feat_summary_path: finished_summaries/shmoop/Far From the Madding Crowd/section_33_part_0.txt
feat_book_id: Far From the Madding Crowd.chapter 34
feat_summary_id: chapter 34
feat_summary: {"name": "Chapter 34", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20201219162644/https://www.shmoop.com/study-guides/literature/far-from-the-madding-crowd/summary/chapter-34", "summary": "At dusk, Gabriel Oak is leaning over Jan Coggan's gate and inspecting the farm before going home for the night. He overhears two women talking and knows that they are Bathsheba and Liddy. He is overjoyed to have Bathsheba back home, safe and sound. Just then, Boldwood walks past. Oak goes to bed while Boldwood carries on to Bathsheba's house. Liddy, though, tells Boldwood that Bathsheba can't see him at the moment. Boldwood leaves, but decides that he'll come back to see Bathsheba later. As he leaves, though, he sees Sergeant Troy leave the house, saying goodnight to the people inside. Boldwood walks up to Troy and confronts him. He accuses Troy of stealing his fiancee, and Troy argues back that there's no way the two of them were ever engaged. Boldwood tells Sergeant Troy that he belongs with Fanny, since he knows about their previous engagement. Troy also admits that he likes Fanny more than Bathsheba. What a scumbag! Boldwood offers to pay Troy a large sum of money if he'll stay away from Bathsheba and marry Fanny. Troy says \"Okay,\" but also tell Boldwood to stick around. Boldwood does, and he overhears a conversation that makes it sound like Troy and Bathsheba have already been--gasp!--intimate. After Troy mocks him some more, Boldwood grabs him and tries to strangle him. But Troy tells Boldwood between gasps that the only way to save Bathsheba from being a ruined woman now is for him to marry her. In other words, he's implying that the two of them have already had sex. Boldwood realizes that he now has no choice but to give up Bathsheba. Now, horror of horrors, the only way for him to save Bathsheba's honor is to convince Troy to marry Bathsheba instead of Fanny. And--get this--Troy still wants some money for marrying Bathsheba. With this all settled, Troy goes with Boldwood up to Bathsheba's house, peeks inside for a second, and hands Boldwood a newspaper. And inside the newspaper is an announcement of Troy's wedding with Bathsheba. The two of them are already married! Troy has just been messing with Boldwood this entire time. Boldwood walks away, totally crushed.", "analysis": ""}
text: 
  
  HOME AGAIN--A TRICKSTER
  
  
  That same evening at dusk Gabriel was leaning over Coggan's
  garden-gate, taking an up-and-down survey before retiring to rest.
  
  A vehicle of some kind was softly creeping along the grassy margin of
  the lane.  From it spread the tones of two women talking.  The tones
  were natural and not at all suppressed. Oak instantly knew the voices
  to be those of Bathsheba and Liddy.
  
  The carriage came opposite and passed by.  It was Miss Everdene's
  gig, and Liddy and her mistress were the only occupants of the seat.
  Liddy was asking questions about the city of Bath, and her companion
  was answering them listlessly and unconcernedly.  Both Bathsheba and
  the horse seemed weary.
  
  The exquisite relief of finding that she was here again, safe and
  sound, overpowered all reflection, and Oak could only luxuriate in
  the sense of it.  All grave reports were forgotten.
  
  He lingered and lingered on, till there was no difference between the
  eastern and western expanses of sky, and the timid hares began to
  limp courageously round the dim hillocks.  Gabriel might have been
  there an additional half-hour when a dark form walked slowly by.
  "Good-night, Gabriel," the passer said.
  
  It was Boldwood.  "Good-night, sir," said Gabriel.
  
  Boldwood likewise vanished up the road, and Oak shortly afterwards
  turned indoors to bed.
  
