feat_summary_path: finished_summaries/cliffnotes/Far from the Madding Crowd/section_44_part_0.txt
feat_book_id: Far from the Madding Crowd.chapter 45
feat_summary_id: chapter 45
feat_summary: {"name": "Chapter 45", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20201101052914/https://www.cliffsnotes.com/literature/f/far-from-the-madding-crowd/summary-and-analysis/chapter-45", "summary": "\"When Troy's wife had left the house at the previous midnight his first act was to cover the dead from sight.\" He then went upstairs to wait for morning. \"Fate had dealt grimly with him through the last four-and-twenty hours.\" He had taken the twenty pounds from Bathsheba and another seven pounds ten that he was able to muster and had gone to meet Fanny. To his chagrin, she again failed to appear. He waited until the stroke of eleven -- \"in fact, at that moment she was being robed in her grave-clothes by two attendants at the Union poorhouse.\" Having watched the bridge and parapet until his patience ran out, Troy called for his gig and went to the racetrack, but he kept his vow not to wager. Leaving town at nine, he regretted not having inquired about Fanny. His return home was a shock. In the morning he arose, indifferent to Bathsheba's whereabouts. He walked to the vacant grave, then hastened to Casterbridge, where he sought out the stonemason. He asked for the best stone they had for twenty-seven pounds. He paid for it and gave directions for the inscription. In the afternoon he returned and saw the stone placed in the cart that would take it to Weatherbury. Toward dusk he traveled homeward, carrying a heavy basket. In the course of his journey he met the mason's men returning from the graveyard. They assured him that the stone had been set. At ten, Troy entered the cemetery and found the grave near the rear tower of the Weatherbury church where the land had recently been cleared of rubble to make room for new charity graves. Troy fetched a spade and lantern and read the inscription on the stone. Then he opened the basket and took out several bulbs. He had chosen a variety so that there would be blossoms from early spring until late fall. \"Troy, in his prostration at this time, had no perception that in the futility of these romantic doings, dictated by a remorseful reaction from previous indifference, there was any element of absurdity.\" Just as he was finishing the planting, he felt rain and his lantern candle sputtered out. He groped his way to the north porch of the church and there fell asleep.", "analysis": "Troy's reversal to remorse is interesting. Where he had been callous and heedless, he is now precipitate in his contrition. Gravestone, planting -- all must be done at once, and he spends every penny he has on them . Nor is it surprising to have him remain in the churchyard, intent on completing his service to the departed as soon as he wakes."}
text: 
  
  TROY'S ROMANTICISM
  
  
  When Troy's wife had left the house at the previous midnight his
  first act was to cover the dead from sight.  This done he ascended
  the stairs, and throwing himself down upon the bed dressed as he was,
  he waited miserably for the morning.
  
  Fate had dealt grimly with him through the last four-and-twenty
  hours.  His day had been spent in a way which varied very materially
  from his intentions regarding it.  There is always an inertia to
  be overcome in striking out a new line of conduct--not more in
  ourselves, it seems, than in circumscribing events, which appear as
  if leagued together to allow no novelties in the way of amelioration.
  
  Twenty pounds having been secured from Bathsheba, he had managed to
  add to the sum every farthing he could muster on his own account,
  which had been seven pounds ten.  With this money, twenty-seven
  pounds ten in all, he had hastily driven from the gate that morning
  to keep his appointment with Fanny Robin.
  
  On reaching Casterbridge he left the horse and trap at an inn, and
  at five minutes before ten came back to the bridge at the lower end
  of the town, and sat himself upon the parapet.  The clocks struck
  the hour, and no Fanny appeared.  In fact, at that moment she was
  being robed in her grave-clothes by two attendants at the Union
  poorhouse--the first and last tiring-women the gentle creature had
  ever been honoured with.  The quarter went, the half hour.  A rush of
  recollection came upon Troy as he waited: this was the second time
  she had broken a serious engagement with him.  In anger he vowed
  it should be the last, and at eleven o'clock, when he had lingered
  and watched the stone of the bridge till he knew every lichen upon
  their face and heard the chink of the ripples underneath till they
  oppressed him, he jumped from his seat, went to the inn for his
  gig, and in a bitter mood of indifference concerning the past, and
  recklessness about the future, drove on to Budmouth races.
  
