I read a library copy of the book, and the one they sent me was a Norton critical version. It had as many pages of literary criticism and comments from contemporaries as it did of text, and it was footnoted within an inch of its life, so all those terms like furmity were well explained. I skimmed the criticism and comments, but the consensus was Hardy wrote the book as a comment on the Corn Laws that were at the forefront of farming life at the time.

Cheery, huh? I did think there was too much coincidence happening, but was that a feature of novels of the period? I thought Henchard was an okay man as long as things went his way, as many people are. I didn't find Farfrae such a gem, either, although kinder and more personable. After all the angst, I was glad that Elizabeth, at least, found happiness. (And I was glad when it was over.)

If you go to our "Britishisms" thread and page down a bit, you will find a discussion of "Frumenty" as well as a recipe supplied by Colleen.

I kept hoping Henchard would "get his act together" but as he did not, he struck me as a tragic hero, in the unheroic sense, I suppose.

I found Farfrae interesting, as I saw him as the prototype of the early Scots who settled America when it was a frontier and who succeeded marvelously. (After all, that was where he was headed when he was blown off course by Henchard's offer).

Henchard reminded me of some, who no matter how hard they try, usually make the wrong choices, and Farfrae of those "charmers" who seem to effortlessly breeze through life, succeeding at all they do.

I enjoyed Hardy's rural descriptions of landscapes and villages, as well as his asides, e.g. "such and such a building was torn down a decade ago...." The vocabulary was at times challenging as were the twists and turns of the plot.

Can someone enlighten me about the Corn Laws?

I had sympathy for Henchard because I didn't think he was a bad man, just a weak one who tried to be good. He often ended up being tortured afterwards by decisions that he recognized were wrong.
I don't find Hardy's novels to be too depressing, mainly because I think life was just hard during those times. There were probably more bad times than good if you were poor like most people. I cannot imagine being uneducated, subject to a stifling class system, no healthcare, dental and constantly fearing that you won't have enough for food or shelter. It must have been frightening growing old. We take so much for granted; I know I would have been miserable then.
I love Hardy's style of writing. Mayor of C was not a hard book to read. I feel like I've been dittoing Mary lately, but I too enjoyed his descriptions of the landscapes and villages. His character descriptions were great. The novel felt a bit like a movie to me because his writing made it a very visual experience, if you know what I mean.

Below is a summary of the Corn Laws which caused such trouble during the early Victorian period.
Sorry it is rather/very boring, but it is the best info I could find.

Here is a link that might be useful: The Corn Laws

Carolyn, I think you're right that coincidence was a characteristic of many -- maybe most -- 19th-century novels. Look at Dickens and Wilkie Collins, for instance. It's something that twentieth century novelists tried to get away from, even while they were contrarily rejecting the "natural" aspects of 19th-century realism. The closest parallel to the coincidence stuff I can think of is among novice writers...it's almost as if the Victorian writers hadn't quite worked out complete realism yet (not that they necessarily wanted to).

About the structure: At first I thought this was going to be one of those typical moralistic, heading-straight-for-doom stories the Victorians seem to have savored (loved to wallow in) so much. But while Henchard eventually suffers the consequences he himself put in motion, it wasn't as straightforward as I expected. However, I'm not sure exactly what it was that changed him -- or did he really change? -- so that he decided to write the will the way he did.

Farfrae...argh! This guy rubbed me the wrong way, in spite of his admirable qualities. He's too slick -- everything goes his way. :-)

Thanks for the info. on the Corn Laws.

There is something in Hardy's writings that gives me the impression he was sitting on the cusp of the old Victorian romanticism versus wanting to take the plunge into realism and/or modernism. This would make sense, given the time frame which his life encompassed. He seems on the one hand reluctant to let go of the old folk ways, yet on the other hand, ready to embrace the "new" century and all the risks that might entail....

I also think this is a beautifully written novel, where descriptions of both town and country are equally evocative (and his descriptions of how the town and country collide, with office workers seeing field workers out their windows). I also think it is a very well put together novel, and though I've heard the coincidence complaint against this novel, I didn't find it too bothersome.

