Casterbridge: In Review

Well, my dear readers, we have reached the end of a great journey. This was my first experience reading Thomas Hardy, and I must admit it was not as horrible as I originally thought it would be. At the start of the story, I was expecting a volume of long, complex sentences put together to create as sad and hopeless an image as possible; and while this was what I got, it still ended up better than expected. This is mainly due to the fact that Hardy’s merit as a writer is indisputable, despite his nontraditional approach to storytelling.

Hardy is very much like Jackson Pollock in a way. At first glance, Pollock’s paintings look like he handed a brush to a pigeon mid flight and just let art take place. At closer inspection, however, his paintings are indescribably captivating and contain something that brings honor to the artist in a way that parallels that of Van Gogh.

Hardy, using his medium of pen on paper, allows his phenomenal craftsmanship to tell a story of sorrow and general depression. As he puts it, in the lives of his characters “happiness was but the occasional episode in a general drama of pain” (243). Yet as his readers we are not meant to be repulsed by these sorrowful events. Instead, we should appreciate the happy times when they happen, but more often we should look for the beauty in the sadness of the story.

The beauty of depression is a concept toward which Hardy shows extreme interest. The world he crafts is one steeped in history and beautiful geography, yet beneath all of this beauty, there remains an underlying sense of foreboding. This ominousness slowly proves true, as one character after another is shown that there is nothing but disappointment and death behind the world’s beauty.

Within this world of sadness and depression, Hardy allows his characters to grow. Elizabeth-Jane, for instance, starts off the story as a naive, unintelligent, subservient girl whose own mother thinks it would be “folly to think of making [her] wise” (17). By the end of the story she has become a strong woman who maintains kindness while still refusing to put up with the nonsense of anyone around her.

This transition is started by the death of her mother. Then, Henchard pushes her out of his house and she begins to lodge with Miss Templeman, who she later loses. One tragedy after another befalls Elizabeth-Jane, until finally she makes the remark to her father “‘I don’t quite think there are any miracles nowadays’” (216).

Only in a world of darkness could a character like Elizabeth-Jane be grown from the girl she started out as, and only Hardy could craft her journey. It is his storytelling that makes Hardy so unique. None of his characters are safe from death or misfortune, yet as a reader we do not feel that any of their lives have been devalued. Each death shows us a new part of Hardy’s dark universe and teaches us as much as any of their actions did when they were alive.

So while Pollock is the king of organized chaos, Hardy is the commander of death and misfortune. It is through their selected means that art unlike any other comes into this world and gives both creators the unparalleled merit that they so deserve.

Step 11: Die

At long last, the event that we were assured of has happened. The book closes a few days after the marriage ceremony between Elizabeth-Jane and Donald (whose wife, Mrs. Templeman, dies suddenly from shock). The two of them decide to seek out Henchard, who has left Casterbridge for good. They find his body, not thirty minutes without life, along with his will, asking “that no flours [sic] be planted on my grave. & that no man remember [him]” (242).

Henchard, throughout his life, is constantly riddled with the mistakes of his past. This is, perhaps, the most apparent theme found in Hardy’s work. The past always seems to come back to haunt. Henchard even begins to recognize his past life will return and tries his best to stop it. He tries to pay off Lucetta Templeman to keep her quiet about their relationship, only to have her turn up in town a few months later. He tries to sweep the sale of his wife under the rug, only to have a woman from the fair turn up and tell everyone.

The past can never be escaped. One by one, from the start of the book, everything in Henchard’s life is reclaimed by his past sins, and Henchard can do nothing to stop it. It is this that causes our man of character’s fall from mayor to a lowly pauper, who dies in a shack without any family left.

Hardy advances this theme through several interesting techniques. Most notably is how he creates a relationship between his setting and the characters of the story. The best example of this is one of the first descriptions of Casterbridge we get as a reader. Hardy says that “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... 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” (50).

Casterbridge was one of the last outposts of the Roman Empire and in every way still bares those influences. Its appearance, customs, and even atmosphere all bare elements of Rome. It is inescapable. Yet, Hardy chooses not to mention the beautiful squares, markets, and architecture that create the heart of the town. Instead, he focuses on the darkness and dead left by the Empire.