  Farmer Boldwood went on towards Miss Everdene's house.  He reached
  the front, and approaching the entrance, saw a light in the parlour.
  The blind was not drawn down, and inside the room was Bathsheba,
  looking over some papers or letters.  Her back was towards Boldwood.
  He went to the door, knocked, and waited with tense muscles and an
  aching brow.
  
  Boldwood had not been outside his garden since his meeting with
  Bathsheba in the road to Yalbury.  Silent and alone, he had remained
  in moody meditation on woman's ways, deeming as essentials of the
  whole sex the accidents of the single one of their number he had ever
  closely beheld.  By degrees a more charitable temper had pervaded
  him, and this was the reason of his sally to-night.  He had come to
  apologize and beg forgiveness of Bathsheba with something like a
  sense of shame at his violence, having but just now learnt that she
  had returned--only from a visit to Liddy, as he supposed, the Bath
  escapade being quite unknown to him.
  
  He inquired for Miss Everdene.  Liddy's manner was odd, but he did
  not notice it.  She went in, leaving him standing there, and in her
  absence the blind of the room containing Bathsheba was pulled down.
  Boldwood augured ill from that sign.  Liddy came out.
  
  "My mistress cannot see you, sir," she said.
  
  The farmer instantly went out by the gate.  He was unforgiven--that
  was the issue of it all.  He had seen her who was to him
  simultaneously a delight and a torture, sitting in the room he had
  shared with her as a peculiarly privileged guest only a little
  earlier in the summer, and she had denied him an entrance there now.
  
  Boldwood did not hurry homeward.  It was ten o'clock at least, when,
  walking deliberately through the lower part of Weatherbury, he heard
  the carrier's spring van entering the village.  The van ran to and
  from a town in a northern direction, and it was owned and driven by
  a Weatherbury man, at the door of whose house it now pulled up.  The
  lamp fixed to the head of the hood illuminated a scarlet and gilded
  form, who was the first to alight.
  
  "Ah!" said Boldwood to himself, "come to see her again."
  
  Troy entered the carrier's house, which had been the place of his
  lodging on his last visit to his native place.  Boldwood was moved
  by a sudden determination.  He hastened home.  In ten minutes he was
  back again, and made as if he were going to call upon Troy at the
  carrier's.  But as he approached, some one opened the door and came
  out.  He heard this person say "Good-night" to the inmates, and the
  voice was Troy's.  This was strange, coming so immediately after
  his arrival.  Boldwood, however, hastened up to him.  Troy had what
  appeared to be a carpet-bag in his hand--the same that he had brought
  with him.  It seemed as if he were going to leave again this very
  night.
  
  Troy turned up the hill and quickened his pace.  Boldwood stepped
  forward.
  
  "Sergeant Troy?"
  
  "Yes--I'm Sergeant Troy."
  
  "Just arrived from up the country, I think?"
  
  "Just arrived from Bath."
  
  "I am William Boldwood."
  
  "Indeed."
  
  The tone in which this word was uttered was all that had been wanted
  to bring Boldwood to the point.
  
  "I wish to speak a word with you," he said.
  
  "What about?"
  
  "About her who lives just ahead there--and about a woman you have
  wronged."
  
  "I wonder at your impertinence," said Troy, moving on.
  
  "Now look here," said Boldwood, standing in front of him, "wonder or
  not, you are going to hold a conversation with me."
  
  Troy heard the dull determination in Boldwood's voice, looked at his
  stalwart frame, then at the thick cudgel he carried in his hand.  He
  remembered it was past ten o'clock. It seemed worth while to be civil
  to Boldwood.
  
  "Very well, I'll listen with pleasure," said Troy, placing his bag on
  the ground, "only speak low, for somebody or other may overhear us in
  the farmhouse there."
  
  "Well then--I know a good deal concerning your Fanny Robin's
  attachment to you.  I may say, too, that I believe I am the only
  person in the village, excepting Gabriel Oak, who does know it.  You
  ought to marry her."
  
  "I suppose I ought.  Indeed, I wish to, but I cannot."
  