One of the things that struck me on a structural level was how much secrecy--and its cousin, deceit--was in the novel. Though it is certainly Henchard's decision to sell his wife that gets the plot moving, the furmity woman is selling (presumably illegal) rum to spike her wares. Henchard then builds a life over his secret past (and 2 mistreated women), but he is not the only one. His wife lies to him about Elizabeth's patrimony; the sailor fakes his own death; Lucetta secretly marries Farfrae to escape Henchard. Beyond that, even the town of Casterbridge seems to be structured for secrecy and deceit. There are countless alleys and back entrances (using the front door at the inn where they planned the skimmington marks you as an outsider). There are ruins where lovers meet and walks where voices are overheard. There are paths that go into swamps and paths that lead seemingly nowhere. While it may be true that towns are often like this, I found it striking that Hardy built these details in as a way of reinforcing the action of the plot.

As an aside, can anyone think of an earlier novel about someone who was an alcoholic (as we would now label him)?

Russ

Ha! Casterbridge is Peyton Place's antecedent. I wonder if Metalious was influenced by Hardy. Russ, I was subconsciously aware of all the deceit in and around the town, but I didn't tie it all together the way you so astutely did. The back door to Lucetta's place was a part that especially intrigued me.

Hmm, alcoholics in 19th-century literature: I'm trying to think of a main character, but I mostly come up with peripheral ones -- Joss Sedley in Vanity Fair (he was a glutton and drank, too, I think). What about George Eliot's characters, didn't one or more of them drink heavily? I read somewhere in a long-forgotten place an opinion that part of Heathcliff's personality problems could be attributed to drink but I can't really cite anything supporting that...it was certainly a reason for Hindley Earnshaw's dissipation and early death, shades of Branwell Bronte, I suppose. I'll have to think more about the alcohol thing...it seems that other addictions -- opium, laudanum -- were more common themes in 19th-century literature.

Frieda, your thoughts on Farfrae match mine perfectly. And, Russ, wonderfully expressed thoughts on the secrecy and deceit. You were an English professor, right?

It was interesting how Hardy portrayed Casterbridge as being unique, almost an anomaly compared to the other towns. Thanks Russ for pointing out the theme of "secrecy and deceit" -- it's obvious in hindsight.

As for alcoholics, what about Huntingdon in Anne Bronte's The Tenant of Wildfell Hall?

WoodNymph2, regarding Hardy as a figure on the cusp, I think you are right. In fact, it used to be the standard line on Hardy to say that he was a major 19th century novelist AND a major 20th century poet. I don't know if that is still the thought, but it always seemed fairly accurate to me (and yes, Carolyn, I was once an English professor, though my period was several centuries before Hardy).

I have to say that I think this is a very good book and I much prefer it to Jude the Obscure (which is the only other Hardy I remember well enough to comment on). I tend to think of Hardy's novels as dark in part because I don't find much humor in them. Dickens is an obvious counterpart, whose characters could be in some dreary situations, but there was always humor, which makes Dickens seem less dark to me than Hardy. Can anyone think of anything humorous or comic in Mayor of Casterbridge? The closest I can come is dramatically ironic scenes like Henchard planning a reconciliation at Elizabeth's wedding!

Russ

Ach! I don't know why I didn't think of Wildfell Hall when I was on the subject of the Brontes. I was up way too early to be thinking and trying to post. :-)

Yes, now that you mention it, Janalyn, Arthur is by far the best example (that I've read) of an alcoholic in 19th-century literature. Anne Bronte's characterization predates The Mayor of Casterbridge by almost forty years. I still think Eliot wrote about alcoholism, too, but it has been too many years since I read her to recall which characters and books.

I think there are several humorous bits in Mayor -- oh, not necessarily laugh-out-loud funny, but amusing in a wry way. Some of the townsfolk had smile-inducing ways of saying things. Here's one that I could find quickly (the situation is the people gathered around the town pump talking about Mrs. Henchard's death):
"Gad, then, I won't quite ha'e it," said Solomon Longways. "I say it to-day, and 'tis Sunday morning, and I wouldn't speak wrongfully for a zilver zixpence at such a time. I don't see noo harm in it. To respect the dead is sound doxology* and I wouldn't sell skellintons -- leastwise respectable skellintons -- to be varnished for 'natomies, except I were out o' work. But money is scarce, and throats get dry. Why should death rob life o' fourpence? I say there no reason for it."

* italics mine
Practical man, Mr. Longways. It's not just amusing for the misuse of "doxology" and the saying of "zilver zixpence," but that does tickle me. Hardy makes great use of dialect and I can practically hear the folk gossiping, as well as see them, from Hardy's description. He made me smile quite often.

Oh, Mayor, though not happy-happy, is a much less depressing tale than Jude or Tess, which I think are so relentlessly downbeat my shoulders sag when reading them. I always want to read something extremely frivilous after a dose of either of those two. Far from the Madding Crowd had some pathetic moments, but I don't think it's all gloom, either -- it does have a happy ending.

