Elizabeth- Jane accompanied him as far as the second 
 bridge on the highway — for the hour of her appointment 
 with the unguessed visitor at Farfrae's had not yet 
 arrived — and parted from him with unfeigned wonder and 
 sorrow — keeping him back a minute or two before finally 
 letting him go. She watched his form diminish across 
 the moor, the yellow straw basket at his back moving 
 up and down with each tread, and the creases behind 
 his knees coming and going alternately till she could 
 no longer see them. Though she did not know it, 
 Henchard formed at this moment much the same pic- 
 ture as he had presented when entering Casterbridge 
 for the first time nearly a quarter of a century before ; 
 except, to be sure, that the serious addition to his years 
 had considerably lessened the spring of his stride, that 
 his state of hopelessness had weakened him, and im- 
 parted to his shoulders, as weighted by the basket, a 
 perceptible bend. 
 
 He went on till he came to the first milestone, 
 which stood in the bank, half way up a steep hill. He 
 rested his basket on the top of the stone, placed his 
 elbows on it, and gave way to a convulsive twitch, 
 which was worse than a sob, because it was so hard 
 and so dry. „. , 
 
 ' If I had only got her with me — if I only had ! ' he j ' 
 said. ' Hard work would be nothing to me then ! But ) 
 that was not to be. I — Cain — go alone as I deserve | 
 — an outcast and a vagabond. But my punishment is \ 
 not greater than I can bear ! ' . — '■ 
 
 He sternly subdued his anguish, shouldered his 
 basket, and went on. 
 
 Elizabeth, in the meantime, had breathed him a sigh, 
 379 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 recovered her equanimity, and turned her face to Caster- 
 bridge. Before she had reached the first house she was 
 met in her walk by Donald Farfrae. This was evi- 
 dently not their first meeting that day; they joined 
 hands without ceremony, and Farfrae anxiously asked, 
 ' And is he gone — and did you tell him ? — I mean of 
 the other matter — not of ours.' 
 
 ' He is gone ; and I told him all I knew of your 
 friend. Donald, who is he ? ' 
 
 'Well, well, dearie; you will know soon about 
 that. And Mr. Henchard will hear of it if he does not 
 go far.' 
 
 ' He will go far — ^he's bent upon getting out of sight 
 and sound ! ' 
 
 She walked beside her lover, and when they reached 
 the Town Pump turned with him into Corn Street, 
 instead of going straight on to her own door. At 
 Farfrae's house they stopped and went in. 
 
 Farfrae flung open the door of the ground-flooi 
 sitting-room, saying, ' There he is waiting for you,' and 
 Elizabeth entered. In the arm-chair sat the broad-faced 
 genial man who had called on Henchard on a memor- 
 able morning between one and two years before this 
 time, and whom the latter had seen mount the coach 
 and depart within half-an-hour of his arrival. It was 
 Richard Newson. The meeting with the light-hearted 
 father from whom she had been separated half-a-dozen 
 years, as if by death, need hardly be detailed. It was 
 an affecting one, apart from the question of paternity. 
 Henchard's departure was in a moment explained. 
 When the true facts came to be handled, the difficulty 
 of restoring her to her old belief in Newson was not 
 so great as might have seemed likely, for Henchard's 
 conduct itself was a proof that those facts were true. 
 Moreover, she had grown up under Newson's paternal 
 care; and even had Henchard been her father in 
 nature, this father in early domiciliation might 
 380 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 almost have carried the point against him, when the 
 incidents of her parting with Henchard had a little 
 worn off. 
 
 Newson's pride in what she had grown up to be 
 was more than he could express. He kissed her again 
 and again. 
 
 ' I've saved you the trouble to come and meet me — 
 ha-ha 1 ' said Newson. ' The fact is that Mr. Farfrae 
 here, he said, " Come up and stop with me for a day 
 or two, Captain Newson, and I'll bring her round." 
 " Faith," says I, " so I will ; " and here I am.' 
 
 ' Well, Henchard is gone,' said Farfrae, shutting the 
 door. ' He has done it all voluntarily, and, as I gather 
 from Elizabeth, he has been very nice with her. I 
 was got rather uneasy ; but all is as it should be, and 
 we will have no more difficulties at all.' 
 
 ' Now, that's very much as I thought,' said Newson, 
 looking into the face of each by turns. 'I said to 
 myself, ay, a hundred times, when I tried to get a peep 
 at her unknown to herself — " Depend upon it, 'tis best 
 that I should live on quiet for a few days like this till 
 something turns up for the better." I now know you 
 are all right, and what can I wish for more ? ' 
 
 'Well, Captain Newson, I will be glad to see ye 
 here every day now, since it can do no harm,' said 
 Farfrae. 'And what I've been thinking is, that the 
 wedding may as well be kept under my own roof, the 
 house being large, and you being in lodgings by your- 
 self — so that a great deal of trouble and expense would 
 be saved ye ? — and 'tis a convenience when a couple's 
 married not to hae far to go to get home ! ' 
 
 ' With all my heart,' said Captain Newson ; ' since, as 
 ye say, it can do no harm, now poor Henchard's gone j 
 though I wouldn't have done it otherwise, or put myself 
 in his way at all ; for I've already in my lifetime been 
 an intruder into his family quite as far as polite- 
 ness can be expected to put up with. But what do the 
 381 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 young woman say herself about it? Elizabeth, my 
 child, come and hearken to what we be talking about, 
 and not bide staring out o' the window as if ye didn't 
 hear.' 
 
 ' Donald and you must settle it,' murmured Eliza- 
 beth, still keeping up a scrutinizing gaze at some small 
 object in the street. 
 
