Female Stereotypes in 19th-Century British Book Illustration

Von der Philosophischen Fakultät der Rheinisch-Westfälischen Technischen Hochschule Aachen zur Erlangung des akademischen Grades einer Doktorin der Philosophie genehmigte Dissertation

vorgelegt von Nora Karbach

Berichter: Universitätsprofessor Dr. phil. Peter Wenzel PD Dr. Sven Knut Strasen

Tag der mündlichen Prüfung: 02. Mai 2017

Diese Dissertation ist auf den Internetseiten der Universitätsbibliothek online verfügbar. Acknowledgements

This long journey into the wonders of 19th-century book illustration would not have been possible without the support of several people. Foremost, I express my sincere gratitude to my advisor Professor Dr Peter Wenzel for his continuous encouragement, valuable insights and for offering me the opportunity to pursue my academic interests in the first place. I also thank my second examiner PD Dr Sven Knut Strasen for his advice and assistance.

Many thanks to my friends for their help and willingness to discuss aspects of my research. My special appreciation goes to my parents and my partner. Without their invaluable support, I would not have been able to complete this dissertation. Table of Contents

1Introduction...... 1 1.1 Aim and Framework of this Study...... 1 1.2 The Medium Analysed: Book Illustration in 19th-Century Britain...... 7 1.2.1 A Brief Overview of British Book Illustration...... 7 1.2.2 Milestones of 19th-Century Illustrated Fiction...... 18

2 Methods and Theories...... 31 2.1 Stereotypes...... 31 2.1.1 Definition, Functions and Content of Stereotypes...... 31 2.1.2 Female Stereotypes in 19th-Century Britain...... 37 2.2 Reading Images...... 52 2.2.1 Iconography - Panofsky's Three Strata of Subject Matter or Meaning...... 52 2.2.2 Ut Pictura Poesis? - Understanding Text and Image...... 60 2.3 Narrative Theory, Feminist Narratology and Intermedial Narratology...... 69

3 Women in Visual Arts, Literature and Culture of the 19th Century...... 77 3.1 Women in 19th-Century Britain...... 77 3.1.1 Childhood and Adolescence...... 80 3.1.2 Courtship and Marriage...... 91 3.2 Women in 19th-Century Art...... 107 3.2.1 Painters and Muses – Female Artists in the 19th Century...... 107 3.2.2 Representations of Women in 19th-Century Art – Conventional Stereotypes Amplified?...... 131 3.3 Women in 19th-Century Literature...... 158 3.3.1 19th-Century Female Writers...... 158 3.3.2 Female Character Development in 19th-Century Fiction – Possibilities and Limitations...... 165

4 Female Stereotypes in 19th-Century Book Illustration...... 175 4.1 The Ideal Woman...... 177 4.1.1 The Ingénue...... 177 4.1.2 The Angel in the House...... 220 4.1.3 True Mother...... 255 4.1.4 Summary...... 286 4.2 The Fallen Woman...... 289 4.2.1 The Prostitute...... 289 4.2.2 The Adulteress...... 322 4.2.3 The Femme Fatale...... 349 4.2.4 Summary...... 376

5 Conclusion...... 380 1 Introduction

1.1 Aim and Framework of this Study

If men could see us as we really are, they would be a little amazed; but the cleverest, the acutest men are often under an illusion about women: they do not read them in a true light: they misapprehend them, both for good and evil: their good woman is a queer thing, half doll, half angel; their bad woman almost always a fiend. ― Charlotte Brontë, Shirley1

British society changed rapidly in the course of the 19th century. Nowadays, we are still fascinated with many developments and inventions of the time, many of which paved the way for modern society we know today. It was, however, a century of opposites with the Industrial Revolution fostering new ways of manufacturing in ever-growing cities while rural areas still remained rather unaffected. For British women in particular, the gap between society’s expectations of femininity and the need for self-fulfilment became wider than it had ever been. On the one hand, early beginnings of the women’s rights movement provoked thoughts about women’s labour, ability to own property and to vote, among others. On the other hand, the notions of appropriate femininity were still rather narrow. There was an elaborate code of conduct which applied in particular to women of higher classes and basically dictated everything in their lives from education to styles of clothing. The popular ideology of the separate spheres proposed separate domains for men and women, which meant that the latter were supposed to content themselves with domesticity. Women who excelled at domesticity were usually highly praised, for example in the works of contemporaries such as Sarah Stickney Ellis.2 The value of women was measured against their ability to find a husband, make a home and bear healthy children. While some of the rules for lower-class women were less strict, they, too, were judged negatively if they failed at leading lives

1 Bell 1858, 115. 2 cf. p. 81 of this thesis.

1 deemed respectable. Interestingly, as much as 19th-century society was preoccupied with respectability, as obsessed was it with its counterpart. The Madonna/whore dichotomy played a great role and served as a structuring device within society. As is said in the quotation I cited above by Charlotte Brontë’s character Shirley from the author’s 1849 novel of the same name, women seem to be either idealised or demonised. In my opinion, the reference to “the cleverest, the acutest men” can be understood in a broad sense as an allusion to Victorian society in general. This attitude brought about a series of stereotypes or clichés, which present either an overly idealised or a condemned, despicable version of femininity. They appear to be deep-seated in 19th-century thinking.

The subject of 19th-century women is of special interest to many areas of research, not least because it had been overlooked for quite some time and thus still holds the possibility of gaining fresh insights. For a long time, the canon of art and literature was largely dominated by men – women were often overlooked for various reasons. The 20th century brought about significant changes concerning the research in both disciplines as scholars began to deal with the complex approach to the topic from a feminist viewpoint. Most of the ground-breaking research of the subjects happened between the 1970s and the early 2000s. Despite their age which might be considered advanced in a scholastic environment, I still regard the following works as a valid basis for my thesis. In case of literary studies, Ina Schabert’s Englische Literaturgeschichte: Eine neue Darstellung aus der Sicht der Geschlechterforschung offers a new perspective on British literature between 1560 and 1900 with a focus on gender aspects.3 In a similar vein but with a stronger focus on the social background, Nina Auerbach’s Romantic Imprisonment examines the many shapes of femininity in 19th-century fiction.4 In Victorian Heroines, Kimberly Reynolds and Nicola Humble concentrate in particular on the reconstruction of the good/bad

3 cf. Schabert 1997, xi ff. 4 cf. Auerbach 1986, 83 ff.

2 dichotomy attached to 19th-century womanhood.5 All three scholars also draw attention to the presentation of women in 19th-century artworks. In Dickens, Women and Language, Patricia Ingham discusses the occurrence of 19th-century female stereotypes, which she refers to as “signs”, in the works of Charles Dickens. She develops her method from an in-depth analysis of the language used by Dickens to describe his female characters.6 The field of art history, which still employs a canon that is even more focussed on male artists than the canon of literary history, offers research on 19th-century female artists by Pamela Gerrish Nunn, Jan Marsh and Deborah Cherry. Their focus is among others placed on the forgotten female painters within the Pre-Raphaelite brotherhood.7 Susan Casteras’s Images of Victorian Womanhood in English Art and Lynda Nead’s Myths of Sexuality: Representations of Women in Victorian Britain offer a detailed overview of the diverse ways in which women are presented in artworks of the time.8 All this previous research detects strong parallels between the stereotypical views of femininity found in 19th-century society and the way it is presented in the visual arts and literature.

Despite the extensive research on women in 19th-century British art and literature, the field of book (and magazine) illustration remains fairly untouched.9 There are several publications about 19th-century book illustration, for example Percy Muir’s Victorian Illustrated Books and Jane R. Cohen’s Charles Dickens and His Original Illustrators, but they tend to focus on specific illustrators or the subject in general. Even with the multifarious interpretations which have been provided in case of the illustrations for Dickens's works, it appears that no scholar has yet attempted to look at the plates in the context of feminist research. In my thesis, I intend to offer an overview of the ways in which women

5 cf. Reynolds/Humble 1993, 1 ff. 6 cf. Ingham 1992, 3 ff. 7 cf. Nunn 1987, 1 ff., Marsh/Nunn 1989, 6 ff. and cf. Cherry 1993, 9 ff. 8 cf. Casteras 1987, 9 ff. 9 Throughout my thesis, I use the term “book illustration” as a blanket term for the graphic art featured in 19th-century illustrated fiction. I am well aware that many novels of the time were first published as serials in newspapers or magazines, which often included original illustrations.

3 are depicted in 19th-century book illustration, with special attention to specific gender clichés. This shall be done in a fashion similar to the above mentioned research by Casteras and Ingham on the representation of women in 19th-century art and literature. By carefully examining both the plates as well as the text passages they intend to illustrate, I will explore if and to what degree 19th- century female stereotypes influenced the way book illustrators depicted female characters. In doing so, I will also tackle the question if there might be any other factors affecting the design of the plates, such as artistic ability and style or the dynamic between author and illustrator. As a starting point, I identified six female stereotypes similar to Ingham’s “signs”, which seemed to be the most prevalent in art, literature and culture of the time: the ingénue, the Angel in the House, the true mother, the prostitute, the adulteress and the femme fatale. According to the 19th-century notion of good versus bad femininity, I grouped them under “idealised women” and “fallen women”. I am aware that the focus of these clichés is exclusively on young women, which omits stereotyped representations of older women such as the grandmother or spinster. Some stereotypes are more common than others, which accounts for certain sections including more illustrations and thus offering a broader overview of the stereotype. I concentrate on the literary genre of the novel since it was considered best suited for illustration at the time and thus offers the widest range of illustrated works as opposed to poetry, for example. Most of the illustrations featured here will be from the works of authors who were already quite well-known in the 19th century. The simple reason behind this is that they were more likely to be illustrated then. In the first half of the 19th century, it was good business practice to include illustrations with the works of fiction (which were often published as monthly serials). Female novelists usually did not reach the level of publicity necessary for publishers to consider having them illustrated. The novels of Dickens, Hardy and Thackeray, for example, were already illustrated during the authors’ lifetimes as opposed to the works by Austen and the Brontë sisters, which were if at all illustrated in the last decades of the 19th

4 century. We also have to keep in mind that illustrations featured in works by lesser known authors are more likely to have been lost with time or to be only partially available. This thesis does not mean to be exhaustive – the selected illustrations simply provide an insight into the representation of women within the medium. Albeit both literary and art historical scholars tend to widen their analyses to the so-called “long 19th century”, I chose to concentrate on works that originated between 1800 and 1900.10 Given that the 19th century was in itself a very diverse period, I thus intend to be able to offer a more concise analysis of the developments with regard to illustrated fiction as well as the social conditions of British women.

In the following, I will present a brief outline of the social and historical background, as well as the methodology I used to tackle the subject. As an introduction to the medium analysed, I will give a short overview of the most important developments and changes in the field of book illustration in section 1.2. Additionally, I will explain the most important techniques and provide the reader with some basic knowledge on the art market of the time. By presenting selected milestones of illustrated fiction in section 1.2.2, I will deal with the question why it was considered so important during the 19th century for author, reader and publisher to have novels illustrated. Section 2 is dedicated to the methods and theories I used as a guideline to conduct my analysis of both text and illustration. In section 2.1, I will begin with a definition of the term “stereotype” and then proceed to introduce a selection of research on the functions and content of stereotypes. I will also touch on cognitive literary theory, namely Schneider’s approach to character analysis and Strasen’s approach to cultural models.11 The female stereotypes will then be introduced with the help of examples from 19th-century literature and art. While there certainly are similarities between art and literature, our reception of the two media is quite different. In order to provide a concise examination of both, I will 10 The term was coined by British historian Eric Hobsbawm and usually describes the period between 1750 or 1789 and 1914 (cf. Juergensmeyer 2014, 161). 11 cf. Schneider 2013, 117 ff. and Strasen 2013, 43 ff.

5 present an overview of the methods of analysis I employed as well as some background knowledge in sections 2.2 and 2.3. My analysis and interpretation of the illustrations will be done with the help of Panofsky’s three strata of subject matter or meaning, which I will outline in section 2.2.1.12 When it comes to the comparative analysis of text and image, one has to keep in mind that book illustration is still considered a fairly traditional field of research, which is rarely included in the recent discussions of image-text relations. Therefore, I will provide an overview of media theory and intermediality in section 2.2.2 as a basis to better understand the different features of the media analysed. Although I will not reference the subject of media theory/intermediality any further in my analysis, it serves as background knowledge to understand the different ways in which images as well as texts function and are absorbed. Narrative theory will be introduced as a method of text analysis in section 2.3. The feminist and feminist intermedial narratology by Gaby Allrath, Marion Gymnich and Natascha Würzbach will serve as a guideline for my gender-based approach to the selected book illustrations and text passages.13 It will help me identify stereotypical elements in the portrayal of women in the media analysed. With regard to visual media especially, the theory of the male or female gaze will be of use for my analysis.14 Since the female clichés analysed in this thesis originated from the reality of 19th-century life, the social situation of 19th-century women from childhood to old age will be outlined in section 3.1, with an emphasis on class differences. Sections 3.2 and 3.3 provide a summary of the portrayal of women in both 19th-century art and literature. The opportunities and limitations of female artists and writers will be touched on as well, for the simple reason that the analysis of the plates will include several novels and artworks by women. This will provide the necessary background to offer a well-rounded account of the visual and verbal representation of 19th-century women in section 4. As mentioned above, the selected stereotypes will be presented in groups according

12 cf. Panofsky 2006, 36 ff. 13 cf. Allrath/Gymnich 2004, 34 ff. and Würzbach 2004, 49 ff. 14 cf. Allrath/Gymnich 2004, 36 ff.

6 to their connotation (“ideal women”, “fallen women”). Each subsection will feature at least three different characters and corresponding illustrations – if a novel has been illustrated by multiple artists and the designs offer at least moderately diverging representations, I will also include a comparison. Each illustration will be examined according to Panofsky’s principles of iconography and iconology and subsequently be related to the text it intends to represent. In doing so, I will show that in contrast to the findings of feminist research on female stereotypes in 19th-century art and literature, book illustration is influenced by a variety of other factors (for example artistic ability and style or trends and conventions) which tend to overpower the effect of the clichés.

1.2 The Medium Analysed: Book Illustration in 19th-Century Britain

1.2.1 A Brief Overview of British Book Illustration

While they have lost their significance with time, book illustrations were once highly valued by 19th-century British society. The 1800s are often mentioned as a period of prosperity – the time when illustration of books and periodicals finally became a profession in its own right. Before we take a look at the different styles and schools of illustration prevalent during the 19th century in the next section , I will provide a short overview of the field in general as well as the most notable techniques used over the centuries.

7 Book illustration became very popular over the centuries, but still, it was often seen as inferior to other art forms like sculpture, painting or architecture. While painting, for example, was regarded as an "elite" art form which produced something unique, book illustration was for a long time associated with mass- production. According to Rümann (1930), this actually worked to the advantage of book illustration: In the wake of the French Revolution in the late 18 th century and the associated shift of power, the exaggerated style of Baroque and Rococo favoured by the aristocracy became less popular with the growing middle class. Artisanal handicraft, however, seemed close enough to the people to gain popularity. Thus, book illustration's reputation as functional art gave it the necessary democratic feel to become sought-after.15 Gross (1970) agrees and even calls printmaking a "democratic art form" based on the wide circulation it is able to achieve through numbers reproduced and compares it to later art forms such as photography or motion pictures.16 As society was changing, the concepts of book illustration as well as its relation to the verbal arts changed. In Renaissance art, for example, it was perceived as imitation of a text. The visual had to follow the verbal and nature according to the concept of mimesis. The term "mimesis" stems from Ancient Greek μι μ εῖσθαι (m ī meisthai) meaning "to imitate" and served as a coordinating concept for the visual arts. In short, our surroundings ("the physical world") were seen as an ideal of beauty, truth and goodness, which had to be mirrored in art consecutively making it worth doing.17 As we will see in the next section, throughout the 19th century this ancient concept of mimesis was overthrown quite a few times. The relationship between text and illustration (and sometimes author and illustrator) often resembled an endless struggle for power.

But let us first have a look at the development of book illustration over the centuries. Gutenberg's invention of the movable type in 1439 paved the way for what would later become one of the world's largest industries. Before the 15 cf. Rümann 1930, 7. 16 Gross 1970, 5. 17 cf. Gebauer/Wulf 1995, 1 ff.

8 illustrated book we are familiar with today entered the market though, several centuries went by. There was, however, always a special interest in visual additions to the written word, as the existence of Illuminated Manuscripts from around AD 400 to 600 shows. Drawn by hand using precious pigments to achieve the vibrant colour palette desired to depict religious scenes, producing illuminated manuscripts was costly and difficult. Thus, they were very expensive and mainly within reach of wealthy people, who were able to afford exquisitely decorated prayer books such as the books of hours popular in the Middle Ages (see fig. 2).18 The earliest examples of illustrated books comparable to those of the 19th century in terms of technique date back to the middle of the 15th century: so-called block books or xylographica – short books consisting of woodcut plates with very little text and almost always religious themes. It is assumed that those volumes were offered as cheaper alternatives to typeset books. Some editions of the Biblia Pauperum (lat. "Pauper's Bible") were illustrated in this manner, images and text being cut from the same wood-block (see fig. 1).19 The first illustrated book printed from type was Der Edelstein by Ulrich Boner (published 1349), a collection of fables. It was produced in 1461 by Albrecht Pfister from Bamberg.20

Several centuries later, in 18th-century Britain, the reading public was a rather modest community. Hence books were only published in small editions, which made them expensive. As for illustrations, these were not added with the writing but could be requested by the author or publisher if a book had already proven successful in the market.21 The second half of the century especially had an undeniable impact on the development of book illustration during Victoria's reign, though. In the course of the 18th century, lighter forms of literature became fashionable in England and France, including illustrated editions of fiction, i.e. belles-lettres. Political changes led to a shift of power from the

18 cf. Bradley 2006. 19 cf. Carter 2006, 89 ff. 20 cf. Muir 1989, 1 ff. 21 cf. ibid.

9 aristocracy to the people, which was strongly reflected in literature and art. A new genre of literature was emerging which focused on the contemporary social problems of relatable characters from both sexes. For example, Samuel Richardson's Pamela published 1740 was a great success. Consequently, what we now refer to as "the rise of the novel" had a major influence on the illustrated books that entered the market in the 19th century.22 The style of British book illustration was strongly influenced on the one hand by Dutch genre painting and its moralising depictions of middle-class life as well as on the other hand by painter William Hogarth's satirical tradition.23 While most art historians do not pay much attention to Hogarth's work as a book illustrator, he did, however, have a huge impact on the style of many artists later working in this field. His humorous depictions of English society were very much loved by the public and by fellow artists for brilliantly combining both moralising and entertaining aspects. The six-print series A Harlot's Progress (1732), for example, shows the corruption of an English country girl as she comes to London and is immediately taken in by a brothel madam. The two prints Beer Street and Gin Lane (1751) were meant to be viewed next to each other and contrast the disastrous effects of gin consumption with the merits of drinking beer, thereby supporting the Gin Act of the same year, which prohibited the selling of spirits to unlicensed merchants (see fig. 7). Hogarth's works showed the weaknesses of English society and set the standards for a certain "Englishness" in the graphic arts with an emphasis on humour and satire. Additionally, he took part in the passing of the Engraving Copyright Act of 1734, which helped to protect the rights of engravers. A similar influence on the art of illustration is attributed by scholars to artists William Blake and Thomas Rowlandson, who both did not mainly work as book illustrators.24

22 cf. Hodnett 1988, 67. 23 cf. Rümann 1930, 8. 24 cf. Hodnett 1988, 67.

10 According to Hodnett (1988), book illustration of the 18th century did not put any emphasis on the artist as an individual. Often up to ten illustrators worked together on one book – surely none of them would have dreamed that just a few decades later an illustrator's name would appear on the book cover next to the author. The result is that there is no or only very little substantial work by 18th- century book illustrators to be viewed in isolation. Hodnett (1988) even assumes that since the famous inventor of wood engraving Thomas Bewick, for example, worked with so many apprentices we cannot say for sure which prints are his original designs and which are collaborative works from his workshop.25

Concerning printmaking techniques, some developments from the 18th century made it to the 19th century: lithography for example, a printing process invented by German author Alois Senefelder in 1796 and brought to England around 1800. In lithography the design is drawn on limestone with greasy ink and the stone is damped in order for the water to settle on the unmarked parts. It is then inked again with the same ink as before, which now only sticks to the parts where no water penetrated the stone. Paper is applied afterwards in a press. This relatively inexpensive method produced illustrations of decent quality, which had a soft, yet detailed effect about them.26 Another important advancement was of course the rediscovery of woodcutting (see fig. 3) by aforementioned Thomas Bewick in the late 18th century, which led him to develop the technique of wood engraving (see fig. 4). It would become one of the two primary techniques of book illustration used by Victorian book illustrators. The artists used the harder end grain of a wood-block as a medium to work into their designs with a knife or special engraving tool. In contrast to its forerunner – the woodcut, where softer side grain is used – this technique produced highly detailed images and enabled the print of thousands of copies from just one block. In order to achieve best results, the illustrator had to work very closely with the engraver. Sometimes the

25 cf. Hodnett 1988, 92. 26 cf. Daniels 1988, 10-11.

11 illustrator would even draw his design directly onto the wood-block with pencil.27

The 19th century brought about new techniques which led to books being produced more cost-effectively. The more affordable prices, in turn, boosted the sales.28 Because of its many advantages, wood engraving soon became the most sought-after technique for illustration. In case of this so-called relief process, it was not necessary to print the images in a separate press. Now they could be directly printed with the text, which also contributed to book prices' decreasing. By the 1870s, photography had become a very popular medium, too, and was often used to project designs directly onto the wood. This was quite convenient since the drawing's size could be adjusted to the size of the wood-block. Famous engravers were the Brothers Dalziel, who founded their successful firm of wood engravers in 1839 and worked with many well-known artists such as Dante Gabriel Rossetti or Richard Doyle.29 Metal engraving using copper plates was less popular during the 19th century. It was the main method of illustration in the 18th century but lost its appeal since it could not be printed at the same time as the text and required a separate press. The same is true for steel engraving, which was used from the 1820s onwards and produced very fine, nuanced lines. In case of steel, the hardness of the material was at the same time a curse and a blessing (see fig. 5): while only 800 reasonable impressions could be printed from one copper plate, steel's durability allowed for far more. At the same time, its extreme hardness made it difficult and expensive to work with.30 The etching process as well as metal engraving are so-called intaglio processes, which means the lines of the drawing are either scored with a tool or bitten into the material with the help of acid (see fig. 6). The paper is then pressed into those lines to create the print. Etching starts with the covering of a metal plate with “blackened wax-resist”. Subsequently, the wax is scratched off with a needle,

27 cf. Daniels 1988, 7-9. 28 cf. Hunnisett 1980, 2. 29 cf. Daniels 1988, 7-9. 30 cf. Hunnisett 1980, 153.

12 exposing the bare metal. When the plate is dipped into acid, the lines in the plate are left behind and can be filled with ink in order to print when the wax has been removed. Sometimes prints would be produced by combining both etching and engraving to make working with metal grounds easier.31 William Hogarth's famous 1751 series "Beer Street" and "Gin Lane" are done in this manner (see fig. 7).

In the wake of the Industrial Revolution, 19th-century Britain experienced an increasing number of working-class people. Suddenly, publishers were confronted with a completely new readership, which had received little to no education. In order to meet the needs of these semi-literate people, illustrated periodicals and books came into the market. Educated readers, too, admired illustrated works, for example political caricature.32 As modern readers, who might be puzzled by this seemingly intense need for visual stimulation, we have to keep in mind that life in 19th-century Britain did not offer things such as cinemas, television, illustrated daily papers and easily affordable photography. Even museums were only slowly becoming accessible to people of all classes (i.e. the British Museum opening its doors on public holidays from Easter Monday 1837). Some scholars assume that people of the 19th century also possessed higher visual receptivity than we do today. They were used to novels being published as periodicals, where the illustrations served as links between the individual issues. Illustrations with their variety of emblematic details provided them with an interpretation or even anticipated future developments.33 It is known today that book illustrations by specific artists were intensely popular with the readers and were often eagerly awaited.34

31 Daniels 1988, 5 ff. 32 cf. Buchanan-Brown 1980, 13. 33 cf. Skilton 1988, 312. 34 Curtis 2002, introduction.

13 Figure 1: Block book, Biblia pauperum. (The Netherlands, c. 1460-1470). 2º, 40 (-2) leaves, provenance: Tongerlo collection, 1828 168 E 1:2, fol. i.

14 Figure 2: Master of the Brussels Initials, “The Annunciation”, illuminated manuscript, France (Paris), circa 1407 (The British Library).

Figure 3: Albrecht Dürer, “The Vision of the Seven Candlesticks” (The Apocalypse), woodcut, about 1498 (National Galleries Scotland).

15 Figure 4: Thomas Bewick, "Chillingham Bull", 1789, wood engraving, (Victoria and Albert Museum).

Figure 5: George Cruikshank, "Fagin in the Condemned Cell", from Charles Dickens’s "Oliver Twist", etching on steel, 1893 (image scanned from “The Letters of Charles Dickens. Edited by his sister- in-law and his eldest daughter”, The British Library).

16 Figure 6: James McNeill Whistler, "Zaandam, the Netherlands", etching, c. 1889 (scanned image by Library of Congress).

Figure 7: William Hogarth, "Gin Lane", etching and engraving on paper, 1751 (© Tate).

17 1.2.2 Milestones of 19th-Century Illustrated Fiction

Illustration in the 19th century was not limited to one literary form – artists such as William Blake or Dante Gabriel Rossetti became especially known for their illustrated poetry, for example. It is, however, the novel across which we come again and again in this context. The novel had already risen to extreme popularity by the beginning of our period and can definitely be singled out as the literary form most often identified with book illustration.35 It will also be the focus of this thesis.

Nowadays, as 19th-century fiction has once again become widely popular, readers have difficulty understanding why novelists had many if not all of their works illustrated. For the most part, we are content reading the non-illustrated volumes that are sold today. Thus, from today's perspective, one cannot help but wonder why illustrated novels gained so much approval in Victorian times. Unsurprisingly, several aspects have to be taken into account when dealing with this question. As mentioned before, 19th-century Britain saw a large growth in the reading public. Not only did its population more than double during Victoria's reign, but also with the establishing of schools and colleges for working class people many more people became literate.36 So of course there were strong commercial reasons behind book illustration, too: with a wider reading public, decreasing paper prices and gradually lower production costs due to mechanisation, many publishers saw the opportunity to respond to this growing market.

But who were those newly acquired readers? In order to explore the issue at hand, we have to look back into the 18th century when the novel gained its popularity. Watt (1974) sees the key element of the 18th century rise of the novel in the fact that the middle class became more powerful than ever in Britain. His “triple rise thesis” connects the rise of the middle class with the increasing

35 cf. Hodnett 1988, 67. 36 Daniels 1988 states that the population grew from 14 to 33 Mio. people.

18 reading public which in turn led to the rise of the novel.37 There was a growing need for identification – people were interested in fictionalised accounts of their daily lives and gladly followed the stories of the heroes and heroines created by Richardson and Defoe. Those works promoted ideas which would later be identified as distinctly middle-class values such as individualism or Puritanism, Watt (1957) argues. Hence the middle class's interest in fiction seems to not only be rooted in its economic power as a growing class of British society but also in a focus on shared interests and beliefs. Watt's theory of a dominant middle class's influence on the book market has been echoed by many scholars since and actually was not so new to begin with: As Mayer (2000) points out, there had already been some assumptions on the target audience of Richardson's Pamela made by a contemporary critic in Fraser's Magazine, who indicated that the novel was aimed at "the class to which its heroine belonged".38 The “triple rise thesis” remains problematic on many levels, particularly Watt's assumption that a shift in “feminine leisure” from “old household duties” to reading for pleasure played a significant role in the increased reading public. He argues that since by the late 18th century many items such as soap, bread or candles could be bought in shops, women no longer had to make them at home and therefore found themselves with a lot of free time on their hands.39 This depiction of Victorian middle-class women does not seem quite accurate. The middle class presented a variety of lifestyles with annual incomes ranging from £100 to £2000. And while it was indeed welcomed by society if a middle-class woman did not do any paid or domestic work, in most cases this was not realistic. According to Steinbach (2004), only upper-middle-class families could afford several servants, some were able to employ a single one to help with the daily work, but most middle- class families had to manage on their own. It was hard work to remain middle- class – particularly if one belonged to the lower end – and even harder to do so

37 Watt argues that certain changes in society “altered the centre of gravity of the reading public sufficiently to place the middle class as a whole in a dominating position for the first time" (Watt 1957, 48). 38 cf. Mayer 2000, 1/2. 39 cf. Watt 1957, 44.

19 while pretending that it was easy.40 Nevertheless, one cannot dismiss that the middle class did take some part in the rise of the novel – be it as readers or fictional characters embodying middle-class ideas. Section 3 of this thesis will offer a more comprehensive look at women and their various roles in Victorian society.

So by the beginning of the 19th century, the novel was already highly estimated by readers. Why did the works of fiction have to be adorned with images, though? As mentioned before, in comparison with today's readers, Victorians were even more receptive of visual material. Seeing and the eye itself were closely linked with truth, as contemporary art critic John Ruskin argues in the third volume of Modern Painters (1843-60):

[T]he greatest thing a human soul ever does in this world is to see something, and tell what it saw plainly. Hundreds of people can talk for one who can think, but thousands can think for one who can see. To see clearly is poetry, prophecy and religion, – all in one.41

Ruskin associates “seeing clearly” with three rather abstract terms: poetry, prophecy and religion. All three imply a certain elevation from common life, be it by devotion to high art (“poetry”), by communicating divine knowledge or revelations (“prophecy”) or by belief (“religion”). This assigns some kind of otherworldly quality to seeing, which goes beyond human eyesight. For Ruskin, visual perception seems to be linked to a deep understanding of the world and all its mysteries – seeing is not only believing (as the saying goes) but also comprehending on a very complex level. Janzen Kooistra (2011) argues that illustrations also worked so well since they established “a more immediate respresentational connection to the world of experience than […] produced

40 Steinbach (2004) presents a detailed study of English women from 1760 to 1914. She argues that a “family's middle-class status depended in part on the fact that the wife did no paid work (as her husband did) or heavy domestic work (as her servants did). But this presentation of women as leisured was not realistic. Middle-class women did much domestic labour behind the scenes while trying to appear as if they did none” (Steinbach 2004, 43-45). 41 Cook/Wedderburn 2011, Volume III, part IV, chapter XVI.

20 through the arbitrary codes of alphabet and typography”.42 The world of images is more easily recognisable to the reader than the one of words – even if he never encountered the depicted landscapes, people or objects, their shapes suggest a certain familiarity. This reassuring of the reader by offering him pictures from his own world definitely has to be taken into account when dealing with book illustration.

It is often mentioned by scholars that illustrations served as an aid to semi- literate readers, but in my opinion their function goes beyond this, in case of illustrated fiction especially. As stated before, the novel mainly targeted middle- class readers – if illustrations primarily served as reading aids for working-class people, then why were so many novels illustrated, too? The readers of the Biblia Pauperum might have needed assistance, but the educated 19th-century middle class must have been able to fully comprehend the written word. Since illustrated books came in different price ranges from costly hand-coloured limited editions over reasonably priced books with monochrome (steel-)engravings to cheap woodcut illustrated volumes of varying quality it is clear that there was more than one target audience.43 Thus, there cannot be only one reason behind the popularity of book illustration in Victorian times. We have to keep in mind that the 19th century brought about many changes in society and technology. People from all classes had to adjust to these changes and as it is in times like these, they must have been trying to counterbalance this by seeking out what was already familiar to them. This might be an important reason behind their need for illustration, searching “reassuring grounding for readers” as Janzen Kooistra (2011) calls it.44

The importance of and need for visual stimulation was also dealt with by the artists of the day. Their richly detailed, readable paintings and illustrations were moving away from academic traditions featuring religious and mythological

42 Janzen Kooistra 2011, 86. 43 cf. Hunnisett 1980, 3. 44 Janzen Kooistra 2011, 86.

21 scenes. In contrast, Dutch genre painting with its whimsical scenes and comical elements served as an important inspiration for painters and illustrators alike. Early 19th-century art developed a “pictorialist” style, both in painting and illustration. For novels this meant that the illustrations “impl[ied] the stories that at once precede[d] and follow[ed] and symbolize[d] their meaning”.45 Or, as Möller (2001) puts it, illustration provides the opportunity to go beyond the respective scene since the artist is able to include details from previous or later text passages as a comment.46 By this means, suspense is created and at the same time, readers are kept wondering about the rest of the story. This was advantageous, considering that fiction was mainly published in serials. Curious readers make loyal customers – something that made illustrations indeed very valuable for publishers and leaves us again with the commercial reasons behind book illustration.

Victorian illustrated fiction is a rather narrow term for a very wide field. The 19th century alone produced so many different illustrators that it is extremely difficult to cover every single artist, style or motif featured in Victorian illustrated fiction. In consequence, whenever scholars deal with the subject, they identify two or three main time periods within the 19th century in order to structure the various developments in the field of illustration. The most important criteria for these groupings are style and motif, although the relationship between author and illustrator in general does also have some impact. In what follows, I will outline the different schools of illustration which emerged in the course of our period. By taking into account the most notable approaches that have been made by scholars so far, I intend to offer an overview of 19th-century illustration, which will be useful in the analysis of the visualised stereotypes that will be attempted in section 4.

The first period starts around 1800 and ends approximately 1850/55. Maxwell (2002) sub-divides it into three notable groups: first, he names Dickens and his

45 Christ/Jordan 1995, xxii. 46 cf. Möller 2001, 164 ff.

22 “artist-collaborators” such as George Cruikshank, Hablot Knight Browne (Phiz), George Cattermole and Robert Seymour (see fig. 9).47 It is assumed that Dickens played a significant role in the development of 19th-century illustrated fiction. His first publications in the 1830s and his death in 1870 coincide with the periods where the most important changes in the field took place. His decision to employ the already famous Cruikshank to illustrate his first works greatly helped the author to gain recognition. As soon as Dickens had made a name for himself, he employed Phiz as his principal illustrator (see fig. 8). This inspired other authors to follow his example and have their novels illustrated by unknown, young artists, too.48 In addition, by the 1840s due to wood engraving it was possible to print both text and image from one press resulting in cheaper and faster production. Plates and letterpress no longer belonged to different printing establishments, which helped illustrated fiction take root in British society.49

The second group mentioned by Maxwell (2002) belongs to the same decades as the first and comprises the artists working for Punch magazine (for example John Tenniel, John Leech and Richard Doyle) during the first half of the century.50 Founded in 1841 by journalists Henry Mayhew, Joseph Stirling Coyne and Mark Lemon, Punch or the London Charivari (as it was called in reference to the French magazine Le Charivari) was a weekly British journal of humour and satire. Among its authors were comic writers William Makepeace Thackeray and the already frequently mentioned Charles Dickens, who also chose the publishers of Punch (Bradbury and Hall) for his novels around this time.51 Despite the illustrators' working with a different literary form (magazine), this group is relevant for the development of illustrated fiction because of its strong influence on the preferred style of illustration. The first and the second group of Victorian illustrators are very closely linked in terms of style (comp. fig. 8, 9 and 10). Both

47cf. Maxwell 2002, xxi. 48 cf. Cohen 1980, 5/6. 49 cf. Calé/DiBello 2010, 15. 50 cf. Maxwell 2002, xxi. 51 cf. Allingham 2011, online resource.

23 maintained the satirical tradition of Rowlandson and Hogarth and even emotional scenes bore traces of caricature. Goldman (2012) even merges those two groups on the grounds of their very similar style of single-sheet satire, stating that their main purpose was to create something decorative in order to entertain the reader.52 It is indeed interesting that in many cases the same artists who provided (political) caricatures and social commentary for magazines and periodicals were chosen to illustrate fiction. In case of Dickens and Cruikshank this certainly proved challenging for both writer and illustrator. Dickens's good characters (for example Rose Maylie from Oliver Twist) are often accused of being lifeless and not authentic, as have Cruikshank's depictions of them. The characters intended to be bad and/or humorous by Dickens and Cruikshank are always more popular. 20th- and 21st-century scholars largely disagree on the artistic value of the early Victorian illustrations. Though some praise their humour and acknowledge the extreme influence certain artist personalities had at this time, many criticise their limitation to satire and rather generalised approach to emotion sometimes bordering on rudeness.53

The last group of illustrators mentioned by Maxwell (2002) became active/popular in the late 1850s to early 1860s, which is often regarded as the most important decade in British book illustration.54 Forrest Reid's famous 1928 publication Illustrators of the Sixties surely had a part in this. Reid was not the first to show some interest in this subject: thirty years prior to his book, in 1897, the art critic Gleeson White published English Illustration: The Sixties, 1855-70 – an illustrated catalogue of artists working in the period. Where White offered a comprehensive overview, Reid was able to look at the subject in a more analytic way. He was the first critic to realise the importance of studying image and text together. Reid also was an avid collector of art and illustration, as was White.55

52 cf. Goldman 2012, 28-30. 53 Maxwell (2002) points out that many scholars dismiss the early illustrators' abilities as mere craftsmanship whereas they see the later illustrators as the “true artists” of the period (Maxwell 2002, xxi). 54 cf. ibid. 55 Goldman 1998, 32.

24 The artists belonging to the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood (William Holman Hunt, Dante Gabriel Rossetti, John Everett Millais and Arthur Hughes, among others) were part of the illustrators of the sixties. It is not surprising that their style affected illustration in general during this decade. The satiric tradition gave way to more serious, often sentimental illustration (see fig. 11 and 12) – which is certainly more academic in terms of style. Reid also mentions another important group of illustrators he calls the “Idyllic School”, which included Arthur Boyd Houghton, George Pinwell and Frederick Walker. Interestingly, in this period illustration also caught the eye of several renowned artists such as James McNeill Whistler, Edward Poynter or Charles Keene who contributed to some works of literature.56 This shows how the reputation of book illustration changed in the course of the 19th century: it started out as a rather small field with few specialists strongly influenced by 18th-century art and by 1855 – due to advanced printmaking techniques (wood engravings printed with the text) assuring affordable production – experienced what is frequently called its “Golden Age”. It lasted for about twenty years and brought about a notable increase in black and white illustration as well as sparked the interest of artists and art critics alike. By the 1860s wood engraving had become a highly organised business run by large London firms such as the Dalziel Brothers. These firms paid engravers and artists on behalf of the publishers. Costs were reduced by employing skilled engravers at sweatshop wages who were able to work the designs very fast, sometimes overnight. According to Goldman (2010), it is believed now that most of these engravers were in fact women working at home. There was a high demand for illustrated literature, so publishers such as Routledge would often re-use illustrations from previous works and insert them whenever they half-way fit the text. This did of course compromise the quality of the respective books. But it also makes it difficult to figure out from nowaday's perspective which illustrations from this period were actually intended for the texts they were

56 cf. Goldman 1998, 32.

25 published with.57 In spite of the amount of praise for the illustrators of this decade, some scholars criticise their works for being too sentimental and “static”.58

As mentioned above, during the last decades of the 19th century, the interest in illustrated fiction started to decline. According to Curtis (1995), the cover art of the popular magazine “Illustrated London News” can be interpreted as a reflection of the changing attitude towards the relation of text and image. In the first half of the 19th century, the cover showed personifications of art and literature standing side by side (see fig. 13). On the later cover of the “Illustrated London News”, art is shown standing behind literature, as if she was looking at her for advice (see fig. 14).59

Altogether, 19th-century illustrated fiction is a very diverse field with still many possibilities for research. It will be interesting to see how the different styles and directions of illustration are incorporated in various works of fiction throughout the century and if they have any impact on the main subject of this thesis, the depiction of women according to stereotypical role norms of the day. This will be explored further in section 4 with special emphasis on the literary form of the novel.