  "Why?"
  
  Troy was about to utter something hastily; he then checked himself
  and said, "I am too poor."  His voice was changed.  Previously it had
  had a devil-may-care tone.  It was the voice of a trickster now.
  
  Boldwood's present mood was not critical enough to notice tones.  He
  continued, "I may as well speak plainly; and understand, I don't
  wish to enter into the questions of right or wrong, woman's honour
  and shame, or to express any opinion on your conduct.  I intend a
  business transaction with you."
  
  "I see," said Troy.  "Suppose we sit down here."
  
  An old tree trunk lay under the hedge immediately opposite, and they
  sat down.
  
  "I was engaged to be married to Miss Everdene," said Boldwood, "but
  you came and--"
  
  "Not engaged," said Troy.
  
  "As good as engaged."
  
  "If I had not turned up she might have become engaged to you."
  
  "Hang might!"
  
  "Would, then."
  
  "If you had not come I should certainly--yes, CERTAINLY--have been
  accepted by this time.  If you had not seen her you might have been
  married to Fanny.  Well, there's too much difference between Miss
  Everdene's station and your own for this flirtation with her ever to
  benefit you by ending in marriage.  So all I ask is, don't molest her
  any more. Marry Fanny.  I'll make it worth your while."
  
  "How will you?"
  
  "I'll pay you well now, I'll settle a sum of money upon her, and
  I'll see that you don't suffer from poverty in the future.  I'll put
  it clearly.  Bathsheba is only playing with you: you are too poor
  for her as I said; so give up wasting your time about a great match
  you'll never make for a moderate and rightful match you may make
  to-morrow; take up your carpet-bag, turn about, leave Weatherbury
  now, this night, and you shall take fifty pounds with you.  Fanny
  shall have fifty to enable her to prepare for the wedding, when you
  have told me where she is living, and she shall have five hundred
  paid down on her wedding-day."
  
  In making this statement Boldwood's voice revealed only too clearly
  a consciousness of the weakness of his position, his aims, and his
  method.  His manner had lapsed quite from that of the firm and
  dignified Boldwood of former times; and such a scheme as he had now
  engaged in he would have condemned as childishly imbecile only a few
  months ago.  We discern a grand force in the lover which he lacks
  whilst a free man; but there is a breadth of vision in the free
  man which in the lover we vainly seek.  Where there is much bias
  there must be some narrowness, and love, though added emotion, is
  subtracted capacity.  Boldwood exemplified this to an abnormal
  degree: he knew nothing of Fanny Robin's circumstances or
  whereabouts, he knew nothing of Troy's possibilities, yet that was
  what he said.
  
  "I like Fanny best," said Troy; "and if, as you say, Miss Everdene is
  out of my reach, why I have all to gain by accepting your money, and
  marrying Fan.  But she's only a servant."
  
  "Never mind--do you agree to my arrangement?"
  
  "I do."
  
  "Ah!" said Boldwood, in a more elastic voice.  "Oh, Troy, if you like
  her best, why then did you step in here and injure my happiness?"
  
  "I love Fanny best now," said Troy.  "But Bathsh--Miss Everdene
  inflamed me, and displaced Fanny for a time.  It is over now."
  
  "Why should it be over so soon?  And why then did you come here
  again?"
  
  "There are weighty reasons.  Fifty pounds at once, you said!"
  
  "I did," said Boldwood, "and here they are--fifty sovereigns." He
  handed Troy a small packet.
  
  "You have everything ready--it seems that you calculated on my
  accepting them," said the sergeant, taking the packet.
  
  "I thought you might accept them," said Boldwood.
  
  "You've only my word that the programme shall be adhered to, whilst
  I at any rate have fifty pounds."
  
  "I had thought of that, and I have considered that if I can't appeal
  to your honour I can trust to your--well, shrewdness we'll call
  it--not to lose five hundred pounds in prospect, and also make a
  bitter enemy of a man who is willing to be an extremely useful
  friend."
  
