1 Introduction

Notes

1 Introduction

1 Rupert Hart-Davis (ed.), Selected Letters of Oscar Wilde (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1979), p. 142. 2 Oscar Wilde qtd in Richard Ellmann, Oscar Wilde (London: Penguin, 1988), p. 517. 3 In his letter, Wilde exaggerates his own status in Nordau’s study: the connection between an artistic temperament and insanity was well-established, Wilde claimed, with ‘Professor Nordau in his book on “Degenerescence” published in 1894 [sic] having devoted an entire chapter to the petitioner as a specially typical example of this fatal law’ (Hart-Davis (ed.), Selected Letters, p. 142). In fact, on the 560-odd pages of Nordau’s diatribe, Wilde’s style of fashion and his prose essays are dealt with on a mere six pages (see Max Nordau, Degeneration (New York: D. Appleton, 1895), pp. 317–22). However, Wilde was certainly the most exposed of Nordau’s targets, and his highly sensationalised court case provided Nordau with an extra quantum of unsolicited fame. 4 J. Edward Chamberlin and Sander L. Gilman, the editors of the first book-length study on the subject, considered their collection Degeneration: The Dark Side of Progress (New York: Columbia University Press, 1985) ‘an experiment in intellectual history’ (p. ix) and allowed their contributors relatively free creative reign in the examination of this – at the time – understudied area of research. The first monograph in the field, Daniel Pick’s magisterial Faces of Degeneration: A European Disorder, c.1848–c.1918 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press (1989) 1993), was intended as a comprehensive examination of ‘the formation and dissemination of a medico-psychiatric and natural-scientific language of degeneration’ (p. 2) in a broad pan-European context. This was quickly followed by William Greenslade’s Degeneration, Culture and the Novel, 1880–1940 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994), which traces the influence of degeneration theory in the works of Thomas Hardy, George Gissing, Arthur Conan Doyle, Joseph Conrad, H. G. Wells, E. M. Forster, Virginia Woolf, Warwick Deeping and John Buchan. Knowledge of degeneration was further enhanced in 1996 by two important studies: Stephen Arata’s Fictions of Loss in the Victorian Fin de Siècle (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996) analyses three varieties of decline in late-Victorian literature – national, biological and aesthetic (p. 2); Kelly Hurley’s theoretically astute The Gothic Body: Sexuality, Materialism, and Degeneration at the Fin de Siècle (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press (1996) 2004) focuses on ‘the ruination of the human subject’ (p. 3) in the pages of British Gothic fiction and the writings of the degenerationists. Arata’s and Hurley’s monographs were followed by a string of important publications from the field of Gothic Studies, notably Cyndy Kay Hendershot, The Animal Within: Masculinity and the Gothic (Ann Arbor, MI: University of Michigan Press (1998) 2001); Susan J. Navarette, The Shape of Fear: Horror and the Fin-de-Siècle Culture of Decadence (Lexington, KY: University Press of Kentucky, 1998); and Andrew Smith, Victorian Demons: Medicine, Masculinity and the Gothic at the Fin de Siècle (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2004). This list of relevant criticism

219 220 Notes

is indicative rather than comprehensive. For further influential contributions, see the bibliography at the end of this study and their critical inclusion in the subsequent chapters. 5 This is not to say that previous critics have not noticed the significance of the dialectical relationship between deviance and norm. Thus William Greenslade remarks: ‘“Degeneration” entails the existence of a norm from which degeneration has occurred’ (Greenslade, Degeneration, p. 29). Stephen Arata comments on the suggestiveness of Morel’s formative definition: ‘This formulation begged a number of questions (How did one define a type? What constituted deviation? How were morbid changes distinguished from healthy?), but it also proved highly portable’ (Arata, Fictions of Loss, p. 15). 6 I appropriate the phrase ‘Gothic effulgence’ from Robert Miles, who uses it to characterise the first flowering of this mode of writing in the last decade of the eighteenth century (see Robert Miles, ‘The 1790s: The Effulgence of Gothic’, in Jerrold E. Hogle (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to Gothic Fiction (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002), pp. 41–62). 7 Daniel Pick shows how the Lancet – one of Britain’s most respected medical journals – entertained discussions about degeneration from the mid-nineteenth century onwards. Starting with clinical analyses of degenerative organs in the human body and anthropological accounts of ‘primitive’ peoples in the 1850s, degeneration was first addressed as a possible pathological condition of Britain’s urban population in the 1860s (see Daniel Pick, Faces of Degeneration: A European Disorder, c.1848–c.1918 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press (1989) 1993), pp. 189–90). Throughout the 1870s, 1880s and 1890s, the potential dangers of degeneration, which were extensively analysed by the era’s scientific community, similarly preoccupied social reformers, journalists and readers. 8 Kelly Hurley, The Gothic Body: Sexuality, Materialism, and Degeneration at the Fin de Siècle (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press (1996) 2004), p. 73. 9 Charles Kingsley, Sanitary and Social Lectures and Essays (London and New York: Macmillan, 1902), p. 26. 10 See Kingsley, Lectures and Essays, p. 23. 11 Kingsley, Lectures and Essays, p. 25. 12 Kingsley, Lectures and Essays, p. 26. 13 Kingsley, Lectures and Essays, p. 29. 14 See Kingsley, Lectures and Essays, p. 31. 15 [Anon.], ‘Canon Kingsley on Physical Degeneration’, The Examiner (12 October 1872), pp. 999–1000 (1000). 16 [Anon.], ‘The Alleged Degeneration of Man’, Chambers’s Journal (9 October 1875), pp. 655–6 (655). 17 [Anon.], ‘Alleged Degeneration’, p. 655. 18 James Cantlie, Degeneration Amongst Londoners (London: Field & Tuer et al., 1885), p. 24. 19 Cantlie, Degeneration, p. 28. 20 Cantlie, Degeneration, p. 39. 21 Cantlie, Degeneration, p. 10. 22 Cantlie, Degeneration, p. 9. 23 See Cantlie, Degeneration, p. 16. 24 Reginald Brabazon, ‘Decay of Bodily Strength in Towns’, The Nineteenth Century (May 1887), pp. 673–6 (673). 25 Brabazon, ‘Decay of Bodily Strength’, p. 674. Notes 221

26 Brabazon, ‘Decay of Bodily Strength’, p. 674. 27 See Brabazon, ‘Decay of Bodily Strength’, pp. 674–5. 28 G. W. Hambleton, ‘Are We Degenerating Physically?’, The Lancet (29 December 1888), p. 1284. 29 Walter Shaw Sparrow, ‘Has Our Race Degenerated?’, The Idler (December 1897), pp. 678–81 (681). 30 Kingsley, Lectures and Essays, p. 21. 31 Hambleton, ‘Are We Degenerating Physically?’, p. 1284. 32 Hugh Percy Dunn, ‘Is Our Race Degenerating?’, The Nineteenth Century (August 1894), pp. 301–14. 33 [Anon.], ‘Are We Degenerating?’, The Speaker (2 February 1895), pp. 127–8 (127). 34 Shaw Sparrow, ‘Has Our Race Degenerated?’, p. 678. 35 Dunn, ‘Is Our Race Degenerating?’, p. 314. 36 On 18 February 1885, the weekly included a cartoon over the title ‘The Degeneration of Londoners’ that showed a prim-and-proper English country squire being addressed by a stunted and malnourished London boy in the streets of the capital. The caption read: ‘According to Mr. James Cantlie, F.R.C.S., a pure Londoner of the third generation is an [sic] unique specimen of physical decay. When our Country Cousin comes up for a holiday – say fifty years hence – he will no doubt present a contrast something like the above’ ([Anon.], ‘The Degeneration of Londoners’, Fun (18 February 1885), p. 71). 37 Dunn, for instance, attempted a rare statistical comparison of the ‘Report of the Factory Commissioners’ of 1833 with the ‘Report of the Local Government Board on “Changes in Hours and Ages of Employment of Children and Young Persons in Textile Factories”’ of 1873 to settle the question once and for all (see Dunn, ‘Is Our Race Degenerating?’, p. 313). He argued that his results could not support the theory of a progressive degeneration of Britain’s urban population. Even though Dunn conceded the unhealthy living conditions of the urban poor, he believed that the evolutionary mechanism of an organism’s adaptation to environmental change would ensure the progressive development of the human race (see Dunn, ‘Is Our Race Degenerating?’, p. 301). For other contemporary voices about the degeneracy controversy, see William Greenslade, Degeneration, Culture, and the Novel, 1880–1940 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994), pp. 41–6 and pp. 47–53). 38 Gareth Stedman Jones, Outcast London: A Study in the Relationship Between Classes in Victorian Society (Harmondsworth: Penguin (1971) 1976), pp. 11–12. 39 The classic study of the London ‘residuum’ and its perception as a dangerous underclass by Britain’s bourgeoisie is Stedman Jones, Outcast London. William Greenslade points out how middle-class complacency about the living conditions of London’s underclass was shaken by Andrew Mearns’s The Bitter Cry of Outcast London: An Enquiry into the Conditions of the Abject Poor (1883), ‘the most talked about pamphlet of the 1880s’ (Greenslade, Degeneration, p. 48). Deborah Epstein Nord analyses the way in which nineteenth-century urban explorers such as William Booth, Margaret Harkness (‘John Law’), Jack London, Henry Mayhew and George Sims consistently compared the inhabitants of Victorian slums to the natives of Africa, Australia and the South Sea Islands (see Deborah Epstein Nord, ‘The Social Explorer as Anthropologist: Victorian Travellers Among the Urban Poor’, in William Sharpe and Leonard Wallock (eds), Visions of the Modern City: Essays in History, Art, and Literature (Baltimore, MD, and London: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1987), pp. 122–34). 222 Notes

40 See Judith R. Walkowitz, City of Dreadful Delight: Narratives of Sexual Danger in Late-Victorian London (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1992), pp. 19–20. 41 See Walkowitz, City of Dreadful Delight, p. 26. 42 See Walkowitz, City of Dreadful Delight, pp. 29–30. 43 See Walkowitz, City of Dreadful Delight, p. 23. 44 See Pick, Faces of Degeneration, p. 202. 45 Hubert Llewellyn Smith qtd in Walkowitz, City of Dreadful Delight, p. 35. 46 Max Nordau, Degeneration (New York: D. Appleton, 1895), p. 35. 47 Nordau, Degeneration, p. 39. 48 Kelly Hurley notes how this phenomenon of nervous exhaustion was influenced by George Beard’s study of ‘neurasthenia’ (a lack of nervous energy) in American Nervousness: Its Causes and Consequences (1881) (see Hurley, Gothic Body, p. 74). 49 Nordau, Degeneration, p. 40. 50 See Greenslade, Degeneration, p. 41. 51 J. Edward Chamberlin and Sander L. Gilman, ‘Degeneration: An Introduction’ in J. Edward Chamberlin and Sander L. Gilman (eds), Degeneration: The Dark Side of Progress (New York: Columbia University Press, 1985), pp. ix–xiv (xiv). 52 See Janet Oppenheim, ‘Shattered Nerves’: Doctors, Patients, and Depression in Victorian England (Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press, 1991), p. 275. 53 See Jonathan Dollimore, ‘Perversion, Degeneration, and the Death Drive’, in James Eli Adams and Andrew H. Miller (eds), Sexualities in Victorian Britain (Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 1996), pp. 96–117 (99). 54 See Robert A. Nye, Crime, Madness, & Politics in Modern France: The Medical Concept of National Decline (Princeton NJ: Princeton University Press, 1984), p. 119. 55 See Stephen Arata, Fictions of Loss in the Victorian Fin de Siècle (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996), p. 3. 56 See Pick, Faces of Degeneration, p. 2. 57 Hurley, Gothic Body, p. 71. See also R. B. Kershner, ‘Degeneration: The Explanatory Nightmare’, The Georgia Review 40 (1986), pp. 416–44 (424). 58 Chamberlin and Gilman, ‘Introduction’, p. xiii. 59 See Arata, Fictions of Loss, p. 15. 60 Chamberlin and Gilman, ‘Introduction’, p. x. 61 Oxford English Dictionary, vol. 11 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1989), p. 396. The adjective ‘degenerate’ was used in this spiritual sense from at least the sixteenth century, as the OED’s example from Archbishop John Hamilton’s Catechism of 1552 shows: ‘How matrimonye was degenerat fra the first perfectioun’ (OED, 11, p. 395.) 62 OED, 11, p. 396. 63 See Kershner, ‘Degeneration’, p. 422. 64 Ian Dowbiggin, ‘Degeneration and Hereditarianism in French Mental Medicine, 1840–90: Psychiatric Theory as Ideological Adaptation’, in William F. Bynum, Roy Porter and Michael Shepherd (eds), The Anatomy of Madness: Essays in the History of Psychiatry, vol. 1: People and Ideas (London and New York: Tavistock, 1985), pp. 188–232 (191). 65 There is no standard English translation of Morel’s works. Direct quotations from Morel have been translated by the author. ‘[L]’idée la plus claire que nous puissions nous former de la dégénérescence de l’espèce humaine, est de nous la représenter comme une déviation maladive d’un type primitif’ (Bénédict Augustin Morel, Traité des dégénérescences physiques, intellectuelles et morales de l’espèce humaine et des causes qui produisent ces variétés maladives (Paris: J. B. Baillière, Notes 223

1857), p. 5). As in the case of its English equivalent, the French adjective primitif denotes both ‘primitive’ (that is, pertaining to an early stage of development) and ‘original’ (that is, primary and not derived). The context of Morel’s treatise makes obvious that his definition employs the word in this latter sense. 66 See Morel, Traité des dégénérescences, pp. 694–700. 67 See Hurley, Gothic Body, p. 68. 68 See Oppenheim, ‘Shattered Nerves’, p. 270. 69 Morel, Traité des dégénérescences, p. 4. 70 ‘Les dégénérescences ne peuvent donc être que le résultat d’une influence morbide, soit de l’ordre physique, soit de l’ordre moral, et, comme tous les états mal- adifs, elles ont leurs caractères spéciaux et leurs caractères généraux’ (Morel, Traité des dégénérescences, p. 4). ‘[À] chaque maladie correspond une expression typique qui est la manifestation la plus palpable d’une lésion fonctionelle’ (Morel, Traité des dégé- nérescences, p. 53, italics in original). 71 See Eric T. Carlson, ‘Medicine and Degeneration: Theory and Practice’, in Chamberlin and Gilman (eds), Degeneration, pp. 121–44 (122); Rafael Huertas, ‘Madness and Degeneration, I. From ‘Fallen Angel’ to Mentally Ill’, History of Psychiatry 3 (1992), pp. 391–411 (393); and Hurley, Gothic Body, p. 68. 72 This translation renders the singular subject in Morel’s Traité in the plural to avoid the misconception that Morel was here speaking only of the male’s partici- pation in the process of hereditary transmission. Morel believed in what Eric T. Carlson calls the ‘law of double jeopardy’ by which both parents could contain the seeds of degeneration (see Carlson, ‘Medicine and Degeneration’, p. 122). ‘Cette déviation […] renferme […] des éléments de transmissibilité d’une telle nature, que celui qui en porte le germe devient de plus en plus incapable de rem- plir sa fonction dans l’humanité, et que le progrès intellectuel déjà enrayé dans sa personne se trouve encore menacé dans celle de ses descendants’ (Morel, Traité des dégénérescences, p. 5, emphases added). 73 See Pick, Faces of Degeneration, pp. 132–3. 74 See Rafael Huertas, ‘Madness and Degeneration, II. Alcoholism and Degeneration’, History of Psychiatry 4 (1993), pp. 1–21 (7). 75 See Morel, Traité des dégénérescences, p. 5. 76 See Pick, Faces of Degeneration, p. 51. 77 See Arata, Fictions of Loss, p. 20. 78 Arata, Fictions of Loss, p. 21; see also Pick, Faces of Degeneration, p. 51. 79 ‘Les conditions de dégénérescence […] se révélent non-seulement par des car- actères typiques extérieurs plus ou moins faciles à saisir, tels que la petitesse ou la mauvaise conformation de la tête, la prédominance d’un tempérament maladif, des difformités spéciales, des anomalies dans la structure des organes, l’impossibilité de se reproduire; mais encore par les aberrations les plus étranges dans l’exercice des facultés intellectuelles et des sentiments moraux’ (Morel, Traité des dégénérescences, p. 62). 80 Greenslade, Degeneration, p. 17. 81 Pick, Faces of Degeneration, p. 7. Similarly, William Greenslade describes degeneration as a ‘fully fledged explanatory myth’ (Greenslade, Degeneration, p. 15), and Stephen Arata thinks of degeneration theory as ‘less a coherent system than a form of common sense’ (Arata, Fictions of Loss, p. 3), whose knowledge found its literary articulations primarily in popular fiction, as ‘a form of popular wisdom’ (Arata, Fictions of Loss, p. 4). 82 See Pick, Faces of Degeneration, p. 9. 224 Notes

83 See Sara Mills, Discourse (London and New York: Routledge, 2004), pp. 6–7. 84 Michel Foucault, The Archaeology of Knowledge, trans. A. M. Sheridan Smith (London and New York: Routledge (1969) 2002), pp. 120–1. 85 See Mills, Discourse, p. 15. 86 It is advisable to avoid characterising this as the ‘Foucauldian’ definition of discourse, as the French critic’s later writings move away from the here-adopted understanding of discourse as internally structured and governed by rules (see Mills, Discourse, p. 44). 87 See Foucault, Archaeology of Knowledge, p. 121. 88 Foucault, Archaeology of Knowledge, pp. 41–2. 89 See Mills, Discourse, p. 21. 90 Greenslade, Degeneration, p. 3. 91 Jürgen Link develops his theory of normalism in Versuch über den Normalismus: Wie Normalität produziert wird (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht (1997) 2006). A very useful shorter account is provided in Jürgen Link, ‘Normal/ Normalität/Normalismus’, in Karlheinz Barck (ed.), Ästhetische Grundbegriffe, vol. 4: Medien – Populär (Stuttgart and Weimar: J. B. Metzler, 2002), pp. 538–62. All quotations from Link’s works are translated by the author. 92 See Link, Versuch über den Normalismus, p. 39. 93 See Link, Versuch über den Normalismus, p. 44. 94 ‘Dabei ist die Tendenz des ‘Normalen’ der mehr oder weniger ausgedehnte normal range [sic] von Massenobjekten oder Massenverhalten, der sich um ver- schiedene Durchschnitte zwischen zwei polaren Normalitätsgrenzen erstreckt’ (Link, ‘Norm/Normalität/ Normalismus’, p. 539). 95 See Link, Versuch über den Normalismus, pp. 33–5. Subsequently, whenever the word ‘norm’ is used to denote a statistically average portion of a society’s population, it is written in single quotation marks in order to avoid confusion with its plural homonym, ‘norms’, meaning normatively acceptable standards of behaviour. 96 See Link, ‘Normal/Normalität/Normalismus’, p. 539. 97 ‘Demgegenüber ist Normalität eine historisch-spezifische Errungenschaft mod- erner okzidentaler Gesellschaften, die zuvor niemals existierte und auch heute in zahlreichen Gesellschaften nicht oder bloß in Ansätzen existiert. Sie setzt nämlich […] als ihr Konstituens und als ihre conditio sine qua non massenhafte Verdatung und statistische Dispositive voraus und wird auf Durchschnitte und Mittelwerte hin definiert. Damit ist Normalität dem Handeln aber wesentlich und konstitutiv postexistent statt präexistent. Ob ein Handeln normativ gültig sein wird (einer Norm entspricht), ist im Prinzip […] vorher bekannt; ob es normal war, ist mit Sicherheit erst nachträglich feststellbar, da es stets seine statistische Positionierung innerhalb einer Masse vergleichbarer Handlungen (seinen Ort in einer statistischen Verteilung) einschließt’ (Link, ‘Normal/Normalität/ Normalismus’, pp. 539–40). 98 See Link, ‘Norm/Normalität/Normalismus’, pp. 540–1. 99 ‘Ein wesentlicher Faktor der normalistischen Dynamik besteht konkret in der var- iablen Situierung der Normalitätsgrenzen. Dieser fundamental neue Typ sozialer Grenzen trennt den Bereich der Normalität von zwei (in der Regel symmetrisch, vertikal oder horizontal vorgestellten) “Extremzonen” der Anormalität. Durch die Lage der Normalitätsgrenzen wird im Normalismus gesellschaftliche und kul- turelle Inklusion bzw. Exklusion geregelt [...]’ (Link, Versuch über den Normalismus, p. 40). Notes 225

100 See Link, Versuch über den Normalismus, p. 68. 101 ‘Bei dieser Grenze wird das […] kontinuierliche Normal-Feld semiotisch und semantisch (insbesondere symbolisch) fest und möglichst unauslöschlich markiert’ (Link, Versuch über den Normalismus, p. 81). 102 See Link, Versuch über den Normalismus, p. 54. 103 In 1885, Parliament passed the Criminal Law Amendment Act, which was originally designed to protect young women from the fate of prostitution. However, the Labouchère Amendment, which was added to the bill at the last minute, re- criminalised homosexuality. For an outline of the events that led to the passing of the Criminal Law Amendment Act of 1885, see Joseph Bristow, ‘Wilde, Dorian Gray, and Gross Indecency’, in Bristow (ed.), Sexual Sameness: Textual Differences in Lesbian and Gay Writing (London: Routledge, 1992), pp. 44–63 (48–51) and, more extensively, Matt Cook, London and the Culture of Homosexuality, 1885– 1914 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003), pp. 42–73. 104 Dollimore, ‘Perversion’, p. 101. 105 See Arata, Fictions of Loss, p. 16. 106 Pick, Faces of Degeneration, p. 8. 107 Greenslade, Degeneration, p. 18. 108 Yuri M. Lotman, Universe of the Mind: A Semiotic Theory of Culture, trans. Ann Shukman, intro. Umberto Eco (Bloomington, IN, and Indianapolis, IN: Indiana University Press (1990) 2000), p. 128. 109 Lotman, Universe of the Mind, p. 128. 110 Lotman, Universe of the Mind, p. 131. 111 Lotman, Universe of the Mind, p. 131. 112 See Michael Titzmann, ‘Aspekte der Fremdheitserfahrung: Die logisch-semiotische Konstruktion des “Fremden” und des “Selbst”’, in Bernd Lenz and Hans-Jürgen Lüsebrink (eds), Fremdheitserfahrung und Fremdheitsdarstellung in okzidentalen Kulturen: Theorieansätze, Medien/Textsorten, Diskursformen (Passau: Wissenschaftsverlag Richard Rothe, 1999), pp. 89–114 (97). 113 See Titzmann, ‘Aspekte der Fremdheitserfahrung’, p. 95. 114 Fredric Jameson, ‘Magical Narratives: Romance as Genre’, New Literary History 7.1 (1975), pp. 135–63 (140). 115 Jameson, ‘Magical Narratives’, p. 140. 116 Lotman, Universe of the Mind, p. 142. 117 Hurley, Gothic Body, p. 26. 118 Roger Luckhurst, ‘Introduction’, in Roger Luckhurst (ed.), Late Victorian Gothic Tales (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005), pp. ix–xxxi (xx). 119 Roger Luckhurst, The Invention of Telepathy, 1870–1901 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002), p. 182. 120 Luckhurst bemoans that this concentrated critical interest in degeneration and the Gothic has taken place at the expense of other, more ephemeral, objects of study such as the contextual field of Psychical Research. His own monograph The Invention of Telepathy, 1870–1901 provides an important corrective to this neglected field of criticism. 121 Glennis Byron, ‘Gothic in the 1890s’, in David Punter (ed.), A Companion to the Gothic (Malden, MA, et al.: Blackwell Publishing (2000) 2001), pp. 132–42 (132). 122 See Kelly Hurley, ‘British Gothic Fiction, 1885–1930’, in Hogle (ed.), Companion to Gothic Fiction, pp. 189–207 (194). 123 Jerrold E. Hogle, ‘Introduction: The Gothic in Western Culture’, in Hogle (ed.), Companion to Gothic Fiction, pp. 1–20 (4). 226 Notes

124 The article by Chris Baldick and Robert Mighall is roughly structured into two parts, the first of which aims at a general critique of the ‘misguided’ interpretive strategies of modern Gothic criticism, which they see as problematically influenced by psychoanalytical theory (Chris Baldick and Robert Mighall, ‘Gothic Criticism’ in Punter (ed.), A Companion to the Gothic (Malden, MA, et al.: Blackwell Publishing (2000) 2001), pp. 209–28 (209)). Their verdict is nothing short of scathing: ‘Gothic criticism is condemned to repeat what is has failed to understand and so reproduces in its own discourse what we call the trope of “Gothicising” the past, typically casting the nineteenth century bourgeoisie in the melodramatic light reserved for the Italian aristocracy or the Spanish Inquisition by Radcliffe and Lewis. Gothic criticism serves less to illuminate a certain body of fiction than to congratulate itself, on behalf of progressive modern opinion, upon its liberation from the dungeons of Victorian sexual repression or social hierarchy’ (Baldick and Mighall, ‘Gothic Criticism’, p. 210). By de-historicising their subject matter, Baldick and Mighall argue, critics of the Gothic have imposed supposedly universal structures of the mind on a literary genre that is, however, prominently concerned with history (see Baldick and Mighall, ‘Gothic Criticism’, p. 218). The second part goes on to dismiss those critical contributions that do contextualise their object of study, while unduly relying on the ‘anxiety model’ (see Baldick and Mighall, ‘Gothic Criticism’, pp. 221–8). This latter critique was first voiced in Mighall’s groundbreaking study, A Geography of Victorian Gothic Fiction: Mapping History’s Nightmares (Oxford: Oxford University Press (1999) 2003), pp. 166–8. 125 See Baldick and Mighall, ‘Gothic Criticism’, p. 221. 126 Baldick and Mighall, ‘Gothic Criticism’, pp. 221–2. 127 Baldick and Mighall, ‘Gothic Criticism’, p. 222. 128 It must be noted that Kelly Hurley – whose work is one of Baldick and Mighall’s primary targets – is more attuned to the epistemological differences between science and literature than the above summary of the ‘anxiety debate’ suggests. In the introduction to her study The Gothic Body, she thus writes: ‘The relationship between scientific and Gothic literary discourses is, however, far more complex than the formulation of genre-as-symptom would indicate. […] I will be atten- tive throughout this study to the “gothicity” of a range of scientific discourses, to rhetoric, modes of imaging, and narrative structures which reveal the surpris- ing compatibility of empiricism and supernaturalism at this historical moment’ (Hurley, Gothic Body, p. 5). 129 See Mighall, Geography of Victorian Gothic Fiction, pp. xxiii–xxiv. 130 Smith, Victorian Demons, p. 5. 131 Raymond Williams, The Long Revolution (Peterborough, ON: Broadview Press (1961) 2001), p. 63. 132 Williams, Long Revolution, p. 63. 133 Williams, Long Revolution, p. 63. 134 Williams, Long Revolution, p. 64. 135 Williams, Long Revolution, p. 64. 136 Williams, Long Revolution, pp. 64–5. 137 Robert Miles, Gothic Writing, 1750–1820: A Genealogy (London and New York: Routledge, 1993), p. 2. 138 See Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick, The Coherence of Gothic Conventions (New York and London: Methuen (1980) 1986), pp. 9–10. 139 [Anon.], ‘Terrorist Novel Writing’, The Spirit of the Public Journals for 1797: Being an Impartial Selection of the Most Exquisite Essays and Jeux D’Esprits, Principally Notes 227

Prose, That Appear in the Newspapers and Other Publications: With Explanatory Notes and Anecdotes of Many of the Persons Alluded To 1 (1799), pp. 223–5 (225). 140 See Fred Botting, Gothic (London: Routledge, 1996), p. 15. 141 See Botting, Gothic, p. 14. 142 In his study Romanticism and the Gothic: Genre, Reception, and Canon Formation (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004), Michael Gamer suggests to read the Gothic as neither genre, nor mode – but understands it as an ‘aesthetic’, since ‘gothic texts regularly contain multiple modes of writing, shifting from novelistic prose into poetry, inset oral narratives, didactic fables, or pantomimic and dramatic spectacles’ (Gamer, Romanticism, pp. 3–4). With regard to literature (as opposed to, say, landscape painting or Gothic architecture), I do not see any added value in a distinction between the Gothic as ‘representational mode’ and the Gothic as ‘aesthetic’. 143 Julian Wolfreys, Transgression: Identity, Space, Time (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2008), p. 98. 144 Wolfreys, Transgression, p. 97. 145 See Botting, Gothic, pp. 1–20. 146 Patrick McGrath, ‘Transgression and Decay’, in Christoph Grunenberg (ed.), Gothic: Transmutations of Horror in Late Twentieth Century Art (Boston, MA, and Cambridge, MA: Institute of Contemporary Art & MIT Press, 1997), pp. 158–2 [sic] (157). See also Botting, Gothic, pp. 8–9. 147 David Punter, The Literature of Terror: A History of Gothic Fictions from 1765 to the Present Time, vol. 2: The Modern Gothic (London and New York: Longman (1989) 1996), p. 184. 148 Chris Baldick, ‘Introduction’, in Baldick (ed.), The Oxford Book of Gothic Tales (Oxford: Oxford University Press (1992) 1993), pp. xi–xxiii (xix). 149 See Mighall, Geography of Victorian Gothic Fiction, p. xix. 150 Horace Walpole, The Castle of Otranto, ed. Michael Gamer (London and New York: Penguin (1764) 2001), pp. 6–7. 151 David Punter, The Literature of Terror: A History of Gothic Fictions from 1765 to the Present Time, vol. 1: The Gothic Tradition (London and New York: Longman (1980) 1996), p. 46. 152 See Oppenheim, ‘Shattered Nerves’, p. 270. 153 See Hurley, Gothic Body, pp. 53–113 and Judith Halberstam, Skin Show: Gothic Horror and the Technology of Monsters (Durham: Duke University Press, 1995), p. 16. 154 Mighall, Geography of Victorian Gothic Fiction, p. 130. 155 This short sketch can only indicate the complex literary-historical evolution of Gothic ‘spaces’ in the nineteenth century. In his wide-ranging Geography of Victorian Gothic Fiction, Robert Mighall shows how writers at mid-century explored ‘the diseased bodies of descendants’ as ‘new domains for malevolent legacy’ (p. 79). See, particularly, the first part of Chapter 3, ‘Haunted Houses I and II’ (pp. 80–103). 156 Baldick and Mighall, ‘Gothic Criticism’, p. 220. 157 See Mighall, Geography of Victorian Gothic Fiction, p. 9. 158 Mighall, Geography of Victorian Gothic Fiction, p. 30. With this quotation Robert Mighall refers to G. M. W. Reynolds’s serial novel The Mysteries of London (1844–8). However, it also seems a particularly pertinent description of the late-Victorian Gothic. The Gothic’s geographical development ‘from Udolpho to Spitalfields’ – via Charles Dickens’s Oliver Twist (1837–8) and Bleak House 228 Notes

(1852–3), Reynolds’s Mysteries, and the ‘suburban Gothic’ of sensation fiction – is traced in great detail by Mighall (see Geography of Victorian Gothic Fiction, pp. 27–77 and pp. 118–29). 159 See Miles, Gothic Writing, p. 4.

