“We are Wanderers”: An Exploration of the 1872 Edition of London: A Pilgrimage

Anne Elizabeth Rowlenson Avon, Connecticut

Bachelor of Arts, University of Virginia, 2014

A thesis presented to the Graduate Faculty of the University of Virginia in Candidacy for the Degree of Master of Arts

Department of English

University of Virginia May 2015

Abstract

London: a Pilgrimage by Blanchard Jerrold and Gustave Dore is a book about looking. By positioning the reader alongside the narrator as a kind of observer, flâneur, and “wanderer”, the book creates an environment in which reader derives pleasure from the act of gazing. Lavishly illustrated and advertised as a sumptuous gift for the holiday season, even the physical form of the 1872 edition demands a kind of pleasurable looking. This thesis will explore how the book both as a text and as a physical artifact enables a scopophilic view of the city of London and its inhabitants, ultimately moving towards a more modernist conception of urbanity.

Table of Contents

Introduction…………………………………………………………………….………….4

I. Liminality, Gaze, and Representation……………………….…………………….6

II. Genesis and Bibliographical Description………………………………...... …….26

Conclusion…………………………………………………………………………...…..45

Works Cited & Consulted………………………………………………………………..47

Appendix of Images……………………………………………………………………...51

4

Introduction

Part objet d’art, part act of social journalism, London: a Pilgrimage paints a vivid portrait of Victorian London in all of its restlessness and complexity. Conceived in 1869, it is the result of a rather unlikely pairing of men: Blanchard Jerrold, a young English playwright and journalist, and Gustave Doré, the famous French illustrator. Jerrold, who had been inspired by a previous work entitled The Microcosm of London, approached

Doré while the illustrator was visiting the newly opened Doré Gallery in New Bond

Street in 1869 (Ackroyd xvii). The idea was ambitious: to create a fully illustrated book depicting the city of London. Seeking to situate their work within the field of social exploration, Jerrold and Doré referenced Henry Mayhew’s reformist journalistic series,

London Labour and the London Poor. Jerrold claimed the book would reinterpret

Mayhew’s categories of ‘those who work, those who cannot, [and] those who won’t work’ (Ghosh 91). The goal of the work was not simply to create a catalog of London’s various sights and social strata, but instead to allow the reader to encounter the

“representative” scenes one might find in the city in order to complete the seemingly impossible task of conceptualizing the larger whole1. Doré’s images would serve not only to accompany, but also challenge and converse with, Jerrold’s text. The reader accompanies the narrator as he wanders the urban landscape: “We are pilgrims, wanderers, gipsy-loiterers in the great world of London—not historians” (Jerrold 1).

London: A Pilgrimage does the important cultural work of depicting the city of

London as it appeared to the Victorians. Yet, it has not achieved nearly the amount of recognition as might be expected. In its time, the work was popular mainly due to Doré’s

1 As Jerrold states in the preface, “it is impossible to put a world in a nut-shell” (Jerrold xxx). 5 fame, but has since tended to fall in the shadow of some of his more popular illustrated works such as Paradise Lost and The Rime of the Ancient Mariner. It has recently begun garnering more attention after being reprinted by Anthem Press with an introduction by

Peter Ackroyd, completed with many of the original wood engravings. Increasingly, critics are beginning to view London2 not only as one of Gustave Doré’s many projects but also as an important work in its own right. Jerrold’s text, while largely panned by his contemporaries, is invaluable for its depiction of Victorian London.

Not only does London depict real scenes of the city, but it also manages to capture the mythic and allegorical overtones of the city in the same portrait. In short, the book represents London through a textual and pictorial chorography, mapping the city through image and narration rather than traditional cartography. For Jerrold and Doré, the cultural work of London is to depict a dynamic social and mythic space rather than simply a collection of streets and buildings. The work accomplishes this by inviting the reader to look; it is, at its core, a book about looking. By positioning the reader alongside the narrator as a kind of tourist, flâneur, and “wanderer”, the book creates an environment in which reader becomes a voyeur who derives pleasure form the act of gazing. Lavishly illustrated and advertised as a sumptuous gift for the holiday season, even the physical form of the 1872 edition demands a kind of pleasurable looking. London gives us two different media3 through which to view the city in this physical form; both text and image afford us an opportunity to gaze at London and its inhabitants. This thesis will explore how the book both as a text and as a physical artifact encourages a scopophilic view of

2 I will refer to Jerrold and Doré’s work as London throughout this thesis for the sake of brevity. 3 According to Tanselle, “…inserted plates, if their content is visual rather than verbal, represent not merely a different medium of reproduction from the text but a different medium of expression as well” (Tanselle 2).

6 the city, ultimately moving towards a more modernist conception of city life. Part I will explore the content of London, and how it represents the city as straddling the ideal and the real through text and image. Part II will provide specific bibliographical information about the 1872 folio edition of the work in order to establish Jerrold’s original vision for

London. For London: A Pilgrimage, the scopophilic mode is a means of unlocking the essence of the chorographic subject, empowering both observer and observed through an exchange of mutual looking.

I: Liminality, Gaze, and Representation

London is a book about looking. The reader gazes at the characters on the page, and the characters gaze back. In order to navigate the labyrinthine world of London the reader must learn to navigate the various modes of gaze and representation present throughout the illustrated text. Exaggeration, for example, becomes one of Doré’s modes of perceiving and conceptualizing Londoners. The “Bull Dogs” illustration (see fig. 1) is one of several small images peppered throughout the text that show individual Londoners who, though nameless, present their individual identities through caricature or exaggeration. Some of Doré’s larger engravings utilize a similar aesthetic; at times, the use of exaggeration verges on the grotesque, or magical realism. It is the reader’s task to separate the ideal from the real, the imaginary from the genuine. In a notable moment in the “Whitechapel and Thereabouts” chapter, Jerrold and Doré depict a scene in an opium 7 den inspired by the opening of Edwin Drood4. The image, paired with the text, presents

London at its most grotesque, illusory, and bizarre:

[We] were introduced to the room in which ‘Edwin Drood’ opens. Upon the wreck of a four-post bedstead (the posts of which almost met overhead, and from which depended bundles of shapeless rags), upon a mattress heaped with indescribable clothes, law, sprawling, a Lascar, dead-drunk with opium; and at the foot of the bed a woman, with a little brass lamp among the rags covering her, stirring the opium over the tiny flame. She only turned her head dreamily as we entered. She shivered under the gust of the night air we had brought in, and went on warming the black mixture. It was difficult to see any humanity in that face, as the enormous grey dry lips lapped about the rough wood pipe and drew in the poison (Jerrold 173-4).

The passage begins as many of the scenes in London begin: with a “we” statement, in which the author recounts entering a scene with his travelling partner Doré. From the outset, the description of the scene reflects the subject. Jerrold observes amorphous and changing entities: the posts of the bedstead “almost met overhead”, and the “shapeless rags” and “indescribable clothes” seem to transfigure into Lascar, who is himself a kind of shapeless, indescribable mass to the observer. Proportions become warped; the woman’s “little brass lamp” seems disproportionate to the “enormous grey dry lips” of the opium smoker. Jerrold’s prose demands a kind of identification with the hazy state of consciousness of the characters observed. In short, the reader views the scene through an opium-tinged lens.

As the reader’s perception is warped by the formlessness of the scene, so too is the reader implicated in the scene, blurring the line between the diegetic and extra- diegetic worlds. The key to making the reader an involved observer, rather than simply a reader of Jerrold’s prose, is the woman. Again, Jerrold uses the “we” pronoun to refer to himself and Doré, but here the “we” also seems to implicate the reader: the woman

4 The authors title the illustration “Opium Smoking—The Lascar’s Room in ‘Edwin Drood’” (see fig. 2).

8

“turned her head dreamily as we entered. She shivered under the gust of the night air we had brought in”. This small but essential moment is a place where the boundaries between observer and observed break down. We, the observers, are temporarily involved in the scene by being invited to recognize the woman’s momentary discomfort5.

The grotesque shapes this illustration, and draws the reader into the scene.

However, the more conservative critics, who interpreted his interest in blurring the ideal and the real as a moral insufficiency, often put Doré’s treatment of the content he illustrated into question. The aesthetic—grotesque, illusory, and ambivalent—was repulsive to many, and was not viewed as an appropriate way to represent the great city of London. One such critic commented that, “For Doré all the conventions of popular

Victorian art—fantasy, romance, satire, the medieval and Gothic, the literary and grotesque—are engrossed with the immediacy of evil, the inescapability of the physical, and the disengagement of morbid humour” (Herendeen 312). Indeed, what some critics seemed to love and abhor the most was the illustrator’s use of the grotesque to evoke a visceral response from his audience, the very quality that makes the “Opium” illustration so powerful and evocative6. In an image depicting the zoological gardens (see fig. 3), a group of ladies gawk at monkeys in the exhibit. Doré’s chosen perspective, however, makes the ladies seem like the ones behind the cage; the viewer sees what the monkeys

5 Critic Tanushree Ghosh notes London’s emphasis on what she calls “liberal guilt”, an urge to not only gratify reformist desire to eradicate social injustice but to also find pleasure in finding more injustice to be eradicated. Here, Ghosh would argue, the reader’s gaze on the opium den is pleasurable because of its reformist implications (Ghosh 92). 6 Physical immediacy and the yoking together of opposites to achieve the grotesque are essential to the illustrator’s technique: “In the illustrations for Don Quixote, Doré brings together the pathetic and comic, or fantastic. This in itself is conventional enough, but Dore repeatedly injects another, discordant element—here, one of coarse physicality accentuated by Dore’s careful use of light and texture, gives a shocking reality to the scene; the ‘safe’ distance between romantic picaresque and reality is violated” (Herendeen 310). 9 see, which is the people, rather than the animals, trapped behind a metal barrier. London

“at play” in the zoo suddenly becomes disturbing, bordering on the grotesque, in its representation. The immediacy of the cage is apparent; suddenly, the Londoners are the caged exhibit7. Isobel Armstrong refers to this phenomenon as “anthropomorphic anamorphosis”, a mutual distortion of two bodies that require the viewer to change his or her perspective, and occupy a kind of liminal, grotesque space8. In this case, the monkeys take on human qualities while the humans behind the cage take on animalistic qualities.

