finished_summaries/cliffnotes/Far from the Madding Crowd/section_56_part_0.txt
Far from the Madding Crowd.chapter 57
chapter 57
{"name": "Chapter 57", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20201101052914/https://www.cliffsnotes.com/literature/f/far-from-the-madding-crowd/summary-and-analysis/chapter-57", "summary": "\"'The most private, secret, plainest wedding that it is possible to have.' Those had been Bathsheba's words to Oak one evening, some time after the events of the preceding chapter, and he meditated a full hour by the clock upon bow to carry out her wishes to the letter.\" There was the matter of the license. Oak met Coggan in town and admitted his plans but swore his friend to secrecy. Coggan delivered a message to the parish clerk, Laban Tall, telling him to meet the mistress next morning and to be wearing his best clothes. He told the clerk's curious wife, \"Mind, het or wet, blow or snow, he must come. . . . 'Tis very particular indeed. The fact is, 'tis to witness her sign some law-work about taking shares wi' another fanner for a long span o' years. There, that's what 'tis, and now I've told 'ee, Mother Tall, in a way I shouldn't ha' done if I hadn't loved 'ee so hopelessly well.\" The next call at the vicar's excited no curiosity. Bathsheba awakened before Liddy's call. As Liddy was brushing her mistress' hair, Bathsheba told the inquisitive girl that Oak was coming to dinner. Liddy guessed the purport and was excited. Oak arrived with an umbrella, and, a short time later, swathed head to foot in greatcoats, he and Bathsheba, each under an umbrella, walked into town, like sensible people who were on a brief errand. In the church were Tall, Liddy, and the parson. After the wedding, there was tea at Bathsheba's. Oak had decided to move in, since he did not as yet have appropriate furnishings in his house. \"Just as Bathsheba was pouring out a cup of tea, their ears were greeted by the firing of a cannon, followed by what seemed like a tremendous blowing of trumpets in the front of the house. . . . Oak took up the light and went into the porch, followed by Bathsheba with a shawl over her head.\" A group of male figures set up a loud hurrah; there was another cannon shot, followed by a \"hideous clang of music\" from assorted ancient and venerable instruments. Oak said a warm, \"Come in, souls, and have something to eat and drink wi' me and my wife.\" \"Not to-night,\" was the unselfish reply. The men suggested that drinks be sent to Warren's, instead. Oak gladly accepted the suggestion. Commenting on the ease with which Oak said \"my wife,\" the friends withdrew, Oak laughing and Bathsheba smiling. As they moved away, Poorgrass had the last word: \"And I wish him joy o' her. . . . since I 'tis as 'tis, why, it might have been worse, and I feel my thanks accordingly.\"", "analysis": "The simple close is both appropriate and artistic. We feel that this time things will be all right. Oak's manner contrasts with Troy's after his marriage, when he was so condescending toward the hired help. Though Oak and Bathsheba are the focal point, the scene is mellowed and subdued. There is a voluntary outgoing of affection toward the couple and a friendly understanding of the roles they all will play."}
A FOGGY NIGHT AND MORNING--CONCLUSION


"The most private, secret, plainest wedding that it is possible to
have."

Those had been Bathsheba's words to Oak one evening, some time after
the event of the preceding f, and he meditated a full hour by
the clock upon how to carry out her wishes to the letter.

"A license--O yes, it must be a license," he said to himself at last.
"Very well, then; first, a license."

On a dark night, a few days later, Oak came with mysterious steps
from the surrogate's door, in Casterbridge.  On the way home he heard
a heavy tread in front of him, and, overtaking the man, found him to
be Coggan.  They walked together into the village until they came to
a little lane behind the church, leading down to the cottage of Laban
Tall, who had lately been installed as clerk of the parish, and was
yet in mortal terror at church on Sundays when he heard his lone
voice among certain hard words of the Psalms, whither no man ventured
to follow him.

"Well, good-night, Coggan," said Oak, "I'm going down this way."

"Oh!" said Coggan, surprised; "what's going on to-night then, make so
bold Mr. Oak?"

It seemed rather ungenerous not to tell Coggan, under the
circumstances, for Coggan had been true as steel all through the time
of Gabriel's unhappiness about Bathsheba, and Gabriel said, "You can
keep a secret, Coggan?"

"You've proved me, and you know."

"Yes, I have, and I do know.  Well, then, mistress and I mean to get
married to-morrow morning."

"Heaven's high tower!  And yet I've thought of such a thing from time
to time; true, I have.  But keeping it so close!  Well, there, 'tis
no consarn of of mine, and I wish 'ee joy o' her."

"Thank you, Coggan.  But I assure 'ee that this great hush is not
what I wished for at all, or what either of us would have wished if
it hadn't been for certain things that would make a gay wedding seem
hardly the thing.  Bathsheba has a great wish that all the parish
shall not be in church, looking at her--she's shy-like and nervous
about it, in fact--so I be doing this to humour her."

"Ay, I see: quite right, too, I suppose I must say.  And you be now
going down to the clerk."

"Yes; you may as well come with me."