2 Degeneration and the Victorian Sciences

1 Two classic studies that analyse the narrative patterns of Darwin’s On the Origin of Species and trace its influence on Victorian fiction are Gillian Beer, Darwin’s Plots: Evolutionary Narrative in Darwin, George Eliot and Nineteenth-Century Fiction (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press (1983) 2000) and George Levine, Darwin and the Novelists: Patterns of Science in Victorian Fiction (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1991). Both of these groundbreaking books show how, ‘[c]oming from a mode of discourse self-confidently representational and non-fictional’, Darwin’s theory of evolution by natural selection ‘enters into the dubiously representational realms of narrative and fiction’ (Levine, Darwin and the Novelists, p. 2), where it ‘has been assimilated and resisted by novelists who, within the subtle enregisterment of narrative, have assayed its powers’ (Beer, Darwin’s Plots, p. 2). While Beer traces such an ‘enregisterment’ in the works of Charles Kingsley, George Eliot and Thomas Hardy, Levine is concerned with writers less obviously shaped by Darwin’s ideas, such as Jane Austen, Charles Dickens, Anthony Trollope and Joseph Conrad. For an analysis of The Origin as ‘one long argument’ (Charles Darwin, The Origin of Species by Means of Natural Selection; or, The Preservation of Favoured Races in the Struggle for Life (Harmondsworth and New York: Penguin (1859) 1968), p. 435) in the tradition of John Herschel’s philosophy of reason- ing, see Kenneth C. Waters, ‘The Arguments in The Origin of Species’, in Jonathan Hodge and Gregory Radick (eds), The Cambridge Companion to Darwin (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009), pp. 120–43. 2 See Waters, ‘Arguments’, pp. 121–3. 3 For book-length studies of the history of evolutionary theory, see Peter J. Bowler Life’s Splendid Drama: Evolutionary Biology and the Reconstruction of Life’s Ancestry, 1860–1940 (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1996); Ernst Mayr, One Long Argument: Charles Darwin and the Genesis of Modern Evolutionary Thought (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1991); Michael Ruse, The Darwinian Revolution: Science Red in Tooth and Claw (Chicago, IL, et al.: University of Chicago Press (1979) 1999). Shorter informed accounts are, for example, provided by Robin Gilmour, The Victorian Period: The Intellectual and Cultural Context of English Literature, 1830–1890 (Harlow: Longman, 1993), pp. 118–33; Josephine M. Guy, ‘Science and Religion: Introduction’, in Guy (ed.), The Victorian Age: An Anthology of Sources and Documents (London: Routledge (1998) 2002), pp. 199–211; Virginia Richter, Literature After Darwin: Human Beasts in Western Fiction, 1859–1939 (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2011), pp. 17–39. 4 Charles Darwin, The Origin of Species by Means of Natural Selection; or, The Preservation of Favoured Races in the Struggle for Life (Harmondsworth and New York: Penguin (1859) 1968), p. 67. All further references are to this edition and are given parenthetically in the text. 5 Darwin, Origin of Species, p. 116. 6 See Thomas Robert Malthus, An Essay on the Principle of Population, intro. T. H. Hollingsworth (London: J. M. Dent, (1803) 1973), pp. 5–11. Notes 229

7 Beer, Darwin’s Plots, p. 109. William Greenslade points out how the term ‘fitness’ was used by Darwin and other biologists in a largely value-free manner. Only with the development of Social Darwinism in the last two decades of the nineteenth century did the notion of ‘fitness’ become imbued with ideological ambiguity: ‘Value was being effectively and widely smuggled into Darwinism’ (William Greenslade, Degeneration, Culture, and the Novel, 1880–1940 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994), p. 36). John Glendening accounts for this development with evolutionary theory’s inherently ambiguous appeal: on the one hand, it sanctions a self-congratulatory sense of greatness in mankind for having risen to the top of the natural world; yet, on the other, it also decentres humanity’s sense of self by effectively reducing Man to the status of a mere animal (see John Glendening, The Evolutionary Imagination in Late-Victorian Novels: An Entangled Bank (Aldershot and Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2007), p. 14). 8 Daniel Pick argues that Darwin was very well inclined to extend his evolutionary theory to the history of mankind at the time of The Origin, as a number of entries in Darwin’s notebooks show (see Daniel Pick, Faces of Degeneration: A European Disorder, c.1848–c.1918 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press (1989) 1993), p. 193, n. 52). However, the largely averse critical reception of Robert Chambers’s Vestiges of the Natural History of Creation (1844) was partly responsible for Darwin’s sparse treatment of the subject in The Origin (see Pick, Faces of Degeneration, pp. 192–3). Chambers was an amateur geologist whose anonymously published Vestiges at least implied the animal origins of man. However, he posited a trans- formationalist view of human evolution, which ascribed the variability amongst creatures to past acts of divine intervention (see Guy, ‘Science and Religion’, p. 207). A further cautioning voice was that of Charles Lyell – author of Principles of Geology (1830-3) and dedicatee of The Origin – whose scientific blessing Darwin craved (see Adrian Desmond and James Moore, ‘Introduction’, in Charles Darwin, The Descent of Man and Selection in Relation to Sex (London: Penguin, 2004), pp. xi–lviii (xxx–xxxi). 9 In this respect, Darwin appropriated Jean-Baptiste Lamarck’s theory of the inheritance of acquired characteristics, yet the notion of natural selection, which would randomly support only those that were most fit to survive, was unacceptable for the advocates of Lamarckism, who believed that a changed environment would induce all the members of a species to adapt (see Peter J. Bowler, ‘Holding Your Head Up High: Degeneration and Orthogenesis in Theories of Human Evolution’, in James R. Moore (ed.), History, Humanity, and Evolution: Essays for John C. Greene (Cambridge et al: Cambridge University Press, 1989), pp. 329–53 (333)). Furthermore, Lamarck’s understanding of evolution was decidedly progressive and cast Nature as a purposive force at variance with Darwinian evolutionism’s inherent callousness (see Robin Gilmour, The Victorian Period, p. 121). 10 This notion of an increasing structural complexity in evolving organisms was most famously put forward by Darwin’s contemporary Herbert Spencer (who suggested to Darwin the term ‘survival of the fittest’ rather than ‘struggle for existence’). Two years before The Origin, Spencer had defined progress as ‘an advance from homogeneity of structure to heterogeneity of structure’ (Herbert Spencer, ‘Art. V. – Progress: Its Law and Cause’, The Westminster Review 67 (1857), p. 446). That this development was one that ultimately tended towards perfection was unequivocally stated by Spencer as the universal ‘law of all progress’: ‘This is the course of evolution followed by all organisms whatever. It is settled beyond dispute that organic progress consists in a change from the homogeneous to the heterogeneous’ (Spencer, ‘Progress’, p. 446). 230 Notes

11 Following Arthur O. Lovejoy, Virginia Richter emphasises how Darwin’s evolutionary theory differs from earlier varieties of natural history in its dynamic tem- porality. In The Origin, Aristotle’s image of a rigid chain of being – on which all living creatures are arrayed without the influence of change and development – is supplanted by a more organic metaphor (see Richter, Literature after Darwin, p. 21). See also Richter’s deft analysis of Darwin’s metaphorisation of the ‘missing links’ in natural evolution (see Richter, Literature after Darwin, pp. 52–7). 12 However, Darwin realised that monstrosities were far more common under domestication than under natural circumstances, a curiosity that confirmed his belief that environmental conditions were a determining factor for the accumula- tive changes undergone by every species (Origin, p. 173). 13 Margot Norris, Beasts of the Modern Imagination: Darwin, Nietzsche, Kafka, Ernst, & Lawrence (Baltimore, MD, and London: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1985), p. 37. 14 See Peter Morton, The Vital Science: Biology and the Literary Imagination, 1860–1900 (London et al.: Allen & Unwin, 1984), p. 91. 15 Beer, Darwin’s Plots, pp. 108–9. 16 Leonard Jenyns, ‘From Leonard Jenyns: 4 January 1860’, in Charles Darwin, The Correspondence of Charles Darwin, vol. 8, ed. Frederick Burkhardt et al. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993), p. 14. 17 Jenyns, ‘From Leonard Jenyns’, p. 14. 18 William Sharp Macleay, ‘W. S. Macleay to Robert Lowe’ (1860), in A. Patchett Martin, Life and Letters of the Right Honourable Robert Lowe Viscount Sherbrooke, G. C. B., D. C. L. etc. With a Memoir of Sir John Coape Sherbrooke, G. C. B. Sometime Governor-General of Canada, vol. 2 (London and New York: Longmans, Green & Co, 1893), p. 205. 19 Macleay, ‘W. S. Macleay to Robert Lowe’, p. 204. 20 Richter, Literature after Darwin, p. 19. 21 The story of the Huxley-Wilberforce debate has been told so many times, it is easy to forget that there are very few sources to suggest it is anything other than a Darwinian myth. Stephen Jay Gould rehearses the few existing facts and measures the evidence for and against the popular heroic version of the encounter (Stephen Jay Gould, Bully for Brontosaurus: Reﬂ ections in Natural History (New York: Norton, 1991), pp. 385–401). 22 Thomas Henry Huxley, Evidence as to Man’s Place in Nature (New York: D. Appleton, 1863), p. 71. All further references are to this edition and are given parenthetically in the text. 23 See Richter, Literature after Darwin, p. 36. 24 Benjamin Disraeli qtd in Ian St. John, Disraeli and the Art of Victorian Politics (London: Anthem (2005) 2010), p. 54. 25 See Charles Darwin, The Descent of Man and Selection in Relation to Sex, intro. Adrian Desmond and James Moore (London: Penguin (1871) 2004), p. 22. All further references are to this edition and are given parenthetically in the text. 26 See Robert Mighall, A Geography of Victorian Gothic Fiction: Mapping History’s Nightmares (Oxford: Oxford University Press (1999) 2003), p. 144, n. 23. In a looser sense, atavism could also signify the transmission of negative character traits from a parental generation to their offspring, even though – strictly speaking – this is incorrect. However, even Huxley sometimes used the term laxly to denote any form of reversal to an earlier, and not necessarily remote, ancestor. Darwin was not pleased with Huxley’s carelessness and wrote to him Notes 231

on 25 February 1863: ‘You here & there use Atavism=Inheritance. – Duchesne, who, I believe invented word in his Strawberry Book, confined it, as everyone else has since done, to resemblance to grandfather or more remote ancestor, in contradistinction, to resemblance to parents[.]’ Huxley complied with his elder’s wish and meekly wrote an apologetic note in return: ‘I picked up “Atavism” in Pritchard [an unclear reference, probably to James Cowles Prichard] years ago – and as it is a much more convenient word than “Hereditary transmission of variations” it slipped into equivalence in my mind – and I forgot all about the original limitation’ (Charles Darwin, ‘To T. H. Huxley’ (before 25 February 1863), in The Correspondence of Charles Darwin, vol. 16, ed. Frederick Burckhardt et al. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), pp. 176–7). 27 See Cynthia Eagle Russett, Sexual Science: The Victorian Construction of Womanhood (Cambridge, MA, and London: Harvard University Press (1989) 1991), p. 66. 28 In The Descent, Darwin loosely distinguished between cases showing a form of arrested development (p. 54) and those that represented an ontogenetic reversion to an earlier phylogenetic stage (pp. 55–62), and he grouped the two phenomena under separate headings. However, this distinction had no real functional purpose, as Darwin pointed out: ‘Many of the cases [of reversion] to be here given, might have been introduced under the last heading [of arrested development]. When a structure is arrested in its development, but still continues growing, until it closely resembles a corresponding structure in some lower and adult member of the same group, it may in one sense be considered as a case of reversion’ (p. 55). Furthermore, Darwin’s observations on atavism are not restricted to unmistakably pathological cases. Some perfectly healthy individuals could sport extraordinary canines, a phenomenon that the naturalist also considered ‘a case of reversion to an ape-like progenitor’ (p. 60). In a pre-emptive gesture, Darwin warned his readers of rash incredulity: ‘He who rejects with scorn the belief that the shape of his own canines, and their occasional great development in other men, are due to our early forefathers having been provided with these formidable weapons, will probably reveal, by sneering, the line of his descent. For though he no longer intends, nor has the power, to use these teeth as weapons, he will unconsciously retract his “snarling muscles” […], so as to expose them ready for action, like a dog prepared to fight’ (p. 60). 29 Desmond and Moore, ‘Introduction’, p. lii. 30 See Diane B. Paul, ‘Darwin, Social Darwinism and Eugenics’, in Jonathan Hodge and Gregory Radick (eds), The Cambridge Companion to Darwin (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009), pp. 219–45 (224–5). 31 See Pick, Faces of Degeneration, p. 193. 32 Edwin Ray Lankester, Degeneration: A Chapter in Darwinism (London: Macmillan, 1880), p. 10. All further references are to this edition and are given parenthetically in the text. 33 H. G. Wells, ‘Zoological Retrogression’, The Gentleman’s Magazine 271 (1891), p. 247. 34 Wells, ‘Zoological Retrogression’, p. 248. 35 Wells, ‘Zoological Retrogression’, p. 253. 36 Kelly Hurley, The Gothic Body: Sexuality, Materialism, and Degeneration at the Fin de Siècle (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press (1996) 2004), p. 56. 37 H. G. Wells, The Island of Doctor Moreau, ed. Patrick Parrinder, intro. Margaret Atwood, annot. Steven McLean (London: Penguin (1896) 2005), p. 130. For detailed readings of evolution, degeneracy and animalism in Wells’s The Island of 232 Notes

Doctor Moreau, see Hurley, Gothic Body, pp. 102–13 and Glendening, Evolutionary Imagination, pp. 39–68. 38 Analyses of Lombroso’s L’uomo delinquente studiato in rapporto alla antropologia, alla medicina legale ed alle discipline carcerie were until recently hampered by the absence of a reliable English translation. Furthermore, Lombroso kept revising and enlarging his study over a period of 21 years, until the slim volume of the first edition (1876) had swelled to four thick volumes in its final form (1896–7). Mary Gibson and Nicole Hahn Rafter have authoritatively re-translated Criminal Man (Cesare Lombroso, Criminal Man, ed. and trans. Mary Gibson and Nicole Hahn Rafter (Durham, NC: Duke University Press (1876) 2006)), and their edition collates the most important material from all five editions (1876, 1878, 1884, 1889 and 1896–7) with an invaluable critical corpus. For the publication history of Criminal Man and a detailed account of Lombroso’s changing theory, see Mary S. Gibson, ‘Cesare Lombroso and Italian Criminology: Theory and Politics’, in Peter Becker and Richard F. Wetzell (eds), Criminals and Their Scientists: The History of Criminology in International Perspective (Washington, DC, and Cambridge: German Historical Institute and Cambridge University Press, 2006), pp. 138–51; Mary Gibson and Nicole Hahn Rafter, ‘Editors’ Introduction’, in Cesare Lombroso and Guglielmo Ferrero, Criminal Woman, the Prostitute, and the Normal Woman, ed. Gibson and Rafter (Durham, NC: Duke University Press (1893) 2004), pp. 3–33, as well as the editorial introductions to Lombroso’s individual editions in Criminal Man (pp. 39–41; pp. 97–8; pp. 161–2; pp. 227–8; pp. 299-300). 39 See David G. Horn, The Criminal Body: Lombroso and the Anatomy of Deviance (New York: Routledge, 2003), p. 38. General historical accounts of Lombroso’s criminal anthropology are provided in Neil Davie, Tracing the Criminal: The Rise of Scientiﬁ c Criminology in Britain, 1860–1918 (Oxford: Bardwell Press, 2005); Mary Gibson, Born to Crime: Cesare Lombroso and the Origins of Biological Criminology (Westport, CT: Praeger, 2002) and Horn, Criminal Body. Daniel Pick reads Lombroso’s life and works in the context of nineteenth-century Italian politics (see Pick, Faces of Degeneration, pp. 109–52). 40 Pick, Faces of Degeneration, p. 112. 41 Cesare Lombroso, Criminal Man, ed. and trans. Mary Gibson and Nicole Hahn Rafter (Durham, NC: Duke University Press (1876) 2006), p. 236. All further references are to this edition and are given parenthetically in the text. Mary Gibson and Nicole Hahn Rafter point out that Lombroso here exaggerates his intellectual independence, since he did reference Darwin’s work as early as the first edition of Criminal Man, when writing about the criminal habit of excessive tattooing (Mary Gibson and Nicole Hahn Rafter, ‘Notes’, in Lombroso, Criminal Man, pp. 371–400 (p. 392, n. 9)). 42 See Stephen Jay Gould, The Mismeasure of Man (New York: Norton, 1981), pp. 141–2; Pick, Faces of Degeneration, pp. 136–8. 43 See Horn, Criminal Body, pp. 9–10. 44 It is important to stress, however, that the differences between the two schools should not be overrated (see Marie-Christine Leps, Apprehending the Criminal: The Production of Deviance in Nineteenth-Century Discourse (Durham, NC, and London: Duke University Press, 1992), p. 36). David G. Horn points to the ‘considerable porosity of both disciplinary and national boundaries’ (Horn, Criminal Body, p. 4) between Italy’s and France’s criminologists. Lombroso indeed oscillated between biological and sociological causes in explaining criminal behaviour. Daniel Pick observes that Lombroso’s early writings are remarkable for their emphasis on Notes 233

the determining influence of the environment (see Pick, Faces of Degeneration, p. 113), and in Criminal Man Lombroso outlined an aetiology of crime, including the weather, urbanisation and moral education (see Criminal Man, pp. 114–34). On the other hand, Lombroso’s French opponents did not deny the significance of atavism for criminal behaviour. They rather understood crime as the combined product of environment and biology, most memorably captured in Lacassagne’s famous metaphor: ‘The social milieu is the cultural broth of criminality; the microbe is the criminal, an element that gains significance only at the moment it finds the broth that makes it ferment.’ (‘Le milieu social est le bouillon de culture de la criminalité; le microbe c’est le criminel, un élément qui n’a d’importance que le jour où il trouve le bouillon qui le fait fermenter’ (Alexandre Lacassagne qtd in Pick, Faces of Degeneration, p. 140)). Scathing comments from either faction should also be seen in the context of disciplinary struggles for authority between the Italian and the French camps (see Davie, Tracing the Criminal, p. 162). 45 This is not to say that Lombroso wanted criminal offenders to go unpunished; he rather castigated liberal penal approaches that focused solely on the criminal act as effectively inadequate, since they could not prevent incorrigible criminals from offending again once a sentence was served. 46 In 1911, Lombroso’s daughter Gina Lombroso-Ferrero published a compiled summary of her father’s L’uomo delinquente to which Lombroso had contributed an original introduction. For a classic but still reliable biographical account of Lombroso’s career, see Marvin E. Wolfgang, ‘Cesare Lombroso’, in Hermann Mannheim (ed.), Pioneers in Criminology (London: Stevens & Sons, 1960), pp. 168–227. 47 Cesare Lombroso, ‘Introduction’, in Gina Lombroso-Ferrero, Criminal Man: According to the Classiﬁ cation of Cesare Lombroso, intro. Leonard D. Savitz (Montclair, NJ: Patterson Smith (1911) 1972), pp. xi–xx (xii). 48 See Lombroso, ‘Introduction’, p. xxiv. 49 Lombroso, ‘Introduction’, pp. xxiv–xxv. 50 Pick, Faces of Degeneration, p. 126. 51 Greenslade, Degeneration, p. 91. 52 See Hurley, Gothic Body, p. 182, n. 7. 53 See Hurley, Gothic Body, pp. 96–7. 54 For a history of the notion of recapitulation from classical antiquity to the early twentieth century, see Stephen Jay Gould, Ontogeny and Phylogeny (Cambridge, MA: Belknap Press, 1977). A shorter account is provided in Gould, Mismeasure of Man, pp. 113–22. 55 Gould, Mismeasure of Man, p. 114. 56 See Laura Otis, Organic Memory: History and the Body in the Late Nineteenth & Early Twentieth Centuries (Lincoln, NE: University of Nebraska Press, 1994), p. 7. 57 In the first edition of Criminal Man, Lombroso does not yet use the term ‘born criminal’. Lombroso’s disciple Enrico Ferri coined the term in a treatise in 1880, and the grandmaster first adopted it in the third edition of his work (see Gibson, ‘Cesare Lombroso and Italian Criminology’, p. 142). Nonetheless, Lombroso considered the ‘born criminal’ ‘the most important concept of [his] studies’ (Criminal Man, p. 233). 58 See Horn, Criminal Body, p. 40. 59 At select moments, Lombroso struggled to believe in his own theory and felt com- pelled to grant certain cases of childhood innocence. In a pathetic aside addressed to his deceased son, Lombroso writes: ‘There are some exceptions: you my angel were among them, with your sweet lively eyes that still look out at me from the grave; you seemed only to enjoy the pleasure felt by others!’ (Criminal Man, p. 190). 234 Notes

Lombroso’s relativising ‘seem’, however, appears to suggest that Lombroso the father is swayed in his paternal opinion by Lombroso the criminologist. 60 It is important to note that Lombroso’s implicit norm against which he measures atavistic deviance, is not only defined through the categories of race and age but also through that of gender. Late in his career, Lombroso wrote The Female Offender (La donna delinquente, la prostitute e la donna normale, 1893), an extensive treatise on criminality amongst women. However, his conviction that women are evolutionarily less evolved than men (and thus closer to children) is already evident in Criminal Man, even though statistical data on criminal behaviour in women suggested that born criminals were generally male. Lombroso solved this empirical problem with characteristic nonchalance by counting prostitutes as a variety of female offenders: ‘If we include prostitutes in our statistics, the crime rates of the two sexes become nearly equal, with the weaker sex possibly predomi- nating’ (Lombroso, Criminal Man, pp. 127-8, emphases added). For accounts of Lombroso’s study on criminal women, see Horn, Criminal Body, pp. 52–7, and the editorial introduction to Mary Gibson’s and Nicole Hahn Rafter’s new translation of La donna delinquente (Cesare Lombroso and Guglielmo Ferrero, Criminal Woman, the Prostitute, and the Normal Woman, ed. Mary Gibson and Nicole Hahn Rafter (Durham, NC: Duke University Press (1893) 2004). 61 Gould, Mismeasure of Man, p. 125. 62 Gould, Mismeasure of Man, p. 125. 63 Horn, Criminal Body, p. 39. 64 See Horn, Criminal Body, p. 38. 65 Many careers could be cited as examples for the cross-disciplinarity of the sciences in the nineteenth century. Lombroso was a physician-turned-criminologist who, arguably, also contributed to sexological research (see Criminal Man, p. 7). Havelock Ellis is primarily known today as an important early sexologist, yet it was the polymath Ellis who was primarily responsible for the popularisation of criminology (a term he introduced) in England with the publication of his own study on the subject, The Criminal, in 1890 (see David Garland, ‘British Criminology Before 1935’, The British Journal of Criminology 28 (1988), pp. 1–17 (5–6) and Greenslade, Degeneration, pp. 97–9). 66 See Horn, Criminal Body, p. 38. 67 Nancy Leys Stepan, ‘Race and Gender: The Role of Analogy in Science’, Isis 77.2 (1986), pp. 261–77 (264). 68 For an account of the various devices used in Lombroso’s anthropometrical meas- urements, see Horn, Criminal Body, pp. 78–86. 69 Hurley, Gothic Body, p. 93. 70 See Horn, Criminal Body, p. 15. 71 See Hurley, Gothic Body, p. 93. 72 Pick, Faces of Degeneration, p. 150. 73 See Horn, Criminal Body, p. 23. 74 Daniel Pick suggestively argues that Lombroso’s attempt to make inborn criminality visible bears witness to an unacknowledged continuity between the crimi- nological scuola nuova and the earlier classical school of Bentham and Beccaria. Bentham’s panoptic model prison had sought to expose the delinquent to an all-encompassing gaze, to turn him into a spectacle: ‘Positivist criminology sought the drastic extension of that visibility – the criminal made visible outside the prison too, revealed in the contours of a distinctive physiognomy, even in advance of a crime’ (Pick, Faces of Degeneration, p. 137). Notes 235

