feat_summary_path: finished_summaries/cliffnotes/Far from the Madding Crowd/section_51_part_0.txt
feat_book_id: Far from the Madding Crowd.chapter 52
feat_summary_id: chapter 52
feat_summary: {"name": "Chapter 52", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20201101052914/https://www.cliffsnotes.com/literature/f/far-from-the-madding-crowd/summary-and-analysis/chapter-52", "summary": "The story builds toward a focal point on Christmas Eve. The chapter is divided into seven parts: Boldwood, surprisingly, had planned a Christmas party. Mistletoe, garlands, and decorations were brought in from the woods, and elaborate preparations were made. Bathsheba was agitated and reluctant to go. She admitted to Liddy that she was the cause for the party. To avoid gossip, she would wear her widow's weeds. Boldwood fussed over his newly tailored clothes. When Oak arrived to report on the day's work, Boldwood reminded him that he was expected at the party. \"Make yourself merry. I am determined that neither expense nor trouble shall be spared.\" Gabriel replied that he might be late. He was glad to see Boldwood in better spirits. Boldwood asked whether women keep promises. Oak replied, \"If it is not inconvenient to her she may.\" Boldwood, feverishly cheerful, commented that Oak had become quite cynical lately. Troy was in a tavern in Casterbridge with Pennyways, who reminded him that his deceit was punishable by law. He could not answer Troy's question about Bathsheba's relationship with Boldwood. This was to be Bathsheba's first appearance at Boldwood's home. Pennyways still bore her a grudge. He told Troy that Oak was still the boss and that Bathsheba couldn't manage without him. Bathsheba, though plainly dressed, looked very well. Liddy suggested it was because of her excitement. Bathsheba admitted that she was vacillating between feeling buoyant and feeling wretched. When Liddy joked about Boldwood's imminent proposal, Bathsheba gravely silenced her. As Oak helped Boldwood tie his cravat, he urged him to be cautious and not to count on Bathsheba. Boldwood said he knew of Oak's love, and he wished to reward him for his decency. He would increase the extent of his partnership. When Oak had gone, Boldwood pulled out a small box and regarded a handsome ring. Hearing wheels in the distance, he put the box in his pocket and went to greet his guests. While Troy was attiring himself in a high-collared greatcoat and traveling cap, Pennyways counseled against his going to Boldwood's party. Troy argued angrily, \"There she is with plenty of money, and a house and farm . . . and here am I still living from hand to mouth -- a needy adventurer.\" In addition, Troy knew he had been seen and recognized in town. Pennyways realized he would have to get back into Bathsheba's good graces in the event of a reconciliation, and so, as a first step, he suggested to Troy, \"I sometimes think she likes you yet, and is a good woman at bottom.\" Troy announced that he would be at Boldwood's before nine.", "analysis": "Hardy has kept strict account of the threads running through the novel and here arranges them so that they can be tucked into the complicated tapestry. Structurally, this chapter is carefully outlined in seven sections that indicate what must follow. Troy has a premonition of tragedy, but, characteristically, he shrugs it off and sends for more brandy. Boldwood is keyed up but confident. Bathsheba's feelings vacillate, and Oak is gloomy and apprehensive."}
text: CONVERGING COURSES
  
  
  Christmas-eve came, and a party that Boldwood was to give in the
  evening was the great subject of talk in Weatherbury.  It was not
  that the rarity of Christmas parties in the parish made this one a
  wonder, but that Boldwood should be the giver.  The announcement
  had had an abnormal and incongruous sound, as if one should hear of
  croquet-playing in a cathedral aisle, or that some much-respected
  judge was going upon the stage.  That the party was intended to be
  a truly jovial one there was no room for doubt.  A large bough of
  mistletoe had been brought from the woods that day, and suspended
  in the hall of the bachelor's home.  Holly and ivy had followed in
  armfuls.  From six that morning till past noon the huge wood fire
  in the kitchen roared and sparkled at its highest, the kettle, the
  saucepan, and the three-legged pot appearing in the midst of the
  flames like Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego; moreover, roasting
  and basting operations were continually carried on in front of the
  genial blaze.
  