  He reached the race-course at two o'clock, and remained either there
  or in the town till nine.  But Fanny's image, as it had appeared to
  him in the sombre shadows of that Saturday evening, returned to his
  mind, backed up by Bathsheba's reproaches.  He vowed he would not
  bet, and he kept his vow, for on leaving the town at nine o'clock in
  the evening he had diminished his cash only to the extent of a few
  shillings.
  
  He trotted slowly homeward, and it was now that he was struck for the
  first time with a thought that Fanny had been really prevented by
  illness from keeping her promise.  This time she could have made no
  mistake.  He regretted that he had not remained in Casterbridge and
  made inquiries.  Reaching home he quietly unharnessed the horse and
  came indoors, as we have seen, to the fearful shock that awaited him.
  
  
  As soon as it grew light enough to distinguish objects, Troy arose
  from the coverlet of the bed, and in a mood of absolute indifference
  to Bathsheba's whereabouts, and almost oblivious of her existence, he
  stalked downstairs and left the house by the back door.  His walk was
  towards the churchyard, entering which he searched around till he
  found a newly dug unoccupied grave--the grave dug the day before for
  Fanny.  The position of this having been marked, he hastened on to
  Casterbridge, only pausing and musing for a while at the hill whereon
  he had last seen Fanny alive.
  
  Reaching the town, Troy descended into a side street and entered a
  pair of gates surmounted by a board bearing the words, "Lester, stone
  and marble mason."  Within were lying about stones of all sizes and
  designs, inscribed as being sacred to the memory of unnamed persons
  who had not yet died.
  
  Troy was so unlike himself now in look, word, and deed, that the
  want of likeness was perceptible even to his own consciousness.  His
  method of engaging himself in this business of purchasing a tomb was
  that of an absolutely unpractised man.  He could not bring himself
  to consider, calculate, or economize.  He waywardly wished for
  something, and he set about obtaining it like a child in a nursery.
  "I want a good tomb," he said to the man who stood in a little office
  within the yard.  "I want as good a one as you can give me for
  twenty-seven pounds."
  
  It was all the money he possessed.
  
  "That sum to include everything?"
  
  "Everything.  Cutting the name, carriage to Weatherbury, and
  erection.  And I want it now, at once."
  
  "We could not get anything special worked this week."
  
  "I must have it now."
  
  "If you would like one of these in stock it could be got ready
  immediately."
  
  "Very well," said Troy, impatiently.  "Let's see what you have."
  
  "The best I have in stock is this one," said the stone-cutter, going
  into a shed.  "Here's a marble headstone beautifully crocketed, with
  medallions beneath of typical subjects; here's the footstone after
  the same pattern, and here's the coping to enclose the grave.  The
  polishing alone of the set cost me eleven pounds--the slabs are the
  best of their kind, and I can warrant them to resist rain and frost
  for a hundred years without flying."
  
  "And how much?"
  
  "Well, I could add the name, and put it up at Weatherbury for the sum
  you mention."
  
  "Get it done to-day, and I'll pay the money now."
  
  The man agreed, and wondered at such a mood in a visitor who wore not
  a shred of mourning.  Troy then wrote the words which were to form
  the inscription, settled the account and went away.  In the afternoon
  he came back again, and found that the lettering was almost done.  He
  waited in the yard till the tomb was packed, and saw it placed in the
  cart and starting on its way to Weatherbury, giving directions to the
  two men who were to accompany it to inquire of the sexton for the
  grave of the person named in the inscription.
  
  It was quite dark when Troy came out of Casterbridge.  He carried
  rather a heavy basket upon his arm, with which he strode moodily
  along the road, resting occasionally at bridges and gates, whereon
  he deposited his burden for a time.  Midway on his journey he met,
  returning in the darkness, the men and the waggon which had conveyed
  the tomb.  He merely inquired if the work was done, and, on being
  assured that it was, passed on again.
  
  Troy entered Weatherbury churchyard about ten o'clock and went
  immediately to the corner where he had marked the vacant grave early
  in the morning.  It was on the obscure side of the tower, screened to
  a great extent from the view of passers along the road--a spot which
  until lately had been abandoned to heaps of stones and bushes of
  alder, but now it was cleared and made orderly for interments, by
  reason of the rapid filling of the ground elsewhere.
  