 ' Well, then,' continued Newson, turning anew to 
 Farfrae with a face expressing thorough entry into the 
 subject, ' that's how we'll have it. And, Mr. Farfrae, 
 as you provide so much, and houseroom, and all that, 
 I'll do my part in the drinkables, and see to the rum 
 and Schiedam — maybe a dozen jars will be sufficient, 
 as many of the folk will be ladies, and perhaps they 
 won't drink hard enough to make a high average in the 
 reckoning? But you know best. I've provided for 
 men and shipmates times enough, but I'm as ignorant 
 as a child how many glasses of grog a woman, that's 
 not a drinking woman, is expected to consume at these 
 ceremonies ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, none — we'll no want much of that — oh no ! ' 
 said Farfrae, shaking his head with appalled gravity. 
 ' Do you leave all to me.' 
 
 When they had gone a little further in these parti- 
 culars Newson, leaning back in his chair and smiling 
 reflectively at the ceiling, said, ' I've never told ye, or 
 have I, Mr. Farfrae, how Henchard put me off the 
 scent that time ? ' 
 
 He expressed ignorance of what the Captainalluded to. 
 
 ' Ah, I thought I hadn't. I resolved that I would 
 not, I remember, not to hurt the man's name. But now 
 he's gone I can tell ye. Why, I came to Casterbridge 
 nine or ten months before that day last week that I 
 found ye out. I had been here twice before then. The 
 first time I passed through the town on my way west- 
 ward, not knowing EUzabeth lived here. Then hearing 
 at some place — I forget where — that a man of the name 
 382 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 of Henchard had been mayor here, I came back, and 
 called at his house one morning. The joker ! — he said 
 Elizabeth- Jane had died years ago.' 
 
 Elizabeth now gave earnest heed to his story. 
 
 ' Now, it never crossed my mind that the man was 
 selling me a packet,' continued Newson. ' And, if you'll 
 believe me, I was that upset, that I went back to the 
 coach that had brought me, and took passage onward 
 without lying in the town half-an-hour. Ha-ha! — 
 'twas a good joke, and well carried out, and I give the 
 man credit for't ! ' 
 
 Elizabeth- Jane was amazed at the intelligence. ' A 
 joke ? — oh no ! ' she cried. ' Then he kept you from 
 me, father, all those months, when you might have 
 been here ? ' 
 
 The father admitted that such was the case. 
 
 • He ought not to have done it ! ' said Farfrae. 
 
 Elizabeth sighed. ' I said I would never forget him. 
 But oh ! I think I ought to forget him now ! ' 
 
 Newson, like a good many rovers and sojourners 
 among strange men and strange moralities, failed to per- 
 ceive the enormity of Henchard's crime, notwithstand- 
 ing that he himself had been the chief sufferer therefrom. 
 Indeed, the attack upon the absent culprit waxing serious, 
 he began to take Henchard's part. 
 
 ' Well, 'twas not ten words that he said, after all,' 
 Newson pleaded. ' And how could he know that I 
 should be such a simpleton as to believe him ? 'Twas 
 as much my fault as his, poor fellow ! ' 
 
 ' No,' said Elizabeth- Jane firmly, in her revulsion of 
 feeling. • He knew your disposition — you always were 
 so trusting, father ; I've heard my mother say so hun- 
 dreds of times — and he did it to wrong you. After 
 weaning me from you these five years by saying he was 
 my father, he should not have done this.' 
 
 Thus they conversed ; and there was nobody to set 
 before Elizabeth any extenuation of the absent one's 
 383 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 deceit. Even had he been present Henchard might 
 scarce have pleaded it, so little did he value himself or 
 his good name. 
 
 'Well, well — never mind — it is all over and past,' 
 said Newson good-naturedly. ' Now, about this wedding 
 again.' 
 
XLIV 
 
 Meanwhile, the man of their talk had pursued 
 his solitary way eastward till weariness overtook him, 
 and he looked about for a place of rest. His heart 
 was so exacerbated at parting from the girl that he 
 could not face an inn, or even a household of the most 
 humble kind ; and entering a field he lay down under 
 a wheatrick, feeling no want of food. The very heavi- 
 ness of his soul caused him to sleep profoundly. 
 
 The bright autumn sun shining into his eyes across 
 the stubble awoke him the next morning early. He 
 opened his basket, and ate for his breakfast what he 
 had packed for his supper ; and in doing so overhauled 
 the remainder ■ of his kit. Although everything he 
 brought necessitated carriage at his own back, he had 
 secreted among his tools a few of Elizabeth-Jane's 
 cast-off belongings, in the shape of gloves, shoes, a 
 scrap of her handwriting, and the like; and in his 
 pocket he carried a curl of her hair. Having looked 
 at these things he closed them up again, and went 
 onward. 
 
 During five consecutive days Henchard's rush basket 
 rode along upon his shoulder between the highway 
 hedges, the new yellow of the rushes catching the eye 
 of an occasional field-labourer as he glanced over the 
 quickset, together with the wayfarer's hat and head, 
 38s 2B 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 and down-turned face, over which the twig shadows 
 moved in endless procession. It now became ap- 
 parent that the direction of his journey was Weydon 
 Priors, which he reached on the afternoon of the 
 sixth day. 
 
 The renowned hill, whereon the annual fair had 
 been held for so many generations, was now bare of 
 human beings, and almost of aught besides. A few 
 sheep grazed thereabout, but these ran off when Hen- 
 chard halted upon the summit. He deposited his 
 basket upon the turf, and looked about with sad curi- 
 osity ; till he discovered the road by which his wife and 
 himself had entered, on the upland so memorable to 
 both, two or three-and-twenty years before. 
 