Actually, yes, there is one comic incident in the book which still makes me smile - the bit where Lucetta holds out a plate of bread-and-butter between Henchard and Farfrae and they both take the same piece.

I must say I had always thought of Hardy as being "difficult" - but I found this to be a very accessible book. A few obscure words, but nothing in this book was what I'd call hard going. I found the book to be thoroughly engrossing.

I did think the novel was tragic, and I felt that Elizabeth-Jane's happy ending was overshadowed by the guilt she must have felt in the brutal way that she rejected Henchard. Given what she tolerated in her life, and how understanding and forgiving she normally was, it seemed a little harsh to reject him so utterly without any attempt to understand. It seemed out of character to me...

I really felt for Henchard - to me, he was a basically good man with too much pride and stubbornness.

I thought the comment you made, Russ, about the secrecy and deceit throughout the novel is very interesting. I don't think anyone actually came out better as a result of the secret they tried to keep, did they?

So = what other Hardy should I read?

Russ, you ask what we think of Henchard.
To me he seems a man of such sudden mood-swings, totally impetuous is so many of his actions.
When we first meet him at the fair, he gets drunk and sells his wife.
Why does he sell her? There is no good reason given, the couple arrive with no past history at all.
We next meet him as the successful mayor and business man. I wonder, with all the mistakes he makes in the next few chapters that he led such a steady life for the 20 odd years since his arrival in Casterbridge.
His treatment of Farfrae, from suddenly taking to him, to not being able to do without him, to jealousy of his popularity and acumen.
The way he blows hot and cold in his relationship with his 'daughter' and with Lucetta.
Yet despite the way Hardy portrays Henchard I find it is difficult to really dislike him.
He is always so penitent for the mistakes he makes and honourable in defeat.
I wonder if there are any 'real' people like this; his character seems almost too complex to be true to life.

No time to add more at the moment.

Thanks, Martin and Frieda, I had forgotten those moments. So the book is not completely bereft of comic moments, but they seem pretty few overall... Also, Martin, I agree that secrecy didn't seem to pay off for anyone very well.

It is interesting that people seem to feel that Henchard was a basically good person. I found him to be a basically selfish person. It seems to me that most of his decisions were designed either to get something for himself or to assuage his conscience for earlier decisions. For example, when his wife returns, he goes through a sham courtship and a false and unnecessary marriage ceremony. He couldn't "come clean" about what had happened; his actions help him feel better about his past without giving up his present prosperity. I agree with VeeR, though, that despite all this, I find it difficult to dislike Henchard.

Russ

I said he was a weak person who tried to be good, which is different than being a "good" person. And then he consistently tortured himself when he did something he knew was wrong. I thought that the reason for the sham marriage was that they were both trying to protect Elizabeth-Jane from their own disgrace. He also told Lucetta about his wife before their affair, and to his credit did "give her up" when Susan reappeared. He also was worried enough about her to send her money to help out, and an explanation. He displayed a generosity and good spirit when he first met Farfrae. I thought it was his insecurity that led to the really bad selfish decisions -- and that insecurity grew as the novel progressed and his fortunes declined, leading to jealousy and almost paranoia. He ended up being his own worst enemy but he knew it and suffered. As a reader, I wanted to throttle him sometimes ;-), but I couldn't dislike him. His last words in his will were pathetic.

I should think the sudden mood swings and impetuous actions of Henchard would have been typical of his alcoholic state, at least in the beginning, and possibly towards the end. In between, he did seem to be driven by his negative passions and by a kind of insecurity, with regards to his resentment of Farfrae, IMO.

I was interested, as I read this, in Hardy's depiction of architectural detail in buildings, so I did some background reading. I learned that Hardy had been an architectural assistant and studied buildings and churches for years. Hardy was born in a village in Wessex and in his youth got to know the small towns, churches and lanes well. The city of Dorchester, with which he was familiar, was actually Casterbridge, in the novel. He had great empathy for the pastoral way of life in Wessex and in his lifetime saw great changes in this part of England, due to industrialization, which is revealed several of his novels.