57 cf. Goldman 2010, lecture. 58 Hodnett (1988) notes that “the sixties” lack “vital, interpretative illustrations” and have a “taste for long narratives” (cf. 144). For Rümann (1930), the decade lacked in “great artist personalities” (cf. 107) in comparison to the 1830s/40s. 59 cf. Curtis 1995, 36.

26 Figure 8: Hablot Knight Browne, "I make the acquaintance of Miss Mowcher", etching, from Charles Dickens "David Copperfield", 1849 (The British Library).

27 Figure 9: Robert Seymour, "Dr. Slammer's Defiance of Jingle", engraving, from Charles Dickens "The Pickwick Papers", 1836 (scanned image and text by Philip V. Allingham, The Victorian Web).

Figure 10: John Leech, "Young Affection", wood engraving, from "Punch", 1844 (John Leech Archive). 28 Figure 11: William Holman Hunt, "Drifting in a Boat", wood engraving, from "Recollections of the Arabian Nights" in "The Moxon Tennyson", 1857 (scanned image and text by George P. Landow, The Victorian Web).

Figure 12: John Everett Millais, "The Crawley Family", wood engraving, from Anthony Trollope’s "Framley Parsonage", 1860 (scanned image and text by Simon Cooke, The Victorian Web)

29 Figure 13: The Illustrated London News, Vol. 27, July to December 1855 (Curtis 1995, 3)

Figure 14: The Illustrated London News, Vol. 57, July to December 1870 ( Curtis 1995, 36). 30 2 Methods and Theories

2.1 Stereotypes

2.1.1 Definition, Functions and Content of Stereotypes

Since the aim of this thesis is to analyse female stereotypes in 19th-century illustrated fiction, it is vital to first take a look at the term “stereotype” itself. Dictionaries and encyclopedias alone hint at what to expect when dealing with the task of trying to grasp the concept of stereotypes as a whole. Long before the term we know and use today had been coined, people had been relying on generalisations and prejudice when describing their fellow men and women. In this section, I will attempt to establish a useful definition of the term “stereotype” which will serve as a basis for the following analysis in section 4, as well as provide an overview of selected concepts and theories surrounding the term. In section 2.1.2 I will introduce the female stereotypes I chose for my analysis of 19th-century literature and illustration.

In order to fully comprehend the different concepts of stereotypes as they have emerged overtime, it is necessary to start with a definition. According to the Oxford English Dictionary, a stereotype can either describe “a widely held but fixed and oversimplified image or idea of a particular type of person or thing” or “a relief printing plate cast in a mould made from composed type or an original plate”. The latter refers to the word's origin – it derives from the French adjective “stéréotype” and indeed describes “printing by means of a solid plate of type”. The term was first used in this context in 1798 by French printer, engraver and type founder Firmin Didot. He used it to characterise the process of printing from a plate that duplicated all kinds of typography.60

When further researching the origin of the French word “stéréotype”, we learn that it derives from the Greek words “στερεός ” (stereos) meaning “firm, solid”

60 OED Online “stereotype”, online resource.

31 and “τύπος ” (typos) meaning “impression”. The whole meaning would hence be “solid impression” – which quite accurately refers to the aforementioned innovations of the printing trade.61 Solid plates of types – they were actually called “stereotypes” from 1817 onwards – were employed to make a copy of typographical elements, which made printing easier and faster. Eventually, the term became common use in the English language outside of printing in 1850, when it was defined as “an image perpetuated without change”.62

The first modern concept of the term “stereotype” was coined in 1922 by American journalist Walter Lippmann in his book Public Opinion. Lippmann approaches the subject from a psychological perspective and argues that humans as very small protagonists in this unbelievably large universe can only rely on their limited knowledge of everything that surrounds them. Consequently, our opinions of others have to be “pieced together” out of many things we heard from others, which of course often makes them highly doubtable. We select and filter what we hear and perceive because taking everything in in detail would be too exhausting. Thus what we “see” in our heads often constitutes a very different version of reality – stereotypes play a big part in this. They not only save time and energy by presenting us with ready-made concepts of our surroundings, but also make them appear more familiar.63

Since Lippmann's publication, many scholars chiefly from the fields of psychology and sociology have tried to find a useful, comprehensive definition of stereotypes as well as studied their functions within society. According to Stewart et al. (1979), after Lippmann much of the research on the subject remained superficial due to its negative connotations: Stereotyping was mainly attributed to individuals with poor social and psychological adjustment rather than being considered a social phenomenon.64 Tajfel (1985) defines stereotypes as “an oversimplified mental image of (usually) some category of person,

61 OED Online “stereotype”, online resource. 62 cf. Harper 2010, online resource. 63 cf. Lippmann 1922, online resource. 64 cf. Stewart et al. 1979, 2.

32 institution or event which is shared, in essential features, by large numbers of people”.65 The definition of Cox et al. (2012) adds that there has to be a cognitive link between the features and concepts later forming the stereotype since they do not naturally define one another. For example, dark skin is the defining feature of a black person. The link “dark skin – black” therefore is not a stereotype. “Black – poor” is though, since being poor is no defining feature of a black person. The thought hence oversimplifies a group of people. Not fully agreeing with Tajfel's definition, Cox et al. (2012) stress that the number of people sharing a stereotype is not relevant – stereotypes can exist in the mind of only one person or be socially shared by a group of people.66

The content of stereotypes has also been of interest to many scholars. Its studies focus on the specific variations and dimensions within the phenomenon rather than its forms and functions. As mentioned before, it was for a long time believed that stereotypes were exclusively negative and a sign of uniform antipathy, especially when it comes to the categorisation of ethnic groups. The stereotype content model (SCM) developed by Susan Fiske and her colleagues in 2002, however, takes a different approach. According to their research, stereotypes are perceived to a varying degree along the two dimensions of “warmth” and “competence”. Warmth is equivalent to characteristics such as good-natured, trustworthy, tolerant, friendly, and sincere. Competence is indicated by the possession of traits such as capable, skillful, intelligent, and confident.67 This contradicts earlier theories by stating that stereotypes are in fact ambivalent and that “many groups do not receive a one-dimensional, hostile type of prejudice”.68 All social groups can be assigned to a high or low level of these two dimensions, which results in four possible combinations (see fig. 15):

65 Tajfel 1985, 144. 66 cf. Cox et al. 2012, 429. 67 cf. Cuddy et al. 2008, 65. 68 ibid., 66.

33 1. Low-status, non-competitive outgroups69 that are perceived as warm but incompetent (e.g. housewives, elderly, disabled). These people are commonly liked but also pitied and disrespected for their lack of skills and power. They trigger active behaviour, for example assistance or encouragement.

2. The second group is the one which is most positively stereotyped, since the people belonging to it are considered both very competent as well as warm (e.g. allies, Whites, ingroup, middle-class people). The fact that they are non-competitive and of high status fills the observer with pride and admiration towards them. This group elicits facilitative behaviour; we are willing to assist them without being patronising.

3. Low-status, competitive groups (e.g. wellfare recipients, drug addicts, homeless people) which are seen as neither competent nor warm. They are disrespected and met with disgust and contempt. Consequently, they trigger passive behaviour, meaning the observer does not (want to) engage with them at all.

4. This combination consists of high-status, competitive outgroups (e.g. rich people, Asians, Jews). They are viewed as competent but not warm and lead to an envious stereotype. Thus, the observer engages in negative, harmful behaviour towards members of this group.70

The stereotype content model has been empirically tested in diverse studies in the United States as well as internationally and has proven a reliable method to predict stereotype content.71

69 The term “outgroup” refers to a social group with which an individual does not identify. The opposite would be “ingroup”, meaning a group with which an individual strongly identifies as a member (i.e., race, culture, religion in both cases, “us vs. them”) (cf. Tajfel et al. 1971). 70 cf. Cuddy et al. 2008, 69. 71 ibid, 79 ff.

34 Figure 15: Stereotype Content Model according to Fiske et al.

The various functions of stereotypes have also been subject to a lot of research. As I mentioned above, the first theories suggested that stereotypes were only used by people who were not well-adjusted psychologically and socially. Tajfel (1985), however, argues that stereotypes have a variety of important social functions which can only be understood against the background of the relations within and/or between social groups. In accordance with Lippmann (1922), he stresses that “stereotypes systematise and simplify information from the social environment in order to make sense of a world […] too complex and chaotic for effective action”.72 Additionally, stereotypes serve as a justification for collective actions, as Tajfel (1985) illustrates with the help of the witch trials based on the book Malleus Maleficarum in the 15th century: science was not yet able to explain epidemics like the Plague, so it was attributed to sorcery poisoning wells. The

72 Tajfel 1985, 148.

35 fear of witchcraft created a social dynamic resulting in the alleged witches becoming the outgroup threatening the safety of the ingroup. The “witch” stereotype therefore provided social causality for and justification of the witch trials as well as differentiation from the outgroup.73 This is, of course, an extreme example. In everyday life, however, belonging to a group of individuals sharing characteristics, circumstances, values and beliefs is a key element for structuring society. According to McGarty et al. (2002), stereotypes have cognitive as well as social functions, which are best understood in relation to one another. Our society structures itself in groups and these groups' dynamics help us to explain why certain people act in the way they do. In order to form an impression of one group we need to know about its differences from and similarities to another group. Stereotypes hence serve three purposes: First, they help us to make sense of a situation and even offer an explanation for it. Second, they serve as energy-saving devices by reducing the effort on the side of the perceiver. The overwhelming environment which confronts him/her on a daily basis is simplified producing certain judgements that are adaptable to a number of different situations. Third, stereotypes are in line with accepted views or norms of the social group the perceiver belongs to and help to protect those shared values. Detailed information about individuals can be ignored if they are perceived as members of a specific group, which saves time and effort.74

In summary, stereotypes form to make our life easier. They do so either on a cognitive level, to structure the information overload we are confronted with every day, or on a social level, to explain situations, to justify our actions and to differentiate ourselves from those we perceive as belonging to a (negatively connotated) outgroup. Stereotypes do not have a very good reputation in our Western societies – we are encouraged to avoid them from a young age on. Nevertheless, we still make use of them – sometimes even unconsciously – when we feel something or someone is compromising our safety as an individual or the

73 Tajfel 1985, 159-161. 74 cf. McGarty et al. 2002, 1/2.

36 safety of our ingroup. Often we do not even realise when we are stereotyping since the belief is shared by many others, which makes it seem important and, in fact, true. It will be interesting to see in the next section how stereotypes were perceived in the Victorian age and which ones were specifically applied when it came to women of all ages and social classes.

2.1.2 Female Stereotypes in 19th-Century Britain

When dealing with the representation of women in art and literature over the centuries as well as the research that has been done on this subject, one eventually comes across the term “stock character”. According to the latest edition of The Oxford Dictionary of Literary Terms, it refers to a stereotypical fictional character repeatedly used in works of literature and art.75 It is sometimes based on an archetype – a recurring motif or symbol so prominently featured in myth, literature, art or folklore that it is suggested to capture “some essential element of 'universal' human existence”76 – but simplified to make it even more recognisable and thus often heavily relying on clichés. The female stereotypes I will introduce in this section were very popular stock characters in 19th-century art and literature and still are today, for example in the film industry.

The origins of stock characters or types go back as far as Ancient Greece. Aristotle remarks in his Poetics that characters have to be modelled on real life but have to remain subordinate to the plot. There are hence many limitations to

75 Baldick 2001, 243. 76 ibid., 19.

37 their exhibiting human nature in all its facets.77 E.M. Forster's categorisation of fictional characters as either “round” or “flat” differs from Aristotle's theories. Characters considered “round” are fully developed individuals and display some sort of development throughout the plot, occasionally in a scope that is surprising to the reader. Their reaction to events is usually not predictable. “Flat” characters, in contrast, are far more static and two-dimensional. They can even represent a certain group of people or an idea.78

The analysis of fictional characters in itself is a rather complex field. According to Ludwig (1982), it was not until the 19th century when realist novelists presented characters with more lifelike features that they could be regarded and examined as “real people”. Before, literary characters were not created as individuals but as types submitted to the development of the plot.79 Nowadays, the research on understanding literary characters is mainly divided into two very different positions: on the one hand, the mimetic approach sees the text as an imitation of the real world (mimesis). In this case, the characters stand for real life individuals and have to be analysed accordingly. The structuralist approach, on the other hand, focuses on the text as a work of art, as a closed system. The characters move in an artificial world, abiding by its rules – thus, they cannot be examined as if they were part of our world. A combination of both approaches usually leads to the most satisfying results.80 In his cognitive approach to character reception, Schneider (2013) assumes that the mental activity applied by both writers and readers of literature is basically the same as the activity applied to understand everyday life. Thus, our perception of fictional characters, too, might not be so different from that of characters in real life. Schneider (2013) sees the understanding of fictional characters as a dynamic process in which readers constantly process information, change their mental representations of the text and revise their expectations. He distinguishes two

77 cf. Ludwig 1982, 108. 78 cf. ibid., 122 ff. 79 cf. ibid. 1982, 106 ff. 80 cf. Bachorz 2004, 51-52.

38 main paradigms: First, the information processing paradigm which refers to the interaction between the information readers process from the text (bottom-up) and from memory storages (top-down). By this means, readers for the most part unconsciously create a mental model of the characters based on their everyday experience, literary knowledge and the character descriptions in the text. The mental dispositions paradigm refers to the underlying pieces of information which are activated in the process of reading – various texts, images, feelings and oppositions. The characters or situations which are visualised by the readers are often the most memorable and, in contrast to the text, can often still be recalled years afterwards.81 In cognitive literary theory, the prior knowledge applied to form a mental model of a fictional character is among others referred to as “schema”. It is assumed that all knowledge is organised in units which stand for stereotypical experiences and situations. Minsky (1979) states that the top-levels of these units “represent things that are always true about the supposed situation”, while the lower levels consist of many “terminals […] that must be filled by specific instances”.82 The female stereotypes I will outline later in this section are all examples of certain gender schemata. How is it, one might ask, that exactly these schemata were so prevalent among British authors and illustrators during the 19th century? The recent findings of cognitive literary theory might offer some insights in this case. Readers with a shared cultural background, e.g. middle-class citizens from 19th-century Britain, tend to create mental models with similar aspects, that is they also incorporate the same schemata. Employing the term “cultural models” coined by Strauss and Quinn, Strasen (2013) explains that the reception of texts and images strongly relies on an at least partially shared cognitive environment. Cultural models – schemata shared by individuals with a similar cultural background – basically provide an initial context for the conception of mental models. Strasen mentions the

81 cf. Schneider 2013, 117 ff. 82 In his approach, Minsky employs the term “frame” (Minsky 1979, 1-2). The terminology used to describe the phenomenon is diverse – I will stick to the term “schema” as proposed by Strasen (cf. Strasen 2008, 37).

39 analysis of language as a key factor when it comes to the reconstruction of cultural models.83 In my opinion, this approach is equally useful when it comes to the analysis of visual arts. Shared cultural knowledge plays an important role in the understanding of artworks, as I will explain in detail in the context of Panofsky’s approach to image analysis in section 2.2.1. In early 19th-century graphic art, which made use of many allegorical details, the artist had to rely on the viewer's ability to read and subsequently decode the image. The basis for this also lies within shared cultural knowledge, which provides the viewer with the necessary information to understand the meaning of the artwork. This not only changes depending on the cultural background but also overtime. While most of today’s viewers might struggle to extract some meaning from Hogarth’s intricate moral print series, for example, it can be assumed that 19th-century viewers still possessed the knowledge required to understand the many visual references and allusions.

The fictional characters I will examine in the last section of this thesis all seem to be closely modelled on real life stereotypes. All of them are – more or less – very popular stock characters in art and literature. When I started my research on the subject of 19th-century female stereotypes, I tried to categorise the individual types according to the way they were perceived by society. As we learned in section 2.1.1, stereotypes do not always have to be negative but can also convey an ideal. This ideal contains positive aspects while being in no way less oppressive than its negative counterparts. The most widespread ideals for girls and women I will feature here are: the ingénue, the Angel in the House and true mothers. The negative stereotypes are often referred to as “fallen women”. For my research, I selected the prostitute, the adulteress and the femme fatale from this category.

The first stereotype, which is also a very popular stock character in literature, art and film, is the ingénue. She is sometimes also referred to as the damsel in

83 cf. Strasen 2013, 43-47.

40 distress and often embodied by a very young, beautiful and deeply innocent female. Ingham (1992) stresses the importance of the ingénue's virginity: she is completely oblivious of her own sexuality but at the same time highly desirable for all male characters. While she is always described as exquisitely beautiful, she seems to be entirely unaware of her appearance.84 This makes her even more desirable – a phenomenon still prevalent nowadays. In popular culture, models or actresses are often described as having no knowledge of their own good looks and therefore being extra covetable. This of course mostly applies to women. However, in case of the ingénue the lack of knowledge of her own beauty only further underlines her innocence, bordering on naiveté. She needs a man to tell her that she is beautiful, just as she needs him to come to her rescue when she is in danger. The ingénue is central to any romance plot and the perfect match for the hero of the story. According to Vicinus (1972), the higher a girl's social status, the more importance is attached to her sexual ignorance before marriage. The general ideology of the 19th century consisted in denying any sexual feeling in women, no matter their age.85 Giving birth and motherhood in general, however, were universally favoured. The ingénue is schooled by her mother in all virtues a lady is expected to possess and remains in the protective care of her father's home until a suitable young man takes her as his wife. Hence she has very little power over her own destiny and usually does not really develop as a character. The underlying notion seems to be that woman is made by (and for) man: first, her father's rules determine her life, then her husband takes charge. She is but an empty vessel for his imagination – something most of the stereotypes featured here have in common, as we will see.86

Another female stereotype is the Angel in the House87. This one actually originated in 19th-century Britain and is the logical advancement of the ingénue, how she is meant to behave after she is married. It is based on the English poet

84 cf. Ingham 1992, 18. 85 cf. Vicinus 1972, IX. 86 cf. Ingham 1992, 27. 87 In the following, I will refer to this stereotype as Angel.

41 Coventry Patmore's narrative poem of the same name (1854), in which he describes his ideal of a perfect marriage. His wife Emily served as a model for what he saw as the perfect woman and spouse: devoted to her husband and his needs, always modest, selfless, pure, neat and tidy, gentle and caring. This describes the overall female ideal held up by the 19th-century middle class. It is completely in line with the Victorian idea of separate spheres for men and women as a means of securing domestic and social order:

The separation of work and home had profound effects on the construction of gender identities; increasingly, women were defined as domestic beings, 'naturally' suited to duties in the home and with children; whilst the men were associated with the public sphere, the world of business and politics. The comfortable suburban home with dependent women was an index of marital success and social position.88

Being a “guardian of the private sphere” as well as a companion to her husband was seen as woman's mission in society. George Elgar Hicks' triptych “Woman's Mission” shows woman's three most important life stages as a mother, wife and daughter (see fig. 16/17). The woman remains the same age in all three paintings – it is the man's life cycle that matters, not hers. This illustrates to what extent her identity was defined through her relationships to men.89 Of course, the Angel played a central role in Victorian middle-class families – even as far as to say that without her, they would not have been be able to function in a way accepted by society. Childbearing, managing the household, overseeing the staff (in more affluent or upper middle-class families) and, most important of all, keeping up appearances: the husband's social standing also heavily depended on his wife's behaviour as well as the representation of his home in general. 90 Sarah Stickney Ellis directed her well-known publication The Women of England (1839) at middle- and working-class women specifically, albeit clearly favouring the former ones.91 She emphasises the importance of domestic usefulness for women

88 Nead 1988, 32. 89 cf. ibid., 12/13. 90 cf. Vicinus 1972, IX. 91 For Ellis, the middle class possesses the majority of the country's “intelligence and power”, which makes it “the pillar of [the] nation's strength”. The upper class with their ancient nobility

42 over mental activities – the work of the Angel needs to be perfected in order to encompass the family home and serve “the domestic character of England”. Thus, women's devotion to their families and homes defines the whole nation.92 This was quite a lot of responsibility. The stereotype of the Angel was so persistent that it was carried into the 20th century: Virginia Woolf's speech on Professions for Women (1931) is about her need to literally “kill” the Angel in order to free herself from the burden of this Victorian ideal that is keeping her from writing a review in her own fashion. Ironically, the Angel turns out to be quite stubborn and returns as a ghost whispering to her that she should be extra gentle in her writing and “never let anybody guess that [she has] a mind of [her] own”. Subsequently, Woolf is led to question her identity as a woman and her need to think, write and experience everything as freely as men do. She concludes that women still have to fight many demons (or Angels?) before they can obtain this state of equality.93

Motherhood was a central subject during the 19th century. Ellis (1839) sees woman's true nature as kind and nurturing, intrinsically altruistic.94 In her opinion, all women are perfectly fit to be mothers, as it seems. I chose the stereotype of true mothers, to have a closer look at the representation of the 19th-century motherly ideal. The image of woman as carer and nurturer of both husband and children is widespread, even today. As there were no real career options for women in the 19th century, their destiny was mostly limited to childbearing, especially in case of the middle and upper classes. Women from lower classes were forced to take on work outside their homes to contribute to the family income. This was generally looked down on by society and reinforced a negative stereotype of working-class women (and men who were deemed unfit are necessary to provide a “rich and highly ornamental capital” while their morals are often questionable. The working class are what she refers to as “the laborious poor” forming the “base” of England. (cf. Ellis 1839, 16). 92 cf. ibid., 13. 93 cf. Woolf 1931, transcript of the original speech in front of the National Society for Women's Service (online resource). 94 Ellis 1839, 18/19.

43 to properly care for their family). Marriage served as a structuring device for society and is the central subject to many novels dealing with middle-class life.95 The perfectly innocent ingénue meets a respectable middle-class man, they marry and she turns into his Angel in the House, taking care of everything while making it look effortless and very much unlike work at all. After a while, she bears him a child – nothing could make their life any more picture perfect. As it is still today in many respects, respectable femininity was subject to public discourse: the English wife and mother became a symbol of domestic and social order. Nead (1988) adds that the image of Victorian motherhood was reinforced by the field of women's health which was emerging in the first half of the century. Physicians argued that the widespread disease “hysteria” could be avoided by marrying happily and becoming mothers at a young age.96 This established marriage and motherhood as universal norms in both social and medical terms:

Motherhood was regarded as the most valuable and natural component of woman's mission; it was woman's main reason for being and her chief source of pleasure. Maternal love was constructed as the apex of feminine purity and as an attainable model for all other human relationships.97

Motherhood was also a prominent subject in the visual arts of the time, from religious depictions of Madonna and Child to simple representations of mothers with their children, for example the triptych by Hicks I mentioned earlier. According to Nead (1988), the central element in all these discourses on motherhood is the notion of respectability, which was essentially different for men and women in the 19th century. Whether a woman was deemed respectable was defined according to her “location within the domestic sphere” – in complete dependency on her husband.98

95 cf. Ingham 1996, 111. 96 Hystera was defined as a “disease of the uterus and believed to affect predominantly middle- and upper-class women” (Nead 1988, 25). 97 Nead 1988, 26. 98 ibid., 28

44 As indicated above, dependency played an extremely important role in women's respectability. Independence of whichever kind was seen as unnatural and signified sexual deviancy.99 Accordingly, the negative stereotypes I will deal with in the following do all in some way defy this ideal of the respectable woman. The first one is a rather classic stereotype and stock character, which is sometimes used to evoke pity on the side of the reader and to set a negative example: The ultimate 19th-century fallen woman, the prostitute. The metaphor of the fall from grace alludes to the Bible. Eve eating the forbidden fruit comes to mind, but also Lucifer's fall from heaven. Essentially, this indicates a disruption of wholesomeness. It is to some extent irritating from a modern perspective, since most women who worked as prostitutes during the 19th century did so out of a need to survive. There were not many employment opportunities for untrained lower-class women (or women at all, to be accurate), thus financial need often drove them to sell their bodies. In some cases, the fall started out as a seduction by a man (often from a higher class) and the subsequent loss of virginity, sometimes resulting in pregnancy. Sadly, this was entirely blamed on the girl/woman involved – she was deemed improper and lost any prospects to find a respectable job. Prostitution was a crucial subject throughout the 19th century. Many scholars wrote about it and proposed solutions, e.g. Dinah Mulock Craik, W. R. Greg, William Acton and author Charles Dickens.100 According to Nead (1988), the definitions of prostitution alone were so manifold and contradictory that they caused many debates. The category actually defined any woman who transgressed the middle-class ideal of morality. There were those who in fact exchanged sex for money and were low in social status but (in a sense) financially independent. Then there were the actual fallen girls – the term implying that they belonged to a higher class once and lost their status.101 Nead (1988) further argues that the prostitute was seen as a danger to society since morality was the core quality of the nation's ideology

99 Nead 1988, 28. 100 cf. Ingham 1992, 39-42. 101 cf. Nead 1988, 94/95.

45 of empire which had to be preserved by all means. Women were meant to be the guardians of morality in the family home, the domestic base of the empire. Social stability was seen as a direct cause of moral purity. Those who strayed from the path thus posed a threat not only to class relations but to the whole nation's well-being.102 In literature, prostitutes often serve as an antithesis to the ingénue, emphasising her purity and virtuousness. For example, Dickens places the good-natured prostitute Nancy opposite Rose Maylie, a virginal young woman from a middle-class home. Further stressing their contrasting backgrounds, Dickens even creates a plot where Rose offers to help Nancy out – very much in line with the emerging rehabilitation homes for fallen women. The author himself believed in the possibility of “uncorrupting” women and set up Urania Cottage as a refuge for homeless women.103

With the particular relevance of the idealised home during the 19th century came a demonisation of everything that supposedly threatened this ideal. Female adultery was seen as the “most transgressive form of sexual deviancy”. It was linked to excessive sexual feelings, which were considered abnormal – infidelity on the part of the wife was even classified as a medical disorder.104 At a time when effective birth control methods were not yet invented, sexual encounters often resulted in (unwanted) pregnancies. Thus, a woman betraying her husband was viewed a lot more critical due to the fear of illegitimate offspring infiltrating the (upper- or middle-class) family. A husband's adultery, however, was disregarded and tolerated by society. The male passion had to be satisfied. He had to pick a woman with low social status or a prostitute, though, since her family would be of no importance and social standards still be protected.105 What about adultery that really destroyed families, though? The Matrimonial Causes Act of 1857 made divorce possible without an Act of Parliament and therefore facilitated separations. For women this was only partially true: while their

102 cf. Nead 1988, 91. 103 cf. Ingham 1992, 42. 104 cf. Nead 1988, 48-50. 105 cf. ibid., 51.

46 adultery was immediate grounds for divorce, their husbands’ was not. In order to divorce her husband, a woman had to show him guilty of “aggravating circumstances”. This usually meant proving that he committed other crimes besides adultery, such as bigamy, rape or incest. It had to become clear that his actions endangered the family and the home, not only the woman herself.106 As the primary threat to the middle-class family, the adulteress played an important role in 19th-century society and was subject to a lot of research. A popular type in literature (for example Brontë's The Tennant of Wildfell Hall or Hardy's The Return of the Native), there are surprisingly few visual representations of her.107 According to Nead (1988), particularly difficult subjects such as adultery, prostitution, seduction, women and work were intentionally neglected by the world of fine art of the time (prints and illustrations as less prestigious art forms, however, were allowed to depict them). She argues that England's self-image as a nation of exceedingly high moral values is the main reason for this. Quoting an 1862 article from The Art Journal, she underlines to what extent the English art scene sought to distinguish itself from other European art schools: by stressing the English virtue and sobriety, its art schools are meant to be elevated above its European counterparts. Thus, the motifs had to reflect morality and decorum. If a conflicting subject was depicted, it would only be hinted at with the help of various symbols. Augustus Egg's Past and Present was one of the few depictions of adultery which came close to real life and was exhibited at the Royal Academy in the middle of the century (see fig. 18).

One of the most intriguing female stock characters is the femme fatale. The fact that she is a prominent motif encompassing genres as well as centuries makes her a female archetype. Her name already tells us something about her nature as the French expression “femme fatale” literally translates to “deadly woman”. She is described as a very beautiful, but dark and mysterious woman who attracts men with her charms only to destroy them either physically or morally.108 There 106 cf. Nead 1988, 52/53. 107 cf. Ingham 1996, 89. 108 cf. Hilmes 1990, X.

47 are many examples of femmes fatales: Biblical figures such as Delilah, Salome and Eve; Aphrodite and the Sirens in Greek Mythology; or Keats's Belle Dame sans Merci as an example from the Romantic period. These are, of course, all quite different figures with varying back stories and cultural backgrounds. Nevertheless, they all share characteristics of the archetype of the demonic seductress – a sexual ambivalence which is regarded as quintessentially female, even nowadays. The femme fatale promises not only sexual gratification but also some kind of romantic fulfilment, downright blissfulness. She represents a polar opposite to society's idea of a structured life and is sometimes even depicted as a supernatural being, e.g. a vampire, demon or witch. She is man's wildest dream and worst nightmare combined, using her otherworldly beauty as well as her erotic potential to get what she wants. According to Hilmes (1990), it is the femme fatale's ability to transform and reinvent herself, which explains why she is still popular today.109 Given her power and her acting as an avenger, the femme fatale is also an interesting character from a feminist perspective. Her male victims are caught in her trap, bewitched and weak, while she takes the active, strong part in their “relationship”. Could this indicate a sort of subversive potential in this archetype? Indeed, the femme fatale defies traditional female roles such as the virgin or mother. I agree with Hilmes (1990), though, when she stresses that the femme fatale is not a suitable role model of female emancipation since she is entirely based on male fantasies. Her (arche)type hence does not belong to our reality but to the world of collective fantasies.110 She depends on the male gaze in order to be able to lure her male victim in – she has to adapt to his deepest wishes, his preferences and ideals. In addition, even in her role as seductress, woman is functionalised and stylised to create a new myth of female beauty and fascination. The true hero of the story, however, remains male. The femme fatale lacks real freedom of action and remains for a large part heteronomous.111 So how was the femme fatale perceived in the 19th

109 cf. Hilmes 1990, XIII. 110 cf. ibid., XII. 111 ibid., XIV.

48 century? She was actually a quite popular motif in both literature and art – especially during the Romantic period. I already mentioned Keats's popular ballad La Belle Dame sans Merci, which tells the story of a young knight who is lured to his death by a beautiful, supernatural (“fairy's child”, stanza 4, line 2) woman.112 This and other tales in turn inspired the painters of the Pre-Raphaelite brotherhood, a notable example being Arthur Hughes's painting of the same name which I will discuss later in section 3.2.2 (see fig. 19). They are still famous today for their ambiguous and mysterious depictions of women.

While some of the above mentioned female stereotypes partially have their origins in fiction (the Angel in the House, the femme fatale, the ingénue) and others are more related to the “real world” (true mothers, the fallen woman, the adulteress), they do actually have something in common: They all seem to either perpetuate or threaten the domestic ideal created by 19th-century British society. Their function hence has to be the protection of this ideal and the underlying values. As I pointed out in section 2.1.1, stereotypes serve as a structuring device for society and this is, in fact, what they are here. Essentially, these 19th-century stereotypes contrast acceptable female behaviour with transgressions from it – how this is picked up in illustrated fiction will be dealt with in section 4.

112 Allott 1970, 500 ff.

49 Figure 16: George Elgar Hicks, "Woman's Mission: Comfort of Old Age", oil on canvas, 1862 (© Tate).

Figure 17: George Elgar Hicks, "Woman's Mission: Companion to Manhood", oil on canvas, 1863 (© Tate).

50 Figure 18: Augustus Egg, Past and Present, No. 1, oil on canvas, 1858 (© Tate ).

Figure 19: Arthur Hughes, "La Belle Dame sans Merci", oil on canvas, 1863 (NGV).

51 2.2 Reading Images

2.2.1 Iconography - Panofsky's Three Strata of Subject Matter or Meaning

As I will proceed to examine various prints from different novels in section 4, it is important to understand beforehand how to determine the meaning(s) of a work of art. In art history, the process of describing, identifying and interpreting the content of paintings (or drawings, sculptures etc.) is called “iconography”. After a brief overview of the field of iconography, I will explain Erwin Panofsky's three-level analysis of images, which I selected as my main art-historical method to approach the illustrations in section 4.

The term itself stems from Ancient Greek εἰκών (eikon) meaning “image” and γράφειν (graphein) meaning “to write” – the term “to describe” immediately comes to mind.113 Iconography implies, however, much more than a simple description: it deals with the search of the overall theme of a work of art. The word “theme” is used here in a rather loose sense, to be precise, since the focus of the analysis can also be limited to one particular detail and its defining influence on the work as a whole. For example, there are studies dealing with the significance of the half-peeled lemon in 17th century Dutch still lives or the implication of certain animals in genre scenes, which are of great value to the field of art history. Iconography does not primarily focus on attribution or dating methodologies, though sometimes a thorough iconographic analysis can be helpful to ascertain artist and date of origin. It is also vital to note that iconography does not/cannot determine the aesthetic or monetary worth of an artwork. The method can be applied to folk as well as fine art and is always conducted without judgement.114

113 cf. Panofsky 2006, 41. 114 cf. van Straten 2004, 15.

52 In the course of the last centuries, many scholars have explored the field of iconography from many different perspectives. First approaches can be found as early as the 16th century: the Italian Cesare Ripa's book Iconologia overo Descrittione Dell’imagini Universali cavate dall’Antichità et da altri luoghi (1593) shows an attempt to organise and classify emblematical representations that could be found in art and literature. The representations were based on Egyptian, Greek and Roman concepts of various subjects such as sciences, vices and virtues. Each of those abstract concepts was embodied by an allegorical figure bearing certain characteristics (clothing, certain colours etc.) or paraphernalia by which it could be recognised. In alphabetical order and accompanied by illustrations, the concepts could thus be easily researched by readers, or as Ripa himself intended, by “any artist, painter and sculptor who was obliged to represent the virtues and vices, or human sentiments and passions”. He later revised this statement in the second edition of Iconologia, primarily addressing “historians, poets and those […] who were desirous to discover the occult wisdom of the ancient world”.115 Woodcuts illustrated the second edition of Iconologia: the allegory of fraud, for example, is shown as a woman with two heads – one young and beautiful, the other old and haggard, representing her two-sided, deceitful nature (see fig. 20). Her feet of a bird of prey and the tail – reminiscent of a scorpion's venomous stinger – curling behind her legs identify her as a dangerous predator. She holds two hearts in her right and a mask in her left hand, signifying fickleness and, again, deception. Ripa also includes in his description of the allegory of fraud that her signature colour is yellow.116 All these symbols and details offered by Ripa were meant to facilitate the identification of “fraud” – whether she is pictured as a whole or represented by one or more attributes.

115 In her introduction to the 1970 edition of Ripa's original 1603 Iconologia, Erna Mandowski points out that Ripa seems to have changed his mind about the readership he intends to address with his work (cf. Ripa 1970, introduction). 116 ibid., 174.

53 While Ripa stressed the value of understanding allegories for art and literature, others came closer in methodology to what we now perceive as iconography. Nowadays, art historians remember two names in particular who helped shaping the understanding of visual arts. The first one is Giorgio Vasari, an Italian painter, architect and author, who analysed the paintings in the Florentine Palazzo Vecchio and provided a collection of artistic biographies in his famous series Lives of the Most Excellent Italian Painters, Sculptors, and Architects published in 1550. The second is Giovanni Pietro Bellori who is referred to as the first true iconographer by some scholars. He, too, published a book containing biographies of contemporary artists: Le vite de’ pittori, scultori et architetti moderni (1672). In his introduction, he promises the reader to have a closer look at the content and meaning of several artworks. Indeed, he occasionally attempts to identify themes and references in order to gain insight into the actual meaning.117 During the 17th and 18th centuries, iconography became increasingly popular. The German author Gotthold Ephraim Lessing, for instance, wrote about the fact that the Roman god Cupid is often depicted holding a torch upside down (“inverted torch”). During the 19th century, iconography became a very popular subject in France. Many important publications date back to this time, e.g. by Chateaubriand, Didron or Rohault de Fleury – the focus of their studies, however, was on Christian iconography and how it could be researched with the help of theological literature and liturgy.118

Some iconographers of the 20th century were strongly influenced by the works of the French scholars. The German art historian Aby Warburg, in contrast, was of the opinion that iconographic studies should not be limited to religious allegories and saw artworks in a much wider context including poetry, mythology, history, science and many more. Warburg's method laid the foundation for what today's students of art history know as the “third step” in the analysis or iconology – the interpretation of the artwork. Erwin Panofsky, the German art historian whose

117 cf. van Straten 2004, 32. 118 cf. ibid., 32-33.

54 method I will work with in my thesis, was one of his contemporaries. Together with Fritz Saxl and Ernst Cassirer he founded the so-called “Hamburg School” of art. Albeit some criticism, Panofsky's “three strata of subject matter or meaning” remains the most taught and used method of art appreciation.119 As soon as the basic principle is understood, the method is fairly easy to apply and flexible enough to be used with artworks from different backgrounds and centuries. Of course Renaissance art offers a different variety of symbols and themes than 19th- century book illustration not to mention contemporary art – this is why the key to a successful analysis always lies within the context.

As a starting point, Panofsky (2006) points out that image descriptions which merely aim at what we see when we look at a work of art are problematic. They seldom suffice when the goal is to understand the work in all its depth. Artists from different centuries worked out of diverse artistic styles and motivations and their levels of knowledge varied greatly. Thus it is not possible to analyse every artwork in the same way. As an example, Panofsky (2006) alludes to the invention of perspective in paintings by Italian architect Filippo Brunelleschi in 1410 and the difference it made for art appreciation. If one was to encounter a painting which originated much earlier so that the people depicted would seemingly float above ground without any reason, it would be crucial to take this into account. In this case, other paintings from the respective period have to be consulted in order to establish a comprehensive analysis. In addition to stylistic developments such as perspective, the above mentioned symbols and allegories have to be considered, too. In artworks dealing with religious or mythological themes especially (but also in many other cases), everything we see has to be reinterpreted as symbols. Panofsky (2006) tries to explain this phenomenon with the help of the Isenheim Altarpiece by Matthias Grünewald (ca. 1506-1515): Strictly limiting ourselves to what we see, the Resurrection of Christ on the altarpiece's right wing shows a floating man with holes in his hands and feet who is surrounded by yellow light (see fig. 21). Yet the depicted situation is so

119 cf. van Straten 2004, 33.