75 See Hurley, Gothic Body, p. 94. 76 See Hurley, Gothic Body, p. 27. 77 Joseph Conrad, The Secret Agent: A Simple Tale, ed. Michael Newton (London: Penguin (1907) 2007), p. 38. 78 Greenslade, Degeneration, p. 96. It seems ironic today that Lombroso castigated psychiatrists who employed Morelian degeneration theory in the diagnosis of medical conditions: ‘According to this theory, physical and psychological disorders are passed down through inheritance and, because they become increasingly more serious, eventually result in sterility. This school of thought, however, exaggerates the importance of degeneration by claiming that even the most insignificant symptoms of illness prove their theory. In an era in which the goal of science is careful analysis, the concept of degeneration has become too broad, being used to explain pathologies from cretinism to genius, from deaf-mutism to cancer’ (Criminal Man, p. 221). He preferred his theory of atavistic arrested development as the cause of pathology and criminality, without recognising that it was just as all-inclusive. The distinction between atavism and degeneration – between an innate process of arrested development and a regres- sive one triggered by external circumstances – never caught hold in the popular imagination, and fictions of degeneration tended to collapse the theoretical differences between the two concepts. 79 See Pick, Faces of Degeneration, p. 115. 80 See Horn, Criminal Body, p. 17. 81 See Leps, Apprehending the Criminal, p. 47. 82 See Horn, Criminal Body, p. 17. 83 See Greenslade, Degeneration, p. 100. 84 See Bram Stoker, Dracula, ed. Maud Ellmann (Oxford: Oxford University Press (1897) 1998), p. 188. 85 Stoker, Dracula, p. 172. 86 Stoker, Dracula, p. 342. 87 See Bridget M. Marshall, ‘The Face of Evil: Phrenology, Physiognomy, and the Gothic Villain’, Hungarian Journal of English and American Studies 6 (2000), pp. 161–72 (165). 88 See Leps, Apprehending the Criminal, p. 47. 89 Mary Gibson and Nicole Hahn Rafter translate these proverbs thus: ‘Thin beard and little color, there’s nothing worse under the sun’ and ‘Red men or bearded women are best greeted from afar’ (Criminal Man, p. 311). Other proverbs quoted by Lombroso are: ‘Vardete de la dona che gha ose de omo’ (‘Be careful about women with deep voices’), ‘Guardati da chi ride e guarda in là e dagli occhi piccoli e molto mobili’ (‘Watch out for the man who laughs and looks ahead with small mobile eyes’) and ‘Naso che guarda in testa è peggior della tempesta’ (‘A turned-up nose is worse than a storm’). 90 Critics who recognised the evident weaknesses of Lombroso’s project were not restricted to the French sociological school of criminal anthropology (the école de Lyon) as represented by Alexandre Lacassagne, the doctor of forensic psychiatry, and Gabriel Tarde, the psychologist and provincial judge. Lacassagne and Tarde were supported by Paul Topinard and Léonce Manouvrier, two eminent anthropologists. Topinard considered many of Lombroso’s stigmata as perfectly normal or as at least unproblematic individual variations from the norm. Manouvrier deplored the absence of a well-defined control group of ‘honest’ men in Lombroso’s writings (see Leps, Apprehending the Criminal, p. 33). Further 236 Notes

criticism levied at Lombroso concerned almost all of the issues broached above: his indiscriminate construction of analogies; the use of anecdotal, proverbial and literary material; and his reliance on faulty statistics (see Wolfgang, ‘Cesare Lombroso’, pp. 197–200). In their edition of Criminal Man, Mary Gibson and Nicole Hahn Rafter identify several of Lombroso’s reproduced statistical tables as flawed (see, for example, Criminal Man, p. 55, p. 75, p. 101, p. 109, p. 128 and p. 163). However, as we have seen, despite – and in some cases because of – these methodological deficiencies, Lombrosian criminology held an overwhelming appeal for non-expert readers, who were undisturbed by the barrage of protests from scientific circles. Lombroso – more than any other writer on degeneration – managed to worm his way into the public consciousness (see Davie, Tracing the Criminal, p. 150; Greenslade, Degeneration, p. 96). Even though no English translation of Criminal Man was available in England until after Lombroso’s death in 1909, several of his articles had appeared in British journals in the 1890s, including his comprehensive ‘Criminal Anthropology: Its Origins and Applications’ in 1895 (see Hurley, Gothic Body, p. 182, n. 7). Havelock Ellis’s The Criminal, which is in many ways a rehashed version of Lombroso’s Criminal Man, was similarly met with harsh criticism from the medico-psychiatric establishment but also proved enormously successful with the wider reading public (see Garland, ‘British Criminology’, pp. 5–6; Davie, Tracing the Criminal, pp. 160–1). 91 Charles Arthur Mercier qtd in Davie, Tracing the Criminal, p. 153. 92 See Horn, Criminal Body, p. 79. 93 See Horn, Criminal Body, pp. 87–90. 94 Cesare Lombroso qtd in Horn, Criminal Body, p. 87. 95 See Leps, Apprehending the Criminal, p. 46. 96 See Pick, Faces of Degeneration, p. 8. 97 See Stephen Arata, Fictions of Loss in the Victorian Fin de Siècle (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996), p. 3. 98 See Pick, Faces of Degeneration, p. 180. 99 Elaine Showalter, The Female Malady: Women, Madness, and English Culture, 1830–1980 (London: Virago (1985) 1987), p. 118. 100 For useful accounts of Maudsley’s life and work, see Trevor Turner, ‘Henry Maudsley: Psychiatrist, Philosopher, and Entrepreneur’, in William F. Bynum, Roy Porter, and Michael Shepherd (eds), The Anatomy of Madness: Essays in the History of Psychiatry, vol. 3: The Asylum and Its Psychiatry (London and New York: Routledge, 1988), pp. 151–89; Nicholas Hervey, Charlotte MacKenzie, and Andrew T. Scull, Masters of Bedlam: The Transformation of the Mad-Doctoring Trade (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1996) and Davie, Tracing the Criminal, pp. 67–123. 101 See Pick, Faces of Degeneration, p. 205. 102 See Turner, ‘Henry Maudsley’, p. 172. 103 See Vieda Skultans, English Madness: Ideas on Insanity, 1580–1890 (London et al.: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1979), p. 131. Elaine Showalter identifies Maudsley’s central concerns as, first, the physical basis of all mental illnesses and, second, the hereditary origins of mental defects (see Showalter, Female Malady, p. 112). However, the former is arguably more of a general precondition upon which all of Maudsley’s ideas rest than an isolatable theme. 104 Henry Maudsley, Body and Mind: An Inquiry into Their Connection and Mutual Inﬂ uence, Specially in Reference to Mental Disorders: An Enlarged and Revised Edition: To Which Are Added Psychological Essays (London: Macmillan (1870) 1873), p. 2. Notes 237

All further references are to this edition and are given parenthetically in the text. 105 Hervey, MacKenzie and Scull, Masters of Bedlam, p. 235. 106 See Davie, Tracing the Criminal, p. 131. Lombroso quotes repeatedly from Maudsley, particularly when talking about the moral insanity of some criminal offenders (see, for example, Criminal Man, p. 216, p. 217 and p. 265). Maudsley, on the other hand, seems not to have returned the favour, as he does not mention Lombroso in any of his major works (that is, The Physiology and Pathology of the Mind [1867], Body and Mind [1870], Responsibility in Mental Disease [1874], Body and Will [1883]). David Garland even sees Maudsley as ‘for all the world, Lombrosian before Lombroso’ (Garland, ‘British Criminology’, p. 4) with regard to his opinions on inborn criminality. Be that as it may, it is arguably more productive to think of Lombroso and Maudsley as participating in the construction of an international discourse of degeneration. Nonetheless, paying attention to the nuanced differences between the two thinkers can open interesting routes of inquiry with regard to the analysis of the ﬁ n-de-siècle Gothic. 107 See Pick, Faces of Degeneration, pp. 206–7. 108 Janet Oppenheim, ‘Shattered Nerves’: Doctors, Patients, and Depression in Victorian England (Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press, 1991), p. 270. 109 Maudsley, Body and Mind, p. 45. 110 Family degeneration could thus be labelled ‘a gothic nightmare of heredity’ (Hurley, Gothic Body, p. 67). 111 Hurley, Gothic Body, p. 66. 112 Henry Maudsley, The Pathology of Mind: Being the Third Edition of the Second Part of the ‘Physiology and Pathology of Mind’, Recast, Enlarged, and Rewritten (New York: D. Appleton (1879) 1880), p. 84. All further references are to this edition and are given parenthetically in the text. 113 Henry Maudsley, Organic to Human: Psychological and Sociological (London: Macmillan, 1916), p. 267. 114 Pick, Faces of Degeneration, p. 207. 115 Pick, Faces of Degeneration, p. 43. 116 Thomas Henry Huxley, Evolution and Ethics and Other Essays (New York: AMS Press, 1896), p. 61. 117 Oppenheim, Shattered Nerves, p. 288. 118 Henry Maudsley, Responsibility in Mental Disease (London: Kegan Paul and Trench & Co. (1874) 1885), p. 58. 119 James Cowles Prichard, A Treatise on Insanity and Other Disorders Affecting the Mind (London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1835), p. 6. 120 See Prichard, Treatise on Insanity, p. 6. 121 Alienists of Maudsley’s ilk believed that madness (like criminality) constituted a reversal to an earlier phylogenetic stage in humanity’s evolution. The English physician Daniel Hack Tuke regarded morally insane patients as evolutionary throwbacks and compared them to the indigenous and supposedly less civilised races of Africa: ‘Such a man as this is a reversion to an old savage type, and is born by accident in the wrong century. He would have had sufficient scope for his bloodthirsty propensities, and been in harmony with his environment, in a barbaric age, or at the present day in certain parts of Africa, but he cannot be tolerated now as a member of civilized society. But what is to be done with this man who, from no fault of his own, is born in the 19th instead of a long-past century? Are we to punish him for his involuntary anachronism?’ (Daniel Hack 238 Notes

Tuke, ‘Case of Moral Insanity or Congenital Moral Defect, with Commentary’, Journal of Mental Science 31 (1885), pp. 360–6 (365)). 122 For an account of the history of sexual ‘science’ since the eighteenth century, see Harry Oosterhuis, Stepchildren of Nature: Krafft-Ebing, Psychiatry, and the Making of Sexual Identity (Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press, 2000), pp. 25–36 and the contributions to Julie Peakman (ed.), A Cultural History of Sexuality in the Enlightenment (Oxford and New York: Berg, 2012). For studies of the emergence of sexology proper in the nineteenth century, see the contributions to Chiara Beccalossi and Ivan Crozier (eds), A Cultural History of Sexuality in the Age of Empire (Oxford and New York: Berg, 2011), Joseph Bristow, Sexuality (London and New York: Routledge, 1997) pp. 12–61, Oosterhuis, Stepchildren of Nature, and Jeffrey Weeks, Sexuality and Its Discontents: Meanings, Myths & Modern Sexualities (London et al.: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1985). 123 See Oosterhuis, Stepchildren of Nature, p. 41. 124 Oosterhuis, Stepchildren of Nature, p. 43. Krafft-Ebing seems to have taken the title from the Russian psychiatrist Heinrich Kaan’s earlier and far less influential classification of sexual disorders. Kaan’s Psychopathia Sexualis (1844) was popu- larised in the twentieth century through Michel Foucault’s lectures on sexuality, in which he honoured it as a foundational text in the history of sexual science: ‘With Heinrich Kaan’s book we have then what could be called the date of birth, or in any case the date of the emergence, of sexuality and sexual aberrations in the psychiatric field’ (Michel Foucault, Abnormal: Lectures at the Collège de France, 1974–1975, ed. Valerio Marchetti and Antonella Salomoni, trans. Graham Burchell (New York: Picador, 2003), p. 282). Post-Foucauldian critics, however, tend to give pride of place to Krafft-Ebing’s study as the formational text for the discipline of sexology. 125 Richard von Krafft-Ebing, Psychopathia Sexualis: With Especial Reference to the Antipathic Sexual Instinct: A Medico-Forensic Study, trans. Franklin S. Klaf (New York: Arcade Publishing (1886) 1998), p. xxii. All further references are to this edition and are given parenthetically in the text. 126 ‘Die folgenden Blätter wenden sich an die Adresse von Männern ernster Forschung auf dem Gebiete der Naturwissenschaft und der Jurisprudenz. Damit jene nicht Unberufenen als Lektüre dienen, sah sich der Verfasser ver- anlasst, einen nur dem Gelehrten verständlichen Titel zu wählen, sowie, wo immer möglich, in Terminis technicis sich zu bewegen. Ausserdem schien es geboten, einzelne besonders anstössige Stellen statt in deutscher, in lateinis- cher Sprache zu geben’ (Richard von Krafft-Ebing, Psychopathia sexualis: Mit besonderer Berücksichtigung der konträren Sexualempﬁ ndung: Eine medizinisch- gerichtliche Studie für Ärzte und Juristen (Munich: Matthes & Seitz (1886) 1997), p. v). The translation of Psychopathia Sexualis by Franklin S. Klaf, which is used in this study, renders all of Krafft-Ebing’s Latin excursuses in modern English. Inexplicably, the important above passage from the preface to the first edition is here cut out. 127 Psychopathia Sexualis was quickly translated into several foreign languages, amongst them English, French, Dutch, Hungarian, Russian and Japanese (see Oosterhuis, Stepchildren of Nature, p. 275). One reviewer of the British Medical Journal, writing in 1893, deemed the book so risqué that he wished ‘it had been written entirely in Latin, and thus veiled in the decent obscurity of a dead language’ (qtd in Daniel Blain, ‘Foreword’, in Richard von Krafft-Ebing, Psychopathia Sexualis: With Especial Reference to the Antipathic Sexual Instinct: A Medico-Forensic Notes 239

Study, trans. Franklin S. Klaf (New York: Arcade Publishing (1886) 1998), pp. xvi–xx (xix)). Indeed, Psychopathia Sexualis’s long stretches of Latin did not seem to deter the many non-academic readers from perusing its pages, as the Munich physician Albert von Schrenk-Notzing (a contemporary of Krafft- Ebing) noted: ‘To be sure the appearance of seven editions of that work could not be accounted for were its circulation confined to psychiatric readers’ (Albert von Schrenk-Notzing qtd in Blain, ‘Foreword’, p. xix). There is an apocryphal rumour that German and Austrian booksellers registered a marked increase in sales of Latin dictionaries after the publication of Psychopathia Sexualis (see Joseph LoPiccolo, ‘Introduction to the Arcade Edition’, in Krafft-Ebing, Psychopathia Sexualis, pp. xiii–xv (ix)). 128 See Oosterhuis, Stepchildren of Nature, p. 47; Weeks, Sexuality and Its Discontents, p. 67. 129 Weeks, Sexuality and Its Discontents, p. 67. 130 See Lisa Downing, ‘Sexual Variations’, in Chiara Beccalossi and Ivan Crozier (eds), A Cultural History of Sexuality in the Age of Empire (Oxford and New York: Berg, 2011), pp. 63–81 (66–7). 131 See Oosterhuis, Stepchildren of Nature, p. 57. 132 See Bristow, Sexuality, pp. 26–7. 133 Downing, ‘Sexual Variations’, p. 68. 134 The masculine possessive determiner is appropriate here, as Krafft-Ebing – in line with orthodox Victorian attitudes towards sex – considered women to be relatively unconcerned by sexual urges: ‘Man has beyond doubt the stronger sexual appetite of the two. […] Woman, however, if physically and mentally normal, and properly educated, has but little sensual desire. […] As yet the man who avoids women, and the woman who avoids men are sheer anomalies’ (p. 8). 135 See Bristow, Sexuality, p. 31. 136 See Oosterhuis, Stepchildren of Nature, p. 103. 137 Even in the case of sadism and masochism, Krafft-Ebing allowed for an inter- relationship between acquired forms of deviant sexuality and its hereditary transmission as a congenital condition. See the example of sexual bondage and masochism, which is discussed below. 138 See Oosterhuis, Stepchildren of Nature, p. 101. 139 See Oosterhuis, Stepchildren of Nature, p. 103. Harry Oosterhuis even canonises Krafft-Ebing as ‘the leading apostle of degeneration theory in central Europe’, a distinction that should arguably be reserved for his contemporary Max Nordau (see Chapter 2, below). 140 See Oosterhuis, Stepchildren of Nature, p. 106. 141 See Oosterhuis, Stepchildren of Nature, p. 44. Harry Oosterhuis argues that – despite the concurrent development of several sexological taxonomies at the ﬁ n de siècle – Krafft-Ebing’s set the tone in both the specialised and popular discourses (see Oosterhuis, Stepchildren of Nature, p. 46). 142 See Downing, ‘Sexual Variations’, p. 67. 143 Lisa Downing investigates the tension between the binary logic of ‘normal’/‘abnormal’ and the principle of sexual variation in sexological discourse. She similarly argues that the explosive emergence of various abnormal sexualities in Psychopathia Sexualis did not relax the restrictive definition of sexual normativity (see Downing, ‘Sexual Variations’, p. 65). 144 Bristow, Sexuality, pp. 29–30. 240 Notes

145 See Oosterhuis, Stepchildren of Nature, p. 47. Renate Hauser reads Krafft-Ebing’s preoccupation with subjective states of mind as indicative of a new psychological understanding of sexuality, rather than ‘an exercise in pathology’ (Renate Hauser, ‘Krafft-Ebing’s Psychological Understanding of Sexual Behaviour’, in Roy Porter and Mikuláš Teich (eds), Sexual Knowledge, Sexual Science: The History of Attitudes to Sexuality (Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press, 1994), pp. 210–27 (211)). This is an important revisionist understanding of Krafft- Ebing’s work, which was frequently branded as ‘materialist’ when contrasted with Sigmund Freud’s psychoanalytic approach to understanding human behaviour (see Oosterhuis, Stepchildren of Nature, pp. 59–61). However, Hauser’s contention that the terms ‘masochism’ and ‘sadism’ did not function as ‘disease labels but rather described extremist expressions of normal attitudes’ (Hauser, ‘Sexual Behaviour’, p. 211) is only correct with critical hindsight and was not really a conscious part of Krafft-Ebing’s sexological project. Krafft-Ebing certainly shows an unusual understanding of perversion as the pathological inten- sification of normal drives. By the same token, however, he attempted to uphold a qualitative difference between deviant acts as part of a ‘normal’ sexuality and ‘true’ sexual perversions. 146 Max Nordau, Degeneration (New York: D. Appleton, 1895), pp. 538–9. All further references are to this edition and are given parenthetically in the text. 147 See Greenslade, Degeneration, p. 120. 148 See Downing, ‘Sexual Variations’, p. 75. 149 See Jürgen Link, Versuch über den Normalismus: Wie Normalität produziert wird (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht (1997) 2006), p. 19 and pp. 42–3. 150 Arata, Fictions of Loss, p. 27. 151 M. Kaufmann, ‘Degeneration and Regeneration’, The New Century Review (February 1897), pp. 102–10 (102). 152 Greenslade, Degeneration, p. 121. 153 Ironically, this passage is not a far cry from William Butler Yeats’s famous poem ‘The Second Coming’ (1921), in which the speaker conjures a similar apoca- lyptic scenario: ‘Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold; / Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world, / The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere / The ceremony of innocence is drowned; The best lack all conviction, while the worst / Are full of passionate intensity’ (William Butler Yeats, The Major Works, ed. Edward Larrissy (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001), p. 91). Even though Yeats is not included in Nordau’s diatribe, it does not seem far-fetched to claim that the young Irish poet would have found his place in the ranks of Nordau’s degenerates, had the critic been aware of Yeats’s life and his early creative output. 154 Arata, Fictions of Loss, p. 19. 155 Allon White, The Uses of Obscurity: The Fiction of Early Modernism (London et al.: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1987), p. 6. 156 Andrew Smith similarly notes this instability with regard to the construction of a normative masculinity in Nordau’s discourse: ‘[Degeneration’s] language of Type and Symptom, while suggesting that one can easily discern the perverse and culturally anomalous rests on an assumption that the masculine “norm” is itself stable and coherent’ (Andrew Smith, Victorian Demons: Medicine, Masculinity and the Gothic at the Fin de Siècle (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2004), p. 3). 157 Arata, Fictions of Loss, p. 22. Notes 241

158 See Bernard Shaw, Major Critical Essays: The Quintessence of Ibsenism, The Perfect Wagnerite, The Sanity of Art (Harmondsworth et al.: Penguin, 1986), p. 353. 159 See Jonathan Dollimore, ‘Perversion, Degeneration, and the Death Drive’, in James Eli Adams and Andrew H. Miller (eds), Sexualities in Victorian Britain (Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 1996), pp. 96–117 (102–3). 160 See Rafael Huertas, ‘Madness and Degeneration, IV. The Man of Genius’, History of Psychiatry, 4 (1993), pp. 301–19 (301). 161 The French psychiatrist Jacques-Joseph Moreau was the first to write about genius as one form of extreme abnormality (the other being idiocy) and developed his theory of the génie-névrose in La psychologie morbide dans ses rapports avec la philoso- phie de l’histoire, ou l’inﬂ uence des névropathies sur le dynamisme intellectuel in 1859, in which the genius was described as an individual with an overexcited nervous system (see Huertas, ‘Madness and Degeneration’, p. 305). Valentin Magnan’s studies about the ‘superior degenerate’ became particularly influential throughout the second half of the nineteenth century (see Huertas, ‘Madness and Degeneration’, pp. 306–7). Lombroso’s intervention in the subject, in Genio e folia (1864) and L’uomo di genio, was followed in England by J. F. Nisbet’s The Insanity of Genius (1891) and Francis Galton’s Hereditary Genius (1892) (see Arata, Fictions of Loss, p. 18). 162 Cesare Lombroso, The Man of Genius (London: Walter Scott, 1891), p. v. 163 Lombroso, Man of Genius, p. vi. 164 Lombroso, Man of Genius, p. 359. 165 Lombroso, Man of Genius, p. v. 166 See Arata, Fictions of Loss, pp. 11–14. 167 See Gowan Dawson, Darwin, Literature and Victorian Respectability (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007), pp. 190–221. 168 It is difficult to guess why Nordau did not mention The Picture of Dorian Gray in his Degeneration. He may simply not have read the novel. Instead, he criticised Wilde for his eccentric style of dress, which he branded ‘a pathological aberra- tion of a racial instinct’ (p. 318). Furthermore, he accused him of openly admir- ing ‘immorality, sin and crime’ (p. 320), a judgement he based on Wilde’s prose essays in the collection Intentions (1891). Wilde’s poetic and dramatic output he discarded in passing as ‘feeble imitations of Rossetti and Swinburne, and of dreary inanity’ (p. 319). 169 Regenia Gagnier makes a similar point: ‘But more important than the novel itself is the controversy it generated, for it recapitulated the novel’s themes’ (Regenia Gagnier, Idylls of the Marketplace: Oscar Wilde and the Victorian Public (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1986), p. 51). 170 See William James, Essays, Comments, and Reviews (Cambridge, MA, and London: Harvard University Press, 1987), p. 507. 171 See Arata, Fictions of Loss, p. 64. 172 [Anon.], ‘Unsigned Review, Daily Chronicle (30 June 1890)’, in Karl Beckson (ed.), The Critical Heritage: Oscar Wilde (London and New York: Routledge, 1974), pp. 72–3 (72). 173 [Anon.], ‘Unsigned Review’, p. 72. 174 [Anon.], ‘Unsigned Review’, p. 72. 175 [Anon.], ‘Unsigned Review’, p. 73. 176 Rupert Hart-Davis (ed.), Selected Letters of Oscar Wilde (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1979), p. 85. 177 [Anon.], ‘Unsigned Notice, Scots Observer (5 July 1890)’, in Beckson (ed.), Critical Heritage, pp. 74–5 (75). 242 Notes

178 [Anon.], ‘Unsigned Notice’, p. 75. 179 Hart-Davis (ed.), Selected Letters, p. 82. 180 Hart-Davis (ed.), Selected Letters, p. 82. 181 See Richard Ellmann, Oscar Wilde (London: Penguin, 1988), p. 412. 182 Edward Clarke qtd in Merlin Holland, Irish Peacock & Scarlet Marquess: The Real Trial of Oscar Wilde (London and New York: Fourth Estate, 2004), p. 42. 183 Oscar Wilde qtd in Holland, Irish Peacock & Scarlet Marquess, p. 103. 184 John Stokes, In the Nineties (New York et al.: Harvester Wheatsheaf, 1989), p. 11. The synchronicity of Wilde’s fall and the publication of Nordau’s Degeneration was not lost on their contemporaries. William Greenslade points to a famous review by Hugh E. M. Stutfield under the title ‘Tommyrotics’, which established a subtle link between Wilde’s conviction and Nordau’s success (see Greenslade, Degeneration, p. 123). In his contribution to Blackwood’s Edinburgh Magazine, Stutfield commented cryptically: ‘Recent events, which shall be nameless, must surely have opened the eyes even of those who have hitherto been blind to the true inwardness of modern aesthetic Hellenism, and perhaps the less said on this subject now the better’ (Hugh E. M. Stutfield, ‘Tommyrotics’, Blackwood’s Edinburgh Magazine (June 1895), pp. 833–45 (835)). The reference to ‘nameless’ events is an underhand jab at Wilde’s sexuality. Homosexual desire was frequently described as ‘the love that dare not speak its name’, a phrase famously inscribed in the poem ‘Two Loves’ (1894) by Lord Alfred Douglas, Wilde’s pro- tégé and lover. 185 W. B., ‘Review of Max Nordau, Degeneration’, The Dublin Review (July 1895), pp. 213–17 (213). 186 W. B., ‘Review of Max Nordau’, p. 214. 187 [Anon.], ‘The New Author’, The National Observer (9 March 1895), pp. 441–2 (441). 188 James, Essays, p. 507. 189 James, Essays, p. 508. 190 [Anon.], ‘Are We All Mad?’, The Speaker (2 March 1895), pp. 238–9 (239). 191 [Anon.], ‘A Teuton Come to Judgement’, The Saturday Review (9 March 1895), pp. 323–4 (324). 192 See Pick, Faces of Degeneration, p. 25. 193 Charles Whibley, ‘The True Degenerate’, The New Review (April 1895), pp. 425–32 (432). 194 George Saintsbury, ‘Degeneration’, The Bookman (April 1895), pp. 13–14 (13). 195 Saintsbury, ‘Degeneration’, p. 14. 196 Shaw was probably provoked to review Degeneration by its vicious treatment of Ibsen and Wagner, on both of whom he had written admiringly (see Greenslade, Degeneration, p. 125). Two other lengthy studies that made a hatchet job of Nordau’s book were William Hirsch’s Genie und Entartung: Eine psychologische Studie (1895), translated into English as Genius and Degeneration: A Psychological Study in 1897, and Alfred Egmont Hake’s Regeneration: A Reply to Max Nordau (1896) (see Greenslade, Degeneration, p. 126). 197 Shaw, Major Critical Essays, p. 341. 198 Shaw, Major Critical Essays, p. 353. 199 Shaw, Major Critical Essays, p. 341. 200 Shaw, Major Critical Essays, p. 345. 201 Vernon Lee, ‘Deterioration of Soul’, The Fortnightly Review 59 (1896), pp. 928–43 (928). 202 Lee, ‘Deterioration of Soul’, p. 928, emphases added. Notes 243

203 Lee, ‘Deterioration of Soul’, p. 928. 204 Lee, ‘Deterioration of Soul’, p. 931. 205 Lee, ‘Deterioration of Soul’, p. 931. 206 Lee, ‘Deterioration of Soul’, p. 942.

