When the Universe Conspires Against You — Far from the Madding Crowd

Weatherbury tower's south-eastern gargoyle, grotesque and gaping, spouts a rain torrent onto Fanny's new grave because the protective stones were cleared and the spout had not reached so far in years. Troy's night planting boils into mud; flowers wash roots-up while he sleeps in the porch. At dawn he finds the wreck, feels the sharpest sting of all in this climax of dark days, wishes himself another man, and walks away from the village without refilling the grave or replacing a single bulb. Bathsheba in the attic saw his lantern and re-enacted yesternight; Liddy hears the strange boiling noise and thinks the tower spouts; Gabriel has already looked in at the farm on his old way. After rain Bathsheba walks to behind church, reads Erected by Francis Troy in beloved memory of Fanny Robin, finds the hollowed grave, and asks Oak to fill the hole. She replants the scattered flowers with a woman's touch, bids him turn the gargoyle leadwork aside, and wipes mud from the beloved-memory words with magnanimity bitterness has forced upon her, then goes home. Hardy pairs desecration and repair: Troy's abandoned romanticism and Bathsheba's stubborn care at the tomb that has already pronounced her own marriage a lie.