Bionic Jean’s Comments (group member since Jul 27, 2022)

Bionic Jean’s comments from the Works of Thomas Hardy group.

Henchard’s complete reversal in deciding to encourage Farfrae’s courtship of Elizabeth-Jane is proof that his decisions on the matter of Elizabeth-Jane’s love life and her happiness have been entirely guided by his own interests. Did anyone see this coming? It must seem inexplicable to each of them.

Elizabeth-Jane’s quiet persistence however, hides the extent of her sadness. She is only able to reveal this when she thinks herself totally alone. Her wish to be dead shows her deep loneliness. The sophistically dressed woman appears at that moment, as if she is the answer to a prayer.

The woman’s offer of companionship appears at the ideal moment in Elizabeth-Jane’s life. Her loneliness and her poor treatment at Henchard’s hands could both be resolved by moving in with her new friend. How can Elizabeth-Jane resist? But why does the woman have a high opinion of Henchard, when his standing in the community is sinking fast? Does it hint at her having a past connection with him?

And even though Elizabeth-Jane seems to be glad of having someone to talk to openly, in fact this woman does not receive the full story of Henchard’s mistreatment. This is because Elizabeth-Jane always tends to blame herself, and so the woman continues to believe that Henchard is an entirely good man.

My personal estimation of him has taken a sharp downward dive in this chapter, though! How about you? As Claudia has said, Thomas Hardy certainly knows knows how to keep us on edge!

Class

Henchard repeatedly projects his anger on to any small fault of hers. Elizabeth-Jane is puzzled, but focuses on these criticisms, not understanding what motivates them. One of Elizabeth-Jane’s “faults” as Henchard sees them, is her unawareness of her station as a relatively wealthy young woman. She is used to doing things for herself and so continues this behaviour. Henchard believes this is not seemly, and wants her to demonstrate her station—thereby also upholding his own reputation—by relying on the servants.

Elizabeth-Jane’s solitary evening of being employed to serve at The Three Mariners resurfaces to shame Henchard, as Susan had feared it would. This is the final straw for Henchard. He does not see Elizabeth-Jane’s resourcefulness in this, only that her actions went against his wishes. He seems blinded to the fact that this was in the past, before they had met.

Worse is to come, as Henchard stops complaining about Elizabeth-Jane and starts to ignore her. Poor Elizabeth-Jane is incredibly lonely and confused, and yet she remains obedient. She attempts to better herself and does not see Farfrae, because Henchard has forbidden her from doing so. It is easy to imagine how bewildered she must feel.

Elizabeth-Jane’s encounter with a finely dressed woman standing at her mother’s gravestone reveals Elizabeth-Jane’s modesty; she is not envious of the other woman, but curious about her. The new woman is looking at Susan’s tombstone, which implies that she has some knowledge of Susan and is curious about her death. Does it also hint at the identity of this new character?

Henchard is upset at Farfrae’s growing importance in the town, and perhaps predictably takes this anger out on Elizabeth-Jane. Having learned that she waited on Farfrae, he sees this as a victory for his enemy, because Elizabeth-Jane thus placed Farfrae above herself in importance, class and situation. Again, he seems oblivious to the fact that this was in the past, before he had met either of them.

More Secrets, Concealments and Misunderstandings

Henchard’s behaviour towards Elizabeth-Jane changes dramatically when he discovers that she is not his daughter. As others have said, how can she possibly make sense of this? He cannot see the situation from Elizabeth-Jane’s point of view and acts as if he blames her for hiding a secret which she did not actually know. Thus Henchard is projecting his emotions on to Elizabeth-Jane, criticising her unfairly.

(Well done to Chris and others for picking up the clues - especially Michael Henchard's Freudian slip about her hair - as to Elizabeth Jane's parentage! I can't remember if I ever did, the first time I read it (at 17 or 18.))

