The Mayor of Casterbridge

Chapter 16

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 confinement!" But in the daily routine

of their business there was little change.

Thus their lives rolled on till a day of public rejoicing

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 entertainment 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.

"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 holiday. But Farfrae

had been so cursed quick in his movements as to give old-

fashioned people in authority no chance of the initiative.

However, it was not too late; and on second thoughts he

determined to take upon his own shoulders the responsibility

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 his preparations for a really

brilliant thing--such as should be worthy of the venerable

town. As for Farfrae's little affair, Henchard 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. But 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 entertainment,

especially when it became known that he meant to pay for it

all himself.

Close to the town was an elevated green spot surrounded by

an ancient square earthwork--earthworks 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 little 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 provided a mammoth

tea, of which everybody who lived in the borough was invited

to partake without p*****t. 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 postpone, 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 tablecloths, 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 disappeared; the wind played on the tent-cords in

aeolian 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; 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."

"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 spectators, 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 with his wife and

daughter, and then walked out. It was now dusk. He soon

saw that the tendency of all promenaders was towards a

particular spot in the Walks, and eventually 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 the Mayor 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. Henchard 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 progress; and the

usually sedate Farfrae was in the midst of the other dancers

in the costume of a wild Highlander, 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 choice of partners, every girl

being in a coming-on disposition 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 ballroom never having occurred to the inhabitants before.

Among the rest of the onlookers were Elizabeth and her

mother--the former thoughtful yet much interested, her eyes

beaming with a longing lingering 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 morning 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 Henchard. 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 strong o' 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. O yes,

everybody is full of him, and the care Mr. Henchard has to

keep him, to be sure!" concluded this gentleman.

"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."

"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 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.