At every turn, Hardy adapts the city to match Henchard’s inner turmoil. For example, when he meets Susan after her appearance they do not have lunch on the river bank. Instead, they meet in the old Roman amphitheater that once served as a hanging post. The scene matches the mood.

Hardy’s use of these implied metaphors applies what he is already spectacular at (ie creating vivid pictures through imagery) to his theme, cementing its importance in the book. This development of theme makes Hardy’s work of undeniable literary merit. Not only does his writing evoke every one of the reader’s senses, but through figurative language and metaphor, it is inseparably tied to the development of his themes throughout the book. So it seems that while Henchard has skeletons in his closet, Casterbridge itself has some beneath its streets.

Steps 3-10: Commit each Great Sin

It seems that Henchard is finally nearing the end of his story. He has at this point lost his fortune to gambling, lost his lover to Donald, and lost his secret of the sale of his wife. Now Henchard is forced to work as a lowly laborer, among the people he despised so completely. So, Ladies and Gentlemen, it is time to return to the question: is Henchard a moral man. This time, however, we will look to the Bible for a bit of help.

According to Jesus’ disciples (and later, Pope Gregory I), there are certain common personality traits that equate to some of the greatest of possible sins. Proverbs warns of seven specific ones, commonly refered to as the Seven Deadly Sins. These are interpreted as envy, greed, gluttony, lust, pride, wrath, and sloth.

While Hardy may not be a particularly religious writer, the topics of morality and one’s character are concerned throughout the entire book. Therefore, to Hardy, a “sin” is much less about what will get you into Hell, and much more about how it affects you in human society.

First up to bat is envy, or the desire for something you don’t have. We have seen Henchard at his best and worst-- as both a respected mayor and a disgraced laborer. Yet, no matter his position, he seems never to be satisfied. When he is mayor, he wishes to crush Farfrae under his boot. When Susan and Elizabeth-Jane come to Casterbridge he immediately things of Miss Templeman. He never seems to be truly happy, and always wants more of what he can't have.

Next comes greed. This sin is perfectly exemplified by Henchard’s unwise gambling of his own fortune. He does this because “‘The Scotchman, who’s taking the town trade so bold into his hands, must be cut out... We two can’t live side by side" (132). Henchard wants all trade, and more importantly the money that comes with it, for himself. This causes him to bet everything he has on the coming harvest, ending in his bankrupcy.

Third on the list is gluttony, or the overconsumption of something (usually, but not always, food). After the sale of his wife, Henchard decides that he will not drink for the next twenty-one years. It just so turns out that his vow expires in this sections of the book. Henchard commits gluttony when he goes to take his first drink at a local bar, where it is stated that everyone limits themselves to half a pint and no more. Henchard on the other hand is making up for lost time, and so gets uproariously drunk.

Lust is a much harder sin to find in the modern sense in a book from the 1800s. Having romantic moments on the pages of a book at this time wasn’t exactly look kindly upon, let alone the things we would think of culminating in “lust” in the modern era. However, we do see Henchard’s covetous nature, explained perfectly by Elizabeth-Jane when she observes Miss Templeman’s two lovers. She says that the reason for their attractions “on Farfrae’s side it was the unforced passion of youth. On Henchard’s the artificially stimulated coveting of maturer age” (129). While this scene is perhaps not as saucy as our definition of lust may expect, it still bares the same idea of coveting something that is someone else's.

In the case of Henchard, pride and wrath tend to go hand in hand. One example of pride is his constant treatment of the lower class despite his past as a humble hay-trusser. This can be seen in how he shouts at Elizabeth-Jane every time she uses commoner slang (see last post for specifics). Out of Henchard's pride sprouts his wrath. Hardy seems to feel a need to include some sort of outburst from Henchard at least once every other chapter. My personal favorite occured when one of his employees showed up late to work, inspiring the words "'I don't want to hear it!' roared Henchard... 'If you're not here, stand clear. I'll mortify thy flesh for thee!" (70). Henchard's temper is something of a legend in Casterbridge; everyone knows to steer clear when he gets a certain gleam in his eye.