"I am afeard your labour in keeping it close will be throwed away,"
said Coggan, as they walked along.  "Labe Tall's old woman will horn
it all over parish in half-an-hour."

"So she will, upon my life; I never thought of that," said Oak,
pausing.  "Yet I must tell him to-night, I suppose, for he's working
so far off, and leaves early."

"I'll tell 'ee how we could tackle her," said Coggan.  "I'll knock
and ask to speak to Laban outside the door, you standing in the
background.  Then he'll come out, and you can tell yer tale.  She'll
never guess what I want en for; and I'll make up a few words about
the farm-work, as a blind."

This scheme was considered feasible; and Coggan advanced boldly, and
rapped at Mrs. Tall's door.  Mrs. Tall herself opened it.

"I wanted to have a word with Laban."

"He's not at home, and won't be this side of eleven o'clock.  He've
been forced to go over to Yalbury since shutting out work.  I shall
do quite as well."

"I hardly think you will.  Stop a moment;" and Coggan stepped round
the corner of the porch to consult Oak.

"Who's t'other man, then?" said Mrs. Tall.

"Only a friend," said Coggan.

"Say he's wanted to meet mistress near church-hatch to-morrow morning
at ten," said Oak, in a whisper.  "That he must come without fail,
and wear his best clothes."

"The clothes will floor us as safe as houses!" said Coggan.

"It can't be helped," said Oak.  "Tell her."

So Coggan delivered the message.  "Mind, het or wet, blow or snow,
he must come," added Jan.  "'Tis very particular, indeed.  The fact
is, 'tis to witness her sign some law-work about taking shares wi'
another farmer for a long span o' years.  There, that's what 'tis,
and now I've told 'ee, Mother Tall, in a way I shouldn't ha' done
if I hadn't loved 'ee so hopeless well."

Coggan retired before she could ask any further; and next they called
at the vicar's in a manner which excited no curiosity at all.  Then
Gabriel went home, and prepared for the morrow.


"Liddy," said Bathsheba, on going to bed that night, "I want you to
call me at seven o'clock to-morrow, In case I shouldn't wake."

"But you always do wake afore then, ma'am."

"Yes, but I have something important to do, which I'll tell you of
when the time comes, and it's best to make sure."

Bathsheba, however, awoke voluntarily at four, nor could she by any
contrivance get to sleep again.  About six, being quite positive that
her watch had stopped during the night, she could wait no longer.
She went and tapped at Liddy's door, and after some labour awoke her.

"But I thought it was I who had to call you?" said the bewildered
Liddy.  "And it isn't six yet."

"Indeed it is; how can you tell such a story, Liddy?  I know it must
be ever so much past seven.  Come to my room as soon as you can; I
want you to give my hair a good brushing."

When Liddy came to Bathsheba's room her mistress was already waiting.
Liddy could not understand this extraordinary promptness.  "Whatever
IS going on, ma'am?" she said.

"Well, I'll tell you," said Bathsheba, with a mischievous smile in
her bright eyes.  "Farmer Oak is coming here to dine with me to-day!"

"Farmer Oak--and nobody else?--you two alone?"

"Yes."

"But is it safe, ma'am, after what's been said?" asked her companion,
dubiously.  "A woman's good name is such a perishable article that--"

Bathsheba laughed with a flushed cheek, and whispered in Liddy's ear,
although there was nobody present.  Then Liddy stared and exclaimed,
"Souls alive, what news!  It makes my heart go quite bumpity-bump!"

"It makes mine rather furious, too," said Bathsheba.  "However,
there's no getting out of it now!"

It was a damp disagreeable morning.  Nevertheless, at twenty minutes
to ten o'clock, Oak came out of his house, and


              Went up the hill side
              With that sort of stride
     A man puts out when walking in search of a bride,


and knocked Bathsheba's door.  Ten minutes later a large and a
smaller umbrella might have been seen moving from the same door, and
through the mist along the road to the church.  The distance was not
more than a quarter of a mile, and these two sensible persons deemed
it unnecessary to drive.  An observer must have been very close
indeed to discover that the forms under the umbrellas were those of
Oak and Bathsheba, arm-in-arm for the first time in their lives, Oak
in a greatcoat extending to his knees, and Bathsheba in a cloak that
reached her clogs.  Yet, though so plainly dressed, there was a
certain rejuvenated appearance about her:--


     As though a rose should shut and be a bud again.


Repose had again incarnadined her cheeks; and having, at Gabriel's
request, arranged her hair this morning as she had worn it years ago
on Norcombe Hill, she seemed in his eyes remarkably like a girl of
that fascinating dream, which, considering that she was now only
three or four-and-twenty, was perhaps not very wonderful.  In the
church were Tall, Liddy, and the parson, and in a remarkably short
space of time the deed was done.

The two sat down very quietly to tea in Bathsheba's parlour in the
evening of the same day, for it had been arranged that Farmer Oak
should go there to live, since he had as yet neither money, house,
nor furniture worthy of the name, though he was on a sure way towards
them, whilst Bathsheba was, comparatively, in a plethora of all
three.

Just as Bathsheba was pouring out a cup of tea, their ears were
greeted by the firing of a cannon, followed by what seemed like a
tremendous blowing of trumpets, in the front of the house.