  As it grew later the fire was made up in the large long hall into
  which the staircase descended, and all encumbrances were cleared out
  for dancing.  The log which was to form the back-brand of the evening
  fire was the uncleft trunk of a tree, so unwieldy that it could be
  neither brought nor rolled to its place; and accordingly two men were
  to be observed dragging and heaving it in by chains and levers as the
  hour of assembly drew near.
  
  In spite of all this, the spirit of revelry was wanting in the
  atmosphere of the house.  Such a thing had never been attempted
  before by its owner, and it was now done as by a wrench.  Intended
  gaieties would insist upon appearing like solemn grandeurs, the
  organization of the whole effort was carried out coldly, by
  hirelings, and a shadow seemed to move about the rooms, saying that
  the proceedings were unnatural to the place and the lone man who
  lived therein, and hence not good.
  
  
  Bathsheba was at this time in her room, dressing for the event.  She
  had called for candles, and Liddy entered and placed one on each side
  of her mistress's glass.
  
  "Don't go away, Liddy," said Bathsheba, almost timidly. "I am
  foolishly agitated--I cannot tell why.  I wish I had not been obliged
  to go to this dance; but there's no escaping now.  I have not spoken
  to Mr. Boldwood since the autumn, when I promised to see him at
  Christmas on business, but I had no idea there was to be anything of
  this kind."
  
  "But I would go now," said Liddy, who was going with her; for
  Boldwood had been indiscriminate in his invitations.
  
  "Yes, I shall make my appearance, of course," said Bathsheba.  "But I
  am THE CAUSE of the party, and that upsets me!--Don't tell, Liddy."
  
  "Oh no, ma'am.  You the cause of it, ma'am?"
  
  "Yes.  I am the reason of the party--I.  If it had not been for me,
      there would never have been one.  I can't explain any more--there's
      no more to be explained.  I wish I had never seen Weatherbury."
  
      "That's wicked of you--to wish to be worse off than you are."
  
      "No, Liddy.  I have never been free from trouble since I have lived
      here, and this party is likely to bring me more.  Now, fetch my black
      silk dress, and see how it sits upon me."
  
      "But you will leave off that, surely, ma'am?  You have been a
      widow-lady fourteen months, and ought to brighten up a little on
      such a night as this."
  
      "Is it necessary?  No; I will appear as usual, for if I were to wear
      any light dress people would say things about me, and I should seem
      to be rejoicing when I am solemn all the time.  The party doesn't
      suit me a bit; but never mind, stay and help to finish me off."
  
      Boldwood was dressing also at this hour.  A tailor from Casterbridge
      was with him, assisting him in the operation of trying on a new coat
      that had just been brought home.
  
      Never had Boldwood been so fastidious, unreasonable about the fit,
      and generally difficult to please.  The tailor walked round and round
      him, tugged at the waist, pulled the sleeve, pressed out the collar,
      and for the first time in his experience Boldwood was not bored.
      Times had been when the farmer had exclaimed against all such
      niceties as childish, but now no philosophic or hasty rebuke whatever
      was provoked by this man for attaching as much importance to a crease
      in the coat as to an earthquake in South America.  Boldwood at last
      expressed himself nearly satisfied, and paid the bill, the tailor
      passing out of the door just as Oak came in to report progress for
      the day.
  
      "Oh, Oak," said Boldwood.  "I shall of course see you here to-night.
      Make yourself merry.  I am determined that neither expense nor
      trouble shall be spared."
  
      "I'll try to be here, sir, though perhaps it may not be very early,"
      said Gabriel, quietly.  "I am glad indeed to see such a change in
      'ee from what it used to be."
  
      "Yes--I must own it--I am bright to-night: cheerful and more than
      cheerful--so much so that I am almost sad again with the sense that
      all of it is passing away.  And sometimes, when I am excessively
      hopeful and blithe, a trouble is looming in the distance: so that I
      often get to look upon gloom in me with content, and to fear a happy
      mood.  Still this may be absurd--I feel that it is absurd.  Perhaps
      my day is dawning at last."
  
      "I hope it 'ill be a long and a fair one."
  
      "Thank you--thank you.  Yet perhaps my cheerfulness rests on a
      slender hope.  And yet I trust my hope.  It is faith, not hope.  I
      think this time I reckon with my host.--Oak, my hands are a little
      shaky, or something; I can't tie this neckerchief properly.  Perhaps
      you will tie it for me.  The fact is, I have not been well lately,
      you know."
  