And a little more

“She seized on these days for her periodical visits to the spot where her mother lay buried—the still-used burial-ground of the old Roman-British city”

This refers to Durnovaria, as we know, built by the Romans around 70 C.E. The text continues to explain that it was formerly the Romans emperors’ burial ground, during the Roman occupation of Britain:

“Mrs. Henchard’s dust mingled with the dust of women who lay ornamented with glass hair-pins and amber necklaces, and men who held in their mouths coins of Hadrian, Posthumus, and the Constantines.”

The dead were buried with coins to pay the boatman Charon, whose task it was to ferry them over the river Styx into the underworld.

Chapter 20

Elizabeth-Jane now has to endure Henchard’s sudden change in behaviour towards her. He confessed the truth of her parentage with affection and emotion, but from the next day onwards he is cold to her. He often grows angry at her use of commonplace, or lower class words or phrases, such “bide as you be” rather than “stay where you are”. Elizabeth-Jane is already working to improve herself and her mind by reading, and Henchard, himself a man of low birth, often unfairly criticises her lack of breeding. Elizabeth-Jane tries hard to change her speech to reflect her position as the mayor’s daughter and her father’s wishes.

One evening when Henchard is meeting with a gentleman on business, he calls Elizabeth-Jane in to write down an agreement between the men. He is ashamed to see her bold, inelegant handwriting, when he had expected a stylish lady’s hand, and dismisses her, saying that he will finish the writing himself.

Elizabeth-Jane natural consideration for others also sparks Henchard’s anger, such as when she thanks the maid, or does something for herself instead of ringing for assistance. Such behaviour reveals her self-sufficient, lower class upbringing. Despite Henchard’s outbursts, Elizabeth-Jane prefers his passion to his neglect, which becomes more frequent as she schools herself into becoming a proper young lady.

Elizabeth-Jane often provides a small meal or drinks for one of Henchard’s workers, a woman named Nance Mockridge. Henchard sees this and exclaims that Elizabeth-Jane shames him for lowering herself to wait on such a woman. Nance, overhearing this, says that Elizabeth-Jane once waited on others of lower characters at The Three Mariners inn (The King of Prussia). Elizabeth-Jane admits that this is the plain truth:



“Did you do it, or didn’t you? Where was it?” by Robert Barnes - 27th February 1886

From that day onwards, Henchard showed an obvious distaste for the girl he now knows is not his own daughter. He often leaves her alone for meals and she fills her solitary hours by learning Latin and studying incessantly. Elizabeth-Jane continues her quiet and lonely existence, crushing, through force of will, her interest in Farfrae whom she has been forbidden to see.

Although winter is arriving, on the nicer days Elizabeth-Jane walks in the morning to visit her mother’s grave. One morning, Elizabeth-Jane sees another woman in the graveyard standing at her mother’s grave and reading the tombstone. This other woman is much more finely dressed than Elizabeth-Jane, though also in mourning. Elizabeth-Jane’s nature is not envious, so she wonders about the woman, supposing her to be a stranger in Casterbridge. Eventually the woman leaves and Elizabeth-Jane returns home without speaking to her.

At home, Henchard is particularly upset. His term as Mayor is ending and Farfrae is likely to be selected as a member of the town council, rather than himself. He also has learned that Farfrae was the one whom Elizabeth-Jane had waited on in The Three Mariners, which he considers another slight to his position and himself. He expostulates at Elizabeth-Jane, after she unthinkingly uses the slang term “leery” to refer to her exhaustion.

Henchard contemplates his earlier decision to warn Farfrae off Elizabeth-Jane, when he thought her his own daughter. Now though,he wishes his enemy would take the girl off his hands. He composes a note to Farfrae saying that he may court Elizabeth-Jane, as long as the business does not occur in his own home.

The next morning, Elizabeth-Jane returns to the graveyard. Depressed and feeling the weight of her father’s scorn, she exclaims aloud: “I wish I was dead with dear mother.” The woman from the previous day is also revealed to be in the graveyard and she overhears Elizabeth-Jane. The woman asks about her dead mother and then enquires after her father, whom she knows to be Mr. Henchard.