I've just been re-reading parts of the book to see what evidence there is for Henchard being an alchoholic.
Apart from the first chapter when he takes too much of the 'spiked' furmity and the next day makes the vow not to drink for 21 years and the Sunday 21 years later when he drinks at the Three Mariners and orders the town 'band' to play a hymn there is almost no mention of him hitting the bottle.
On one occasion he fortifies himself with a glass of rum before his one-man welcoming committee for the 'Royal Visitor'. btw I couldn't see the point of that incident.
Of course at the time the book is set the population drank heavily. Beer would have been drunk instead of the unreliable water and farm workers would have expected beer and cider to be provided during hay-making and other summer field work. Tea and coffee would have been beyond the pockets of many labourers.
Janalyn, you mention the depressing times in which these characters lived compared with today. But these people although they must have known their lives were hard, probably accepted their lot. I think there was a complacency within rural Victorian England (perhaps less so in industrial towns and cities) and folk tended to know their place within the hide-bound society.
I think the air of depression hangs over the story because Hardy was such a miserable old s*d.

The only humour I could detect (other than the bread and butter scene as mentioned by Martin) was when the by now drunken and aged furmity vendor is brought before the 'Bench' for committing a nuisance in the street (ie p**ing in the gutter) and the constable goes to great length explaining to the magistrate that he measured how far from the wall the incident took place.

I felt sorry for the female characters in the story.
For Susan, who Hardy portrays as not very bright and is so badly treated. For Lucetta, who seems something of an air-head, but especially for poor Elizabeth-Jane. As Hardy says when she is wed she "had long ago appraised life at a moderate value,and who knew . .. that marriage was as a rule no dancing matter"
We can only hope she is happy with Farfrae.

For me the most enjoyable parts of the book were the descriptions of the Dorset countryside, the clothes the people wore and the detail of the old buildings in Casterbridge and the surrounding area.

Here is a link that might be useful: Old Photos of Dorset and 'Hardy country'

I thought it was odd that he would vow to not drink for 21 years. Why not forever? Also, after all that time, would he really have decided to drink again? I expected him to fall into the bottle but there really wasn't any mention of that. I don't think Hardy handled the alcoholic part of the story well. I enjoyed the book, but I agree with wrmjr that all the deceit was a bit much.

Pam, I thought he sounded in a couple of places as if he could hardly wait to start drinking again. He said he swore off for the number of years equal to his age when he sold his family.

I had forgotten that, Carolyn. Wasn't it sad when the bird died. I thought she would find it.

No such luck, Pam. As Russ said in the beginning, wasn't that cheery?

I forgot about this discussion until I happened in today and noticed the thread! And I had every intention of taking part in it. I've been here much less often lately than I used to be because the ads were becoming serious obstacles. I hope it's not too late to jump in here. I'll dig up my copy of THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE and refresh my memory.

Bringing this up for Mollie and April and others who may have missed our Hardy discussion.

woodnymph, do you mean that this discussion is about to resume, even though December is past? I found an online version of the book and was reading it for the rest of December, but the discussion never resumed, and I didn't want to break into it at the end.

Sorry I must not have understood how these discussions work. I assumed that discussion of a book scheduled for December would end at the end of December, but it now looks as if that's not a hard-and-fast rule--?

No hard-and-fast rules here. It was interesting re-reading the discussion, and if you have anything to add, please do!

jwttrans, there are no rules about discussions. Often people come to them late, or find some interesting information about the chosen book, or have a point they want to make and the thread takes off again. Occasionally a topic carrys on and becomes 'Part Two'.
Just jump straight in.

I wonder if anybody could help me with this passage (in Chapter 11):

Casterbridge announced old Rome in every street, alley, and precinct. It looked Roman, bespoke the art of Rome, concealed dead men of Rome. It was impossible to dig more than a foot or two deep about the town fields and gardens without coming upon some tall soldier or other of the Empire, who had lain there in his silent unobtrusive rest for a space of fifteen hundred years. He was mostly found lying on his side, in an oval scoop in the chalk, like a chicken in its shell; his knees drawn up to his chest; sometimes with the remains of his spear against his arm, a fibula or brooch of bronze on his breast or forehead, an urn at his knees, a jar at his throat, a bottle at his mouth; and mystified conjecture pouring down upon him from the eyes of Casterbridge street boys and men, who had turned a moment to gaze at the familiar spectacle as they passed by.

Imaginative inhabitants, who would have felt an unpleasantness at the discovery of a comparatively modern skeleton in their gardens, were quite unmoved by these hoary shapes. They had lived so long ago, their time was so unlike the present, their hopes and motives were so widely removed from ours, that between them and the living there seemed to stretch a gulf too wide for even a spirit to pass.

Is this (or was this at the time) literally true?

What I'm picturing here is a gardener or farmer, digging the Casterbridge soil preparatory to planting a tree, and routinely unearthing the corpse of an ancient Roman.