This phenomenon is exactly the kind of visceral, grotesque immediacy that Doré’s critics decried.

Philip Gilbert Hamerton admired the “artistic invention from which awe and horror flow” in Doré’s Wandering Jew, but warned against the moral dangers of the illustrator’s work: “Some of them are really imaginative examples of the true grotesque.

They are full of the sense of sublimity and horror, and the same time of that strong sense of absurdity which is the other half of the compound feeling. But I am very much mistaken if it would be safe to show that volume in any simple, commonplace English family” (Herendeen 316-318). The tension between safe rationality and dangerous imagination shows up again and again in criticisms of Doré’s work9. The problem is not simply that the images are too fanciful, but that “the realm of the imagination is not

7 According to Herendeen, “Doré frequently breaks the tranquility of his…world with details which are disturbing in their immediacy” (Herendeen 310). 8 For more on anthropomorphic anamorphosis, see Armstrong, Isobel. "Languages of Glass: The Dreaming Collection." Victorian Prism: Refractions of the Crystal Palace. Ed. James Buzard, Joseph W. Childers, and Eileen Gillooly. Charlottesville: U of Virginia, 2007. 15-78. Print. 9 This contradiction is an essential component to the illustrator’s technique: “What becomes clear from this critical ambivalence is that Dore’s public was not quite certain whether his work was inherently wicked or morally salubrious. Some regarded his paintings, drawings, and illustrations as elevated, refined, pious, and yet powerful, while others found them dangerous, lewd, corruptive—and powerfully so” (Herendeen 316). 10 purified or safe; it is itself vulnerable to incursions from the real, just as the real world is subject to the bizarre impossibilities that seem to belong to the dream world” (Herendeen

312). Indeterminacy is what makes the aesthetic so morally threatening to these critics.

Doré’s occupation of the liminal—as evidenced in the “Opium” illustration—is the most frightening aspect of his work. It threatens to deconstruct and blur perceptions, and embrace ambivalence; the reader is forced into an uncertain mode of perception of the city, an uncomfortable, albeit accurate, condition to be in. Often, the aesthetic presented

London’s essence at the expense of historical and architectural accuracy, which some decried10.

As one of his biographers notes, at this time the art world was divided into “two camps”: “that of Whistler, and the social world of London”, of which Doré was a member, and that of “Ruskin and the older Pre-Raphaelites” (Herendeen 309). The

Victorian art scene was critically divided, with John Ruskin as the head of the opposition.

In the late 1860’s, Ruskin was beginning to be outmoded; impressionists were replacing

Turner and the Pre-Raphaelites, and the art critic began to feel left behind (Herendeen

322). Ruskin’s disappointment was most intense in the years 1867-1868, just as Doré’s presence was the most salient in Victorian London. Ruskin recoiled at Doré’s use of the grotesque in his aesthetic, and saw him to be a hideous exaggeration of Victorian moral doubleness and ambiguity: in effect, everything Ruskin’s aesthetic strived to suppress. In one review, he attacked Doré’s work as debasing for the country: “Lower forms of

10 Critics complained that Doré made minute architectural oversights in his London (Herendeen 312). Jerrold, on the other hand, was extremely accurate in matters of detail: “Where Doré is inaccurate, giving, for example, Norman arches to London Bridge, Jerrold is exact, naming streets, buildings, and occupations. Unlike earlier nineteenth-century observers of the city such as Leigh Hunt, Charles Knight, Henry Mayhew or James Greenwood, Jerrold shapes his text into a unified narrative controlled by certain images and themes” (Nadel 51). 11 modern literature and art—Gustave Doré’s paintings, for instance—are the corruption, in national decrepitude, of this pessimist method of thought: and of these, the final condemnation is true—they are neither fit for the land, nor yet for the dunghill”

(Herendeen 323). He held similar feelings towards Doré’s treatment of Coleridge’s poem

The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, saying that it was an “awful…sign of what is going on in the midst of us, that our great English poet should suffered his work to be thus contaminated” (Herendeen 323). Doré’s aesthetic became the evil double of Ruskin. In his attacks on Doré, we see the dichotomous nature of Victorian taste. The grotesque was both repulsive and alluring11, and Doré’s aesthetic cut directly across potent and contentious taboos, as evidenced in the “Opium” illustration. London will similarly strike a nerve in its depiction of Victorian London’s social life, but not simply for the sake of moral decrepitude, as Ruskin argues. Doré’s aesthetic and mode of illustrating the city both attracts and repulses the viewer, and it is this push-and-pull effect of the aesthetic that gives London its intriguing quality (Rowlenson 6).

Jerrold emphasizes what he refers to as “the picturesque” in describing his project. The repeated use of the term in London is not, however, meant to evoke the 18th century meaning of the term “as attractively arranged scenes of ruin or desolation leading to sublimity”, but rather “partially realized moments of aesthetic pleasure culled from the daily activities of the city” (Nadel 53). Often, the picturesque in this work refers to vibrant views of the city as a whole, or the river Thames as a kind of art-object12.

11 The world both applauded and decried Doré with vehemence; while popular opinion was positive, critical opinion was viciously split (Herendeen 107). 12 “We agreed that London had nothing more picturesque to show than the phases of her river and her immense docks. And hereabouts we tarried week after week, never wearying of the rich variety of form and color and incident” (Jerrold xxvi). The authors chose the Thames as the subject for the engraved title page, titling it “Father Thames” (see fig. 4). 12

However, these “moments of aesthetic pleasure” do not exclude the everyday filth of street life or images of the grotesque. Rather, Jerrold’s text and Doré’s illustrations embrace everyday scenes and find pleasure in looking at everyday ugliness and imperfection. In the preface, Jerrold wryly notes: “London an ugly place, indeed! We soon discovered that it abounded in delightful nooks and corners, in picturesque scenes and groups, in light and shade of the most attractive character. The work-a-day life of the metropolis, that to the careless or inartistic eye is hard, angular, and ugly in its exterior aspects, offered us pictures at every street corner” (Jerrold xxviii). Jerrold emphasizes the theme of “work-a-day”13 London by celebrating small, observable moments of labor, which he considers to be among London’s characteristic attributes. However, Jerrold recognizes the limitations of such an aesthetic: “It is impossible to put a world in a nut- shell. To the best of our judgment we have selected the most striking types, the most completely representative scenes, and the most picturesque features of the greatest city on the face of the globe-given to us to be reduced within the limits of a volume” (Jerrold xxx). The key words here are “picturesque” and “representative”. In chapter one, Jerrold picks the following image to represent a view of the Thames behind Cherry Garden Pier:

Behind this jetty of pretty name, suggestive of pranks in laughing gardens, lies, in the lanes and streets of Deptford and thereabout, the worst part of the Great City’s story. This shore, from Woolwich almost to London bridge, is idle…There is rust upon everything. There are cobwebs in the wheels, and dust on all— except the little emigration offices…This is the dead shore. No breaking of bottles upon new bows: no flags, no sweet voices to name the noble ship! (Jerrold 11).

13 A decade earlier in 1860, Jerrold had penned a series of editorials on “The Work-A-Day World of France” for Dublin University Magazine. London’s project of looking at the street life of a city to capture its essence seems to originate in this earlier endeavor: “These rag-pickers attract me because they, the lowest class of workmen, exhibit many of the qualities which are peculiar to the most cultivated French artisans” (Jerrold 629). He looked to scenes of everyday life to capture the essence of the region, like in London. 13

Jerrold juxtaposes the suggestion of “laughing gardens” with the idleness and disrepair of this particular stretch of shore, stating definitively that it is “the worst part of the Great

City’s story”. “Representative” and “picturesque” do not promise prettiness; rather,

Jerrold aims for a survey of London’s most representative forms by observing London from the position of the other, in a kind of encyclopedia of the city14. As one critic notes,

“Interest in experiencing otherness can be seen as early as 1821, when, in his Life in

London, Pierce Egan contended that London is a ‘complete cyclopaedia…every square in the metropolis is a sort of map well worthy of exploring’. Over time this taste for observation and spectacle extended beyond the Exhibition spaces so that towards the end of the nineteenth century the city of London had itself been thoroughly re-conceptualized in terms borrowed from the imperial tropes popularized in the first instance by the Great

Exhibition and analyzed in great detail by international visitors” (Message 31). Jerrold’s collection of what he considers the “representative” and “picturesque” scenes of London mirrors this ethos of observation and spectacle in the everyday15.

While Jerrold finds definitive, realistic ugliness in everyday filth, Doré uses the grotesque to blur the boundaries between the ideal and the real. The danger of the grotesque, as evidenced by criticisms of Doré’s work, is the liminal space that it

14 As one scholar notes, “It was to have been a real encyclopedia, including not only commercial statistics but also details of life in the city…But from the first it was intended to differ from the ordinary run of books on a famous capital by concentrating on daily life rather than on monuments or cultural activities…there is no mention of the National Gallery or any other museum. And even in outline the emphasis was strongly polarized between the very rich and, especially, the very poor” (Haskell 601-2). 15 Message locates a site of possible criticism for The Great Exhibition in its tendency to oversimplify the empire into a collection of consumable images: “One consequence associated with the changing spectacles—and publicity forms—of empire (and the correlative stereotypes of otherness) was the presentation of the world as reducible, consumable, and as fundamentally illustrative” (Message 46). Jerrold’s project, for the most part, tends to avoid this problem by hedging its bets and emphasizing the multitude of scenes the work cannot illustrate.