 •Yes, we came up that way,' he said, after ascer- 
 taining his bearings. ' She was carrying the baby, and 
 I was reading a ballet-sheet. Then we crossed about 
 here — she so sad and weary, and I speaking to her 
 hardly at all, because of my cursed pride and mortifi- 
 cation at being poor. Then we saw the tent — that 
 must have stood more this way.' He walked to another 
 spot ; it was not really where the tent had stood, but 
 it seemed so to him. ' Here we went in, and here we 
 sat down. I faced this way. Then I drank, and com- 
 mitted my crime. It must have been just on that 
 very pixy-ring that she was standing when she said her 
 last words to me before going off with him ; I can hear 
 their sound now, and the sound of her sobs : " O 
 Mike! I've lived with thee all this while, and had 
 nothing but temper. Now I'm no more to 'ee — I'll 
 try my luck elsewhere." ' 
 
 He experienced not only the bitterness of a man 
 who finds, in looking back upon an ambitious course, 
 that what he has sacrificed in sentiment was worth as 
 much as what he has gained in substance; but the 
 superadded bitterness of seeing his very recantation 
 nullified. He had been sorry for all this long ago; 
 386 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 but his attempts to replace ambition by love had been 
 as fully foiled as his ambition itself. His wronged wife 
 had foiled them by a fraud so grandly simple as to be 
 almost a virtue. It was an odd sequence that out of 
 all this wronging of social law came that flower of 
 Nature, Elizabeth. Part of his wish to wash his hands 
 of life arose from his perceptions of its contrarious in- 
 consistencies — of Nature's jaunty readiness to support 
 unorthodox social principles. 
 
 He intended to go on from this place — visited as an 
 act of penance — into another part of the country alto- 
 gether. But he could not help thinking of Elizabeth, 
 and the quarter of the horizon in which she lived. Out 
 of this it happened that the centrifugal tendency im- 
 parted by weariness of the world was counteracted by 
 the centripetal influence of his love for his stepdaughter. 
 As a consequence, instead of following a straight course 
 yet further away from Casterbridge, Henchard gradually, 
 almost unconsciously, deflected from that right line of 
 his first intention; till, by degrees, his path, like that 
 of the Canadian woodsman, became part of a circle, of 
 which Casterbridge formed the centre. In ascending 
 any particular hill, he ascertained the bearings as nearly 
 as he could by means of the sun, moon, or stars, and 
 settled in his mind the exact direction in which Caster- 
 bridge and Elizabeth-Jane lay. Sneering at himself 
 for his weakness, he yet every hour — nay, every few 
 minutes — conjectured her actions for the time being — 
 her sitting down and rising up, her goings and comings, 
 till thought of Newson's and Farfrae's counter-influence 
 would pass like a cold blast over a pool, and efface her 
 image. And then he would say of himself, ' O you 
 fool ! All this about a daughter who is no daughter 
 
 of thine ! ' 
 
 At ler^hejDbtainsdJ2K>p^«BeHt-aLhis.own,Qctupa- 
 tiori'oT'hay-tfuss'er, work.„9XJhat. sor-t being in ,demand 
 at this autunih tirfie." The scene of his hiring was a 
 " '^ 387 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 pastoral farm near the old western highway, whose course 
 was the channel of all such communications as passed 
 between the busy centres of novelty and the remote 
 Wessex boroughs. He had chosen the neighbourhood 
 of this artery from a sense that, situated here, though at 
 a distance of fifty miles, he was virtually nearer to her 
 whose welfare was so dear than he would be at a road- 
 less spot only half as remote. 
 
 And thus Henchard found himself again on the pre- 
 cise standing which he had occupied five-and-twenty 
 years before. Externally there was nothing to hinder 
 his making another start on the upward slope, and by 
 his new lights achieving higher things than his soul in 
 its half-formed state had been able to accomplish. But 
 the ingenious machinery contrived by the Gods for re- 
 ducing human possibilities of amelioration to a minimum 
 — which arranges that wisdom to do shall come pari 
 passu with the departure of zest for doing — stood in the 
 way of all that. He had no wish to make an arena a 
 second time of a world that had become a mere painted 
 scene to him. 
 
 Very often, as his hay-knife crunched down among 
 the sweet-smelling grassy stems, he would survey man- 
 kind and say to himself : ' Here and everjrwhere be 
 folk dying before their time like frosted leaves, though 
 wanted by their families, the country, and the world; 
 while I, an outcast, an encumberer of the ground, 
 wanted by nobody, and despised by all, live on against 
 my will ! ' 
 
 He often kept an eager ear upon the conversation of 
 those who passed along the road — not from a general 
 curiosity by any means — but in the hope that among 
 these travellers to and from Casterbridge some would, 
 sooner or later, speak of that place. The distance, 
 however, was too great to lend much probability to his 
 desire ; and the highest result of his attention to way- 
 side words was that he did indeed hear the name 
 388 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 • Casterbridge ' uttered one day by the driver of a road- 
 waggon. Henchard ran to the gate of the field he 
 worked in, and hailed the speaker, who was a stranger. 
 
 'Yes — I've come from there, maister,' he said, in 
 answer to Henchard's inquiry. ' I trade up and down, 
 ye know; though, what with this travelling without 
 horses that's getting so common, my work will soon 
 be done.' 
 
 ' Anything moving in the old place, mid I ask ? ' 
 
 ' All the same as usual.' 
 
 ' I've heard that Mr. Farfrae, the late mayor, is 
 thinking of getting married. Now is that true or 
 not?' 
 
 ' I couldn't say for the life o' me. Oh no, I should 
 think not.' 
 
 'But yes, John — you forget,' said a woman inside 
 the waggon-tilt. ' What were them packages we carr'd 
 there at the beginning o' the week? Surely they 
 said a wedding was coming off soon — on Martin's 
 Day?' 
 