3 Detecting the Degenerate: Robert Louis Stevenson’s Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde and Arthur Machen’s The Great God Pan

1 In 1890, Arthur Machen published a short story, ‘The Experiment’, in the magazine The Whirlwind. This was an early version of The Great God Pan’s first chapter. In January 1891, Machen produced ‘The City of Resurrections’ (later the third chapter of his novel) and realised that ‘there were many other chapters to write’ (Arthur Machen, ‘The Great God Pan: Introduction’ (1916), in Machen, The Great God Pan and The Hill of Dreams (Mineola, NY: Dover Publications, 2006), pp. 1–8 (6)). In 1894 he managed to jump on the bandwagon of the Decadent Movement and got The Great God Pan published by John Lane and Elkin Mathews in the infamous Keynote Series, which was also to include such risqué works as George Egerton’s Keynotes (1893) and Discords (1895), M. P. Shiel’s Prince Zaleski (1895) and Grant Allen’s The Woman Who Did (1895). Later in his career, Machen decided to downplay his own significance for the movement, reminiscing about ‘those ’nineties of which I was not even a small part, but no part at all’ (Machen, ‘The Great God Pan: Introduction’, p. 1). This denial of allegiance may have been prompted by the trial of Oscar Wilde, whom Machen had met twice, early in his career, and whose fall arguably constituted the death blow for Decadence (see Mark Valentine, Arthur Machen (Bridgend: Seren Books, 1995), pp. 20–1). 2 Qtd in Arthur Machen, The Three Impostors; or, The Transmutations (London: The Bodley Head, 1895), p. 296. When Machen’s second episodic novel The Three Impostors was published in 1895, Lane included in the edition a full list of the Keynote Series and at least one page of selected journalistic praise for each volume (see Machen, Three Impostors, pp. 291–313). This form of self-promotion was common practice in the ﬁ n de siècle’s magazine culture. However, John Lane’s advertise- ment page does not adequately reflect the variety of journalistic responses to the novel. There were at least as many crushing reviews of The Great God Pan as there were eulogies on its merits. Conservative critics frequently read it as the degenerate outcrop of Machen’s ‘diseased brain’ (Harry Quilter, ‘The Gospel of Intensity’, The Contemporary Review 67 (1895), pp. 761–82 (774)). Susan J. Navarette also notes that ‘many of Machen’s reviewers fixed – however sardonically – upon the story’s distinctly physiological and pathological qualities, treating it as though it were a diseased body in need of quarantining’ (Susan J. Navarette, The Shape of Fear: Horror and the Fin-de-Siècle Culture of Decadence (Lexington, KY: University Press of Kentucky, 1998), p. 195). At least two parodies of The Great God Pan appeared in the periodical press (see Wesley D. Sweetser, Arthur Machen (New York: Twayne, 1964), p. 200). 3 Arthur Machen, Hieroglyphics: A Note upon Ecstasy in Literature (London: Martin Secker (1902) 1923), p. 71. Machen’s Hieroglyphics is written as one part of a dialogue conversation with an anonymous interlocutor, whose presence is only implied through Machen’s style of direct address. 4 Machen, Hieroglyphics, p. 72. 5 Machen, Hieroglyphics, p. 73. 6 Machen, Hieroglyphics, p. 71. 244 Notes

7 Machen, Hieroglyphics, p. 72. 8 Charles J. Rzepka, Detective Fiction (Cambridge: Polity Press, 2005), p. 10. 9 Rzepka, Detective Fiction, p. 10. 10 It was easily perceptible to Stevenson’s early readers that he had provided them with a complex parable, without ever being specific about Edward Hyde’s trans- gressions (see Stephen Arata, ‘Stevenson and Fin-de-Siècle Gothic’, in Penny Fielding (ed.), The Edinburgh Companion to Robert Louis Stevenson (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2010), pp. 53–69 (65). Thus, an anonymous article in the Saturday Review stated simply: ‘Mr. Stevenson’s idea, his secret (but a very open secret) is that of the double personality in every man’ ([Anon.], ‘An Unsigned Review, Saturday Review’ (1886), in Paul Maixner (ed.), Robert Louis Stevenson: The Critical Heritage (London et al.: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1981), pp. 199–202 (200)). Even homosexual writers who have been enlisted by modern critics in order to corroborate queer readings of Stevenson’s novel remain very unspecific concerning what Hyde represents for them. John Addington Symonds expressed his admiration for Jekyll and Hyde in a letter to Stevenson thus: ‘The fact is that, viewed as an allegory, it touches one too closely. Most of us at some epoch of our lives have been upon the verge of developing a Mr Hyde’ (John Addington Symonds, ‘Letter to Stevenson on the “Moral Callousness” of Jekyll and Hyde’ (1886), in Maixner (ed.), (Critical Heritage, pp. 210–11). In correspondence with Robert Bridges, Gerard Manley Hopkins corrected his friend’s judgement of Hyde: ‘You are certainly wrong about Hyde being overdrawn: my Hyde is worse’ (Gerard Manley Hopkins, ‘From a Letter to Robert Bridges’ (1886), in Maixner (ed.), Critical Heritage, p. 229). Of course these comments are suggestive in the light of their authors’ sexual orientation, yet taken at face value, they do not speak to a sexualised reading of Stevenson’s novel. In an extended exchange of letters, during which he tried to coax Stevenson into revising Jekyll and Hyde for a later edition, Frederick W. H. Myers was one of the few critics who expressed dis- satisfaction with Hyde’s unspecified depravity. ‘Have you not sometimes thought of incarnate evil rather too vaguely?’, he asked Stevenson, suggesting that it were better to represent him ‘not [as] a generalized but a specialized fiend’ (Frederick W. H. Myers, ‘Criticism and Proposed Revisions of Jekyll and Hyde, From Letters to Stevenson’ (1886–7), in Maixner (ed.), (Critical Heritage, pp. 212–19 (215)). However, Stevenson had nothing of it, and when Richard Mansfield’s production of Jekyll and Hyde hit the stages of Victorian Britain in 1887, he objected to the introduction of an erotic relationship to his story: ‘He [Hyde] was not good looking however; and not, great gods! a mere voluptuary. There is no harm in a voluptuary; and none, with my hand on my heart and in the sight of God, none – no harm whatever – in what prurient fools call ‘immorality’. The harm was in Jekyll, because he was a hypocrite – not because he was fond of women; he says so himself; but people are so filled full of folly and inverted lust, that they can think of nothing but sexuality. The hypocrite let out the beast Hyde – who is no more sensual than another, but who is the essence of cruelty and malice, and selfishness and cowardice: and these are the diabolic in man – not this poor wish to have a woman, that they make such a cry about’ (Robert Louis Stevenson, ‘From a Letter to John Paul Bocock’ (1887), in Maixner (ed.), Critical Heritage, pp. 230–1 (231)). 11 Qtd in Machen, ‘The Great God Pan: Introduction’, p. 8. Machen derived a peculiar pleasure from compiling and publishing unfavourable reviews of his own work. He did so in his ‘Introduction’ to the 1916 reprint of The Great God Pan and in his collection Precious Balms (1924) (see Machen, ‘The Great God Pan: Introduction’, pp. 7–8). Notes 245

12 [Anon.], ‘Review of The Great God Pan and The Inmost Light: By Arthur Machen’, The Athenaeum (1895), p. 375. 13 Quilter, ‘Gospel of Intensity’, p. 772. 14 Quilter, ‘Gospel of Intensity’, p. 761. 15 Quilter, ‘Gospel of Intensity’, p. 761. 16 Roger Luckhurst, ‘Introduction’, in Robert Louis Stevenson, Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde and Other Tales, ed. Luckhurst (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006), pp. vii–xxxii (xxviii). 17 Robert Louis Stevenson, Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde and Other Tales, ed. Roger Luckhurst (Oxford: Oxford University Press (1886) 2006), p. 11. All further references are to this edition and will be given parenthetically in the text. Henry Jekyll is, among other things, Doctor of Medicine (MD, Medicinae Doctor), Doctor of Civil Law (DCL), Doctor of Laws (LL.D., Legum Doctor) and Fellow of the Royal Society (FRS). 18 On Gothic fiction’s consistent concern with the study of physiognomy, see John Graham, ‘Character Description and Meaning in the Romantic Novel’, Studies in Romanticism 5.4 (1966), pp. 208–18 and Robert Mighall, A Geography of Victorian Gothic Fiction: Mapping History’s Nightmares (Oxford: Oxford University Press (1999) 2003), pp. 173–4. 19 Mighall, Geography of Victorian Gothic Fiction, p. 188. 20 Gordon Hirsch gauges the influence of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein (1818/1832) on Stevenson’s Strange Case and notes a similarity in the vagueness of the respective monsters’ depiction: ‘The double in each book is repulsive, revolting; but in each book it is the impression that counts rather than any particularized physical description’ (Gordon Hirsch, ‘Frankenstein, Detective Fiction, and Jekyll and Hyde’, in Gordon Hirsch and William Veeder (eds), Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde After One Hundred Years (Chicago, IL, and London: University of Chicago Press, 1988), pp. 223–46 (225)). 21 Edward Hyde’s simian qualities have been frequently noted by critics (see Ed Block, Jr., ‘James Sully, Evolutionist Psychology and Late Victorian Gothic Fiction’, Victorian Studies 25 (1982), pp. 443–67 (456); R. B. Kershner, ‘Degeneration: The Explanatory Nightmare’, The Georgia Review 40 (1986), pp. 416–44 (439); Mighall, Geography of Victorian Gothic Fiction, pp. 147–8 and Virginia Richter, Literature after Darwin: Human Beasts in Western Fiction, 1859–1939 (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2011), p. 95). 22 In the first instance, a troglodyte is a member ‘of various races or tribes of men (chiefly ancient or prehistoric) inhabiting caves or dens (natural or artificial)’ (OED, vol. 18, p. 573), in other words, a caveman. But, according to the Oxford English Dictionary, it can also denote an anthropoid ape, such as a gorilla or chimpanzee. Figuratively, the word may be used to refer to ‘[a] person who lives in seclusion’, a meaning that resonates strongly with regard to Edward Hyde’s attempts to elude the investigating gentlemen of Stevenson’s novel. More generally, a troglodyte is ‘a person of a degraded type like the pre-historic or savage cave-dwellers’ (OED, vol. 18, p. 573). This latter connotation ties in with Hyde’s simian appearance. 23 Kelly Hurley, The Gothic Body: Sexuality, Materialism, and Degeneration at the Fin de Siècle (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press (1996) 2004), p. 20. 24 Stephen Arata notes that ‘gentleman’ is the noun most frequently used by the story’s other characters to describe Hyde (see Stephen Arata, Fictions of Loss in the Victorian Fin de Siècle (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996), p. 38). The proximity between cultured gentleman and wild animal is also evident in 246 Notes

‘The Carew Murder Case’. The fact that Hyde bashes Sir Danvers with the latter’s own walking cane highlights the uncomfortable proximity between Man and beast, as Cyndy Hendershot observes: ‘The fact that a gentleman’s civilized acces- sory so easily transforms into a caveman’s club indicates the uneasy closeness between Carew and Hyde’s violent behaviour’ (Cyndy Hendershot, The Animal Within: Masculinity and the Gothic (Ann Arbor, MI: University of Michigan Press (1998) 2001, p. 111). 25 My attention was first drawn to Charles Darwin’s notebooks by Daniel Pick’s Faces of Degeneration (see Daniel Pick, Faces of Degeneration: A European Disorder, c.1848– c.1918 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press (1989) 1993, (193, n. 52)). They are freely available in the World Wide Web through The Complete Work of Charles Darwin Online (http://darwin-online.org.uk/). 26 The abundant use of metaphors that liken human beings to their simian ancestors is not unique to Stevenson’s novel, and many other ﬁ n-de-siècle fictions engage in a similar way with degeneration. Stevenson’s own tale ‘Olalla’ (1885) is a case in point. While observing Olalla’s simpleton brother, the narrator of Stevenson’s short story notices ‘two characteristics that [he] disliked’: Felipe is ‘of a dusky hue, and inclined to hairyness [sic]’ (Robert Louis Stevenson, ‘Olalla’, in Barry Menikoff, The Complete Stories of Robert Louis Stevenson: Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde and Nineteen Other Tales (New York: Modern Library, 2002), pp. 420–57 (423)). And before the heroine’s mother – who is the last representa- tive of an aristocratic family, ‘degenerate both in parts and fortune’ (Stevenson, ‘Olalla’, p. 421) – attacks the convalescent soldier ‘with bestial cries’ (Stevenson, ‘Olalla’, p. 447), he was inclined to enjoy ‘her dull, almost animal neighbour- hood’ (Stevenson, ‘Olalla’, p. 432). In this tale, Stevenson makes his concern with degeneration exceedingly obvious: ‘The family blood had been impoverished, perhaps by long inbreeding, which I knew to be a common error among the proud and the exclusive’ (Stevenson, ‘Olalla’, p. 432). 27 See Roger Luckhurst, The Invention of Telepathy, 1870–1901 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002), p. 191. 28 See Robert Mighall, ‘Diagnosing Jekyll: The Scientific Context to Dr Jekyll’s Experiment and Mr Hyde’s Embodiment’, in Robert Louis Stevenson, The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde and Other Tales of Terror, ed. Robert Mighall (London: Penguin, 2002), pp. 145–61 (156). 29 Richard von Krafft-Ebing, Psychopathia Sexualis: With Especial Reference to the Antipathic Sexual Instinct: A Medico-Forensic Study, trans. Franklin S. Klaf (New York: Arcade Publishing (1886) 1998), p. 140. 30 Krafft-Ebing, Psychopathia Sexualis, p. 140. 31 This escalation of violence can be considered the logical and inevitable outcome of Jekyll’s double life, as David Punter remarks: ‘If it is indeed repression which has produced the Hyde personality, further denial of Hyde’s claims can only result in an ascending scale of violence’ (David Punter, The Literature of Terror: A History of Gothic Fictions from 1765 to the Present Time, vol. 2: The Modern Gothic (London and New York: Longman (1989) 1996), p. 5). 32 Cesare Lombroso, ‘Introduction’, in Gina Lombroso-Ferrero, Criminal Man: According to the Classiﬁ cation of Cesare Lombroso, intro. Leonard D. Savitz (Montclair, NJ: Patterson Smith (1911) 1972), pp. xi–xx (xv). 33 Lombroso, ‘Introduction’, p. xv. 34 See Stephen Jay Gould, The Mismeasure of Man (New York: Norton, 1981), p. 114. 35 Havelock Ellis, The Criminal (London: Walter Scott, 1901), p. 258. Notes 247

36 Ellis, Criminal, p. 260. 37 Lombroso qtd in Gould, Mismeasure of Man, p. 127. 38 See Mighall, ‘Diagnosing Jekyll’, pp. 150–1. 39 Mighall, Geography of Victorian Gothic Fiction, p. 148. 40 Another feature of Hyde that points at his status as a degenerate being is his recurrent feminisation (see Hendershot, Animal Within, p. 111). As William Veeder notes: ‘Emasculation […] characterizes Hyde […]. Despite all his “masculine” traits of preternatural strength and animal agility, Hyde is prey to what the late nineteenth century associated particularly with women’ (William Veeder, ‘Children of the Night: Stevenson and Patriarchy’, in Gordon Hirsch and William Veeder (eds), Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde After One Hundred Years (Chicago, IL, and London: University of Chicago Press, 1988), pp. 107–60 (149)). Doctor Lanyon observes how Hyde ‘was wrestling against the approaches of the hysteria’ (49), and Poole remarks to Utterson that he heard Hyde ‘[w]eeping like a woman’ (40) in Jekyll’s laboratory. Hysteria was considered a typically degenerative disease in the nineteenth century and ‘[w]hile it was recognized in men, hysteria carried the stigma of being a humiliatingly female affliction’ (Elaine Showalter, Sexual Anarchy: Gender and Culture at the Fin de Siècle (London: Virago (1991) 1992), pp. 105–6). Elaine Showalter’s study of madness and hysteria is tellingly titled The Female Malady (see Elaine Showalter, The Female Malady: Women, Madness, and English Culture, 1830–1980 (London: Virago (1985) 1987). 41 Stephen Heath, ‘Psychopathia Sexualis: Stevenson’s Strange Case’ (1986), in Lyn Pykett (ed.), Reading Fin-de-Siècle Fictions (London: Longman, 1996), pp. 64–79 (75). 42 See Arata, Fictions of Loss, p. 33. Stephen Arata provides the example of John Addington Symonds as one of those readers who readily identified the atavistic qualities of Stevenson’s Edward Hyde (see Arata, Fictions of Loss, p. 34 and p. 192, n. 5). It is true that Symonds thought these intimations in the novel particularly interesting, yet he had them first pointed out to him by Sir Thomas Lauder Brunton, a Scottish physician and biologist (see Symonds, ‘Letter to Stevenson’, p. 211). 43 Arata, Fictions of Loss, p. 33. 44 Arata, Fictions of Loss, p. 35. 45 Showalter, Sexual Anarchy, p. 112. 46 A fairly recent example of this critical trend is the intriguing essay ‘Something to Hyde: The “Strange Preference” of Henry Jekyll’, in which Grace Moore claims that ‘[t]he aura of unpleasantness that is loosely associated with Hyde’s coun- tenance marks him out as an onanist’ (Grace Moore, ‘Something to Hyde: The “Strange Preference” of Henry Jekyll’, in Andrew Maunder and Grace Moore (eds), Victorian Crime, Madness and Sensation (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2004), pp. 147–61 (154)). A similar idea can be found in Robert Mighall’s earlier writings on Jekyll and Hyde: ‘The suggestion that from a very early age Jekyll had been addicted or a slave to disgraceful pleasures is almost an explicit confession to masturbation, which it would appear sowed the seeds of a later career in “criminal” vice’ (Mighall, ‘Diagnosing Jekyll’, p. 155; more substantially see Mighall, Geography of Victorian Gothic Fiction, pp. 192–5). However, as Mighall is well aware, it is highly problematic to pinpoint Stevenson’s tale to one particular and exclusive meaning. His Strange Case is an immensely suggestive piece of writing that, more often than not, hints at its characters’ hidden actions and motivations without explicitly naming them. In ‘Henry Jekyll’s Full Statement of the Case’, 248 Notes

Hyde’s monstrosity is most consistently figured in terms of narcissism and sadism (see Katherine Bailey Linehan, ‘“Closer Than a Wife”: The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll’s Significant Other’, in William B. Jones, Jr., (ed.), Robert Louis Stevenson Reconsidered: New Critical Perspectives (Jefferson, NC, and London: McFarland, 2003), pp. 85–100 (88)), albeit without any sexual overtones. Of course, sadism is one of Krafft-Ebing’s sexual perversions, yet his Psychopathia Sexualis defines the condition primarily through recourse to its characteristic outbursts of brute violence, rather than any erotic elements. As Gordon Hirsch remarks: ‘Whatever other erotic components Hyde’s acts may have, sadism seems to be the transcend- ent sin, appropriating to itself all other forms of desire’ (Hirsch, ‘Frankenstein, Detective Fiction, and Jekyll and Hyde’, p. 227). Peter K. Garrett similarly warns of the dangers of reading Stevenson’s Strange Case in strictly sexual terms, as such interpretations tend to disregard the novel’s repeated emphasis on Hyde’s bestial cruelty (see Peter K. Garrett, Gothic Refl ections: Narrative Force in Nineteenth-Century Fiction (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2003), p. 118). 47 Judith Halberstam, Skin Shows: Gothic Horror and the Technology of Monsters (Durham: Duke University Press, 1995), p. 71. 48 Michael Davis, ‘Incongruous Compounds: Re-reading Jekyll and Hyde and Late- Victorian Psychology’, Journal of Victorian Culture 11.2 (2006), pp. 207–25 (211). 49 To avoid such hermeneutic circularity, both Robert Mighall and Stephen Arata have offered ingenious readings of Hyde’s status, the former focusing on Hyde as a synecdochal personification of a marauding under-class threatening the mid- dling ranks (see Mighall, A Geography of Victorian Gothic Fiction, pp. 145–53). Even more intriguingly, Arata posits that the literary critic – when analysing degeneration in the novel – ‘has to look up as well as down’ (Arata, Fictions of Loss, p. 34) and considers Hyde’s vices as ‘those of a monied gentleman’ (Arata, Fictions of Loss, p. 35). 50 See Mighall, Geography of Victorian Gothic Fiction, p. 191. 51 As David Punter puts it, ‘Hyde is not Jekyll’s opposite, but something within him’ (Punter, Literature of Terror, 2, p. 4). This ‘asymmetrical relation’ (Garrett, Gothic Refl ections, p. 111) is of far-reaching significance for the novel’s negotiation of normativity as shall be shown in the last section of this chapter. 52 Elaine Showalter interprets these reactions as ‘suggestive of the almost hysterical homophobia of the late nineteenth century’ (Showalter, Sexual Anarchy, p. 112). It is of course conceivable that Stevenson’s Strange Case would have resonated strongly with Oscar Wilde and other members of the emerging homosexual subculture at the fi n de siècle, as Nils Clausson wagers (see Nils Clausson, ‘Culture and Corruption: Paterian Self-development Versus Gothic Degeneration in Oscar Wilde’s The Picture of Dorian Gray’, Papers on Language and Literature 39 (2003), pp. 339–64 (349)). Indeed, Wilde and other prominent homosexuals such as John Addington Symonds commented favourably on Stevenson’s success, yet without ever giving so much as the slightest hint to their recognition of homosexual undertones in the novel (see Luckhurst, ‘Introduction’, p. xxvii). Intriguingly, but coincidentally, the novel was published in January 1886, the same month in which the Criminal Law Amendment Act went into effect (see Clausson, ‘Culture and Corruption’, p. 351; Showalter, Sexual Anarchy, p. 106). However, queer readings that treat Stevenson’s novel as ‘a fable of fin-de-siècle homosexual panic’ (Showalter, Sexual Anarchy, p. 107) require a certain leap of faith in the affective impact of late-Victorian gender legislation. In his ‘Introduction’ to the Oxford World’s Classics edition of Jekyll and Hyde, Roger Luckhurst draws attention to the fact that there is no real evidence for a sudden upsurge in ‘homosexual panic’ Notes 249

after the implementation of the Criminal Law Amendment Act (see Luckhurst, ‘Introduction’, p. xxviii). These considerations in mind, it is problematic to speculate that Jekyll and Hyde’s first readers ‘might have thought initially that it was a novel[,] not about two men in one body, but about two bodies in one bed’ (Wayne Koestenbaum, ‘The Shadow on the Bed: Dr. Jekyll, Mr. Hyde, and the Labouchère Amendment’, Critical Matrix 4.1 (1988), pp. 31–55 (53)), as Wayne Koestenbaum does in an influential queer article. 53 Surprisingly, only few critics have identified the reactions towards Hyde as sensations of uncanniness in the Freudian sense. In his article on Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein and Stevenson’s Strange Case, Gordon Hirsch notes that Victor’s monster and Jekyll’s double ‘produce an uncanny effect on those they encounter’ (Hirsch, ‘Frankenstein, Detective Fiction, and Jekyll and Hyde, p. 227). Recently, Stephen Arata has asserted that Stevenson had an interest in the uncanny, which predates that of Freud, yet without reading Hyde as an embodiment of uncanniness (see Arata, ‘Stevenson and Fin-de-Siécle Gothic’, p. 57). 54 See Sigmund Freud, ‘The Uncanny’, in Freud, The Uncanny, ed. Hugh Haughton, trans. David McLintock (London and New York: Penguin (1919) 2003), pp. 123–62 (124). 55 Freud, ‘The Uncanny’, pp. 124–5. 56 Freud, ‘The Uncanny’, p. 134. 57 Freud, ‘The Uncanny’, p. 148. 58 Edward Hyde’s unnameable deformity is an example of what Robert Mighall labels ‘the unspeakable’ (see Mighall, Geography of Victorian Gothic Fiction, pp. 185–99) in Gothic fiction. According to Mighall, Gothic novelists from the eighteenth century onwards have relied on a strategy of representation that is based on allu- sions and ambiguities in order to produce a sense of uneasiness in the reader: ‘Objects that are veiled, indistinct or in some way ambiguous, and of which “none can form clear ideas” [a quotation from Edmund Burke’s A Philosophical Enquiry into the Origin of Our Ideas of the Sublime and Beautiful (1757)], are more likely to arouse terror than those explicitly defined and rendered unambiguous. Similarly, terrors that defy description are more fearful than those brought under the sway of descriptive language’ (Mighall, Geography of Victorian Gothic Fiction, p. 185). 59 Freud, ‘The Uncanny’, p. 150. 60 Charles Darwin, The Descent of Man and Selection in Relation to Sex, intro. Adrian Desmond and James Moore (London: Penguin (1871) 2004) p. 689. 61 Chris Baldick, In Frankenstein’s Shadow: Myth, Monstrosity, and Nineteenth-Century Writing (Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press and Clarendon Press, 1987), p. 145. 62 Cyndy Hendershot, Animal Within, p. 103. 63 Stevenson, Strange Case, p. 54. 64 Robert Mighall focuses this scene in terms of the novel’s class politics: ‘Lanyon witnesses his scientific and professional prejudices abused; he discovers the abnormal, the degenerate and the hysterical within the body of the respectable bourgeois [...].’ (Mighall, Geography of Victorian Gothic Fiction, p. 192.) It is worth noting, though, that Lanyon may also see his professional surmises and tacit anxieties corroborated by Hyde’s transformation, given the vast diffusion of Darwin’s ideas at the end of the nineteenth century. 65 Arthur Machen, The Great God Pan and The Hill of Dreams (Mineola, NY: Dover Publications (1894; 1907) 2006), p. 24. All further references are to this edition and are given parenthetically in the text. 66 Hurley, Gothic Body, p. 14. 250 Notes