14 occupies. Indeterminacy makes the aesthetic so repellant and intriguing to the Victorian reader by blurring the line between the ideal and the real. However, one of Doré’s contemporaries reviewed his illustration for the Rime of the Ancient Mariner well by praising the clarity of his aesthetic: “To say that he has succeeded in the work…implies that he has helped many others, who have regarded the poem as a hopeless mystery, to follow the poet from stage to stage of his fantastic composition” (Scott 2). For this critic, the illustrator’s job is to translate the complexity of the text into a lucid image, to make clear what is obscure. Poetry is a mystery to be unraveled by the image. However, I would argue that Doré works to do the opposite. He aims to obscure, and make the reader doubt and question the text rather than unravel it like a puzzle that needs to be solved. On the contrary: Doré’s view is that the illustrator should complicate, not elucidate, the text.

As one scholar interprets while analyzing an image from the Rime, “The cage-like ensemble of lines, ropes and cords in which the mariner is frequently entangled becomes a striking visual metaphor for his prison of guilt, and at times the various levels of the ship serve as the rack on which he suffers his ongoing torment” (Scott 6). Suddenly, the reader awakens to a host of new associations for the text: the albatross becomes medusa, and coils of rope become the serpent from Paradise Lost. Doré takes suggestion in the poetry and multiplies it. The result is text that proliferates interpretations. Doré aims to not only represent the text through images, but to put the text in conversation with the visual component. If the 1876 The Rime of the Ancient Mariner was published at the height of Doré’s interest in magical realism, then London. A Pilgrimage is a precursor.

Indeed, Doré bends the limits of reality within his collection of illustrations so that

London occupies a kind of liminal space: it flirts with the fantastic and the obscene, and 15 uses the grotesque to make the banal come alive. One example of this technique is one of the tailpieces in London, “Resting on the Bridge” (see fig. 5). The image depicts a group of poor women and their children sleeping on a bridge. Jerrold describes Doré’s interest in these subjects:

One Sunday night…Doré suddenly suggested a tramp to London Bridge. He had been deeply impressed with the groups of poor women and children we had seen upon the stone seats of the bridge one bright morning on our way to Shadwell. By night, it appeared to his imagination, the scene would have a mournful grandeur. We went. The wayfarers grouped and massed under the moon’s light, with the ebon midnight stillness, there was a most impressive solemnity upon the whole, which penetrated the nature of the artist. ‘And they say London is an ugly place!’ was the exclamation. ‘We shall see,’ I answered (Jerrold 7).

Like many of the “representative” scenes chosen by these partners, this image was borne out of a spontaneous “tramp”, or trip, around the city. The “impressive solemnity” and

“mournful grandeur” of the group of what Jerrold refers to as “wayfarers”16 served to

“penetrate the nature of the artist”. Here, Jerrold and Doré blur the line between the ideal and the real by depicting what would normally be considered an everyday subject, the homeless, as “mournfully grand”, a kind of metonym for the city as a whole. In the image itself Doré suggests allegorical overtones through his composition. The manner in which he drapes the fabric around the left woman’s head also suggests a kind of Madonna-esque image. Doré harnesses power in his images by yoking together what might be two seemingly dissimilar things17 to the Victorian: the Virgin Mary and contemporary

London’s street life. His images both reflect allegory and reality.

16 Jerrold’s choice of words is intentional. He views the streets as a constantly changing environment that welcomes surprise. In his view, people on the streets “want to keep moving…London itinerants, who thrive on a permanent elusiveness, an inability to be pinned down. Seen in these terms, the street-people are an embodiment of the city” (Maxwell 98). 17 As one critic notes, “By participating in the life of discontinuity which the streets embody, one lives at the heart of London” (Maxwell 104).

16

Doré’s treatment of larger crowds and groups of people in London is also implicated in this paradoxical condition. Perhaps one of Doré’s most famous illustrations from London, “Newgate-Exercise Yard” (see fig. 6) is the epitome of a representation that straddles the ideal and the real. The London prison, as represented by Jerrold and

Doré, occupies a liminal space akin to purgatory. During the composition process for

London, Jerrold and Doré had visited Newgate in person to give the author and illustrator a sense of the space, and its relation to the larger whole of London. Jerrold describes their visit to Newgate in his later biography of Gustave Doré:

When we went together to Newgate, [Doré] remained in a corner of the prison- yard, observing the prisoners taking their exercise—a moving circle of wretchedness. He declined to make a sketch. As I have observed already, he was shy with his notebook, and would ask me to stand before him when he ventured to cast a note or two into it. His habit was to pause awhile and take in the scene, and, in the evening at his hotel, to fill a sketch-book with notes of the day’s observations. As a rule they were remarkably true and vivid. In Newgate, he asked the turnkey, who accompanied us, to leave him for a few minutes at an opening that commanded a view of the yard. When we had returned to him, he had not used his pencil, but his eye had taken in every detail of the scene. ‘I will tell you,’ he said, ‘what most of these men are.’ He pointed to a common thief, a forger, a highway robber, and embezzler; and the gaoler was astonished. He guesses were, mostly, quite correct (Jerrold 195-6).

This passage suggests to us important information about how the partners’ artistic process informs the larger work of London. First, the scene is vivid and realistic; Jerrold notes that Doré’s final sketches were “remarkably true and vivid”. Yet, the illustrator did not capture the scene from life, instead choosing to observe in the moment and sketch “later in the evening” in privacy. In fact, it seems as though not recording the scene while they were there is integral to capturing the spirit of the scene; after Doré asks Jerrold and the turnkey to leave him alone to observe for a few minutes, they return to see that he had

“taken in every detail of the scene” and was able to identify the characters and crimes of most of the prisoners. Doré here represents the illustrator as individual; his specific vision 17 is represented, rather an accurate account of the view. In short, Doré would rather capture the metaphorical “moving circle of wretchedness” Jerrold describes than any literal, realistic representation of the scene.

The notion of London as a metaphorical prison pervades the text, but it is only when the book depicts Newgate that the implications of the liminal, purgatory-like metaphor truly reveal themselves. In chapter seventeen of London (“Under Lock and

Key”) Jerrold describes the Newgate prison scene that the two partners observed: “A turn around Newgate will surprise many a smug, respectable Londoner, who imagines that the people who beg or steal in order to avoid work, are all natives of Whitechapel or Drury

Lane. In the yard where we saw the Convicted describing serpentine lines…The main body of the prisoners were in the garb of gentlemen…and we have traced their serpent trail through every scene we have come upon in the course of our wanderings” (Jerrold

159-160). Jerrold challenges the assumption that the inhabitants of the prison are all lower class criminals. Morality, in this city, is not quite so black and white. It is interesting, too, that Jerrold describes the scene in terms of a body; there are no individuals here, but they rather all comprise “the main body of the prisoners” that is clothed “in the garb of gentlemen”. The author focuses on the essence of the scene rather than the details. Further, the Londoners described here are not confined to this one part of the text; the reader has “traced their serpent trail through every scene” in the book so far.

Here, Jerrold makes character fluid and figures nameless. They do not have stories of their own, but rather comprise the identity and ever-changing personality of London at large. Doré’s depiction of this passage adds another dimension to this crowd (see fig. 6).

The prisoners exercise in a tight circle around the yard, with their supervisors looking on. 18

There is no roof, and no end to the circle. Rather, the prisoners seem suspended in time, forever circling each other on the page: Jerrold’s “moving circle of wretchedness”. It is a scene of suspended animation, in which there is no relief from monotony of movement.

In Victorian London, the idea of imprisonment is not necessarily literal, limited incarceration. Instead, “Prison…was not served as a definite sentence or interval but was a state of suspended existence, something between life and death” (Arscott 132).

Londoners are often trapped in the purgatory—a grotesque, liminal space—of the city.

And yet, London does provide relief from purgatory and liminality. There are scenes of oasis and fresh air, even amidst the gritty soot of city: “The greenery of the

Temple; the handsome proportions of the Library; the noble lines of Somerset House, are a relief to the eye” (Jerrold 40). Just as Doré employs chiaroscuro in his wood engravings, Jerrold employs contrast between grit and green to flesh out London’s aesthetic dimensions. Londoners, in Jerrold’s text, hoard green space: “[the muddy bank] will be presently a stately water way, confined in granite walls and flanked by groves and gardens. At least, let us hope so; for there is economy in greenery, in a city like London”

(Jerrold 38). City and green space are an inseparable combination of spaces; they mix and flow into one another, align and contrast, so that imprisonment and liberation becomes the defining binary in the city. The greenery in the 1851 Great Exhibition’s Crystal

Palace bears witness to this dichotomy of the industrial filth versus the green spaces of

London. The industrial wonder of the Crystal Palace18 enclosed a full-sized elm tree, which grew in the middle of the exhibition hall: “the cherished organic sign of rurality

[was] undefeated by the triumph of industry in a green country” (Chase 123). The large

18 Interestingly, it was Blanchard Jerrold’s own father, journalist Douglas Jerrold, who had coined the phrase ‘Crystal Palace’ for Joseph Paxton’s Hyde Park building (Nadel 51). 19 tree was a symbol of preindustrial naturalness in the face of industry, just as green spaces stubbornly occupy parts of London. The tree also personified the “At the same time it merged its connotations with that other stubborn figure: the people of England” (Chase

123). In London, green scenery melds into the crowds, and crowds meld into the scenery.

In “The Bank—Under the Trees” Londoners meld into the riverbank (see figure 7). The children climbing in the trees seem to morph into the branches themselves, and the crowd fades into the gloom of the forest. Like Doré’s other characters, these characters are nameless. The reader is merely a spectator seeing the characters act and move in the moment. The Londoner is not discrete from London; instead, there are only “The many forms and directions which human energy has taken on our scene, [that] fix and fascinate the attention” (Jerrold 10). Further, the image emphasizes the ever-changing, precariousness of life in London: “Figures are always balancing on edges, clinging to their environment, whether among the masts and rigging, in the trees and on the bridges watching the boat race, or on platforms which hang at the sides of ships as they are painted or jut from warehouse walls” (Woods 347). London is anything but stagnant. The crowds of people form an ever-changing, precariously perched mass in and around the built environment.