 The man declared he remembered nothing about it j 
 and the waggon went on jangling over the hill. 
 
 Henchard was convinced that the woman's memory 
 served her well. The date was an extremely probable 
 one, there being no reason for delay on either side. 
 He might, for that matter, write and inquire of Eliza- 
 beth ; but his instinct for sequestration had made the 
 course difficult. Yet before he left her, she had said 
 that for him to be absent from her wedding was not as 
 she wished it to be. 
 
 The remembrance would continually revive in him 
 now that it was not Elizabeth and Farfrae who had 
 driven him away from them, but his own haughty sense 
 that his presence was no longer desired. He had 
 assumed the return of Newson, without absolute proof 
 that the Captain meant to return j still less that Eliza- 
 beth-Jane would welcome him; and with no proof 
 389 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 whatever that if he did return he would stay. What 
 if he had been mistaken in his views ; if there had been 
 no necessity that his own absolute separation from her 
 he loved should be involved in these untoward inci- 
 dents? To make one more attempt to be near her : to go 
 back ; to see her, to plead his cause before her, to ask 
 forgiveness for his fraud, to endeavour strenuously to 
 hold his own in her love ; it was worth the risk of re- 
 pulse, ay, of life itself. 
 
 But how to initiate this reversal of all his former 
 resolves, without causing husband and wife to despise 
 him for his inconsistency, was a question which made 
 him tremble and brood. 
 
 He cut and cut his trusses two days more, and then 
 he concluded his hesitancies by a sudden reckless 
 determination to go to the wedding festivity. Neither 
 writing nor message would be expected of him. She 
 had regretted his decision to be absent — his unantici- 
 pated presence would fill the little unsatisfied corner 
 that would probably have place in her just heart with- 
 out him. 
 
 To intrude as little of his personality as possible 
 upon a gay event with which that personality could 
 show nothing in keeping, he decided not to make his 
 appearance till evening — when stiffness would have 
 worn off, and a gentle wish to let bygones be bygones 
 would exercise its sway in all hearts. 
 
 He started on foot, two mornings before St. Martin's- 
 tide, allowing himself about sixteen miles to perform 
 for each of the three days' journey, reckoning the wed- 
 ding-day as one. There was only one town, Shottsford, 
 of^any importance along his course, and here he stopped 
 on the second night, not only to rest, but to prepare 
 himself for the next evening. 
 
 Possessing no clothes but the working suit he stood 
 in — now stained and, distorted by their two months of 
 hard usage, he entered a shop to make some purchases 
 390 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 which should put him, externally at any rate, a little 
 in harmony with the prevailing tone of the morrow. 
 A rough yet respectable coat and hat, a new shirt and 
 neck-cloth, were the chief of these ; and having satisfied 
 himself that in appearance at least he would not now 
 offend her, he proceeded to the more interesting parti- 
 cular of buying her some present. 
 
 What should that present be ? He walked up and 
 down the street, regarding dubiously the display in the 
 shop windows, from a gloomy sense that what he might 
 most like to give her would be beyond his miserable 
 pocket. ALJengtbuajcaggigQldfinctuaiet^his eye. The 
 cage was a plain and small one, the shopTTiTftTbl-^-fmd" 
 on inquiry he concluded he could afford the modest 
 sum asked. A sheet of newspaper was tied round the 
 little creature's wire prison, and with the wrapped up 
 cage in his hand Henchard sought a lodging for the 
 night. 
 
 Next day he set out upon the last stage, and was 
 soon within the district which had been his trading- 
 ground in bygone years. Part of the distance he 
 travelled by carrier, seating himself in the darkest 
 corner at the back of that trader's vanj and as the 
 other passengers, mainly women going short journeys, 
 mounted and alighted in front of Henchard, they 
 talked over much local news, not the least portion of 
 this being the wedding then in course of celebration 
 at the town they were nearing. It appeared from 
 their accounts that the town band had been hired 
 for the evening party, and, lest the convivial in- 
 stincts of that body should get the better of their 
 skill, the further step had been taken of engaging 
 the string band from Budmouth, so that there would 
 be a reserve of harmony to fall back upon in case 
 of need. 
 
 He heard, however, but few particulars beyond those 
 known to him already, the incident of the deepest 
 391 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 interest on the journey being the soft pealing of the 
 Casterbridge bells, which reached the travellers' ears 
 while the van paused on the top of Yalbury Hill to 
 have the drag lowered. The time was just after twelve 
 o'clock. 
 
 Those notes were a signal that all had gone well ; 
 that there had been no slip 'twixt cup and lip in this 
 case ; that Elizabeth- Jane and Donald Farfrae were man 
 and wife. 
 
 Henchard did not care to ride any further with his 
 chattering companions after hearing this sound. In- 
 deed, it quite unmanned him ; and in pursuance of his 
 plan of not showing himself in Casterbridge street till 
 evening, lest he should mortify Farfrae and his bride, 
 he alighted here, with his bundle and bird-cage, and 
 was soon left as a lonely figure on the broad white 
 highway. 
 
 It was the hill near which he had waited to meet 
 Farfrae, almost two years earlier, to tell him of the 
 serious illness of his wife Lucetta. The place was un- 
 changed ; the same larches sighed the same notes ; but 
 Farfrae had another wife — and, as Henchard knew, a 
 better one. He only hoped that Elizabeth- Jane had 
 obtained a better home than had been hers at the 
 former time. 
 