      "I am sorry to hear that, sir."
  
      "Oh, it's nothing.  I want it done as well as you can, please.  Is
      there any late knot in fashion, Oak?"
  
      "I don't know, sir," said Oak.  His tone had sunk to sadness.
  
      Boldwood approached Gabriel, and as Oak tied the neckerchief the
      farmer went on feverishly--
  
      "Does a woman keep her promise, Gabriel?"
  
      "If it is not inconvenient to her she may."
  
      "--Or rather an implied promise."
  
      "I won't answer for her implying," said Oak, with faint bitterness.
      "That's a word as full o' holes as a sieve with them."
  
      "Oak, don't talk like that.  You have got quite cynical lately--how
      is it?  We seem to have shifted our positions: I have become the
      young and hopeful man, and you the old and unbelieving one.  However,
      does a woman keep a promise, not to marry, but to enter on an
      engagement to marry at some time?  Now you know women better than
      I--tell me."
  
      "I am afeard you honour my understanding too much.  However, she may
      keep such a promise, if it is made with an honest meaning to repair
      a wrong."
  
      "It has not gone far yet, but I think it will soon--yes, I know it
      will," he said, in an impulsive whisper.  "I have pressed her upon
      the subject, and she inclines to be kind to me, and to think of me
      as a husband at a long future time, and that's enough for me.  How
      can I expect more?  She has a notion that a woman should not marry
      within seven years of her husband's disappearance--that her own self
      shouldn't, I mean--because his body was not found.  It may be merely
      this legal reason which influences her, or it may be a religious
      one, but she is reluctant to talk on the point. Yet she has
      promised--implied--that she will ratify an engagement to-night."
  
      "Seven years," murmured Oak.
  
      "No, no--it's no such thing!" he said, with impatience.  "Five years,
      nine months, and a few days.  Fifteen months nearly have passed since
      he vanished, and is there anything so wonderful in an engagement of
      little more than five years?"
  
      "It seems long in a forward view.  Don't build too much upon such
      promises, sir.  Remember, you have once be'n deceived.  Her meaning
      may be good; but there--she's young yet."
  
      "Deceived?  Never!" said Boldwood, vehemently.  "She never promised
      me at that first time, and hence she did not break her promise!  If
      she promises me, she'll marry me.  Bathsheba is a woman to her word."
  
      Troy was sitting in a corner of The White Hart tavern at
      Casterbridge, smoking and drinking a steaming mixture from a glass.
      A knock was given at the door, and Pennyways entered.
  
      "Well, have you seen him?" Troy inquired, pointing to a chair.
  
      "Boldwood?"
  
      "No--Lawyer Long."
  
      "He wadn' at home.  I went there first, too."
  
      "That's a nuisance."
  
      "'Tis rather, I suppose."
  
      "Yet I don't see that, because a man appears to be drowned and was
      not, he should be liable for anything.  I shan't ask any lawyer--not
      I."
  
      "But that's not it, exactly.  If a man changes his name and so forth,
      and takes steps to deceive the world and his own wife, he's a cheat,
      and that in the eye of the law is ayless a rogue, and that is ayless
      a lammocken vagabond; and that's a punishable situation."
  
      "Ha-ha!  Well done, Pennyways," Troy had laughed, but it was with
      some anxiety that he said, "Now, what I want to know is this, do you
      think there's really anything going on between her and Boldwood?
      Upon my soul, I should never have believed it!  How she must detest
      me!  Have you found out whether she has encouraged him?"
  
      "I haen't been able to learn.  There's a deal of feeling on his side
      seemingly, but I don't answer for her.  I didn't know a word about
      any such thing till yesterday, and all I heard then was that she was
      gwine to the party at his house to-night.  This is the first time she
      has ever gone there, they say.  And they say that she've not so much
      as spoke to him since they were at Greenhill Fair: but what can folk
      believe o't?  However, she's not fond of him--quite offish and quite
      careless, I know."
  
      "I'm not so sure of that....  She's a handsome woman, Pennyways, is
      she not?  Own that you never saw a finer or more splendid creature
      in your life.  Upon my honour, when I set eyes upon her that day I
      wondered what I could have been made of to be able to leave her by
      herself so long.  And then I was hampered with that bothering show,
      which I'm free of at last, thank the stars."  He smoked on awhile,
      and then added, "How did she look when you passed by yesterday?"
  