I'd welcome any further information about this. It's not like Hardy to make up material and present it as fact, and so I have a hunch he's talking about a real phenomenon.

Well, I also had intended to get into the Dec. discussion, but then life took over and I forgot about it. Thanks for the reminder about Mayor. I read it decades ago, and now I think I'll read it again. I will never read Tess or Jude again; far too depressing! The one Hardy book that I have read more than once is The Return of the Native, a sad enough little story in its way, but I love the atmosphere of that scene at the beginning where the reddle man is walking across the moor.

Re: Roman Casterbridge.

Casterbridge is actually Dorchester, which is certainly a Roman town, with many Roman remains even now. I think it's highly likely that Hardy was being literal, albeit a bit fanciful - probably it was not unusual to discover a Roman body, but probably not quite routine either.

I didn't check that previous link thoroughly, and it's not really a good one after all. Try this for pictures of Roman "Casterbridge" - in particular, have a look at Maumbury Rings which is the Roman Ampitheatre where Henchard met Susan.

Here is a link that might be useful: Pictures of Roman Dorchester

jwtranns, as Martin says 'Casterbridge' had been a Roman town, although it seems unlikely it 'looked Roman' unless Hardy is refering to the lay-out of straight streets within its boundaries.
It is very probable that remains were dug up from time to time although I think the idea that people were buried any-old-how is wrong. A town that lasted for several hundred years would have had several burial sites, both civil and military, plus all the bodies of the folk who lived in that area both before and after (and alongside) their Roman masters.
Since Hardy's day much more information has come to light on Roman Britain, much of it in the last few years and there must be hundreds, even thousands of known sites that have yet to be excavated.
The site below will lead you to lots of other information (probably too much). Guy de la Bédoyère is a top and popular historian who appears in many TV progs. on archaeology.

Here is a link that might be useful: Lots of Stuff on Roman Britian

Thanks so much for providing the useful links! I guess I never realized before just how "present" the Romans must have been in Britain even as recently as Hardy's time.

Was Henchard a basically good man? I think so. In fact, I think that Hardy flubbed the ending of this story rather badly. There is too much grovelling abjectness on Henchard's part--it's almost maudlin.

Yes, his last will is meant to wring our heart-strings. Maybe I've read more Hardy than a person should, but I can't help thinking of similar situations in some of his other novels: Isn't Eustacia Vye's mother-in-law wandering about Egdon Heath in The Return of the Native in a similar state of despair and self-effacement? And then there is Jude's pathetic little boy, who hangs himself and leaves the pitiable note: "Done because we were too menny" (in Jude the Obscure).

Those two novels have a much more effective use of somebody's humiliation and despair than The Mayor of Casterbridge does, in my opinion.

Henchard need not have reduced himself to such a pitiable state. He is largely responsible for the low opinion of himself that leads him to his sad fate. Other Hardy characters in other Hardy novels are driven more by fate, I think.

wrmjr considers this a novel about an alcoholic. I agree that it at least starts out to be about an alcoholic. In fact, like Pam 3, I was expecting Henchard's drinking to become a problem when he reached the end of his 21 years on the wagon--but his drinking from then on is hardly mentioned and seems to dwindle out of the picture.

--As it has to do, if Hardy is to have the ending he has. Are we to assume that part of Henchard's ultimate miserable state is a result of his resumption of drinking? If so, we aren't shown any of his drinking. For instance, he might have turned up drunk at Elizabeth-Jane's wedding. Instead, he just forgets the poor goldfinch.

He wouldn't have been tragic at all if we'd seen him drinking in the last part of the book. He would have just been a pathetic, besotted old goat, crying in his beer.

It's as if Henchard's drinking became an inconvenience for Hardy's plot at some point and just got dropped. Nevertheless, it was his drinking that set the whole story in motion, and so in that way the novel is about an alcoholic.

As for humor in this story, I agree that there are humorous touches in the speech and customs of the village folk, who seem to function as a sort of Greek chorus in the story.

Did Hardy want to impress upon his readers a sense of continuity with the ancient classical world? Did he feel that this emphasis would put his story in better perspective?

--These are just some random notions I had while rereading this book, which I liked much better the first time I read it than I did this time. I did still like it, but I started seeing problems with it that escaped me on a first reading.

Is there any way I can revise the previous post? I noticed a couple of places where the writing could be improved, but I can't figure out how to edit it.

Looks as if there's one chance to edit a post, and that's before you click "Submit"--?