 He passed the remainder of the afternoon in a 
 curious high-strung condition, unable to do much but 
 think of the approaching meeting with her, and sadly 
 satirize himself for his emotions thereon, as a Samson 
 shorn. Such an innovation on Casterbridge customs 
 as a flitting of bridegroom and bride from the town 
 immediately after the ceremony, was not likely, but if it 
 should have taken place he would wait till their return. 
 To assure himself on this point he asked a market-man 
 when near the borough if the newly-married couple had 
 gone away, and was promptly informed that they had 
 not ; they were at that hour, according to all accounts, 
 392 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 entertaining a houseful of guests at their home in Corn 
 Street. ■ 
 
 Henchard dusted his boots, washed his hands at the 
 river-side, and proceeded up the town under the feeble 
 lamps. He need have made no inquiries beforehand, 
 for on drawing near Farfrae's residence it was plain to 
 the least observant that festivity prevailed within, and 
 that Donald himself shared it, his voice being distinctly 
 audible in ,the street, giving strong expression to a 
 song of his dear native country, that he loved so 
 well as never to have revisited it. Idlers were stand- 
 ing on the pavement in front ; and wishing to escape 
 the notice of these Henchard passed quickly on to the 
 door. 
 
 It was wide open ; the hall was lighted extravagantly, 
 and people were going up and down the stairs. His 
 courage failed him ; to enter footsore, laden, and poorly 
 dressed into the midst of such resplendency, was to 
 bring needless humiliation upon her he loved, if not to 
 court repulse from her husband. Accordingly he went 
 round into the street at the back that he knew so well, 
 entered the garden, and came quietly into the house 
 through the kitchen, tpr"r"""V d^r"7i'^<^'""f T ^^f^- bird 
 and_cage nnrlpraJ^nigVi f^iitcir^P to lessen the awkwar d- 
 ilSS*-of-lH£iSnval. 
 
 Solitude and sadness had so emolliated Henchard 
 that he now feared circumstances he would formerly 
 have scorned, and he began to wish that he had not 
 taken upon himself to arrive at such a juncture. How- 
 ever, his progress was made unexpectedly easy by his 
 discovering alone in the kitchen an elderly woman 
 who seemed to be acting as provisional housekeeper 
 during the convulsions from which Farfrae's establish- 
 ment was just then suffering. She was one of those 
 people whom nothing surprises, and though to her, a 
 total stranger, his request must have seemed odd, she 
 willingly volunteered to go up and inform the master 
 
 2c 393 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 and mistress of the house that ' a humble old friend 
 had come. 
 
 On second thoughts she said that he had better 
 not wait in the kitchen, but come up into the little 
 back-parlour, which was empty. He thereupon fol- 
 lowed her thither, and she left him. Just as she had 
 got across the landing to the door of the best parlour 
 a dance was struck up, and she returned to say that 
 she would wait till that was over before announcing 
 him — Mr. and Mrs. Farfrae having both joined in the 
 figure. 
 
 The door of the front room had been taken off its 
 hinges to give more space, and that of the room Hen- 
 chard sat in being ajar, he could see fractional parts of 
 the dancers whenever their gyrations brought them near 
 the doorway, chiefly in the shape of the skirts of dresses 
 and streaming curls of hair ; together with about three- 
 fifths of the band, in profile, including the restless 
 shadow of a fiddler's elbow, and the tip of the bass- 
 viol bow. 
 
 The gaiety jarred upon Henchard's spirits ; and 
 he could not quite understand why Farfrae, a much- 
 sobered man, and a widower, who had had his trials, 
 should have cared for it all, notwithstanding the fact 
 that he was quite a young man still, and quickly 
 kindled to enthusiasm by dance and song. That 
 the quiet Elizabeth, who had long ago appraised life 
 at a moderate value, and who knew, in spite of her 
 maidenhood, that marriage was as a rule no dancing 
 matter, should have had zest for this revelry surprised 
 him still more. However, young people could not 
 be quite old people, he concluded, and custom was 
 omnipotent. 
 
 With the progress of the dance the performers 
 
 spread out somewhat, and then for the first time he 
 
 caught a glimpse of the once despised daughter who 
 
 had mastered him, and made his heart ache. She 
 
 394 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 was in a dress of white silk or satin, he was not 
 near enough to say which — snowy white, without a 
 tinge of milk or cream; and the expression of her 
 (ace was one of nervous pleasure rather than of 
 gaiety. Presently Farfrae came round, his exuberant 
 Scotch movement making him conspicuous in a 
 moment. The pair were not dancing together, but 
 Henchard could discern that whenever the changes of 
 the figure made them the partners of a moment, their 
 emotions breathed a much subtler essence than at 
 other times. 
 
 By degrees Henchard became aware that the mea- 
 sure was trod by some one who out-Farfraed Farfrae in 
 saltatory intenseness. This was strange, and it was 
 stranger to find that the eclipsing personage was Eliza- 
 beth-Jane's partner. The first time that Henchard saw 
 him he was sweeping grandly round, his head quivering 
 and low down, his legs in the form of an X and his 
 back towards the door. The next time he came round 
 in the other direction, his white waistcoat preceding 
 his face, and his toes preceding his white waistcoat. 
 That happy face — Henchard's complete discomfiture 
 lay in it. It was Newson's, who had indeed come and 
 supplanted him. 
 
 Henchard pushed to the door, and for some seconds 
 made no other movement. He rose to his feet, and 
 stood like a dark ruin, obscured by 'the shade from 
 his own soul upthrown.' 
 
 * But he was no longer the man to stand these reverses 
 unmoved. His agitation was great, and he would fain 
 have been gone, but before he could leave the dance 
 had ended, the housekeeper had informed Elizabeth- 
 Jane of the stranger who awaited her, and she entered 
 the room immediately. 
 
 'Oh — it is — Mr. Henchard!' she said, staring 
 back. 
 