Elizabeth-Jane tells the woman her history and her quarrel with Henchard. The woman seems strangely unable to criticise Henchard, insisting that he cannot be a bad man, while at the same comforting Elizabeth-Jane, who is all too willing to admit her own fault in the situation. The woman is not shocked by Elizabeth-Jane’s tale, and invites the young woman to come and live in her own house as her companion. Elizabeth-Jane enthusiastically agrees, saying that she would love to be independent from her father, but quickly adds that she is not accomplished and lady-like, as a companion must be. The woman says she is moving to Casterbridge, and the two agree to meet again the following week, once Elizabeth-Jane has thought over her proposal.

What great comments!

Perhaps I need to clarify my thoughts on Susan though. I probably expressed it badly, as I certainly don't think her primary motive was revenge. That was not in her nature. And unless more secrets are to be revealed (and who knows?!) now that Susan has died, we won't get many more indications of her personality or background than we already have.

So what I have said is:

"Her need to leave a secret letter seems to indicate that Susan is not as naively straightforward as she seems"

and also elsewhere ...

"[in order to] provide security for her daughter. I wonder if there is also a little “just vengeance” in her mind, with this act."

I postulated this as something for us to think about, and pondered how to express it, (which was indicated by my inverted commas). I felt there might be a passing thought in her mind - almost an abstract thought not a personal one - as she wrote the letter, that after all there was nothing wrong in her deception, because Michael had committed a worse act originally. Thus she need not feel any guilt about it.

I can imagine her thinking a good friend/older relative might tell her this, and that it validated it for her, up to a point. So it's more of a rationalisation than a psychological motivation. I think Thomas Hardy might have had this inkling in mid for her, because right from the chapter where she is sold, we have quite a lot about her own thoughts and feelings. Susan is not a passive puppet; I actually wish we could read more about her!

Peter wrote: "What I do not know, and perhaps someone can help me, is if Hardy and Barnes (as Dickens and Hablot Browne did) have detailed discussions regarding the illustrations ..."

In this post about the illustrations LINK HERE I say "he did not seem to correspond with him, or to collaborate as he did with some other artists".

Robert Barnes was a member of a team employed by the Graphic, so not his own choice. Thomas Hardy's favourite artist was Helen Paterson Allingham, who illustrated Far From the Madding Crowd. During the original run in 1874, both Thomas Hardy and Helen Paterson got married - but not to each other. Helen Paterson married a poet and became Helen Paterson Allingham. (Much later, when Thomas Hardy was no longer happy with his wife Emma, he said to Edmund Gosse that perhaps it would have been better if they had married each other.)

So perhaps there was collaboration between Thomas Hardy and his illustrators sometimes, but not in this case.

As other have said Peter, marvellous analysis of this illustration!

When Henchard accidentally discovers the note from Susan, he never suspects her of hiding anything, and so he opens it. To me, this is one of the most devastating ironic twists in the whole of Hardy’s work; it feels like a Greek tragedy. The timing is impeccable, and once again, it is a letter than provides a key role, in finally revealing the truth of Elizabeth-Jane’s parentage to Henchard, as well as Susan’s wilful deception. Susan had allowed Henchard to think that Elizabeth-Jane was his biological daughter, in order to encourage Henchard to reunite with them, and provide security for her daughter. I wonder if there is also a little “just vengeance” in her mind, with this act.

Henchard now understands the real reason Susan didn’t want Elizabeth-Jane’s name changed. Now that he knows the truth, it seems obvious. The lines of Newson’s features in Elizabeth-Jane’s face had been in front of his eyes the whole time.

I like that the irony of the situation becomes clear to Henchard and to us at the same time. The secret had been concealed from the reader too, but, in retrospect, both we and Henchard can see the many clues pointing to the truth.