The common thread between these images—“Newgate—Exercise Yard” and

“The River Bank—Under the Trees”—is how the crowds seem to curiously meld into each other and the scene, a nameless mass of individual Londoners. In the diegetic world of London, “the crowd” or any group of individuals becomes a character in and of itself.

The idea is not unlike Henry Mayhew’s prose portrait “of the people as an endless miscellany” (Chase 123). Yet the characterization of Londoners as a “miscellany” is not 20 flattening, but rather a characterization of abundance. The Times used this language during its coverage of the opening day of the Great Exhibition of 1851: “[T]he arteries of the great city, surcharged with life, beat full and strong under the pressure of a great and hitherto unknown excitement. Never before was so vast a multitude collected together within the memory of man” (Chase 124). The Times, like many other publications, embraces the language of fullness to describe the “vast multitude”: the city is

“surcharged” with energy, “full”, “strong”, and abundant to the point of being under

“pressure”. As Karen Chase notes in her analysis of the language surrounding the Great

Exhibition, articles such as the one in the times represent the “unprecedented stage of totality, and from the beginning the discourse of ‘all’ and ‘every’ became the consensual language of exhibition. The whole world, the entire nation, every borough—this was the chanting speech of abundance” (Chase 124). The crowd, a roiling entity of its own, urges us to re-conceptualize how we physically see the social fabric of the city; no longer is it simply a group of individuals, but how the group behaves and looks as a whole19.

Jerrold latches on to the language of fullness in his own descriptions of the crowds. In his introduction to London, he paints the crowds as “the mighty tides of life”

(Jerrold 3). The crowds, for Jerrold, are a single, fluid entity, not unlike a rolling sea. In

“London on the Downs”, Jerrold attributes a “M. Taine”—presumably Hyppolyte Taine, the French critic and historian—with the following description of London’s crowds during a race:

But the most curious spectacle is the human tide which, instantaneously and in a body, pours forth and rolls over the course behind the runners, like a wave of ink; the black and motionless crowd has suddenly melted and become molten; in a

19 Alex Woloch similarly notes the language of fullness in descriptions of London’s crowds in the Victorian period by referencing Dickens’ use of the “plentifulness” of “people within London as a whole” (Woloch 211). 21

moment it spreads itself abroad in vast proportions till the eye cannot follow it, and appears in front of the stands (Jerrold 83).

It is no small wonder why Jerrold would have chosen this excerpt to include in his

London project. Not only does the passage describe how the Victorian would view the crowd, but also how the very textuality of the page reflects this perception. The “wave of ink” and “black and motionless crowd” not only evoke the literal crowds, but the crowds on the page; Jerrold is undoubtedly gesturing towards the crowds of words on the page, a

“wave of ink”. This language of fluidity illustrates Jerrold’s perception of the crowds as one fluid entity, as well as a “spectacle” to the eye. The crowds form a seascape in front of the observer’s eye, a spectacle that “spreads itself abroad in vast proportions till the eye cannot follow it”. A representative engraving of this phenomenon from London might be “The Derby—Tattenham Corner”, in which the crowds resemble a roiling ocean

(See fig. 8). As scholar Alex Woloch notes in his work on Dickens, the Victorians were beginning to imagine the “nature of London as a social and spatial field”, with particular emphasis on the “spatial”, as we see in this example (Woloch 210).

Woloch’s The One and the Many alludes to the tendency of social life to blend with chorography when he states “social deviance [and behavior] is spatially mapped in the Victorian imagination” (Woloch 163). In short, we envision the collective social body of London as a landscape, not so far removed from the actual landscape of London. As

Woloch notes of a Dickens excerpt describing London fog, the “mud, soot, and darkness

[of the passage] seem to cause ‘tens of thousands’ of people to ‘lose their-foot-hold.’ But what determines the loss of visibility is the sheer fact of urban multiplicity, the social structure that makes us ‘jostle one another’s umbrellas’ and stumble on the tracks of

‘other foot passengers’” (Woloch 150). This observation is essential to understanding 22

Jerrold and Doré’s vision of how the Victorian social body maps onto and blends into the physical landscape of the city of London. Like the Dickens excerpt Woloch references,

Jerrold and Doré actively create scenes in which bodies of people blend in with fog or the scene in some manner. One of the relatively minor engravings in London, “Under the

Arches”, is a good example of this phenomenon (see fig. 9). The homeless figures— hunched over and huddling under the archway of a bridge over the river Thames—evoke the same texture as rocks, and become a part of the landscape itself. The physical and social landscapes of London blend. Another image, “Ludgate Hill—A Block in the

Street” (see fig. 10), utilizes fog and architecture to incorporate London’s social body into the built environment. Again, the crowds seem to form a single fluid, mutable body flowing around the architecture surrounding them. Here, lamp posts, obelisks, advertisements on the sides of buildings, and a bridge for the architectural landscape, with St. Paul’s Cathedral figured as a large mountain towering over the scene.

Yet what happens when the individual Londoner breaks away from the crowd, and we are no longer gazing at an amorphous entity but sharing a gaze with an individual? Jerrold and Doré make a point of noting that, while individuals are a part of the landscape you gaze at, they also have the capability of staring back at you20. Minor, supporting characters become subjects and protagonists fairly easily in this work, depending on where the viewer’s eye is cast. “The Bull’s Eye” (see fig. 11), from

20 Jerrold’s portrayal of London is not unlike the Great Exhibition, in which the crowds themselves became the exhibit: “The crowds who came at gaze at the gleaming artifacts ended by gazing at themselves, and under the constant prod of a boosting press, they often spoke of their passage through the Crystal Palace as a time of collective transformation” (Chase 135). Another critic concurs with this view: “Visitors were encouraged to observe each other as if the people were part of the spectacle for consumption, and this is reflected in the many accounts of this and later exhibitions that describe the crowds as much as they do the objects on display” (Message 29-30).

23

London’s “Whitechapel and Thereabouts” chapter, challenges our assumptions about who is gazing at whom in these images. Further, it supports the theory that London aims to incorporate the social body into the built environment. The image accompanies one of

Jerrold’s more claustrophobic passages: “We plunge into a maze of courts and narrow streets of low houses—nearly all the doors of which are open, showing kitchen fires blazing far in the interior, and strange figures moving about. Whistles, shouts, oaths, growls, and the brazen laughter of tipsy women: sullen ‘good nights’ to the police escort; frequent recognition of notorious rogues by the superintendent and his men; black pools of water under our feet…We come to a halt at a low black door” (Jerrold 171). This is dark, cramped, labyrinthine London at its most powerful, and Jerrold’s language imprisons its reader just as fully as the streets imprison its inhabitants. Like elsewhere in the text, Jerrold employs a rapid list of sensory images to overwhelm the reader. Unlike elsewhere in the text, it is not a list of joyous sights and sounds, but is rather a maze of

“oaths”, “brazen laughter” and labyrinthine “narrow streets”. Most saliently, this passage grotesquely blurs the line between interior and exterior: “all the doors” are flung “open” so that the passerby can see the “kitchen fires blazing far in the interior”, while “black pools of water” create the illusion of space under the wanderer’s feet. There is no escape from the imprisoning maze of this district of London. Rather, it is a hell akin to Dante’s inferno21. It is all cramped alleys that lead nowhere, corners and angles that limit.

The “Bull’s-Eye” (see fig. 11) is not merely an image that aims to convey a sense of claustrophobia with the hellish labyrinth it depicts, but also aims to implicate the reader in the event depicted. One way Doré accomplishes this is through its complicated

21 Doré illustrated an 1857 edition of Dante Alighieri’s L’enfer, as well as an edition in English from 1866-1867. His more famous depictions of hell are found in his 1866 folio edition of John Milton’s Paradise Lost. 24 use of gaze and perception. In the image, there are many different kinds of looking. First, the superintendent22 is gazing at the inhabitants on the street. More specifically, his lantern is doing the looking, and forcibly illuminating the faces of the people in front of him. Second, the people being looked upon by the superintendent are staring back.

Thirdly, the people in the windows—cloaked in shadow—are gazing at the scene just like the reader is, and watching those being watched. This begs the question: from where and within whom do we position the reader’s identification? Is the reader a completely objective outside observer, impartial and removed from the scene?

The answer seems to be a negative. Doré prevents this by making two of the figures break the fourth wall. The man most directly in the superintendent’s lantern light gazes at the viewer. So, too, does the man in the top hat, who stands just beyond the reach of the lantern’s beam of light. This marginal figure, in particular, calls into question the nature of the scene. His dress—a top hat and coat—is not nearly as disheveled as the clothes worn by the poor people around him. The levels of London society are not stratified, but flow into one another, creating a strangely dissonant yet intimate atmosphere. And, while the poor man in the lantern light gazes fearfully at the viewer, the man in the top hat looks merely curiously towards the viewer (Rowlenson 12-3). The viewer is part of the scene; he is in it, and experiences the complexity of London’s social life as it unfolds23. This is a moment in which different levels of London society mingle

22 Authority in London: A Pilgrimage is often nameless, and takes many shapes. As Jerrold writes earlier in the text in “All London at a Boat Race”, “Authority, in the shape of the police…” (Jerrold 53). Authority is also always shown by the illustrator to be outnumbered (Woods 350). 23 “Jerrold emphasized the experiential quality of his text. His readers, it is implied, will learn more about the East End from his writing because it is an eye-witness account as opposed to official surveys of the city” (Ghosh 101). 25 and mix; so, too, do the reader and characters intermingle, if only for a brief moment24.