 ' What ; Elizabeth ? ' he cried, as he seized her hand. 
 
 395 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 •What do you say? — Mr. Henchard? Don't, don't 
 scourge me like that ! Call me worthless old Henchard 
 — anything — but don't 'ee be so cold as this ! Oh, 
 my maid — I see you have another — a real father in 
 my place. Then you know all; but don't give all 
 your thought to him ! Do ye save a little room 
 for me ! ' 
 
 She flushed up, and gently drew her hand away. « I 
 could have loved you always — I would have, gladly,' 
 said she. ' But how can I when I know you have de- 
 ceived me so — so bitterly deceived me ! You persuaded 
 me that my father was not my father — allowed me to 
 live on in ignorance of the truth for years ; and then 
 when he, my warm-hearted real father, came to find me, 
 cruelly sent him away with a wicked invention of my 
 death, which nearly broke his heart. Oh how can I 
 love, or do anything more for, a man who has served us 
 like this ! ' 
 
 Henchard's lips half parted to begin an explanation. 
 But he shut them up like a vice, and uttered not a 
 sound. How should he, there and then, set before her 
 with any effect the palliatives of his great faults — that 
 he had himself been deceived in her identity at first, 
 till informed by her mother's letter that his own child 
 had died; that, in the second accusation, his lie had 
 been the last desperate throw of a gamester who loved 
 her affection better than his own honour ? Among the 
 many hindrances to such a pleading, not the least 
 was this, that he did not sufficiently value himself to 
 lessen his sufferings by strenuous appeal or elaborate 
 argument. 
 
 Waiving, therefore, his privilege of self-defence, he 
 regarded only her discomposure. 'Don't ye distress 
 yourself on my account,' he said, with proud superiority. 
 ' I would not wish it — at such a time, too, as this. I 
 have done wrong in coming to 'ee — I see my error. 
 But it is only for once, so forgive it. I'll never trouble 
 396 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 'ee again, Elizabeth- Jane — no, not to my dying day I 
 Good-night. Good-bye ! ' 
 
 Then, before she could collect her thoughts, Hen- 
 chard went out from her rooms, and departed from the 
 house by the back way as he had come ; and she saw 
 him no more. 
 
XLV 
 
 It was about a month after the day which closed as 
 in the last chapter. Elizabeth-Jane had grown accus- 
 tomed to the novelty of her situation, and the only 
 difference between Donald's movements now and for- 
 merly was, that he hastened indoors rather more quickly 
 after business hours than he had been in the habit of 
 doing for some time. 
 
 Newson had stayed in Casterbridge three days after 
 the wedding party (whose gaiety, as might have been 
 surmised, was of his making rather than of the married 
 couple's), and was stared at and honoured as became 
 the returned Crusoe of the hour. But whether or not 
 because Casterbridge was difficult to excite by dramatic 
 returns and disappearances, through having been for 
 centuries an assize town, in which sensational exits 
 from the world, antipodean absences, and such like, 
 were half-yearly occurrences, the inhabitants did not 
 altogether lose their equanimity on his account. On 
 the fourth morning he was discovered disconsolately 
 climbing a hill, in his craving to get a glimpse of the 
 sea from somewhere or other. The contiguity of salt 
 water proved to be such a necessity of his existence 
 that he preferred Budmouth as a place of residence, 
 notwithstanding the society of his daughter in the other 
 town. Thither he went, and settled in lodgings in a 
 398 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 green-shuttered cottage which had a bow-window, jutting 
 out sufficiently to afford glimpses of a vertical strip of 
 blue sea to any one opening the sash, and leaning 
 forward far enough to look through a narrow lane of 
 tall intervening houses. 
 
 Elizabeth-Jane was standing in the middle of her 
 upstairs parlour, critically surveying some re-arrange- 
 ment of articles, with her head to one side, when the 
 housemaid came in with the announcement, ' Oh, please 
 ma'am, we know now how that bird-cage came there.' 
 
 In exploring her new domain during the first week 
 of residence, gazing with critical satisfaction on this 
 cheerful room and that, penetrating cautiously into 
 dark cellars, sallying forth with gingerly tread to the 
 garden, now leaf-strewn with autumn winds, and thus, 
 like a wise field-marshal, estimating the capabilities of 
 the site whereon she was about to open her house- 
 keeping campaign — Mrs. Donald Farfrae had discovered 
 in a screened corner a new bird-cage, shrouded in 
 newspaper, and at the bottom of the cage a little ball 
 of feathers — the dead body of a goldfinch. Nobody 
 could tell her how the bird and cage had come there ; 
 though that the poor little songster had been starved 
 to death was evident. The sadness of the incident 
 had made an impression on her. She had not been 
 able to forget it for days, despite Farfrae's tender 
 banter; and now when the matter had been nearly 
 forgotten it was again revived. 
 
 'Oh, please ma'am, we know how that bird-cage 
 came there. That farmer's man who called on the 
 evening of the wedding — ^he was seen wi' it in his hand 
 as he came up the street ; and 'tis thoughted that he 
 put it down while he came in with his message, and 
 then went away forgetting where he had left it.' 
 
 This was enough to set Elizabeth thinking, and in 
 thinking she seized hold of the idea, at one feminine 
 bound, that the caged bird had been brought by Hen- 
 399 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 chard for her, as a wedding gift and token of repent- 
 ance. He had not expressed to her any regrets or 
 excuses for what he had done in the past; but it was 
 a part of his nature to extenuate nothing, and live on 
 as one of his own worst accusers. She went out, 
 looked at the cage, buried the starved little singer, and 
 from that hour her heart softened towards the self- 
 alienated man. 
 