Later, Elizabeth-Jane comes to terms with the information Henchard gave her, but poignantly exactly at the same time as Henchard has become aware that it is false. When Elizabeth-Jane embraces him as her father, Henchard can only focus on the ways the whole situation has been ruined. If Elizabeth-Jane is not his biological daughter, she means nothing to him, despite the care he has given her. She is not truly his.

This is a superbly imagined and written chapter. Where on earth can we go now, and whatever will Henchard do? No doubt we will find out tomorrow, with chapter 20. In the meantime my mind is reeling with possibilities, so over to you!

More Secrets Revealed!

So we have yet another twist! I don’t think we could see this one coming. Henchard’s decision to confess the truth of her parentage to Elizabeth-Jane is not planned, but a spontaneous act of the moment. He witnesses her love and care for Newson, the man she believes to be her father, and he wants to inspire her to care for him in that way. But despite this confession, Henchard still withholds the secret of the true crime: his act of selling Susan.

Elizabeth-Jane’s reaction to this news is to cry. She is clearly distressed to learn the truth, which he does not seem to have expected. Again, we see that Michael Henchard’s self-involvement blinds him to any feelings of empathy for others. His desperation to earn her love as a daughter is revealed as he pleads with her, and uses this chance to also remind her about taking his name. This gesture reflects Henchard’s desire to fully claim Elizabeth-Jane as his, his daughter, his creation.

Elizabeth-Jane’s tears are not due to dislike of Henchard, but to her sense that she is doing Newson some wrong. He was the man who had raised her, and she still has a deep emotional connection to him.

And a Little More …

Locations

Henchard’s gloomy walk seems laden with doom. He observes for himself the “harmony of the spot with his domestic situation” and asks himself “Why the deuce did I come here!”

It's interesting that we see Henchard aware of what we consider to be a literary device: the pathetic fallacy: the setting as a reflection of mood. The protagonist, as well as the reader, notices how the natural world mirrors human emotion.

Here are examples:

“The river—slow, noiseless, and dark—the Schwarzwasser of Casterbridge—ran beneath a low cliff, the two together forming a defence which had rendered walls and artificial earthworks on this side unnecessary.”

Schwarzwasser is German for black water. Thomas Hardy uses the name “Blackwater” for a pool or stream further upriver, perhaps recalling that the name Dorchester derived from “Dwyr”, meaning “dark”.

“He went on past the cottage in which the old local hangman had lived and died,”



Hangman’s Cottage. Colliton Park, The Walks, Dorchester - (Philip V. Allingham)

This cottage stands by the riverside, on the north side of the town. Thomas Hardy was fascinated as a boy by the role of the hangman, and remembered many years later peeping in at his window as he ate his dinner on the eve on an execution. There once was an external staircase, but in most respects the dwelling (now a private residence) is little changed since Thomas Hardy's boyhood.



The cottage is a little removed from the rest of the town. It also features in the short story The Withered Arm, which we read last year, published in Blackwoods Edinburgh Magazine in January 1888 and subsequently collected in Wessex Tales. In the story you may remember that (view spoiler)[the young wife, Gertrude Lodge, makes an arrangement with the hangman, Davies, to arrive at the little wicket in the surrounding wall of the cottage at one o'clock so that he can privately deliver her a piece of the corpse of the condemned man which she may touch in order to cure her withered arm. (hide spoiler)]

Chapter 19

Three weeks after Susan’s funeral, Henchard and Elizabeth-Jane are sitting in front of the fire in the evening. Henchard asks about Richard Newson’s kindness as a father and whether or not Elizabeth-Jane could have cared as much for Henchard should he have been her real father. Elizabeth-Jane says she cannot imagine anyone else as her father, but her real father. Henchard decides to confess the truth, and tells Elizabeth-Jane that he is her biological father, and that shame alone has prevented him or Susan from confessing this. However he withholds the details of him selling Susan at the fair, saying only that the couple had believed each other to be dead.

Once the truth of this story has been impressed upon Elizabeth-Jane, she begins to cry.