55 intensely familiar to us (at least in Western Christian culture) that we immediately recognise the man as Jesus Christ. By describing him as resurrected Christ, we assume a certain previous knowledge of the Bible. Which symbols, allusions and allegories we are able to identify instantly in an artwork strongly depends on the culture group we belong to or grew up in.120

Now let us have a look at Panofsky's three-step analysis: the first level of art- historical understanding according to Panofsky (2006) is the primary or natural subject matter. This is the most basic stratum which only consists of what we immediately perceive and are able to identify due to our experience with the world around us. It is devoid of added cultural knowledge and limited to pure shapes, lines and objects (people, animals, plants, houses, tools etc.) including their relations and characteristics as well as atmosphere. Panofsky (2006) calls this level the pre-iconographic description.121

The secondary or conventional subject matter represents the second level of Panofsky's strata – he calls it iconography. Cultural and iconographic knowledge becomes relevant now and literary sources (such as Ripa's Iconologia or the Bible) might have to be consulted in order to fully grasp what is going on. Everything depicted in the work of art has to be connected to underlying concepts with the help of attributes and symbols. Thirteen men sitting around a table would be singled out as a representation of the Last Supper or a man holding a knife as Bartholomew the Apostle, for example.122

The third stratum as mentioned by Panofsky (2006) is the tertiary or intrinsic meaning or content and the process to achieve it is called iconology. Now, all information which has been assembled in strata one and two is put into a larger, historical context. It is not treated as an isolated incident but seen in correlation to the principles the artwork was based upon such as the general attitude of a nation, period, class as well as religious or philosophical belief. Thus, it is

120 cf. Panofsky 2006, 6-8. 121 cf. ibid., 36. 122 cf. ibid., 37.

56 possible to determine the artist's intentions and to discover the work's overall meaning.123

In order to achieve maximum correctness in this process of analysis and interpretation, Panofsky (2006) proposes three corrective principles for the strata. For the pre-iconographic description, he recommends consulting an expert or book specialising in the respective field. He refers to this as history of style, which gives an “insight into the manner in which, under varying historical conditions, objects and events were expressed by forms”.124 The iconographical analysis demands a critical application of our knowledge: sometimes the way certain types (i.e. religious or mythological figures) are depicted can be confusing for the viewer, for example if they share the same attributes. In this case it is important to check the various ways in which these types have been depicted over the centuries – to consult the history of types as Panofsky (2006) puts it.125 The iconological interpretation transcends any literary sources and depends on our ability to intuitively compare and connect our findings. In Panofsky's opinion, it is the “insight into the manner in which, under varying historical conditions, essential tendencies of the human mind were expressed by specific themes”, which helps us tackle this last step of the analysis. He names the corrective principle history of cultural symptoms or symbols.126

As I mentioned earlier in this section, Panofsky's three strata are essentially fitted to the study and interpretation of Renaissance art. In fact, the famous art historian himself is also known for his detailed analysis of classical works such as Jan van Eyck's Arnolfini Portrait (1434). Nevertheless, I find his method to be of great use when dealing with 19th-century illustrations. In my experience, the storytelling quality many illustrators adopted in their works makes these well- suited for Panofsky's analysis. All the little details in the prints can be downright

123 cf. Panofsky 2006, 39. 124 cf. ibid., 43-44. 125 cf. ibid., 50. 126 cf. ibid., 53-55.

57 read and of course many of them only make sense if seen in context with their very own 19th-century origin.

Figure 20: “Fraude”, from Cesare Ripa's “Iconologia”, 1603 (Heidelberger historische Bestände, Universität Heidelberg).

58 Figure 21: Matthias Grünewald, "Isenheim Altarpiece: The Resurrection", Colmar, France, 1512–1516 (Wikimedia Commons).

59 2.2.2 Ut Pictura Poesis? - Understanding Text and Image

According to the popular proverb “a picture is worth a thousand words”. And indeed, most of us will have experienced the ways in which images help us understand complex issues and memorise words more easily whether in daily life, at work, at school or at university. Images inspire our tired minds where words fail to do so. But why and how exactly is it that images work differently from words? In order to explain this, as Nibbrig (1995) notes, we do actually need the help of words. Might it be that the two are inseparable, after all? In everyday life, we seldom see one without the other: magazines, advertisements, press releases, websites – they all value the combination of visual and verbal elements to capture our attention. In museums and galleries no artwork goes without a descriptive tag or at least an informative leaflet, and even though modern publishing largely neglects book illustration, cover art is still very popular.127 Interestingly, 20th-century scholars largely disagree on the importance of either image or text. Over the centuries, book illustration served different purposes: on the one hand, it was used as an embellishment to the written text and on the other hand, it also helped semi-literate readers to fully grasp the story. But how exactly do text and image work together? The field of media theory explores their interaction with regard to their respective features and functions. In the following, I will present a short overview of the approaches to image-text relations I found most useful for my analysis of 19th-century book illustrations. In the course of the 20th century, scholars from the field of media theory spent a lot of time researching the correlation of text and image. In the beginning of the century, the so-called linguistic turn strongly promoted a linguistic approach to various problems from different disciplines, especially philosophy but also literary studies, art history and many more. Albeit being a rather one-sided approach, it nevertheless sparked the discussion on the relation of text and

127 cf. Nibbrig 1995, 41-42.

60 image. Correspondingly, the orientation towards images is called pictorial or iconic turn. While its beginnings are usually linked to the second half of the 20th century, a “return of images” was already predicted in the first half of the 20th century by Ludwig Wittgenstein, for example. Nowadays, the use of images within the extreme range of the internet and other new technologies is seen as a sign that Marshall McLuhan's Gutenberg Galaxy128 is coming to an end. With the development of new digital technologies, however, the fear of manipulation grows: especially if it is on the internet, it is very hard to determine whether an image has been digitally rendered or not. We no longer trust everything we see in images – the plethora of visual material calls for new approaches and likewise challenges art history and media theory.129 The analysis of a combination of both text and image – as we see in 19th-century book illustration – is particularly demanding from an academic point of view. Not only do text and image invite the viewers to interpret the scenario but they also point to their respective relativity. In addition, a combination of text and image immediately brings up a discussion of mimesis and provokes us to question to what extent reality can be represented in art.130 Images and texts are completely different media with distinct characteristics each – the way they are absorbed by readers and viewers is different, too. As a starting point, it is helpful to take a look at the term “medium” itself. There are many definitions and their meanings only slightly differ from one another. In a nutshell, the various approaches refer to the medium either as a channel of communication, as the message itself or as a combination of both. When it comes to the analysis of image and text, an examination of the term medium is important to determine if and how the presentational format influences the content. For my thesis, I decided to use Rajewsky’s approach, which employs

128 In his 1962 work The Gutenberg Galaxy: The Making of Typographic Man, McLuhan argues that the invention of mechanical movable type printing by Johannes Gutenberg had a lasting and shaping effect on mankind. Literacy and the availability of books helped to spread knowledge from all kinds of fields, changing our society forever (cf. Ströbel 2013, 104). 129 cf. ibid., 104-106. 130 cf. ibid., 117.

61 Wolf’s definition. The medium is not seen as a purely technical channel of transmission, but rather as a tool of communication.131 Basically, this takes into account the specific traits of image and text in order to explore their influence on the content. The various terms and approaches associated with the research of the relations of text and image indicate the diversity of the field. While some scholars speak of “intermediality“, others choose the more traditional term of “sister arts“ – a concept dating back to classical antiquity. The term ut pictura poesis132 is especially important for this branch, though according to Ströbel (2013), it is often quoted out of context. Mostly used as evidence for scholars' ongoing preoccupation with the equalisation of the sister arts, it was actually meant by Horace as a warning against categorising poetry and art as equals. In classical antiquity, fine arts belonged to the principle techne, which loosely translates to artisanry. It was not until the Renaissance that fine arts found their position within society as equals of poetry and music.133 During the 18th century, the concept of “sister arts” was taken up by German poet Gotthold Ephraim Lessing in his work Laocoon: An Essay on the Limits of Painting and Poetry (1766). His essay was intended as a response to art historian Johann Joachim Winckelmann's interpretation of the marble sculpture of Laocoön and his sons (40 to 20 BC), attributed to Agesander, Athenodoros and Polydorus, and can be regarded as one of the earliest analyses of text-image-relations. Lessing attempts to identify the essential characteristics of literature and fine art by comparing an excerpt from Virgil's Aeneid (between 29 and 19 BC) with the aforementioned marble sculpture. While Winckelmann sees the absence of pain and anger in Laocoön's face as an affirmation of Ancient Greek ideals of “noble simplicity and quiet grandeur”, Lessing argues that it is art's inability to depict these emotions 131 As Rajewsky points out, Wolf refers to the medium as „konventionell als distinkt angesehenes Kommunikationsdispositiv“ (Rajewsky 2002, 7). 132 The phrase ut pictura poesis meaning “as painting is, so is poetry” was used by Horace in his Ars Poetica. It refers to the existence of essential similarities in the structure of painting and literature. For many centuries, this idea was common among intellectuals (cf. Baldick 2001, 269.). 133 cf. Ströbel 2013, 69-70.

62 that accounts for their absence. His main thesis relies on the assumption that art can only ever depict a moment in time whereas literature is able to describe whole time periods.134 This simple but impressive characterisation of language/text as successive and image/painting as simultaneous medium has ever since sparked the interest of critics – even Lessing himself eventually put his theory into perspective. Fine art encompasses a variety of different media and is very well able to depict time spans – not least because of film and video.135 From the field of linguistics another approach emerged which was meant to help us understand how text and image actually work: semiotics deals with all kinds of sign systems, it is the philosophical theory of signs and symbols. It is often regarded as useful when it comes to the study of image and text since it tries to do justice to both media. Semiotics does not aim at organising a hierarchy nor does it provide an interpretation of art or literature. It can merely help to understand how text and image function. Both media are received simultaneously as well as successively, so it is not about the way we receive images and texts but rather how our reception is controlled. Images are able to provide us with a certain reading/viewing order, but they are limited by composition. The author of a text, in contrast, can generally control the mode of reception by defining the order in which the reader receives certain pieces of information.136 Semiotics differentiates verbal and visual signs. According to Umberto Eco, all types of signs share a common classification: A sign can only be distinguished from a signal since it is defined by a code as a signifier of the signified. The difference between verbal and visual signs mainly lies in the structure of the signifier level – verbal signs exhibit structures that other signs do not. However, the meaning of all signs arises from the interaction of signifier and signified.137

134 cf. Ströbel 2013, 74-76. 135 cf. ibid., 82. 136 cf. ibid., 85/86. 137 cf. ibid., 86/87.

63 When it comes to the analysis of fine art, one form of visual sign in particular is of interest, the iconic sign which signifies an object. It shares similarities and characteristics with the signified object. The sign is not required to be an exact copy of the object, however, some relevant characteristics do suffice. What are the most relevant characteristics of an object, though, and how are they determined? Iconic meaning is developed within a certain context, i.e. it is not limited to the object and its copy but includes the whole image and its content. The content is determined by conventions that derive from our cultural surroundings. The more we see a certain depiction, the more it becomes a convention. As an example, Ströbel (2013) notes that a drawing of a dog does not have to be absolutely realistic to make it possible for us to identify the animal. Certain characteristics used within the conventional representation of a dog are enough.138 For most works of art, the verbal equivalent of the iconic sign is not only one word but a whole sentence or even a story.139 When it comes to the comparison of text and image with the help of media theory, it is important to note that there are diverse approaches to the subject, for example from the fields of linguistics, philosophy and psychology. The most important fields dealing with texts are text linguistics and semiotics (as mentioned before). In contrast, there are various picture theories tackling the medium image. On the basis of these different approaches, Stöckl (2011) establishes a comparison between the two sign systems image and speech. His comparison between speech and image shows that both operate on very different levels. Nevertheless, their traits often seem to be complementary. In contrast to texts, images presume collective cultural knowledge and are liable to pictorial conventions. The latter change with time – which is an important factor to keep in mind when it comes to the analysis of artworks of all kinds. Modern day viewers, for instance, can have trouble understanding symbolism that was common knowledge during the 18th or 19th century.140 According to Boehm

138 cf. Ströbel 2013, 88/89. 139 cf ibid., 93. 140 cf. Stöckl 2011, 48 ff.

64 (2007), one of the most distinctive features of images is their dual nature, i.e. their ability to represent themselves as well as their content, which is usually modelled on the real world. In contrast to texts, images can show things or events simultaneously and are thus able to connect present and future.141 The younger field of intermediality is particularly interesting when it comes to the analysis of illustrations and text passages from 19th-century fiction. Illustrated books are actually predestined for intermedial research as they already are an intermedial phenomenon as such, the same goes for cover illustrations. For a thorough analysis of both, expertise from different disciplines is needed: art history, literary studies, history, maybe also sociology – the concept of intermediality tries to combine these approaches.142 The term “intermedium“ was coined as early as 1812 by poet Samuel Taylor Coleridge. It was first employed in its present context, however, at the beginning of the 1980s.143 It is noteworthy that intermediality is a so-called termine ombrellone, i.e. an expression that is used in many different ways on various levels of academic discussions. Furthermore, there are many heterogeneous phenomena related to intermediality, such as media change and media combination.144 Generally speaking, intermediality can be defined as a field of research modelled on the concept of intertextuality that examines the interaction of at least two distinct forms of expression or communication.145 From a historical perspective, it is possible to distinguish two main branches of research. On the one hand, interart studies deal with the mutual elucidation of the arts (literature, visual arts, music) and reach back to antiquity. On the other hand, media sciences developed at the beginning of the 20th century in the context of the new medium film; they exhibit a stronger focus on new technical media and its influence. One of the central questions of the field of intermediality refers to the specific characteristics of different media. What exactly are the distinctive features of

141 cf. Boehm 2007, 19 ff. 142 cf. Wolf 2014, 12/13. 143 cf. Rajewsky 2002, 10 ff. 144 cf. ibid., 6. 145 cf. Wolf 2001, 284/285.

65 these media? Literature, for example, can be defined as a medium which is transmitted with the help of various dispositives. Poetry was originally recited (sometimes even accompanied by music), drama can either be received as written text or performance, only to name some examples. There has always been a close connection between literature and fine arts which lasts to the present day, as we see in “new” media such as comics, photography, film and radio (not to mention e-books, DVDs, tablet PCs etc.). According to Wolf (2014), every medium transporting literature not only functions as a channel of transmission, but strongly influences form and content of the literature. Wolf's example of book cover art nicely illustrates his point: cover art is designed depending on the target audience of the type of literature it is meant to accompany. Thus novels considered classics usually feature more traditional, modest cover art, often showing details of a painting from the period the novel is set in. A contemporary crime best seller's cover art, in contrast, will employ eye catchers such as big gold letters, a photo hinting at the plot and several stickers indicating the popularity of the book (quotes from reviews or best seller lists etc.) or special offers. Cover art is only the tip of the iceberg when it comes to the importance of intermediality for literary theory. Like all media, literature has always been and still is influenced by the surrounding media landscape. 19th- century British novels, for example, used elements of landscape painting which had become extremely popular since the late 1700s.146 The typology of intermedial forms developed by Wolf (2014) provides a good overview of the possibilities and limitations of this approach. He first distinguishes between extra- and intra-compositional intermediality. Both are sub-divided into two more categories. Extra-compositional intermediality divides into transmediality and intermedial transposition. Transmediality refers to phenomena which are not specific to a certain medium and thus can occur in various media. An example are historical currents such as sentimentalism, which influenced 18th-century literature, music, philosophy and art. Narrativity,

146 cf. Wolf 2014, 13 ff.

66 aesthetic illusion or framing are other examples of transmedial phenomena. If characteristics of one medium have their source in another medium, Wolf (2014) calls this intermedial transposition. Film adaptations of novels might be the most widespread manifestation of intermedial transposition. Unlike extra- compositional intermediality, where it is hard to clearly identify the different media involved, intra-compositional intermediality usually features at least two media in one work which can be clearly distinguished from one another. The intermedial relation with at least one other medium becomes vital for the work as a whole. Intra-compositional intermediality has two sub-categories, plurimediality and intermedial reference. Plurimediality is the most obvious form of intra-compositional intermediality: It gives the impression of medial hybridity by incorporating parts of at least two formerly autonomous media into the semiotic structure of the work. The use of music and drama in the opera or of image and text in illustrated novels are examples of plurimediality. Another sub- category of intra-compositional intermediality is called intermedial reference. Wolf (2014) refers to it as the sub-category with the highest variety of forms within intra-compositional intermediality. First of all, its semiotic structure does not display the medial hybridity we encounter in plurimediality but seems rather uniform. Wolf (2014) calls this “covert intermediality” (the counterpart would be “overt intermediality”) – the other medium has become an integral part of the work's meaning to an extent where it can no longer be easily recognised as autonomous. Intermedial references can either be explicit or implicit. Explicit references occur if a work points to another medium while operating within its usual semiotic system. The description of Pieter Bruegel's painting Landscape with the Fall of Icarus (ca. 1560s) in context with the Old Masters in general in W.H. Auden's poem Musée des Beaux Arts (1938) is an example of the explicit intermedial reference. Implicit intermedial reference can take the form of partial reproduction, evocation or formal imitation. The incorporation of a quotation (e.g. from the Bible) into a painting is an example of partial reproduction. Evocation seems similar to the explicit intermedial reference though it operates

67 much more on the level of description: In literature, the rhetorical device “ekphrasis” is a frequent manifestation of evocation and refers to a vivid, graphic description of a work of art within the text. For example, George Eliot uses an intense description of an old woman having dinner in her realist novel Adam Bede (1859), which was later identified as the painting The Prayer of the Spinner (mid-17th century) by Dutch artist Gerrit Dou. The third sub-category of the implicit intermedial reference is called formal imitation. It constitutes the approximation of one medium's structure and characteristics to those of another, e.g. the imitation of musical structures in fiction or the verbal imitation of a certain type of painting in literature, as was done in Thomas Hardy's Under the Greenwood Tree (1872) where he describes a young teacher standing by her window only lit by a candle listening to Christmas singers in the streets. Hardy imitates the so-called “candlelight paintings” of the 17th and 18th centuries, where the only source of light comes from a candle creating a unique atmosphere. These typologies, however helpful they may be, can only serve as basic tools for a first approach to intermedial analysis on a structural level. Wolf (2014) emphasises that the interpretation of the works is even more important since it puts them into context.147 While intermediality and media theory offer important background knowledge for my thesis, they will not be addressed in detail when it comes to the analysis of the book illustrations in section 4.

147 cf. Wolf 2014, 24 ff.

68 2.3 Narrative Theory, Feminist Narratology and Intermedial Narratology

Ever since the rise of the novel in the 18th century, narrative prose has been established as the most popular literary genre. Thus, its analysis is of great importance to the field of literary studies. During the 20th century – heavily influenced by structuralism – narrative theory became the method of choice for the analysis of literary texts.148 In order to work out a comparison between book illustrations and text passages of 19th-century literature, I need a tool to analyse the narrative. Consequently, narrative theory is relevant for my analysis of 19th- century texts in section 4. In the following, I will offer a short introduction to narrative theory. I will also have a look at more recent approaches which deal with the narrative and its various forms in different media as well as a gender- oriented analysis.

Narrative theory refers to the systematic study of the narrative and its form, structure and functionality. Internationally, the term narratology coined by Tzvetan Todorov in 1969 is also used when it comes to this field consisting of many heterogeneous approaches. Generally speaking, narrative theory studies the narrative and tries to establish its core qualities with the help of models and methods. The form of the narrative is not immediately relevant to the analysis, i.e. it is not limited to the written word alone, but includes pantomime, film, dancing and many more.149 The narrative normally consists of several parts, i.e. plot, characters, space, time and specific techniques of narration, which can all be examined with the help of narrative theory. Traditional narratology, however, mostly focusses on one or two of these aspects.150 The origins of narrative theory can be found in Aristotle's poetics, but its modern form was mostly influenced by Russian formalists during the early 20th century. Structuralists like Roman Jakobson, Roland Barthes and Gérard Genette among others aimed at the

148 cf. Wenzel 2004, 1. 149 cf. Nünning 2002a, 4. 150 cf. Wenzel 2004, 3/4.

69 development of a systematised approach to narratology from around 1950 onwards. The differentiation between “story” for what is told and “discourse” for how it is told led to a more systematised analysis since it considers the fact that a narrative has at least two different levels. Other approaches distinguish various techniques with the help of which the figures' thoughts, feelings, memories and perceptions are communicated throughout the narrative. These techniques are called “free indirect discourse”, “psycho-narration” and “interior monologue”.151 As a guideline for my analysis in section 4, I chose the elaborated version of the two-level model (see fig. 22).152 In my opinion, it combines the most important aspects that have to be considered for a thorough analysis of narrative texts (or other media, such as films, comics etc.). Of course not all levels are equally relevant here – after all, this thesis focusses on a comparison of text and image and does not aim at a comprehensive study of narrative theory. Nevertheless, I will use it as a method of guidance when it comes to the analysis of the respective text passages.

151 cf. Nünning 2002a, 6/7. 152 Wenzel 2004, 15.

70 Figure 22: Elaborated Version of the Two-level Model.

As of late, narrative theory appears as a heterogeneous field with many different approaches. Some scholars prefer the original classical structuralist approaches, while others abandon them in favour of the recent (“postclassical”) approaches which move beyond the interest and methodology of traditional narrative theory. In contrast to structuralist approaches, they focus on the context and content of a narrative rather than its formal and structural aspects. By now there is a broad range of different approaches to narrative, many of them focussing on research.153 As they are most relevant for my research, I will briefly summarise

153 cf. Nünning 2013, 1 ff.

71 the approaches of feminist narratology, which focusses on the category of “gender”, and intermedial narratology, which explores the application of narrative theories to different genres and media.154

The term feminist narratology was coined by Susan Sniader Lanser in 1986 and seeks to combine the assumptions of feminist literary theory with those of narrative theory. Her approach was heavily criticised for shifting the focus of narrative theory from a systematic, rational analysis to the mere interpretation of texts. Feminist narratology addresses social and ideological factors behind the narrative based on the assumption that narratives are always influenced by a gender-based experience of reality. While narrative theory in general assumes that gender, sex and sexuality are irrelevant for the analysis of narratives, feminist narratology considers them vital factors concerning the theme and structure of a narrative. Accordingly, feminist narratology explores the correlation of narrative structures and their socio-cultural context with the help of narrative theories. The combination of diverse aspects such as form, content and context allows for a thorough analysis of the narrative.155 It is important to note that modern feminist narratology does not limit itself to the research of literature by/for women and female protagonists – it deals with gender in general. As opposed to the biological categories male and female (sex), the term gender refers to our social identity which we adopt from society's parameters of acceptable male- or femaleness. In short, society sets certain standards for distinct male or female behaviour, clothing and beliefs. Consequently, our gender is not causally determined by our biological sex but rather reflects a cultural interpretation of it. Narratives make use of masculine and feminine pronouns to explicitly determine a character's biological sex, while allusions to attributes specifically connoted as male or female (handsome vs. beautiful) or items of clothing (dress vs. shirt) do so implicitly.156 The first methods of feminist narratology dealt with the narrative level discourse: Lanser stressed the 154 Wenzel 2004, 7-14. 155 Allrath/Gymnich 2002, 35/36. 156 ibid., 39/40.

72 importance of the narrator's sex and established a distinction between public and private narration. While public narration features an external narrator who can be equated with a public readership, the narrator of private narration exists only within the narrative. This distinction mirrors the traditional gender-related conditions of literary production, which classified a public readership as distinctly male. There were even sanctions against women writing publicly. Women writers consequently often resorted to private texts such as letters or diaries. In the light of this theory, Lanser developed a typology of narrators based on the female voices occurring in narrative texts.157

According to Gaby Allrath and Marion Gymnich, there is a tendency to widen the focus of gender-based narratology by incorporating the narrative level story as well as by combining it with other postclassical narrative theories such as intermedial narratology.158 Concerning the new gender-based approaches to the narrative level story, one of the most interesting sub-categories when it comes to the analysis of 19th-century fiction is the setting. As I have already mentioned in previous sections, there were a lot of rules and regulations surrounding the rooms and spaces 19th-century society deemed acceptable for women. While men belonged to the public sphere and were practically allowed to move around freely in- and outside of their homes, women were meant to limit their actions to the private sphere. According to Würzbach (2004), the setting always represents a cultural phenomenon and can actually mirror social reality. The way the setting is perceived, described and evaluated in the narrative often shows gender-related connotations.159 For 19th-century girls and women who were not allowed to leave their homes whenever they pleased, they resembled prisons rather than comfortable resorts. For the male members of the family they remained safe havens from the outside world. Dress codes and the general assumption of female frailty and weakness prevented most women from

157 Allrath/Gymnich 2002, 43/44. 158 cf. ibid., 33/34. 159 Würzbach 2004, 49/50.

73 venturing as freely into nature as men. For example, Jane Austen's Elizabeth Bennet walks through the fields to Netherfield in order to visit her ill sister Jane in Pride and Prejudice only to be met with disapproval of her dishevelled appearance and daring action. A seemingly harmless and normal act for a male character is seen as unfit for Elizabeth and at the same time underlines her autonomous and wilful nature.160 Due to the limitations surrounding the setting for women, female characters are often drawn to compromise: they would sometimes retreat to a psychological interior, observe the outside world through a window or take to the garden as a junction between the private and public sphere. Würzbach (2004) distinguishes three important aspects which all influence the reception of narrative texts:

1. Accessibility and transgression.

2. Position and movement of characters.

3. Gender-related modes of experience and allocations of meaning.

Of course, these aspects are closely related to the design of the plot as well as the characters and have to be examined in context.161

Intermedial narratology aims at incorporating the specific characteristics of different media into the analysis of the narrative. In contrast to traditional narrative theory, the concept of the narrative is not limited to the written word but also includes film, music, fine arts and many more. The definition of narrativity plays a great role in this case: Intermedial narratology generally implies a looser definition which stresses the content of the narrative, the level story, and thus opens the scope of application for supposedly non-narrative genres such as comic, film and drama.162 In a nutshell, there are approaches among scholars of intermedial narratology assuming that certain aspects of every

160 Würzbach 2004, 52-54. 161 ibid., 57/58. 162 cf. Nünning 2002b, 4-7.

74 narrative are medium independent. Herman (2004) suggests that the differences between media are gradient rather than binary, i.e. when a narrative is translated from one medium into another, the story is “shaped, but not determined by its presentational format”.163 Likewise, Nünning (2002b) uses Fludernik's model showing a classification of macrogenres, text types and discourse modes to explain that a narrative is not limited to certain genres. In contrast, it appears in several genres, text types and media in our everyday life, which stresses the thesis that storytelling as such can be seen as a basic human need. Storytelling is also a vital part of many disciplines, for example history, philosophy and psychology. Some sub-disciplines such as oral history or Alltagsgeschichte even primarily focus on its study.164 Storytelling is a phenomenon which is present across different media and thus calls for an intermedial approach. The gender-based approach to intermedial narratology takes into account the media-specific representation of women. In literary texts both the narrators' and the characters' biological sex can remain indefinite or fluid with the help of rhetorical devices thereby undermining normative gender attributions. This is the case, for example, in Virginia Woolf's novel Orlando, where the main protagonist physically metamorphoses into a woman but remains the same person inside. Oral and visual media (especially the latter ones), in contrast, immediately tie the biological sex, gender or performed sex of a character/narrator to a certain bodily representation of it, which makes it very difficult to retain some kind of indefiniteness. Staying with the example of Woolf's Orlando, the film adaptation features the actress Tilda Swinton as Orlando (albeit dressed in male-identified clothing), thus emphasising the protagonist's female gender identity from the beginning on. Voice actors equally influence our perception of characters/narrators as either male or female. 165 In the light of new technologies opening up various possibilities especially in the film industry over the last ten years (e.g. computer animation), this has to be

163 Herman 2004, 54. 164 cf. Nünning 2002b, 8-10. 165 cf. Allrath/Gymnich 2004, 34-36.

75 taken with a grain of salt, of course. It is, however, very true when it comes to visual arts of the 19th century. Even more than today, 19th-century society imposed strict rules as to which items of clothing, hairstyles and behaviour were suited for men or women. There was little to no room for self expression aside from normative standards and those who – either by sexual orientation, appearance or behaviour – did not fit these standards had to live as outcasts. The bearded lady, for example, was a classic human curiosity in 19th-century freak shows.

In addition to conventional representation of men and women, Allrath/Gymnich (2004) also mention the importance of the male or female gaze for a gender- based intermedial narratology. These terms originate from feminist film theory and refer to the privilege linked to the perspective of either male or female viewer. The theory assumes that certain perspectives primarily cater to male viewers by presenting female protagonists as mere (erotic) objects. The complementary approach researches the female gaze and how media specifically designed for a female audience works.166 I think that the theory of the male or female gaze will be very useful when it comes to the analysis of female stereotypes in 19th-century book illustration since it takes into account the target audience of the respective works.

166 cf. Allrath/Gymnich 2004, 36/37.

76 3 Women in Visual Arts, Literature and Culture of the 19th Century

3.1 Women in 19th-Century Britain

For a thorough examination of the life of 19th-century women from childhood to old age, it is important to keep in mind that society then was fast changing and what was considered appropriate at the beginning of the Victorian period could be regarded differently in its later decades. Developments in various sectors from education to home life altered society and laid the foundation for the great social changes of the 20th century.

Another important factor that might appear bewildering to a 21st-century reader but has to be taken into account if the situation of women in 19th-century Britain is to be examined, is the concept of class. As Steinbach (2012) points out, although social hierarchy did exist beforehand, the specific understanding of social differences as a structuring device for society was developed during the 19th century. She adds that it is still difficult for today's scholars to identify and categorise the term “class” to such an extent that some even object to using it at all. Often class is tied to people's income levels, which is problematic since there are records of upper-working-class families who did not consider themselves middle-class with a higher income than lower-middle-class families. Steinbach (2012) stresses that the way the income was spend gave a much more meaningful insight into the class a family belonged to. As we have seen in previous sections, class was also very much about keeping up appearances: A lower-middle-class family might employ domestic workers they could hardly afford in order to appear more middle-class and and a wealthy middle-class family might send their child to a prestigious boarding school in order to gain access to the upper class. How the family income was generated also played a role: in general, it was assumed that the working class earned wages, the middle class generated their income from salaries and profits and the upper class had a

77 steady income from property, rent and interest. It is important to note that 19th- century people were well aware of class differences – for example, it was universally assumed that the rich were fundamentally different from the poor – but neither did this result in class conflict nor was it the only way in which people understood themselves as part of a group (other equally important factors were status, religion, politics, race or gender). According to Steinbach (2012), in the context of 19th-century Britain class has to be understood as “simultaneously economic, cultural, and discursive”.167

The division of society into working, middle and upper class is by far the most widespread. By 1820, the working class made up the majority of the British population (approximately 80%). Their annual income usually was between 100£ and 300£, mostly earned through manual work. Often regarded as uneducated and unrefined, working-class Victorians had their own culture, were often politically committed and developed their own standards for appropriate, respectable behaviour.168 As mentioned before in section 1.2.2, the middle class was influential in many areas of Victorian life. It was growing fast in the course of the 19th century, making up about one-quarter of the population in 1850. Steinbach (2012) argues that the growth of the middle class after 1850 was mainly due to the expansion of certain lines of work, for example clerical, and sales, which enabled upper-working-class people to enter the middle class. Their growth and development has been subject to a lot of scholarly research, also because in contrast to working-class Victorians, the well-educated middle-class Victorians left many written sources to gather information from. Middle-class income ideally varied between £300 and £1000 per annum, though the majority probably only had around £100 to £300 per annum available. This made it difficult to keep up all the appearances necessary for a respectable middle-class life. Middle-class men did usually not do manual labour, their income derived from commerce (finance and retail), manufacturing or the professions. Middle-

167 cf. Steinbach 2012, 115/116. 168 cf. ibid., 116-119.

78 class women were not supposed to work – a subject I will elaborate on in the following sections.169 With only 5% of the British population, the upper class actually represented a minority – but a powerful one. The upper class included the Royal Family, the titled peerage and the gentry. Their family incomes were at least £1000 per annum, derived from rents of estates or investments. Whether they possessed titles, land, wealth or all three of them, the upper class was extremely powerful in a political as well as economic and social sense. Political commitment and landownership made the upper class influential: By the late 19th century, the gentry and the aristocracy owned 80% of the land in the United Kingdom.170

In the following sections, I will pay special attention to the factor of class and the effect it had on the life of 19th-century girls and women. In addition, I will examine the changing ideas and images surrounding Victorian women in the early, mid- and late Victorian period. In section 3.1.1, I will start with the childhood and adolescence of British girls. Were they treated differently from boys in terms of upbringing, dress, healthcare and education? Which expectations did parents and society have when it came to female children and adolescents? Subsequently, section 3.1.2 will deal with courtship and marriage as well as a brief excursion into old age as they were experienced by 19th-century women. These two sections are also dedicated to the research of a possible alternative to the path Victorian society proposed for women by looking at working options.

169 cf. Steinbach 2012, 124/125. 170 cf. ibid.,128/129.

79 3.1.1 Childhood and Adolescence

19th-century images of childhood are prone to nostalgia and tend to be romanticised, especially when it comes to girls. Even today, we are familiar with pictures of angelic little girls (and boys) gracing greeting cards or illustrations. They are happy and content, playing peacefully or are involved in some harmless mischief. But what was it really like to grow up during an age torn between new developments and long nurtured traditions? In the following section, I will have a closer look at Victorian conceptions of child-rearing and their dealing with puberty, with special emphasis on girls and young women, of course. While the goal of this section is to examine the life of girls from all classes, it will be more difficult regarding the working class than the middle and upper class. For different reasons (such as education, free time etc.) there are far more written accounts (diaries, letters, advice books etc.) of the lives of middle- and upper- class people, which leaves the analysis of working-class people's lives to be often limited and speculative.

According to Nelson (1999), the prevalent idea about childhood during the 19 th century was that it is “intrinsically different from adulthood”. This concept was not new, it had been growing over decades beforehand with the most ground- breaking changes having taken place in the 18th century. Yet 19th-century society’s intense interest in childhood and adolescence was something new.171 Advice books on the subject, children's literature and a general preoccupation with the (emotional) state of being a child all became very important. This might have something to do with the growth of the young population: children under the age of 15 made up over 35 percent of the English and Welsh population in every decade beginning with 1851, thus exceeding both adult males and females.172

171 cf. Nelson 1999, 69. 172 These numbers were taken from census data in 1886 by sociologist Charles Booth (cf. ibid., 69.)

80 As a starting point, let us have a brief look at the 19th-century family. According to Gorham (2013), family size varied throughout the 19th century: in the beginning of the period, between five and seven children were born into the average middle-class family while from 1870 onwards the numbers went down to only two to three children. An important reason for this change might be infant mortality, which had been high for all classes and was decreasing by the end of the century.173 Thane (2011) speaks of an average of six children born per family in the early and mid-Victorian period with only three or four of them surviving into adulthood. After 1870 the birth rates were declining to two children per family.174 These numbers illustrate how different an experience it must have been for a child born in the early versus the late 19th century. Social class was an important factor when it came to child mortality – poorer people often lacked the necessary funds to assure appropriate healthcare for both pregnant women and children. Somehow, the baby's sex seemed to play a role, too: while male mortality rates were higher in infancy and the early years of childhood, girls and women had greater chances of death from the age of five until their mid-thirties – apparently, this was even more of an issue among middle-class families than it was among those belonging to the working class. Gorham (2013) attributes this difference in the mortality rates of boys and girls to various causes, one being the higher risk for tuberculosis on the part of the girl/woman. Middle-class females especially led a rather sedentary life, were confined to their homes, which were much unhealthier then due to open coal fires, and wore heavy clothing – these factors may have contributed to a higher susceptibility to the disease.175 Thus, it is likely that the death of a family member was part of Victorian life from a very early age – particularly in the first half of the period.

Despite the changing views throughout the 19th century, the Victorians' idea how a child should be raised was still very different from what we are familiar with 173 cf. Gorham 2013, 15. 174 cf. Thane 2011, 51/52. 175 cf. Gorham 2013, 16.

81 today. Among the middle and upper classes the contact between the parents and the child was rather limited. Until the beginning of the 19th century, it was common to employ wet-nurses who cared for and breast-fed the babies. Afterwards, wet-nursing was increasingly criticised for being damaging to the child, which led to a decline in the practice of employing wet-nurses. According Gorham (2013), it became common for women from all social classes to breast- feed their children themselves during the Victorian period. This did not mean, however, that the mother always was the child's primary caretaker: the more affluent a family was, the more likely it was that they employed domestic servants to take care of the children. The children lived in a world which was entirely separate from the one their parents lived in and met them only in formal settings for short periods of time. The parents would usually oversee their children's intellectual and moral education, but leave the actual upbringing to one or several nursery maids. In reality, this was only possible for upper-middle- and upper-class people, and in most working- and middle-class households the mother herself (or in the event of her death an older sister, an aunt or the grandmother) served as the chief caretaker of her children.176

Advice literature became extremely popular during the 19th century and it was mainly directed at (middle-class) women. Childcare and education were favoured topics of books and periodicals, but among others also household management and general advice on appropriate behaviour. These manuals were sometimes written by clergymen or doctors, but more often by women who exhibited a certain expertise on the respective subjects, for example by being a pious mother or an exceptional household manager. In the late 19th century, advice literature written by professionals (doctors, teachers) was becoming the more popular option. The general advice on childcare was to establish a routine and emphasised order, cleanliness and self-control. The child was not to be excessively handled, a safe distance was to be maintained by the caretaker. There usually were chapters on common health problems such as diarrhoea or

176 cf. Gorham 2013, 17.

82 croup. In matters of differentiation between the sexes of their children, mothers were encouraged to provide a clear sex-role socialisation in early childhood. The physical treatment of girls, however, was supposed to be no different from the treatment of boys. There was a lot of discussion surrounding the subject, but it was decided by various experts that female infants were not to be handled differently than their male counterparts. For children up to four years, the clothing recommended was identical for girls and boys, for example. Both were dressed in loose clothing like petticoats, which nowadays often prompts many to assume that boys were dressed like girls in Victorian Britain. Clothing for young children of both sexes was meant to be non-constricting while not overly long, allowing them to move around freely.177 The appropriate diet for infants consisted of breast milk and starches, milk and meat with a few fruits and vegetables after the age of nine months. Doctors specifically advised mothers to give their daughters the same plain, hearty diet their sons were receiving to prevent malnutrition. Likewise, boys and girls were supposed to share the same activities and toys as small children. Vigorous play was seen as beneficial to the physical development of female and male infants.178

According to Gorham (2013), a clear sex differentiation was meant to be incorporated into the care of Victorian children by the ages of three or four. Boys were dressed in trousers while girls had to wear dresses and undergarments appropriate for young British women. By the mid-19th century, this usually meant stockings, a chemise, drawers, a petticoat and a dress paired with boots or other shoes fit for the occasion and/or season. Tight-lacing was universally disregarded by experts when it came to pre-pubescent girls as it was suspected to be health-damaging and leading to illnesses like tuberculosis. From today's perspective this dress code may appear overly complicated for a little girl, but it actually reflects a more liberal view on the subject. Nevertheless, every advice manual strongly emphasised that girls' clothing had to be pretty – something

177 cf. Gorham 2013, 68/69. 178 cf. ibid., 72 ff.

83 which is never listed as a criterion for boys' clothing.179 In play as well as in their home education, girls from the age of three or four were also meant to be introduced to their future role as mother and household manager. Mothers were expected to teach them practical skills such as sewing or needlework. Dolls were seen as the most important toy for young girls as they were believed to prepare them for motherhood. Little girls were encouraged to practice caring for a baby with their doll as well as to improve their practical skills by making clothes for it. While it was advocated that boys spend a lot of their time outside as they pleased, girls – if they were to leave the house at all - were supposed to get their exercise from ladylike walks through nature.180 All this illustrates that from a very early age, Victorian girls were expected to conform to a certain feminine ideal and to prepare for their future purpose: becoming a loving wife and mother.