As one critic notes, “The spectator looks at the suffering individual and vice-versa; both parties—through an act of sympathy—imagine themselves in the position of the other”

(Ghosh 96). Ghosh argues that the act of looking within London. A Pilgrimage yields a kind of liberal guilt, in which the viewer is taught how to sympathize with the suffering individual on the page through a “vocabulary of shame” (Ghosh 96). However, I would argue that the interaction between the reader and the image is more complicated. The suffering individual does not aim to merely evoke guilt, but to create a dialogue between the two parties. Though the individual may be confined on the page, the reader also experiences a kind of confinement.

One of the final images in Jerrold and Doré’s work depicts a ruined London of the future, in an apocalyptic vision that seems to clash temporally with the rest of the images.

“The New Zealander” (see fig. 12) expresses the physical harmony of London by mirroring the title page image (“Father Thames”). This allows the narrative to begin and end with the river, locating it as the central image which links three of the major themes of the work, according to Nadel: “river life, pleasures of the wealthy, and life among the poor” (Nadel 58). Nadel goes on to identify the New Zealander as suggesting “a grim future for London, a future Jerrold is unwilling or unable to elaborate in his prose” (Nadel

61). Here, however, I would argue the opposite. Jerrold, too, suggests a kind of poetic cycle in the rise and fall of the city, albeit in a more delicate manner: “But the winding river is a silver thread that nature has wound for us. Hence, we have hugged its shores of

24 This rhetoric of inclusion and mixing recalls the language surrounding the Great Exhibition: “In this newly created instructive public sphere, ‘all ranks may mingle’ and all…‘may learn and all may profit from what they see’. The spirit of this promise was captured by the Illustrated London News, in an article written a month after the opening of the Exhibition” (Message 28).

26 the gentle tide: paddled on its bosom, loitered with untiring feet upon the bridges that span its ripples; and found our way back to it to ponder the end of our Pilgrimage”

(Jerrold 223). I would argue that Doré’s apocalyptic vision is mirrored in this language.

Jerrold represents the timeline of the city in the river, a kind of temporal “silver thread that nature has wound for us”. The final image Jerrold leaves us with is one of indeterminacy; we are “wanderers”, as he says, constantly straddling the ideal and the real, and can only see the city through a kind of universal lens.

II: Genesis and Bibliographical Description

The composition of London. A Pilgrimage began in 1869, when Blanchard Jerrold approached Gustave Doré with an idea to work on an illustrated description of London. It would be a pilgrimage through the crowded streets of London, focusing on salient images and spaces that give London its identity. His idea, though innovative in its way, did have precursors. Works that might have influenced Jerrold and London. A Pilgrimage include the earlier 19th century volumes of expensive topographical celebrations of the architectural elegance of London, such as Thomas H. Sheperd’s London and its Environs in the Nineteenth Century Illustrated by a Series of Views from Original Drawings, published in 1829 (Pollock 25). The genre of all of these works is highly visual, which would influence Blanchard Jerrold’s later conception of his work. However, Jerrold drew his inspiration for the work more prominently from The Microcosm of London, a text that aimed to catalog London’s most characteristic features, through both architectural and socioeconomic lenses (Ackroyd xvii). Unique in many ways, the Microcosm was the first of its kind to treat regency London in such equalizing terms. The text and illustrations 27 depicted both the poor and the lavishness of the London aristocracy in equal measure, breaking down the barrier between classes25. It depicted the rising sense of economic uncertainty and social unrest due to the Napoleonic Wars and Industrial Revolution, which lent the work a new sense of modern awareness (Atkinson 2-3). The Microcosm’s treatment of regency London pushes towards a progressive and less stratified notion of what constitutes our larger conception of London, a perspective which Jerrold will later adapt to his own conception of his contemporary Victorian society.

The form of the Microcosm was also unique for its time. Its subject may not have been original in and of itself, but the fact that it treated regency London chiefly in images was novel. The publisher responsible for the work, Rudolph Ackermann, was a highly innovative publisher who had moved from Germany and France to London in the late

1790’s, where he established a printing shop in the Strand. The Microcosm of London was published by his Repository of Arts, located at 101 The Strand. It originally appeared in monthly parts, mostly by subscription between 1808 and 1810. Each issue cost seven shillings and included four colored plates. The work later appeared in its final bound folio format of three volumes, each containing over thirty full-page hand-colored aquatints

(Atkinson 1). Ackermann had previously published similarly illustrated books with full- page aquatints, including History of the Abbey Church of St. Peter’s, Westminster (1812) and History of the University of Cambridge (1815). The format of The Microcosm was similar to the form of a dictionary, with buildings listed alphabetically for ease of

25 London: A Pilgrimage was similarly motivated. The work was published just after Henry Mayhew’s London Labour and the London Poor, which offered a new perspective on work and class consciousness in the Victorian era (Ackroyd). 28 reference (Atkinson 3). It treated Regency London pictorially, and was largely commercially successful due to the illustrations.

Ackermann enlisted the help of several people for the project. Augustus Pugin, an

English architect and artist, provided architectural designs for the images ultimately realized by Thomas Rowlandson, the famous caricaturist. According to Pugin’s writings, he would draft and sketch the designs and submit them to Ackermann for approval, after which Rowlandson would add the figures and details (Atkinson 7). William Henry Pyne, who provided the text for The Microcosm, had a similar background in illustration to

Rowlandson. Ackermann, along with Cruikshank, Pugin, and Rowlandson, was partly responsible for bringing lithography into vogue. The Microcosm employed the aquatint technique, a relatively new form of intaglio printmaking.

Aquatint was used by illustrators to achieve a broad range of tonal variation in their illustrations. The technique consists of exposing a copperplate to acid through a layer of melted granulated resin (“Aquatint”). The acid bites away the plate only in the spaces between the resin grains, leaving an evenly pitted surface elsewhere. The strength of using this technique is its variety in shading and tone; exposing the plates to different kinds of acid for different lengths of time creates a level of dimension that cannot be achieved simply through pen and ink. The production of Ackermann’s Microcosm of

London undoubtedly influenced the production of London. A Pilgrimage. Doré chose wood engraving for the illustrations, and employed several engravers to help him engrave and print his designs. The technique, which was not recognized as its own distinct process until the 18th century, was relatively new; it was only in the 1830’s and 1840’s that it emerged as a commercially viable option. The technique reached a golden age in 29 the 1860’s when Doré, Millais, and Rossetti began experimenting with it. Wood engraving was used in Punch magazine, as well as Sir John Tenniel’s illustrations for

Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. In the 1890’s it was revived by William Morris and the Kelmscott Press as an agent of free expression (Godfrey).

The process involves taking a block, usually a hard wood called boxtree, and cutting it against the grain. The blocks are glued or bolted together for larger illustrations, as in London. A Pilgrimage. The hardness of the wood, coupled with the clean “end grain” edge, allows for the engraver to achieve a finer, sharper line. Wood engravers use similar tools to the metal-engravers: burins and gravers for engraving lines, and scorpers and chisels for cleaning areas of the block (De Freitas). By Doré’s time, the blocks were composed type high, meaning that they can be locked directly into the printing press with the rest of the text and printed as a single entity. The strength of wood engraving is its flexibility as a medium. The process of using a burin for engraving allows for a sharp, fine line. Layers of these fine lines on wood—as Doré’s work shows26—allows for a softness in tone that cannot necessarily be achieved by engraving metal. The technique proved perfect for representing the particular foggy light of London’s streets. This soft variation in tone is not unlike the Microcosm of London’s aquatint shading, which allowed for a similar toning.

Reviews of the Microcosm in 1810 were similar in tone to those of London in

1872. As an object, the Microcosm proved to be, if not a luxury art object, certainly a book that was meant to be “looked” at as a commercial object. One reviewer notes that,

26 While wood engraving populated many of his most popular illustrated works, the fact that he could work in a variety of media ensured wide popularity and publicity. He glutted the market not only with book illustrations but also paintings, drawings, watercolors, bronzes and sculptures as well. His technical versatility persisted until his death in 1883 (Herendeen 307-8). 30

“combined with numerous engravings, [the Microcosm] will form an admirable lounging book for a breakfast room, or a very accurate and entertaining guide to the variety of curious and interesting spectacles, which are to be seen in this stupendous capital of the commercial world” (“Art. IV.”). The reviewer’s language emphasizes the commercial and spectacular nature of the object; it is something to be acquired, admired, and displayed as a visual emblem of “this stupendous capital”. The Microcosm, as well as

London, were objects that represented “the desire to display a luxury good that attested to the owner’s taste, cultivation, and disposable income” (Kooistra 25).

The reviewer’s criticism of the Microcosm’s illustrations will anticipate some reviews of London. According to the Microcosm review, “If we find any fault with these productions of [Thomas Rowlandson], it is, that he has evinced rather too strong a propensity to caricature. In large assemblages of people, such as are exhibited in places of public resort, we may indeed often expect to find some ludicrous group, and some striking anomalies to the human face divine” (“Art. IV.”) Though portrayed negatively in the review, it is this very propensity towards caricature that will influence some of Doré’s superlative work in London. “Bull Dogs”, printed as a tailpiece, reflects this Rowlandson- esque caricature style that Doré has appropriated. The image, which takes up less than a quarter of the page, depicts a nameless Londoner walking his bulldogs down an alley

(See Fig. 1). This image is an apt representation of how the illustrator tends to use caricature to bring out the distinctive identities of Londoners. The first thing the reader notices about the Londoner is the harried movement of his bulldog charges, and notice him second; it is appropriate, then, that the bulldogs get the title. The viewer’s gaze, interestingly, is looking at the man’s back; he is nameless, a stranger walking away from 31 our view into shadow. This is one of many instances in which the reader of London is placed in the position of voyeur or observer. Doré manages to capture the odd essence of the Englishman by drawing him mid-gait, as opposed to in a still pose. His clothes are wrinkled, his attention is distracted, and his arm is half-raised, as if to reign in his bulldog charges. Doré also manages to draw a parallel between the man and his dogs: the stout, straining muscles of the bulldogs look not unlike the solidness of the man’s own body.