  "Stop, listen!" said Troy in a whisper.
  
  A light pit-pat was audible upon the road just above them.
  
  "By George--'tis she," he continued.  "I must go on and meet her."
  
  "She--who?"
  
  "Bathsheba."
  
  "Bathsheba--out alone at this time o' night!" said Boldwood in
  amazement, and starting up. "Why must you meet her?"
  
  "She was expecting me to-night--and I must now speak to her, and wish
  her good-bye, according to your wish."
  
  "I don't see the necessity of speaking."
  
  "It can do no harm--and she'll be wandering about looking for me if
  I don't.  You shall hear all I say to her.  It will help you in your
  love-making when I am gone."
  
  "Your tone is mocking."
  
  "Oh no.  And remember this, if she does not know what has become of
  me, she will think more about me than if I tell her flatly I have
  come to give her up."
  
  "Will you confine your words to that one point?--Shall I hear every
  word you say?"
  
  "Every word.  Now sit still there, and hold my carpet bag for me, and
  mark what you hear."
  
  The light footstep came closer, halting occasionally, as if the
  walker listened for a sound.  Troy whistled a double note in a soft,
  fluty tone.
  
  "Come to that, is it!" murmured Boldwood, uneasily.
  
  "You promised silence," said Troy.
  
  "I promise again."
  
  Troy stepped forward.
  
  "Frank, dearest, is that you?" The tones were Bathsheba's.
  
  "O God!" said Boldwood.
  
  "Yes," said Troy to her.
  
  "How late you are," she continued, tenderly.  "Did you come by the
  carrier?  I listened and heard his wheels entering the village, but
  it was some time ago, and I had almost given you up, Frank."
  
  "I was sure to come," said Frank.  "You knew I should, did you not?"
  
  "Well, I thought you would," she said, playfully; "and, Frank, it
  is so lucky!  There's not a soul in my house but me to-night.  I've
  packed them all off so nobody on earth will know of your visit to
  your lady's bower.  Liddy wanted to go to her grandfather's to tell
  him about her holiday, and I said she might stay with them till
  to-morrow--when you'll be gone again."
  
  "Capital," said Troy.  "But, dear me, I had better go back for my
  bag, because my slippers and brush and comb are in it; you run home
  whilst I fetch it, and I'll promise to be in your parlour in ten
  minutes."
  
  "Yes." She turned and tripped up the hill again.
  
  During the progress of this dialogue there was a nervous twitching
  of Boldwood's tightly closed lips, and his face became bathed in a
  clammy dew.  He now started forward towards Troy.  Troy turned to
  him and took up the bag.
  
  "Shall I tell her I have come to give her up and cannot marry her?"
  said the soldier, mockingly.
  
  "No, no; wait a minute.  I want to say more to you--more to you!"
  said Boldwood, in a hoarse whisper.
  
  "Now," said Troy, "you see my dilemma.  Perhaps I am a bad man--the
  victim of my impulses--led away to do what I ought to leave undone.
  I can't, however, marry them both.  And I have two reasons for
  choosing Fanny.  First, I like her best upon the whole, and second,
  you make it worth my while."
  
  At the same instant Boldwood sprang upon him, and held him by the
  neck.  Troy felt Boldwood's grasp slowly tightening. The move was
  absolutely unexpected.
  
  "A moment," he gasped.  "You are injuring her you love!"
  
  "Well, what do you mean?" said the farmer.
  
  "Give me breath," said Troy.
  
  Boldwood loosened his hand, saying, "By Heaven, I've a mind to kill
  you!"
  
  "And ruin her."
  
  "Save her."
  
  "Oh, how can she be saved now, unless I marry her?"
  
  Boldwood groaned.  He reluctantly released the soldier, and flung him
  back against the hedge.  "Devil, you torture me!" said he.
  