The last of our selected sins is sloth, or laziness. In this case, Henchard exhibits actually commendable qualities. Yet the Bible also stipulates that, in order to avoid sloth, one should use their talents to improve the lives of others. Everything that Henchard does seems to be for him and him alone. He uses his power as mayor to pressure Miss Templeman into marrying him (she refuses and picks Donald instead). He uses his wealth to get rid of his daughter and attempt to out-compete Donald.

So what does all this say about our "man of character?" Clearly, someone who embodies each of the Seven Great Sins in some way or another would not be a person we would label moral. The answer to this can, perhaps, still be found with Pope Gregory and the Bible. Each of these sins can be forgiven by the grace of God and the adoption of other traits. Gregory called these the seven virtues, each of which counteracted a sin. So while Henchard may, to us, seem like the embodiment of sin, not all is lost. His salvation is still possible, provided that he learn from his past instead of ignoring it and turn his life around. So, perhaps Hardy's man of character is not one who lives his life perfectly, but one who learns from his mistakes and turns sin into virtue.

Step 2: Drive Away all your Loved Ones

If Michael Henchard had a catch phrase, it would be “Woe is me,” and that is exactly how he would say it. In this section of the reading, his wife dies, he finds that Elizabeth-Jane is not his own daughter, and he is snubbed by his formal lover-- all in quick succession. 

The thing that makes Hardy so unique as an author is not just these unbridled depressive events, but also how he writes about them. Possibly the greatest (and in my very nerdy opinion, the coolest) use of Hardy's language is when he differentiates how the commoners and the elite speak. When Henchard delivers one of his self-pitying monologues, he speaks similarly to how a professor might speak today. Very little slang, proper sentence structures, not an antecedent out of place. When the commoners, who act somewhat like Statler and Waldorf of The Muppets (that is to say, complete pessimistic gossips), speak their version of English it is almost impossible to understand what they are saying.

      For example, shortly after Susan Henchard is laying on her death bed, the narrator brings us to a conversation at the local pub, the topic being the mayor's new corn-factor, Donald Farfrae. One woman, Mother Cuxom, says that Donald is "'a diment—he’s a chap o’ wax—he’s the best—he’s the horse for my money'" (72). This phrase embodies the slang of late 1800s England, and Hardy does not shy away from using such language. Every time one of his common characters speaks he represents their thoughts through slang and contractions-- in much the same way that they would actually speak.

On the other hand, Henchard, who is representative of the wealthy elite of Casterbridge, looks down upon this usage of slang-- much like how an English teacher tells you not to use contractions in your essays. It is simply not upper brow, not refined enough for proper speech. Soon after Henchard finds that Elizabeth-Jane is not his own daughter, he quickly begins to alienate her by attacking every portion of her personality. One great moment of conflict comes when Elizabeth-Jane uses a piece of her rural slang, saying “‘If you bide where you be a minute, Father, I’ll get it.’ ‘Bide where you be,’ he echoed sharply, ‘Good God, are you only fit to carry wash to a pig-trough, that ye use such words as those?’” (93). To Henchard, the slang and diction that Elizabeth-Jane was brought up on (and that he himself was raised with before his ascension to mayor), has become unacceptable within the walls of his home. It shows weakness, that perhaps the elite and commoners of society are not so different after all.

Bridging this gap between the common folk and the wealthy stands one woman. In this section we see her enter the scene of Casterbridge as an anonymous, affluent (and single to boot) woman of uncertain repute. Elizabeth-Jane quickly takes a liking to her, as she is an extremely likable strong female character, and really the only of that sort in her life. It turns out that this mysterious woman, who goes by the name Miss Lucetta Templeman, is actually Henchard’s old mistress.

      Templeman feels the pain of the common people. She watches the markets every Saturday and often takes strolls among what would be considered the lesser parts of town. Hardy furthers Templeman's state as a middle-of-the-road character by having her repeat proverbs, such as “‘Blood built it and wealth enjoys it’” (101). Such words as this, while phrased in a way that would please Henchard, also harken back to her common upbringing on the isle of Jersey. This cements Templeman as a woman caught in the middle of a class Venn-diagram, making her both unique and relatable to all. With hope, Templeman will soon teach Elizabeth-Jane that it is her upbringing that makes her special and that, as Henchard's gradual downfall shows us, the upper class might not be worth all of the pain that it requires.