Doré obscures the man’s face as well as his destination. As viewers, we are not interested in his final destination; we are only interested in his character here, as it plays out in front of us in this moment. London, in this image, is depicted through movement. Much like its precursor, The Microcosm of London, London: a Pilgrimage employs caricature to capture the character of the inhabitants it depicts.

Jerrold originally imagined that the project would be filled with many more images like “Bull Dogs” illustrating the various guises of Londoners. The original plan called for a total survey of the city in twenty to thirty parts, as opposed to the final twelve27. In his initial outline of the book, included as an appendix to his biography of

Doré, Jerrold lists forty-three chapters, from an introductory resume to a final trip around the city including the suburbs. Jerrold eventually noted that it was “Too immense an undertaking [and explained] that it ‘was cut down ultimately by two-thirds, and we skimmed the surface when we had hoped to probe the depths’ (p 186)” (Nadel 52). Work

27 London has the potential to be a difficult book to describe. One of the principal problems with which descriptive bibliography has to contend arises from the fact that books can be made up of smaller units, each with its own separate history. Variations can therefore easily occur among copies of what is supposed to be the same ‘book.’ As a result of differences in the manufacturing history of the component parts, differences in their placement in the finished product can occur (Tanselle 1). In this case, there may be other copies in which the engraved plates are placed in different locations.

32 on London lasted over a period of four years, and faced certain challenges. Namely, Doré underwent a traumatic experience; in 1870 he was on a visit to Paris when his return to

London was “prevented by the outbreak of war…He endured the siege…[and] showed his infinite contempt for the politicians in a series of caricatures which were only published after his death” (Haskell 603). However, the publication was still a success, due in large part to Doré’s engravings. Doré paid the staggering sum of ten thousand pounds as payment for his work on London, reflecting his popularity in the English market.

As objects, volumes of London were reviewed as gift-books in various periodicals. The Examiner, for example, reviewed it in the “Christmas Books” section, indicating that these volumes, which contained pictures of lower-class shanties and miserable, under-fed people, were being gifted and enjoyed (Ghosh 91). However, this not anomalous; Street Life in London, a photo-textual exploration of London, divides the city into ‘highways’ and ‘byways,’ claiming originality in the sphere of reformist writing by virtue of their use of photography (Ghosh 91). The dissonance between the luxury of the book itself and some of the heavy, reformist topics it covered is significant. Jerrold perhaps felt that the only way to convey his reformist message was to make it highly commercial and consumable; if this was his project, then he succeeded. Publishers from the 1830’s to the 1870’s turned to the high profit margins associated with sumptuous gift- books and luxury commodities (McKitterick 175).

Major changes occur between the publication of the first parts printed in 1871, the

1872 folio and the next edition, published in French as Londres in 1876. The engravings, while unaltered, were arranged differently in the French version of the work, and were 33 accompanied by new text by Louis Enault (Skilton 225). Further, the engraved title page,

“Father Thames”, that Jerrold had prized so highly had disappeared in the 1876 French version. Not only was the text completely rewritten for the French market, but the final product was a staggering 434 pages compared to the 1872’s 191 pages. The French version also differed in physicality; its publisher chose a heavier paper, and took pains to emphasize Doré’s involvement over Jerrold’s by devoting more space to the illustrations

(Skilton 228). It seems advantageous to provide a full account of the 1872 version, in order to preserve Blanchard Jerrold’s vision for the project. The following bibliographical description aims to represent the physical form of the first gift-book edition of London: A

Pilgrimage, published by Grant & Co. in 1872. This book proves a challenge to describe because of the many engravings included with the text. The larger, full-page engravings are tipped in, while the smaller, more incidental illustrations were printed along with the text. This description chooses to omit the full-page engravings from the collation formula for simplicity’s sake, even though they add pages to the bulk of the text. Additionally, because London: A Pilgrimage was first issued in thirteen parts over the course of a year it is entirely possible that other copies of this text have a different arrangement of engravings, depending on the owner. While this copy seems almost certainly published in full as a gift-book, it seems most advantageous to limit the collation formula and contents sections to the text itself, and to avoid assumptions about the placement of illustrations in similar copies. Quasi-facsimile format is utilized wherever possible. Unless otherwise indicated, all measurements are in millimeters.

34

FIRST GIFT-BOOK EDITION (LONDON: GRANT & CO., 1872)

Title page.

LONDON. [17.3] | A Pilgrimage [16.3/12.0/6.0] | BY [3.3] | GUSTAVE DORE [7.3] | AND [3.3] | BLANCHARD JERROLD [7.3] | [copperplate engraving, publisher’s emblem, 37.5 by 25.0] | LONDON: [3.3] | GRANT & CO., 72, 74, 76, & 78, TURNMILL STREET, E.C. [3.3] | MDCCCLXXII. [3.3]

Collation.

2o: [π-7π2 A2-3A2] [$unsigned], 136 leaves, pp. [6] i-xii [xiii-xxii] 1-191 [1]

Note. See “Illustrations” for a more detailed account of the inserted engraved plates.

Contents.

[6] Title page, pp. [8] ‘PREFACE.’ i-xii ‘CONTENTS.’ [xiii-xiv] ‘TABLE OF ILLUSTRATIONS.’, [xv-xxii] ‘INTRODUCTION.’, pp. 1-6 ‘CHAPTER I’ | ‘LONDON BRIDGE.’, pp. 7-16 ‘CHAPTER II’ | ‘THE BUSY RIVER-SIDE.’, pp. 17-26 ‘CHAPTER III’ | ‘THE DOCKS.’, pp. 27-32 ‘CHAPTER IV’ | ‘ABOVE BRIDGE TO WESTMINSTER.’, pp. 33-48 ‘CHAPTER V’ | ‘ALL LONDON AT A BOAT-RACE.’, pp. 49-58 ‘CHAPTER VI’ | ‘THE RACE.’, pp. 59-64 ‘CHAPTER VII’ | ‘THE DERBY.’, pp. 65-72 ‘CHAPTER VIII’ | ‘LONDON ON THE DOWNS.’, pp. 73-80 ‘CHAPTER IX’ | ‘THE WEST END.’, pp. 81-86 ‘CHAPTER X’ | ‘IN THE SEASON.’, pp. 87-94 ‘CHAPTER XI’ | ‘BY THE ABBEY.’, pp. 95-100 ‘CHAPTER XII’ | ‘LONDON UNDER GREEN LEAVES.’, pp. 101-106 ‘CHAPTER XIII’ | ‘WITH THE BEASTS.’, pp. 107-112 ‘CHAPTER XIV’ | ‘WORK-A-DAY LONDON.’, pp. 113-120 ‘CHAPTER XV’ | ‘HUMBLE INDUSTRIES.’, pp. 121-128 ‘CHAPTER XVI’ | ‘THE TOWN OF MALT.’, pp. 129-134 ‘CHAPTER XVII’ | ‘UNDER LOCK AND KEY.’, pp. 135-140 35

‘CHAPTER XVIII’ | ‘WHITECHAPEL AND THEREABOUTS.’, pp. 141- 150 ‘CHAPTER XIX’ | ‘IN THE MARKET-PLACES.’, pp. 151-160 ‘CHAPTER XX’ | ‘LONDON AT PLAY.’, pp. 161-178 ‘CHAPTER XXI’ | ‘LONDON CHARITIES.’, pp. 179-191

Paper.

Sheets (text): Ivory, wove, smooth, unwatermarked, no chain lines; thickness .0031". Sheets (plates): Smooth, ivory, unwatermarked, with a tighter wove than the paper used for the text; thickness .0036". Leaves: maximum 414 mm x 320 mm; total bulk 4.65 cm; machine direction not evident.

Typography.

Text: 26 ll. (A1v), 1 col, printer’s measure 164.5; 228 (246.5) x 165; 10 ll. leaded = 86; face 4.6/3.3/2.3

Type style: The typeface used in this edition is transitional roman with vertical stress, sharp serifs, and little to moderate contrast. It most closely resembles Garamond. The text is heavily leaded. All running titles, headings, and titles are presented in all caps. Printer’s ornaments occur at the beginning of each chapter throughout the book, and were printed with the other illustrations (see section on ‘Illustrations’). There are no catchwords or signatures.

Running titles: “LONDON. A PILGRIMAGE.” occurs on every verso of each page, save that of the title page, final page, and the first recto of every section; the title of the chapter or section, including prefatory material, appears on the rectos of the same pages. Size: [2.3, all caps]

Note. For Title-page typography dimensions, see section “Title page”.

36

Illustrations.

Position in the volume: While the position of the plates may vary from copy to copy, in this copy, there are fifty-four full- page illustrations, including the frontispiece. There are also illustrations printed in the text itself. All titles and locations are listed below; they are worth noting, in case other copies are missing or have excluded plates. For the full-page engravings, the page number denotes the page facing the engraving; because the engravings were tipped in, they were not paginated. Lastly, the titles are derived from the “Table of Illustrations” in the book; in the book itself, only the full-page illustrations have printed titles. Their titles are printed on the protective tissue guard in between the full-page engraving and the previous page of text.