67 See Mighall, Geography of Victorian Gothic Fiction, p. 200. 68 Machen, Great God Pan, p. 48. 69 Freud, ‘The Uncanny’, p. 148. Freud elaborates on a definition of the uncanny by the German philosopher Friedrich Wilhelm Joseph Schelling. 70 See Navarette, Shape of Fear, p. 198. 71 Navarette, Shape of Fear, p. 198. 72 This paradoxical quality is also noted by Kelly Hurley: ‘There’s a compulsion to represent, as the almost obsessive proliferation of interpolated manuscripts indicates, but at the same time the novel abjures utterance’ (Hurley, Gothic Body, p. 48). 73 Hurley, Gothic Body, p. 170, n. 16. 74 See Luckhurst, Invention of Telepathy, p. 201. The Chinese-box-metaphor is explicitly used by Villiers, when he thinks about the mystery of Helen Vaughan: ‘A case like this is like a nest of Chinese boxes; you open one after another and find a quainter workmanship in every box. Most likely poor Herbert is merely one of the outside boxes; there are stranger ones to follow’ (27). 75 Navarette, Shape of Fear, pp. 190–1. 76 In The Great God Pan, Machen for the first time adopted the concept of degeneration in his fiction (see Sweetser, Arthur Machen, p. 112), a subject he would return to again and again, most prominently in The Three Impostors (1895) and The Hill of Dreams (1907). 77 Hurley, Gothic Body, p. 13. 78 Susan J. Navarette shows how, in this scene, Machen fictionalises contemporary findings in evolutionary biology, most notably those of Thomas Henry Huxley (see Navarette, Shape of Fear, pp. 178–201). In his essay ‘On the Physical Basis of Life’, Huxley attempted to convince his readers that ‘there is some one kind of matter which is common to all living beings, and that their endless diversities are bound together by a physical, as well as an ideal, unity’ (Thomas Henry Huxley, ‘On the Physical Basis of Life’ (1869), in Laura Otis (ed.), Literature and Science in the Nineteenth Century: An Anthology (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002), pp. 273–6 (273)). 79 Navarette, Shape of Fear, p. 190. 80 As Paul Fox observes, ‘it is human nature and the nature of man’s existence that tends to be investigated in [Machen’s] mysteries’ (Paul Fox, ‘Eureka in Yellow: The Art of Detection in Arthur Machen’s Keynote Mysteries’, Clues 25.1 (2006), pp. 58–69 (59)), regardless of how deeply his novels seem to be concerned with the mythical past. 81 Fred Botting, Gothic (London: Routledge, 1996), p. 143. 82 Clausson, ‘Culture and Corruption’, p. 356. 83 S. T. Joshi, The Weird Tale: Arthur Machen, Lord Dunsany, Algernon Blackwood, M. R. James, Ambrose Bierce, H. P. Lovecraft (Austin, TX: University of Texas Press, 1990), p. 21. 84 Hurley, Gothic Body, p. 13. 85 Mighall, Geography of Victorian Gothic Fiction, p. 207. 86 Mighall, Geography of Victorian Gothic Fiction, p. 201. 87 Mighall, Geography of Victorian Gothic Fiction, p. 207. 88 Krafft-Ebing, Psychopathia Sexualis, p. 51, emphases added. 89 Krafft-Ebing, Psychopathia Sexualis, p. 322. 90 Havelock Ellis, Studies in the Psychology of Sex, vol. 1 (New York: Random House, 1936) p. 151. The standard text of Ellis’s Studies in the Psychology of Sex is the Notes 251

two-volume edition published by Random House in 1936. It contains all seven original volumes of Ellis’s studies. The relevant passages quoted here (are from Ellis’s Analysis of the Sexual Impulse; Love and Pain; The Sexual Impulse in Women, which originally constituted Volume 2 of Studies in the Psychology of Sex and was first published in 1903. 91 Ellis, Studies in the Psychology of Sex, pp. 151–2. 92 Two Scandinavian psychologists describe the sensation experienced by prac- titioners of asphyxiation in the following manner: ‘The effect of asphyxia is euphoric, like pleasant dizziness and stimulation, which enhances the sexual pleasure associated with masturbation and orgasm’ (Sune M. Innala and Kurt E. Ernulf, ‘Asphyxiophilia in Scandinavia’, Archives of Sexual Behaviour 18.3 (1989), pp. 181–9 (181–2)). Interestingly, when Lord Argentine returns from Mrs Beaumont’s dinner invitation, the valet notices a minuscule change in his master: ‘[H]e thought [Argentine] appeared a little excited when he came home, but he confessed that the alteration in his manner was very slight, hardly noticeable, indeed’ (46). 93 See Karin Temmerman and Julien Quackelbeen, ‘Auto-Erotic Asphyxia from Phenomenology to Psychoanalysis’, The letter: Lacanian Perspectives on Psychoanalysis 8 (1996), pp. 42–60 (53). Unfortunately, it proved impossible to trace any primary sources to verify the existence of such a club. All sources that refer to this institution reference other secondary material. The earliest mention seems to have been made by Magnus Hirschfeld, the renowned German sexologist of the first half of the twentieth century. 94 Temmerman and Quackelbeen, ‘Auto-Erotic Asphyxia’, p. 57. 95 The German sexologist Magnus Hirschfeld draws attention to the problems involved in the diagnosis of auto-strangulation: ‘Furthermore, experience shows that the fetishism of pressure on the skin, which finds expression in the indenta- tion of the body’s surface, frequently appears in a narcissistic-autistic manner. It is not immaterial to know this, as apparent murders and suicides have repeatedly been clarified as unhappy accidents which occurred in the process of strange acts of self-bondage’ (Translation by S. K.). The German original reads: ‘Die Erfahrung zeigt weiter, daß der Hautdruckfetishismus [sic], der in dem Einpressen der Körperoberfläche seinen Ausdruck findet, oft auch narzistisch-autistisch auftritt. Dies zu wissen ist nicht unwesentlich, weil sich scheinbare Morde und Selbstmorde wiederholt als unglückliche Zufälle aufklärten, die sich bei Vornahme seltsamer Selbsteinschnürungen ereignet hatten’ (Magnus Hirschfeld, Geschlechtskunde, vol. 2: Folgen und Forderungen (Stuttgart: Julius Püttmann, 1928), p. 129.) 96 See Park Elliott Dietz, ‘Recurrent Discovery of Autoerotic Asphyxia’, in Robert R. Hazelwood et al. (eds), Autoerotic Fatalities (Lexington, MA, and Toronto, ON: D. C. Heath, 1983), pp. 13–44 (15–19). Kočwara’s case is described in an anonymous eighteenth-century publication entitled Modern Propensities, or an Essay on the Art of Strangling. The term ‘Kočwaraism’ has been suggested as an alternative to ‘autoerotic asphyxiation’. Large excerpts from the pamphlet Modern Propensities are reprinted in Dietz, ‘Autoerotic Asphyxia’, pp. 13–44. 97 See Valentine, Arthur Machen, p. 15. 98 Sweetser, Arthur Machen, p. 21. 99 See Valentine, Arthur Machen, p. 19. Machen’s Casanova had been the standard English version of these memoirs at least until a new translation was published in the Penguin Classics in 2001 (see Joshi, Weird Tale, p. 12). 252 Notes

100 The most extensive description of erotic asphyxiation in literature occurs in the works of the Marquis de Sade, whose books Havelock Ellis labelled ‘a sort of encyclopedia of sexual perversions, an eighteenth century Psychopathia Sexualis’ (Ellis, Studies in the Psychology of Sex, p. 107). In de Sade’s novel Justine (1791), which was written at almost exactly the same time as Casanova’s memoirs, the proto-sadist Roland introduces his prisoner Thérèse to the erotic effects of strangulation: ‘This torture is sweeter than you may imagine’, says Roland; ‘you will only approach death by unspeakably pleasurable sensations; the pressure this noose will bring to bear upon your nervous system will set fire to the organs of voluptuousness; the effect is certain’ (Marquis de Sade, Justine, Philosophy in the Bedroom and Other Writings (New York: Grove Press, 1990), p. 675, emphasis added). Roland continues: ‘[W]ere all the people who were condemned to this torture to know in what an intoxication of joy it makes one die, less terrified by this retribution for their crimes, they would commit them more often and with much greater self-assurance’ (Sade, Justine, p. 675). Machen’s research for his translation of Casanova’s memoirs must have led him to read de Sade’s oeuvre, even though there is no direct biographical evidence for this assumption. 101 For Machen, Herrick’s poetry provided a gateway to the seventeenth century, ‘an age which I [Machen] have loved ever since with a peculiar devotion’ (Machen qtd in Valentine, Arthur Machen, p. 14). Arguably, his interest in seventeenth- century poetry can also account for the conspicuous use of surnames in a lot of his fiction (see Helen [Henry] Vaughan, Sidney [Richard] Crashaw, Charles [George] Herbert). 102 My attention was drawn to this reading of Herrick’s poem by Robert R. Hazelwood et al., ‘Autoeroticism and the Public Visibility of Autoerotic Asphyxia’, in Hazelwood et al. (eds), Autoerotic Fatalities, pp. 1–12 (7). 103 Robert Herrick, The Poetical Works of Robert Herrick, ed. L. C. Martin (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1963), pp. 278–9. 104 Tabitha Sparks, The Doctor in the Victorian Novel: Family Practices (Farnham and Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2009), p. 123. 105 All of the novels treated in the two subsequent chapters locate the horror of degeneration and deviance in the proximity or even the heart of London’s West End. Franco Moretti has created a map of London that shows the location of criminal activity in Arthur Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes stories. Moretti notes a remarkable concentration of crime in Doyle’s detective fiction similar to that of our novels: ‘A small cluster of crimes in the City, a few more here and there; but the epicentre is clearly in the West End. The working class areas lying south of the Thames, so prominent in [his] first two novels [A Study in Scarlet (1887) and The Sign of Four (1890)] [...] have practically disappeared; and as for the East End, Holmes goes there precisely once in fifty-six stories’ (Franco Moretti, Atlas of the European Novel, 1800–1900 (London and New York: Verso, 1998), p. 134). The East End was naturally perceived as ‘outcast’ territory so that the location of crime and deviance in the Western part of the metropolis seemed to hold the promise of more terrifying effects for the writers of Gothic and detective fiction. 106 Mary C. King, ‘Digging for Darwin: Bitter Wisdom in The Picture of Dorian Gray and “The Critic as Artist”’, Irish Studies Review 12 (2004), pp. 315–27 (322). 107 The OED entry of the obsolete term ‘piccadill’ or ‘pickadill’ (for the typical seventeenth-century linen collar) records that the word was humorously used for ‘halter’ and provides an example of 1630: ‘One that at the Gallowes made her will Late choaked with the Hangman’s Pickadill’ (OED, vol. 11, (p. 763). Notes 253

108 See Mighall, Geography of Victorian Gothic Fiction, pp. 199–207. 109 Fox, ‘Eureka in Yellow’, pp. 66–7. 110 Fox, ‘Eureka in Yellow’, p. 59. 111 See Sparks, Doctor in the Victorian Novel, p. 123. 112 On the link between the Baudlairean figure of the ﬂ âneur and the amateur detective in The Great God Pan, see Sage Leslie-McCarthy, ‘Chance Encounters: The Detective as “Expert” in Arthur Machen’s The Great God Pan’, Australasian Journal of Victorian Studies 13.1 (2009), pp. 35–45 (37–9). 113 Hurley, Gothic Body, p. 40. 114 In ‘A Chapter on Dreams’ (1888), Stevenson explained his motivations for writing Jekyll and Hyde thus: ‘I had long been trying to write a story on this subject, to find a body, a vehicle, for that strong sense of man’s double being which must at times come in upon and overwhelm the mind of every thinking creature’ (Robert Louis Stevenson, ‘A Chapter on Dreams’ (1888), in Stevenson, Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde and Other Tales, ed. Roger Luckhurst (Oxford: Oxford University Press (1886) 2006), pp. 151–61 (159–60). 115 Stephen Arata also remarks on the frequent shifts of pronouns in Jekyll’s ‘Full Statement’ (see Arata, Fictions of Loss, p. 52). 116 See Botting, Gothic, p. 141. 117 Botting, Gothic, p. 140. 118 See Glen Montag, ‘Architectural Renderings of the Jekyll/Hyde House’, in Robert Louis Stevenson, The Essential Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde, ed. Leonard Wolf (New York: ibooks, 2005) pp. 249–51. 119 Mighall, Geography of Victorian Gothic Fiction, p. 151. 120 See Hendershot, Animal Within, p. 110. 121 Heath, ‘Psychopathia Sexualis’, p. 68. 122 Halberstam, Skin Shows, p. 68. However, Halberstam’s earlier remark that ‘Hyde is the disappearance of Jekyll’ (Halberstam, Skin Shows, p. 67) is unfortunate, as it glosses over the fact of Jekyll’s and Hyde’s permanent co-existence. 123 With regard to Jekyll and Hyde’s identical handwriting, Stephen Arata point- edly remarks: ‘Hyde can sign Jekyll’s cheques and Jekyll can write Hyde’s letters because their “characters” (in both senses of the word) are the same’ (Arata, Fictions of Loss, p. 50–1). 124 See Baldick, In Frankenstein’s Shadow, p. 144. 125 Botting, Gothic, p. 142. 126 See Jürgen Link, Versuch über den Normalismus: Wie Normalität produziert wird (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht (1997) 2006), p. 55. 127 Stevenson, ‘Chapter on Dreams’, p. 153. 128 William Greenslade, Degeneration, Culture, and the Novel, 1880–1940 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994), p. 84. Enfield is the only ‘non-professional’ gentleman in the story, and Sir Danvers Carew belongs to the upper class and holds a seat in the House of Lords. 129 Even though Paul Goetsch overstates when he claims that ‘[a]ll the bach- elor gentlemen in the story lead double lives, and seek pleasure in odd places and at odd times’ (Paul Goetsch, ‘The Savage Within: Evolutionary Theory, Anthropology and the Unconscious in Fin-de-siècle Literature’, in Anne-Julia Zwierlein (ed.), Unmapped Countries: Biological Visions in Nineteenth Century Literature and Culture (London: Anthem Press, 2005), pp. 95–106 (101)), it is true that almost all characters in Stevenson’s novel struggle to sustain a façade of respectability. Stephen Arata puts it more cautiously: ‘The story is filled with men for whom respectability acts as a lid screwed down tight over sometimes 254 Notes

illicit, sometimes just vaguely shameful, desires’ (Arata, ‘Stevenson and Fin-de- Siècle Gothic’, p. 67). 130 Ever since its publication, critics have noted the conspicuous absence of women in Stevenson’s story. Thus, Henry James remarked in 1888: ‘There is something almost impertinent in the way [...] in which Mr. Stevenson achieves his best effects without the aid of the ladies, and “Dr. Jekyll” is a capital example of his heartless independence’ (Henry James, ‘From “Robert Louis Stevenson”, Century Magazine’ (1888), in Maixner (ed.), Critical Heritage (pp. 290–311 (308)). In 1895, the critic Alice Brown perplexedly stated that ‘Mr. Stevenson [...] is a boy who has no mind to play with girls’ (Brown qtd in Showalter, Sexual Anarchy, p. 108). This dearth of female protagonists has not failed to intrigue critics up to the present day (see Baldick, In Frankenstein’s Shadow, p. 144; Heath, ‘Psychopathia Sexualis’, pp. 66–7; Hurley, Gothic Body, p. 199; Showalter, Sexual Anarchy, p. 107; Veeder, ‘Children of the Night’, p. 107). All of the main characters in Jekyll and Hyde are bachelors who seem to show no interest whatsoever in the opposite sex. Of course, this lack of female characters has fuelled much of the queer criticism on Jekyll and Hyde. Bearing in mind that marital monogamy was part of the gentlemanly ideal of the nineteenth century, one could argue that Stevenson’s depiction of an all-male environment suggests yet another form of deviance. 131 Elaine Showalter similarly notes that ‘like Jekyll, Utterson also has an unconven- tional side to keep down; indeed, his self-mortification seems like an effort to stay within the boundaries of masculine propriety’ (Showalter, Sexual Anarchy, p. 110). 132 Hendershot, Animal Within, p. 110. Peter K. Garrett also notes that ‘[t]hose who confront and oppose Hyde seem to turn into his doubles’ (Garrett, Gothic Reﬂ ections, p. 115). 133 Hirsch, ‘Frankenstein, Detective Fiction, and Jekyll and Hyde’, p. 241. 134 See Davis, ‘Incongruous Compounds’, p. 212. 135 Richard Dury, ‘Strange Language of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde’, Journal of Stevenson Studies 2 (2005), pp. 33–50 (44). 136 Dury, ‘Strange Language’, p. 44. 137 Christine Persak, ‘Spencer’s Doctrine and Mr. Hyde: Moral Evolution in Stevenson’s Strange Case’, The Victorian Newsletter 86 (1994), pp. 13–18 (15). Persak reads Hyde’s character through Herbert Spencer’s First Principles (1862) and Principles of Psychology (2 vols.: 1870; 1880). In her opinion, Jekyll’s double shows ‘those primitive aggressive tendencies which had been necessary for self- preservation in the pre-social state’ (Persak, ‘Spencer’s Doctrine and Mr. Hyde’, p. 14). 138 Andrew Smith, Victorian Demons: Medicine, Masculinity and the Gothic at the Fin de Siècle (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2004), pp. 6–7. 139 Rudyard Kipling, The Mark of the Beast and Other Horror Tales, ed. S. T. Joshi (Mineola, NY: Dover Publications (1890) 2000), p. 71. 140 Kipling, Mark of the Beast, p. 78. 141 Kipling, Mark of the Beast, p. 78. 142 Kipling, Mark of the Beast, p. 80. 143 Kipling, Mark of the Beast, p. 80. 144 The reference to this criminal offence is one of the few passages in Stevenson’s Strange Case that open the novel to a homosexual reading, as blackmail immediately suggested homosexual scandal at the ﬁ n de siècle (see Showalter, Sexual Anarchy, p. 112). Notes 255

145 Qtd in Richard Ellmann, Oscar Wilde (London: Penguin, 1988), p. 386, n. 146 Ellmann, Oscar Wilde, p. 386. Matt Cook makes a similar observation: ‘Statutes against homosexual activity had legislated these other criminals [blackmailers] into existence’ (Matt Cook, London and the Culture of Homosexuality, 1885–1914 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003), p. 65). 147 Carson qtd in Merlin Holland, Irish Peacock & Scarlet Marquess: The Real Trial of Oscar Wilde (London and New York: Fourth Estate, 2004), p. 120. 148 Wilde qtd in Holland, Irish Peacock, p. 121. 149 Qtd in Matt Cook, London and the Culture of Homosexuality, 1885–1914 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003), p. 65. 150 Arata, Fictions of Loss, p. 43.

4 Othering the Degenerate: Bram Stoker’s Dracula and Richard Marsh’s The Beetle

1 See Judith Halberstam, ‘Gothic Nation: The Beetle by Richard Marsh’, in Andrew Smith, Diane Mason, and William Hughes (eds), Fictions of Unease: The Gothic from Otranto to The X-Files (Bath: Sulis Press, 2002), pp. 100–18 (101); Julian Wolfreys, ‘Introduction’, in Richard Marsh, The Beetle, ed. Julian Wolfreys (Peterborough, ON: Broadview Press, 2004), pp. 9–34 (11). 2 Prior to its book publication, The Beetle was serialised in the magazine Answers as ‘The Peril of Paul Lessingham: The Story of a Haunted Man’ from 13 March to 19 June 1897 (see Minna Vuohelainen, Victorian Fiction Research Guide, vol. 35: Richard Marsh (Canterbury: Canterbury Christ Church University, 2009), p. 12). The first edition of Dracula, by contrast, was published either in late May or early June 1897. Stoker’s publisher Constable did not clearly mark first editions from later reprintings so that a more precise dating of Dracula is impossible (see Robert Eighteen-Bisang, ‘The First Dracula’, in Elizabeth Miller (ed.), Bram Stoker’s Dracula: A Documentary Volume (Detroit, MI, et al.: Thomson Gale, 2005), p. 258). 3 See William Baker, ‘Introduction’, in Richard Marsh, The Beetle (Stroud and Dover, NH: Allan Sutton (1897) 1994), pp. vii–x (vii). 4 Christopher Craft, ‘“Kiss Me with Those Red Lips”: Gender and Inversion in Bram Stoker’s Dracula’ (1984), in Glennis Byron (ed.), Dracula: Bram Stoker (Basingstoke: Macmillan – now Palgrave Macmillan, 1999), pp. 93–118 (94). 5 Craft, ‘Gender and Inversion’, p. 94. 6 See Craft, ‘Gender and Inversion’, p. 94. 7 [Anon.], ‘The Academy Fiction Supplement’ (2 October 1897), The Academy, p. 259. 8 Qtd in Minna Vuohelainen, ‘Richard Marsh’s The Beetle (1897): A Late-Victorian Popular Novel’, Working with English: Medieval and Modern Language, Literature and Drama 2 (2006), pp. 89-100 (94). 9 Dracula is an unusually productive piece of writing – ‘a veritable writing machine’ (Judith Halberstam, Skin Shows: Gothic Horror and the Technology of Monsters (Durham: Duke University Press, 1995), p. 90), which seems ‘to generate readings, rather than close them down’ (Ken Gelder, Reading the Vampire (London and New York: Routledge, 1994), p. 65). 10 David Punter, The Literature of Terror: A History of Gothic Fictions from 1765 to the Present Time, vol. 1: The Gothic Tradition (London and New York: Longman (1980) 1996), p. 15. 11 Gelder, Reading the Vampire, p. 65. 256 Notes

12 See Daniel Pick, ‘“Terrors of the Night”: Dracula and “Degeneration” in the Late Nineteenth Century’ (1988), in Lyn Pykett (ed.), Reading Fin-de-Siècle Fictions (London: Longman, 1996), pp. 149–65. 13 Many critics after Fontana have highlighted Stoker’s debt to Lombroso’s writings on the ‘born criminal’ in his characterisation of Count Dracula: some examples are: Stephen Jay Gould, The Mismeasure of Man (New York: Norton, 1981), p. 123, n.; Halberstam, Skin Shows, pp. 253–4; Bridget M. Marshall, ‘The Face of Evil: Phrenology, Physiognomy, and the Gothic Villain’, Hungarian Journal of English and American Studies 6 (2000), pp. 161–72 (167); and Pick, ‘Dracula and “Degeneration”’, p. 157. A comprehensive critical review of the academic trend to view vampirism as code for sexual perversity is provided by Elizabeth Miller, who traces how ‘Dracula has been subjected over the years to a painstaking search for linguistic fig-leaves as the words are squeezed for every erotic potential’ (Elizabeth Miller, ‘Coitus Interruptus: Sex, Bram Stoker, and Dracula’, Romanticism on the Net 44 (2006), pp. 1–24 (9)), at the danger of sliding down ‘the slippery slope of reductive textual nitpicking and revisionist biography’ (Miller, ‘Coitus Interruptus’, p. 2). William Hughes also draws attention to the dangers involved in this pervasive attitude towards Stoker’s novel: ‘Modern criticism’s preoccupation with sexuality dominates – and indeed inhibits the development of – the debate on vampirism. Regarded as erotic, the vampire functions as a vehicle through which criticism may advance with equal ease either psychoanalytical or cultural assertions. The sexualised vampire is thus read alternately as the embodiment of authorial neuroses and as the coded expression of more general cultural fears of which the author is, consciously or unconsciously, an observer. Vampirism is a practice that lends itself to such a reading’ (William Hughes, ‘Fictional Vampires in the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries’, in David Punter (ed.), A Companion to the Gothic (Malden, MA, et al.: Blackwell Publishing (2000) 2001), pp. 143–54 (145)). The reason why vampirism lends itself to such readings is obvious to critics such as Richard Dyer: ‘[T]he act [of the vampire’s bite] is so like a sexual act that it seems almost perverse not to see it as one. Biting itself is after all part of the repertoire of sexual acts; call it a kiss, and, when it is as deep a kiss as this, it is a sexual act; it is then by extension obviously analogous to other forms of oral sex acts, all of which (fellatio, cunnilingus, rimming) importantly involve contact not only with orifices but with bodily fluids as well’ (Richard Dyer, ‘Children of the Night: Vampirism as Homosexuality, Homosexuality as Vampirism’, in Susannah Radstone (ed.), Sweet Dreams: Sexuality, Gender and Popular Fiction (London: Lawrence & Wishart, 1988), pp. 47–72 (55)). And this is to say nothing of the body’s penetration with stiff objects and the vampire’s subsequent climac- tic writhing. Prominent examples of this critical tradition are C. F. Bentley, ‘The Monster in the Bedroom: Sexual Symbolism in Bram Stoker’s Dracula’, Literature and Psychology 22 (1972), pp. 27–34; Craft, ‘Gender and Inversion’; Carrol L. Fry, ‘Fictional Conventions and Sexuality in Dracula’ (1972), in Margaret L. Carter (ed.), Dracula: The Vampire and the Critics (Ann Arbor, MI, and London: UMI Research Press, 1988), pp. 35–8; Maurice Richardson, ‘The Psychoanalysis of Count Dracula’, in Christopher Frayling (ed.), Vampyre: Lord Byron to Count Dracula (London and Boston, MA: Faber and Faber, 1991), pp. 418–22; Phyllis A. Roth, ‘Suddenly Sexual Women in Bram Stoker’s Dracula’ (1977), in Glennis Byron (ed.), Dracula: Bram Stoker (Basingstoke: Macmillan – now Palgrave Macmillan, 1999), pp. 30–42; Elaine Showalter, Sexual Anarchy: Gender and Culture at the Fin de Siècle (London: Virago (1991) 1992), pp. 179–82; Judith Weissman, Notes 257

‘Women and Vampires: Dracula as a Victorian Novel’, in Margaret L. Carter (ed.), Dracula: The Vampire and the Critics (Ann Arbor, MI, and London: UMI Research Press, 1988), pp. 69–77; and Leonard Wolf, A Dream of Dracula: In Search of the Living Dead (New York: Popular Library, 1972). 14 Bram Stoker, Dracula, ed. Maud Ellmann (Oxford: Oxford University Press (1897) 1998), p. 341. All further references are to this edition and are given parenthetically in the text. 15 Judith Halberstam thinks Dracula’s features are suggestively Jewish, a circumstance that would link the Count to Fagin and Svengali – the respective villains of Charles Dickens’s Oliver Twist (1837) and George du Maurier’s Trilby (1894) (see Halberstam, Skin Shows, p. 92). Carol Margaret Davison also notes Dracula’s ‘stere- otypical Jewish physiognomy’ (Carol Margaret Davison, ‘Blood Brothers: Dracula and Jack the Ripper’, in Carol Margaret Davison (ed.), Dracula: Sucking through the Century, 1897–1997 (Toronto, ON et al.: Dundurn Press, 1997), pp. 147–72 (154)). However, the only Jew in the novel, Immanuel Hildesheim, does not enter into a special relationship with the vampire, and the Count’s supposedly Jewish features betray him as degenerate and criminal, rather than Semitic. William Hughes remarks on this point: ‘Count Dracula is not Jewish, and the one Jew in the novel, implicated as he is within Stoker’s characteristic anti-semitism, is clearly deline- ated as such, set aside as separate from his occasional employer, the Boyar Count who respects the sacred emblems of the West’s Christianity’ (William Hughes, ‘A Singular Invasion: Revisiting the Postcoloniality of Bram Stoker’s Dracula’, in William Hughes and Andrew Smith (eds), Empire and the Gothic: The Politics of Genre (Basingstoke: Macmillan – now Palgrave Macmillan, 2003), pp. 88–102 (91)). The stigmatic markers of degeneration were formulated in such comprehensive fashion that they could easefully encompass any conceivable group of ideological Others. Jews could thus be subjected to degeneration’s levelling mechanism in the same way as non-white races, criminals, prostitutes, perverts and the insane. In this respect, it becomes somewhat irrelevant to attempt the detection of an ethnically specific Otherness in Dracula. Even Howard L. Malchow – who associates Dracula with ‘the most tangible alien immigrant threat of the time, the eastern European Jew, rather than a more generalized and metaphoric image of the unspecific colonial “Other”’ (Howard L. Malchow, Gothic Images of Race in Nineteenth-Century Britain (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1996), p. 162) – concedes that ‘[i]n a sense, the question of whether Dracula at some level represents the colonial Other or the domestic Jew is moot’ (Malchow, Gothic Images, p. 150). As William Hughes notes with regard to the variant images that Dracula is made to represent in academic criticism: ‘All are signifiers in a discourse which constructs a perceived cultural or racial Other as both degenerate and potentially infectious’ (William Hughes, ‘“Terrors That I Dare Not Think of”: Masculinity, Hysteria and Empiricism in Stoker’s Dracula’, in Elizabeth Miller (ed.), Dracula: The Shade and the Shadow: Papers Presented at ‘Dracula 97’, a Centenary Celebration at Los Angeles, August 1997 (Westcliff-on-Sea: Desert Island Books, 1998), pp. 93–103 (94)). 16 Cesare Lombroso, Criminal Man, ed. and trans. Mary Gibson and Nicole Hahn Rafter (Durham, NC: Duke University Press (1876) 2006), p. 51. 17 Lombroso, Criminal Man, p. 51. 18 See Charles Darwin, The Descent of Man and Selection in Relation to Sex, intro. Adrian Desmond and James Moore (London: Penguin (1871) 2004), p. 33. 19 See Darwin, Descent of Man, p. 34. 258 Notes