  Troy rebounded like a ball, and was about to make a dash at the
  farmer; but he checked himself, saying lightly--
  
  "It is not worth while to measure my strength with you.  Indeed it
  is a barbarous way of settling a quarrel.  I shall shortly leave the
  army because of the same conviction.  Now after that revelation of
  how the land lies with Bathsheba, 'twould be a mistake to kill me,
  would it not?"
  
  "'Twould be a mistake to kill you," repeated Boldwood, mechanically,
  with a bowed head.
  
  "Better kill yourself."
  
  "Far better."
  
  "I'm glad you see it."
  
  "Troy, make her your wife, and don't act upon what I arranged just
  now.  The alternative is dreadful, but take Bathsheba; I give her up!
  She must love you indeed to sell soul and body to you so utterly as
  she has done.  Wretched woman--deluded woman--you are, Bathsheba!"
  
  "But about Fanny?"
  
  "Bathsheba is a woman well to do," continued Boldwood, in nervous
  anxiety, "and, Troy, she will make a good wife; and, indeed, she is
  worth your hastening on your marriage with her!"
  
  "But she has a will--not to say a temper, and I shall be a mere slave
  to her.  I could do anything with poor Fanny Robin."
  
  "Troy," said Boldwood, imploringly, "I'll do anything for you, only
  don't desert her; pray don't desert her, Troy."
  
  "Which, poor Fanny?"
  
  "No; Bathsheba Everdene.  Love her best!  Love her tenderly!  How
  shall I get you to see how advantageous it will be to you to secure
  her at once?"
  
  "I don't wish to secure her in any new way."
  
  Boldwood's arm moved spasmodically towards Troy's person again.  He
  repressed the instinct, and his form drooped as with pain.
  
  Troy went on--
  
  "I shall soon purchase my discharge, and then--"
  
  "But I wish you to hasten on this marriage!  It will be better for
  you both.  You love each other, and you must let me help you to do
  it."
  
  "How?"
  
  "Why, by settling the five hundred on Bathsheba instead of Fanny, to
  enable you to marry at once.  No; she wouldn't have it of me.  I'll
  pay it down to you on the wedding-day."
  
  Troy paused in secret amazement at Boldwood's wild infatuation.  He
  carelessly said, "And am I to have anything now?"
  
  "Yes, if you wish to.  But I have not much additional money with me.
  I did not expect this; but all I have is yours."
  
  Boldwood, more like a somnambulist than a wakeful man, pulled out the
  large canvas bag he carried by way of a purse, and searched it.
  
  "I have twenty-one pounds more with me," he said.  "Two notes and a
  sovereign.  But before I leave you I must have a paper signed--"
  
  "Pay me the money, and we'll go straight to her parlour, and make any
  arrangement you please to secure my compliance with your wishes.  But
  she must know nothing of this cash business."
  
  "Nothing, nothing," said Boldwood, hastily.  "Here is the sum, and
  if you'll come to my house we'll write out the agreement for the
  remainder, and the terms also."
  
  "First we'll call upon her."
  
  "But why?  Come with me to-night, and go with me to-morrow to the
  surrogate's."
  
  "But she must be consulted; at any rate informed."
  
  "Very well; go on."
  
  They went up the hill to Bathsheba's house.  When they stood at the
  entrance, Troy said, "Wait here a moment."  Opening the door, he
  glided inside, leaving the door ajar.
  
  Boldwood waited.  In two minutes a light appeared in the passage.
  Boldwood then saw that the chain had been fastened across the door.
  Troy appeared inside, carrying a bedroom candlestick.
  
  "What, did you think I should break in?" said Boldwood,
  contemptuously.
  
  "Oh, no, it is merely my humour to secure things.  Will you read this
  a moment?  I'll hold the light."
  
  Troy handed a folded newspaper through the slit between door and
  doorpost, and put the candle close.  "That's the paragraph," he said,
  placing his finger on a line.
  
  Boldwood looked and read--
  
  
     MARRIAGES.
  