Father Thames, [5] Whittington at Highgate, (frontispiece) [6] A Morning Ride, i The Row, i Greenwich—In the Season, ii A Greenwich Boat Traveller, iii The Docks-The Concordia, vii The Tide of Business in the City, x Resting on the Bridge, xii Hampstead Heath in the Olden Time, 1 The British Lion, 1 London Stone, 4 Hayboats on the Thames, 4 Tower of London, 6 The Two Pilgrims at Highgate, 7 Victoria Tower, 7 London Bridge, 1872, 11 London Bridge, 1694, 13 The Houses of Parliament by Night, 16 A Waterman’s Family, 17 A River Side Street, 18 Porters at Work, 20 Warehouse by the Thames, 22 A City Thoroughfare, 22 Pickle Herring Street, 24 Dark House Lane—Billingsgate, 25 Bull Dogs, 26 Inside the Docks, 26 The Great Warehouse—St. Katherine’s Dock, 27 37

St Katherine’s Dock, 28 Poplar Dock, 30 The Docks—Night Scene, 30 Limehouse Dock, 32 Between Bridges, 33 Victoria Embankment, 33 Lavender Girl, 35 Orange Woman, 35 Lemonade Vendor, 36 In the Abbey—Westminster, 40 Lambeth Gas Works, 40 Lambeth Potteries, 41 The Devil’s Acre—Westminster, 43 Hansom Cab, 48 Westminster Stairs—Steamers Leaving, 49 Perched in the Trees, 50 Flower Girls, 54 The River Bank—Under the Trees, 54 Barnes Bridge, 58 The Race, 58 The Crews, 59 The Oysterman, 60 Putney Bridge—The Return, 60 Barnes Common—calling the Carriages, 64 A Penny Sweepstake, 65 A Balcony Scene, 65 Provincials in Search of Lodgings, 66 A Sale at Tattersall’s, 66 On the Road, 68 At Lunch, 68 Bible Hawker, 69 Refreshments by the Way, 70 The Noble Art, 71 A Sketch on the Downs, 72 The Derby—Tattenham Corner, 72 Outside the Ring, 73 Three Sticks a Penny, 74 The Winner, 75 A Block on the Road, 76 Finish of the Race, 76 Trial of Strength, 77 Returning Home, 78 Amenities of the Road, 79 Caught in the Branches, 80 A Chiswick Fete, 80 The Christy Minstrels, 81 The Horse Guards, 81 38

The Stalls—Covent Garden Opera, 82 The West End Dog Fancier, 83 The Fly Paper Merchant, 84 The Drive, 85 Buckingham Gate, 86 The Ladies’ Mile, 86 The Bear Pit—Zoological Gardens, 87 Home—from Holland House, 88 Holland House—a Garden Part, 88 A Wedding at the Abbey, 89 The Goldsmiths at Dinner, 90 The Early Riser, 94 Dean’s Yard, Westminster, 95 Westminster Abbey—Confirmation of Westminster Boys, 96 Westminster—the Round of the Abbey, 97 Westminster Abbey—The Choir, 98 The Fountain—Broad Sanctuary, 100 Under the Trees, Regent’s Park, 100 Hyde Park Corner—Piccadilly Entrance, 101 St James’ Park—Feeding the Ducks, 101 Afternoon in the Park, 102 The Great Tree—Kensington Gardens, 104 Hyde Park Corner—the Row, 105 The Animated Sandwich, 106 The Opera, 107 Zoological Gardens—The Parrot Walk, 108 Zoological Gardens—The Monkey House, 110 The Flower Hawker, 112 The Workmen’s Train, 113 Advertising Board-Man, 113 Baked Potato Man, 114 Warehousing in the City, 114 Orange Court—Drury Lane, 116 Bishopsgate Street, 116 Broken Down, 177 Ludgate Hill—A Block is in the Street, 118 The Monument to George Peabody, 119 The Match Seller, 120 Over London—By Rail, 120 Roofless!, 121 The Royal Exchange, 122 Coffee Stall—Early Morning, 122 The Rag Merchant’s Home—Coulston Street Whitechapel, 123 Jewish Bitchers—Aldgate, 124 Wentworth Street, Whitechapel, 124 The Old Clothesman, 125 A Flower Girl, 126 39

Houndsditch, 126 The Ginger Beer Man, 128 In the Brewery, 129 Mixing the Malt, 130 St. Paul’s from the Brewery Bridge, 131 The Great Vats, 132 Brewer’s Men, 132 Brewer’s Dray, 134 The Turnkey, 135 Newgate—Exercise Yard, 136 Thieves Gambling, 137 Bluegate Fields, 138 Whitechapel Refreshments, 140 A Whitechapel Coffee House, 141 Asleep in the Streets, 141 Waifs and Strays, 142 Scripture Reader in a Night Refuge, 142 A House of Refuge—In the Bath, 144 The Bull’s Eye, 144 Whitechapel—A Shady Place, 146 Opium Smoking—The Lascar’s Room in ‘Edwin Drood’, 146 Turn Him Out!—Ratcliff, 148 Coffee Shop—Petticoat Lane, 150 Billingsgate, Early Morning, 150 Columbia Market, 151 Billingsgate—Opening of the Market, 152 Billingsgate—Landing the Fish, 152 Borough Market, 154 Gloucester Street, New Cut—Old Clothes Mart, 156 Off Billingsgate, 156 Hardware Dealer—New Cut Market, 157 Dudley Street, Seven Dials, 158 The Butcher—Newport Market Alley, 160 At Evans’s, 161 Hampstead Heath, 162 Home from Hampton Court Races, 163 The Penny Gaff, 164 Penny Gaff Frequenters, 165 Blondin at Shoreditch, 167 Lord’s, 170 Croquet, 172 A Ball at the Mansion House, 174 The Milkwoman, 175 The Organ in the Court, 176 A Cold Resting Place, 177 Punch and Judy, 178 Asleep under the Stars, 179 40

The Angel and the Orphan, 179 Marlborough House—Expecting the Prince, 180 Refuge—Applying for Admittance, 180 Found in the Street, 184 Under the Arches, 185 The New Zealander, 188 Infant Hospital Patients, 191

Medium/processes: relief; wood engraving; without color. Same process used for every illustration, even the minor ones, such as tailpieces and illustrations embedded in the text itself.

Engravers’ names: While Gustave Doré is the attributed artist of the works, there were several engravers in his workshop who did the actual engraving of the images. Some engravings were left unsigned, but those that are signed have initials or a name in the lower right hand corner of the image. Some names appear multiple times throughout the book; some artists sign their name in multiple ways. For example, A. Levasseur often signed as “A.L.”. Wherever possible, I have located the engraver’s full name and identified all of his associated signatures, and listed them in quasi-facsimile format. Biographical information is provided whenever possible. Some signatures, such as “ER”, are unable to be identified from looking at London alone.

F. Anne F. ANNE Sc

Clément-Edouard Bellenger: Clément Bellenger (1851-1898)is most noted for his work on “Le Tour du Monde”, a travel journal. BELLENGER

Bertrand ABertrand BERTRAND Sc

Bourguignon BOURGUINON

J. Gauchard-Brunier GAUCHARD GAUCHARD BRUNIER 41

GAUCHARD BRUNIER Sc J. Gauchard J. Gauchard Sc

D.B.

Decref DECREF

Deflarle DEFLARLE

Diolot DIOLOT

A. Doms A. Doms A. Doms, Sc

Fournier FOURNIER FOURNIER Sc GD

Henri Théophile Hildibrand: Hildibrand (1824-1897) worked closely with Laplante and Pannemaker, and became one of Doré’s more prolific engravers. He also worked on illustrations for Hetzel and Hachette. Hildebrand HILDEBRAND

Jules Jean Marie Joseph Huyot: Born in 1841, Huyot engraved illustrations in works including Alexandre Dumas and William Shakespeare. Huyot J. Huyot

Iolet IOLET

Charles Laplante: Laplante was born in Sevres, Hautes-de-Seine, and died in 1903. He completed several projects for Doré and was an illustrator for Hachette, as well as illustrating Jules Verne novels with Henri Hildibrand and Nicolas Barbant. C. LAPLANTE

42

A. Levasseur A.L. A. Levasseur

Charles Maurand: Charles Maurand (1824-1904) engraved French franc notes in the early 1870’s while also contributing to this project. C. MAURAND

Adolphe-François Pannemaker and son, Stéphane Pannemaker: Adolphe-François (1822-1900) was a pupil of Henry Brown and William Brown, and attended the Royal School of Engraving in Brussels. He published his first two engravings at the age of seventeen, and illustrated the Popular History of Belgium from 1840- 1845. Adolphe-François engraved illustrations for Hetzel, trained students in wood engraving, and engraved French banknotes. In 1889 he was awarded a Grand Prix at the Paris Exposition. His son, Stéphane (1847-1930) studied wood engraving under his father. Illustrations in London are often signed as “Pannemaker et fils”, indicating that they worked on this project together. PANN. Pannemaker PANNEMAKER PANNEMAKER. Sc PANNEMAKER-DOMS Sc Pannemaker et fils Pannemaker-fils PANNEMAKER FILS S. PANNEMAKER

Héliodore-Joseph Pisan: Pisan was born in Marseille in 1822, and was one of Doré’s most prolific engravers. He is considered one of the players in the development of engraving in color, characterized by rendering halftones. PISAN H. PISAN

Alfred Prunaire: Prunaire (1837-1912) also worked with Doré on his edition of Jean de La Fontaine’s “Fables”. PRUNAIRE

Désiré-Mathieu Quesnel: Quesnel (1843-1915) worked in Doré’s workshop throughout the 1870’s. QUESNEL

ER 43

Alfred Sargent: Born in 1828, Sargent worked closely with Pisan, Prunair, Pannemaker, and Fournier on Doré’s illustrations for La Fontaine’s “Fables”. A. SARGENT

Tonnard Tonnard

Vien A. Vien VIEN VIEN Sc

Unsigned illustrations: pp. xi; 1 (headpiece unsigned); 65 (decorated capital unsigned); 80 (tailpiece unsigned), 129 (capital unsigned); 131; 165; 177.

Dimensions: full-page engravings: 360 x 224; square corners, plain edges. In-text: variable.

Typesetting.

Every chapter begins with a decorated letter, fully engraved and printed with the rest of the text. Often, there will be headpieces and tailpieces that double as illustrations. There were no spelling variations. For a list of identifiable types, see “Typography”.

Presswork.