20 John Glendening, The Evolutionary Imagination in Late-Victorian Novels: An Entangled Bank (Aldershot and Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2007), p. 122. 21 In line with his critique of the ‘anxiety model’, Robert Mighall detects a far- reaching epistemological problem in the conflation of vampirism and non- normative sexuality: ‘A tautology operates which insists that the vampire is erotic, and because it is monstrous this testifies to sexual anxieties which the critic then identifies. Vampirism is used to demonstrate what the critic already knows about Victorian sexuality’ (Robert Mighall, A Geography of Victorian Gothic Fiction: Mapping History’s Nightmares (Oxford: Oxford University Press (1999) 2003), p. 211). Instead, Mighall shows how the contemporary disci- plines of psychopathology and sexology produced the sexuality of vampirism from which, he argues, modern criticism has not yet freed itself. The gist of Mighall’s analysis is that Stoker’s vampire does not represent a sexually subversive figure, threatening bourgeois codes of morality, but a straightforwardly supernatural creature of folkloristic origin. In his view, Dracula was such an immense immediate success because ‘a vampire was sometimes only a vampire and not a sexual menace’ (Mighall, Geography of Victorian Gothic Fiction, p. 247). Mighall’s criticism hinges on the accusation that scholars frequently try to establish the vampire’s erotic nature despite the novel’s factual reticence about sexual matters. (Indeed, none of the original reviews of Dracula betray the recognition of an erotic element in Stoker’s novel (see Miller, ‘Coitus Interruptus’, p. 1). Even though Mighall’s rigorous historicist approach has produced many genuinely new insights, his claim that the erotic content of Dracula can only ever be perceived by critics in ‘disguised’, ‘masked’, ‘camouflaged’ or ‘displaced’ form reads like a wilful overstatement (see Mighall, Geography of Victorian Gothic Fiction, p. 268). 22 Gelder, Reading the Vampire, p. 72. 23 See Craft, ‘Gender and Inversion’, p. 95. 24 Darwin, Descent of Man, p. 257. 25 The dominant ideological conception of gender roles – the separate-spheres model – considered sexuality only as a reality in the middle-class bedroom (and only if it served procreation). Sexological tracts allowed for sexual urges in men, while largely denying such desires to women. Consequently, prostitutes, who had in reality been forced into extra-marital sexual relations with men out of economic necessity, were branded as perverts whose inborn degeneracy aligned them with the criminal class. 26 See Halberstam, Skin Shows, p. 101. 27 A remarkable exception to this view of Dracula as transgressor is provided by Nina Auerbach’s intriguing chapter on Dracula in her study Our Vampires, Ourselves (1995), in which she reads Stoker’s novel within the generic tradition of the vampire story, arguing that (when contrasted with his literary ancestors John William Polidori’s Lord Ruthven and Sheridan Le Fanu’s Carmilla) Count Dracula enforces the concepts of heterosexuality and monogamy (see Nina Auerbach, Our Vampires, Ourselves (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1995), p. 80). Another subversive reading is provided by Christine Ferguson, who sees Dracula as characterised by obstinate limitations rather than by an endless potential for transgression. Ferguson reads Dracula’s inability to negotiate non-standard forms of English as a major reason for his eventual defeat (see Christine Ferguson, ‘Nonstandard Language and the Cultural Stakes of Stoker’s Dracula’, ELH 71.1 (2004), pp. 229–49 (230–1)). Notes 259

28 David Punter, The Literature of Terror: A History of Gothic Fictions from 1765 to the Present Time, vol. 2: The Modern Gothic (London and New York: Longman (1989) 1996), p. 21. 29 Craft, ‘Gender and Inversion’, p. 100. 30 Stephen Arata, Fictions of Loss in the Victorian Fin de Siècle (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996), p. 112. 31 Halberstam, Skin Shows, p. 88. Laura Sagolla Croley rightly remarks that ‘trans- gressing spatial boundaries could be identified as the controlling metaphor of Dracula’ (Laura Sagolla Croley, ‘The Rhetoric of Reform in Stoker’s Dracula: Depravity, Decline, and the Fin de Siècle “Residuum”’, Criticism 37 (1995), pp. 85–108 (98)). 32 Halberstam, Skin Shows, p. 91. 33 See Craft, ‘Gender and Inversion’, pp. 93–118. 34 See Croley, ‘The Rhetoric of Reform’, pp. 85–108. 35 See Arata, Fictions of Loss, pp. 107–32. 36 Fred Botting, Gothic (London: Routledge, 1996), p. 150. 37 To my knowledge, Stephen Arata was the first critic to analyse Stoker’s novel as a variety of the travel narrative (see Arata, Fictions of Loss, p. 112). Arata reads Dracula as a fictional embodiment of cultural fears about a process of ‘reverse colonisation’ at a moment of imperial decline (see Arata, Fictions of Loss, p. 108). The grisly monster from the East invades the West to subvert Britain’s colonial hegemony. In other words, Dracula’s progeny is the Empire that eventually strikes back: ‘In Count Dracula, Victorian readers could recognise their culture’s imperial ideology mirrored back as a kind of monstrosity. Dracula’s journey from Transylvania to England could be read as a reversal of Britain’s imperial exploita- tions of “weaker” races […]’ (Arata, Fictions of Loss, p. 120). 38 Carl Thompson, Travel Writing (New York: Routledge, 2011), p. 9. 39 Thompson, Travel Writing, p. 132. 40 See Thompson, Travel Writing, p. 133. 41 Arata, Fictions of Loss, p. 112. 42 See Arata, Fictions of Loss, p. 122. 43 See Arata, Fictions of Loss, p. 123. 44 See David Seed, ‘The Narrative Method of Dracula’, Nineteenth-Century Fiction 40 (1985), pp. 61–75 (69). 45 See Arata, Fictions of Loss, p. 113. 46 Some of the most important of Stoker’s sources are: Charles Boner’s Transylvania: Its Products and Its People (1865), Sabine Baring-Gould’s The Book of Werewolves: Being an Account of a Terrible Superstition (1865), and Emily Gerard’s two-volume The Land Beyond the Forest: Facts, Figures, and Fancies from Transylvania (1888). Selections from these texts are provided in Glennis Byron’s Broadview edition of Dracula (see Bram Stoker, Dracula, ed. Glennis Byron (Peterborough, ON: Broadview Press (1897) 1998), pp. 439–50). 47 John William Polidori, The Vampyre: A Tale, ed. Russell Ash (Tring: The Gubblecote Press (1819) 1974), p. 13. 48 Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu, In a Glass Darkly, ed. Robert Tracy (Oxford: Oxford University Press (1872) 1993), p. 257, emphases added. 49 Robert Louis Stevenson, ‘Olalla’, in Barry Menikoff (ed.), The Complete Stories of Robert Louis Stevenson: Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde and Nineteen Other Tales (New York: Modern Library, 2002), pp. 420–57 (424). 50 Stevenson, ‘Olalla’, p. 420. 260 Notes

51 Stevenson, ‘Olalla’, p. 422. 52 Glendening, Evolutionary Imagination, p. 115. 53 Stoker, Dracula, p. 1. 54 I follow critical practice in using Christopher Craft’s term for the group led by Abraham Van Helsing (see Craft ‘Gender and Inversion’), while being aware of its limitations. William Hughes draws attention to the disadvantages of this influential metaphor, which enforces an overly simplistic binary between ‘good’ and ‘evil’ on the novel (see William Hughes, Bram Stoker’s Dracula: A Reader’s Guide (London and New York: Continuum, 2009), p. 73). In the discussion of Dracula’s ‘normative’ characters below, the phrase is only used in inverted commas to sig- nal its problematic deceptiveness. 55 Hughes, Bram Stoker’s Dracula, p. 32. 56 Glendening, Evolutionary Imagination, p. 108. 57 Edmund Burke, A Philosophical Enquiry into the Origin of Our Ideas of the Sublime and Beautiful and Other Pre-Revolutionary Writings, ed. David Womersley (London and New York: Penguin (1757) 1998), p. 86. 58 Glendening, Evolutionary Imagination, p. 119. 59 Craft, ‘Gender and Inversion’, p. 94. 60 Marjorie Lindon, the novel’s central victim, also recounts her portion of the story (‘Book III’). However, her narrative account breaks off with the Beetle’s imminent assault on her, leaving most of her ordeal to the imagination of the novel’s anx- ious heroes as well as its readers. Like Arthur Machen’s The Great God Pan, Marsh’s The Beetle relies on the trope of ineffability to represent what is unrepresentable in the logic of the text, as Kelly Hurley shows: ‘Words fail to represent the dread the Beetle induces, and the magnitude and type of the agony she is able to inflict, so these are left more profitably to the reader’s imagination, enflamed by the vague hyperbole which masses itself round the unnamed and unnameable events con- nected with the Beetle’ (Hurley, Gothic Body, p. 134). 61 Richard Marsh, The Beetle, ed. Julian Wolfreys (Peterborough, ON: Broadview Press (1897) 2004), p. 41. All further references are to this edition and are given parenthetically in the text. 62 Victoria Margree reads Robert Holt as a border crosser in terms of social class and gender (see Viktoria Margree, ‘“Both in Men’s Clothing”: Gender, Sovereignty and Insecurity in Richard Marsh’s The Beetle’, Critical Survey, 19 (2007), pp. 63–81 (64–8)). According to her reading, it is Holt’s violation of social boundaries that makes him vulnerable to the beetle-creature’s attacks and causes a loss of gender identity through feminisation (see Margree, ‘Gender, Sovereignty and Insecurity’, p. 66). Below, I read Holt’s emasculation as a form of contagious degeneration. 63 See Hurley, Gothic Body, p. 131 and Kelly Hurley, ‘“The Inner Chambers of All Nameless Sin”: The Beetle, Gothic Female Sexuality, and Oriental Barbarism’, in Fred Botting and Dale Townshend (eds), Gothic: Critical Concepts in Literary and Cultural Studies, vol. 3: Nineteenth-Century Gothic: At Home with the Vampire (London and New York: Routledge, 2004), pp. 241-58 (247). 64 Kelly Hurley unravels the creature’s Otherness in slightly different terms when she notes: ‘In The Beetle, the Oriental represents a barbaric Other (as opposed to the highly civilized Westerner), a sexually perverse Other (as opposed to the chaste and cerebral Westerner), and a magical, supernatural Other (as opposed to the scientific, technologically proficient Westerner)’ (Hurley, Gothic Body, p. 126). 65 The Beetle’s unstable gender identity was the first aspect of the novel to receive intensive critical attention. In her pioneering article, Kelly Hurley reads Marsh’s Notes 261

monster as a grotesque embodiment of an active female sexuality: ‘The monstrosity of the gothicized seductress, embodied, in her avatar of the Beetle, as a hungry and emasculating womb equipped with phallic powers of penetration, marks a Victorian horror of female sexual appetite’ (Hurley, ‘Inner Chambers’, p. 242). Hurley reaffirms this reading in her seminal study The Gothic Body (see Gothic Body, p. 125–6). Judith Halberstam, by contrast, links the Beetle’s monstrous female form with masculinity rather than femininity (see Halberstam, ‘Gothic Nation’, p. 105). While my own reading owes an obvious debt to both Hurley and Halberstam, it tries to accommodate their diverging interpretations by emphasiz- ing the Beetle’s consummate Otherness. 66 Kelly Hurley highlights the creature’s predatorial sexuality: ‘The Oriental, whatever its gender, is certainly blatantly sexual in its interests’ (Hurley, Gothic Body, p. 133). ‘All one can be certain about is that the Beetle’s predations are sexual in nature’ (Hurley, Gothic Body, p. 135). 67 Victoria Margree even thinks of the novel’s opening chapters as ‘an extended homoerotic and masochistic fantasy’ (Margree, ‘Gender, Sovereignty and Insecurity’, p. 67). 68 Minna Vuohelainen reads the uncertainty over the Beetle’s gender as indicative of anxieties about gender identities whose non-reproductive sexuality threat- ened orthodox conceptions of heteronormativity at the ﬁ n de siècle such as the homosexual and the New Woman (see Vuohelainen, ‘Richard Marsh’s The Beetle’, p. 97). 69 See Fredric Jameson, ‘Magical Narratives: Romance as Genre’, New Literary History 7.1 (1975), pp. 135–63 (140). 70 Halberstam, ‘Gothic Nation’, p. 114. 71 Richard von Krafft-Ebing, Psychopathia Sexualis: With Especial Reference to the Antipathic Sexual Instinct: A Medico-Forensic Study, trans. Franklin S. Klaf (New York: Arcade Publishing (1886) 1998), p. 264. 72 In the course of The Beetle, it is revealed that the monster is a member of ‘the children of Isis’ (106), an Egyptian cult, whose gruesome rituals seem to involve the sacrificial killing of Western women. Reliable knowledge about the dogma and practices of the worshippers of Isis is sparse: ‘The Papyri, hieroglyphics, and so on, which remain are very far from being exhaustive, and our knowledge of those which do remain, is still less so’ (111). Apparently, before his rise and fame in the public sphere, the young Lessingham took part in an Egyptian adventure, during which he incurred the wrath of ‘the Woman of the Songs’ (241), another ‘Child of Isis’ and maybe even the beetle creature’s younger self. Twenty years later, the Beetle returns to the heart of Western civilisation to wreak vengeance on Lessingham and abduct his fiancée Marjorie Lindon. 73 See Hurley, Gothic Body, p. 130. 74 Havelock Ellis, The Criminal (London: Walter Scott, 1901), p. 264. 75 Critical readings of Marsh’s The Beetle that interpret aspects of the novel in the light of Said’s thoughts on Orientalism are given by Rhys Garnett, ‘Dracula and The Beetle: Imperial and Sexual Guilt and Fear in Late Victorian Fantasy’, in Rhys Garnett and R. J. Ellis (eds), Science Fiction Roots and Branches: Contemporary Critical Approaches (Basingstoke: Macmillan – now Palgrave Macmillan, 1990); Hurley, Gothic Body; and Julian Wolfreys, ‘Introduction’. Wolfreys provides a short summary of Said’s ideas (see Wolfreys, ‘Introduction’, p. 18, n. 1) and an extended account of Britain’s engagement in Egypt and the Middle East in the nineteenth century (see Wolfreys, ‘Introduction’, pp. 20–2). Kelly Hurley analyses the novel’s 262 Notes

‘conflation of abject female sexuality with Oriental barbarism’ (Hurley, Gothic Body, p. 125), and Rhys Garnett considers the novel as a response to the processes of British imperialism and expansionism (see Garnett, ‘Dracula and The Beetle’, p. 34). 76 Edward W. Said, Orientalism (New York: Vintage, 1979), p. 8. 77 Said, Orientalism, p. 7. 78 This racial inferiority is emphasised through the creature’s explicit association with a socially inferior class. The foreigner is ‘clad in some queer coloured gar- ment’ (57), and his hooded cloak is described as ‘a grimy-looking article (103) that gives him the appearance of a ‘hideous vagabond’ (144). Atherton denigrates his visitor as hardly ‘a clubbable person’ (141), and the spinster Louisa Coleman slurs the stranger as ‘a dirty foreigner’ (274). 79 Garnett, ‘Dracula and The Beetle’, pp. 34–5. 80 In Judith Halberstam’s opinion, the creature’s foreign aspect becomes its one stable characteristic (see Halberstam, ‘Gothic Nation’, p. 102). However, the divergent descriptions of the foreigner’s racial background rather suggest that the Beetle’s race is as indeterminate as its gender identity, thus contributing to the monster’s uncategorisable Otherness. 81 Wolfreys, ‘Introduction’, p. 17. 82 Ellis, Criminal, p. 78. 83 Lombroso, Criminal Man, p. 309. 84 Lombroso, Criminal Man, p. 309. 85 Lombroso, Criminal Man, p. 45. 86 Hurley, Gothic Body, p. 132. 87 Ellis, The Criminal, p. 62. 88 Lombroso, Criminal Man, p. 51. 89 See Lombroso, Criminal Man, p. 214. 90 Julian Wolfreys, ‘The Hieroglyphic Other: The Beetle, London, and the Abyssal Subject’, in Lawrence Phillips (ed.), A Mighty Mass of Brick and Smoke: Victorian and Edwardian Representations of London (Amsterdam and New York: Rodopi, 2007), pp. 169–92 (189). 91 See Cannon Schmitt, (2007), ‘Victorian Beetlemania’, in Deborah Denenholz Morse and Martin A. Danahay (eds), Victorian Animal Dreams: Representations of Animals in Victorian Literature and Culture (Aldershot and Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2007), pp. 35–51 (39). 92 Schmitt, ‘Victorian Beetlemania’, p. 39. 93 See Wolfreys, ‘Hieroglyphic Other’, p. 176. 94 Wolfreys, ‘Introduction’, p. 17. 95 See Halberstam, ‘Gothic Nation’, p. 108. 96 Wolfreys, ‘Introduction’, p. 15. 97 Yuri M. Lotman, Universe of the Mind: A Semiotic Theory of Culture, trans. Ann Shukman, intro. Umberto Eco (Bloomington, IN, and Indianapolis, IN: Indiana University Press (1990) 2000), pp. 136–7. Lotman uses the term ‘semiosphere’ to denote the semiotic space of all cultural activity. One of the central characteristics of the semiosphere is its inherent heterogeneity (see Lotman, Universe of the Mind, p. 125). Lotman postulates that, in an attempt to confine an excess of diversity, cultures respond through acts of self-description, which prevent them from threatening disintegration (see Lotman, Universe of the Mind, p. 128). 98 See Hurley, Gothic Body, p. 134. Notes 263

99 In two important readings of The Beetle, Margree, ‘Gender, Sovereignty and Insecurity’, and Wolfreys, ‘Introduction’, identify such a destabilising uncertainty with regard to conceptions of gender and locate it in the character of Marjorie Lindon by associating her with the emerging cultural icon of the New Woman. Thus she can be read as ‘a transgressive social element’ (Wolfreys, ‘Introduction’, p. 28), who ‘is both destabilizing trope and signifier of otherness – within the late-Victorian sense of cultural and national identity a relative rather than an absolute other, but an other to be sure’ (Wolfreys, ‘Introduction’, p. 29). Upsetting the middle-class norm of the ‘Angel in the House’ (see Margree, ‘Gender, Sovereignty and Insecurity’, p. 72), her violent encounter with the novel’s monster returns her ‘to a position of normative femininity’ (Margree, ‘Gender, Sovereignty and Insecurity’, p. 78; see also Halberstam, ‘Gothic Nation’, p. 107). Even though Wolfreys somewhat overstates when he claims that Marjorie’s narrative ‘serves to foreground a troublesome domestic otherness more disruptive than any alien alterity’ (Wolfreys, ‘Introduction’, p. 30), it is essential to acknowledge such a latent destabilisation of self and Other in the representation of the novel’s ‘normative’ characters. The following reading shows how this is effected by the representation of Paul Lessingham and Sydney Atherton. 100 Victoria Margree rightly points out that the novel already lays the subtle foun- dation for such a reading on its opening pages when it follows Robert Holt’s rambles through the derelict streets of night-time London: ‘It is important to note that the novel opens with this vision of the uncivilised at the heart of “civilisation”[,] since it establishes that the threat to civilisation comes not solely from the archaic and the foreign but already exists at the centre of modernity itself. The text may later work to displace this threat to civilisation onto the Egyptian invader, but this is only ever a superficial operation, in the manner of Dracula’s displacement onto its racial and ontological Other of the various “monsters” that it similarly sees as threatening Britain from within. […] [J]ust like Stoker’s novel, The Beetle will in fact consistently, if subtextually, identify a series of threats that are far closer to home’ (Margree, ‘Gender, Sovereingty and Insecurity’, p. 65). 101 Wolfreys, ‘Hieroglyphic Other’, p. 179. 102 See Hurley, Gothic Body, p. 143. 103 Anna Maria Jones provides an original reading of The Beetle that focuses on Atherton’s dubious inventions. She claims that the novel follows two distinct narrative trajectories that question progressive England’s moral superiority over the degenerate monster: ‘In the novel the problem of the incalculability of individual agency creates a suspenseful “terror-Gothic” plot that runs counter to and mitigates its “horror-Gothic” monster plot’ (Anna Maria Jones, ‘Conservation of Energy, Individual Agency, and Gothic Terror in Richard Marsh’s The Beetle; or, What’s Scarier than an Ancient, Evil, Shape-Shifting Bug?’, Victorian Literature and Culture 39 (2011), pp. 65–85 (72)). 104 Anna Maria Jones speculates that many late-Victorian readers would have been familiar with such anti-vivisectionist novels as Wilkie Collins’s Heart and Science (1883) and H. G. Wells’s The Island of Doctor Moreau (1896) and would thus link Atherton to other fictional mad scientists of the period (see Jones, ‘Conservation of Energy’, p. 78). 105 As Anna Maria Jones notes, ‘[t]his congruence is by no means momentary – rather, it gathers strength throughout Book II’ (Jones, ‘Conservation of Energy’, p. 75). Also see Jones, ‘Conservation of Energy’, p. 76. 264 Notes

106 Jones, ‘Conservation of Energy’, p. 66. 107 Jones, ‘Conservation of Energy’, p. 79. 108 Max Nordau, Degeneration (New York: D. Appleton, 1895), p. 19. 109 Nordau, Degeneration, p. 18. 110 Nordau, Degeneration, p. 18. 111 Nordau, Degeneration, p. 21. 112 Nordau, Degeneration, p. 21. 113 See Hughes, ‘Masculinity, Hysteria and Empiricism’, pp. 94–5. 114 See Hurley, Gothic Body, p. 66. 115 Henry Maudsley, The Pathology of Mind: Being the Third Edition of the Second Part of the ‘Physiology and Pathology of Mind’, Recast, Enlarged, and Rewritten (New York: D. Appleton (1879) 1880), p. 84. 116 See Kaley Kramer, ‘Madmen in the Middle: Folklore and Science in Bram Stoker’s Dracula’, in Karen Sayer and Rosemary Mitchell (eds), Victorian Gothic (Leeds: Leeds Centre for Victorian Studies, 2003), pp. 69–80 (74). 117 Hughes, Reader’s Guide, p. 35. 118 Ernest Fontana, ‘Lombroso’s Criminal Man and Stoker’s Dracula’, The Victorian Newsletter 66 (1984), pp. 25–7 (25). 119 See Glennis Byron, ‘Bram Stoker’s Gothic and the Resources of Science’, Critical Survey 19 (2007), pp. 48–62 (55). 120 In a fascinating article, Martin Willis reads Dracula as ‘the most significant fictional intervention in the nineteenth century’s debates on contagionism, miasmatism and germ theory’ (Martin Willis, ‘“The Invisible Giant”, Dracula, and Disease’, Studies in the Novel 39 (2007), pp. 301–23 (321)). Willis argues that one of the reasons for the protracted ordeal of Lucy Westenra is her mother’s misguided belief in miasmatic theory, which prompts her to open the windows to Lucy’s sickroom. Miasmatic theory held that disease particles would be transmitted through the air, whereas contagionism claimed that disease always required physical contact to spread (see Willis, ‘Invisible Giant’, p. 315). Willis also notes that Dracula needs Harker’s support to transfer to England: ‘It is relatively straightforward to make connections between Dracula’s foreignness and his role as carrier of disease, but his arrival in Britain, what we can call the transmission of disease to Britain from abroad, is only achieved with the help of Jonathan Harker’ (Willis, ’Invisible Giant’, p. 317, see also p. 319). 121 Garnett, ‘Dracula and The Beetle’, p. 126. 122 Several critics point out the group’s criminal behaviour. Carol A. Senf was one of the first to offer a reading that focuses on the similarities between ‘good’ and ‘evil’ in Dracula, rather than on the conquest of the latter by the former (see Carol A. Senf, ‘Dracula: The Unseen Face in the Mirror’ (1979), in Margaret L. Carter (ed.), Dracula: The Vampire and the Critics (Ann Arbor, MI, and London: UMI Research Press, 1988), pp. 93–103). The dubious methods employed by the ‘Crew of Light’ are also noted by, for instance, Sos Eltis (‘Corruption of the Blood and Degeneration of the Race: Dracula and Policing the Borders of Gender’, in John Paul Riquelme (ed.), Dracula: Complete, Authoritative Text with Biographical, Historical, and Cultural Contexts, Critical History, and Essays from Contemporary Critical Perspectives (Boston, MA, and Basingstoke: Bedford and St. Martin’s – now Palgrave Macmillan, 2002), pp. 450–65 (464)) and Glendening, Evolutionary Imagination, p. 127. 123 Botting, Gothic, p. 151. 124 See Craft, ‘Gender and Inversion’, p. 114; Senf, ‘The Unseen Face in the Mirror’, p. 100. Notes 265

125 Mighall, Geography of Victorian Gothic Fiction, p. 246. 126 Mighall, Geography of Victorian Gothic Fiction, p. 246. 127 See Mighall, Geography of Victorian Gothic Fiction, p. 246. 128 Intriguingly, Krafft-Ebing discusses necrophilia as a species of sadism immediately after several cases of anthropophagy, in two of which the murderers drank the blood of their female victims (see Krafft-Ebing, Psychopathia Sexualis, pp. 58–69). In Psychopathia Sexualis, necrophiles and ‘vampires’ thus rub shoul- ders as varieties of the same perversion. 129 Katie Harse, ‘High Duty and Savage Delight: The Ambiguous Nature of Violence in Dracula’, Journal of the Fantastic in the Arts 10 (1999), pp. 115–23 (121–2). 130 See Debbie Harrison, ‘Doctors, Drugs, and Addiction: Professional Integrity in Peril at the Fin de Siècle’, Gothic Studies 11 (2009), pp. 52–62 (60). 131 See William Hughes, ‘Habituation and Incarceration: Mental Physiology and Asylum Abuse in The Woman in White and Dracula’, in Andrew Mangham (ed.), Wilkie Collins: Interdisciplinary Essays (Newcastle: Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2007), pp. 136–48 (141–4). 132 Hughes, ‘Habituation and Incarceration’, p. 142. 133 Hughes, ‘Habituation and Incarceration’, p. 145. 134 Arata, Fictions of Loss, p. 128. 135 See Arata, Fictions of Loss, pp. 128–30. 136 Daniel Pick, Faces of Degeneration: A European Disorder, c.1848–c.1918 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press (1989) 1993), p. 168. 137 Glennis Byron, ‘Introduction’, in Bram Stoker, Dracula, ed. Glennis Byron (Peterborough, ON: Broadview Press, 1998), pp. 9–25 (15).