As we have seen in the previous paragraph, pre-pubescent girls were already encouraged to conform to the Victorian notion of femininity. As expected, even stricter regulations were imposed on adolescent girls after the age of twelve. Vanden Bossche (1999) points out that the onset of puberty and its effects on the body and mind were a great concern during the 19th century. It was generally believed that puberty started around the age of thirteen and lasted till twenty-four. The term adolescence actually became popular during the second half of the century. It not only referred to the actual coming of age, but meant a very distinct development of mind and body – the forming of an independent, mature adult self in the sense of the ideal 19th-century man or woman. Similar to today, certain milestones were seen as indicators of adulthood such as completing an education and finding a vocation, marrying and settling down. The development of a cultured self in accordance with the intellectual, moral and emotional standards of society was regarded as a crucial factor in the process of reaching what 19th-century society considered ideal adulthood.

179 cf. Gorham 2013, 69/70. 180 cf. ibid., 74 ff.

84 Independence and autonomy played a great role in this concept of “self-culture”. There were some social rituals indicating the transition from childhood to adolescence and later adulthood. While the emphasis was laid on “coming of age”, i.e. reaching majority, for boys, it was “coming out” for girls: among the upper classes, as a formal introduction into society girls would be presented to the queen when they reached their eighteenth birthday. Middle- and working- class girls usually had their coming out as soon as they were allowed to attend dances and balls. The most important message of coming out was of course that the respective girl was now available for courtship and marriage – she had entered the marriage market.181

With the onset of puberty, sex differences became more obvious. The general notion of the 19th century was that adolescence was the most formative time to teach young men and women behaviour appropriate to each their sex-roles. As with childhood, adolescence encouraged the writing of many advice manuals on the subject. The advice for mothers of adolescent girls was divided into information on physical well-being on the one hand and on the development of the adequate mindset and ideals of a Victorian woman on the other hand. One of the most obvious changes in a girl’s body indicating puberty is of course menstruation. According to Gorham (2013), it is difficult to fully reconstruct Victorian notions surrounding menstruation or anything related to bodily processes not to mention sexuality since it was not appropriate to openly speak (or write) about these things. Even in advice books, menstruation and sexuality were at best alluded to. Doctors (who were chiefly men), however, seemed to write about it quite frequently and also connected these physical changes to the psychological and moral constitution of young women. Medical advice books give details on these topics and never fail to stress the utmost importance they have for a girl becoming a woman and fulfilling her only true vocation of marriage and motherhood. Female puberty was regarded as the “flowering of femininity”, the well of all positive characteristics 19th-century society attributed

181 cf. Vanden Bossche 1999, 82/83.

85 to its ideal of a woman. Gorham (2013) argues that the menarche, the first menstruation, even served as a natural explanation for the supposedly female qualities of timidity, modesty and dependence and thus excluded any possible doubt of the 19th-century concept of femininity.182 While the maturation of girls was deemed essential for becoming a respectable woman, it was also believed that it made them fragile and delicate. Many doctors advised mothers to keep their daughters from taking cold baths, moving around too much, swimming in the sea, travelling and eating rich meals while they were on their periods. Physical or emotional excitement was considered harmful at that time – some professionals even strictly advised against novel reading and playing music since the emotions evoked could be too stressful. The advice sometimes went beyond menstruation and referred to the entire duration of female puberty as a “crisis”, which also served as an excuse to exclude adolescent girls from studies. Abnormal menstruation or any unusual symptoms hinting at disrupted puberty were also a favoured subject of many doctors. These were seen as indicators of a highly critical condition, one to endanger the process of reaching womanhood. Nowadays, we are aware that many physical or psychological phenomena can lead to amenorrhoea, but 19th-century physicians mainly presented two reasons: chlorosis, a historical term for anaemia, or hysteria, an illness often assigned to women who were in some way not conforming to Victorian ideals. Sometimes, the absence of menstruation was deemed not a symptom but the cause of these illnesses, which led to the application of many remedies. These remedies were often used by mothers themselves, but sometimes also by doctors. Gorham (2013) mentions some particularly strange cases where doctors advocated the insertion of leeches into the vagina of young girls to stimulate their menstrual flow. Luckily, this was not the general tendency. More often doctors suggested light exercise in the fresh air and an overall wholesome lifestyle. The life full of

182 cf. Gorham 2013, 85/86.

86 dances, rich foods and novel reading associated with upper-middle- and upper- class girls served as a negative example and was deemed unwholesome.183

The advice given to adolescent girls during the 19th century was sometimes conflicting. On the one hand, they were told to accept a more restrained lifestyle which confined them to a sphere separate from their male peers, but on the other hand, it was believed that this lifestyle could possibly make them ill. The practice of tight-lacing is a good example: girls from the age of twelve or thirteen were expected to wear a corset as part of their new journey into Victorian womanhood, but at the same time taunted for being vain if they laced it too tightly. Walks in the fresh air were considered vital for good health, but if a girl caught a cold outside she was accused of negligence. It seems that it was hard to navigate 19th-century adolescence as a female – while young men gained more freedom with puberty, young women had to accept the constraints that came with acceptable femininity. It is, however, important to note that by the end of our period the life of women in Britain was beginning to change. The modern girl had decidedly more freedom – she was playing sports, her clothing became less confining and she had slightly more options concerning her education.184

Education is another important subject I would like to cover in this section. The 19th century saw some overall improvement of the British educational system and schools. There was no compulsory schooling until the Elementary Education Act of 1870 and in the beginning of our period there were only very few schools, mostly run by the church. Whether or not children were sent to school often strongly depended on the financial background of the family. In many working class families, for example, they were required to take up work at an early age in order to contribute to the family income. Even later, when more schooling options for poorer children had been created, those were very different from the institutes attended by middle- and upper-class children. Nelson (1999) references the education census of 1851 stating that 55 percent of boys and 62

183 cf. Gorham 2013, 87 ff. 184 cf. ibid., 94/95.

87 percent of girls between the age of five and thirteen were actually not attending school, some even living in the streets of London. Despite various efforts to improve the situation, child labour was very real in 19th-century Britain. Children worked in mines, factories, on farms and girls especially were employed by middle- or upper-class households as servants or maids.185

Unsurprisingly, education directed at Victorian girls did not equal education for boys. According to Steinbach (2004), education only slowly became more available to girls over the course of the 19th century. Before 1850, not even upper-class girls were likely to receive proper schooling, which led to women's literacy being significantly lower than men's across all classes.186 There were some schooling options for girls though. They varied, however, according to the class the girls belonged to. Children from middle- or upper-class families usually started their education at home being taught by their mothers when they were about three years old. To girls especially, the mother would not only teach reading, writing and sometimes a little arithmetic, but focus on practical skills such as needlework. If the family was very affluent, the parents would oversee their education but employ others to actually teach: governesses or male tutors were popular with wealthy families. They often had a middle-class background and did not receive any professional training. Gorham (2013) stresses that the kind of education middle- and upper-class girls received at home was at best superficial and generally inadequate. They were taught what she calls “showy accomplishments” such as a little French, music, drawing and needlework. This kind of schooling was not meant to prepare them for a future career – they were trained to be wives and mothers. One has to take into account that girls' education at that time was extremely variable, even more so than boys' education. Thus, there were some cases where girls were well-trained by their parents and gained better knowledge than they would later within a more

185 cf. Nelson 1999, 69-72. 186 In this case, literacy is measured by the ability to sign one's name, a marker traditionally used by historians. A study in 1764 showed that 59 percent of Manchester weavers were able to sign their name while only 11 percent of their wives could do so (cf. Steinbach 2004, 163).

88 uniform school system.187 Teen-aged boys as well as girls from wealthy families were sometimes sent to boarding school. In case of the latter, these schools were finishing schools for ladies often situated in fashionable towns like Brighton or Bath. According to Steinbach (2004), these finishing schools were more concerned with appropriate, ladylike behaviour than with academic achievement and prepared girls for their future as elite wives and mothers. The reality before 1850, though, was that most middle- and upper-class families did not send their daughters to school since home was regarded as the most appropriate place for a respectable young woman.188

As I already mentioned earlier in this section, working-class families often needed their children to earn money in order to survive and could not send them to school. Working-class children usually were not schooled at home since both their parents had to work or were simply not educated enough. During the first half of the 19th century, when schooling was not yet compulsory, working-class children from rural areas seldom learned even basic skills like reading or writing. In more urban areas, however, there were several types of schools available which especially catered to the poor. These schools were commonly run by religious groups and often supported by middle- or upper-class people as a form of charity. The widespread notion was that the poor lacked industry and piety, which they were meant to learn at these schools. Steinbach (2004) argues that while the kind of education middle- and upper-class girls received was decidedly different from that of their male peers this was not the case with working-class children. Working-class boys and girls visited the same schools and were taught the same things with the exception that girls were also trained in needlework and domestic skills. Various types of schools specialised in educating working- class children in the first half of the 19th century. The so-called dame schools were often run by working-class women who taught a small number of children in her own home for a weekly fee of 3d to 6d. These informal schools taught

187 cf. Gorham 2013, 20/21. 188 cf. Steinbach 2004, 163/164.

89 basic reading and sometimes spelling skills, rarely a little writing and arithmetic. For girls the emphasis was again often put on knitting, sewing and other domestic abilities. Sunday schools were equally common and often funded by donations from middle- and upper-class families. The teachers usually had a working-class background and mainly educated the children in reading and religion. Other types of schools included ragged, workhouse or factory schools – charity schools run by the church and intended to reform the poor. The children were given “pauper's education”, meaning that they were often only taught the most basic reading skills. The education of girls in charity schools usually focused on practical skills. A few working-class children had the opportunity to attend national schools run by voluntary education societies – the National Society for Promoting the Education of the Poor in the Principles of the Established Church and the British and Foreign School Society. These societies offered a decent education for working-class children and even emphasised the importance of schooling for girls. By 1870, they provided around 90 percent of the compulsory schooling in England. Working-class children usually attended school for four years on average.189

After 1850, girls had far more educational opportunities than before. According to Steinbach (2004), the biggest changes included compulsory schooling for all British citizens, the founding of academically-oriented schools for middle-class girls and the opening of universities to women.190 The Education Act of 1870 assured working-class children a reasonable education from ages five to ten at the National and British schools. Middle-class girls were able to enrol at grammar schools which instead of being socially oriented had high academic standards. Seen as uncomely and therefore avoided by the upper class as well as largely not affordable to the working class, 19th-century university education was at first limited to middle-class people. The process of accepting female students at British universities was a slow one and mainly encouraged by women's rights

189 cf. Steinbach 2004, 165 ff. 190 cf. ibid., 171 ff.

90 activists. Not surprisingly in the light of the Victorian domestic cult, higher education for women was advertised in the beginning as a means for making them better wives and mothers. Those who objected to the subject mostly did so on the basis of theories (often by actual doctors) that too much knowledge would sicken girls and women – hysteria, amenorrhoea and anaemia were supposed to originate from the rigours of education. Nevertheless, the mid- century saw the opening of two women's colleges, Queen's College and Bedford College. Oxford and Cambridge did not fully accept women as students until the first half of the 20th century.191

3.1.2 Courtship and Marriage

For the majority of 19th-century women, marriage was the one and only option. They learned from a very young age on that it must be their destiny to become devoted wives and mothers. Naturally, this left little room for self-fulfilment. In this section I will have a look at the expectations and reality surrounding 19th- century courtship and marriage from the female point of view. Again, I will pay attention to class differences and society's changes throughout the period. In a short excursion at the end of the section, I will try to determine if other options besides marriage existed for women during the 19th century: were there suitable jobs for women? If so, were women actually able to make a living for themselves? What was society's acceptance of working women (from all classes) in the Victorian era?

As I already mentioned in section 2.1.2, domesticity played a huge role in 19th- century British society. Home became a refuge and retreat from the outside world, a source of renewal morally elevated from the workplace and the

191 cf. Steinbach 2004, 176 ff.

91 marketplace. Flanders (2004) argues that this development was triggered by a variety of causes: the rise of the Evangelical movement promoted the importance of the family and its core values love and charity. This was strongly opposed, it seems, by new technologies which in the course of the Industrial Revolution created more opportunities for work outside home. This not only affected the working classes who were employed at factories, but also middle-class people whose professional lives had once been tied to their private lives such as doctors or lawyers having their offices in separate rooms of the family homes. In summary it all came down to the fact that those who could afford it no longer lived near their work. Another factor, one I actually alluded to in the previous section, was that childhood mortality rates were noticeably decreasing. This led to a preoccupation with childhood in general and the focus on a home revolving around the family's offspring.192 For women, this cult of domesticity meant that they were expected to commit themselves to the family. They were not intended to work (chiefly if they belonged to the middle and upper classes) and could not legally own property, make contracts or incur debts once they were married. This complete lack of economic independence of course resulted in dependence on their male relatives – it was nearly impossible for a woman to achieve a status within society other than that of daughter, sister or wife/mother.193 Woman's mission as outlined by George Elgar Hicks's triptych of the same name (see fig. 16-18) consisted of her roles as mother, wife and daughter – there was little to no room for anything else.

Before we have a look at the responsibilities of married women in the 19 th century, let us first deal with the way Victorian girls were supposed to find a suitable husband – courtship then was essentially different from what we know today. In the previous section we saw that mothers were given a lot of advice on how to care for their adolescent daughters. This also included information on the best way of preparing them for their future roles as wives and mothers. In

192 cf. Flanders 2004, xxi ff. 193 cf. Steinbach 2012, 133.

92 accordance with Sarah Stickney Ellis's advice manual The Daughters of England, mothers were urged to teach their adolescent daughters that they had to accept their dependence on men as both natural and inevitable.194 Middle-class girls especially were trained to fulfil the multi-faceted feminine ideal of the Angel in the House I already explained in section 2.1.2, possessing both aesthetic and intellectual qualities to please their future husbands. It was agreed that girls needed some kind of education in order to improve their minds and to make them more suitable companions for their husbands. They were warned, however, that they must always preserve their femininity and never surpass their husbands in knowledge. If a girl was to study a masculine subject like science, this had to be done with good cause and with the only purpose of making her a better listener for male company. Sarah Stickney Ellis promoted the opinion that science was generally unsuitable for girls and was damaging to their feminine delicacy.195 The physical ideal of the perfect 19th-century woman actually does not deviate very much from today's ideal promoted by models and film stars: a true lady had a tall, slender figure, smooth, fair skin and long, full hair. Her whole outward appearance clearly distinguished her from deviant women such as prostitutes – her clothes were neat and tidy, neither too fashionable nor outdated, she was often depicted in contemporary art wearing the colour white as a symbol of her purity. Bright, mismatched clothing with flamboyant accessories such as feathers and big jewellery, in contrast, was often worn by prostitutes or other women who did not conform to society's standards.196 Whether a woman wore (noticeable) make-up was also seen as a sign of her respectability. While a powdered complexion and crimson cheeks were popular with the more affluent classes in the 18th century, they became old-fashioned in the 19th century. The use of facial make-up (and hair powder) was deemed 194 Sarah Stickney Ellis wrote several advice books on the role of 19th-century women including The Women of England, which I cited in section 2.1.2. Her advice directed at middle-class girls and their mothers in The Daughters of England reads as follows: “As women, then, the first thing of importance is to be content to be inferior to men – inferior in mental power, in the same proportion as you are inferior in bodily strength.” (cf. Gorham 2013, 101/102). 195 cf. ibid., 103/104. 196 cf. Nead 1988, 168 ff.

93 insanitary and gave way to a more natural and healthy look. The only women who still wore make-up were actresses, prostitutes and others living on the fringes of respectable society – in paintings and illustration from the Victorian period they are often shown with brightly painted cheeks and lips.197

Young, unmarried women were encouraged to form friendships with other girls, preferably of their own age. These friends were meant to be carefully picked and not to be of questionable manners or birth. While having female friends was seen as an indicator of a girl's social abilities, she had to pay attention not to make too many friends since this would make her frivolous and shallow in the eyes of Victorian society. Again, it was hard to live up to 19th-century standards as a female.198 Similarly conflicting was the advice when it came to contact with men. Adolescent girls were taught early on that they needed to find themselves a husband. The general agreement was, though, that a girl should not have any male contact apart from her father or brothers. Those who actively pursued a husband were frowned upon as was the inability to find one. From a modern perspective, this leaves us rather puzzled, of course. If a girl was not meant to have any male contact much less search for a companion, how was she to find a husband? In reality, young women had opportunities to meet men – often family friends or distant relatives – and while aggressive behaviour such as flirting was deemed improper, a simple conversation in the presence of a chaperone was allowed. According to Gorham (2013), the attitude towards the subject became more relaxed by the end of the 19th century. Girls were officially allowed to meet men outside their close family circle. Many late Victorian sources even speak of the excellent opportunities to meet eligible men at the workplace as employment options for women increased.199

Victorians did actually marry relatively late, on average around the age of 25. This had practical reasons: A long engagement assured enough time for the

197 cf. Downing 2014, 33 ff. 198 cf. ibid., 112/113. 199 cf. Gorham 2013, 115 ff.

94 husband to become more financially secure and to find a home where the family could live in the future. Sometimes married couples from all classes still lived with one of their parents until they could afford to set up their own households. Contrary to popular belief, arranged marriages were out-dated by the beginning of the 19th century. Physical attraction, affection and romantic affinity were the main grounds for marriage and parents generally trusted their children to choose a suitable companion for themselves. The Victorian ideal of matrimony was actually close to what we believe today: Marriage should be built upon companionship and the spouse should above all be a friend. Vanden Bossche (1999) argues that this Victorian vision of an equal partnership was difficult to reconcile with the notion that women were seen as subordinate to men and belonged to a separate sphere.200 Vicinus (1988), however, stresses that the idea behind separate female and male spheres was not supposed inferiority on the side of the woman but rather the concept of the sexes as fundamentally different and complimentary. As she illustrates with the help of a quote from 19th-century critic John Ruskin, both sexes were only regarded complete in union with each other.201 As we have seen earlier in this section, Sarah Stickney Ellis was of the opinion that men are superior to women in many aspects. These conflicting positions show once again that the essence of 19th-century society's beliefs is hard to grasp. From a modern point of view they often appear contradictory. One surely has to keep in mind that despite our knowledge of many sources on the subject, these can only create a fragmented picture of 19th-century reality. Considering various scholars and sources, it is fairly certain, though, that marriage played a great role in 19th-century society. It became a universal symbol of social stability and progress, a sign of order. The domestic ideal was a distinctly middle-class notion but the belief in family values became something

200 cf. Vanden Bossche 1999, 89 ff. 201 In his lecture “Of Queen's Gardens” – published in 1865 in Sesame and Lilies: Two Lectures delivered at Manchester in 1864 – Ruskin comments on the relationship of the sexes: “Each has what the other has not: each completes the other, and is completed by the other. They are in nothing alike, and the happiness and perfection of both depends on each asking and receiving from the other what the other only can give...” (cf. Vicinus 1988, 34).

95 which was shared by all classes. Bourgeois ideas of respectability served as guidelines in everyday life.202 According to Steinbach (2004), courtship was an important part of Victorian society. Attraction and affection became more important than they had been in the preceding centuries, but this still varied depending on the class the young women belonged to: while women from the upper classes (elite and upper-middle-class) were usually more closely monitored when it came to the search for a suitable mate due to financial and political reasons, working-class women might have had more freedom in their choice of a husband. Middle-class women were always advised not to appear too eager, as I have mentioned before. Nevertheless, young women from all classes sometimes had several suitors or even fiancés before marriage. They usually became involved with men from their own class – only seldom, these boundaries were crossed for love. Be it for love or financial reasons, most women in the 19th century married sooner or later. Agreeing with Vanden Bossche (1999), Steinbach (2004) mentions that significantly more often than in previous centuries, the 19th century saw affectionate marriages built on companionship. She adds, however, that physical and emotional abuse within marriages were also common. Marital rape was not even recognised as a crime until the late 20th century and divorce was extremely difficult to obtain in Victorian times – especially for women, who often lost custody of their children in the process. Sex and violence were often intertwined and the position of women as accusers before the law made them easy targets of assault by strangers, acquaintances or even their own husbands. Substance abuse and alcoholism often resulted in attacks.203 Of course not all women had violent husbands, but many lived with a fear of sexuality and its consequences. The fear of yet another pregnancy was real, notably for women from the lower classes where the lack of money was a crucial factor. Since there was no reliable contraception, most married women became pregnant and gave birth multiple times. 19th-century doctors and

202 cf. Vicinus 1988, 36/37. 203 cf. Steinbach 2004, 117 ff.

96 scientists knew very little about conception, much less the general public. Medical advice given to women was often false and did not help them at all. Thus, they often faced exhaustion and physical damage from closely spaced, multiple pregnancies. From about 1850 onward, birth patterns show that women slowly started to control their fertility. Since no new technologies or methods of contraception were developed during our period aside from a connection between breast-feeding and lowered fertility, Steinbach (2004) suspects that women began to control their fertility not because they were suddenly able to but because they wanted to. This development, however, did not include the upper classes (royalty and aristocracy), who still had large families for strategic reasons (securing dynasty and property), and part of the working classes. The most common methods of birth control in the 19th century were coitus interruptus and temporary abstinence. Condoms were usually associated with prostitutes and the prevention of venereal diseases – they were rarely used as a form of birth control by married couples. It is quite surprising from a modern point of view that many 19th-century feminists disapproved of the use of contraception in marriage altogether. They believed that it turned wives into prostitutes, always available for their husbands' pleasure. Birth control was seen as a politically and sexually radical concept which led to a lot of discussion among Victorian intellectuals and politicians. By the last decade of the 19th century, information on contraception was more widely available than before. Anyhow, even in the 20th century there were still women who found themselves with an unwanted pregnancy and looked for desperate measures. Infanticide and abortion were both regarded as capital crimes. The latter was often performed by unofficial medical practitioners, so-called quacks, who offered a variety of lotions and potions to cure sexual ills. Despite the effort of doctors, most Victorians saw abortion as just another method of birth control.204 Sexually transmitted diseases (STD) were one of the most common health problems in 19th-century Britain. Largely associated with prostitution, venereal diseases such

204 cf. Steinbach 2004, 119 ff.

97 as syphilis or gonorrhoea were passed from husbands to wives, between lovers, and in some cases even from infected mothers to their unborn children. The reality was that both men and women from all classes had these diseases and spread them to one another. Venereal diseases were seen as shameful. Married women and children were presumed to have been infected by unfaithful husbands and seen as victims. They were deserving of pity in contrast to single women whose bad choices allegedly contributed to their own downfall.205

Despite the prevalence of middle-class values within 19th-century society, the reality of married life for women – if they were allowed to work, if they had to manage the household themselves, how much freedom they were given in general – largely depended on the class they belonged to. The majority of British women belonged to the working class. Most working-class girls had to earn a living for themselves and worked as domestic servants before they married. Afterwards, they commonly did housework, cooked, cleaned, shopped and laundered, and took care of the children. Working-class families usually could not afford to employ servants, older daughters traditionally helped their mothers with the housekeeping. Married women's work was mostly unpaid, though sometimes women contributed to the family income by working in factories, doing laundry or watching the neighbours' children. Steinbach (2004) mentions that in the course of the 19th century, many working-class men came to associate decency with a middle-class lifestyle. The ideology of separate spheres demanded that middle-class women did no paid work, the man had to remain the sole breadwinner – this accounts for the fact that many working-class men also objected to married women with paid jobs. Whether the husband was the only earner in the family or not, it was mostly the wife who was in charge of making the money last from one pay-day to another. Women were also responsible for the family's respectability. This included teaching their children cultural and political values and closely monitoring their daughters to keep them from becoming disgraceful. Respectable working-class girls and women had

205 cf. Steinbach 2004, 126 ff.

98 good housekeeping and mothering skills, while respectable working-class boys and men were politically and economically independent. Community was also highly valued among working-class people. If a family was rough or respectable was usually determined by comparison with their neighbours, measured at the local level.206 According to Stearns (1972), it is difficult to make generalised assumptions when it comes to the working class of 19th-century Britain. While it is clear that the living and working conditions were changing by the end of the century, the working class remained in itself rather heterogeneous. The families of artisan workers (printers, bookbinders, workers in precious metals), for example, were usually quite affluent with living standards comparable to those of the middle class. Others lived on the fringes of society and were so poor that they were hardly able to get by. These are, of course, two extremes and most working-class people were located somewhere in-between.207 In my opinion, however, this illustrates the extreme diversity of the Victorian working-class. There were also many different employment options for working-class women. According to Steinbach (2004), the majority of British working-class women spent at least some period of their lives doing paid work. Which kind of work they did often depended on the area they lived in. In rural areas, for example, women were able to do agricultural work – a field which was in general rather male-dominated: female farm workers usually did cleaning and planting jobs (weeding, hoeing, planting and harvesting crops such as turnips or potatoes etc.) and were employed in vegetable cultivation, dairying and auxiliary tasks, but only rarely in grain production. Women earned around £10 per annum in agricultural labour, which was a comparably high wage for a working-class person.208 As industrialisation extended across Britain in the course of the 19th century, many women started to prefer working in the towns and cities doing

206 cf. Steinbach 2004, 9 ff. 207 cf. Stearns 1972, 101/102. 208 Steinbach (2004) uses the example of a female farm worker from Norfolk who earned £10 per annum in 1851. Considering the average annual income of a working-class family as well as the wages of female labourers from other fields, this was a rather decent contribution to the family income a woman could make (cf. Steinbach 2004, 16).

99 factory work or seeking employment in domestic services. During the Victorian era, the latter grew into a field that was dominated by female labour. A census estimated that as of 1891 a total of 1,649,000 people were working in domestic services, the majority of whom was female.209 Isabella Beeton's advice and cooking manual Book of Household Management (1861) offers an overview of wages for service workers. While the lowest ranked female servants (scullery and kitchen maids) only made £5 to £14 per annum, an upper housemaid could earn between £12 and £20 per annum. For the housekeeper, Beeton proposes an annual wage of £20 to £50. Her suggestions for male servants indicate a gender wage gap – even the lowest male domestic workers (stable- and footboys) earned at least £6 per annum.210 Many working-class girls started working in domestic services as kitchen maids or housemaids and remained employed only until they found a husband. The more well-paid positions of lady's maid, cook and housekeeper often required the servants to remain childless and unmarried. Whereas spinsterhood was generally condemned by 19th-century society, older single female servants were often well-respected. Thus domestic services provided an opportunity for women who did not want to or could not get married. The growth of the middle class resulted in increasing numbers of people being employed in domestic services throughout the 19th century.211 Of course wages varied by employer and location as well as changed throughout our period. Factory work presented another important employment opportunity for working-class women. The Industrial Revolution brought about new developments in many fields and created a steady source of jobs. Steinbach (2004) mentions that by 1899 more than half a million female workers were employed in British factories, mainly in the great industrial centres in northern England, Scotland and the Midlands. Wages depended on location, employer and specific area of occupation, i.e. cotton picking, spinning or carding. In the early 19th century, female cotton pickers and carders earned around 7s. to 11s.

209 cf. Steinbach 2004, 17/18. 210 cf. Beeton 1861, 86. 211 cf. Steinbach 2004, 19 ff.

100 per week in Manchester mills. By the end of the period, Lancashire cotton weavers made 21s. to 27s. weekly. The work performed by women was often unskilled labour which was also done by children. It was commonly rather strenuous and took place under unhealthy working conditions. The Factory Acts passed in the 1830s and 1840s helped to improve said conditions by limiting the daily hours of work for women and children employed in factories. While girls working in domestic services were often closely watched by older employees, those working in factories had more freedom. This led to the assumption that the latter were lacking in moral values and domestic skills which in turn supposedly made them poor wives and mothers.212 The number of women who worked from home manufacturing goods (so-called outwork), for example preparing cotton for weaving or doing needlework, is hard to estimate. Steinbach (2004) argues that despite their pre-industrial appearance the so-called cottage industries thrived and often served as reinforcements of factory work. This kind of work appealed to women with children since they were able to support their family by contributing to their husband's income while at the same time they could manage the household. Unfortunately, outwork, especially needlework, was not well-paid, which is said to have made many single women turn to prostitution. 213 From the 1850s onward, new job opportunities for working-class women arose from changes in Britain's economy and culture: teaching, nursing, cleaning, service and retail sales work started to become typical jobs for women. In contrast to the aforementioned career options for women, these forms of white- collar work did not include arduous labour and provided an air of education and respectability. Thus, this type of work was particularly favoured by upper- working-class and lower-middle-class girls. It also required years of schooling – something not all working-class families could afford. In the light of society's changes, women were even recruited as office clerks, which was a predominantly male-dominated field where young men started out from

212 cf. Steinbach 2004, 22 ff. 213 cf. ibid., 28 ff.

101 apprenticeships to work their way up to the top. For women, the situation was of course different. They were not supposed to seek promotion within the company but were rather employed to fulfil tasks deemed too monotonous for men like data storage and communication. A female office clerk had a salary of around £20 per annum – her male counterparts started out at £15 but could expect to reach up to £350 per annum in time. The highest salary for female clerks in 1891 was £95 and only very few women actually reached this figure. Although the working conditions for female white-collar workers were quite acceptable by way of comparison, they also required the women to give up their jobs as soon as they were married.214

As we have already seen in section 3.1.1, middle-class girls were brought up to believe that marriage and motherhood were their sole purposes in life. Middle- class women were not supposed to work, bread-winning was seen as the husband's duty. It was often the case that the husband was several years older than his wife, sometimes already in his 40s, at the time of marriage since it took him some time to become financially stable. Naturally, this concept was not always easy to realise if the family belonged to the lower-middle-class and did not have the funds to keep up with the middle-class lifestyle. Steinbach (2012) argues that the reality of middle-class life was often very different from society's expectations: many middle-class women assisted their husbands in the family business in the guise of a helpmate. Others brought an inheritance into the marriage which made their husbands' work possible. Married middle-class women were not supposed to do housework either, they rather directed the domestic workers and oversaw the housekeeping accounts. How much housework they actually performed themselves after all depended on their status within the middle class. More affluent families usually employed several servants who did all the work. In lower-middle-class families the wife commonly worked alongside the one single servant they could afford.215 Philanthropic or charity

214 cf. Steinbach 2004, 33 ff. 215 cf. Steinbach 2012, 142.

102 work was a natural part of middle-class women's life. Their benevolent activities ranged from donating money and visiting the poor in their homes/in prisons/in workhouses/in orphanages to organising charity bazaars. Women actually dominated charitable organisations in the course of the 19th century. A crucial part of female philanthropy was bringing domesticity to those in need – a principle based on the assumption that middle-class values would inherently alter the state of the poor. This indicates the Victorian belief that finding oneself in a difficult position is first and foremost a question of morality. The structures of British society and economy which might have contributed to the situation were for the most part not challenged by female philanthropists. On the contrary, much of the charity work came with a certain moral judgement, for example if it was directed at fallen women. Nevertheless, philanthropy gave middle-class women the opportunity to occupy themselves outside of their homes while at the same time not actually transgressing the domestic sphere. Interestingly, the career options for middle-class women arising in the second half of the 19th century were often based on or related to female charity work such as teaching, nursing or social work. While these jobs brought about a fundamental change for unmarried middle-class women, it was also difficult since by 1860 many appropriate fields were already crowded with working- and lower-middle-class women who had been in need to earn a living a long time before them. Many middle-class women also refused to be associated with the jobs lower-class women usually worked at.216 Middle-class widows and single women who were not able to rely on family fortunes were forced to make a living even before suitable career options arose. Many of them worked as teachers, dressmakers or governesses. The latter especially is often associated with spinsterhood. Governess positions were not well-paid and often equalled the life of a servant. Some women had their own businesses and worked as shopkeepers, for example. Around 20 percent of British business owners in the 19th century were female. Another possibility for women whether married or

216 cf. Steinbach 2004, 51 ff.

103 single was a career in writing. This was not without obstacles and not always favoured by society as actually publishing a novel as a woman collided with middle-class notions that women should remain in the private sphere and not compete with others on a professional level.217 I will elaborate on the subject of female writers in section 3.3.2.

In the 19th century, the upper class represented a small but powerful part of British society. In contrast to working- and middle-class men, elite men did not need steady employment in order to make a living. They occupied themselves with the management of the estate and the family's affairs. Although their wives often participated in these matters, they were not seen as equals. As married elite women were not allowed to own property and could not inherit estates, their fortunes were usually placed in trusts separate from their husbands' money, which were managed by their fathers or brothers. Only widows or single women from upper-class families sometimes inherited and owned wealth. This group had a rather difficult social standing since women who did not marry (at all/again) were not seen very favourably either.218 In comparison to middle-class women, elite women did, however, enjoy some sense of financial independence by actually possessing money of their own. Upper-class families often were quite large with the women bearing many children to ensure the birth of a suitable heir. Motherhood was regarded women's one crucial duty and those who were not able to produce (male) offspring, were looked down upon and deemed disappointing to society. In general, elite women's lives had to revolve around their home. They were supposed to oversee the work of the domestic servants and the housekeeping as well as the education of their children. They did not care for the children themselves but employed wet nurses and nursery maids. Older upper-class children were usually supervised by governesses. Though it may not always seem like it from a modern perspective, the well-being of the children was a very important aspect for elite families. Like middle-class women,

217 cf. Steinbach 2004, 48-50. 218 cf. Steinbach 2012, 139-141.

104 upper-class women were frequently involved in charity work and spend their free time organising bazaars and managing philanthropic organisations. Unlike women from other classes, they were able to act politically. They could influence parliamentary politics if a family member occupied a parliamentary seat or clerical post and took an active role in elections. Hosting social events and participating in the London Season – the time after Christmas until late June when Britain's elite resided in the capital and was available for entertainment as well as the sitting of Parliament – aided a great deal in this matter. Most upper- class women had a rather busy social life as was expected of them. The Season also marked the time when young elite women were presented as débutantes and subsequently entered the marriage market. This process highly involved elite mothers since they had to make sure their daughters found spouses from an appropriate background. Upper-class women's lives were not as constrained by domestic ideology as those of middle-class women. Even though they were subordinate to the men of their class, they remained superior to women as well as men of all other classes.219

As most modern readers might suspect, the situation of elderly females in 19th- century Britain was especially complicated and their cultural representation ridden with stereotypes. The social roles available to 19th century women were scarce – grandmother, widow or spinster. The strong belief in separate spheres served as a structuring device for Victorian society and, as we have seen in the two preceding sections, did not allow women a lot of freedom of choice. Particularly in the middle- and upper-classes, there were strict rules for members of the female sex. As it were, their paths were carved out from birth on: a joy to their parents and brothers, the little girl will start to practice her domestic duties early on and when she blossoms into a young woman, she will find a suitable husband, become a mother and manage her own household. There is very little information on the later years of these ideal women, these Angels in the House, though. It seems that once women had aged beyond their reproductive years,

219 cf. Steinbach 2004, 78 ff.

105 they were no longer of interest to society. Ingham (1992) makes a similar observation concerning middle-aged married women in Dickens's novels. In contrast to the desirable nubile girls, these “excessive females” are presented as ridiculous and grotesque.220 While the stereotype of the mother was positively connoted (see section 2.1.2), it always emphasised the mother's youth and beauty. Menopause was seen as a crucial factor signalling the onset of old age in women, while men were mostly judged by their ability to work. Similar to the importance of puberty for young girls, Victorian physicians believed in the crucial effects of menopause on the female body and mind. They were seen as the “two termini of a woman's sexual activity”. The “inactive state” of their ovaries supposedly linked post-menopausal women to pre-puberty children. It was also believed that the way a woman had led her life up to her menopause – chaste, reasonable, fulfilling her duties as wife and mother – determined her future health.221 In general, society did not look very favourably upon ageing women and at the same time it also criticised them for trying to look youthful. There are visual and verbal accounts of outrage towards elderly females who dared to dress in bold colours and even wear make up – something already critical for younger women during the 19th century.222 Mangum (1999) also suggests that Victorian culture thought of ageing as a process that feminised men since it rendered them helpless and unable to perform their duties.223

Although class greatly influenced the lives of 19th-century women, some similarities crossed those borders. Most importantly, all women were raised to regard marriage and motherhood as their most natural fate and to accept that they were subordinate to the men of their own class, if not to all men. The new

220 Ingham uses the term “excessive females” to describe the married female characters in Dickens's works who are portrayed negatively despite displaying traditionally female qualities. In her opinion, the problem is that these characters are endowed with those qualities in an unregulated and therefore threatening manner. Femininity is perceived as positive if it is regulated and controlled by (male) views and confined within an ideal. Without it, it becomes a destructive force of nature (Ingham 1992, 68 ff.). 221 Smith-Rosenberg 1973, 60 ff. 222 cf. Chase 2009, 15/16. 223 cf. Mangum 1999, 99.

106 employment options emerging after 1861 offered women the opportunity to reach at least some kind of financial independence.

3.2 Women in 19th-Century Art

3.2.1 Painters and Muses – Female Artists in the 19th Century

The 19th century with its manifold developments and technological progress is often seen as a turning point in art history. Preceding periods mainly focussed on the genres that were taught at art academies and were for the major part inspired by Renaissance art. 19th-century artists particularly in painting started to move away from mythological and theological themes and their styles became more experimental. This time is often referred to as the birth of Modernism. Nevertheless, it still was a time of male artists dominating the art market – there seems to be virtually no evidence of female artists. Only if one digs deep, there are traces of women artists who are first and foremost known for being models or wives or muses of famous male artists.

Similar to literary history, art history was for a long time written by male scholars. The big collections are often Eurocentric and dominated by male artists. For many reasons, female artists were both intentionally and unintentionally misrepresented. Nunn (1987) even speaks of an “oppressive myth” perpetuated by white, male, middle- and upper-class people, which is sold as common knowledge.224 Research from a female perspective with a focus on

224 cf. Nunn 1987, 1.

107 women did not become relevant until the 20th century when women in general became more liberated and new approaches broadened academic fields. While a lot has been gained through the insightful research of feminist scholars, there is still a long way to go in order to present a truly inclusive history of art which will also take into account the works of women of colour, for example. In this section I will take a look at female artists in 19th-century Britain. My analysis will focus on painting and illustration, since both are most relevant for the subject of this thesis.

Despite art history's neglect of 19th-century women artists, their existence cannot be denied. The number of female artists in Britain was increasing throughout the century, some of them even well-liked by the public, and the press was very interested in the subject of women and art.225 Writer and illustrator Ellen Clayton notes in her book English Female Artists (1876) that over the centuries most female painters and sculptors “have left but faintly impressed footprints on the sands of time”.226 We learned in the preceding sections that while the suffragette movement changed a lot for British women in the course of the century, they still did not have many choices when it came to self-fulfilment and work. Middle- and upper-class women especially were not expected to make a living for themselves and although their working-class counterparts had slightly more options, those were still far from what we know today. The profession of artist was not a secure one and mainly suggested itself to middle-class people. In 1841, 278 women in Britain worked as artists – by 1871, it was 1069. This illustrates that there actually was a women's art movement going on in 19th- century Britain.227 According to Nunn (1996), Victorian society had a specific notion of what actually constitutes an artist. This notion was mainly based on successful artists from the past who were in fact all male. The Victorians’ knowledge of art history was strongly influenced by the National Gallery and

225 Nunn 1987, 2/3. 226 Clayton 1876, 2. 227 The “artists” in the census refer to painters. Illustrators or tile-painters belonged to arts and crafts rather than fine art (cf. Nunn 1987, 3).