      "Oh, she took no great heed of me, ye may well fancy; but she looked
      well enough, far's I know.  Just flashed her haughty eyes upon my
      poor scram body, and then let them go past me to what was yond, much
      as if I'd been no more than a leafless tree.  She had just got off
      her mare to look at the last wring-down of cider for the year; she
      had been riding, and so her colours were up and her breath rather
      quick, so that her bosom plimmed and fell--plimmed and fell--every
      time plain to my eye.  Ay, and there were the fellers round her
      wringing down the cheese and bustling about and saying, 'Ware o' the
      pommy, ma'am: 'twill spoil yer gown.'  'Never mind me,' says she.
      Then Gabe brought her some of the new cider, and she must needs go
      drinking it through a strawmote, and not in a nateral way at all.
      'Liddy,' says she, 'bring indoors a few gallons, and I'll make some
      cider-wine.'  Sergeant, I was no more to her than a morsel of scroff
      in the fuel-house!"
  
      "I must go and find her out at once--O yes, I see that--I must go.
      Oak is head man still, isn't he?"
  
      "Yes, 'a b'lieve.  And at Little Weatherbury Farm too.  He manages
      everything."
  
      "'Twill puzzle him to manage her, or any other man of his compass!"
  
      "I don't know about that.  She can't do without him, and knowing it
      well he's pretty independent.  And she've a few soft corners to her
      mind, though I've never been able to get into one, the devil's in't!"
  
      "Ah, baily, she's a notch above you, and you must own it: a higher
      class of animal--a finer tissue.  However, stick to me, and neither
      this haughty goddess, dashing piece of womanhood, Juno-wife of mine
      (Juno was a goddess, you know), nor anybody else shall hurt you.  But
      all this wants looking into, I perceive.  What with one thing and
      another, I see that my work is well cut out for me."
  
      "How do I look to-night, Liddy?" said Bathsheba, giving a final
      adjustment to her dress before leaving the glass.
  
      "I never saw you look so well before.  Yes--I'll tell you when you
      looked like it--that night, a year and a half ago, when you came in
      so wildlike, and scolded us for making remarks about you and Mr.
      Troy."
  
      "Everybody will think that I am setting myself to captivate Mr.
      Boldwood, I suppose," she murmured.  "At least they'll say so.  Can't
      my hair be brushed down a little flatter? I dread going--yet I dread
      the risk of wounding him by staying away."
  
      "Anyhow, ma'am, you can't well be dressed plainer than you are,
      unless you go in sackcloth at once.  'Tis your excitement is what
      makes you look so noticeable to-night."
  
      "I don't know what's the matter, I feel wretched at one time, and
      buoyant at another.  I wish I could have continued quite alone as I
      have been for the last year or so, with no hopes and no fears, and
      no pleasure and no grief."
  
      "Now just suppose Mr. Boldwood should ask you--only just suppose
      it--to run away with him, what would you do, ma'am?"
  
      "Liddy--none of that," said Bathsheba, gravely.  "Mind, I won't hear
      joking on any such matter.  Do you hear?"
  
      "I beg pardon, ma'am.  But knowing what rum things we women be, I
      just said--however, I won't speak of it again."
  
      "No marrying for me yet for many a year; if ever, 'twill be for
      reasons very, very different from those you think, or others will
      believe!  Now get my cloak, for it is time to go."
  
  
      "Oak," said Boldwood, "before you go I want to mention what has been
      passing in my mind lately--that little arrangement we made about
      your share in the farm I mean.  That share is small, too small,
      considering how little I attend to business now, and how much time
      and thought you give to it.  Well, since the world is brightening
      for me, I want to show my sense of it by increasing your proportion
      in the partnership.  I'll make a memorandum of the arrangement which
      struck me as likely to be convenient, for I haven't time to talk
      about it now; and then we'll discuss it at our leisure.  My intention
      is ultimately to retire from the management altogether, and until you
      can take all the expenditure upon your shoulders, I'll be a sleeping
      partner in the stock.  Then, if I marry her--and I hope--I feel I
      shall, why--"
  
      "Pray don't speak of it, sir," said Oak, hastily.  "We don't know
      what may happen.  So many upsets may befall 'ee.  There's many a
      slip, as they say--and I would advise you--I know you'll pardon me
      this once--not to be TOO SURE."
  