"There!" said Oak, laughing, "I knew those fellows were up to
something, by the look on their faces"

Oak took up the light and went into the porch, followed by Bathsheba
with a shawl over her head.  The rays fell upon a group of male
figures gathered upon the gravel in front, who, when they saw the
newly-married couple in the porch, set up a loud "Hurrah!" and at the
same moment bang again went the cannon in the background, followed by
a hideous clang of music from a drum, tambourine, clarionet, serpent,
hautboy, tenor-viol, and double-bass--the only remaining relics
of the true and original Weatherbury band--venerable worm-eaten
instruments, which had celebrated in their own persons the victories
of Marlborough, under the fingers of the forefathers of those who
played them now.  The performers came forward, and marched up to the
front.

"Those bright boys, Mark Clark and Jan, are at the bottom of all
this," said Oak.  "Come in, souls, and have something to eat and
drink wi' me and my wife."

"Not to-night," said Mr. Clark, with evident self-denial.  "Thank
ye all the same; but we'll call at a more seemly time.  However, we
couldn't think of letting the day pass without a note of admiration
of some sort.  If ye could send a drop of som'at down to Warren's,
why so it is.  Here's long life and happiness to neighbour Oak and
his comely bride!"

"Thank ye; thank ye all," said Gabriel.  "A bit and a drop shall be
sent to Warren's for ye at once.  I had a thought that we might very
likely get a salute of some sort from our old friends, and I was
saying so to my wife but now."

"Faith," said Coggan, in a critical tone, turning to his companions,
"the man hev learnt to say 'my wife' in a wonderful naterel way,
considering how very youthful he is in wedlock as yet--hey,
neighbours all?"

"I never heerd a skilful old married feller of twenty years'
standing pipe 'my wife' in a more used note than 'a did," said Jacob
Smallbury.  "It might have been a little more true to nater if't had
been spoke a little chillier, but that wasn't to be expected just
now."

"That improvement will come wi' time," said Jan, twirling his eye.

Then Oak laughed, and Bathsheba smiled (for she never laughed readily
now), and their friends turned to go.

"Yes; I suppose that's the size o't," said Joseph Poorgrass with a
cheerful sigh as they moved away; "and I wish him joy o' her; though
I were once or twice upon saying to-day with holy Hosea, in my
scripture manner, which is my second nature, 'Ephraim is joined to
idols: let him alone.'  But since 'tis as 'tis, why, it might have
been worse, and I feel my thanks accordingly."



Chapter 57
"'The most private, secret, plainest wedding that it is possible to have.' Those had been Bathsheba's words to Oak one evening, some time after the events of the preceding chapter, and he meditated a full hour by the clock upon bow to carry out her wishes to the letter." There was the matter of the license. Oak met Coggan in town and admitted his plans but swore his friend to secrecy. Coggan delivered a message to the parish clerk, Laban Tall, telling him to meet the mistress next morning and to be wearing his best clothes. He told the clerk's curious wife, "Mind, het or wet, blow or snow, he must come. . . . 'Tis very particular indeed. The fact is, 'tis to witness her sign some law-work about taking shares wi' another fanner for a long span o' years. There, that's what 'tis, and now I've told 'ee, Mother Tall, in a way I shouldn't ha' done if I hadn't loved 'ee so hopelessly well." The next call at the vicar's excited no curiosity. Bathsheba awakened before Liddy's call. As Liddy was brushing her mistress' hair, Bathsheba told the inquisitive girl that Oak was coming to dinner. Liddy guessed the purport and was excited. Oak arrived with an umbrella, and, a short time later, swathed head to foot in greatcoats, he and Bathsheba, each under an umbrella, walked into town, like sensible people who were on a brief errand. In the church were Tall, Liddy, and the parson. After the wedding, there was tea at Bathsheba's. Oak had decided to move in, since he did not as yet have appropriate furnishings in his house. "Just as Bathsheba was pouring out a cup of tea, their ears were greeted by the firing of a cannon, followed by what seemed like a tremendous blowing of trumpets in the front of the house. . . . Oak took up the light and went into the porch, followed by Bathsheba with a shawl over her head." A group of male figures set up a loud hurrah; there was another cannon shot, followed by a "hideous clang of music" from assorted ancient and venerable instruments. Oak said a warm, "Come in, souls, and have something to eat and drink wi' me and my wife." "Not to-night," was the unselfish reply. The men suggested that drinks be sent to Warren's, instead. Oak gladly accepted the suggestion. Commenting on the ease with which Oak said "my wife," the friends withdrew, Oak laughing and Bathsheba smiling. As they moved away, Poorgrass had the last word: "And I wish him joy o' her. . . . since I 'tis as 'tis, why, it might have been worse, and I feel my thanks accordingly."
The simple close is both appropriate and artistic. We feel that this time things will be all right. Oak's manner contrasts with Troy's after his marriage, when he was so condescending toward the hired help. Though Oak and Bathsheba are the focal point, the scene is mellowed and subdued. There is a voluntary outgoing of affection toward the couple and a friendly understanding of the roles they all will play.