“Don’t cry — don’t cry,” said Henchard, with vehement pathos, “I can’t bear it.”by Robert Barnes - 20th February 1886

“… I won’t bear it. I am your father; why should you cry? Am I so dreadful, so hateful to ’ee? Don’t take against me, Elizabeth-Jane!” he cried, grasping her wet hand. “Don’t take against me - though I was a drinking man once, and used your mother roughly - I’ll be kinder to you than he was! I’ll do anything, if you will only look upon me as your father!”

Henchard, in distress, vows to do anything to make Elizabeth-Jane happy, as long as she will look upon him as her true father. He says he will leave her alone, to give her time to trust him. He says that he was the one who named her Elizabeth-Jane, and that she should now take his surname, despite her mother having been against it whilst she lived.

Elizabeth-Jane remains alone that evening, weeping for her mother and for Richard Newson to whom she feels she is doing some wrong. Henchard, meanwhile, goes upstairs to find some papers to prove Elizabeth-Jane’s parentage to her. He uncovers the letter addressed to him by Susan before her death. Supposing the restriction “not to be opened til Elizabeth-Jane’s wedding day” to be a passing fancy of Susan’s, Henchard opens the letter.

“I can hardly write it, but here it is. Elizabeth-Jane is not your Elizabeth-Jane - the child who was in my arms when you sold me. No; she died three months after that, and this living one is my other husband’s. I christened her by the same name we had given to the first, and she filled up the ache I felt at the other’s loss. Michael, I am dying, and I might have held my tongue; but I could not.”

Susan’s final letter reveals that Elizabeth-Jane is not, in fact, the Elizabeth-Jane whom Henchard fathered. Her first daughter with Henchard had died three months after their sale to Richard Newson, and the living Elizabeth-Jane is Susan’s daughter with Newson, whom she named after the dead baby, and who helped her recover from the loss of her first child.

Henchard feels devastated, and sits aimlessly in the room for a couple of hours. He now sees the explanation for Susan’s stubbornness about changing Elizabeth-Jane’s last name. Eventually, he steals into Elizabeth-Jane’s room as she sleep and sees the resemblance to Richard Newson in her face, and her characteristically lighter colouring than Henchard’s own.

Henchard’s is furious at the irony of the situation. He would never have found Susan’s letter, had he not revealed what he thought to be the truth of Elizabeth-Jane’s parentage to her - and that in claiming her as his daughter, he had directly learned that she was not. Henchard goes out to walk through the gloomy evening, past the location of the gallows where public executions were held. He feels that the situation, the night and his surroundings all closely mirror his personal situation and his bitter disappointment.

As the next day dawns, Henchard decides that he will not tell Elizabeth-Jane about the letter. Elizabeth-Jane greets him lovingly that morning, telling him that she has thought over the matter, and has realised that despite Newson’s kindness to her, this is not the same as being one’s true father. She embraces Henchard and he feels that this moment, which he had waited for so long, is now miserable and pointless, as he had only remarried Susan to become closer to his daughter. The whole scheme has turned out to mean nothing to Henchard, as Elizabeth-Jane is not truly his daughter.

Many thanks to Connie for her stellar lead of these 4 poems. If you have missed any, do follow the links. They are well worth looking at - very relevant and enriching our read - and Connie has done some interesting research for them too.

Now for today's riveting chapter ...

Erich C wrote: "Is Henchard acting the part of Satan tempting Jesus above the desert?..."

Wow Erich, I hadn't thought of that!

Thanks Bridget for the reminder that Thomas Hardy's poetry collections are not strictly chronological.

Yes, Claudia, after the furore over Tess and Jude, Thomas Hardy made a conscious decision to write no more novels. He concentrated on poetry, which he had always considered his best work and his true passion. But he did remain active in bringing adaptations of Tess etc. to the stage, with the local "Hardy Players" in Dorchester and later in London.

The subtitle varies; sometimes it is "The Mayor of Casterbridge: A Story of a Man of Character" and sometimes "The Life and Death of the Mayor of Casterbridge: A Story of a Man of Character". I think the latter was his final choice.