      "I know, I know.  But the feeling I have about increasing your share
      is on account of what I know of you.  Oak, I have learnt a little
      about your secret: your interest in her is more than that of bailiff
      for an employer.  But you have behaved like a man, and I, as a sort
      of successful rival--successful partly through your goodness of
      heart--should like definitely to show my sense of your friendship
      under what must have been a great pain to you."
  
      "O that's not necessary, thank 'ee," said Oak, hurriedly. "I must get
      used to such as that; other men have, and so shall I."
  
      Oak then left him.  He was uneasy on Boldwood's account, for he saw
      anew that this constant passion of the farmer made him not the man
      he once had been.
  
      As Boldwood continued awhile in his room alone--ready and dressed to
      receive his company--the mood of anxiety about his appearance seemed
      to pass away, and to be succeeded by a deep solemnity.  He looked out
      of the window, and regarded the dim outline of the trees upon the
      sky, and the twilight deepening to darkness.
  
      Then he went to a locked closet, and took from a locked drawer
      therein a small circular case the size of a pillbox, and was about to
      put it into his pocket.  But he lingered to open the cover and take
      a momentary glance inside.  It contained a woman's finger-ring, set
      all the way round with small diamonds, and from its appearance had
      evidently been recently purchased.  Boldwood's eyes dwelt upon its
      many sparkles a long time, though that its material aspect concerned
      him little was plain from his manner and mien, which were those of
      a mind following out the presumed thread of that jewel's future
      history.
  
      The noise of wheels at the front of the house became audible.
      Boldwood closed the box, stowed it away carefully in his pocket, and
      went out upon the landing.  The old man who was his indoor factotum
      came at the same moment to the foot of the stairs.
  
      "They be coming, sir--lots of 'em--a-foot and a-driving!"
  
      "I was coming down this moment.  Those wheels I heard--is it Mrs.
      Troy?"
  
      "No, sir--'tis not she yet."
  
      A reserved and sombre expression had returned to Boldwood's face
      again, but it poorly cloaked his feelings when he pronounced
      Bathsheba's name; and his feverish anxiety continued to show its
      existence by a galloping motion of his fingers upon the side of
      his thigh as he went down the stairs.
  
  
      "How does this cover me?" said Troy to Pennyways.  "Nobody would
      recognize me now, I'm sure."
  
      He was buttoning on a heavy grey overcoat of Noachian cut, with cape
      and high collar, the latter being erect and rigid, like a girdling
      wall, and nearly reaching to the verge of a travelling cap which was
      pulled down over his ears.
  
      Pennyways snuffed the candle, and then looked up and deliberately
      inspected Troy.
  
      "You've made up your mind to go then?" he said.
  
      "Made up my mind?  Yes; of course I have."
  
      "Why not write to her?  'Tis a very queer corner that you have got
      into, sergeant.  You see all these things will come to light if you
      go back, and they won't sound well at all.  Faith, if I was you I'd
      even bide as you be--a single man of the name of Francis.  A good
      wife is good, but the best wife is not so good as no wife at all.
      Now that's my outspoke mind, and I've been called a long-headed
      feller here and there."
  
      "All nonsense!" said Troy, angrily.  "There she is with plenty of
      money, and a house and farm, and horses, and comfort, and here am I
      living from hand to mouth--a needy adventurer.  Besides, it is no use
      talking now; it is too late, and I am glad of it; I've been seen and
      recognized here this very afternoon.  I should have gone back to her
      the day after the fair, if it hadn't been for you talking about the
      law, and rubbish about getting a separation; and I don't put it off
      any longer.  What the deuce put it into my head to run away at all, I
      can't think!  Humbugging sentiment--that's what it was.  But what man
      on earth was to know that his wife would be in such a hurry to get
      rid of his name!"
  
      "I should have known it.  She's bad enough for anything."
  
      "Pennyways, mind who you are talking to."
  