Step 1: Sell your Wife and Daughter

When picking up a book subtitled “The Life and Death of a Man of Character,” you could probably give a pretty good guess as to what you might find inside. First off, it would not be a surprise if the book was presented as a kind of moral guide— here is a famous and profitable man who lived in a certain way, so perhaps you should consider living like this too. Second, the story must in some way end in success. Finally, our protagonist must live up to his description of being “of character.” The Mayor of Casterbridge, however, is written by Thomas Hardy, which basically means that all bets are off. 

The story starts off with a rather common occurrence: the selling of a man’s wife and child. I mean, who hasn’t accidentally sold one’s wife and daughter for five and a quarter pounds amid a drunken haze? The vendor in this situation turns out to be our very own “man of character,” Michael Henchard. He has decided that his wife Susan and daughter Elizabeth-Jane are responsible, like many others, for "the frustration of many a promising youth's high aims and hopes and the extinction of his energies by an early imprudent marriage" (5). Upon saying this, Michael has forever doomed himself to live in the shadow of these words. The story quickly advances following the auction, we soon find ourselves amid the bustle of the rural village of Casterbridge, some time in the future.

Once more of the goings on of Casterbridge are revealed, we soon see that Henchard, who has somehow grown from a lowly hay-trusser into the town's mayor, has tried his best to put the sale of his wife behind him. He is involved in the corn business and is actually quite a merchant. Henchard manages to buy several tons of a crop of corn that refuses to be ground into wheat, causing widespread anger among the people he is at the moment representing. Henchard is also revealed to have sworn off drinking after the auction, mainly blaming the alcohol for his past mistake.

Finally, and most important to the characterization of Henchard, is his response to learning that his sold wife and child, after nineteen years, have found themselves in Casterbridge. Henchard, rather than owning up to his past mistakes, decides that money and secrecy will solve everything. He decides to pretend like he has never met his wife before, and to court and wed her as if they had just fallen in love. All of this is done while Henchard feels little for Susan, mainly because he has already given his heart to another woman in a neighboring county. Of course, Henchard refuses to "'let her know the truth'" (57), and instead sends his sweetheart a nice bundle of money to keep her quiet.

Henchard as our “man of character” is only classified by his mistakes. These are what govern his life, as for Henchard, the past seems to have the nasty habit of popping up again and again. He puts it perfectly when he states outright that "the Mayor of Casterbridge is not so thriving in his mind as it seems he might be from the state of his pocket" (58).

Susan and Elizabeth-Jane, the once and future family of Michael Henchard, can both easily be described as “wet noodles.” Both women seem to be unable to function on their own. Susan feels tied to the man who bought her, saying that he "had acquired a morally real and justifiable right to her by his purchase" (17), and happily lives under this illusion for over a decade. When he dies, Susan decides that she is actually not happy in a home that she was given no choice in joining (shocker) and goes to seek out Henchard.

Elizabeth-Jane on the other hand seems unable to see what is right in front of her face. Her mother describes her upbringing by saying "It had seemed, indeed, folly ot think of making Elizabeth-Jane wise" (17). Elizabeth-Jane does certainly live up to this description-- she is by no means wise and fails to see that the relationship between her mother and Henchard is a bit more than long lost cousins.

The only likable character found thus far in the book is Donald Farfrae, a man so charming to me that it almost makes up for everyone else we meet in the book. Donald is a Scotchman who comes to Casterbridge as a last stop before he starts his journey across the pond. In no time at all, he solves Henchard’s corn problem, causing him to extend a hand of friendship and a job as the manager of all things corn. Donald agrees, and quickly integrates himself into Henchard’s life.

It takes little time to see that Donald and Henchard are sheer opposites— foils even. Where Henchard is depressed, mathematically challenged, and emotionally reliant, Donald is happy, a scientist by nature, and logical. When no clear path appears to Henchard, the solution is obvious to Donald. It is of little doubt (I say with delight) that Donald will continue to stay a large portion of the story as he supports Henchard through his emotionally unsure times. Perhaps there is hope after all for happiness to beat Hardy’s signature depression.