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.