This book lacks (visible) evidence of presswork such as point-holes, press figures, and plating evidence. However, there is a consistent running-title pattern; for a full account, see “Typography”.

Binding. 44

This copy is fully bound in medium brown leather with a simple gold tooling along the spine and edges. The cover is blank, but the spine bears the title of the work in gold tooling. It is half-bound in calf, and has raised bands.

Copies Examined.

The copy examined is located in UVa’s Special Collections Library in Charlottesville, Va. Call number: DA683 .J56 1872

Publication Details.

Grant & Co originally published this work in 13 parts in 1871 and later as a full gift-book edition in 1872.

45

Conclusion

London: a Pilgrimage contradicts itself. It is both an act of biting social journalism on the one hand, as well as a luxurious art-object on the other. Simply put, the book puts “work-a-day” London on exhibition for the viewer. It is crucial that we preserve Jerrold’s original vision of the text, because it is not merely the message that matters, but the medium in which he conveys that message, that truly represents what he views as “the great city of London”. It is not enough to read the text; rather, the reader must engage with the interplay of text and image as well as the messages that the physical form imparts to us. By taking a pilgrimage through the salient scenes, images, and activities of London, the reader is able to glean the mechanics of the city, how it moves and operates, the very life of it. In the introduction, Jerrold aligns himself with the reader:

“We are pilgrims, wanderers, gipsy-loiterers in the great world of London—not historians” (Jerrold 1). The strange intimacy of the text and images invites its reader to join the crowded streets along with the authors. Jerrold and Doré’s representation of the crowds as a single, pulsing entity, provides us with a universalizing vision of what it means to be a “Londoner”. Ultimately, this vision pushes us towards a more modernist conception of urbanity and what it means to live in a modern city.

Doré’s final engraving in London: A Pilgrimage is a nursery scene (see figure 9).

In the scene, a child cradles a doll while what looks to be a nurse and caretaker look on. It could be an orphanage or hospital. As a last image, Doré chose his subject appropriately.

London is a city that is constantly in a state of rebirth and, just as the child holds the doll to play pretend, London also plays and performs its own identity. The form of London. A

Pilgrimage allows its reader to absorb the city in many of its different guises. It is a 46 prison, a purgatory, a hell, a labyrinth; it is a ship, a court of law, a garden, a cathedral.

As the authors suggest, it would be foolish to try to make a catalog of all of London’s proliferating metaphorical selves. Rather, the visitor to London must wander the streets and experience it as it comes: “We are pilgrims, wanderers, gipsy-loiterers in the great world of London—not historians” (Jerrold 1). The crowds of the text—both the people the author describes, and the words on the page—linger with images to create a new dynamic medium within which to experience the city. The result is a world that unfolds itself as it is being read, and seems to spontaneously come into being. The work of

London: A Pilgrimage is to represent the city as it is in real life: ambiguous, amorphous, and always in motion.

47

Works Cited & Consulted

Ackroyd, Peter. "Introduction." Introduction. London: A Pilgrimage. London: Anthem,

2005. Xvii-ix. Print.

Armstrong, Isobel. "Languages of Glass: The Dreaming Collection." Victorian Prism:

Refractions of the Crystal Palace. Ed. James Buzard, Joseph W. Childers, and

Eileen Gillooly. Charlottesville: U of Virginia, 2007. 15-78. Print.

Arscott, Caroline. “Convict Labour: Masking and Interchangeability in Victorian Prison

Scenes.” Oxford Art Journal 23.2 (2000): 123-42. JSTOR. Web. 20 Apr. 2014.

"Art. IV.--The Microcosm of London. Ackerman, London, 1810, 3vols, 4to." Rev. of The

Microcosm of London. Critical Review, Volume 20 July 1810: 261+. Google

Books. Web. Mar. 2015.

Atkinson, Lucy. The Microcosm of London. University of Reading. University of

Reading, May 2009. Web. 26 Apr. 2014.

collections/featuremicrocosm.pdf>.

"Aquatint (printmaking)." Encyclopedia Britannica. Britannica, n.d. Web. 26 Apr. 2014.

.

Bowers, Fredson. Principles of Bibliographical Description. New Castle, DE: Oak Knoll,

1994. Print.

Capet, Antoine. "London: A Pilgrimage de Blanchard Jerrold et Gustave Dore." Cercles

1 (2000): 43-47. Cercles. Web. 22 Feb. 2015. 48

Chase, Karen, and Michael Levenson. "Mayhew, the Prince, And the Poor: The Great

Exhibition of Power and Dispossession." Victorian Prism: Refractions of the

Crystal Palace. Charlottesville: U of Virginia, 2007. 123-36. Print.

De Freitas, Leo John. "Wood-engraving." Grove Art Online. Oxford Art Online. Oxford

University Press. Web. 30 Apr. 2014.

.

Egan, Pierce, Robert Cruikshank, and George Cruikshank. Life In London, Or, The Day

and Night Scenes of Jerry Hawthorne, Esq., and His Elegant Friend Corinthia

Tom, Accompanied by Bob Logic, the Oxonian, In Their Rambles and Sprees

Through the Metropolis. London: Printed for Sherwood, Neely, and Jones, 1821.

Gaskell, Philip. A New Introduction to Bibliography. New Castle, DE: Oak Knoll, 1995.

Print.

Ghosh, Tanushree. "Gifting Pain: The Pleasures of Liberal Guilt in London, a Pilgrimage

and Street Life in London." Victorian Literature and Culture 41 (2013): n. pag.

Cambridge Journals. Web. 22 Feb. 2015.

Godfrey, Richard. "Wood engraving." The Oxford Companion to Western Art. Ed. Hugh

Brigstocke. Oxford Art Online. Oxford University Press. Web.

.

Haskell, Francis. "Doré's London." Architectural Design 7.6 (1968): 600-04. Print.

Herendeen, W. H. "The Doré Controversy: Doré, Ruskin, and Victorian Taste." Victorian

Studies 25.3 (1982): 304-27. Web. 28 Feb. 2015. 49

"Introduction." Introduction. Victorian Prism: Refractions of the Crystal Palace. Ed.

James Buzard, Joseph W. Childers, and Eileen Gillooly. Charlottesville: U of

Virginia, 2007. 1-18. Print.

Jerrold, Blanchard. Life of Gustave Doré. London: W. H. Allen, 1891. HathiTrust. Web.

Mar. 2015.

Jerrold, Blanchard. London: A Pilgrimage. Ed. Peter Ackroyd. London: Anthem, 2005.

Print.

Jerrold, Blanchard. "The Work-A-Day World of France." Editorial. Dublin University

Magazine Spring 1860: 629-34. HathiTrust Digital Library. Alex. Thom & Sons.

Web. 5 Mar. 2015.

Kooistra, Lorraine Janzen. Poetry, Pictures, and Popular Publishing : The Illustrated Gift

Book and Victorian Visual Culture, 1855-1875. Chicago, IL, USA: Ohio

University Press, 2011. ProQuest ebrary. Web. 21 February 2015.

Maxwell, Richard. "Henry Mayhew and the Life of the Streets." Journal of British

Studies 17.2 (1978): 87-105. JSTOR. Web. 25 Feb. 2015.

McKitterick, David. The Cambridge History of the Book in Britain. Vol. 6. Cambridge:

Cambridge UP, 2009. Print.

Message, Kylie, and Ewan Johnston. "The World within the City: The Great Exhibition,

Race, Class, and Social Reform." Britain, the Empire, and the World at the Great

Exhibition of 1851. Ed. Jeffrey A. Auerbach and Peter H. Hoffenberg. Aldershot:

Ashgate, 2008. 27-46. Print.

Muresianu, Selma A. The History of the Victorian Christmas Book. Cambridge: Harvard,

1987. Print. 50

Nadel, Ira B. "'London in the Quick': Blanchard Jerrold and the Text of London: A

Pilgrimage." The London Journal 2.1 (1976): 51-66. Print.

Pollock, Griselda. "Vicarious Excitements: London: A Pilgrimage by Gustave Doré and

Blanchard Jerrold, 1872." New Formations 4 (1988): 25-50. Print.

Rowlenson, Anne. Jerrold and Doré’s London. A Pilgrimage. May 2014. Unpublished

manuscript, University of Virginia.

Skilton, David. "Gustave Dore's London/Londres: Empire and Post-imperial Ruin." Word

& Image: A Journal of Verbal/Visual Enquiry 30.3 (2014): 225-37. Print.

Scott, Grant F. "The Many Men So Beautiful: Gustave Doré’s Illustrations To The Rime

Of The Ancient Mariner." Romanticism 16.1 (2010): 1-24. Academic Search

Complete. Web. 10 Apr. 2015.

Tanselle, G. Thomas. "The Description of Non-Letterpress Material in Books." Studies in

Bibliography 35 (1982): 1-42. University of Virginia Library. Web.

Wheedon, Alexis. Victorian Publishing: The Economics of Book Production for a Mass

Market, 1836-1916. Hants, England: Ashgate, 2003. Print.

Woloch, Alex. The One Vs. the Many: Minor Characters and the Space of the

Protagonist In the Novel. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 2004.

Woods, Alan. "Doré's London: Art and Evidence." Art History 1.2 (1978): 341-59. Print.

51

Appendix of Images

Fig. 1 “Bull Dogs” 52

Fig. 2 “Opium Smoking—The Lascar’s Room in ‘Edwin Drood’”

53

Fig. 3 “Zoological Gardens—The Monkey House”

54

Fig. 4 “Father Thames”

55

Fig. 5 “Resting on the Bridge”

56

Fig. 6 “Newgate-Exercise Yard”

57

Fig. 7 “The River Bank—Under the Trees”

58

Fig. 8 “The Derby—Tattenham Corner”

59

Fig. 9 “Under the Arches”

Fig 10 “Ludgate Hill-A block in the street”

60

Fig. 11 “The Bull’s Eye”

61

Fig. 12 “The New Zealander”