 When her husband came in she told him her solu- 
 tion of the bird-cage mystery; and begged Donald to 
 help her in finding out, as soon as possible, whither 
 Henchard had banished himself, that she might make 
 her peace with him ; try to do something to render his 
 life less that of an outcast, and more tolerable to him. 
 Although Farfrae had never so passionately liked Hen- 
 chard as Henchard had liked him, he had, on the other 
 hand, never so passionately hated in the same direction 
 as his former friend had done; and he was therefore 
 not the least indisposed to assist Elizabeth-Jane in her 
 laudable plan. 
 
 But it was by no means easy to set about discover- 
 ing Henchard. He had apparently sunk into the earth 
 on leaving Mr. and Mrs. Farfrae's door. Elizabeth- 
 Jane remembered what he had once attempted; and 
 trembled. 
 
 But though she did not know it, Henchard had 
 become a changed man since then — as far, that is, as 
 change of emotional basis can justify such a radical 
 phrase; and she needed not to fear. In a few days 
 Farfrae's inquiries elicited that Henchard had been 
 seen, by one who knew him, walking steadily aloiig the 
 Melchester highway eastward, at twelve o'clock at night 
 — in other words, retracing his steps on the road by 
 which he had come. 
 
 This was enough; and the next morning Farfrae 
 might have been discovered driving his gig out of 
 Casterbridge in that direction, Elizabeth-Jane sitting 
 400 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 beside him, wrapped in a thick flat fur — the victorine 
 of the period — her complexion somewhat richer than 
 formerly, and an incipient matronly dignity, which the 
 serene Minerva-eyes of one 'whose gestures beamed 
 with mind ' made becoming, settling on her face. Hav- 
 ing herself arrived at a promising haven from at least 
 the grosser troubles of her life, her object was to place 
 Henchard in some similar quietude before he should 
 sink into that lower stage of existence which was only 
 too possible to him now. 
 
 After driving along the highway for a few miles they 
 made further inquiries, and learnt of a road-mender, 
 who had been working thereabouts for weeks, that he 
 had observed such a man at the time mentioned; he 
 had left the Melchester coach-road at Weatherbury by 
 a forking highway which skirted the north of Egdon 
 Heath. Into this road they directed the horse's head, 
 and soon were bowling across that ancient country 
 whose surface never had been stirred to a finger's depth, 
 save by the scratchings of rabbits, since brushed by 
 the feet of the earliest tribes. The tumuli these had 
 left behind, dun and shagged with heather, jutted 
 roundly into the sky from the uplands, as though they 
 were the full breasts of Diana Multimammia supinely 
 extended there. 
 
 They searched Egdon, but found no Henchard. 
 Farfrae drove onward, and by the afternoon reached the 
 neighbourhood of some extension of the heath to the 
 north of Anglebury, a prominent feature of which, in 
 the form of a blasted clump of firs on the summit of a 
 hill, they soon passed under. That the road they were 
 following had, up to this point, been Henchard's track 
 on foot they were pretty certain ; but the ramifications 
 which now began to reveal themselves in the route 
 made further progress in the right direction a matter of 
 pure guess-work, and Donald strongly advised his wife 
 to give up the search in person, and trust to other 
 401 2 c 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 means for obtaining news of her stepfather. They were 
 now a score of miles at least from home, but, by resting 
 the horse for a couple of hours at a village they had just 
 traversed, it would be possible to get back to Caster- 
 bridge that same day ; while to go much further afield 
 would reduce them to the necessity of camping out for 
 the night ; ' and that will make a hole in a sovereign,' 
 said Farfrae. She pondered the position, and agreed 
 with him. 
 
 He accordingly drew rein, but before reversing their 
 direction paused a moment, and looked vaguely round 
 upon the wide country which the elevated position dis- 
 closed. While they looked, a solitary human form came 
 from under the clump of trees, and crossed ahead of 
 them. The person was some labourer; his gait was 
 shambling, his regard fixed in front of him as absolutely 
 as if he wore blinkers ; and in his hand he carried a few 
 sticks. Having crossed the road he descended into a 
 ravine, where a cottage revealed itself, which he entered. 
 
 ' If it were not so far away from Casterbridge I 
 should say that must be poor Whittle. 'Tis just like 
 him, observed Elizabeth- Jane. 
 
 ' And it may be Whittle, for he's never been to the 
 yard these three weeks, going away without saying any 
 word at all ; and I owing him for two days' work, with- 
 out knowing who to pay it to.' 
 
 The possibility led them to alight, and at least make 
 an inquiry at the cottage. Farfrae hitched the reins to 
 the gate-post, and they approached what was of humble 
 dwellings surely the humblest. The walls, built of 
 kneaded clay originally faced with a trowel, had been 
 worn by years of rain-washings to a lumpy crumbling 
 surface, channelled and sunken from its plane, its gray 
 rents held together here and there by a leafy strap of 
 ivy which could scarcely find substance enough for the 
 purpose. Leaves from the fence had been blown into 
 the corners of the doorway, and lay there undisturbed 
 402 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 The door -was ajar; Farfrae knocked; and he who 
 stood before them was Whittle, as they had conjectured. 
 
 His face showed marks of deep sadness, his eyes 
 lighting on them with an unfocused gaze ; and he still 
 held in his hand the few sticks he had been out to 
 gather. As soon as he recognized them he started. 
 
 ' What, Abel Whittle ; is it that ye are here ? ' said 
 Farfrae. 
 
 ' Ay, yes, sir ! You see he was kind-like to mother 
 when she wer here below, though 'a was rough to me.' 
 
 ' Who are you talking of ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, sir — Mr. Henchet ! Didn't ye know it ? He's 
 just gone — about half-an-hour ago, by the sun ; for I've 
 got no watch to my name.' 
 
