Works of Thomas Hardy discussion

The Lodging-House Fuchsias

Mrs Master's fuchsias hung
Higher and broader, and brightly swung,
Bell-like, more and more
Over the narrow garden-path,
Giving the passer a sprinkle-bath
In the morning.

She put up with their pushful ways,
And made us tenderly lift their sprays,
Going to her door:
But when her funeral had to pass
They cut back all the flowery mass
In the morning.

First published in August 1928 in the "Daily Telegraph," and collected in "Winter Words" in October 1928.

Related Quote From Chapter 18 of "The Mayor of Casterbridge"

The poem has a similar theme to a quote from the end of the chapter. After the death of Susan Henchard, Mother Cuxsom said, “And all her shining keys will be took from her, and her cupboards opened; and little things a’ didn’t wish seen, anybody will see; and her wishes and ways will all be as nothing!”

Mrs Masters and the Lodging House in the Poem

In 1875, Hardy and his bride found lodgings at the house of the invalided Captain Masters and Mrs Masters at Swanage. They lived in the home for about nine months.

There is a mention of Hardy living in Swanage in the last paragraph of this article. Swanage is a coastal town in the south-east of Dorset. There are also some lovely photos in the article:

https://westcountryvoices.co.uk/the-t...

The poem tells us that Mrs Masters died. We have to keep in mind that wakes and viewings were usually held in the parlor in the deceased's home in Victorian times. The coffin was carried to the church or graveyard by a horse drawn cart (for the poor), or a glass-sided hearse (for the affluent).

For information about Victorian mourning and funerary practices:

https://victorianmonsters.wordpress.c...

Fuchsias

https://www.gardenia.net/guide/fuchsi...

Yes! These fuschias in today's poem show very well what Mrs Cuxsom said at the end of chapter 18. That is why I quoted it twice, at the risk of sounding gaga 😁. This all looks like calendar wisdom, those things that everyone says when someone passed away, but it is unfortunately raw reality... And the quote has more depth than it first seemed, in contrast with Mrs Cuxsom's commonplaces.

My grandfather had fuschias, but I suspect soil and climate in Brittany were better for them. I never succeeded to grow some. They are so beautifully described by Thomas Hardy's magic pen.

Cutting away or uprooting whole bushes of flowers after someone's death seems to me very hard. It sounds like destroying one's soul, "ways and wishes". Yet, after a while, when a house is sold or the heirs redesign a garden, it is also part of the process of moving on.

Claudia wrote: "Yes! These fuschias in today's poem show very well what Mrs Cuxsom said at the end of chapter 18. That is why I quoted it twice, at the risk of sounding gaga 😁. This all looks like calendar wisdom,..."

Claudia, I noticed that you used the quote yesterday, but it was too early to comment on it :-)

I love the vibrant colors of fuschias, and have often bought baskets of them for my house. I had a wonderful mental picture of Mrs Masters' fuschias, and felt terrible that they were cut away.

Then I reread the poem several times, and realized we have to think with a Victorian frame of mind. The pall bearers needed a clear path to carry the coffin from the parlor to the road. It sent chills through me since Hardy was probably there to view the proceedings as a lodger or a mourner.

"But when her funeral had to pass
They cut back all the flowery mass
In the morning."

Connie wrote: "Claudia wrote: "Yes! These fuschias in today's poem show very well what Mrs Cuxsom said at the end of chapter 18. That is why I quoted it twice, at the risk of sounding gaga 😁. This all looks like ..."

Definitely, Connie! It was to early to develop that quote too much now that I have just read this poem!

Indeed Victorian traditions and even the mourning traditions until the early seventies in Brittany (most probably in other areas in Europe too, I am thinking of Corsica, Sardegna or Sicilia) - more in the countryside than in cities made this very different from today's habits.

People often died at home and were visited at home by a priest who administered the last rites, then by relatives and neighbours and even distant acquaintances and, subsequently, the undertakers came and carried the coffin from the house into a van.

Lovely poem. It has sort of a sing-song quality to it. Almost like a limmerick. Thank you, Connie, for bringing it to us.

I loved the fuchsia picture. I too have fuchsias growing at my house. They love the shady side of our yard, and I love looking at them.

I wondered if the second time we read "in the morning" we are supposed to think of "mourning" instead. I know I did, though I think if Hardy had intended that connection, he would have spelled the second "morning" with a "u".

The Mrs. Cuxsom quote and this poem remind me of how Hardy's second wife (Florence) cut down all the trees he planted at Max Gate after he died. It's a reminder that we don't have any control over what happens after we are gone.