108 well-known upper-class collectors such as the Duke of Sutherland or the Marquess of Hertford – it was teeming with classical art from Dutch, Flemish, Italian and Spanish masters, who were copied by many artists of the day. Women were – with the exception of Austrian Neoclassical painter Angelica Kauffman maybe – missing from this canon of artists from the past, which served as a vindication that none should be allowed to enter the profession in the present. The idealised image of the Victorian male artist placed him as a direct successor to the old masters standing in a long tradition of respect and fame. Male artists were generally portrayed as earnest, hard-working, especially gifted individuals (“gentlemen artists”), whereas female ones were always seen as amateurs, mere students or dilettantes. Nunn (1996) argues that no matter how women artists were portrayed or chose to portray themselves, there seemed to be a persistent doubt concerning their credibility as professionals. She believes that male artists feared a loss of territory as well as a loss of reputation brought about by cheaper products of lower standards made by women.228 Moreover, they might have felt threatened by women working as artists since they supposedly challenged the masculine claims to professionalism as Cherry (1993) proposes. The Victorian ideal of separate spheres left no room for feminine professional identities. In the second half of the 19th century, however, the strict categorisations of femininity were starting to shift and gave way to a looser, more diverse definition.229

As I mentioned above, it was chiefly middle-class people who took up the profession of artist. Society approved of middle-class women's creative outlets and even thought them necessary for the making of a proper lady. Art, literature and music were seen as popular leisure activities. Middle-class women were expected to possess a certain cultural sensitivity and taste, which were believed to be natural in women from the upper classes.230 They were not meant to work, their survival would (ideally) never depend on making a living from their 228 cf. Nunn 1996, 4 ff. 229 cf. Cherry 1993, 9/10. 230 cf. Losano 2008, 23.

109 creative work. Though working-class women were allowed to earn money themselves, they were generally regarded as lacking taste and cultural refinement – even if they worked in an artistic field, the outcome was not seen as actual art. Thus, no matter which class a woman belonged to, she was never able to produce real art in the eyes of 19th-century society. No class of woman could be called artists – they were either ladylike amateurs or unrefined workers.231 In reality, while there were of course many women who drew and sketched as a recreational activity, some actually worked for their living as painters and sculptors. The subjects covered by female artists were diverse: from historical over genre scenes to portraits, still lives and landscape paintings. Unfortunately, not all of the plentiful works by Victorian women artists have survived into the 20th century. There was little effort to preserve them since in contrast to their male counterparts they were not seen as worthy to be “saved for the nation” and were therefore only rarely acquired by the big collectors of the time.232

So how were the female artists of the 19th century educated? Did Victorian Britain at all offer a formal education to women interested in painting, sculpture or drawing? Unsurprisingly, art institutions in Victorian Britain were clearly directed at men – some excluded women altogether and others only allowed their formal membership or part-time training. They emphasised the inherent otherness of female artists as amateurs which set them apart from professional male artists. If female art students were granted admission, they were assigned to special, separate classes. They usually were not allowed to attend figure- or life-classes where students drew the human form from observation of live models – a difficult exercise, particularly beneficial to improve one's skills as an artist. The study of nude models was incompatible with the ideal of purity and respectability of a middle-class woman. The Slade School of Fine Art was the first school to offer both male and female students the same education in the

231 cf. Nunn 1987, 5. 232 cf. Cherry 1993, 1 ff.

110 1870s.233 Tuition fees presented another hindrance: the Royal Academy where tuition was free excluded female students until 1860. Thus, many women were forced to enrol at private art schools which often demanded high fees. Another crucial difference between male and female art education was the duration: while men's education followed a fixed curriculum leading them from paternal guidance to formal training, women's education was fragmentary and varied greatly depending on the institute. Disappointed by the quality of education they received, many female students switched schools several times. Sometimes their time at school was interrupted by domestic duties or family responsibilities – as women, they were expected to attach more importance to family matters than their education.234 The 1860s brought about changes concerning the education of women in general as well as in the field of fine art. These changes were happening very slowly, but they surely were long overdue: Debates on women's status as amateurs versus professionals, the influence of class and the methods of training within the context of separate spheres fuelled the discussion on art education for women as well as their professional lives as artists.235

In the course of the 19th century, women sought various strategies to counter the discrimination they received from the art world. Novelist Dinah Mulock Craik, whom we know from her views on prostitution that I dealt with in section 2.1.2, suggested that works of art should be judged according to their quality, not on the sex of the artist. Societies of women artists were founded in several British cities offering a forum for female painters and sculptors. One of the most prominent societies was the Society of Female Artists founded in London in 1856-7. In spite of their efforts at organising exhibitions, these were never seen as a serious challenge to the male-dominated venues and many well-known women artists refused to take part in them. Later societies included the Manchester Society of Women Painters (1879) and the Glasgow Society of Lady

233 cf. Weeks 1883, 325. 234 cf. Cherry 1993, 53-55. 235 cf. Dodd 1995, 187.

111 Artists (1882). The latter established a much needed alliance between female artists and the wealthy matrons who managed the society.236

As I already mentioned, women who sought recognition for their art in Victorian times usually saw themselves confronted with the problematic ideology of separate spheres, which left absolutely no room for professional self-fulfilment. In spite of their discrimination, many women artists aspired to be recognised for their works. Painter Emily Mary Osborn made the problems of female artists the subject of her work Nameless and Friendless (1857). The painting (see fig. 23) was exhibited at the Royal Academy and later purchased by Queen Victoria herself. It depicts a woman dressed in dark clothing who stands in front of a sales counter with a little boy by her side. The boy holds a large folder. Opposite them behind the counter, an older man is eyeing what appears to be a framed artwork. His facial expression and gesture suggest mild disapproval. There are other protagonists inside the store who are all handling drawings or paintings, consequently it might be an art dealer's shop we are looking at. Based on her mourning attire and grief-stricken face the woman is most likely a (recent) widow trying to sell her paintings in order to survive. From her proper look one can conclude that she presumably belongs to the middle class. The threat her venturing into the public sphere poses to her respectability is symbolised by the print held by a male figure on the left. It shows a woman dressed in colourful, short clothing with bared arms and legs, which leads to the assumption that she must be either a dancer or an actress – both putting her in the category of working-class prostitutes. She is positioned opposite a decent middle-class woman, which reinforces the pure/fallen dichotomy prominent in the 19th century. Cherry (1993) suggests that Osborn's main protagonist was not as easily categorised: the Victorian middle-class woman had to work to make ends meet and thus endangered her class identity as well as her sexual purity. Paid professional work was a domain reserved for bourgeois men, so women's efforts caused a controversy which in turn encouraged the feminist campaigns that

236 cf. Cherry 1993, 67 ff.

112 emerged all over the country from the 1850s onward. Nameless and Friendless referred to these debates on equality: a woman acting as a seller of her works instead of a customer was not in line with the image of a Victorian lady and challenged societal conventions. As a solution to society's conflicting views on femininity, Osborn's woman artist was often categorised as a “distressed gentlewoman” who worked only because of financial necessity. Her mourning attire combined with her pale, sad face suggests that either the recent loss of her husband, which also meant the loss of the main provider of the family, or her being an orphan leaves her in a position where she has to earn money in order to ensure her survival. This image of a young and beautiful middle-class woman finding herself in a desperate situation was quite popular in 19th-century literature and art. It symbolised an attempt to reconcile the Victorian ideal of feminine purity with a fast changing society.237 At the same time, this interpretation of Osborn's painting patronises the female artist by categorising her work as something born merely out of financial need and therefore devoid of true artistic quality and spirit. As the title suggests, a young female artist had neither name nor reputation, she could not rely on a guardian to help her navigate her professional (and private) life as many male artists could. Cherry (1993) adds that Nameless and Friendless is not only about women as artists but also about the representation of women in general. Power structures regulated the way in which women could be portrayed in art and literature – women were turned into a visual spectacle for predominantly male viewers. The fact that the artist in Osborn's work is surrounded by men who are all depicted as vigorously staring at something – artworks, the female artist, one even peers in through the shop window – relates to the objectification of women. Men are allowed to look, to observe, whereas women are those to be looked at for aesthetic pleasure or moral inspiration. In a very modern way, Emily Mary Osborn shows these power structures in her painting by turning her own gaze to the male objectification of the female artist. Thus she demonstrates that it is not professional life that

237 cf. Cherry 1993, 78/79.

113 endangers women and their respectability, but the men encountered in the workplace who compromise women's progress and safety at the same time.238 For Victorian women artists, depicting themselves and other women at work or in any way related to the art world served as an assertion of their professional identities. In the beginning of the 19th century, women's creativity was largely governed by men: male artists often portrayed their wives or daughters as amateur artists, thus dictating the way they were perceived “at work”. According to Nunn (1995), the concept of the female artist became more and more politicised and resulted in many women artists' exploring self-portraiture.239 Self- portraiture was and still is an important means for women to reclaim their identities. In our Western culture, the notion of appropriate femininity is still very much influenced by the male gaze; girls are taught from an early age that it is important to be aesthetically pleasing in order to find a suitable partner. Women's magazines are teeming with advice on how to please men with the help of clothes and make up. Feminist theory has proposed various analyses of the “sexual politics of looking”, i.e. the way male fantasies are projected on to women. Traditionally, men take the role of the spectator while women are displayed to be looked at. The woman who captures herself with paintbrush, pencil or nowadays with the help of a camera vehemently rejects this notion. In case of 19th-century female artists, painting themselves as well as other female artists also showed that they had a right to be recognised as painters in their own right. Just as their male peers, they demanded to be included in the ranks of Victorian artists.240 In section 3.2.2, I will further examine the visual representations of women in 19th-century art and their origins in cultural notions of appropriate and inappropriate femininity.

After this short general introduction to the position of women within the Victorian art world, I would like to take a closer look at the lives and works of selected female artists who were active in 19th-century Britain. In doing so, I will 238 cf. Cherry 1993, 80/81. 239 cf. Nunn 1995, 12/13. 240 cf. Cherry 1993, 115/116.

114 try to explore the differences between male and female artists of the time. As I already mentioned, many women artists' names have been lost or obscured over time since they were never really recognised as artists during their lifetimes. Their activities were seen as amateurish and if their names were known at all, it was because they were the mother, daughter, sister or wife of a male artist. Consequently, a great part of (feminist) research during the second half of the 20th century was dedicated to the uncovering and compiling of a female dominated history of art. When it comes to the 19th century, one of the most influential artistic movements was the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood that I already mentioned in earlier sections. Still today, we are well acquainted with the male artists of the movement. We also know about their preoccupation with beautiful women, whom they discovered as models and immortalised as subjects of their art. These women constituted a type, the iconic Pre-Raphaelite woman with long red hair, a pale complexion and sad, soulful eyes. The story behind the paintings is one we are all familiar with, the ultimate story of painter and muse that is captured in the graceful paintings: male artist picks up young, pretty girl and turns her into an icon. She becomes the subject of his art as well as his lover. What we often do not know and what the majority of the great Pre-Raphaelite exhibitions omit, is that within the movement there were women who had artistic careers of their own. According to Marsh/Nunn (1989) who attempted to restore the missing female protagonists to the history of Pre-Raphaelitism, very little information on the women's lives and works survived into the 20 th century. Some of the female artists were relatives of male ones, either by birth or by marriage, which led to a considerable amount of confusion regarding the attribution of artworks. As an example, painters Lucy and Catherine Madox Brown were the daughters of painter Ford Madox Brown and Lucy married painter Dante Gabriel Rossetti's brother William Michael Rossetti. There is always the risk of confusing a female painter with her father, brother or husband if one sticks to the surname convention when it comes to the Pre-Raphaelites. 241

241 cf. Marsh/Nunn 1989, 6 ff.

115 As a starting point, I will offer some general information on the movement: the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood was founded in 1848. Standard history focuses on painters William Holman Hunt, John Everett Millais, Dante Gabriel Rossetti, Ford Madox Brown and Arthur Hughes as well as their leading critical spokesman John Ruskin. Later artists associated with the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood were Edward Burne-Jones, William Morris, J. M. Strudwick, J. L. Byam Shaw, J. W. Waterhouse and Aubrey Beardsley. Details on the women who lived and worked in the context of this movement can be found scattered throughout journals and letters, interwoven with the history of the male artists. Marsh/Nunn (1989) note that with time Pre-Raphaelite has come to describe a specific style of painting rather than a school of artists. This style is often irregular and contradictory given the large number of different painters who adopted it and the longevity of the movement. Accordingly, scholars tend to disagree on the definition of Pre-Raphaelitism. Nevertheless, its starting point seems fairly clear: the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood was founded by three talented artists who were tired of the British art scene and wanted to do something new. They wanted to return to the qualities of early Renaissance German, Italian and Flemish art. Writer William Michael Rossetti phrased the Pre-Raphaelite's basic principles in 1848:

1. To have genuine ideas to express; 2. to study Nature attentively, so as to know how to express them; 3. to sympathise with what is direct and serious and heartfelt in previous art, to the exclusion of what is conventional and self-parading and learned by rote; and 4., and most indispensable of all, to produce thoroughly good pictures and statues.242

Pre-Raphaelite painters sought to distinguish themselves from the Royal Academy and its rules and regulations. At the Academy, there was a strict hierarchy of genres, media and size, which placed history painting, oils and large pictures at the top and still life, watercolours and small pictures at the bottom. Appropriate subjects of painting derived from Renaissance and 18th century art

242 Marsh/Nunn 1989, 15.

116 with an emphasis on the heroic male nude within a careful composition and design and a distaste for flower painting. In contrast to these rigid concepts of fine art, the Pre-Raphaelite movement focused on a more experimental approach. Their works used vivid, bright colours as well as naturalistic poses to create a certain moral symbolism. Early themes ranged from Biblical stories, Shakespeare and English Romanticism to social topics such as illegitimacy, prostitution or emigration. The artists who were included into the movement at a later stage, e.g. Edward Burne-Jones, often took inspiration from medieval legends, too. The women who modelled for the Pre-Raphaelite artists generally did not coincide with 19th century's ideal standard of beauty which favoured daintiness and frailty. Some sources went as far as to describe the Pre-Raphaelite women as plain.243 From today's perspective, they appear at the same time modern and nostalgic. Their tall, slender figures and elegant posture foreshadowed the appeal of the Gibson girls of the early 20th century, while their strong facial features and charisma recalled heroines from Greek mythology. As we have seen in the previous sections of this thesis, 19th-century women were expected to be beautiful but subordinate – their physical frailty was meant to be a symbol of their mental inferiority to men, the weakness in their minds and bodies which allegedly contributed to their being more prone to becoming mentally ill, for example. Of course, the public did not react positively to the Pre- Raphaelite visions of passionate femininity. In the beginning especially, the artists were often criticised for their choice of models as well as their general themes. Pre-Raphaelite paintings are all about women, the Pre-Raphaelite myth is all about women: there are endless anecdotes about the lives of Rossetti and his peers and all of them feature a variety of female protagonists. Women are everywhere when it comes to the Pre-Raphaelite movement - their faces look from every painting, their stories are interwoven with biographical accounts of the (male) artists. Yet their voices are never heard. Marsh (1985) notes that while they are not completely omitted from the history of the Pre-Raphaelite

243 cf. Marsh/Nunn 1989, 17.

117 Brotherhood, women were (and still are) only referred to in relation to the men. Their characteristics and behaviour were (and still are) interpreted with the help of their appearance in the paintings as well as the stories surrounding their genesis. This leads to a rather fragmented image of the Pre-Raphaelite women.244 While the movement itself is very popular today even within mainstream culture, the fact that many of these women themselves created art is largely unknown. In the following, I will take a look at selected female artists from the Pre-Raphaelite movement.

Elizabeth Eleanor “Lizzie” Siddal was born into a working-class family in 1929. According to Marsh (1985), she became familiar with the Pre-Raphaelite circle around 1849. Contrary to what is believed nowadays, she was not initially chosen as a model because of her beauty but rather for her plainness. Siddal was tall with long limbs, pale skin and long, red hair – her features were described as “strange and affecting” but not pretty or beautiful in a traditional sense. It seems as if the artistic presentation of her as a tragic heroine and icon retrospectively altered the way she was perceived earlier. The story of her discovery in a bonnet shop makes her seem all the more mysterious and added to her becoming a legend among painters' muses of the 19th century.245 For a long time, this was all she was to the public. We know about her numerous appearances in famous Pre- Raphaelite paintings such as Millais' Ophelia (see fig. 24) and the tragedy surrounding her catching a cold while modelling in a bathtub full of icy water. Most people might also be familiar with her tumultuous relationship with Dante Gabriel Rossetti, her ill-health and premature death in 1862 as well as Rossetti's having his wife's coffin exhumed years after her passing to capture a collection of poems he had enclosed therein at the time of her funeral. What many people do not know, is the fact that Elizabeth Siddal herself was a talented painter and poet. Despite society's harsh judgement on creative women, Siddal took on drawing. Rossetti saw her as his pupil and on one occasion wrote to his sister

244 cf. Marsh 1985, 1-3. 245 cf. ibid., 15-17.

118 Christina – herself a renowned poet – that Siddal's works showed real promise.246 In fact, Siddal is known to have deliberately chosen Rossetti as her instructor in 1852. Due to the Pre-Raphaelite's general rejection of and Rossetti's own impatience with formal art training, Siddal's drawing lessons appear to have been minimal. In contrast to academic training, Rossetti's instructions focussed on imagination and encouraged his pupil to create her own compositions. Marsh/Nunn (1989) note that her early works, although praised by the Pre- Raphaelite artists for their imaginative subjects, were not of high artistry: Siddal exhibited a beginner's drawing technique and her figures lacked anatomical correctness. Nevertheless, her drawings have an appealing quality. They seem to merge sophisticated themes and naïve realisation, almost as if she was echoing great artist William Blake.247 Her 1853 drawing of Alfred Tennyson's Lady of Shallot (1832) has a haunting quality. In contrast to other versions of the theme by male artists, Siddal's drawing (see fig. 25) stays very close to the text illustrating stanza thirteen. The Lady of Shallot is distracted by Lancelot's song and appearance, which make her turn her head away from her loom and get up to look out of the window. We see in Siddal's drawing that the mirror on the left has already “crack'd from side to side” and the “curse is come upon [her]” as it says in lines seven and eight:

She left the web, she left the loom, She made three paces thro' the room, She saw the water-lily bloom, She saw the helmet and the plume, She look'd down to Camelot. Out flew the web and floated wide; The mirror crack'd from side to side; 'The curse is come upon me,' cried The Lady of Shalott.248

It is a crucial moment in the poem, a turning point. The Lady of Shallot has for a long time been confined to her room, solitary weaving and watching life at

246 cf. Marsh 1985, 34. 247 Marsh/Nunn 1989, 68 ff. 248 Roberts 2000, 24.

119 Camelot outside her window through the mirror. She never dared to turn her head because of the mysterious curse until now, when she is lured in by Lancelot's charm. Siddal depicts her as calm and composed, quietly turning her head, as if she exactly knew what she was doing. As the Lady exclaims in stanza eight, line eight she is “half sick of shadows”, she is weary of being alone, locked away from life:

But in her web she still delights To weave the mirror's magic sights, For often thro' the silent nights A funeral, with plumes and lights And music, went to Camelot: Or when the moon was overhead, Came two young lovers lately wed: 'I am half sick of shadows,' said The Lady of Shalott.249

Maybe this is what drove her out of her room despite the threatening curse – a hunger for life and love. Feminist critics have often interpreted Tennyson's poem as an allusion to the way female sexuality is threatened by premarital relations. Siddal's female point of view stresses the role of women in this matter, the calmness of her Lady seems to equal her taking responsibility for her actions. She is not depicted as the victim of Lancelot's charm but rather appears as a woman who wants to break free from her chains, her curse, even if it will cost her life. There could also be a parallel to Siddal's own relation to Rossetti, which was not appropriate according to society's standards. In these circumstances, women are easily victimised as being the ones who were seduced by men – Siddal, though, actively chose to be with Rossetti albeit marriage was not in the picture at first. This relationship as well as her occupation as a working woman who acted as a model to painters were damaging her reputation – something she was willing to risk. Her Lady of Shallot follows suit and is shown acting on her curiosity. Other artists depicted the subject differently, a famous example being John William Waterhouse's 1888 version (see fig. 26). He chose to depict the Lady of Shallot as she floats across the river in her boat, enthroned on her

249 Roberts 2000, 23.

120 tapestry, her grief-stricken eyes staring forward as if in trance, her mouth slightly opened. She knows that she is going to die, her fate is sealed. The funeral-like atmosphere of the painting is underlined by the nearly blown-out candles, the fallen leaf in the lady's lap and the crucifix attached to the boat. Amidst all these symbols of death, the Lady herself appears extremely beautiful with her long, red hair and pale complexion as well as dignified – this is her sacrifice for a love she barely knew. The theme of Waterhouse's version is in line with the Pre- Raphaelite's infatuation with tragic love and melancholy. In contrast to Siddal's drawing, it does not so much focus on the woman's decision but rather embeds her character into the theme as a whole. Cherry (1993) stresses that by depicting the Lady as chaste and calm, Siddal manifested her refusal to sacrifice her as a spectacle for the male gaze. She is not only seen by the spectator but also actively seeing herself.250 Whether or not we choose to look at Elizabeth Siddal's interpretation of the Lady of Shallot in the context of feminist research, her independence of mind is remarkable. Critic John Ruskin who had become Rossetti's patron during the early 1850s also encouraged Siddal's work as an artist – he even offered her an allowance. This allowance, however, came on one condition: Siddal had to continue to paint in a way that pleased Ruskin. To some extent, her “primitive” style is attributed to his patronage since it can also be detected in certain works by Rossetti exhibiting similar “technical deficiencies” that are known to have been especially favoured by Ruskin. According to Marsh/Nunn (1989), Ruskin was also responsible for a period in Siddal's life where she became inactive as a painter. Her poor health and recurring illness led to the assumption that she was too exhausted from drawing – it was believed that women were too fragile to produce art on a regular basis since it supposedly overexerted their minds. Hence Siddal was sent to the Mediterranean, where she was advised to remain “absolutely idle”. She did not take this advice and continued to draw and paint – her most productive years followed when she returned to England and started to take lessons at the Sheffield Art School.

250 cf. Cherry 1993, 190.

121 Subsequently, she proceeded to disentangle her work from that of Rossetti and in the census of 1861, her occupation was even listed as “Artist: Painter” – a title only seldom given to a woman at that time. Unfortunately, Siddal died only shortly afterwards. Posthumously, she was mostly remembered as Rossetti's wife and model, denying her true independence as an artist. Her brother-in-law's (William Michael Rossetti) 1903 account of her life focusing on her dependence on Dante Gabriel Rossetti surely had a share in this matter. Her attendance of Sheffield Art School, for example, was not revealed until 1911. Nevertheless, it emphasises her attempts to become a professional artist herself, emerging from the golden cage of a Pre-Raphaelite model and wife.251

Lucy (born 1843) and her half-sister Catherine (born 1850) Madox Brown are both associated with the Pre-Raphaelite movement chiefly because of their father, painter Ford Madox Brown, but also due to their own styles of painting which followed in the footsteps of Rossetti, Millais and Holman Hunt. They literally inherited Pre-Raphaelitism – this resulted in them being actually mentioned in the first art-historical reflections on the movement by Percy Bate (1899). They were, however, only mentioned as a coda to their father and his artworks. In addition, Bate called them by their married names, which complicated later reconstructions of their life's work, as is often the case when it comes to female artists.252 The profession of Lucy and Catherine's father worked to their advantage, though, since they were used to assist him in his work from an early age on and the money they obtained from selling their works contributed to the family income; he also organised formal training for them together with his other female students.253 Lucy also modelled for her father on many occasions. She later became his studio assistant as well as amanuensis. Marsh/Nunn (1989) suspect that she also received formal training at the government School of Design. Lucy's public début was at the Dudley Gallery watercolour show in 1869 and received mixed reviews. Her works were 251 cf. Marsh/Nunn 1989, 70 ff. 252 cf. ibid., 80. 253 cf. Cherry 1993, 22.

122 compared to those of Marie Spartali (whom I will feature in this section, too) who received a slightly better review. Her 1870 oil painting The Duet was featured at the Royal Academy and praised by Dante Gabriel Rossetti. In 1874, Lucy married art critic William Michael Rossetti with whom she had five children. After their marriage, she did not further pursue a career in painting despite her husband's effort to encourage her to continue with her creative work. She died in 1894.254 There are several parallels between Lucy's life and that of her younger sister Catherine. Ford Madox Brown also portrayed his second daughter several times. From the late 1860s onward she was trained by her father as his assistant and was first shown at the Royal Academy in 1869. Her works were mostly portraits. Similar to her sister, she ceased to pursue a creative career after her marriage to music critic Francis Hueffer in 1872. 255 It seems as if the strains of domestic life and being a mother took their toll on both women and kept them from unfolding their professional potential. This is actually a very modern issue, which many women nowadays will be familiar with: as a woman, how is it possible to have both children/a family and a career? Of course, a lot has changed since the 19th century – we have better working conditions and in many countries even have paid maternity leave – but the gender pay gap tells us that somehow women still do not experience the same opportunities when it comes to professional life. Although men are also able to take paternity leave, they often do so only for a few months while women remain the chief caretakers of children as well as elderly family members. This illustrates how hard it must have been for Lucy and Catherine Madox Brown to balance their professional with their domestic lives.

I already mentioned Marie Spartali. She was born into a family of wealthy London merchants of Greek descent in 1844. Her family was part of a sophisticated art- and literature-loving circle in London. It is said that Spartali met various artists at the parties hosted by her father and his wealthy friends –

254 cf. Marsh/Nunn 1989, 82-84. 255 cf. ibid., 84/85.

123 among them painter James Abbott McNeill Whistler and writer Algernon Charles Swinburne. Her sister Christine modelled for Whistler's Princesse du Pays de la Porcelaine (1864) before she married a member of the European aristocracy. Spartali had other plans, though: she had already studied various subjects and wanted to improve her drawing skills. Thus she started taking art lessons with Ford Madox Brown, who also trained his own children. She received regular art lessons and eventually had her exhibition début in 1867 at the Dudley Gallery. In addition to her own creative work, Spartali often sat for other painters and posed for photographs. Her classical beauty reminiscent of an ancient Greek goddess made her a very popular model, especially with the Pre-Raphaelites. Rossetti, for example, depicted her in A Vision of Fiametta (1878) and Burne- Jones in The Mill (1882). Her being a model for the Pre-Raphaelite artists often retrospectively obscured her own work as an artist. Spartali, however, was actually one of the few female artists who were officially welcomed into the ranks of the Pre-Raphaelite movement. Her works resemble those of the Pre- Raphaelite Brotherhood both in themes and style – they show a strong Greek or medieval element and vibrant colours. The critics praised her great use of colour and sometimes criticised her draughtmanship. The parallels between her paintings and those of the Pre-Raphaelites are obvious, as can be seen in works such as Love's Messenger. In 1871, Spartali married American journalist and photographer William J. Stillman. Since the marriage was opposed by Spartali's well-off parents and both herself and her husband worked in fields which made it difficult to have a steady income, the couple found themselves struggling financially. Nevertheless, their life together seems to have been quite happy and mutually fruitful for their artistic development. Stillman's career as a journalist demanded long periods abroad – sometimes Spartali joined them with their children, but they also spent some time apart. Remarkably, Spartali did not give up on her creative work after her marriage to Stillman. Despite her husband's frequent absence which left her alone in charge of the household and their three children, she somehow managed to continue painting. She regularly exhibited

124 her works well into her seventies. Marie Spartali died in 1927. Both her daughters went to become artists.256

The above mentioned female artists were of course not the only creative women associated with the Pre-Raphaelite movement. Others included Evelyn Pickering, Eleanor Fortescue Brickdale, Myra Louisa Bunce and Frances Macdonald, but it would go beyond the scope of this thesis to explore all of their lives and works. Marsh/Nunn (1989) provide a detailed account of the women artists in the Pre- Raphaelite Brotherhood. As the subject of my thesis is book illustration, I would like to have a brief look at female illustrators of the 19th century. As I already mentioned in section 2, (book) illustration was considered a less prestigious art form then. If an artist's intention was to become famous, he would rather not choose the graphic arts. And still today, the curricula of art history are filled to the brim with painting, sculpture and even the occasional contemporary installation, but illustration is almost never dealt with properly. It is thus no surprise that we know even less about the women who worked in this field during our period than we know about the women who took to painting. Less prestigious often also means less documented, which accounts for the lack of substantial research on 19th-century women illustrators. Among the few women associated with illustration in this period who are at least partially documented are Kate Greenaway and Mary Ellen Edwards. Subsequently, I will examine their lives and works.

Catherine “Kate” Greenaway was born in 1846. Her father John was a well- known wood-engraver and draughtsman. She received a formal education as an artist at the Slade School of Fine Art where she studied under John Ruskin and Alphonse Legros and was able to draw the human form in the popular life- classes.257 Greenaway is also mentioned as one of the first “Slade Girls” in Charlotte Weeks's 1883 article of the same name.258 Soon after her education she

256 Marsh/Nunn 1989,98 ff. 257 Spielmann/Layard 1905, 43. 258 cf. Weeks 1883, 329.

125 found her style as an illustrator of children's books (see fig. 27). Her preferred methods were watercolour and chromoxylography, a colour printing process where the image is engraved into a number of wood-blocks which are subsequently each covered in a different colour of ink. Besides illustration, Greenaway also wrote poetry and her first book Under the Window (1879) featured both her artworks and her rhymes for children. Before it was published, she mainly supported herself by painting greeting cards. Greenaway's books were quite the success in the late 19th century with her designs being praised for possessing a “universal appeal [...], almost unconsciously, to the universal heart”.259 Nunn (1987) assumes that the popularity of Greenaway's works was partly based on their being more in accordance with the 19th century's image of a female artist. Her illustrations dealt with the lives of children within the domestic sphere in a rather picturesque, non-threatening way. She did not address social injustice or other difficult topics. Watercolour was traditionally regarded as feminine art. Thus, Greenaway presented an agreeable, acceptable form of women's creativity.260

Mary Ellen Edwards (also known as MEE) was born into a middle-class family in 1838. In 1872, she married her second husband, illustrator John Charles Staples, which accounts for her being sometimes mentioned under his name. Similar to Greenaway, Edwards contributed to many children's books. She also published her works in notable journals and periodicals such as the Illustrated London News and received patronage at the Royal Academy.261 Unlike male artists, however, Edwards and her female colleagues were mostly commissioned for small illustrations (vignettes) depicting domestic and social scenes from middle- class life. Nevertheless, she was able to earn money for herself, extending her income from sales of paintings or watercolours.262 Cooke (2015) observes that despite being one of the best known and most productive illustrators of the

259 Spielmann/Layard 1905, 2. 260 cf. Nunn 1987, 220. 261 cf. Garrigan 2011, 865. 262 cf. Cherry 1993, 101.

126 1860s, there is only very little and often dismissive criticism concerning Edwards's works. He stresses Edwards's ability to depict female figures, sometimes also in traditionally feminine settings, as powerful and controlling their surroundings. At times she even moves beyond the text she intends to accompany with her plate, creating a very personal, almost intimate representation of female emotions. Her illustrations of the character in Anthony Trollope’s The Claverings (1867) provide a great example of her ability to depict female characters (see fig. 28).263 I will analyse some of Edwards’s designs for Trollope's The Claverings in section 4.

As we can see from the examples in this section, 19th-century female artists faced many challenges. Educational options for women were only starting to develop when it came to the artistic field – even those women who came from a (middle- or upper-class) background affluent enough to afford training at an art school were treated differently than their male peers. Often women aspiring to become artists had to enter separate, less prestigious training programs where they were not or only partially allowed to study human anatomy from nude models, for example. Additionally, the lines between the ever so popular female muse and the woman artist herself working creatively are often blurred, even retrospectively – the women associated with the Pre-Raphaelite movement offer a good example of this phenomenon. Similar to today, many female artists (or working women in general) struggled to balance work and family. Even if their husbands allowed them to work, they were still expected to be the primary caretakers of both children and household, which in many cases turned out to be impossible especially if money was tight.

263 cf. Cooke 2015, online resource.

127 Figure 23: Emily Mary Osborn, "Nameless and Friendless", oil on canvas, 1857 (© Tate ).

Figure 24: John Everett Millais, "Ophelia", oil on canvas, c. 1851 (© Tate).

128 Figure 25: Elizabeth Siddal, "The Lady of Shalott at Her Loom", pen and ink on paper, 1853 (The Victorian Web).

Figure 26: John William Waterhouse, "The Lady of Shalott", oil on canvas, 1888 (© Tate).

129 Figure 27: Kate Greenaway, "Girl Holding Tray", ink sketch, one of nine drawings Ruskin originally planned to use in his Oxford lecture, “In Fairyland.” (Image capture, text and formatting by George P. Landow, The Victorian Web).

Figure 28: Mary Ellen Edwards, "Husband and Wife", illustration for Anthony Trollope’s “The Claverings”, wood engraving, 1867 (Scanned image and text by Simon Cooke, The Victorian Web). 130 3.2.2 Representations of Women in 19th-Century Art – Conventional Stereotypes Amplified?

In section 3.2.1, I dealt with the opportunities and obstacles female artists faced during the 19th century. Subsequently, I will examine the ways in which women were portrayed in Victorian art. Were there many “character options” for women? Did they correspond to the general expectations concerning the female citizens of 19th-century Britain?

Casteras (1987) did a thorough analysis of the diverse ways in which 19th- century British artists presented female characters. Her analysis starts off with the depiction of Queen Victoria, the country's famous matriarch after whom our period was named. Furthermore, when it comes to regular Englishwomen, she distinguishes positive images of femininity, which include the model Victorian woman from all age groups and life stages, and negative images such as the wayward, fallen women. Other sections in Casteras's book are dedicated to the working woman and the charity work of middle- and upper-class ladies as well as the new woman emerging at the end of the century. According to Casteras's research, 19th-century artists often combined fine art with social history – thus, their works usually mirror the most common female stereotypes of the day. Similar to my analyses in sections 2.1.2 and 3.1, the most prominent themes are appropriate womanhood or its opposite. Casteras points out that she noticed how many Victorian women “embraced several of these […] stereotypes simultaneously” and how they often coexisted alongside each other in the same household. For example, a woman could be a loving wife and mother as well as a campaigner for women's rights. Or she herself embodied the ideal of the Angel in the House while her daughter became interested in a modern, more liberated version of femininity.264 Reynolds/Humble (1993) stress the dichotomy of the angelic Victorian ideal of sexual purity and its supposed counterpart, the demonic, sexually explicit and active madwoman. As I have pointed out several

264 cf. Casteras 1987, 9 ff.

131 times in this thesis, notably when it came to its female members, 19th-century society focused on the dual nature of human existence – something which is reflected in the art of the decade, too.265

The idealised depiction of women – whether in art, literature or everyday life – is often trivialised and passed off as a compliment. It is, however, not any less oppressive and confining than the non-idealised version. When we analyse the idealised version, the image of a beautiful bird which is kept inside a gilded cage and expected to entertain its owner with a song comes to mind. This analogy between the woman and the bird in a cage actually constituted a popular image in 19th-century art. It was based on the general notions considering women during the Victorian period: weaker than men by nature and thus more vulnerable, women were traditionally confined within their homes, just as the bird is confined to his cage.266 According to Auerbach (1986), the female stereotypes we perceive in art as well as literature have to be examined in relation to the viewers and the artists/readers. In Victorian times, these happened to be chiefly male. Auerbach (1986) does, however, not dismiss this situation as entirely disadvantageous for the female protagonists, but sees the potential in exploring the area of conflict which arises from the feminist analysis of a male artist depicting women (or a male writer portraying female protagonists, for that matter).267 The most widespread idealisation of femininity was always related to female beauty. Beauty was (and still is) the one quality women are supposed to aspire to possess. Female beauty is connected to successful reproduction and is therefore presumed to be an indicator of a woman's usefulness and worth for society. Wolf (1993) calls this the “beauty myth”: Beauty serves as a currency which can be exchanged for love, security and happiness.268 This imperative does not seem to apply to men – they are the ones who have to choose the most attractive women as partners. Even

265 cf. Reynolds/Humble 1993, 1 ff. 266 cf. Shefer 1990, xxiii/xxiv. 267 cf. Auerbach 1986, 83/84. 268 cf. Wolf 1993, 14.

132 nowadays, the emphasis on female beauty is justified with the help of evolutionary psychology saying that physical attractiveness indicates high fertility in a woman. A woman's ability to produce offspring makes her more desirable as a partner.269 Both Buss (2006) and Shuler/McCord (2010) found in their research that men place a higher emphasis on beauty in their partners while women mostly select their partners according to qualities such as ambition, social status and resource acquisition.270 Ioannou (2014a) refers to the power structures underlying the concept of female beauty:

[...] One aspect of female beauty as discourse is that notions of beauty are produced and circulated by dominant structures in society in various discursive and cultural forms. This sort of production and circulation means that specific norms about femininity and womanhood are reiterated and help define subservient positions within society for women to occupy. In this sense, the discourse of beauty operates negatively for women and is an instrument, if not a constitutive element, of patriarchy.271

In the context of the 19th century, the concept of beauty was tied to the general notion of appropriate female behaviour and morality, which created a certain ambiguity: women were expected to take care of their outward appearance in order to be considered attractive, but they were also scolded if they were too preoccupied with their looks. This is still the case today, with the exception that the Victorian ideal of female beauty more strongly relied on morality and purity.272 Vanity was considered improper and connected to prostitutes and low- life characters, who often wore an excessive amount of make up and extravagant clothing, as I already mentioned in section 2.1.2. When it comes to 19th-century art, women are mostly depicted as objects of male desire. Academic art in particular features numerous naked or half-naked women of exquisite beauty (traditionally under the guise of depicting scenes from Greek Mythology or the Old Testament), graciously draped across the canvas. It is clear that their first

269 cf. Buss 2006, 245. 270 cf. Buss 2006, 243 and cf. Shuler/McCord 2010, 12 ff. 271 Ioannou 2014a, 2. 272 cf. Ioannou 2014b, 16/17.

133 purpose is to predominantly please male viewers.273 Examples include the woman lounging in a bathroom of the Roman Baths with only an ostrich feather covering her pubic area in Lawrence Alma-Tadema's The Tepidarium (1881) and John Collier's Lady Godiva (1898), a woman whose beauty and nobility challenged all townsmen not to look at her as she rode through town naked (see fig. 29 and 30).

Regarding depictions of women in Victorian art, each stage of their lives is represented by a visualised ideal. Of course, this ideal (as were the lives of Victorian women) was not static but changed throughout the century. The social expectations towards women also strongly depended on the class the women belonged to, as we have seen in the preceding section 3.1. Let us now have a look at the different life stages of women and their representations in 19th- century art. We learned in section 3.1 that Victorian society viewed girlhood as a paragon of purity and virtue – something Casteras (1987) also found to be present in the visual representations of the period where young girls are often depicted in an ennobled state. Thomas Cooper Gotch's The Child Enthroned (1894), for example, shows a girl seated on a throne (see fig. 31). She wears a brightly coloured dress and an overcoat, both seem to be made of heavyweight, embroidered fabric such as brocade or velvet. Behind her throne, there is a decorative tapestry or wallpaper, which mirrors the pattern of her clothing. At the height of the back of her head we see a circular shape of silvery bright light, reminiscent of a halo. The girl's pose as well as the halo-like object evoke the idea of paintings of Renaissance saints. She is staged as a saint, a deity by Gotch. While Casteras (1987) points to the progressive meaning of this presentation of budding womanhood, it also implies that the young girl is seen as otherworldly which removes her from everyday life. If she is put on a pedestal, this can also be smothering and confining in the sense of a positive stereotype putting too much pressure on an individual and leaving no room for personal growth.274 Another

273 cf. Ioannou 2014b, 18. 274 cf. Casteras 1987, 37.