5 Normalising the Degenerate: Oscar Wilde’s The Picture of Dorian Gray and Marie Corelli’s The Sorrows of Satan

1 Annette R. Federico, Idol of Suburbia: Marie Corelli and Late-Victorian Literary Culture (Charlottesville, VA, and London: University Press of Virginia, 2000), p. 88. 2 At the height of Corelli’s fame, she sold more books than Rudyard Kipling, Arthur Conan Doyle and H. G. Wells combined (see Janet Galligani Casey, ‘Marie Corelli and Fin de Siècle Feminism’, English Literature in Transition, 1880–1920 35 (1992), pp. 162–78 (163)). The Sorrows of Satan experienced ‘an initial sale greater than any previous novel in the language’ (Brian Masters, Now Barabbas Was a Rotter: The Extraordinary Life of Marie Corelli (London: Hamish Hamilton, 1978), p. 143) and sold 25,000 copies in one week and 50,000 in seven weeks (see Federico, Idol of Suburbia, p. 7). It became the first and biggest bestseller of the nineteenth century (see Michael Wheeler, English Fiction of the Victorian Period, 1830–1890 (London: Longman, 1994), p. 180). 3 Another reason for this muted reception may have been that Corelli decided to instruct her publishers at Methuen not to send out any review copies to press critics and equip the novel with an according announcement (see Peter Keating, ‘Introduction’, in Marie Corelli, The Sorrows of Satan, ed. Peter Keating (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998), pp. vii–xx (ix), and Simon J. James, ‘Marie Corelli and the Value of Literary Self-Consciousness: The Sorrows of Satan, Popular Fiction, and the Fin-de-Siècle Canon’, Journal of Victorian Culture 18.1 (2013), pp. 134–51 (134)). That the novel nevertheless became ‘a runaway success, of the 266 Notes

order any writer would dream of’ (Masters, Now Barabbas Was a Rotter, p. 143), so that it is today credited as being the first modern bestseller, was also the immediate consequence of Corelli’s aggressive advertising strategy of acting as ‘her own spin doctor’ (Federico, Idol of Suburbia, p. 17) in the promotion of her books. 4 Simon J. James aptly labels Corelli’s recent ascendancy in the academy a ‘mini- revival’ (James, ‘Literary Self-Consciousness’, pp. 141–2). Important studies of Corelli’s life and works are Federico, Idols of Suburbia; Julia Kuehn, Glorious Vulgarity: Marie Corelli’s Feminine Sublime in a Popular Context (Berlin: Logos, 2004); Teresa Ransom, The Mysterious Miss Marie Corelli: Queen of Victorian Bestsellers (Stroud: Sutton, 1999); and a special issue of Women’s Writing 13.2 (2006). 5 Federico, Idol of Suburbia, p. 83. 6 Kirsten MacLeod, ‘Marie Corelli and Fin-de-Siècle Francophobia: The Absinthe Trail of French Art’, English Literature in Transition, 1880–1920, 43 (2000), pp. 66–82 (81, n. 21). 7 For an analysis of how The Sorrows of Satan works in the generic tradition of Faustian tragedies with a particular emphasis on gender roles, see Kristen Guest, ‘Rewriting Faust: Marie Corelli’s Female Tragedy’, Victorians Institute Journal 33 (2005), pp. 149–77. 8 Simon J. James examines this contradictory nature of The Sorrows of Satan and shows how the novel assumes opposing ideological positions with regard to its subject matter and its formal aesthetics (James, ‘Literary Self-Consciousness’, p. 137 and p. 144). 9 The agency that grants Dorian’s wish is never made explicit in the novel (see Nancy Jane Tyson, ‘Caliban in a Glass: Autoscopic Vision in The Picture of Dorian Gray’, in Elton Edward Smith and Robert Haas (eds), The Haunted Mind: The Supernatural in Victorian Literature (Lanham, MD, and London: Scarecrow Press, 1999), pp. 101–21 (102)). The artist Basil Hallward, terrified by the portrait’s supernatural transformation, tries to find a scientific explanation for the curious change: ‘No! the thing is impossible. The room is damp. Mildew has got into the canvas. The paints I used had some wretched mineral poison in them. I tell you the thing is impossible’ (Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray, ed. Robert Mighall (London and New York: Penguin, 2003), p. 150). Similarly, Dorian won- ders: ‘Might there not be some curious scientific reason for it all?’ (Wilde, Dorian Gray, p. 103). 10. Judith Halberstam, Skin Shows: Gothic Horror and the Technology of Monsters (Durham: Duke University Press, 1995), p. 58. Similarly, Stephen Arata attests Dorian a ‘lack of interiority’ and claims that – like his picture – Dorian ‘exists entirely on the plane of the visible’ (Stephen Arata, Fictions of Loss in the Victorian Fin de Siècle (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996), p. 60). 11 Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray, ed. Robert Mighall (London and New York: Penguin, 2003), p. 21. All further references are to this edition and are given parenthetically in the text. 12 See Terri A. Hasseler, ‘The Physiological Determinism Debate in Oscar Wilde’s The Picture of Dorian Gray’, Victorian Newsletter 84 (1993), pp. 31–5 (32). 13 Tyson, ‘Caliban in a Glass’, p. l05. 14 Mary C. King, ‘Digging for Darwin: Bitter Wisdom in The Picture of Dorian Gray and “The Critic as Artist”’, Irish Studies Review 12 (2004), pp. 315–27 (315). 15 Hasseler, ‘Physiological Determinism Debate’, p. 34. 16 Interestingly, not only Dorian seems fated through his line of descent. As Donald R. Dickson remarks: ‘Dorian is not the only character whose past seems Notes 267

to determine his future. Sibyl has nearly the same stormy parentage as Dorian, and she seems doomed to repeat the tragedy of her mother and grandmother’ (Donald R. Dickson, ‘“In a Mirror That Mirrors the Soul”: Masks and Mirrors in Dorian Gray’, English Literature in Transition 26 (1983), pp. 5–15 (10)). 17 Oscar Wilde, ‘The Critic as Artist’, in Merlin Holland (ed.), The Complete Works of Oscar Wilde (London: Collins, 2003), pp. 1108–55 (1137). 18 Susan J. Navarette, The Shape of Fear: Horror and the Fin-de-Siècle Culture of Decadence (Lexington, KY: University Press of Kentucky, 1998), pp. 56–7. 19 Robert Mighall also ascribes a central significance to the mechanisms of heredity in Wilde’s novel, which ‘implies that Dorian’s tainted inheritance motivates the action upon which the narrative turns’ (Robert Mighall, A Geography of Victorian Gothic Fiction: Mapping History’s Nightmares (Oxford: Oxford University Press (1999) 2003), p. 159). 20 Chris Baldick, In Frankenstein’s Shadow: Myth, Monstrosity, and Nineteenth-Century Writing (Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press and Clarendon Press, 1987), p. 152. 21 It is worth noting that the inclusion of ancestral portraits in late-Victorian fiction to illustrate the hereditary mechanism of atavistic survivals is conspicuous, yet in no way restricted, to the genre of the Gothic. There is a large body of British fiction at the ﬁ n de siècle in which portraits play a prominent role. For an analysis of the subgenre of late-Victorian ‘portrait fiction’, see Powell (1983). One of the most controversial novels of the 1890s, Thomas Hardy’s Tess of the D’Urbervilles (1891), also makes use of a series of family portraits to raise the issue of atavism. When Clare and Tess set up lodgings in a country house that once belonged to the D’Urberville family, they notice ‘two life-size portraits on panels built into the masonry’ (Thomas Hardy, Tess of the D’Urbervilles, ed. Tim Dolin and Margaret R. Higgonet (London and New York: Penguin (1891) 2003), p. 216). Clare experi- ences a disconcerting sensation when he notices that Tess resembles the depicted ladies, who have been dead for more than two hundred years: ‘The unpleasantness of the matter was that […] her fine features were unquestionably traceable in these exaggerated forms’ (Hardy, Tess, p. 217). The disturbing quality of the portraits to exhibit features still recognisable in Tess is further emphasised in the subsequent chapter: ‘The Caroline bodice of the portrait was low – precisely as Tess’s had been when [Clare] tucked it in to show the necklace; and again he experienced the distressing sensation of a resemblance between them’ (Hardy, Tess, p. 235). The realisation of Tess’s ancestral history becomes a ‘distressing’ experience for Clare as it deadens the glamour of his strait-laced idealisations: ‘Nothing so pure, so sweet, so virginal as Tess had seemed possible all the long while that he had adored her, up to an hour ago’ (Hardy, Tess, p. 235). 22 Robert Louis Stevenson, ‘Olalla’, in Barry Menikoff, The Complete Stories of Robert Louis Stevenson: Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde and Nineteen Other Tales (New York: Modern Library, 2002), pp. 420–57 (450). 23 Stevenson, ‘Olalla’, p. 450. 24 Stevenson, ‘Olalla’, p. 451. 25 Stevenson, ‘Olalla’, p. 451. 26 Stevenson, ‘Olalla’, p. 421. 27 Arthur Conan Doyle, The Hound of the Baskervilles: Another Adventure of Sherlock Holmes, ed. Christopher Frayling (London and New York: Penguin (1902) 2001), p. 138. 28 Doyle, Hound of the Baskervilles, p. 138. 29 Doyle, Hound of the Baskervilles, p. 138. 268 Notes

30 Doyle, Hound of the Baskervilles, p. 13. 31 Similarly, Lord Henry Wotton believes in the applicability of physiognomic theories. At Dorian’s first sitting, Henry reminds Basil that ‘[i]ntellect is in itself a mode of exaggeration, and destroys the harmony of any face. The moment one sits down to think, one becomes all nose, or all forehead, or something horrid’ (7). 32 Mighall, Geography of Victorian Gothic Fiction, p. 160. 33 See Baldick, In Frankenstein’s Shadow, p. 150. 34 Mighall, Geography of Victorian Gothic Fiction, p. 195. 35 See Tyson, ‘Caliban in a Glass’, p. 108. 36 Qtd in Federico, Idol of Suburbia, p. 18. 37 Marie Corelli, The Sorrows of Satan, ed. Peter Keating (Oxford: Oxford University Press, (1895) 1998), p. 3. All further references are to this edition and are given parenthetically in the text. 38 Benjamin F. Fisher, ‘Marie Corelli’s Barabbas, The Sorrows of Satan and Generic Transition’, Women’s Writing 13 (2006), pp. 304–20 (305–6). 39 Henry Maudsley, Body and Mind: An Inquiry into Their Connection and Mutual Inﬂ uence, Specially in Reference to Mental Disorders: An Enlarged and Revised Edition: To Which Are Added Psychological Essays (London: Macmillan (1870) 1873), p. 43. 40 Maudsley, Body and Mind, p. 76. 41 Marie Corelli, The Life Everlasting: A Reality of Romance (New York: Hodder & Stoughton, 1911), p. 21. 42 Elaine M. Hartnell, ‘Morals and Metaphysics: Marie Corelli, Religion and the Gothic’, Women’s Writing 13 (2006), pp. 284–303 (286). 43 Maudsley, Body and Mind, p. 58. 44 Hartnell, ‘Morals and Metaphysics’, p. 288. 45 Geoffrey demonstrates his inability to look behind appearances on several other occasions in the novel. When Lucio informs Geoffrey that his valet and jester Amiel is ‘a perfect imp of mischief’, who ‘cannot always control himself’, Geoffrey expresses amazement: ‘Why, what a wrong estimate I have formed of him! […] I thought he had a peculiarly grave and somewhat sullen disposition’ (p. 101). That exteriors frequently misrepresent interiors in The Sorrows of Satan is also emphasised through the description of the gambling den Geoffrey visits with Lucio. It is situated ‘not far from the respectable precincts of Pall Mall’ and proves ‘an unpretentious looking house enough outside, but within it was sumptuously though tastelessly furnished’ (p. 86). 46 A biographical anecdote concerning Marie Corelli’s own physical appearance is not only intriguing as a piece of literary gossip but proves instructive with regard to the author’s sentiments about physiognomy’s reliability. Corelli was notori- ously averse to having her pictures circulated by the press, a quaintness of character that contributed to speculations about her appearance. To forestall malicious gossip and slander, Corelli decided to publish an authorised photograph as the frontispiece to her novel The Treasure of Heaven: A Romance of Riches (1906). The ‘Author’s Note’, which accompanied the picture, contains a disclaimer that expresses her discomfort at such an unusual step: ‘I am not quite able to convince myself that my pictured personality can have any interest for my readers, as it has always seemed to me that an author’s real being is more disclosed in his or her work than in any portrayed presentment of mere physiognomy’ (Marie Corelli qtd in Federico, Idols of Suburbia, pp. 40–3 [sic]). Ironically, the frontispiece was heavily retouched to make her look at least twenty years younger, a circumstance one of Corelli’s biographers decided to attribute to her vanity (see Federico, Idols of Suburbia, p. 44). Instead, Annette R. Federico has attempted to read Corelli’s Notes 269

cheat as her personal ‘attempt to contest journalists’ versions of the “truth” and her scepticism about the truth-value of photographic representation’ (Federico, Idols of Suburbia, p. 44). Alternatively, Corelli may have ordered the makeover out of her scepticism about the reliability of physiognomic theories. In the ‘Introductory Note’ to her novel The Murder of Delicia (1896), Corelli expounded a passionate defence of the intellectual woman and her appearance: ‘And lastly, on the subject of good looks, – it is not a sine qua non that a clever woman must be old and must be ugly. It sometimes happens so, – but it is not always so. She may be young and she may be lovely; nevertheless men prefer to run after the newest barmaid or music-hall dancer, who is probably painted up to the eyes, and whose figure is chiefly the result of the corset-maker’s art’ (Marie Corelli, The Murder of Delicia (Philadelphia: Lippincotts, 1896), pp. 13–14). Corelli clearly believed that looks are mostly deceptive, and her own deceit of a retouched photograph can be read as a subversive act that exposes the fallacies of physiognomy in a self-defeating act of hypocrisy. 47 See Masters, Now Barabbas Was a Rotter, p. 141. 48 Kirsten MacLeod reads this feature of Corelli’s fiction as a significant reason for her popular appeal: ‘If Corelli was at heart a moralist, she was also a first-rate entertainer who more than provided the spoonful of sugar necessary to help the medicine go down. Corelli’s ability to provide narrative excitement and moral purpose was an important factor in her success’ (Kirsten MacLeod, ‘Introduction’, in Marie Corelli, Wormwood: A Drama of Paris, ed. Kirsten MacLeod (Peterborough, ON: Broadview Press, 2004), pp. 9–55 (27)). 49 Masters, Now Barabbas Was a Rotter, p. 143. 50 Corelli was outraged at her critics’ insinuations that Mavis Clare was a thinly- disguised version of herself: ‘It is distressing me very much to have people imagine that I drew my own portrait in the Mavis Clare of the Sorrows. The truth is, that I drew the character from that of a dear, dead friend. … as for being so conceited as to draw my own picture in that ideal conception, it can only be very foolish fools indeed who would imagine me to be such an egregious ass!’ (Marie Corelli qtd in Masters, Now Barabbas Was a Rotter, pp. 142–3). However, Corelli’s fuming reaction and the fact that Mavis and Marie share more ostensible features than their initials suggest that the critics had touched a sore spot. 51 William T. Stead qtd in Masters, Now Barabbas Was a Rotter, p. 141. 52 William T. Stead qtd in Masters, Now Barabbas Was a Rotter, p. 142. 53 See Masters, Now Barabbas Was a Rotter, p. 222. 54 J. M. Stuart-Young qtd in Masters, Now Barabbas Was a Rotter, p. 222. 55 Carol Margaret Davison and Elaine M. Hartnell, ‘Introduction: Marie Corelli: A Critical Reappraisal’, Women’s Writing 13 (2006), pp. 181–7 (181). 56 J. M. Stuart-Young qtd in Masters, Now Barabbas Was a Rotter, p. 222. 57 Havelock Ellis, The Criminal (London: Walter Scott, 1901), p. 287. 58 Ellis, The Criminal, p. 286–7. 59 Henry Maudsley, Body and Will: Being an Essay Concerning Will in Its Metaphysical, Physiological and Pathological Aspects (London: Kegan Paul & Trench, 1883), p. 164. 60 Ellis, The Criminal, p. 286. 61 Corelli, Sorrows of Satan, p. 95. 62 W. T. Stead qtd in Masters, Now Barabbas Was a Rotter, pp. 141–2. 63 John Lucas, ‘Corelli, Marie’, in James Vinson (ed.), Great Writers of the English Language: Novelists and Prose Writers (London: Macmillan et al., 1979), p. 283. 64 Corelli, Sorrows of Satan, p. 143. 270 Notes

65 Marie Corelli qtd in Federico, Idol of Suburbia, p. 131, Federico’s italics. 66 Max Nordau, Degeneration (New York: D. Appleton, 1895), p. 2. 67 Nordau, Degeneration, pp. 6–7. 68 Federico, Idol of Suburbia, p. 131. 69 Nickianne Moody, ‘Moral Uncertainty and the Afterlife: Explaining the Popularity of Marie Corelli’s Early Novels’, Women’s Writing 13 (2006), pp. 188–205 (191). 70 Arata, Fictions of Loss, p. 66. 71 This is, of course, not to say that such readings of the novel are necessarily flawed. Valuable work has been done in the field of Queer Studies to show how Oscar Wilde’s life and works have been instrumental in the staking-out of a homosexual identity. The classic contributions are Neil Bartlett, Who Was That Man? A Present for Mr Oscar Wilde (London: Serpent’s Tail, 1988); Joseph Bristow, ‘Wilde, Dorian Gray, and Gross Indecency’, in Joseph Bristow (ed.), Sexual Sameness: Textual Differences in Lesbian and Gay Writing (London: Routledge, 1992), pp. 44–63; Christopher Craft, Another Kind of Love: Male Homosexual Desire in English Discourse, 1850–1920 (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 1994); Richard Dellamora, Masculine Desire: The Sexual Politics of Victorian Aestheticism (Chapel Hill, NC: University of North Carolina Press, 1990); Jonathan Dollimore, Sexual Dissidence: Augustine to Wilde, Freud to Foucault (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1991); Linda Dowling, Hellenism and Homosexuality in Victorian Oxford (Ithaca, NY, and New York: Cornell University Press, 1994); Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick, Epistemology of the Closet (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press (1990) 2008); and Alan Sinfield, The Wilde Century: Effeminacy, Oscar Wilde, and the Queer Moment (New York: Columbia University Press, 1994). 72 See Matt Cook, London and the Culture of Homosexuality, 1885–1914 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003), p. 104. As Richard Dellamora points out, ‘[a]lthough Wilde often alludes to details, situations, and events that con- note homosexuality, Dorian lives not in a homosexual subculture but rather in what [Eve Kosofsky] Sedgwick might term a male homosocial environment’ (Dellamora, Masculine Desire, p. 208). Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick herself also asserts that ‘the lurid dissipations of the characters in The Picture of Dorian Gray are presented in heterosexual terms when detailed at all, even though (biographical hindsight aside) the triangular relationship of Basil, Dorian, and Lord Henry makes sense only in homosexual terms’ (Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick, Between Men: English Literature and Male Homosocial Desire (New York: Columbia University Press, 1985), p. 176. 73 The most vicious attacks on Wilde’s novel were published in 1890 immediately after the novel had appeared in Lippincott’s Monthly Magazine. This earlier version of The Picture of Dorian Gray was more explicit about homoerotic relationships, and Wilde ultimately decided to tone down certain passages that described Basil’s infatuation with his model for the 1891 book version on the advice of Walter Pater. Additionally, he wrote six new chapters, divided the original last chapter in two and added the ‘Preface’, which consists of twenty-five aphorisms (see Merlin Holland, Irish Peacock & Scarlet Marquess: The Real Trial of Oscar Wilde (London and New York: Fourth Estate, 2004), p. 309–10, n. 110; Nicholas Ruddick, ‘“The Peculiar Quality of My Genius”: Degeneration, Decadence, and Dorian Gray in 1890–91’, in Robert N. Keane (ed.), Oscar Wilde: The Man, His Writings, and His World (New York: AMS Press, 2003), pp. 125–37 (125)). The reviewers’ charges of ‘immorality’ seem even more problematic with regard to the 1890 version as that novel’s conclusion allows for a reading that interprets Dorian’s stabbing of the portrait as a kind of repentance for his wickedly immoral past. In response, Notes 271

Wilde decided to surround Dorian’s motivations with an even greater aura of uncertainty (see Thomas Wright, ‘Oscar Wilde’s The Picture of Dorian Gray’, in Jay Parini (ed.), British Writers: Classics (New York: Thomson & Gale, 2004), pp. 211–28 (222)). As he put it in a letter to the Daily Chronicle on 30 June 1890: ‘I think the moral too apparent. When the book is published in a volume I hope to correct this defect’ (Oscar Wilde qtd in Ruddick, ‘Degeneration, Decadence and Dorian Gray’, p. 130–1). The most comprehensive study to investigate the differences between the two versions of The Picture of Dorian Gray is Donald Lawler, An Inquiry into Oscar Wilde’s Revisions of The Picture of Dorian Gray (New York: Garland, 1988). 74 [Anon.], ‘Unsigned Notice, Scots Observer (5 July 1890)’, in Karl Beckson (ed.), The Critical Heritage: Oscar Wilde (London and New York: Routledge, 1974), pp. 74–5 (75). 75 Rupert Hart-Davis (ed.), Selected Letters of Oscar Wilde (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1979) p. 82. 76 Hart-Davis, Selected Letters, p. 82. 77 Hart-Davis, Selected Letters, p. 82. 78 Hart-Davis, Selected Letters, p. 83. 79 Oscar Wilde qtd in Ruddick, ‘Degeneration, Decadence and Dorian Gray’, p. 133, n. 4. 80 See Cook, London and the Culture of Homosexuality, p. 103. Wilde’s view that ‘[t]here is no such thing as a moral or an immoral book’ (3), which he voiced in the aphoristic ‘Preface’ to the 1891 edition of Dorian Gray, should not be overrated. It is, like many of Wilde’s aphorisms, wilfully paradoxical. In a letter to Arthur Conan Doyle, Wilde lamented the – in his eyes – overly apparent moral of The Picture of Dorian Gray: ‘The newspapers seem to me to be written by the prurient for the Philistine. I cannot understand how they can treat Dorian Gray as immoral. My difficulty was to keep the inherent moral subordinate to the artistic and dramatic effect, and it still seems to me that the moral is too obvious’ (Hart- Davis, Selected Letters, p. 95). 81 Kenneth Womack, ‘“Withered, Wrinkled, and Loathsome of Visage”: Reading the Ethics of the Soul and the Late-Victorian Gothic in The Picture of Dorian Gray’, in Ruth Robbins and Julian Wolfreys (eds), Victorian Gothic: Literary and Cultural Manifestations in the Nineteenth Century (Basingstoke: Palgrave – now Palgrave Macmillan, 2000), pp. 168–81 (180, n. 3). 82 Arata, Fictions of Loss, p. 64. 83 Arata, Fictions of Loss, p. 63. 84 See Cook, London and the Culture of Homosexuality, p. 103. 85 David Punter, The Literature of Terror: A History of Gothic Fictions from 1765 to the Present Time, vol. 2: The Modern Gothic (London and New York: Longman (1989) 1996, p. 7. Other critical studies that take a similar view with regard to the novel’s ethical lesson include Christopher S. Nassaar, Into the Demon Universe: A Literary Exploration of Oscar Wilde (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1974) and Philipp K. Cohen, The Moral Vision of Oscar Wilde (Rutherford: Fairleigh Dickinson, 1978). 86 One noteworthy exception is Nancy Jane Tyson’s essay ‘Caliban in a Glass: Autoscopic Vision in The Picture of Dorian Gray’. ‘Autoscopia’ is a form of mental disorder that leads patients to hallucinate about their physical selves (see Tyson, ‘Caliban in a Glass’, p. 103). 87 Cesare Lombroso and Guglielmo Ferrero, Criminal Woman, the Prostitute, and the Normal Woman, ed. Mary Gibson and Nicole Hahn Rafter (Durham, NC: Duke University Press (1893) 2004), p. 221. 88 Lombroso and Ferrero, Criminal Woman, p. 221. 272 Notes

89 Tyson, ‘Caliban in a Glass’, p. 107. 90 Tyson, ‘Caliban in a Glass’, p. 110. 91 See Patrick R. O’Malley, Catholicism, Sexual Deviance, and Victorian Gothic Culture (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), p. 174. 92 Wilde, Dorian Gray, p. 144. 93 Robert Mighall, ‘Introduction’, in Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray, ed. Robert Mighall (London and New York: Penguin, 2000), pp. ix–xxxiv (xiii). 94 Havelock Ellis, Selected Essays (London: J. M. Dent & Sons, 1947), p. 274. 95 Ellis, Selected Essays, p. 274. 96 Baldick, In Frankenstein’s Shadow, p. 152; also see Nils Clausson, ‘Culture and Corruption: Paterian Self-development Versus Gothic Degeneration in Oscar Wilde’s The Picture of Dorian Gray’, Papers on Language and Literature 39 (2003), pp. 339–64 (348). 97 Nils Clausson suggests that Wotton’s ‘monstrous laws’ bring the Labouchère Amendment to mind (see Clausson, ‘Culture and Corruption’, p. 347). As I suggest in Chapter 1, the act of 1885 can indeed be quoted as one example of the proto-normalist strategy of stigmatisation and subsequent exclusion or punishment. In this case, a legal code establishes stigmatic boundaries that help to delin- eate appropriate sexual behaviour and, conversely, define (homo)sexual deviance. 98 Oscar Wilde, ‘Critic as Artist’, p. 1121. 99 Wilde, ‘Critic as Artist’, p. 1121, emphasis added.