     On the 17th inst., at St. Ambrose's Church, Bath, by the
     Rev. G. Mincing, B.A., Francis Troy, only son of the late
     Edward Troy, Esq., M.D., of Weatherbury, and sergeant with
     Dragoon Guards, to Bathsheba, only surviving daughter of
     the late Mr. John Everdene, of Casterbridge.
  
  
  "This may be called Fort meeting Feeble, hey, Boldwood?" said Troy.
  A low gurgle of derisive laughter followed the words.
  
  The paper fell from Boldwood's hands.  Troy continued--
  
  "Fifty pounds to marry Fanny.  Good.  Twenty-one pounds not to marry
  Fanny, but Bathsheba.  Good.  Finale: already Bathsheba's husband.
  Now, Boldwood, yours is the ridiculous fate which always attends
  interference between a man and his wife.  And another word.  Bad as I
  am, I am not such a villain as to make the marriage or misery of any
  woman a matter of huckster and sale.  Fanny has long ago left me.  I
  don't know where she is.  I have searched everywhere.  Another word
  yet.  You say you love Bathsheba; yet on the merest apparent evidence
  you instantly believe in her dishonour.  A fig for such love!  Now
  that I've taught you a lesson, take your money back again."
  
  "I will not; I will not!" said Boldwood, in a hiss.
  
  "Anyhow I won't have it," said Troy, contemptuously.  He wrapped the
  packet of gold in the notes, and threw the whole into the road.
  
  Boldwood shook his clenched fist at him.  "You juggler of Satan!  You
  black hound!  But I'll punish you yet; mark me, I'll punish you yet!"
  
  Another peal of laughter.  Troy then closed the door, and locked
  himself in.
  
  Throughout the whole of that night Boldwood's dark form might have
  been seen walking about the hills and downs of Weatherbury like an
  unhappy Shade in the Mournful Fields by Acheron.
  
  
  
  
feat_summary_name: Chapter 34
target: At dusk, Gabriel Oak is leaning over Jan Coggan's gate and inspecting the farm before going home for the night. He overhears two women talking and knows that they are Bathsheba and Liddy. He is overjoyed to have Bathsheba back home, safe and sound. Just then, Boldwood walks past. Oak goes to bed while Boldwood carries on to Bathsheba's house. Liddy, though, tells Boldwood that Bathsheba can't see him at the moment. Boldwood leaves, but decides that he'll come back to see Bathsheba later. As he leaves, though, he sees Sergeant Troy leave the house, saying goodnight to the people inside. Boldwood walks up to Troy and confronts him. He accuses Troy of stealing his fiancee, and Troy argues back that there's no way the two of them were ever engaged. Boldwood tells Sergeant Troy that he belongs with Fanny, since he knows about their previous engagement. Troy also admits that he likes Fanny more than Bathsheba. What a scumbag! Boldwood offers to pay Troy a large sum of money if he'll stay away from Bathsheba and marry Fanny. Troy says "Okay," but also tell Boldwood to stick around. Boldwood does, and he overhears a conversation that makes it sound like Troy and Bathsheba have already been--gasp!--intimate. After Troy mocks him some more, Boldwood grabs him and tries to strangle him. But Troy tells Boldwood between gasps that the only way to save Bathsheba from being a ruined woman now is for him to marry her. In other words, he's implying that the two of them have already had sex. Boldwood realizes that he now has no choice but to give up Bathsheba. Now, horror of horrors, the only way for him to save Bathsheba's honor is to convince Troy to marry Bathsheba instead of Fanny. And--get this--Troy still wants some money for marrying Bathsheba. With this all settled, Troy goes with Boldwood up to Bathsheba's house, peeks inside for a second, and hands Boldwood a newspaper. And inside the newspaper is an announcement of Troy's wedding with Bathsheba. The two of them are already married! Troy has just been messing with Boldwood this entire time. Boldwood walks away, totally crushed.