134 popular subject is the relationship between (adolescent) girls, which draws on female companionship and sometimes establishes even very young girls as surrogate mothers for their siblings, foreshadowing their future as dutiful Englishwomen. James Collinson's painting Childhood (1855) deals with this subject: two girls can be seen at the centre of what appears to be a living room. A table with a plant on top is placed to the left in front of a window. A terrestrial globe in the corner, a painting hanging on the wall, books scattered on the ground in the foreground and a piano to the right suggest at least a middle-class setting. The girls are of different ages – the smaller one sitting on a (piano) stool appears to be a toddler, she is dressed in the typical white cotton dress young children used to wear (see section 3.1.1) and holds a ball in her right hand. The older girl, supposedly her sister, might be in her early teens. It is difficult to tell since she is dressed like an adult and even her hair is styled in a very grown-up manner. Her gestures mimic adult behaviour, too, as she stands above her little sister and seems to be in the process of persuading her to continue with her (piano or reading/writing) lessons instead of playing with her ball. The responsibility to care for their younger siblings was usually placed on older female children in the 19th century – both out of convenience for the parents and as a preparation for their imminent maternal duties. The painting on the wall behind the children shows a mother playing with her child, which further underlines the older girls surrogate function.275 The above mentioned girls very likely belong to a middle-class background – 19th-century painters, however, not only depicted girls from the more affluent classes. There are several visual accounts of girlhood among the working-class. Charles A. Collins's 1854 painting The Good Harvest shows a girl in a simple dress and apron holding a sheaf of wheat. She seems to be standing outside in front of a farm building such as a barn or a stable as indicate the wooden door to the right and the stone wall partly overgrown with what seems to be ivy to the left. The girl's facial expression is neither happy nor sad, she appears earnest and thoughtful.

275 cf. Casteras 1987, 38.

135 According to Casteras (1987), the painting is likely to contain a Christian meaning with the wheatsheaf symbolising some kind of spiritual offering. The girl's sober expression and her hands folded in a prayerlike manner underline her purity and goodness. This is in line with the Victorian belief that young girls embodied innocence and purity, praising the childlike faith in God and everything that is good. Children from the countryside were often especially stylised as paragons of virtue with a more natural understanding of true faith.276

In contrast to the depiction of girls, the depiction of adult women offered a larger variety of subjects. As I already alluded to earlier in this section, women were often portrayed in a dialectic manner, either focusing on their virtue or their supposed fall from grace. In section 2.1.2, I mentioned George Elgar Hicks's triptych Woman's Mission which describes the duties of Victorian middle-class women. Of course, Hicks was not alone in his artistic focus on appropriate femininity. Many 19th-century artists chose to portray ideal Victorian womanhood visualising the theory of separate spheres for men and women.277 I examined beforehand how the Victorians imagined the ideal woman – graceful, pure, loving and dutiful, a true lady. In visual arts, her purity was often symbolised by a dove and particularly submissive women were also referred to as dove-like creatures. This alludes to the Christian symbolism of the dove but also underlines the women's meek and gentle nature. The association of women with (caged) birds is not, in fact, an invention of the 19th century. It was quite fashionable in 17th century Dutch genre painting, with a completely different meaning, though: the Dutch word vogel means bird and alludes to the verb vogelen which means to catch birds but in vernacular Dutch also to copulate. Thus, paintings showing both women and birds most likely contain a hidden sexual meaning.278 19th-century society favoured a different symbolism, of course. Domestic scenes focusing on motherhood were immensely popular and believed to possess a certain intrinsic moral value. Charles West Cope's painting 276 cf. Casteras 1987, 44. 277 cf. Shefer 1990, 37. 278 cf. ibid., 55/56.

136 The Young Mother (1845) shows a young woman sitting on a chaise longue holding a baby (see fig. 32). She wears some kind of dressing gown made of fine fabrics and the baby is also dressed well, which leads to the assumption that they both belong to a wealthier household, maybe upper middle class. From the way the woman holds the baby close with her left arm and supports it with her left leg as well as from the position of its face it can be presumed that she is breastfeeding. Nursing mothers were not often the subject of 19th-century art, in this case it is used to emphasise the strong bond between mother and child. Motherhood was one of the specified duties of Victorian women. The ideal Victorian mother was never idle – she kept herself busy with housework while watching over her children's moral and physical welfare – she was gentle and kind and provided her family with the comfort of a safe, orderly home. This belief was mirrored in the art of the period; idyllic domestic scenes with angelic mothers caring for their offspring in a quiet, peaceful setting were very popular. Usually, the mothers were shown reading to their children from (educational) books or teaching them useful skills, which again stresses the Victorians' rejection of any kind of idleness. The opposite of industry and idleness was a very prominent subject in many parts of 19th-century culture and art. The depiction of physical intimacy was generally rare, but if it was portrayed it was commonly between mother and child rather than lovers. The caress of a mother's hand was seen as inherently pure and incredibly beneficial to the child's development. This sentimentalisation of motherhood seems odd considering that numerous middle- and upper-class mothers employed nursemaids and governesses who took care of their children. Yet most Victorian paintings featuring mothers seem to take place in an upper-middle-class setting. Casteras (1987) suspects that the abundance of works showing mothers and children is rooted in the great importance the Victorians attached to children and their place in the family life. Pregnant women, on the other hand, were hardly ever depicted. As I already mentioned in my earlier analysis, physicians and scientists did not yet fully understand the functioning of the human body, especially when

137 it came to the female version. Thus, natural processes such as menstruation, menopause or pregnancy were often subsumed under “women's problems” and regarded as highly peculiar. Pregnant women were usually encouraged to keep their condition private – of course, pregnancy was not seen as a suitable subject for works of art either. Depictions of lower-class women with babies or children tended to veer towards the saccharine or gloomy and occasionally even dealt with social injustice. The painting Doubtful Hope (1875) by social realist Francis Montague (Frank) Holl serves as a good example of this kind of painting: we perceive a dark interior with a counter and cupboard on the left and a table as well as a cabinet to the right. All surfaces are equipped with a pair of scales, bottles, flasks, jars and papers which indicate some sort of medical requirement. Behind the counter, a young man is seen writing something on a piece of paper, while an older man is seen standing in front of the table while pouring a liquid from a bottle into a glass. Both men wear dark clothes and the man on the right also wears an apron. In the centre of the painting, a young woman dressed in poor clothes is seated on a chair. She appears bowed down and weak, holding a baby wrapped in a blanket. In her right hand she holds a small object, most likely a coin. On the left in front of the counter, a large basket as it is sometimes used to carry a baby inside is placed on the ground. The scene seems to be located inside an apothecary shop, as indicates its (medical) equipment. The woman's woeful facial expression points to her worrying about her child's health and is contrasted with the two men's preoccupation with their own tasks. She is left alone between two professional men, waiting for them to save her child. The money she holds has possibly been saved for an emergency – as was expected of a Victorian mother, she is willing to sacrifice everything she has for her child. This surely presents a parallel to the idealised image of the dutiful mothers from higher classes, although the setting is much darker and more tragic.279

Another favourite subject in Victorian art was that of the young, eligible woman – the ingénue, as I choose to call her in my analysis. Her defining features are

279 cf. Casteras 1987, 56/57.

138 her beauty, purity and innocence – she is the saintly young girl I described earlier in this section grown into a desirable young woman. According to Casteras (1987), 19th-century art often dealt with the virginity of women before wedlock, especially if they came from the middle- and upper-classes. In 19th- century visual arts, walls, balconies, windows and gardens commonly served as symbols of female virginity. This is reminiscent of Medieval and Renaissance art, where the Virgin Mary was usually depicted inside the so-called hortus conclusus (lat. enclosed garden), a walled garden or yard symbolising her purity. Ford Madox Brown's painting The Nosegay (c. 1867) shows a young, elegantly dressed woman picking flowers in a garden (see fig. 33). She carries the flowers she has already gathered in a large bouquet in her right hand and is accompanied by a tortoiseshell cat which nestles its head in the skirts of the woman's gown. Behind the woman, a brick wall overgrown with rambler roses can be seen. Her pose in combination with the walled garden and her demure activity of flower picking recall the Renaissance tradition of Mary inside the hortus conclusus. The white lilies in the upper right-hand corner also allude to the woman's sexual purity and chasteness – something very well desired in a young woman during the 19th century. The brick wall acts as a keeper of her virginity. She is not only the bird in a cage I alluded to earlier, but also similar to the cat she keeps by her side – allowed into the garden at times, though prevented to move too far away from her home and denied true freedom. In addition to this, the garden's abundant mass of flowers in full bloom seems to hold a hidden sexual meaning. As the innocent young woman gathers her flowers she seems to be completely unaware of her extreme desirability to men – a very attractive trait as we learned in earlier sections. The young woman is likened to a flower just blossomed and waiting to be picked by the right suitor – a paragon of virtue but also an epitome of passivity.280 Some scholars indicate that in case of this specific subject, women were frequently shown in the company of pets. This leads to the assumption that women were somehow likened to these pets – I already mentioned the

280 cf. Casteras 1987, 57-59.

139 symbolism of the caged bird – since they ideally possessed qualities such as submission, passivity and weakness, which made them completely dependent on the men in their lives. The stereotype of the Angel in the House that I examined in section 2.1.2 virtually continues this imagery into marriage as it implies that the woman cares for her husband in pure self-sacrifice.281

The female role in courtship and marriage surely was one of the most prevalent images of Victorian femininity. Throughout the 19th century, the Royal Academy strongly influenced the choice of imagery for any kind of topic. For the depiction of courtship or love in general, this meant that the symbolism of classical mythology always played a great role. During the first half of the century, allegories of Cupid, Venus and the like dominated imagery. Later on, the subject of courtship in general caught the attention of many artists. In the light of the widely popular guidebooks (which existed for a variety of subjects), a strict etiquette had to be followed if a young man intended to court a young lady. The strong emphasis on female virginity before marriage explains the importance of chaperonage, particularly for the middle and upper classes. As I already pointed out earlier, the hortus conclusus was a popular image of female chastity. It is important to note that the ideal of courtship and marriage was mostly influenced by middle-class values.282 Overall it can be said that as much as Victorian society was obsessed with domesticity, it was also obsessed with heterosexual love per se. Consequently, the widespread belief was that romance and marriage were the chief events in a young woman's life. This was picked up by visual artists of the time.283 A popular example presents John Everett Millais's 1852 painting A Huguenot which was exhibited at the Royal Academy. It shows two young people in an embrace, placed against an ivy covered brick-wall. The woman wears a patterned dress with a short overskirt and puff sleeves. The man is dressed in tights, a ruffled collar and a coat, he has a gold chain with what appears to be a gold coin around his neck. He also wears a black hat. While the man wraps his 281 cf. Shefer 1990, 79-81. 282 cf. Casteras 1987, 85/86. 283 cf. Nunn 1996, 49.

140 arms around the woman's neck and touches her face with his left hand, he attempts to loosen the white scarf she is trying to tie around his left arm with his right hand. Both to the left and to the right of the couple, flowers and weeds are growing from the ground. The style of dress suggests that this scene is set in the 16th century. Millais used Giacomo Meyerbeer's 1836 opera Les Huguenots as an inspiration for the theme of the painting, although he had initially intended to simply depict lovers. Following the plot of the opera, the scene alludes to the massacre of French Calvinist Protestants (Huguenots) on St. Bartholomew's Day in 1572. The painting was accompanied by a quote by the Duc de Guise who allegedly ordered the Roman Catholic population to identify themselves by wearing a strip of white linen around their arms. Thus, the white scarf the woman tries to bind around the man's arm can be seen as a means to disguise his faith and shield him from harm during the upcoming massacre. The fact that he attempts to pull the scarf off indicates his unwillingness to disguise his religious faith. His refusal to wear the white armband will surely lead to his death, which makes the young lovers appear tragic and star-crossed – reminiscent of the liebestod theme. Millais's painting was a great success: the public and scholars alike were fascinated by his mixture of high moral themes with the simple depiction of two lovers embracing. Ruskin also favoured the painting's symbolism, especially when it came to the plants and flowers shown in it.284 As I already mentioned, the Victorians were very interested in flower symbolism. There was a strong belief that God conveyed moral values through nature, that he intended to send messages to humankind via flowers and trees.285 The ivy growing behind the lovers represents fidelity in love and friendship – a virtue held high during the Victorian era. As the ivy clings to the brick-wall, the woman holds on to her man, even as he decides to sacrifice himself for his beliefs.286 The nasturtium to the right is a fast-blooming flower which basically grows anywhere. It symbolises impetuous love in all its haste and transience –

284 cf. Casteras 1987, 87. 285 cf. Diffenbaugh 2011, 4. 286 cf. Kirkby 2011, 71.

141 just as the lover's embrace won't last as their bodies turn to dust, the nasturtium will not endure the forthcoming autumn.287 The Canterbury bells on the left, in contrast, stand for constancy and faith. They symbolise the endurance of the soul as opposed to the body. Albeit the lovers will probably not survive the massacre, their love is eternal.288 The wall behind the lovers serves as a barrier keeping their meeting private and enclosed. In contrast to the wall often used in the visual arts as a courting barrier or a symbol of female purity, in Millais's work it creates a parallel universe far from the terrible events which are going to ensue. The white scarf, however, casts a shadow on the idyllic setting and ensures that the viewer does not forget the imminent events.289 In the light of my research on female stereotypes, it is of course not surprising that the role of the nursing caretaker in this painting devolves upon the woman. The man is shown as the heroic one refusing to wear the Catholic identifier, even though this leads him to his certain death. This is reminiscent of traditional Victorian gender stereotypes which insisted on male strength, courage and fidelity. Women were seen as soft, caring and preservers of the domestic ideal, but also as manipulative, weak and seductive. From a feminist point of view, one cannot deny the feeling that the portrayal of the woman in Millais's A Huguenot leaves a sour taste: why is he painted as a hero who risks everything for his faith, while she is the one to suggest the disguise, something which was surely viewed as cowardice in the 19th century (and most certainly also was in the 16th century where the scene is supposed to take place)? It is astonishing that even this painting which deals with a gruesome historical event is used to perpetuate gender stereotypes – whether willingly or unwillingly. It also underlines the clichéd approach 19th- century artists including the Pre-Raphaelites took when it came to the representation of women.

In the 19th century, it was less common for middle- and upper-class women to work. Working-class women, on the other hand, always had to earn money in 287 cf. Kirkby 2011, 105. 288 cf. ibid., 19/20. 289 cf. Casteras 1987, 90.

142 order to survive. Consequently, most artistic representations of the subject show women from the lower classes. An exception were the Victorian lady artists: educated women who mostly came from more affluent families and pursued careers in writing or the fine arts. I already had a look at female painters in the preceding section, so I will now deal with the numerous lower class women 19th- century artists depicted in their works. Throughout the Victorian period, domestic service was the largest source of employment for women. It is thus not surprising that female domestic servants were prominent (background) figures in many 19th-century paintings. There are several depictions of young (country) girls seeking employment in the cities, for example Richard Redgrave's Going into Service (1843), which shows a young woman saying goodbye to her family before leaving home (fig. 34). The painting presents a dimly lit room. In the centre, we perceive a young woman completely dressed for going outside with shawl and straw bonnet. She is surrounded by a middle-aged woman to the right and a young woman to the left. The middle-aged woman is dressed in black with the exception of her white bonnet. She firmly clasps the young woman's left hand and looks up to her. The young woman to the left holds the right hand of the woman in the centre while also resting her head on the other's shoulder. Hanging from her bodice are a small pair of scissors and a pin cushion. To the far left, a man is standing dressed in a jacket and boots, holding a top hat in his right hand. He looks onto the group of women with a woeful expression on his face. Next to the man in the front of the canvas, we see a pile of luggage. As the painting's title suggest, the young woman at the centre of the scene is leaving her childhood home in order to seek employment as a domestic servant. The clothes of the protagonists as well as the interior indicate that the family comes from a relatively poor background. It is likely that the two young women are forced to take up work to support their mother who seems fragile and of ill health. The young woman on the left seems to work as a seamstress hence the sewing apparatus hanging down her dress. The whole scene illustrates the hardships of poor country folk and the sadness that springs from parting with a

143 daughter at such a young age. What renders the family's situation even more desperate is the fact that the young woman awaits a rather uncertain destiny. Not all women seeking employment also found a position – many had to resort to prostitution in order to sustain themselves, just as the Hogarthian tale of A Harlot's Progress suggests.290 Actual depictions of domestic servants were not very popular during the 19th century. According to Casteras (1987), however, especially female servants were frequently featured in contemporary cartoons in (humorous) periodicals such as Punch. Those paintings which dealt with the lives of maids often echoed 17th century Dutch interiors visualising the contrast between the idle lady and her industrious servant in a moralising way. This representation implied a criticism of the upper class's frivolous lifestyle and elevated their hard-working, dutiful servants.291 From today's point of view, we realise that this overly favourable portrayal is just as problematic as a predominantly negative one. The domestic servants as members of the lower classes are used as a vessel to convey a moralising message to the upper classes. Their function in these paintings has nothing to do with the actual lives of lower class people, it does not address working conditions or adequate payment. This oversimplified, objectifying account of domestic servants shows again how complicated any kind of stereotyping can be, even if it works in an overly positive direction. Of course, there were also paintings which portrayed domestic servants – especially female ones – in a less positive light: they are shown as gossiping, eavesdropping and neglecting their duties. John Finnie's 1864/65 painting Maids of All Work, for example, depicts two young women standing in front of a doorway facing each other (see fig. 35). The woman on the left wears a simple dress with a white apron. Her hair is bound or braided down her back. She has her right arm on her hip, while she holds a broom handle on which she rests her chin in her left hand. The woman on the right is dressed more neatly in a gown with piping and buttons as well as a dark apron. She wears her hair in a

290 cf. Casteras 1987, 106/107. 291 cf. ibid., 108.

144 snood. In her right hand she holds a key and in her left one a small jar. The left woman apparently just finished doing some household cleaning, as indicate her simple dress and the broom she holds. Based on her gown and her hairstyle as well as her holding the key to the cupboard, the woman on the right might hold a higher position such as housekeeper. The women seem to be engaged in a conversation. A moment of leisure like this surely was scarce for these two domestic servants. Casteras (1987) remarks that despite the slightly negative undertone of the two maids' idleness, they are portrayed rather favourably. Condescending images of female servants were more popular during the 19th century.292 As I already mentioned in section 3.1.2, many women from the lower classes also worked from home mostly performing needlework such as knitting, embroidery but also sewing. Typically, these jobs were even less well-paid than those in factories or the domestic service. According to Alexander (2003), records indicate that the desolate working conditions and low wages concerning needlewomen date back as far as the 17th century. It was not until the 19th century that their sufferings were dealt with in the press creating an awareness of as well as interest in the subject among the public. Artistic representations of seamstresses or needlewomen became widely popular then. These images of overworked and underpaid needlewomen were often full of pathos and intended to evoke pity on the side of the viewer.293 A prominent example are John Leech's plates Needle Money and Pin Money. The wood engravings were published in 1849 in the satirical magazine Punch in the form of a diptych and aimed at highlighting the contrast between the rich and the poor.294 The plate Needle Money shows a young woman in a dark room which is only lit by a nearly burnt down candle. She is sitting at a desk sewing an item of clothing – there are several sewing properties laid out in front of her such as spools of thread and a pair of scissors. Her dress is simple and the shawl she wears around her neck suggests that her flat has insufficient heating properties or that she lacks the

292 cf. Ioannou 2014b, 108. 293 cf. Alexander 2003, 6. 294 cf. Casteras 1987, 112/113.

145 money to buy firewood/coal. The woman's face is emaciated, her hands appear thin and bony. Pin Money, in contrast, shows a woman sitting at her dressing table examining a piece of ribbon in her hands while another woman brushes her hair. The first woman wears an elegant gown and her hair is decorated with a headdress. Her complexion looks smooth, her face is full and she seems overall healthy. The woman behind her wears a simpler dress and a bonnet. On the dressing table, we see pots and tins of various sizes as well as a large mirror with two candles. The room is brightly lit. It is important to note that the titles Leech chose for each of the two plates were already telling: “Needle money” of course refers to the payment women received doing needlework. Most of us will not be familiar with the term “pin money” nowadays, however. It dates back to the 17th century and is derived from the decorative hairpins more affluent women wore. It traditionally referred to the money a woman received from her husband to buy herself hair accessories or clothes.295 Superficially, Leech's comparison of one woman's allowance for finery and another one's effort to make a living seems almost playful. Underneath the obvious pun lies the careful observation of an industry which exploits women from lower classes while women from the upper middle and upper classes profit from it. The fact that the woman in Pin Money is also in the midst of being attended by her servant further stresses the dichotomy between the rich and the poor. Cherry (1993) observes that from the 1840s onwards, the art market was flooded with high-cultural images of lower class females. While these images helped to inform the public about working conditions and social injustice, they also reduced lower class women to specific categories which could easily be recognised according to certain attributes: popular representations included the seamstress, the factory girl or the flower seller. This erased the individual stories of the miscellaneous women behind the categories and turned them into a diversion for rich people. The depiction of working women in general caused a lot of debate. Critics and experts were not sure if they provided a suitable subject for high art. This also explains why there

295 cf. Waite 2012, 544.

146 were far more prints than paintings that dealt with the subject.296 As I already mentioned earlier, many professions which are nowadays regarded as characteristically female such as teacher or office clerk were only slowly made accessible to women in the second half of the 19th century. Due to the working environment they were especially appealing to middle-class women who needed to make a living for themselves. It was not appropriate for middle-class women to work, however, which accounts for the few artistic representations of these professions.

So far we have taken a look at idealised images of Victorian women. Even the poor, emaciated needlewoman is portrayed in a fairly favourable light to make her appear deserving of rich people's pity and charity. Victorian society was highly interested in polar opposites – light and dark, rich and poor, virginity and sexual promiscuity. Women were especially affected: the spectrum of characters for them was rather narrow, usually a woman could either be the Virgin Mary or Mary Magdalene, nothing in-between. As society placed an immense importance on female purity, its opposite – the wayward and fallen woman – was just as prominent a subject in the art and culture of the time. Casteras (1987) points out that the sanctity of the Victorian marriage was somehow connected to and partially even depended on the existence of prostitution. The Victorian ideal of femininity is a paragon of virtue, sexless and pure. Thus it was tolerated if husbands resorted to prostitutes in order to shield their angelic wives from their sexual desires. Some contemporaries even referred to prostitution as “the most efficient guardian of virtue”.297 In addition, the fallen woman was also often the recipient of middle-class charity: she served the purpose of illustrating the reintegration and rehabilitation of those who went astray with the help of their benevolence. Visual representations of the prostitute were quite common in the 19th century. Equally popular were scenes of adultery, illegitimacy and marital breakdown, which presented the polar opposite of the cherished idea of

296 cf. Cherry 1993, 144/145. 297 cf. Casteras 1987, 131.

147 fulfilment through marital bliss. Nunn (1995) argues that while the Victorians' obsession with heterosexual love and marriage did not cease in the course of the century, the questioning of this traditional way of life led to public debate which also involved early feminist activists such as Mary Wollstonecraft. This was reflected in many works of art of the time and usually visual interpretations primarily focussed on women's behaviour.298 In the following, I will take a look at the prostitute and the femme fatale as representatives of the fallen/wayward woman in 19th-century British art.

As I pointed out in previous sections of this thesis, the 19th century saw a growing preoccupation with the subject of prostitution. Various experts from all kinds of fields published their accounts of women's downfalls throughout the Victorian period. According to Reynolds/Humble (1993), although the Victorians refused to accept the significance of human sexuality in everyday life, they were literally obsessed with its exploration within what they considered appropriate context (legal, medical/scientific etc.). Female sexuality in particular was predominantly explained in binary terms – which was reflected in art and literature. I already mentioned the complicated social construct surrounding 19th-century moral codes which often punished women for illicit sexual behaviour that was actually initiated by men whose actions in turn only seldom had social consequences.299 Casteras (1987) notes that by the 1840s, the number of paintings exhibited at the Royal Academy that depicted prostitutes was increasing. This development reached its peak during the 1850s and 1860s and remained important till the turn of the century. The attitude towards prostitutes reached from loathing of their career “choice” to pity for their destitute state. In Victorian art and literature we often see a certain sentimentalisation of the subject – the prostitute is portrayed as a virgin led astray, as a victim of circumstances (often a more affluent, male seducer) and a martyr.300 Nead (1988) points out that the depiction of the prostitute as a social victim actually 298 cf. Nunn 1995, 49/50. 299 cf. Reynolds/Humble 1993, 62/63. 300 cf. Casteras 1987, 132.

148 presented an attempt to incorporate prostitution into middle-class notions of femininity and morality. It explained female deviation in terms of lost innocence provoked through contact with the public sphere. While it was out of question that the prostitute was to return to respectable society, she was expected to find salvation only in death.301 It is thus not surprising that exactly this supposed salvation through death was a popular subject in 19th-century art. One of the most popular depictions of this kind of subject is George Frederick Watts's 1850 painting Found Drowned, which was part of a series of social realist works (see fig. 36). The painting shows a woman lying beneath a stone arch. She wears a simple dress whose skirts are partly flowing in the water, her eyes are closed and her arms are spread to each side of her body while she lies completely motionless. In her left hand, she holds a small object. Behind her in the background we see a dark mass – reflections caused by the moon or street lights lead to the assumption that it is water, maybe a river. In the far distance, we perceive two towers through the fog which have been identified as the shot tower and Westminster Buildings. From the buildings as well as the architecture of the bridge, it can be further concluded that the woman lies beneath Waterloo Bridge, which crosses the River Thames in London. Apparently, she has drowned herself by jumping off the bridge in order to escape her desolate life as a fallen woman. There are several theories concerning the object in the woman's hand. Casteras (1987) assumes that it is likely to be a pawn token for her last-sold possessions.302 If one zooms in on the scene, however, it becomes clear that the object is actually a gold chain with two pendants. This could allude to a forbidden love affair with a man who was from a higher class and gifted her the necklace. When the painting was first exhibited, critics concluded that it – along with numerous other paintings and illustrations of the time – was inspired by Thomas Hood's poem The Bridge of Sighs. The 1844 poem details the discovery of a female body that has been washed up on the shores under Westminster

301 cf. Nead 1988, 138/139. 302 cf. Casteras 1987, 133.

149 Bridge. The speaker praises her youthful beauty (“Fashion'd so slenderly/young, and so fair!”, stanza 2, lines 3/4) and laments her premature death but in the final stanza concludes that with her suicide she is in fact “owning her weakness” and leaving “her evil behaviour” to be judged by God.303 Her death by water has a cleansing, cathartic function and, both in the painting as well as the poem, evokes the drowning of Shakespeare's Ophelia. The 19th century saw a great popularity of the Ophelia myth – the myth of a young woman whose beauty is only amplified by her tragic death. In the visual arts, she was often depicted floating in still waters surrounded by flowers (s. fig. 26).304 The description of the prostitute with the help of conventional notions of female beauty was an important means to evoke sympathy on the side of the Victorian reader. She is young and fair, and she has regained her purity through drowning. Her sins have been literally washed away by the water of the Thames, her suicide, albeit tragic, has a cleansing effect. In this state of rehabilitation, the prostitute can be described (and visualised) as a victim of society and help to increase the understanding of fallen women.305 From today's point of view, it is sometimes difficult to distinguish between actual prostitutes who engage in sexual relations in exchange for payment and women who were deemed fallen since they deviated from society's notion of respectable femininity by having an extra- marital affair, for example. As I mentioned in section 2.1.2, during the 19th century the term “prostitute” was above all associated with a disruption of what was considered wholesome in a woman. This is also the case with Watts's painting, where various scholars do not see the death of a prostitute but the desperate act of a woman who found herself pregnant out of wedlock. Hood's poem can be interpreted in this way, too, as the speaker only alludes to the dead woman's “evil behaviour” without any further explanation. The majority of Victorian depictions of the fallen woman do not directly address the subject and make use of symbolism instead. It was assumed that 19th-century viewers would

303 Jerrold 1980, 649. 304 cf. Bayer 2009, 61. 305 cf. Nead 1988, 168/169.

150 be able to understand the clues left in the paintings and to grasp the underlying meaning. For example, the necklace and locket seen in the dead woman's hand in Watts's painting tell of tragic love and seduction. Likewise, young women depicted near Westminster Bridge and River Thames came to be associated with their fall from grace. Similar to 19th-century society, its art created a mythology of the fallen woman that focussed on her corruption through male lust and her subsequent loss of innocence. Thus the fallen woman served not only as a warning to future generations of young women to remain within the path society had carved out for them but also as a means to appeal to the viewer's sympathy.306

Another counterpart to the angelic middle-class woman that was repeatedly mirrored in Victorian art was the femme fatale. I already wrote about the biblical and mythological origins of this archetype as well as its extreme popularity encompassing genres in section 2.1.2. According to Casteras (1987), it was not until the 1870s that the femme fatale became a favoured subject in 19th-century art. The depiction of dangerous females and enchantresses stands of course in a long tradition.307 Arthur Hughes's 1863 painting of John Keats's La Belle Dame Sans Merci is an early example of the Pre-Raphaelites' ongoing engagement with the subject of the daring, malevolent female (see fig. 20). It shows a young woman with long, hair sitting on a stately horse with dark mane and light blaze. In front of the horse stands a young man in knight's armour. He holds the reins as he faces the woman – her cheeks flushed, she leans towards him. In her left hand, the woman holds a flower. The scene is set on a meadow in front of a hillside with trees growing to the left. In the foreground, the meadow is overgrown with flowers. In the background to the right, two floating figures are visible. Hughes chose to depict the sixth stanza of Keats's poem: “I set her on my pacing steed/And nothing else saw all day long/For sidelong would she bend, and sing/A fairy’s song.” The figures in the background are most likely the “pale

306 cf. Casteras 1987, 143. 307 cf. ibid., 166.

151 kings and princes” (stanza 10, line 1) who have already fallen victim to the Belle Dame. Hughes's version of the beautiful but dangerous “fairy's child” is at first glance a painting of two innocent lovers – disregarding the looming ghosts in the background, of course.308 The Belle Dame's harmless and alluring outward appearance lures the young knight to his death. The poppies and briar roses in the foreground, however, seem to be announcing the knight's impending fate. According to Victorian flower symbolism, the briar rose or eglantine as the wild native European rose is called, signifies the combination of pleasure (from the flower's sweet scent) and pain (from her pricking thorns).309 The poppy with her scarlet petals that only live a few days stands for transience. The drug opium known for its narcotic properties is also derived from a type of poppy, which alludes to the Belle Dame's lulling the knight to sleep before killing him.310 In contrast to other visual accounts of the femme fatale whose cruelty is conveyed through their openly sexual allure, Hughes's Belle Dame appears almost harmless and totally innocent. Yet this is what makes her so dangerous, her disguise as a supposed Victorian ideal of femininity. This portrayal of the manipulative woman also indicates a deep mistrust towards femininity.

In the last decades of the 19th century, British society began to change and women slowly gained more freedom. This was also reflected in artworks of the time: For example, women were portrayed playing all kinds of sports. This would not have been possible before since women were generally seen as fragile and believed to be better off inside the house. The new women rode bicycles, played tennis and wore trousers – things that are completely normal for a 21st- century woman but were ground-breaking developments in the 19th century. Of course, the new woman also had the potential to scandalise: there were numerous illustrations making fun of the new woman published in magazines

308 Allott 1970, 500 ff. 309 cf. Kirkby 2011, 47. 310 cf. ibid., 125.

152 such as Punch. These illustrations usually portrayed these liberated women as headstrong as well as unrefined.311

As I have shown in this section, the behaviour 19th-century society deemed appropriate for girls and women as well as deviations from it are for the most part mirrored in the visual arts of the time. Stereotypes are often depicted with the help of specific means such as symbols and allegories. In some cases, 19 th- century artists even developed their own iconography concerning certain subjects, as we have seen in Westminster Bridge's becoming a symbol of fallen women, for example. In general, it is evident that Victorian visual culture was preoccupied with girls and women of all ages, from all classes and backgrounds – very similar to today's advertising and media culture.

Figure 29: Sir Lawrence Alma-Tadema, "In the Tepidarium", oil on canvas, 1881.

311 cf. Casteras 1987, 144 ff.

153 Figure 30: John Collier, "Lady Godiva", oil on canvas, 1898, bequeathed by Mr T. Hancock-Munn, 1937 (Wikimedia Commons).

154 Figure 31: Thomas Cooper Gotch, "The Child Enthroned", oil on canvas, 1894 (Wikimedia Commons).

Figure 32: Charles West Cope, "The Young Mother", oil on a gesso ground on panel, 1845 (photo: Valerie McGlinchey).

155 Figure 33: Ford Madox Brown, "The Nosegay", watercolour and oil, circa 1827 (photo: Julian Treuherz).

156 Figure 34: Richard Redgrave, "Going Into Service", oil on canvas, 1843.

Figure 35: John Finnie, "Maids of All Work", oil on canvas, 1864-65.

157 Figure 36: George Frederic Watts, "Found Drowned", oil on canvas, c. 1850.

3.3 Women in 19th-Century Literature

3.3.1 19th-Century Female Writers

Throughout the 19th century, women were prominent readers but also producers of fiction. Still today, we are familiar with the works of Jane Austen, the Brontë sisters, George Eliot and Elizabeth Gaskell, only to name the ones best-known today. Their works of fiction were not even the most popular ones in the 19 th century – many other women writers made good money from writing during their lifetimes. The novel is strongly associated with female authors and according to Tuchman (2012), before 1840 at least half of all novelists were women. It is difficult to determine exactly how many women pursued a career in writing in the following decades. The 1865 census, which lists professions by

158 gender, states that merely nine percent of all British authors were female at this time. Tuchman (2012) assumes that this number is incorrect since the census might have underestimated the total amount of male and female authors altogether. Similar to today, many 19th-century writers had to work in various fields in order to support themselves – which accounts for them not being listed as authors but in the context of other professions.312 In the following, I will take a look at the opportunities for female writers and the obvious obstacles they faced as well as the general attitude of the literary marketplace and the public towards women writers in the 19th century. I will not include extensive biographical details on 19th-century female writers as I have done in section 3.2.1 regarding 19th-century female artists, since most of today's readers will be more familiar with the former.

In her ground-breaking research on the female side of English literature, Schabert (1997) stresses that in contrast to earlier periods, women started to become an inherent part of literary life during the 19th century. Male and female authorship were, however, still seen as fundamentally different; in line with the general notion of the separate spheres, where the public overruled the private sphere in terms of intellectual ability and power, women's writings were believed to be subordinate to those of their male peers. As a consequence, literary production, reception and history were (and to some extent still are) influenced by concepts of sex and gender.313 Similar to art history, traditional literary history tended to overlook female authors. The few that actually were included in the canon, were often (mis-)interpreted according to male ideas of femininity. Thus, any social or cultural relevance of female-authored writings was often already excluded from the outset. The tendency to refer to female writers only in terms of their relations to male relatives is another interesting phenomenon which we have encountered in the art world and examined in section 3.2.

312 The 1865 census lists 1,673 British authors of whom 145 were of female sex, i.e. 8.7 percent. At about 72.5 percent women outnumbered men when it came to the profession of teaching, for example (cf. Tuchman 2012, 45-51). 313 cf. Schabert 1997, xi.

159 Women writers were referred to as the mothers, sisters, daughters and wives of prominent men: Mary Shelley as Percy Bysshe Shelley's wife, Christina Rossetti as Dante Gabriel Rossetti's sister, Lady Elizabeth Cary as Sir Lucius Cary's mother. Schabert (1997) found that the habit of connecting women writers to men was common practice in literary histories.314 I already dealt with the 19th- century belief that the physical differences between men and women were also connected to their psychological and intellectual abilities. As opposed to men, women were not seen as cultured beings who are able to create art themselves but only as objects of male inspiration. This way of thinking naturally had a lasting effect on the selection of works when it came to literary history.315

According to Shattock (2001a), women were actively contributing to all kinds of literary genres throughout the 19th century. This affected not only genres commonly associated with female authorship such as children's literature and guidebooks, but also publications in traditionally male fields such as history, science and politics. Self-writing, i.e. memoirs and autobiographies, held a special position among female-authored works since it was connected to the letters and diaries women were used and allowed to occupy themselves with in the privacy of their own homes. Writing in general was actually considered a more acceptable source of income for middle-class women. While the Industrial Revolution and societal changes resulted in an increasing part of work taking place outside the home, writing could still be done from within the private sphere.316 Hence writing offered middle-class women some sort of intellectual freedom. Among all literary genres, it was the novel which was most strongly associated with women as both its readers and producers. The novel was said to possess a certain domestic quality and gave women the opportunity to discuss social and political issues.317 As was the case concerning the women artists we

314 Chantal Théry published a statistic analysis of this phenomenon which she calls “le lien masculin” (French for “the male link) in French literature and thereby noticed how common it is also in literatures from other cultures (cf. ibid., 4). 315 cf. ibid., 5 ff. 316 cf. Shattock 2001a, 3. 317 cf. Russo 2012, 12.

160 met in the previous section, the career paths of women writers were different from those of male writers. Since they were not allowed to enter the public sphere, they were not able to enrol at universities or visit literary salons – venues which helped male writers to find their voice and to improve their style. If women dared to participate in a traditionally male domain or the public sphere in general in any way – which women writers to some extent already did as they wrote from home – they were often the subject of gossip. For this reason, female writers usually kept their lives private and refrained from including biographical details in their works. If they had their biographies published, it was commonly done posthumously and overlooked if not written by a trusted relative or confidant. Only to mention a few examples: Patrick Brontë personally chose Elizabeth Gaskell as the biographer of his daughter Charlotte, William Godwin wrote about the life of his wife Mary Wollstonecraft and Cassandra Austen destroyed many of her sister Jane's letters because she deemed them too personal for the public. Even after death, the lives of women writers had to be shielded from the public sphere.318 Another method to protect one's privacy is the use of a pseudonym. It is well-known that many women writers used pen names - the Brontë sisters, for example, published their works under the male pseudonyms Currer, Ellis and Acton Bell and Mary Ann Evans's popular pen name was George Eliot. Adopting a male persona offered several advantages for female writers: they were able to escape discrimination and ridicule from the public and their works often stood a better chance to be sold if they appeared to be written by a man. Sometimes works by female authors were also published under the simple pseudonym “By a lady”. According to Tuchman (2012), some of the novels published under this pseudonym might have actually been written by a male author, which stresses the strong association of femininity with this genre as well as the appeal of female-authored works to the public.319 It was common during the 19th century to ascribe certain characteristics to literary

318 cf. Shattock 2001b, 9/10. 319 cf. Tuchman 2012, 52/53.