Erich - the title is "The Mayor" rather than "Michael Henchard;" he is driven by a need for power and control, so his social position is more important than his essential being

This is a great point! We've noticed several things about the subtitle, including its similarity to "Tess of the D'Urbervilles: A Pure Woman". In both cases the author is making a statement about his views on the character. It's not exactly an apologia, but more defiance, I think.

As you say, avoiding his name in The Mayor of Casterbridge significantly points to Michael Henchard's view of himself. It's a strong indicator, as there is no slow reveal; we know exactly who the mayor is and where he has come from by chapter 5 or 6.

Thomas Hardy evidently liked using this type of title. Even with Tess, we have an allusive name, not her given one (a little like the "Obscure" of Jude; they were his two final novels). Also just like in The Mayor of Casterbridge, it is an ironic title as you say, because it is exactly Henchard's character (or Tess's naivety) that has led to all of his problems.

I think Thomas Hardy means us to find it amusing that Henchard slips into dialect when feeling emotional. Don't we all do this a little? My accent sometimes varies according to who I am with. As well as having various forms of language we employ (street/friends, home, work, received pronunciation etc.) if one has moved around, it can be overlaid with an accent appropriate to the context, and still feel natural.

The irony here comes with Henchard's apparent feeling of superiority to other townsfolk, and criticism of Elizabeth-Jane for using local dialect naturally. It's a great indicator both of class conflicts, and Henchard's psychology.

R.I.P Wolfie



Here he is about a month ago in the caravan, a few inches from where I am sitting now, and a dozen or so miles from the "Kings Arms" hotel. When we arrived earlier, there was a gentle sea breeze which he would have loved, after the heatwave he bore last week, if he had just been able to hang on ... but it was not to be.

Thank you everyone for your kind words. They really do help a lot.

I'm afraid Wolfie lost his battle after all. We called another emergency vet out hoping for a miracle, but during the 2 hours he was here, Wolfie drifted in and out of consciousness. The illness had got to his brain, and he had to be put to sleep at 5.20 this morning. He was still eating from our hands even last night and struggling his wobbly way to the garden and back when he needed to. I've never known a dog so determined to be with us, even when he lost his coordination and kept falling.

We are heartbroken, so I may be quietish for a little while. Thank you for thinking of him everyone. I hope we gave him a lifetime of happiness in the few years that we had him, to make up for his sorry start. He certainly seemed full of joy right to the final struggle.

What great comments! We can see how skilful Thomas Hardy is being, as the nuances leave us with several options as to how to interpret them. And at the same time we are eager to know how things will turn out!

Today's chapter is posted LINK HERE,

but please feel free to discuss up to the end of chapter 17 here too!

We now have several interpolated poems, all of which relate to chapter 18. Connie will post one a day, each having a separate thread in this folder. I will link to each here, in the index and at the start, (3 links) once it is posted, although I will be travelling on Monday, so that one may be a little late.

So here are our 4 interpolated poems on the trot, with links as the threads are posted:

Sunday 13th July - #5 - According to the Mighty Working
Monday 14th July - #6 - By Her Aunt’s Grave
Tuesday 15th July - #7 - The Lodging House Fuchsias
Wednesday 16th July - #8 - Farmer Dunman’s Funeral

We then have our free day, Thursday 17th July,which means we will read chapter 19 on Friday 18th July

Lots to comment on in today's whirlwind of a chapter! Over to you!

We also have some light relief: a seemingly trivial story of a villager who dug up the pennies buried with Susan and spent them. This side story, however, is quite revealing. It tells us of the traditions and social mores. We’ve noticed before that such episodes work as a commentary, showing the general view that the villagers have of the wealthier families in town. The villagers joke about them, and treat them with irreverence. They are also willing to get involved in their business.

It also points up the different lifestyles of the rich and poor: that the rich can use money in non-monetary ways, but the poor simply cannot afford to behave that way.