 ' Not — dead ? ' faltered Elizabeth- Jane. 
 
 'Yes, ma'am, he's gone! He was kind-like to 
 mother when she wer here below, sending her the best 
 ship-coal, and hardly any ashes from it at all; and 
 taties, and such-like that were very needful to her. I 
 seed en go down street on the night of your worship- 
 ful's wedding to the lady at yer side, and I thought 
 he looked low and faltering. And I followed en over 
 the road, and he turned and zeed me, and said " You 
 go back ! " But I followed, and he turned again, and 
 said, " Do you hear, sir ? Go back 1 " But I zeed that 
 he was low, and I followed on still. Then 'a said, 
 " Whittle, what do ye follow me for when I've told ye 
 to go back all these times ? " And I said, " Because, 
 sir, I see things be bad with 'ee, and ye wer kind-like 
 to mother if ye were rough to me, and I would fain be 
 kind-like to you." Then he walked on, and I followed ; 
 and he never complained at me no more. We walked 
 on like that all night ; and in the blue o' the morning, 
 when 'twas hardly day, I looked ahead o' me, and I zeed 
 that he wambled, and could hardly drag along. By that 
 time we had got past here, but I had seen that this 
 house was empty as I went by, and I got him to, come 
 403 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 back ; and I took down the boards from the windows, 
 and helped him inside. " What, Whittle," he said, " and 
 can ye really be such a poor fond fool as to care for such 
 a wretch as I ! " Then I went on further, and some neigh- 
 bourly woodmen lent me a bed, and a chair, and a few 
 other traps, and we brought 'em here, and made him as 
 comfortable as we could. But he didn't gain strength, 
 for you see, ma'am, he couldn't eat — no, no appetite at 
 all — and he got weaker ; and to-day he died. One of 
 the neighbours have gone to get a man to measure 
 him.' 
 
 ' Dear me — is that so ! ' said Farfrae. 
 
 As for Elizabeth, she said nothing. 
 
 ' Upon the head of his bed he pinned a piece of paper, 
 with some writing upon it,' continued Abel Whittle. ' But 
 not being a man o' letters, I can't read writing ; so I 
 don't know what it is. I can get it and show ye.' 
 
 They stood in silence while he ran into the cottage ; 
 returning in a moment with a crumpled scrap of paper. 
 On il. there was pencilled as follows : — 
 
 'Michael Henchard's Will. 
 
 ' That Elizabeth-Jane Farfrae be not told of my death, or 
 made to grieve on account of me. 
 
 ' & that I be not bury'd in consecrated ground. 
 
 ' & that no sexton be asked to toll the bell. 
 
 ' & that nobody is wished to see my dead body. 
 
 ' & that no murners walk behind me at my funeraL 
 
 * & that no flours be planted on my grave. 
 
 ' & that no man remember me. 
 
 *To this I put my name. 
 
 'Michael Henchard.' 
 
 ' What are we to do ? ' said Donald, when he had 
 handed the .paper to her. 
 
 She could not answer distinctly. ' O Donald ! ' she 
 said at last through her tears, ' what bitterness lies there i 
 404 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 Oh I would not have minded so much if it had not 
 been for that last parting ! . . . But there's no ahering 
 — so it must be.' 
 
 What Henchard had written in the anguish of his 
 dying was respected as far as practicable by Elizabeth- 
 Jane, though less from a sense of the sacredness of last 
 words, as such, than from her independent knowledge 
 that the man who wrote them meant what he said. She 
 knew the directions to be a piece of the same stuff that 
 his whole life was made of, and hence were not to be 
 tampered with to give herself a mournful pleasure, or 
 her husband credit for large-heartedness. 
 
 All was over at last, even her regrets for having mis- 
 understood him on his last visit, for not having searched 
 him out sooner, though these were deep and sharp for 
 a good while. From this time forward Elizabeth- Jane 
 found herself in a latitude of calm weather, kindly and 
 grateful in itself, and doubly so after the Capharnaum 
 in which some of her preceding years had been spent. 
 As the lively and sparkling emotions of her early married 
 life cohered into an equable serenity, the finer move- 
 ments of her nature found scope in discovering to the 
 narrow-lived ones around her the secret (as she had 
 once learnt it) of making limited opportunities endur- 
 able ; which she deemed to consist in the cunning en- 
 largement, by a species of microscopic treatment, of 
 those minute forms of satisfaction that offer themselves 
 to everybody not in positive pain ; which, thus handled, 
 have much of the same inspiriting effect upon life as 
 wider interests cursorily embraced. 
 
 Her teaching had a reflex action upon herself, inso- 
 much that she thought she could perceive no great per- 
 sonal difference between being respected in the nether 
 parts of Casterbridge, and glorified at the uppermost 
 end of the social world. Her position was, indeed, 
 to a marked degree one that, in the common phrase, 
 405 
 
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE 
 
 afforded much to be thankful for. That she was not 
 demonstratively thankful was no fault of hers. Her 
 experience had been of a kind to teach her, rightly 
 or wrongly, that the doubtful honour of a brief transit 
 through a sorry world hardly called for effusiveness, even 
 when the path was suddenly irradiated at some half-way 
 point by daybeams rich as hers. But her strong sense 
 that neither she nor any human being deserved less than 
 was given, did not blind her to the fact that there were 
 others receiving less who had deserved much more. 
 And in being forced to class herself among the fortunate 
 she did not cease to wonder at the persistence of the 
 unforeseen, when the one to whom such unbroken tran- 
 quillity had been accorded in the adult stage was she 
 whose youth had seemed to teach that happiness was 
 but the occasional episode in a general drama of pain. 
 
 THE END