161 works based on the author's sex. This also happened to men but was far more common when it came to women: writings by female authors were often criticised for dealing with insignificant subjects and for having a pedantic style. Nevertheless, some women writers were regarded as being of lasting value. Among them were – which is not surprising – those female authors who are part of the canon of English literature that is still taught in schools and at universities nowadays, namely novelists Jane Austen, Charlotte and Emily Brontë as well as George Eliot and poets Elizabeth Barrett Browning and Christina Rossetti. So why did (and still do) these women enjoy a higher critical reputation than other 19th-century women writers? According to Wilkes (2001), many aspects had an influence on women writers' entering the literary canon or not: in addition to the works' specific characteristics, factors such as the authors' biographies, publishing practices and not least to what extent the works' themes catered to the expectations of the reading public played a great role. Of course, this was also the case with male authors – although overall significantly more men entered the literary canon than women.320 The 20th century saw a re-evaluation of the canon, mostly by feminist critics, which accounts for the heightened popularity of writers such a Jane Austen. Tuchman (2012) argues that especially the novel's classification as simultaneously high as well as popular culture was one of the key aspects since it meant that works received critical acclaim and at the same time sold well. It was not unusual for 19th-century novelists to reach some degree of fame during their lifetimes and this helped them to get their works published, which in turn sold well because of their popular name. Well- known writers were of course more likely to be regarded of lasting importance. Tuchman (2012) references Pierre Bourdieu's “symbolic capital” to explain the social organisation of 19th-century literature: a writer's status had “immediate exchange value in the literary market”, meaning that he or she could expect to find a suitable publisher more easily and to sell more of his or her works than

320 cf. Wilkes 2001, 35/36.

162 lesser-known writers.321 Sometimes writers even collaborated so that the name of the more popular one might increase the sales of the novel, as did writers and illustrators as we will see in case of Charles Dickens and George Cruikshank. 19th-century society generally classified women as less important than men, which accounts for their being often overlooked in the literary market, too. It was harder for them to achieve the same degree of fame as their male peers – in some cases, works originally written by women were attributed to men.322

The general assumptions 19th-century society made towards women strongly influenced their success and productivity when it came to writing. Child-rearing and household management were still seen as predominantly female domains, at least in working- and middle-class homes. As we have seen in section 3.2.1, taking care of the household and children while working can become a double burden for women, which often resulted in many female artists' giving up their creative work once married. It goes without saying that female writers might have encountered similar problems. Foster (1986) mentions, however, that they were also particularly praised for writing from inside the domestic sphere as it allegedly qualified them to offer an insight into female topics such as love or being a mother and a wife. Some critics even went as far as to say that only married women should write about love since unmarried women writing about the subject would not be in line with 19th-century notions on female chastity. It was believed that domestic and romantic fiction were the best suited literary genres for women writers.323 According to Cunningham (1978), marriage in general constituted an important theme in 19th-century fiction. Even if the plot was initially not focused on courtship and love, a wedding often provided a fairly convenient and satisfying conclusion for the reader as it sends the characters off

321 In short, “symbolic capital” refers to the fact that if a person has acquired prestige or recognition this will eventually help him or her to accumulate even more of it. The achieved status serves as a value within the culture said person finds her-/himself in (Tuchman 2012, 126). 322 cf. ibid., 126/127. 323 cf. Foster 1986, 1/2.

163 into a future of supposed domestic harmony. This was believed to be female territory.324

As society was changing over the course of the 19th century, so were the conditions in the publishing world. In contrast to many other fields where women for the most part were still excluded, writing became more and more accepted as a profession which could be carried out alongside traditional domestic duties. For example, with the expansion of the literary market and the increase in regular literary production from the 1860s and 1870s onward, writing for periodicals and magazines presented an opportunity of employment for women. Women not only worked as writers but also contributed to the growing publishing world as printers, proofreaders, editors or illustrators. This put them into a position where they were to some extent able to influence the production as well as consumption of fiction – and this in turn influenced the literary market.325 Palmer (2011) stresses, however, that this involvement of women in the world of publishing was in fact not new – during the 18th century already, they had been working in the field. It was only that they were gaining more influence and freedom in the face of the growing social and cultural changes of the mid-19th century, for example the feminist movement and the Industrial Revolution. There was often no clear distinction between the professions of “journalist”, “writer” or “editor”. The women (and men, of course) working in these fields were characterised by a high degree of versatility, which allowed them to move between the different categories. While these developments allowed women more freedom as writers, they not automatically provided a sense of female empowerment. Male writers in the same positions had a better chance of being respected as artists; their female counterparts were rather regarded as industrious worker bees. Factors such as age, class and connections also affected the success of writers from all sexes in the industry.326

324 cf. Cunningham 1978, 20. 325 cf. Palmer 2011, 3. 326 cf. ibid., 4/5.

164 As we have seen in this section, although significantly more of them were able to gain recognition for their works and/or entered the literary canon, female writers faced similar obstacles as female artists during the 19th century. The greatest hindrance is again presented by the 19th-century notion that women belong to the private sphere and possess inferior intellectual abilities than men. They were usually tolerated as authors as long as they operated within the field of romantic and domestic fiction. The change in the literary market during the 1860s and 1870s offered new opportunities for the “new woman”, but gaining recognition for one's writing as a woman was still significantly harder than it was for men.

3.3.2 Female Character Development in 19th-Century Fiction – Possibilities and Limitations

The lives of 19th-century women were characterised by their domestic purpose within society on the one hand and new opportunities for self-fulfilment on the other hand. This is to some extent mirrored in the literature of the time. Schabert (1997) mentions that while the reality for women was changing, many literary works of the 19th century still relied very much on traditional gender roles viewing men and women as polar opposites – a concept which originates from the 18th century.327 Nevertheless, she also stresses that there were a variety of non-canonical works which questioned these conventional notions of femininity. For example, the genre of the sensation novel illustrated that in the

327 cf. Schabert 1997, 575.

165 face of injustice and violence, women are forced to leave submissive gender roles behind in order to survive. 19th-century feminist pamphlets combined social criticism with the effort to make it possible for women to lead self-determined lives. Later works also featured examples of independent femininity on the basis of the way of life led by the “new woman”. According to Schabert (1997), the intense preoccupation with the self – which can be found in many female- centred works of the 19th century – is reminiscent of the male “ich-kult” present in works dating from the 18th century and the Romantic period. The way in which 19th-century women saw themselves confronted with new opportunities and freedom of choice was mirrored in writings as was the self-involvement of the female characters it often entailed – something which had been common in male characters for decades.328 In this section, I will provide a brief overview of the way female characters were portrayed in 19th-century novels with the help of selected examples. I will also take a look at the stereotypes I selected for my analysis and examine to what extent they are mirrored in selected literary works.

As has become clear in the course of the previous sections, the 19th century propagated its definition of womanhood in terms of opposites: it depended on woman’s compliance to society's ideal if she was seen as either an angel or a fallen woman; there was little to no room left in-between. This rigid classification of femininity naturally sparked at lot of discussion, as much in the context of contemporary public discourse as it did later among feminist critics of the 20th and 21st centuries. Reynolds/Humble (1993) observe that while it often perpetuated stereotypes, Victorian literature lacked personal discourse and more realistic female characters who dealt with everyday problems. In the light of medical problems encountered in childbirth, exhaustion from childrearing and/or working as well as many other issues which must have been even more straining during the 19th century due to less advanced medical care, Victorian women surely had a very hard time keeping up the angelic ideal of perfect wives

328 cf. Schabert 1997, 576/577.

166 and mothers. Yet their struggles are rarely discussed in the literature of the time.329

Dickens was one of the most successful novelists of the 19th century and still is widely popular today. Nearly all of his works were illustrated during his lifetime; often in close collaboration with the author. Both illustrations and texts feature many female characters, which results in them being well-suited for the analysis I will provide in section 4. Thus I will take a look at some of his female characters in the following. Ingham (1992) offers a detailed account of the way Dickens portrays women in his works with the help of language and class. She identifies a semantic field in Dickens's novels which only refers to women and groups them under five linguistic signs: “nubile girls”, “fallen girls”, “excessive females”, “passionate women” and “true mothers”.330 I chose my categories of stereotypes – which I already introduced in section 2.1.2 – with Ingham's signs in mind, for example the nubile girls are similar to my category of the ingénue, the virginal, young woman before marriage. The phenomenon of the ingénue as a stock character, however, additionally emphasises the young woman's helplessness and her need for (male) protection and saving, while the nubile girls focus more on marriageability. Ingham identifies several nubile girls in Dickens's works, where they are often among the good characters and usually serve as a love interest for or loving relative of the main protagonist, who is chiefly male (as the book titles, with the exception of Little Dorrit where we follow Amy Dorrit's adventures, indicate). They are characterised as youthful, attractive and above all virginal and innocent by nature – which makes them perfect Victorian wives-to-be. According to Ingham, their physical attributes are always associated with slightness, littleness and delicateness and they are only seldom older than twenty. What seems to be most important is the fact that they are not aware of their extreme desirability – a phenomenon I already mentioned earlier when I discussed my selection of stereotypes. Examples from Dickens's

329 cf. Reynolds/Humble 1993, 2/3. 330 Ingham 1992, 11-16.

167 novels are Rose Maylie, Kate Nickleby, the aforementioned Amy Dorrit and Florence Dombey.331 The fallen girls here serve as an antithesis to the nubile girls. The term fallen implies that they have been somehow forcefully removed from their (ideal) girlhood or that it has been ruined before it could even begin. Ingham names characters such as Alice Marwood, Nancy, and Martha Endell as examples.332 Ingham's sign of the excessive females points out the problematic transition of the characters from nubile girls to married women in Dickens's works. According to her research, they largely fail to develop from virginal maidens to Angels in the House, i.e. cannot fathom how to live up to society's ideal. They are portrayed as ineffective housekeepers, their pregnancies seem out of place and almost embarrassing. This is true especially when it comes to the middle-class characters, while lower-class wives – who never were nubile girls – are portrayed quite positively as simple providers and nurturers (e.g. the characters of Polly Toodles and Mrs Bagnets). Examples of Ingham's excessive females are Dickens's protagonists Dora Spenlow, Lucie Manette and Bella Wilfer.333 The stereotypes I choose to subsume under fallen women for the simple reason that they all acted in some way deemed inappropriate by society and were therefore shunned by it (to varying degrees, of course), include the femme fatale and the adulteress. Ingham categorises these two under the sign passionate women. They also represent a variety of untamed, ergo “failed” femininity but have to be distinguished from the excessive females by their (fairly, in 19th-century terms that is) explicit sexuality. According to Ingham (1992), portrayals of actual adultery in fiction (and art) were relatively rare until the late 1850s. What was very common, however, were representations of near and putative adultery – Ingham refers to the phenomenon as “non- adultery”. Real transgressions of nature were usually associated with unmarried, lower-class women. Adultery among all classes was an important subject of public discussion in the years leading up to the Matrimonial Causes Act of 1857,

331 cf. Ingham 1992, 17-19. 332 cf. ibid., 39 ff. 333 cf. ibid., 62 ff.

168 though. In section 3.3.2, I already briefly explained the circumstances of this Act of Parliament, which reformed the law of divorce, and how it affected the lives of 19th-century women. The passionate nature of Dickens's non-adulteresses Edith Dombey, Lady Dedlock and Louisa Bounderby is presented in a negative way – but they are also described as beautiful and mysterious. Their beauty, however, lacks the purity and angelic quality of the nubile girls: Edith Dombey, for example, is described as “beautiful and stately” but also “so cold”. This is reminiscent of the way the stereotype of the femme fatale is often portrayed, which stresses the extreme importance that is attached to the female part in adultery. The passionate women's chilling attractiveness has an impact on their abilities as housewives, as it seems. They appear to be aloof from any kind of domesticity.334 Ingham's sign true mothers explores how ideal womanhood is presented in Dickens's novels. Paradoxically, it does not refer to the female characters who have actually given birth since those are shown as selfish, destructive and generally incapable mothers (with the exception of the ones who have died and are thus idealised, e.g. Oliver Twist's mother Agnes Fleming). Instead the term true mothers applies to all those of Dickens's female protagonists who in some way or another take on the role of the caretaker for someone dependent; surrogate mothers so to speak. Age and marital status of the surrogate mothers are not important, they can even be very young girls mothering their siblings as is the case in Dombey and Son, where Florence Dombey assumes the role of the caretaker of her brother Paul after the death of their mother. This is a frequent scenario in Dickens's novels, which we also see in his characters Charlotte Neckett, Lizzie Hexam and Jenny Wren. There are also peculiarly close father-daughter relationships after the mother has passed away such as the one between Amy Dorrit and her father. The daughter usually takes on the role of the deceased mother, becoming both housekeeper and companion to her father. Ingham (1992) stresses that while from a modern perspective these relationships often appear borderline incestuous, this kind of emotional

334 cf. Ingham 1992, 87 ff.

169 intensity between family members was actually more accepted and even viewed favourably by society during the 19th century.335 Pykett (2001) observes that, similar to what Ingham (1992) found in Dickens's novels, many Victorian writings fail to convey the stereotype of the true mothers through any of the living characters and are instead basically haunted by the ghosts of idealised dead or otherwise absent mothers. The absent or deceased mother serves as a means to reconcile the contradictory representations of the sexually active adult female with the noble, virtuous ideal of the Victorian mother.336 Ingham's analysis of Dickens's works focusses on the language that is used to describe women and she concludes that it was based on the female stereotypes which already existed in 19th-century society. Biographical details seem to play a role, too, albeit to a lesser degree than usually assumed by biographers and scholars: Ingham points out that the knowledge we have of the many women in Dickens's life in most instances originates from his own accounts of them, i.e. it is probable that fact and fiction are already blended in these cases. If the biographical details used to establish a comparison between Dickens's sister-in-law Mary Hogarth and a character supposedly based upon her were also written by Dickens himself (in his letters, for example) – how reliable can this comparison be on a larger scale?337 I agree with Ingham that it is not fruitful to predominantly focus on the biography of the authors and the people associated with them when it comes to the analysis of fiction. As we have seen above, the code of conduct proposed by 19th-century society had a relatively strong impact on the way Dickens constructed his female protagonists. This does not mean that some of them could not have been inspired by his real life female friends and family, but it shows how deeply ingrained these societal ideas were. While it is striking that Dickens tends to neglect the traditional representation of certain idealised stereotypes such as the Angel in the House or the true mother, the women in his works certainly mirror society's notion of femininity. It would go beyond the scope of

335 cf. Ingham 1992, 118 ff. 336 cf. Pykett 2001, 87/88. 337 cf. Ingham 1992, 133 ff.

170 my thesis to further explore exactly why this is the case, but I will among others take a closer look at some of Dickens's female characters in the following section.

Despite the prevailing gender stereotypes, the 19th century saw some major changes when it came to women in the literary market. As I already mentioned in the previous section, writing for money became an increasingly attractive job opportunity for middle-class women. In the light of this development, it is interesting to examine if women writers still conformed to a male script, i.e. if they created their plots and their female characters according to male-dominated viewpoints. According to Pykett (2001), cultural representation was difficult for women in the 19th century since they were always seen as “relative creatures” whose identity was defined through their relationships with others. They had trouble gaining recognition as writers independent of their husbands, brothers or fathers. Equally challenging was the task of writing female characters relying solely on their own experience as women. They always faced competition from male writers whose views on femininity often tended to be more in tune with social standards and were therefore regarded as more valuable.338 In 19th-century fiction and non-fiction alike, two versions of femininity are frequently featured: either the female protagonists embody the mild and meek Victorian ideal, characterised by instinctive maternal feelings and chastity; or they are boundless, unruly creatures who stand for a dreaded disruptive female sexuality often accompanied by madness and hysteria. As I already mentioned, the mother tended to be a problematic character in 19th-century literature. The absent or dead mother in novels helps to maintain the ideal of the good mother while simultaneously allowing the author to avoid dealing with the problematic transition from virginal ingénue to sexually active wife.

Pykett (2001) points out that the heroine's status as (half-)orphan also gives her more freedom and prepares her for a life of (relative) independence. From today's point of view, the female protagonists written by 19th-century female

338 cf. Pykett 2001, 78/79.

171 authors may still appear fairly conservative. Most female-authored novels still end with the main protagonist getting married eventually. The difficulties women faced who intended to break free from the traditional role, however, presented an important part of these novels, too. The title character of Charlotte Brontë's Jane Eyre (1847) is a fitting example of a protagonist who values her independence and is quite vocal about the struggles she faces trying to obtain it as a woman. In chapter 12 shortly before Jane meets the stranger who will later turn out to be Mr Rochester, she announces that despite society's notion that women have to be satisfied with a life of domesticity they have the same feelings as men and should be allowed to pursue a career, knowledge or whatever they want to occupy themselves with. A similar approach to the subject can be found in George Eliot's depiction of Dorothea Brooke in The Mill on the Floss (1860) and Maggie Tulliver in Middlemarch (1871–2). I already dealt with the topic of working women during the 19th century – women were expected to take care of the home and the children, thus their becoming part of the workforce caused a lot of debate. The domestic ideal was a middle-class invention, though, and it was widely believed that lower-class women were of different psychological and physical nature, which made them more fit to work outside their homes. Middle- class charity, which was mostly run by women, however, tried to bring their idea of domesticity to the lower classes. Several programmes focussed on restoring working-class women to their homes or on making the work environment in factories more familiar. According to Pykett (2001) this particular phenomenon was often mirrored in industrial novels by women, for example Elizabeth Gaskell's Mary Barton (1848) and North and South (1854-5). Philanthropic work was in itself regarded as maternal and selfless – it was seen as a sort of extension of women's domestic duties and was therefore considered acceptable.339

Prostitution was another subject which caused a lot of discussion during the 19th century and greatly influenced works of literature. I already wrote about the broad spectrum of the term “prostitute” in section 2.1.2 – in contrast to today, it

339 cf. Pykett 2001, 89 ff.

172 did not only apply to women who actually sold sexual intimacy for money but was used in a more general sense when referring to fallen women. As I showed with the help of Dickens's Oliver Twist, in literature the prostitute usually served as a foil for the ingénue. Often attempts were made to rehabilitate her, which was used to underline the charitable nature of other, positively connoted characters. In her analysis of women characters written by women authors, Pykett (2001) found that in the second half of the 19th century a link between the customs of the marriage market and prostitution was established by female writers who favoured a reform of said institution. Marriage plots and the “buying and selling of middle- and upper-middle-class women in the marriage market” in particular were immensely popular with many women authors, e.g. Jane Austen, the Brontë sisters or George Eliot. Jane Austen especially satirised the bartering of their daughters mothers used to busy themselves with. In her famous novel Pride and Prejudice (1813), the character Mrs Bennet is above all interested in marrying her daughters off to wealthy gentlemen – she is so intensely preoccupied with this task that she often becomes the subject of ridicule. In a similar vein, Brontë's Jane Eyre compares Mr Rochester's showering her with expensive dresses and jewellery in chapter 24 to the way a sultan would behave towards his slave. She feels “a sense of annoyance and degradation” as he dresses her like a doll in brightly coloured gowns and wishes for “ever so small an independency” of her own to shake the feeling of being a “purchased wife”. Several works of non-fiction were also published on the topic of married women's rights and the parallels between marriage and legalised prostitution.340 This comparison may appear extreme to the modern day reader, but I assume it has to be understood in terms of an outlet for the frustration many women felt concerning their rights when it came to marriage.

As we have seen in this brief overview, 19th-century literature featured both stereotypical as well as unconventional characters. The stereotypes employed by Charles Dickens and identified by Ingham to a large extent mirror the ones I

340 Pykett 2001, 91-92.

173 selected for this thesis. It will be interesting to see how the stereotypes of the true mother and the Angel in the House, which are classified as failed idealisations by Ingham, are conveyed in the illustrations to Dickens's texts. The protagonists of works by female authors sometimes offer a different viewpoint on the situation of women, even though most of them can by no means be considered radical in a modern sense.

174 4 Female Stereotypes in 19th-Century Book Illustration

As we have learnt from the previous sections, the representation of 19th century women in art and literature of the time was strongly influenced by society's standards. Even female writers and artists who are nowadays considered forerunners of feminism made use of stereotypical imagery in order to transport their ideas. While various scholars have dealt with the subject of female stereotypes in either art or literature, book illustration has only been dealt with by few. Publishers, authors and the reading public of the 19th century were used to novels' being accompanied by illustrations. They valued the benefits of pictorial additions to the written word – the pleasure of seeing a visualised version of how the artist interpreted the text. The fact that popular 19th-century novelists such as Charles Dickens or Thomas Hardy had at least some if not all of their works illustrated shows the importance attached to this subject.

The following sections will deal with the analysis of selected illustrations and the corresponding text passages. I specifically chose works by authors who were at least moderately successful during their lifetimes since this increased the probability that they were illustrated in the course of the 19th century. My focus will be on the novel given that it is the genre which was seen as most suitable for illustration. Besides the aforementioned authors Dickens and Hardy, I also selected Jane Austen, Charlotte Brontë, Lewis Carroll, Elizabeth Gaskell, William Makepeace Thackeray and Anthony Trollope. Austen's Emma, Hardy's Far from the Madding Crowd, Thackeray’s Vanity Fair and Trollope's The Claverings are featured as the only novels illustrated by women (Helen Paterson Allingham, Mary Ellen Edwards and Christiana Hammond). At least during the 19 th century, female novelists were chiefly illustrated by men. With the help of selected illustrations I will examine if the combination male author – female illustrator and vice versa has any specific impact on the presentation of female stereotypes.

I already introduced the female stereotypes I chose for my analysis in section 2.1.2. In the present section, these stereotypes are grouped according to the

175 connotation they were given within 19th-century society. The ingénue, the Angel in the House and the true mother were all seen as desirable and positive, while the prostitute, the adulteress and the femme fatale were seen as negative – I thus classified them under “ideal woman” and “fallen woman”. According to the stereotype content model I introduced in section 2.1.1, the ideal woman would be classified under group 1 as warm, but incompetent, meaning she is viewed positively but also as in need of assistance. The fallen woman belongs under group 3 – she is seen as neither competent, nor warm and inspires disgust and contempt in her fellow men. The classification according to the stereotype content model is important to better understand the reasons behind stereotyping and to emphasise the harm which can result from an overly positive stereotype, too. This thesis focusses on the stereotypes which were assigned to 19th-century women because of their gender. Nevertheless, we have to keep in mind that gender stereotypes are not the only stereotypes women encounter and in many cases the women presented here are actually privileged in another way (for example middle- or upper-class, wealthy, beautiful and white). Others suffer from being stereotyped in multiple ways (for example lower-class, poor, of colour), which cannot all be addressed within the scope of my analysis.

If one scene was depicted by two (or more) different illustrators, I will try to establish a comparison in case it benefits the analysis. Not all of the novels mentioned above have been illustrated to the same extent during the 19th century and in some cases, illustrations have also been lost with time – thus the analysis in this thesis cannot and does not intend to be exhaustive. The selected works are rather meant to provide an insight into the representation of women through a comparison of the media text and illustration. In most cases, it will not be necessary to consult the history of types or style, as Panofsky proposes in his three-strata analysis, in order to identify which characters and scenes are depicted. The majority of illustrations can still be viewed within the context of the original editions so that this will become clear rather quickly. In some cases,

176 the artist even included information on the chapter or a direct quote from the text on the plate.

4.1 The Ideal Woman

4.1.1 The Ingénue

As I already mentioned earlier, the ingénue was and still is a very popular stock character. In 19th-century fiction, she is often found as one of the central characters – for example as a love interest for or loving relative of the male hero. The dead or absent mothers who are also favoured stock characters and are usually idealised at some point or another, almost always exhibit signs that led to the assumption that they, too, are in fact former ingénues.

In this section, we will deal with the visualisation of the ingénue as it can be found in various novels published throughout the 19th century. While it is one of the most common stereotypes, it is realised quite differently as a character: Dickens's taste and talent for satire accounts for ingénues who remain rather close to the original description of the stock character as an innocent young woman in need of rescue from the dangers of life. Other novelists – the female ones especially – present us with more nuanced versions of the ingénue. Although they are portrayed as naïve at the start, we see them mature throughout the plot, reminiscent of a female-centred Bildungsroman.

The works are ordered by the publication dates of the featured illustrations – Austen, for example, was illustrated posthumously in the 1890s, which accounts for her novels being last in my analysis even though the text was published much earlier than others. From the works of Charles Dickens, I will examine the

177 illustrations of Rose Maylie (Oliver Twist) and Dora Spenlow (David Copperfield). Furthermore, Elizabeth Gaskell's Molly Gibson (Wives and Daughters), Lewis Carroll's Alice (Alice's Adventures in Wonderland) and Anthony Trollope's Florence Burton (The Claverings) will be featured in this section. I also selected the illustrations of Jane Austen's character Emma Woodhouse (Emma).

As I said before, the characters in Dickens's novels often appear like caricatures and are modelled on specific types which were common knowledge in 19th- century culture. Thus most readers were able to detect the humorous, satirical element in his writings. The same can be more or less said about the illustrations he commissioned for his works – his early illustrators especially stood in the tradition of the witty cartoonists of the 18th century such as Hogarth and Gillray. Even their villains are so exquisitely exaggerated that they sometimes seem more comedic than threatening. While this goes rather well with the plot of most of Dickens's works, Dickens as well as his illustrators were heavily criticised when it came to the depiction of positive characters, women in particular. In the texts, they were usually over-idealised and the illustrations in turn failed to convey their supposed supernatural beauty and goodness.341 Ingham (1992) pointed out that the ingénue is a frequent character in Dickens's novels but that his versions of the type are problematic for various reasons which I already went into in the previous section. I selected three female protagonists from three different novels published between 1837 to 1859. In contrast to many of the other authors featured in my analysis, Dickens closely collaborated with his illustrators and sometimes also influenced their works. We will see if this has an influence on the representation of the stereotypes.

The first character I will have a look at is Rose Maylie from Dickens's second novel Oliver Twist, which was published in the form of an illustrated monthly serial in Bentley's Miscellany from 1837 to 1839. We first meet Rose when Oliver is forced into taking part in a burglary of the Maylies' home by thieves Bill Sykes

341 cf. Cohen 1980, 20.

178 and Toby Crackit. Oliver is shot by a servant and nursed back to health by Rose. It is later revealed that Rose is the sister of his mother Agnes Fleming, making her his aunt. After the death of their father, Rose was adopted by Mrs Maylie – as an orphan of supposed questionable birth she is self-conscious of her reputation and initially refuses Harry Brownlow when he asks her to marry him. It is said in the seventh chapter of the second book that she is still very young, “not past seventeen” and therefore in “the lovely bloom and spring-time of womanhood”. Her figure is described as “slight and exquisite”, her face full of “sweetness and good humour” with “deep blue eyes” and a “cheerful happy smile”. She is “pure and beautiful”, “mild and gentle” – her character and appearance are several times compared to that of an angel: “earth seemed not her element, nor its rough creatures her fit companions”. Throughout the novel, Rose is excessively idealised, often in comparison with other characters. For example in the chapter stated above, her description is linked to the elderly Mrs Maylie, who is presented favourably but in less overflowing terms. Her youth and beauty seem to be more accurate symbols of goodness than Mrs Maylie's “bygone costume” and “stately manner”.342 Rose also serves as a foil to the prostitute Nancy, a young, fallen woman similar to her in age. Nancy is also convinced of Rose's otherworldly qualities and assures her in the third chapter of the third book that “if there was more like you, there would be fewer like me”.343

The periodical publications of Oliver Twist included two illustrations where Rose Maylie is present: The Meeting and Rose Maylie and Oliver. The latter accompanied the last chapter of the novel and inspired a controversy between Dickens and his illustrator George Cruikshank. Cruikshank originally designed a different plate to be published with part 24 of Oliver Twist in 1839, which is now known as The Fireside Plate (the final version, in contrast, is now often referred to as The Church Plate) and depicts Oliver surrounded by his newly found family, the Maylies. It cannot be gathered from their correspondence or other sources

342 Dickens 2003, 235. 343 ibid., 333.

179 why exactly Dickens rejected the first version of this illustration.344 20th-century scholars have offered various theories regarding the subject that I will enlarge upon later in this section. I will examine both versions of the final illustration with special attention to the depiction of Rose Maylie.

The version of the last plate (see fig. 37) which was actually published, Rose Maylie and Oliver, takes place in a room, apparently located in a church as indicate a small leaded light on the left and a balustrade made of stone on the right. A woman and a boy stand in front of an altar with a stone tablet bearing the name “Agnes”. The woman, who according to the title can be identified as Rose Maylie, is standing behind the boy, our title character Oliver Twist. Rose is elegantly dressed in a light gown, a dark shawl and a hat, her right hand resting on Oliver’s right shoulder, the other one clutching her shawl against her chest. Oliver wears white pants, a dark coat and a cap in his hand. Both their eyes rest on Agnes’s grave and their profiles show a likeness which alludes to them being related.

The rejected version of the plate (see fig. 38) shows the interior of a room where four people are gathered by the fireside. An older woman is seen leftmost reclining in her armchair dressed in a black gown and white bonnet. Next to her sits a younger man who is probably in his late twenties to early thirties, dressed in a long patterned housecoat and black pants. He has dark hair and a pointed beard and halfway turns his back to the spectator so that he appears in profile, his left arm leaning on the back of his chair and his right hand resting on his knee. On the right, facing the spectator, a young woman in her twenties is sitting in a chair with her left arm resting on a side table beside her and her right hand placed on the shoulder of a young boy next to her. Her feet rest on a small footstool. She wears an elegant gown and wears her hair nicely dressed in a high topknot and side curls. The boy next to the young woman holds a book in his hands, which are resting on the arms of her chair while both look at each other.

344 cf. Patten 1996, 86/87.

180 The room is comfortably decorated with a carpet on the floor, flowers, a clock and decorations (peacock's feathers, statuettes, embroidered fans) on the mantelpiece; wood-blocks are burning in the fireplace creating an atmosphere of warmth and welcoming. The portrait on the right above the young woman's chair shows another woman who is about her age. The characters present in this illustration can be identified as Mrs Maylie, Harry, Rose and Oliver – the woman in the portrait is most likely Agnes, Oliver's deceased mother and Rose's sister.

Both illustrations are centred around the fifteenth chapter of the third book of Oliver Twist, which bears the title “And Last”. The original plate proposed by Cruikshank is based on the third paragraph of page 453, where the narrator imagines Oliver among his new family – a truly happy ending in the best tradition of Victorian literature:

I would fain linger yet with a few of those among whom I have so long moved, and share their happiness by endeavouring to depict it. I would show Rose Maylie in all the bloom and grace of early womanhood, shedding on her secluded path in life soft and gentle light, that fell on all who trod it with her, and shone into their hearts. I would paint her the life and joy of the fire- side circle and the lively summer group; I would follow her through the sultry fields at noon, and hear the low tones of her sweet voice in the moonlit evening walk; I would watch her in all her goodness and charity abroad, and the smiling untiring discharge of domestic duties at home; I would paint her and her dead sister's child happy in their love for one another, and passing whole hours together in picturing the friends whom they had so sadly lost; I would summon before me, once again, those joyous little faces that clustered round her knee, and listen to their merry prattle; I would recall the tones of that clear laugh, and conjure up the sympathising tear that glistened in the soft blue eye. These, and a thousand looks and smiles, and turns of thought and speech – I would fain recall them every one.345

345 Dickens 2003, 453.

181 The plate Dickens preferred depicts the very last paragraph of his novel on page 455, which gives a description of Agnes's memorial tablet in the village church and alludes to her ghost “hovering” next to it:

Within the altar of the old village church there stands a white marble tablet, which bears as yet but one word:, –"Agnes." There is no coffin in that tomb; and may it be many, many years, before another name is placed above it. But, if the spirits of the Dead ever come back to earth, to visit spots hallowed by the love – the love beyond the grave – of those whom they knew in life, I believe that the shade of Agnes sometimes hovers round that solemn nook. I believe it none the less because that nook is a Church, and she was weak and erring.346

It is surprising that Dickens rejected The Fireside Plate since it actually seems more appealing than Rose Maylie and Oliver. The former was called “aesthetically inferior to other designs in the series of etchings”, which most scholars as well as viewers do not agree with.347 The atmosphere in the latter is dominated by sobriety and coldness, as if it was echoing the church's sacredness. The Fireside Plate, in contrast, shows Oliver among his new family in a cosy and friendly atmosphere. According to Vogler (1970), there is some speculation that Dickens objected to Harry Maylie's resembling Cruikshank in the plate. In addition, Dickens also told Cruikshank to revise the first draft of Rose Maylie and Oliver since he believed Oliver looked too old. Cruikshank revised it a second time with the result of the final version, which in Vogler’s opinion looks “old, sad and ugly”.348 And, what is most important here, the depiction of Rose Maylie differs in both plates: in Rose Maylie and Oliver, she appears more serious and looks older, while in The Fireside Plate she seems softer and her whole appearance at least approaches what was considered as ideal feminine beauty at the time. As Cohen (1980) points out, it was quite well-known that (similar to Dickens in writing) Cruikshank had problems to draw sympathetic and attractive

346 Dickens 2003, 455. 347 Vogler 1970, 243. 348 Patten 1996, 87.

182 characters, he especially struggled when it came to women, whom he often depicted as rather unattractive.349 If one compares Dickens's account of Rose's physical beauty and charm to the illustrations – both, since although The Fireside Plate shows an improved Rose, she in no way meets the expectations built by Dickens – it is hard to believe text and image deal with the same character. As I have pointed out earlier, Dickens idealises Rose both physically and spiritually to an extent that she appears no longer as an earthly being but as an angel. In Rose Maylie and Oliver, we barely see her face and figure as they are covered by her clothes and a bonnet. Her profile is dominated by her long nose and a very demure expression. She is supposed to still be in her late teens – here she appears to be a middle-aged woman. The Fireside Plate offers a physical improvement, as I already mentioned: again, Rose is shown in profile, but this time due to her being dressed differently, we actually see more of her face. Although not exactly smiling, she looks mild and gentle, her face seems more relaxed – the viewer is convinced that “her and her dead sister's child [are] happy in their love for one another” as it reads in the corresponding paragraph from Oliver Twist I cited above. Her low-cut gown reveals part of her shoulders and her neck, which bends in a slight curve as she leans towards Oliver. This and her fashionable hairstyle make Rose appear at least conventionally attractive in the rejected plate, which cannot be said about the definite version. Her depiction also seems to be more age-appropriate – the “early womanhood” described in the text can be translated to late teens or early twenties. While there certainly is an improvement in the visual representation of Rose Maylie as the novel's ingénue, it is not fully convincing. The stereotype is associated with extreme youth, beauty and innocence, all of which are not present in Cruikshank's illustrations. Dickens's text, however, turns out to be a problematic guideline in itself since the description of Rose is complicated on its own. She is not what would be referred to as a well-rounded character – her personality lacks depth and development, sometimes it seems as if her main purpose is to act as a foil for

349 cf. Cohen 1980, 22.

183 the more interesting character of the prostitute Nancy at whom I will take a closer look in a later section. Then I will also examine the plate The Meeting which contrasts Rose with Nancy.

The next ingénue I will examine is Dora Spenlow from Dickens's David Copperfield. The first edition of the novel was published by Bradbury & Evans as a book edition in 1850, which included 40 illustrations by Phiz. The 1872 edition published by Chapman & Hall was illustrated by Fred Barnard who was specifically commissioned by the publishing company to capture the interest of a new audience for Dickens's works. As we will see later, his style differed greatly from Phiz's whimsical eccentricity. Since he also decided to purposefully illustrate scenes that Phiz and Dickens had neglected, I was not able to establish a direct comparison between two plates to that effect.350 Nevertheless, my analysis will not only show the character of Dora as it is represented in text and illustration but also as it is interpreted from two different artistic perspectives.

The decision to examine Dora Spenlow, the daughter of David Copperfield's employer, as an ingénue character certainly has to be further explained in the face of another female protagonist in Dickens's novel also meeting the criteria for this category: Agnes Wickfield, David Copperfield's loyal friend and second wife. The academic views on the categorisation of both characters vary. Ingham (1992) categorises them as ingénues with diverging traits; their functions within the novel and their relation to the male protagonists, however, she sees as similar.351 For Reynolds/Humble (1993), Dora's and Agnes's characteristics are “situated on [...] opposite [ends] of the scale of passion”: In her relationship with David, Dora supposedly takes on the role of the temptress, as he desires her body and soul. Agnes presides over everything like an angel – she is present at Dora and David's wedding as well as on Dora's deathbed – patiently waiting for David to finally see her worth and release her from her celibate life.352 I chose to

350 cf. Allingham 2008, online resource. 351 cf. Ingham 1992, 18 ff. 352 cf. Reynolds/Humble 1993, 19/20.

184 analyse Dora as an ingénue precisely because in contrast to Rose and Florence her character also presents us with the seductive side of the ingénue. Her extreme desirability links the ingénue to the femme fatale but unlike the latter she is completely unaware of her effect on men. What is also fascinating about Dora is the fact that she is not able to change from ingénue to Angel in the House/true mother after marriage – a problem often encountered in Dickens's works which Ingham (1992) discussed in detail, as I mentioned in section 3.3.2. Dora is both beautiful and innocent, she combines the physical and spiritual ideal of the ingénue, albeit her innocence is rather linked to immature helplessness than angelic goodness. She is David's child-wife, the one who was not able to keep the house and did not succeed in bearing him healthy children. Nevertheless, she is the first woman to catch his eye with her out-of-this-world beauty:

She was more than human to me. She was a Fairy, a Sylph, I don't know what she was - anything that no one ever saw, and everything that everybody ever wanted. I was swallowed up in an abyss of love in an instant.353

Similar to many other ingénue protagonists, Dora is also characterised by her littleness. Everything about her is diminutive – her “most delightful little voice, […] gayest little laugh, […] pleasantest and most fascinating little ways”. 354 David describes himself as being “captive” to Dora's beauty and charm, that he remained “lost in blissful delirium” given her feminine accomplishments such as singing French ballads and playing instruments. When he meets her strolling in the garden one morning, he can barely form a clear sentence because of his feelings for her. As is the case with many Dickens characters, we learn very little about Dora's outward appearance. She is described as “girlish, bright-eyed lovely”, wearing her hair in curls and having a “dimpled chin”. From the above- mentioned description of her littleness we can surely gather that she is very

353 Dickens 1850a, 274. 354 ibid., 275.

185 petite. Her character is often described as playful and happy but she also appears childlike and irresponsible, for example when she hits her dog Jip for barking at David or when she holds the animal up to let it smell the geranium blossoms.355 After she and David are married, this side of her personality unfolds even further, which is reflected in the sheer chaos she causes through her inability to properly manage the household. This and David's ineffective attempts to “form [his] little wife's mind” by reading her Shakespeare are detailed in chapter 16 of the second volume of David Copperfield. For my analysis, I chose the plate by Phiz accompanying chapter 26 of the first volume entitled I fall into captivity where David meets Dora for the first time. From the edition illustrated by Fred Barnard, I will analyse the plate Dora which refers to the same chapter but deals with a different scene.

Phiz's illustration (see fig. 39) shows four people inside an elegantly decorated room. On the left, we see a middle-aged woman in a dark gown with light collar, on her head she wears a bonnet. Her arms are crossed in front of her body and she holds her head high with her eyes closed and her lips very straight. Next to her, a young woman maybe in her late teens is about to curtsey, holding the skirts of her lightly coloured gown in both hands. Her dark hair is worn up, her gaze is politely turned to the ground. A small dog can be seen standing right behind her, his nose touching her gown. To her left stands an older man, pointing his right hand at her. He is dressed for the evening in a dark suit, light vest and tie. On the far right, a younger man in his early twenties mirrors the movement of the curtseying young woman while also facing her. He, too, appears to be elegantly dressed. The interior seems exquisite and fashionable – the window in the left background is framed by opulent drapery, next to it we perceive a large portrait of a young woman and a mirror above the mantelpiece. The fireplace is decorated with flowers. On the mantelpiece, two vases and a glass bell jar with branches and birds, a diorama, are situated. The background also shows a table with an object on top and several chairs. In the right

355 Dickens 1850a, 278.

186 foreground, we see a piano complete with music sheets flipped open; several of them are also scattered across the floor in front of the piano. The protagonists of this illustration are Miss Murdstone, Dora Spenlow, her father Mr Spenlow and David Copperfield.