  Here now stood the tomb as the men had stated, snow-white and shapely
  in the gloom, consisting of head and foot-stone, and enclosing border
  of marble-work uniting them.  In the midst was mould, suitable for
  plants.
  
  Troy deposited his basket beside the tomb, and vanished for a few
  minutes.  When he returned he carried a spade and a lantern, the
  light of which he directed for a few moments upon the marble, whilst
  he read the inscription.  He hung his lantern on the lowest bough
  of the yew-tree, and took from his basket flower-roots of several
  varieties.  There were bundles of snow-drop, hyacinth and crocus
  bulbs, violets and double daisies, which were to bloom in early
  spring, and of carnations, pinks, picotees, lilies of the valley,
  forget-me-not, summer's farewell, meadow-saffron and others, for
  the later seasons of the year.
  
  Troy laid these out upon the grass, and with an impassive face set
  to work to plant them.  The snowdrops were arranged in a line on the
  outside of the coping, the remainder within the enclosure of the
  grave.  The crocuses and hyacinths were to grow in rows; some of
  the summer flowers he placed over her head and feet, the lilies and
  forget-me-nots over her heart.  The remainder were dispersed in the
  spaces between these.
  
  Troy, in his prostration at this time, had no perception that in the
  futility of these romantic doings, dictated by a remorseful reaction
  from previous indifference, there was any element of absurdity.
  Deriving his idiosyncrasies from both sides of the Channel, he showed
  at such junctures as the present the inelasticity of the Englishman,
  together with that blindness to the line where sentiment verges on
  mawkishness, characteristic of the French.
  
  It was a cloudy, muggy, and very dark night, and the rays from Troy's
  lantern spread into the two old yews with a strange illuminating
  power, flickering, as it seemed, up to the black ceiling of cloud
  above.  He felt a large drop of rain upon the back of his hand, and
  presently one came and entered one of the holes of the lantern,
  whereupon the candle sputtered and went out.  Troy was weary and
  it being now not far from midnight, and the rain threatening to
  increase, he resolved to leave the finishing touches of his labour
  until the day should break.  He groped along the wall and over the
  graves in the dark till he found himself round at the north side.
  Here he entered the porch, and, reclining upon the bench within,
  fell asleep.
  
  
  
  
feat_summary_name: Chapter 45
target: "When Troy's wife had left the house at the previous midnight his first act was to cover the dead from sight." He then went upstairs to wait for morning. "Fate had dealt grimly with him through the last four-and-twenty hours." He had taken the twenty pounds from Bathsheba and another seven pounds ten that he was able to muster and had gone to meet Fanny. To his chagrin, she again failed to appear. He waited until the stroke of eleven -- "in fact, at that moment she was being robed in her grave-clothes by two attendants at the Union poorhouse." Having watched the bridge and parapet until his patience ran out, Troy called for his gig and went to the racetrack, but he kept his vow not to wager. Leaving town at nine, he regretted not having inquired about Fanny. His return home was a shock. In the morning he arose, indifferent to Bathsheba's whereabouts. He walked to the vacant grave, then hastened to Casterbridge, where he sought out the stonemason. He asked for the best stone they had for twenty-seven pounds. He paid for it and gave directions for the inscription. In the afternoon he returned and saw the stone placed in the cart that would take it to Weatherbury. Toward dusk he traveled homeward, carrying a heavy basket. In the course of his journey he met the mason's men returning from the graveyard. They assured him that the stone had been set. At ten, Troy entered the cemetery and found the grave near the rear tower of the Weatherbury church where the land had recently been cleared of rubble to make room for new charity graves. Troy fetched a spade and lantern and read the inscription on the stone. Then he opened the basket and took out several bulbs. He had chosen a variety so that there would be blossoms from early spring until late fall. "Troy, in his prostration at this time, had no perception that in the futility of these romantic doings, dictated by a remorseful reaction from previous indifference, there was any element of absurdity." Just as he was finishing the planting, he felt rain and his lantern candle sputtered out. He groped his way to the north porch of the church and there fell asleep.
feat_summary_analysis: Troy's reversal to remorse is interesting. Where he had been callous and heedless, he is now precipitate in his contrition. Gravestone, planting -- all must be done at once, and he spends every penny he has on them . Nor is it surprising to have him remain in the churchyard, intent on completing his service to the departed as soon as he wakes.