Such an interesting poem--the sing-song quality Bridget mentions had me a little ill-prepared for her death!

I have a real soft spot for living things tended by those I've loved after they die. It's hard to cut down a favorite tree, and I was heart-broken when my mother's Christmas Cactus died not long after she did, after decades of holiday blooming. I think Hardy felt that sadness too, close as he was to nature, although he understood and was sure to state the need within the poem.

Loved the Swanage article, Connie--thank you! And the picture of the fuchsias. (Another favorite of my mother's and when I was little I loved to pop them!)

Connie The picture of the Fuchsias was beautiful!! I didn't know about the practice of cutting down flowers or bushes, but when you explain the need to have a path for carrying the coffin from the home to the road, it made sense.

Claudia wrote Cutting away or uprooting whole bushes of flowers after someone's death seems to me very hard. It sounds like destroying one's soul, "ways and wishes". Yet, after a while, when a house is sold or the heirs redesign a garden, it is also part of the process of moving on.

I loved that thought!!

Bridget wrote: "Lovely poem. It has sort of a sing-song quality to it. Almost like a limmerick. Thank you, Connie, for bringing it to us.

I loved the fuchsia picture. I too have fuchsias growing at my house. They..."

Bridget, that's an interesting thought that "morning" and "mourning" sound almost alike. It sounds like a connection that Hardy planned. Hardy used repetition of the phrase "In the morning" and the word "more," so "morning" is a word that he wants us to notice.

Kathleen wrote: "Such an interesting poem--the sing-song quality Bridget mentions had me a little ill-prepared for her death!

I have a real soft spot for living things tended by those I've loved after they die. I..."

Plants are such a wonderful way to remember people that we loved. I also had some Christmas cactus plants that I received as a housewarming present years ago from my grandfather and my husband's aunt. I kept them alive for over 40 years, and I still think about them every Christmas. Thanks for sharing your memories, Kathleen.

Chris wrote: " Connie The picture of the Fuchsias was beautiful!! I didn't know about the practice of cutting down flowers or bushes, but when you explain the need to have a path for carrying the coffin from the..."

Chris, I was hoping that Mrs Masters' fuchsias grew back along the "narrow garden path" during the next summer.

Hardy paints such a vivid picture of the abundant fuchsias in the poem, then shocks us with both her death and the cutting of the beautiful plants in the last three lines. It certainly is the work of a very skilled poet!

The title of this poem and the construction left me thinking how we react more to the necessity of cutting away the fuchsias, when, of course, the truly missing element will be Mrs. Masters. The flowers will most probably regenerate, but Mrs. Masters will not be coming back again.

Sara wrote: "The title of this poem and the construction left me thinking how we react more to the necessity of cutting away the fuchsias, when, of course, the truly missing element will be Mrs. Masters. The fl..."

That's such an important thought, Sara. It can also apply to Chapter 18 in the novel. The rustics are talking about a few pennies while Elizabeth-Jane is devastated by the loss of her mother.

To all the commentators

I’ve just found the time to read this poem and your comments. How delightful and reflective your comments were.
Thank you all.

Peter wrote: "To all the commentators

I’ve just found the time to read this poem and your comments. How delightful and reflective your comments were.
Thank you all."

I'm glad you were able to read this group of poems with us, Peter.

I agree with Peter about this poem and the comments. I haven't thought of fushias in such a long time. Like carnations, we rarely see them any more but as a child (I grew up much closer to the ocean than I do now and I miss the cool breezes and more moderate temperature of those days) my Dad grew some fuchias as well as a lot of roses, along with a handful of carnations that were my contributions to weekend gardening.

Its so true that there is little that stays the same following a death and Hardy's poem reflects it beautifully with the cutting back of the fuchias. It reminds me of how this American envisions English cottages with lush flowering greenery framing doorways and windows. Here we tend to grow thick hedges, which somehow aren't the same.

Pamela wrote: "I agree with Peter about this poem and the comments. I haven't thought of fushias in such a long time. Like carnations, we rarely see them any more but as a child (I grew up much closer to the ocea..."

Thanks for sharing your memories, Pamela. Your comment reminded me of the beautiful beach roses (Rugosa roses) that grew near the coastal areas where I spent many vacations.

It's true that things change after a death. Some things will be missed, but a new direction can be good in some cases. I do hope the fuchias grow back for at least a few years to remind people of Mrs Masters and her gardening skills.