6 Conclusion

1 Henry Maudsley, ‘Insanity in Relation to Criminal Responsibility’, The Alienist and Neurologist, 17 (1896), pp. 166–77 (175). 2 Daniel Pick, Faces of Degeneration: A European Disorder, c.1848–c.1918 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press (1989) 1993), pp. 230–1. 3 See Pick, Faces of Degeneration, p. 225. 4 Pick, Faces of Degeneration, p. 235. 5 Kelly Hurley, The Gothic Body: Sexuality, Materialism, and Degeneration at the Fin de Siècle (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press (1996) 2004), p. 96. 6 Robert Mighall, A Geography of Victorian Gothic Fiction: Mapping History’s Nightmares (Oxford: Oxford University Press (1999) 2003), pp. 242–3. 7 See Merlin Holland, Irish Peacock & Scarlet Marquess: The Real Trial of Oscar Wilde (London and New York: Fourth Estate, 2004), pp. 254–5. 8 Jerrold E. Hogle, ‘Introduction: The Gothic in Western Culture’, in Hogle (ed.), Companion to Gothic Fiction, pp. 1–20 (12). 9 Pick, Faces of Degeneration, p. 42. See also p. 8. 10. See Richard Soloway, ‘Counting the Degenerates: The Statistics of Race Deterioration in Edwardian England’, Journal of Contemporary History 17.1 (1982), pp. 137–64 (137). 11 See William Greenslade, Degeneration, Culture, and the Novel, 1880–1940 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994), p. 183. 12 See Soloway, ‘Counting the Degenerates’, p. 140. 13 See Soloway, ‘Counting the Degenerates’, p. 153; Greenslade, Degeneration, p. 199. 14 See Pick, Faces of Degeneration, p. 237. 15 The Eugenics Education Society was founded with Francis Galton as its honorary president in 1907. In 1911, University College London established the Galton Chair of Eugenics, whose first holder was Francis Galton’s own disciple Karl Notes 273

Pearson, and articles on various aspects of the ‘science’ of eugenics appeared in the Lancet from that year onwards (see Greenslade, Degeneration, p. 197). Two groups of deviants constituted particular eyesores for the Edwardian establishment: vagrants and the ‘feeble-minded’ (see Greenslade, Degeneration, p. 201), who occupied a ‘borderland’ between mental health and full-blown imbecility (see Mark Jackson, The Borderland of Imbecility: Medicine, Society and the Fabrication of the Feeble Mind in Late Victorian and Edwardian England (Manchester and New York: Manchester University Press, 2000), pp. 1–52). 1913 saw the passing of the Mental Deficiency Act for the control and care of the mentally handicapped (see Greenslade, Degeneration, p. 261). For an account of the medical management and treatment of feeble-mindedness in Edwardian Britain, see Jackson, Borderland of Imbecility. 16 See Pick, Faces of Degeneration, p. 231. 17 See Pick, Faces of Degeneration, p. 233. 18 See Pick, Faces of Degeneration, p. 232. 19 Stephen Arata, Fictions of Loss in the Victorian Fin de Siècle (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996), p. 181. 20 See Pick, Faces of Degeneration, p. 238, n. 47. It is important to note that the sterilisation laws of the Nazis were preceded by a significant body of eugenicist theories and practices for the improvement of the racial stock in Europe and America (see Pick, Faces of Degeneration, p. 238). In fact, the Nazis had studied the legislation of the United States in advance to the passing of Hitler’s sterilisation laws. In the first forty years of the twentieth century, thousands of Americans were sterilised (see Pick, Faces of Degeneration, pp. 238–9). In Britain, by contrast, a sterilisation bill was opposed by Parliament in July 1931 (see Greenslade, Degeneration, p. 253). Yet, as William Greenslade shows, it is possible to trace a line of development from the degeneration discourse of the ﬁ n de siècle to Hitler’s Endlösung via the ‘lethal chambers’ of the eugenicists, contraptions used in laboratories to eliminate unwanted animals (see Greenslade, Degeneration, p. 255). 21 See Pick, Faces of Degeneration, p. 237. 22 See Andrea Gutenberg, Körper, Sexualität und Moral: Die Auseinandersetzung mit Degenerationsvorstellungen in englischer Literatur und Kultur, 1910–1940 (Trier: Wissenschaftlicher Verlag Trier, 2009). 23 See Gutenberg, Körper, Sexualität und Moral, pp. 408–9. 24 See J. Edward Chamberlin and Sander L. Gilman, ‘Degeneration: Conclusion’, in J. Edward Chamberlin, and Sander L. Gilman (eds), Degeneration: The Dark Side of Progress (New York: Columbia University Press, 1995), pp. 290–4 (291). 25 See Chamberlin and Gilman, ‘Degeneration: Conclusion’, p. 292. 26 See Greenslade, Degeneration, p. 262. 27 See Chamberlin and Gilman, ‘Degeneration: Conclusion’, p. 292. 28 Max Nordau, Degeneration (New York: D. Appleton, 1895), p. 560. 29 Chamberlin and Gilman, ‘Degeneration: Conclusion’, p. 293. 30 See Pick, Faces of Degeneration, p. 239. 31 See Pick, Faces of Degeneration, p. 3. Bibliography

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abnormality, 4, 15–18, 68–9, 144, 146, Philosophical Enquiry into the Origin 241 n. 161 of Our Ideas of the Sublime and ambiguity, 12, 13, 178, 181–2, 190, 197, Beautiful, A, 134, 249 n. 58 210, 229 n. 7 ancestry, 24, 37–8, 58–61, 172–5, 183, Cantlie, James, 7–8, 221 n. 36 230–1 n. 26, 267 n. 21 Cézanne, Paul, 218 anthropology, see criminal children, 24, 39, 47–9, 59–61, 65–7, 92, anthropology 115, 120–2, 126, 180–1, 233–4 n. 59 anxiety, 20–2, 44, 57, 198, 226 n. 128 class, 55, 137, 179, 197–8, 214, 221 n. anxiety model, 21, 226 n. 124, 258 n. 21 39, 262 n. 78 appearance, 98–100, 138–40, 143–6, lower, 7–9, 142, 149, 221 n. 39, 248 184–8, 268–9 n. 46 n. 49 aristocracy, 183–4, 197, 204–5, 246 n. 26 middle, 9–10, 79, 118–20, 249 n. 64, artist, degenerate, 2, 73, 75–82, 217–18, 258 n. 25, 263 n. 99 219 n. 3 upper, 109, 189 asphyxiation, 106–10, 121, 251 see also aristocracy n. 92, 251 n. 95, 251 n. 96, city, 7, 9–11, 25, 111, 115–16, 132, 252 n. 100 136–7, 252 n. 105 atavism, 38–40, 44–55, 90–1, 120, 127, see also London 146, 170–88, 230–1 n. 26, 231 n. Conan Doyle, Arthur, 271 n. 80 28, 233 n. 44, 234 n. 60, 235 n. 78, Hound of the Baskervilles, The, 175 267 n. 21 Conrad, Joseph, 51, 228 n. 1 Secret Agent, The, 51 Beccaria, Cesare, 45 contagion, 31, 119, 148–57, 174–5, 260 behaviour, 3, 44–5, 84, 161–3, 198, n. 62, 264 n. 120 210–11, 216, 232–3 n. 44, 234 n. Corelli, Marie, 5, 28–9, 168, 179, 182–3, 60, 246 n. 24, 264 n. 122 188–9, 192–4, 196–8, 265 n. 2, 265 deviant, 15–17, 47–50, 56, 61–9, n. 3, 266 n. 4, 268–9 n. 46, 269 n. 116–18, 120–1, 171–6, 189, 48, 269 n. 50 200–2, 206–8, 213 Life Everlasting, The: A Reality of sexual, 129, 272 n. 97 Romance, 182 Bentham, Jeremy, 45, 234 n. 74 Sorrows of Satan, 26, 28–9, 63, 168–70, blackmail, 122–3, 254 n. 144 177–98, 202, 204–6, 212, 215, 268 Blackmailer’s Charter, see Labouchère n. 45 Amendment criminal, 44–55, 78–9, 122, 126–7, 140, Boer War, Second, 216, 217 200–1, 209–11, 213–15, 232–3 n. boundaries, 15–17, 43, 51, 117, 129–30, 44, 234 n. 60, 234 n. 70, 247 n. 46, 147–8, 154–5, 207–8, 211, 214, 259 252 n. 105, 254 n. 144, 256 n. 13, n. 31, 260 n. 62 257 n. 15, 264 n. 122 see also transgression, of boundaries anthropology, 44, 49–53, 89–91, 235 Brabazon, Reginald, 7 n. 90 British Association for the Advancement stigmata, 50–5, 93, 97, 126, 145–6, 215 of Science, 36–7 Criminal Law Amendment Act, 1, 82, Burke, Edmund, 134 122–3, 225 n. 103, 248–9 n. 52

289 290 Index

Darwin, Charles, 30–51, 70, 90, 127, amateur, 95, 109, 147, 211, 253 n. 112 229 n. 7, 229 n. 8, 229 n. 9, 229 gentleman, 86, 88, 111–14 n. 10, 230 n. 12, 230 n. 26, 231 deterioration, 8, 83–4, 99, 216 n. 28 determinism, 14, 173, 182–3 Descent of Man, The, 27, 30, 38–42, 90, deviance, 3–5, 15, 17–20, 26–9, 31, 96, 127–8, 231 n. 28 44–55, 66–71, 83–4, 94, 103–13, entangled bank, 35 120, 158–67, 199–200, 205–6, natural selection, 31–6, 41–3, 211, 228 210–16, 220 n. 5, 234 n. 60, 252 n. 1, 229 n. 9 n. 105 Origin of Species, On the, 27, 30–6, 38, bodily, 27–8, 45, 50–1, 176 40–3, 228 n. 1 normalisation, 20, 51, 63, 169–70, tree of life, 34–5, 40, 43, 211 194, 198 de Navarre, Marguerite, 108 diagnosis, 2, 94, 107, 160, 164, 195–6, de Verville, Beroalde, 108 213, 235 n. 78, 251 n. 95 decadence, 65, 75, 194 discourse, see degeneration, discourse deformity, 3, 88–97, 146, 172, 212, 249 disease, 11, 58, 69, 74–80, 150, 158–61, n. 58 174–5, 189, 193, 213–14, 243 n. 2, degeneration, 125, 158–9, 169–77, 247 n. 40, 264 n. 120 188–98, 202, 206–8, 221 n. 36, 221 mental, 56, 187, 217–18 n. 37 physical, 13, 25, 27, 29, 93, 133, 144, biology, 2, 10–13, 30–1, 44–51, 56–61, 227 n. 155 64–5, 103, 120, 176–8, 180, 183–4 disorder, 131, 159, 169, 235 n. 78, 238 diagnosis, 2, 13, 66, 71, 74–7, 213 n. 124 discourse, 14–15, 20, 26–8, 31, 35, 38, mental, 39, 56, 62, 271 n. 86 40, 44, 49, 51, 52, 65, 68, 72, 77–80, somnambulistic, 58, 66 83–4, 92, 126, 140, 144, 146, 148, Disraeli, Benjamin, 38 157, 169, 191, 208, 209–18, 226 n. double, 90, 93–4, 114, 116–18, 154–5, 124, 226 n. 128, 237 n. 106 170, 176, 206, 244 n. 10, 245 n. 20, environment, 7, 9, 42–3, 45, 115–16 249 n. 53, 253 n. 114, 253 n. 129 origins, 11–12, 30–44, 45, 56, 66–7, 88–97, 98, 172, 209, 218 education, 6–7, 60–1, 64–5, 180–1 process, 30–5, 38–9, 43, 52, 57, 65–6, egotism, 83, 191–4, 196, 201 101, 169, 174, 213 Ellis, Havelock, 104, 234 n. 65, 236 n. society, 7–8, 20, 30–2, 41–2, 51, 90, 250–1 n. 90, 252 n. 100 59–63, 169–70, 177, 209–11, 213 Criminal, The, 92, 140, 145–6, 191 stigmata, see stigmata Impressions and Comments, 206 taxonomy, 2–3, 13, 15, 20, 27, 68, Studies in the Psychology of Sex, 107 105, 144, 147, 210–14 environment, 11–13, 29, 32–4, 45, theory, 2–29, 67, 72–4, 83, 192, 200, 115–16, 133, 229 n. 9, 232–3 n. 44, 209–14, 218, 223 n. 81, 235 n. 78, 254 n. 130, 270 n. 72 239 n. 139 see also space desire, 27–8, 45–6, 98, 161, 170–1, 191, erotomania, 1, 76 198, 200, 211, 215 evolution, 24, 28, 30–48, 58–65, 70–3, repressed, 94, 112, 207 90–7, 101–3, 125, 134, 146–7, 177, sexual, 64–71, 87–9, 91, 105, 107, 117, 191, 207, 221 n. 37, 231 n. 37, 237 139–40, 239 n. 134, 242 n. 184, 258 n. 121 n. 25 cultural, 42, 65 detection, 13, 16–17, 26, 88, 113–14, differentiation, 37, 40 210–12, 257 n. 15 progression, 32, 35, 39, 41–3, 61–2, detective, 27–8, 50, 86, 93–5, 111–14, 64–5, 102–3, 127, 140, 229 n. 10 140, 152–4, 252 n. 105 survival of the fittest, 6, 32 Index 291

theory, 10, 27, 30, 32–3, 41, 43–4, 46, 177–88, 212, 233 n. 72, 239 n. 137, 48, 71, 73, 90–7, 211, 228 n. 1, 229 267 n. 21 n. 7 determinism, 14, 183 variation, 31–5 stigmata, 56–7, 88–97 see also inheritance; stigmata façade, 88, 104, 117, 119, 154, 185, 204, heritage, 60, 95, 103, 160 208, 212, 253 n. 129 hermaphroditism, 66, 139–40 see also appearance Herrick, Robert, 252 n. 102 family history, see heritage ‘Upon Love’, 108, 252 n. 101 fate, 7, 59–61, 96, 147, 172, 174, 179, Hitler, Adolf, 217–18, 273 n. 20 180–3, 186–7, 200, 204, 213, 266 holocaust, 140, 217 n. 16 homoeroticism, 168–9, 261 n. 67, 270 femme fatale, 19, 97, 105, 111 n. 73 fetishism, 65, 70 Huxley, Thomas Henry, 30–1, 36–8, 48, Foucault, Michel, 14–15, 238 n. 124 230 n. 21, 230 n. 26, 231 n. 26, 250 Archaeology of Knowledge, The, 14 n. 78 free will, 45, 61, 177–88 Evidence as to Man’s Place in Nature, French school of the milieu social, 45 27, 36, 38, 43 Freud, Sigmund, 95, 100, 211, 240 n. ‘Evolution and Ethics’, 60 145, 249 n. 53 hyperaesthesia sexualis, 65, 83, 105 Interpretation of Dreams, The, 101 hypnosis, 144, 148, 154, 156 projection, 69 hysteria, 74–6, 98, 133, 159, 189, 247 ‘Uncanny, The’, 95-6 n. 40

Gauguin, Paul, 217–18 Ibsen, Henrik, 72, 76, 82, 242 n. 196 gender, 70, 128–9, 135–48, 214, identity, 43, 88, 97, 114–17, 129–30, 234 n. 60, 248 n. 52, 258 147–8, 154, 173–5, 176–7, 180, 182, n. 25, 260 n. 62, 261 n. 66, 193, 201 261 n. 68, 262 n. 80, 263 n. 99, cultural, 17–19, 263 n. 99 266 n. 7 gender, 137–40, 148–9, 260 n. 64, 262 genetics, 57, 160, 172–4, 181–2 n. 80, 270 n. 71 genius, 157, 235 n. 78, 241 n. 161 racial, 135, 143 artistic, 79 imperialism, British, 216, 262 n. 75 male, 1–4, 78–9 industrialisation, 8–9, 25, 131, 216 gentleman, 28, 90, 154, 163, 215, 245 n. inevitability, see fate 22, 245–6 n. 24, 248 n. 49 infection, 58, 158 see also Victorian, gentleman inferiority, 46, 130, 134, 146, 213–14 Gothic, 2–6, 94, 135, 169, 188, 208, 225 inheritance, 13, 24, 57–8, 74, 172, n. 120, 226 n. 124 179, 181–2, 231 n. 26, 235 n. 78, genre/mode, 19–27, 120, 125, 131, 267 n. 19 211–16 biological law, 57–8, 61 late-Victorian, 4–6, 88, 136, 146, see also hereditary 174, 193, 205–6, 227 n. 158, 237 insect, 48, 127, 137, 140, n. 106 151–2, 218 invasion, 8, 135–6, 140, 151–3, 157 Haeckel, Ernst, 46–7, 92, 174–5 invisibility, 13–14, 29, 31, 67, 211–13 hanging, see asphyxiation invitation, 160–1, 251 n. 92 Hardy, Thomas, 267 n. 81 Hellenic ideal, 170, 198, 242 n. 184 Jack the Ripper, 109, 177 hereditary, 13–14, 23–4, 27, 38–9, James, William, 80 55–71, 159–61, 169–70, 172–5, Jenyns, Leonard, 36 292 Index

Kingsley, Charles, 6–7, 228 n. 1 Machen, Arthur, 85–8, 108, 243 n. 1, Kipling, Rudyard, 121–2 243 n. 2, 244 n. 11, 250 n. 78, 252 ‘Mark of the Beast, The’, 121 n. 100, 252 n. 101 Kocˇwara, Frantisek, 108 Great God Pan, The, 27–8, 85–8, Krafft-Ebing, Richard von, 15, 30, 41, 97–123, 156, 161, 163, 211, 215, 63–73, 91, 104–7, 128–9, 139–40, 243 n. 1, 243 n. 2, 245 n. 11, 250 210, 215–16, 239 n. 134, 239 n. n. 76 137, 239 n. 141, 240 n. 145, 248 n. Hieroglyphics: A Note upon Ecstasy in 46, 265 n. 128 Literature, 85, 243 n. 3 Psychopathia Sexualis, 27, 63–71, 91, Macleay, William Sharp, 36 105, 107, 129, 139, 215, 238 n. 124, madness, 1, 3, 25, 56–8, 62–3, 73, 76–7, 238 n. 126, 238–9 n. 127, 239 n. 87, 95–6, 150, 156–60, 165, 169, 143, 248 n. 46, 252 n. 100 191, 198, 203–4, 219 n. 3, 237 n. 106, 237 n. 121, 247 n. 40 Labouchère Amendment, 122, see also erotomania; mental illness; 123, 198, 225 n. 103, 249 nymphomania; paranoia n. 52, 272 n. 97 mad scientist, 44, 112, 263 n. 104 Lacassagne, Alexander, 45, 233 n. 44, Malthus, Doctrine of, 31–2 235 n. 90 Marsh, Richard, 124 Lankester, Edwin Ray, 42–3 Beetle, The, 28, 124–5, 135–57, 167, Degeneration: A Chapter in Darwinism, 211, 260 n. 60, 260–1 n. 65, 261 42–3 n. 72 Le Fanu, Sheridan, 85 masochism, 68–70, 239 n. 137 ‘Carmilla’, 132 Matisse, Henri, 218 Lee, Vernon, 83 Maturin, Charles Robert, 23 lesbianism, see sexuality, homosexuality Maudsley, Henry, 27, 55–66, 72–4, 79, Link, Jürgen, 15–17, 72, 117, 224 n. 91 159–60, 180–1, 183, 209–10, 236 n. Lombroso, Cesare, 1–2, 27, 44–57, 100, 236 n. 103, 237 n. 106 59, 73, 78–9, 91–3, 126–7, Body and Mind, 27, 55, 59, 61, 62, 237 145–6, 157, 200–1, 210–15, n. 106 232 n. 38, 232–3 n. 44, 233 n. 45, Body and Will, 192, 237 n. 106 233 n. 46, 233 n. 57, 233 n. 59, 234 ‘Insanity in Relation to Criminal n. 60, 234 n. 65, 235 n. 78, 235 n. Responsibility’, 209 89, 235–6 n. 90, 237 n. 106 Pathology of Mind, 58–64 Criminal Man, 27, 44, 47, 52, 54, 56, Responsibility in Mental Disease, 237 126–7, 145–6, 211, 215, 232 n. 38, n. 106 232 n. 41 Mayhew, Henry, 9 Criminal Woman, 200–1 Memoirs of Jacques Casanova, 108, 252 Man of Genius, 78–9, 126–7 n. 100 London, 9–10, 44, 98–9, 107, 110–11, mental illness, 62–3, 96, 160, 236 123, 130–2, 135–7, 176, 193, 221 n. n. 103 36, 221 n. 39, 263 n. 100 see also erotomania; madness; East End, 10, 109, 252 n. 105 nymphomania; paranoia Piccadilly, 53, 109 Mercier, Charles Arthur, 54 Soho, 115–16, 119 mesmerism, 148–50, 156–7 West End, 98, 137, 252 n. 105 metamorphosis, 43, 102, 130, 212 Whitechapel, 10, 109, 177 monstrosity, 20, 34–5, 129, 137–8, 167, Lotman, Yuri M., 18–19, 152, 262 211, 248 n. 46, 259 n. 37 n. 97 moral, 11–13, 28–9, 40, 45–8, 60–5, lust murder, 65, 71, 119 80–1, 134, 159, 168–70, 176–8, Index 293

183–4, 188–208, 215, 269 n. 48, 271 perverse dynamics, 17–19 n. 80 perversion, 17–19, 27, 63, 65–71, 105, consciousness, 24, 60, 71, 77–8, 92, 105 129, 139, 215, 240 n. 145, 248 n. superiority, 19, 120, 263 n. 103 46, 252 n. 100 see also responsibility, moral phrenology, 88, 211 Morel, Bénédict Augustin, 4–5, 12–13, phylogeny, 39, 46-7, 48, 134, 146-7, 24, 30, 34, 50, 55–7, 61, 75, 79, 173, 192, 213, 231 n. 28, 237 n. 121 209–11, 220 n. 5, 222 n. 65, 223, physiognomy, 27–8, 49–50, 52–3, 87–9, n. 72 98–100, 139, 143, 145, 170–7, 184– Munich exhibition of ‘Degenerate Art’, 218 7, 210–12, 234 n. 74, 268 n. 31, 268 n. 46, 269 n. 46 nature, 15, 32, 35, 37, 55–71, 95, 101, physiology, 55–6, 64, 69–70, 72, 78, 215 114–16, 146, 157, 211, 229 n. 9, 250 Picasso, Pablo, 217 n. 80, 261 n. 66 Polidori, John William, 132, 258 n. 27 law of, 35, 61, 64, 160, 187 Vampyre, The, 132 versus nurture, 29, 55, 60, 169, 170–7, Prichard, James Cowles, 62, 159 177–88, 198 procreation, 67, 69–70, 215, 258 n. 25 Nazism, 217–18, 273 n. 20 prostitution, 107–8, 122, 127, 129, 177, necrophilia, 164, 265 n. 128 209, 234 n. 60 neurosis, 56–7, 65–6 protoplasm, 98 New Hedonism, 199 psychiatry, 12, 27, 73 ‘New Woman’ fiction, 53, 181, 194, 261 psychology, 38, 40, 55, 72, 73, 78, 95, n. 68, 263 n. 99 200 Nietzsche, Friedrich, 72, 76 psychopathology, 12, 55–6, 58, 62–3, Nordau, Max, 1–2, 191 79, 113 Degeneration, 2, 10, 27, 29, 71–84, degenerative, 39–40, 55, 63, 71–3 155–7, 169, 196–7, 219 n. 3 sexual, 39–40, 63, 71–2 normalism, 4, 16–20, 54–5, 120, 168– punishment, 45, 117–18, 169, 199 208, 214–16, 219 n. 3, 240 n. 153, 241 n. 168, 242 n. 184, 224 n. 91 race, 6–8, 12, 37, 41, 49–50, 64–5, flexible, 17, 207, 216 125, 131–2, 135–48, 174–5, 183, proto-, 17, 208 221 n. 37 normativity, 2–3, 16–20, 27–8, 29, 31, Radcliffe, Ann, 23, 25, 226 n. 124 67–72, 77–80, 126, 129–30, Mysteries of Udolpho, The, 131, 135 148–57, 158–67, 198–208, 214–16 Reading Gaol, 1, 216 nymphomania, 105–6 repression, 94–5, 207, 226 n. 124, 246 n. 31 ontogeny, 39, 46–7, 103 responsibility, 45, 171–3, 205 Orientalism, 143–4, 261 n. 75 moral, 59–60, 190, 201 original sin, 96, 112 social, 60–1, 71 Other, the, 18–19, 21, 28, 96, 123, 125, 132, Rossetti, Dante Gabriel, 76, 79, 82 135, 138–9, 148–57, 158–67, 213–14 Othering, 3, 26, 50–1, 124–67, 210, sadism, 68–70, 91, 215, 239 n. 137, 240 212–13 n. 145, 248 n. 46, 265 n. 128 Said, Edward W., 143, 261 n. 75 Pan (Greek god), 87, 98, 103, 106, 110, sanity, 3, 77, 81, 96, 150, 159, 164, 203 112 self, 28, 96, 125, 138–9, 147, 148–57, paranoia, 24, 179 160–1, 164, 166, 214, 263 n. 99 pathology, 18, 68, 71–84, 144–5, 148, recognition, 6, 18–19, 106, 200–1 235 n. 78 splitting, 88, 90, 114 294 Index

sexology, 104–5, 164, 238 n. 122, 258 supernatural, 131–2, 147, 159–60, 178, n. 21 258 n. 21, 260 n. 64, 266 n. 9 sexuality, 63–71, 87, 94, 96, 103–23, Swinburne, Algernon Charles, 76, 79, 126–9, 139–40, 215, 239 n. 137, 194–5 240 n. 145, 258 n. 21, 261 n. 66, 261 n. 68 tattooing, 55, 232 n. 41 antipathic, 65–6 Tarde, Gabriel, 45, 235 n. 90 bisexuality, 66 taxonomy, 13, 20, 34, 152, 210–14 deviance, 2, 63, 66–71, 87 Thomson, James, 110 female, 70, 260–1 n. 65 Topsall, Edward, 12 heterosexuality, 64, 67–71 transcendental medicine, 89, 111 homosexuality, 17, 65, 67, 94, 122–3, transgression, 3–4, 23–6, 29, 49, 139, 141, 198, 225 n. 103, 242 n. 86–7, 91, 111, 113, 126, 161, 184, 256 n. 13 165, 167, 169, 171, 189, 200, 205–8, see also transgression, of sexuality; 215–16, 258 n. 27 Victorian, sexuality of boundaries, 129–30 Shaw, Bernard, 77, 82–3 of femininity, 99, 103, 109, 122, 152 Shelley, Mary, 23, 46, 111 of sexuality, 198 Frankenstein, 23, 46 transmission, 57–8, 159, 169, somnambulism, see disorder, 173, 183, 201, 212, 223 n. 72, somnambulistic 230 n. 26, 231 n. 26, 239 n. 137, space, 10, 25, 130–8, 152, 154, 264 n. 120 160–1, 166, 170, 204, 214, 262 travelogue, 28, 126, 131, 135 n. 97 Gothic, 24, 227 n. 155 uncanny, 88–103, 113, 211, 249 n. 53 liminal, 90, 133, 135, 137 unspeakable, 88–113, 249 n. 58, 252 n. Stevenson, Robert Louis, 85–6, 244 n. 100 10, 248 n. 52, 249 n. 53, 253 n. 114, 254 n. 130 vampire, 28, 58, 125–48, 158–67, 212, ‘Olalla’, 132, 174–5, 246 n. 26 214, 256 n. 13, 257 n. 15, 258. 21, Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde, 258 n. 27 26–7, 85–97, 113–23, 137, 146, 161, van Gogh, Vincent, 218 194, 204, 211–12, 215, 245 n. 20, Victorian, 4–5, 11–12, 20–2, 154, 167, 246 n. 26, 247 n. 46, 248 n. 46, 254 169, 179, 188, 190–4, 198–9, 216, n. 144 263 n. 99, 267 n. 21 stigmata, 27, 44, 50–4, 56–7, 74–6, 80, decency, 90, 112–13, 130 88–97, 126–7, 144–7, 156, 175–6, gender, 70, 248 n. 52 187, 202, 210–13, 235 n. 90, 257 gentleman, 88, 94, 97, 112, 114, n. 15 119–20, 128, 155, 163, 245–6 n. 24, Stoker, Bram, 124, 129, 131, 256 n. 13, 253 n. 128, 254 n. 129 257 n. 15 home, 107 Dracula, 26, 28, 53, 58, 120–1, 124–35, sexuality, 87, 94, 96, 226 n. 124, 239 136–8, 147–9, 158–67, 211–15, 255 n. 134 n. 2, 256 n. 13, 257 n. 15, 258 n. see also sexuality 21, 258 n. 27 Villella, Italian felon, 45–6 strangulation, see asphyxiation sublime, 23, 134–5 Wagner, Richard, 72, 76, 82, 242 n. 196 suicide, 106–11, 187, 192, 195, 199, 201, Walpole, Horace, 23–4 251 n. 95 Castle of Otranto, The, 23–4, 135 Index 295

Wells, H. G., 82 241 n. 168, 242 n. 184, 243 n. 1, Island of Dr Moreau, The, 44, 248 n. 52, 270 n. 71 263 n. 104 ‘Critic as Artist, The’, 173, 207 ‘Zoological Retrogression’, 43 Picture of Dorian Gray, The, 2, 26–9, Whitman, Walt, 76 79–81, 137, 168–88, 189–90, Wilberforce, Samuel, 37, 230 198–208, 212, 215–16, 241 n. 168, n. 21 270 n. 73, 271 n. 73, 271 n. 86 Wilde, Oscar, 1–3, 80–2, 123, 168, 198–200, 213, 216, 219 n. 3, Zola, Emile, 72, 82, 194