      "Well, sergeant, all I say is this, that if I were you I'd go abroad
      again where I came from--'tisn't too late to do it now.  I wouldn't
      stir up the business and get a bad name for the sake of living with
      her--for all that about your play-acting is sure to come out, you
      know, although you think otherwise.  My eyes and limbs, there'll
      be a racket if you go back just now--in the middle of Boldwood's
      Christmasing!"
  
      "H'm, yes.  I expect I shall not be a very welcome guest if he has
      her there," said the sergeant, with a slight laugh.  "A sort of
      Alonzo the Brave; and when I go in the guests will sit in silence and
      fear, and all laughter and pleasure will be hushed, and the lights in
      the chamber burn blue, and the worms--Ugh, horrible!--Ring for some
      more brandy, Pennyways, I felt an awful shudder just then!  Well,
      what is there besides?  A stick--I must have a walking-stick."
  
      Pennyways now felt himself to be in something of a difficulty, for
      should Bathsheba and Troy become reconciled it would be necessary
      to regain her good opinion if he would secure the patronage of her
      husband.  "I sometimes think she likes you yet, and is a good woman
      at bottom," he said, as a saving sentence.  "But there's no telling
      to a certainty from a body's outside.  Well, you'll do as you like
      about going, of course, sergeant, and as for me, I'll do as you tell
      me."
  
      "Now, let me see what the time is," said Troy, after emptying his
      glass in one draught as he stood.  "Half-past six o'clock.  I shall
      not hurry along the road, and shall be there then before nine."
  
  
  
  
  
feat_summary_name: Chapter 52
target: The story builds toward a focal point on Christmas Eve. The chapter is divided into seven parts: Boldwood, surprisingly, had planned a Christmas party. Mistletoe, garlands, and decorations were brought in from the woods, and elaborate preparations were made. Bathsheba was agitated and reluctant to go. She admitted to Liddy that she was the cause for the party. To avoid gossip, she would wear her widow's weeds. Boldwood fussed over his newly tailored clothes. When Oak arrived to report on the day's work, Boldwood reminded him that he was expected at the party. "Make yourself merry. I am determined that neither expense nor trouble shall be spared." Gabriel replied that he might be late. He was glad to see Boldwood in better spirits. Boldwood asked whether women keep promises. Oak replied, "If it is not inconvenient to her she may." Boldwood, feverishly cheerful, commented that Oak had become quite cynical lately. Troy was in a tavern in Casterbridge with Pennyways, who reminded him that his deceit was punishable by law. He could not answer Troy's question about Bathsheba's relationship with Boldwood. This was to be Bathsheba's first appearance at Boldwood's home. Pennyways still bore her a grudge. He told Troy that Oak was still the boss and that Bathsheba couldn't manage without him. Bathsheba, though plainly dressed, looked very well. Liddy suggested it was because of her excitement. Bathsheba admitted that she was vacillating between feeling buoyant and feeling wretched. When Liddy joked about Boldwood's imminent proposal, Bathsheba gravely silenced her. As Oak helped Boldwood tie his cravat, he urged him to be cautious and not to count on Bathsheba. Boldwood said he knew of Oak's love, and he wished to reward him for his decency. He would increase the extent of his partnership. When Oak had gone, Boldwood pulled out a small box and regarded a handsome ring. Hearing wheels in the distance, he put the box in his pocket and went to greet his guests. While Troy was attiring himself in a high-collared greatcoat and traveling cap, Pennyways counseled against his going to Boldwood's party. Troy argued angrily, "There she is with plenty of money, and a house and farm . . . and here am I still living from hand to mouth -- a needy adventurer." In addition, Troy knew he had been seen and recognized in town. Pennyways realized he would have to get back into Bathsheba's good graces in the event of a reconciliation, and so, as a first step, he suggested to Troy, "I sometimes think she likes you yet, and is a good woman at bottom." Troy announced that he would be at Boldwood's before nine.
feat_summary_analysis: Hardy has kept strict account of the threads running through the novel and here arranges them so that they can be tucked into the complicated tapestry. Structurally, this chapter is carefully outlined in seven sections that indicate what must follow. Troy has a premonition of tragedy, but, characteristically, he shrugs it off and sends for more brandy. Boldwood is keyed up but confident. Bathsheba's feelings vacillate, and Oak is gloomy and apprehensive.