The illustration captures the introduction between Dora and David at Mr Spenlow's estate in Norwood in chapter 26:

I heard a voice say, "Mr. Copperfield, my daughter Dora, and my daughter Dora's confidential friend!" It was, no doubt, Mr. Spenlow's voice, but I didn't know it, and I didn't care whose it was. All was over in a moment. I had fulfilled my destiny. I was a captive and a slave. I loved Dora Spenlow to distraction!356

This intense moment, the beginning of David's “captivity”, his infatuation with Dora, which seems to go beyond reason, is illustrated by the two figures facing each other. They are formally introduced by her father and greet one another with a polite bow or curtsey. Composition-wise, this creates an invisible line between the characters – they are the only ones shown in motion, Miss Murdstone and Mr Spenlow appear to be frozen in comparison. As the quotation above says, David sees only Dora at this moment, to him the other people in the room seem to disappear. His love causes him to wear rose-tinted glasses, to lose touch with reality. Similar to Phiz's Florence Dombey, his Dora Spenlow, while certainly pretty, somehow does not live up to the expectations built by Dickens's text concerning her extraordinary beauty. Her dress is fairly simple for a 19th- century dinner event in a comfortably situated middle-class household and pales a little beside the fancy decorations of the room. We know from Dickens's text on page 275 that David changes before dinner is served, but he does so hurriedly when the bell rings. Nothing is said about Dora changing for the evening, so we can expect her to already be dressed accordingly at the point this scene takes place. Her description in the novel surely leads to the reader's visualising something more extravagant. Other illustrations of Dora included in the novel

356 Dickens 1850a, 274.

187 such as I am married or Our Housekeeping confirm this assumption: she looks like a pretty young girl but lacks the ethereal beauty the text anticipates. The portrait in the background, however, might be an allusion to Dora's fanciful nature: of course, it might also show her late mother, but it bears a resemblance with Phiz's portrayal of Dora herself. The woman in the portrait is sitting in an armchair, coquettishly leaning her head to one side and gazing at the viewer. Maybe this was a way of Phiz commenting on Dora's true character. In a similar fashion, other emblematic details can be interpreted as an allusion to her personality: the diorama on the mantelpiece, for example, puts beautiful birds on display under a bell jar – they are nice to look at, but completely lifeless, which could allude to Dora's attractive appearance which in the beginning deceives David about what he will later perceive as her character flaws. It also alludes to her extremely sheltered, spoilt lifestyle. Cohen (1980) sees the diorama as an allegory of David and Dora's married life, which will leave them trapped by their own immaturity just as the birds are under the bell jar.357 According to Steig (1978), the piano in the right foreground represents Dora's ongoing singing of “enchanted ballads” and her childlike wish to dance and have fun, even when the situation calls for seriousness.358 In addition, the music sheets scattered in front of the piano could be interpreted as a foreshadowing of Dora's inability to manage the household.

Although Fred Barnard did not select the same scenes from David Copperfield for his illustrations as Phiz and Dickens, he nonetheless provided a plate for chapter 26 (see fig. 40). It bears the simple title Dora and illustrates the scene where David stumbles upon Dora as she walks her dog in the garden. The plate shows a young woman and man surrounded by trees and bushes. The man is standing in the left margin of the illustration, hiding behind a large brush which nearly covers half the plate. He is elegantly dressed in a dark frock coat and trousers, holding his top hat in his right hand. We cannot see much of his face as he is shown in profile, looking at the young woman to the right. She returns his look

357 cf. Cohen 1980, 104. 358 cf. Steig 1978, 122.

188 as she passes the brush behind which the young man is trying to take cover. Her dress is very delicate with ruffled layers, flared sleeves and a ribbon accentuating her small waist. An abundance of lightly-coloured curls fall over her shoulders and on her head she wears a tiny hat with feathers. In front of her, also facing the young man, we see a small dog she keeps on a leash. Behind the woman, a flower bed and grass are visible between narrow gravel paths. The background is covered by trees.

Barnard's illustration of David and Dora is indeed different from Phiz's depiction of their introduction. The plate shows their rather intimate meeting during a morning stroll in the garden, the exact moment which is described in the following passage, to be precise: “I had not been walking long, when I turned a corner, and met her. I tingle again from head to foot as my recollection turns that corner, and my pen shakes in my hand.”359 As Dora explains to David, Miss Murdstone does not want her to go out alone, but she does so anyway. He is quite startled by their meeting, not only because he did not expect her to be out on her own, but especially since he was actually thinking about her, trying to find the right words to write to her, all the while fumbling with his pen which he nearly drops as he sees her. The very fact that Barnard decided to capture this rare moment when the young couple-to-be is without supervision by either Mr Spenlow or Miss Murdstone, is interesting. 19th-century customs usually required the presence of a chaperone – I dealt with the rules of Victorian courtship in detail in section 3.1.2 – so this meeting could already be considered a danger to Dora's reputation. From a modern perspective, it creates a far more intimate atmosphere than the scene Phiz depicted. If one compares the two plates, it becomes apparent that Barnard's version completely lacks the emblematic detail that Phiz, in the tradition of Hogarth, was used to include in his works in order to leave clues about the protagonists' personalities and intentions. Barnard's work with its reduced décor and lack of background details rather resembles a painting. His portrayal of Dora and David, however, does actually achieve

359 Dickens 1850a, 277.

189 something Phiz and his predecessors were not able to do: they appear as human beings rather than caricatures. Of course, the eccentricity and wit Phiz and Cruikshank, for example, brought to the table, was an excellent match for Dickens's often cartoon-like characters. On the other hand, this is also what he was often criticised for, particularly when it came to his female protagonists. Barnard's Dora seems to be a much more accurate interpretation of the character Dickens might have had in mind when he made David romanticise her whole being. She looks splendid in her summer dress, with her slight figure and overflowing curls. The gown she wears is not overly frivolous yet elegant, sporting the wide pagoda sleeves which were fashionable during the 1870s.360 This is an important detail since it certainly appealed to the readership of the day to see novel's characters seasonably dressed. Dora's hairstyle, however, can be read as a comment on her character: she wears her hair down, which is something unusual for a woman of her age who has already come out into society (young girls were allowed to wear their hair this way). According to 19th- century society's standards, she should rather be wearing a chignon or a chaplet of braided hair under her hat. Loose hair was reserved for private moments with a confidante or husband, in public, it was seen as immodest. By outfitting Dora with this hairstyle, Barnard seems to allude to her careless and maladjusted nature compared to the feminine ideal. Her long, flowing curls are also something very attractive, of course, they add to her appeal. David “never saw such curls”, as he comments on her appearance during their meeting in the garden on page 277. In general, Barnard's Dora appears to be a much more sensual and lively creature than Phiz's. She becomes more of a real person than a book character through his illustration. What about David? In this plate, he clearly takes the role of the supporting character – but this is also what we gather through his first-person narrative. Rather than depicting him baffled by this encounter with the woman of his dreams, we see him hiding in the bushes, almost like a peeping tom spying on Dora as she suddenly crosses his path. As I

360 cf. Blum 1974, 45.

190 said before, this mirrors his narrative as his train of thought which is completely preoccupied with Dora. At the dinner party at Norwood, shortly after he has met her for the first time, David jealously observes her every move. He himself mentions on page 275 that he does not recall who else attended the party or which kind of food was served – his attention was solely centred on Dora. In the illustration, his obsession with her is presented by his figure being kept in the dark, while hers is in the spotlight, so to speak. As spectators, we see Dora through David's eyes. Allingham (2008) stresses that Barnard's visualisation of Dickens's characters was quite popular during the late 19th century. They appeared more well-rounded and three-dimensional than those of other artists before him. The fact that Barnard was able to work at his own pace relying on his judgement instead of Dickens's approval might have played an important role.361 So which artists succeeded at the better depiction of our ingénue Dora Spenlow? It is hard to say since their style and the circumstances of production are so different. Phiz's Dora surely appears more innocent and sweet, while Barnard more accurately portrayed her attractiveness and sensuality. This already hints at the fact that other elements have to be taken into account when it comes to the visualisation of the clichés.

Elizabeth Gaskell's last novel Wives and Daughters was first published as a serial between 1864 and 1866. The publication included 18 wood-engraved illustrations by renowned artist George du Maurier. Since Gaskell died in 1865, she did not finish the novel herself – her editor at Cornhill Magazine, Frederick Greenwood (who also finished Thackeray's Denis Duval for the same reason), wrote the last chapter according to details she allegedly gave him before her death.362 In the following, I will examine the heroine Molly Gibson. When we first meet her, she is a child and looking forward to a day at the Cumnors, wealthy aristocrats. Molly's mother died when she was too young to properly remember her and she now lives alone with her father, a doctor. They belong to

361 cf. Allingham 2008, online resource. 362 cf. Hughes/Lund 1999, 13 ff.

191 the middle class and are not of noble birth. The day at the Cumnors’ estate turns out quite differently from what Molly had expected: after getting lost on the property and suffering from a severe headache, she rests in the chamber of Mrs Kirkpatrick (who will later become her stepmother) who forgets to wake her when her carriage is about to leave. While Molly – as one would expect of a young girl of her age – is upset about being alone in a foreign home, she also worries that she will not be able to make tea for her father as she usually does. 363 This reaction is very typical of the ingénue character, who is used to think of others first. It establishes Molly as a prototypical female nurturer and likens her to the motherless girls taking care of their fathers and families whom I discussed in the preceding section. At a young age especially, her father is the most important as well as influential figure in her life. His decisions concerning his daughter are characterised by 19th-century views on femininity, which results in a limited education and certain restrictions for Molly. Making Molly fit to be a good wife seems to be his overall goal, as the following excerpt from chapter 3, where Mr Gibson instructs Molly's governess Miss Eyre, indicates:

Don't teach Molly too much: she must sew, and read, and write, and do her sums; but I want to keep her a child, and if I find more learning desirable for her, I'll see about giving it to her myself. After all, I am not sure that reading or writing is necessary. Many a good woman gets married with only a cross instead of her name; it's rather a diluting of mother-wit, to my fancy; but, however we must yield to the prejudices of society, Miss Eyre, and so you may teach the child to read.364

While she certainly is not a subversive character, Molly does indeed fight against the marginalisation her father planned for her. She persuades her father to let her take lessons in French and drawing as well as she “[reads] every book that came in her way”. According to Fair (2009), Gaskell establishes a contrast between Molly's “intellectual revolt” and her conformity in other parts of life, where she is rather submissive and traditionally feminine. Her reaction to her

363 cf. Gaskell 1871, 15. 364 ibid., 27.

192 stepsister Cynthia Kirkpatrick's engagement to her friend and secret love interest Roger Hamley is pure self-sacrifice. She chooses to support Roger in his pursuit of Cynthia and while she surely suffers, she wishes him happiness. In the end, she is the one whom Roger marries and even though she seems to have “earned” his love through endless patience and moral integrity characteristic of the ingénue, it appears to be a union of equals rather than a perpetuation of patriarchal structure. Thus, Gaskell presents us with a new kind of heroine – one who combines the feminine ideal with at least some degree of self- determination.365 Molly Gibson's outward appearance is not often mentioned in the novel. We get a rather detailed first description of it, however, in chapter 6, where she examines herself in a mirror at the Hamleys:

She looked at herself in the glass with some anxiety, for the first time in her life. She saw a slight, lean figure, promising to be tall; a complexion browner than cream- coloured, although in a year or two it might have that tint; plentiful curly black hair, tied up in a bunch behind with a rose-coloured ribbon; long, almond-shaped, soft grey eyes, shaded both above and below by curling black eye-lashes.366

One cannot argue that this is a description – references to her eyes, bright smile and shiny white teeth will be repeated at least two times - of a character who would be perceived as pretty. Molly is quite self-conscious about both her appearance and her intelligence. In the same chapter, she suspects that the Hamleys will be disappointed if they expect her to be “very smart” and after looking at her reflection, she determines that she does not think herself pretty, although she is not sure. As we can gather from the description, Molly lacks the smallness and doll-like features usually associated with the ingénue. Her uncertainty concerning her own appearance (and character) yet are in line with the stereotype. We will see how du Maurier interpreted the character of Molly Gibson in a plate featuring her with her stepsister Cynthia.

365 Fair 2009, 227 ff. 366 Gaskell 1871, 56/57.

193 The plate (see fig. 41) shows two women standing in a room full of toiletries: in the background to the left, a wash bowl, a hanging basket and a small container on a table are visible. Next to the women on the right, we see a dressing table with a mirror, bottles and a brush on top. The two women are shown in an embrace, with the left of them holding the right one's left hand to her breast, while the latter's head rests on the former's left shoulder. Both women wear simple bouffant gowns which are gathered at their waists with ribbons. The left woman wears her hair up in a chignon, the right one's long, wavy hair is undone and falls down her back. The right border of the plate seems lighter than the rest, which suggests the presence of a window framed by large curtains.

Du Maurier selected the quote “Oh! it is no wonder!” from chapter 33 for his illustration. In this chapter, Roger Hamley says his farewells to the Gibson family before departing for Africa. He takes the opportunity to ask for Cynthia's hand in marriage, which leaves everybody thrilled except for Molly. Desperate to catch a last glimpse of him, she runs to the attic to watch him as he leaves. When she returns to her room, she is shivering both from the cold and her shaken nerves. As she hears Cynthia's knock on the door, she starts to hastily take off her outdoor clothes. Cynthia hugs her stepsister and while in the embrace, Molly sees her face in the mirror – blackberry juice on her lips, tangled curls and bonnet, red eyes from crying – and resignedly determines that Roger’s preferring Cynthia over her is no wonder. She sees her own beauty diminish in the presence of Cynthia's “brightness and bloom, and the trim elegance of her dress”.367 Despite her low self-esteem, she proceeds to question Cynthia about her true intentions and her queries indicate her doubts regarding the sincerity of Cynthia's feelings for Roger. As Cynthia almost casually confirms these doubts and even calls Roger “plain and awkward”, Molly becomes quite upset and urges her to stop talking about him. Du Maurier depicts the stepsisters in the midst of the aforementioned embrace. The text indicates that Molly regards herself in the mirror – in the plate, however, she is seen with her back turned to it. We are

367 Gaskell 1871, 340.

194 able to identify Molly as the woman on the right since all of du Maurier's illustrations show her with long, flowing hair. In Gaskell's text, it is mentioned several times that Cynthia is more beautiful than Molly. She is the more elegant and worldly one. While it becomes clear from the start that Molly is better suited for Roger, Cynthia is the one he falls for. In the plate, the biggest difference between the women's appearance is their hair. Cynthia is seen sporting an elegant chignon, even the short hairs in the front of her head are neatly coiffed. Molly's signature hairstyle in du Maurier's plates are masses of long curls. As I already mentioned before, it was very unusual for a woman in her late teens to wear her hair down, notably in the company of men. Whereas long hair indicated carelessness in case of Dora Spenlow, with Molly Gibson it alludes to unworldliness. It may also indicate her childlike goodness and altruism, which make her care more for the people around her than for her appearance. The blackberry juice on her lips which is mentioned in the text strengthens this assumption: earlier in chapter 33, Molly spent some time scrambling through blackberry bushes in order to pick berries for Cynthia – although she herself dislikes the fruit. Cynthia's dress also appears a little more delicate than Molly. The dressing table and wash bowl in the plate indicate Molly's hurried attempt at making herself presentable after running to the attic. Du Maurier omitted the bonnet which according to the text is supposed to still be on Molly's head as well as the torn state of her gown. In my opinion, these are actually important clues to Molly's personality as is her dissatisfaction with herself upon gazing into the mirror. Like this, Molly appears more fragile and less edgy, while Cynthia seems older and less passionate. So why did he leave these details out? Maybe du Maurier's focus was more on their sisterly love for each other, which characterised their relationship despite their completely different personalities. His rendition of Molly Gibson is softer and not as complex as in Gaskell's novel – she might even be more of an ingénue in the illustration.

195 Anthony Trollope's novel The Claverings was first published between 1866 and 1867 in Cornhill Magazine. The publication featured illustrations by Mary Ellen Edwards (MEE). I will take a look at the character Florence Burton as she is presented in the plate accompanying chapter 32.

The plot centres on Harry Clavering, who is jilted by his fiancée Julia Brabazon, the sister of his brother Hugh's wife Hermione Clavering. Julia marries the wealthy Lord Ongar instead and follows him to the continent – I will take a closer look at her character in section 4.2.3. Left to his own devices by his lover, Harry decides to train as a civil engineer against his father's wishes, who wants him to follow in his footsteps and become a clergyman. This is when he gets to know Florence Burton, the daughter of one of his employers, and they become engaged. Although Harry initially perceives Florence as having “plain face and plain ways”, he later corrects himself. As he falls in love with her, he starts to see her as a “nice girl, clever, well-minded, high-principled, and full of spirit”. He also notes that “no eyes were ever brighter” than hers and talks to his mother about her pretty hair. He convinces himself that Florence will be a far better match for him than Julia could ever be, that he actually prefers the “quiet domesticities” the former has to offer.368 All these characteristics identify Florence as an ingénue – her gullibility and naiveté when it comes to Harry and Julia's relationship – which is alluded to in chapter 32 – strengthens this assumption. When she starts to suspect that something is wrong after some time without notice from Harry, she states that she “will never leave him unless he leaves [her]”, even if it might turn out that he has murdered someone. As for Julia Ongar, she thinks of her as a “bold, bad woman”. These statements are in line with the moral code a young woman was supposed to live by in the 19 th century.369 Florence comes from a middle-class family and has an allowance of a hundred pounds a year, which is not much and prompts Harry to assure Lady Clavering that it is best if “the money comes from the husband”. Thus, Harry

368 cf. Trollope 1866, 16-18. 369 cf. ibid., 140.

196 wants to make a living for himself before their marriage, which will require a long engagement.370 As Nardin (1989) points out, it seems obvious that Trollope created the character of Florence with the Victorian ideal of modest femininity in mind. In comparison to the more experienced Julia, however, her personality appears almost dull sometimes, and while she is the woman Harry chooses eventually, it remains doubtful if she really is the only right choice he could have made. As much as Julia's character is not entirely condemned, Florence's is not as completely idealised as Dickens's female heroines, for example.371 We will see how Edwards captured Florence's character in her plate for chapter 32, Florence Burton Packs Up a Packet.

The illustration (see fig. 42) shows a young woman sitting in a lounge chair, her head turned away from the viewer so that the left side of her face is seen in profile. She wears a simple, high-necked gown with a buttoned blouse, long sleeves and a floor-length skirt. The neckline is embellished with ruffles and a dainty bow tied in the front. Her arms are crossed at the height of her wrists and rest on a book or letter lying in her lap. The woman wears her dark hair in a neat chignon. Her long-lashed eyes appear half-closed and she is gazing downwards. Next to her in the right foreground, a small chest with a handle can be seen. It is opened and seems to contain letters or other documents, which are partially scattered on the ground next to the chest.

Edward's illustration captures the scene in which Florence packs up all the letters and presents Harry had sent/given to her. After not hearing a word from him for some time, she travels to London to meet her brother Theodore and his wife Cecilia. Cecilia tells her about Harry's meetings with Lady Ongar, which prompts Florence to break off the engagement. Despite her alleged high moral standards, she cannot bear Harry's supposed (re-)attachment to his former lover and refuses to see him again. Cecilia – frustrated that her plan to hurt Julia Ongar backfired – tries to convince Florence that she is acting too hastily, but she will

370 cf. Trollope 1866, 20. 371 cf. Nardin 1989, 158 ff.

197 not have any of it. Florence feels deeply offended and self-conscious that she cannot compete with Julia's beauty, wit and wealth.372 Edwards chose to depict the moment Florence sits in solitude, sorting through Harry's letters and “lingers over her torture” by reading each one of them again.373 The plate shows her woefully gazing away from the letter she holds, as if it was too much for her to bear to read Harry's words again. Although she is described in the text as rather plain, she appears quite attractive here. The slight curl in her delicate neck, her long lashes as well as her slender figure and full head of hair correspond to the ideal of Victorian beauty. By exposing highly sensitive spots such as her ear and carotid artery, Florence's vulnerability is stressed. This is a very private moment for her and, as we learn from the text, her parents had “little sympathy to express for the weakness of grief”, thus she was brought up to conceal her suffering.374 Edward's style has often been linked to the Pre-Raphaelites, Millais especially, and indeed, her graceful representation of Florence in this moment of heartbreak seems to acknowledge this.375 The text initially implies that Florence is a model of Victorian womanhood – she is pure, modest and domestic. In chapter 32, however, we see a change in her behaviour: the putative rejection she experiences provokes a reaction which has often been interpreted by critics as childish and the consequence of her having been on a moral high horse all along, since it allegedly contradicts her former values. In the context of 19th- century codes of conduct for women which demanded a completely forgiving nature up to the point of selflessness, however, her solitary packing of Harry's old letters can also be viewed as a tiny act of rebellion against these – even if it was born out of defiance. As if Edwards intentionally decided to deviate from the text, she shows Florence Burton as a sensitive young woman who finds herself in an overwhelming situation. In my opinion, this makes her appear slightly less of an ingénue character in the illustration.

372 cf. Trollope 1866, 142. 373 ibid., 144. 374 ibid., 142. 375 cf. Cooke 2016a, online resource.

198 Alice's Adventures in Wonderland was published by Charles Lutwidge Dodgson under his pen name Lewis Carroll in 1865. While the initial manuscript featured Dodgson's own drawings, he collaborated with professional illustrator John Tenniel for the published version whom he specifically selected because of his ability to draw animals, which Tenniel had demonstrated in his illustrations of Aesop's Fables. According to Muir (1989), the relationship between artist and author was rather difficult (a fact that both their habits and personalities seemed to have had their fair share in), similar to the collaboration between Dickens and Cruikshank. It is said that Dodgson merely approved of one out of 92 plates designed by Tenniel. Thus their collaboration ended after the second book of the Alice series, Through the Looking Glass.376 Dodgson's novel as well as its heroine Alice are still immensely popular today with children and adults alike. The well- known 1951 film adaptation by Walt Disney might have contributed to the story's fame – most people have at least a vague concept of the main character and the plot, even if they have never read Dodgson's works. I would also argue that many people might be familiar with Tenniel's original illustration, which because of its young target audience is more likely to be included in modern editions than it is the case with works by Gaskell, Austen or Dickens. Of course, the illustrations as well as Dodgson's own drawings for the manuscript Alice's Adventures Under Ground also served as visual inspiration for later adaptations in various media – which explains the collective notion of certain types when it comes to Alice and the other characters. The main protagonist Alice has been the subject of a variety of academic research and will also be the centre of my analysis. As I mentioned in the preceding section, one of the ingénue's most important features is her youth. And while in Dickens's works there are also many very young girls who might fit the profile, I focussed on his teen-aged or young adult characters. Dodgson's Alice will therefore be the only infantile protagonist featured in this section. As a child, she is innocent and virginal by nature, one might say. We will see in the following, how much of the ingénue

376 cf. Muir 1989, 109/110.

199 was actually incorporated in her character. As an example from Tenniel's representations of Alice, I chose the illustration for the first chapter which is called Drink me.

At the beginning of Alice, our heroine is around seven years old. This can be determined with the help of the sequel Through the Looking Glass: there, Alice informs the Queen that she is “seven and a half exactly” and her talking of “the bonfire to-morrow” is widely interpreted as a reference to Guy Fawkes Day, which takes place on November 5th. Accordingly, the plot of Through the Looking Glass is likely set on November 4th.377 In chapter six of Alice, Alice explains that she would rather visit the March Hare “and perhaps as this is May it won’t be raving mad – at least not so mad as it was in March”. When the Hatter asks her in chapter seven which day of the month it is, she answers “The fourth”.378 Thus we can assume that the plot of Alice takes place on May 4th. At seven years, Alice is the youngest character I will deal with in my analysis. We learn very little from the text about her physical appearance. She has an older sister with whom she sits on the bench in the first chapter and to whom she tells her adventure in the last chapter. Her cat is named Dinah, as we learn on page 24 where she suspects that the animal will miss her once she has gone down the rabbit hole. Alice appears as a very curious and bright girl; throughout the novel, she entertains the reader and herself with funny little inner monologues. Overall, she is always and incessantly wondering about something: do bats eat cats (and vice versa)? Will the mouse understand French better than English? After all, it is her curiosity which brings her to Wonderland in the first place. Auerbach (1973) points out that in many aspects Alice's character is modelled on Victorian concepts of the dual nature of children. On the one hand, they – girls especially – were seen as sweet and pure, but on the other hand, they symbolised chaos and insubordination. I mentioned in section 3.1.1 that children were allowed some freedom in their play and were also encouraged to be (reasonably) active during

377 The first quote can be found on page 99, the second on page 4 (Carroll 1875). 378 Here, the first quote is found on page 111 and the second on page 116 (Carroll 1869).

200 the 19th century. In case of the upper-middle and upper classes, however, the phrase “children should be seen not heard” was of considerable importance and one wonders how this is compatible with Alice's adventurous spirit.379 In her waywardness, Alice is much more akin to Charlotte Brontë's Jane Eyre or Emily Brontë's Catherine Earnshaw as young girls than she is to Dickens's selfless child- women Little Nell or young Florence Dombey.

Tenniel's plate (see fig. 43) shows a young girl standing in front of a table with three embellished legs which can be seen to the left. The girl wears a dress with a voluminous skirt that ends just below her knees, a light apron with two front- pockets, light stockings and black mary jane pumps. She wears her blond hair long, it falls loosely down her shoulders and back. Only the part around her face seems to be styled, maybe strands of hair have been tied at the back of her head with a bow. In her right hand the girl holds a small bottle filled with a dark liquid and a label which reads “DRINK ME”. Her left hand is positioned in front of her upper body and lightly formed into a fist, while her face is slightly leaned to the left. She gazes on the bottle, as if she was reading the label. On the table, a small object, perhaps a key, is visible.

The illustration captures the moment when Alice, having chased the white rabbit deep down into the rabbit hole, finds the bottle filled with the potion that will make her shrink enough to fit through the small door she discovered behind a curtain. In the text, she first finds the tiny golden key lying on the “three-legged table” and then tries to open the door only to realise that she is too big to enter it. When she returns to the table, she finds the bottle. Curious by nature, she starts to inspect the little flask first, stating that she has to rule out if its content is poisonous. Since nowhere on the bottle a warning against poison can be found, Alice determines that it must be okay to drink the liquid. What follows is her famously shrinking down so much that she can no longer reach the key she left on the table.380 Tenniel depicts Alice as she is studying the bottle and its

379 cf. Auerbach 1973, 44 ff. 380 cf. Carroll 1869, 25 ff.

201 label, searching for a warning against poison. In her innocent child's logic, its absence must surely guarantee that drinking from the flask will do her no harm – mistrust appears completely alien to her. It alludes to her pureness of mind, unlike adults, she does not immediately suspect a hidden agenda. Furthermore, we can gather from Alice's diligent looking for a poison warning that she comes from a more affluent background (middle class or higher), where education was available, and has been instructed by her parents or other caretakers to act this way. The fact that she had time of leisure to sit in the garden and chase after rabbits strengthens the assumption that she belongs to a wealthy family. Despite her sometimes feisty attitude, Alice is a “good girl”, she does what she has been told. Her appearance, too, is in line with 19th-century society's idea of a prim and proper girl: she seems healthy, clean, neatly dressed, her hair is brushed and worn down as considered appropriate for young girls. And indeed, one of the most interesting aspects of Dodgson's novel is the way Alice's conformity with 19th-century notions of girlhood clashes with Wonderland's world of utter nonsense. Tenniel's illustration appears tame if it is seen out of context – of course, Drink me by itself is one of the more conventional plates in the novel. The genesis of Tenniel's plates suggests that his Alice is actually a tamer and more well-adapted version of what Dodgson had in mind when he created the story. The latter was inspired by the Lidell sisters, to whom he told an early version of Alice on a boat trip. He was particularly fascinated with Alice Pleasance Lidell, the middle child, who was ten years old at the time of their excursion and served as inspiration for the main protagonist of the novel. According to Auerbach (1986), the drawings Dodgson made for his manuscript of the novel (see fig. 44) show a version of Alice which bears much more likeness to photographs of the real Alice Lidell, an elfish girl with chin-length brown hair and a fringe. She looks more otherworldly than Tenniel's Alice, her presence gives the drawings an almost haunting, eerie quality. It has been suspected by many critics that Tenniel worked with a child model, namely Mary Hilton Babcock, a blond, proper girl who was friends with Dodgson and

202 specifically requested by him. While there is also a lot of doubt surrounding this story, Auerbach (1986) states that the resemblance between Mary Babcock and Tenniel's Alice cannot be denied.381 Other critics point out that based on the recurring criticism Dodgson expressed at the proportions and limbs of Tenniel's characters, it has to be assumed that he did not work with a model at all. Wakeling (2015) remarks that Dodgson acquired the photograph of Mary Babcock in 1865, the year the novel would be published so that Tenniel very likely had already been in the middle of designing his illustrations. 382 Anyway, the difference between Dodgson's original drawings and Tenniel's illustrations is undeniable. The original text is different in some aspects, too: Alice's decision to check if the bottle is marked “poison” is further explained. As I assumed above, Alice learnt to be a cautious girl with the help of “several nice little stories about children that got burnt, and eaten up by wild beasts, and other unpleasant things, because they would not remember the simple rules their friends had given them”.383 The “simple rules” serve as a moral compass, they are Alice's life manual. Tenniel's Alice in her Victorian erectness is a visual representation of these rules. She appears to have more in common with the well-behaved girl who will attend a prestigious finishing school than with the little adventurer Dodgson imagined his “dream-child” to be.384 We cannot be sure to which extent these differences are intentional. As many critics have pointed out, Dodgson and Tenniel worked in collaboration on the book as it was published in 1865. Although Dodgson is said to have been unsatisfied with Tenniel's work, it was nevertheless included with the text. It is thus unlikely that the final versions of the plates contained grave changes in the main character's appearance that were not authorised by Dodgson. Auerbach (1986), however, stresses the impact of the more conventional representation on the perception of Alice's character. In her opinion, the reader gets the impression from the illustrations that Alice is a

381 cf. Auerbach 1986, 34/35. 382 cf. Wakeling 2015, 68. 383 Carroll 1886, 8. 384 In the prefatory verse the fictional Alice is referred to as “dream-child moving through a land” (Carroll 1869, 15).

203 far more passive child than she actually is in the text. Everything that happens to her on her adventures (the shrinking and growing, for example) may appear arbitrary, but is is often self-induced: she chooses to drink from the bottle and she decides to eat the cake.385 Tenniel was employed as an illustrator to make Dodgson's work appear more professional as well as visually appealing. Maybe the decision to make Alice more conventionally pleasing in the plates – be it intentional or unintentional – helped gain a wider acceptance within the Victorian readership. It definitely makes her more of an ingénue.

The next heroine I will examine is the title character from Austen's Emma. During the 19th century, editions of the novel were illustrated by Hugh Thomson in 1896 as well as by Charles Edmund Brock (Henry Matthew Brock's older brother) and Christiana “Chris” Hammond in 1898. I will examine one selected plate each by C.E. Brock and Hammond. It is especially interesting that both Hammond's and Brock's illustration correspond to the same scene in volume 3, chapter 13. I will pay special attention to see if we are able to determine from the plates that a female illustrator has a different view on the subject. As in this case two different illustrators chose the same scene, I will describe both plates first and subsequently analyse them in comparison with each other.

Emma Woodhouse is described as “handsome, clever, and rich, with a comfortable home and happy disposition”. At the beginning of the novel, she is nearly twenty-one and grew up very sheltered, almost spoilt by her widowed, hypochondriac father with whom she resides at Hartfield in the English countryside. Her mother died when she was still very young and her older sister has a family of her own, which makes Emma the mistress of the house. Her weakness is that she is too used to have everything her way and that she thinks “a little too well of herself”. She is convinced that she will not get married, unless she falls in love very much.386 Austen assumed that her readers would

385 cf. Auerbach 1986, 35. 386 Austen 1841, 1/2.

204 dislike Emma Woodhouse, although she herself was very fond of the character.387 While she is intelligent and possesses independence of mind, Emma also displays a certain naiveté: her “project” of matchmaking is chaotic and she ends up unintentionally hurting the people she holds dear. For example, she convinces her younger friend Harriet Smith to turn down the proposal of respected but less well-off farmer Mr Martin and to pursue Mr Elton instead – who is actually interested in Emma, mainly for her fortune. Emma does not realise that and causes some trouble. It becomes clear that she does not play with her friends' feelings out of spite but that she genuinely believes to have their best interest in mind. Throughout the plot, she learns that it is not always a good idea to become involved in other people's personal matters and that there are many things in life which she does, in fact, not know. She is headstrong and privileged, and is often alerted to her ignorant or foolish behaviour by her friend Mr Knightley. Being the brother of her sister Isabella's husband, Mr Knightley is close to Emma. At thirty-seven, he is a lot older than her and also acts as her mentor. But he is also in love with her and she with him – a fact Emma only fully realises when she suspects him to be engaged to Harriet Smith. In typical Austen fashion, Emma and Mr Knightley find each other in the end and get married. I chose Emma for my analysis since she has many qualities that are typical of the stereotype of the ingénue. She is very young, attractive and educated in feminine accomplishments (painting, music), she is wealthy and highly desirable. While she lacks the passivity of the traditional ingénue character, she is also naïve and childlike in her actions. Mr Knightley as her moral guide appears as a variation of the knight in shining armour, rescuing her from her stubborn belief in remaining single. Actually, Emma is a very modern heroine with her refusal to marry and her decidedly independent ideas. In the following, I will take a look at two illustrations which both deal with the same scene: Mr Knightley's declaration of love and his subsequent marriage proposal to Emma.

387 Austen-Leigh 1967, 157.

205 Hammond's plate (see fig. 45) shows a woman and a man standing in front of a large hedge. They stand very close to each other and hold hands in front of their bodies. The woman is dressed in a nearly floor-length empire gown with a ruffled neckline and a dark spencer (a short, close-fitted tail-coat). She wears her dark hair in a chignon with a fringe of short curls framing her face. Her eyes appear to be closed, her face is slightly turned down. The man wears a dark waistcoat, ruffled shirt, white vest and breeches as well as black riding boots. His hair seems to be shoulder-length and gathered in a ponytail; he wears a top hat, too. His face is turned left in the direction of the woman and his gaze rests upon her. In the background, trees, some shrubbery and the tower of a small church are visible. Next to the woman on the right, we see part of a chair or bench.

The illustration by C.E. Brock (see fig. 46) features a woman and a man walking together in what appears to be a garden or park. The woman has linked arms with the man; they walk closely so that her left shoulder touches his right shoulder, each indicating motion by each putting one of their feet forward. Her dress is high-waisted, long-sleeved and embellished with embroidery. She wears a shawl loosely draped around her left shoulder and right forearm as well as pale-pink slippers. Her dark hair curls around her forehead and is topped off with a bonnet tied with a ribbon. Her head is slightly bowed down. The man holds a cane in his right hand and touches the woman's left hand with his left. He is dressed in a waistcoat with a dark collar, white ruffled shirt, striped vest, breeches and dark riding boots. He also wears a black top hat on his short, medium-dark hair. His face is turned towards the woman, he looks at her with his mouth slightly opened as if he was talking to her. In the background, part of a brick house, which is almost entirely covered by a large hedge, can be seen. The branches of a tree cover the top of the plate and on each side of the little path where the couple is strolling, bushes blooming with roses and narrow grass strips are visible.

206 Although both illustrations were made the same year, they are notably different. While both are line drawings, Hammond's is left black-and-white and Brock's is coloured. Furthermore, they differ in style, with Hammond's exhibiting finer, more detailed strokes and Brock's offering a clearer, flowing manner of drawing. Both artists chose the same paragraph from chapter 13, focussing on different sentences as they indicated by including quotes at the bottom of the plates. With Hammond it is “'Say No, if it is to be said.' She could really say nothing.” and with Brock “'most beloved Emma—tell me at once.'” – both detailing Mr Knightley's declaring his love for Emma.388 The chapter deals with their meeting in the gardens of Hartfield, discussing the news of Frank Churchill's wedding to Jane Fairfax. Mr Knightley believes that Emma is in love with the former and admits that he is jealous of him for having found love. Emma, on the other hand, assumes that Mr Knightley has fallen for Harriet Smith, which makes her realise her own affection for him. Afraid that he might speak about Harriet, she hesitates to ask him about the nature of his jealousy towards Frank Churchill, but in the end invites him to speak to her “as a friend”. This prompts Mr Knightley to confess that he actually hopes to be more than her friend – Emma is so surprised and thrilled that she drifts into an interior monologue instead of answering. The chapter ends with their engagement. In the light of this summary, it becomes clear that while Brock and Hammond chose the same paragraph as a reference for their plates, they depicted the scene quite differently. In Hammond's plate, Emma and Mr Knightley are shown standing in front of a hedge holding hands, their bodies standing so close that their arms and heads form the shape of a heart, becoming a symbol of their love. Mr Knightley seems confident as he looks directly at Emma, her eyes appear looking down or even closed, as if she could not believe what is happening. This alludes to her puzzled state after Mr Knightley's confession, which is described in Austen's text. Nevertheless, Hammond's illustration showing them side by side also stresses the couple's equality, their static position creating an atmosphere of

388 Austen 1841, 386.

207 harmony and contentment. Although Emma is meant to be very young, she looks older in Hammond's design – this is not necessarily an inaccuracy and could be read as a means of transporting the process of mental maturation Emma undergoes in the course of volume 3. The novel starts out with her being immature, childish and spoilt, but she learns from her mistakes and reflects on the consequences of her actions. The elegant simplicity of her dress adds to this impression – she feels content even without extravagant fashion. All of this, however, does not very much reflect the stereotype of the ingénue. And while Austen surely exhibited more progressive views on women than other (often male) authors, she still modelled Emma according to society's standards of female desirability. The fact that her happiness, her whole world, is only restored as Mr Knightley proposes to her also indicates a strong reliance on a male character who saves the day. To many modern viewers, Brock's account of the scene may seem more engaging at first sight, if only for its colourful details. One of the biggest disparities in comparison to Hammond's plate is the depiction of movement. Emma and Mr Knightley are shown each putting one foot forward, literally strolling through the gardens of Hartfield and this makes the scene appear more dynamic. Their postures are interesting, too: Emma's upper body is slightly bowed down, while Mr Knighley's is turned in her direction. He touches her hand as if he was trying to engage her whereas he is talking to her. This alludes to the moment he confesses either his jealousy towards Mr Churchill or his feelings for her, which leaves her astounded and silent. It also appears as if he was addressing Emma in a patronising way, touching her to gain her approval. It is not a moment of blissful intimacy, as we see in Hammond's illustration, but rather a depiction of lack of understanding, a silent struggle on Emma's part. Of course, this applies to the novel, too, since many a misunderstanding emerges throughout the plot. The affection the characters have for each other, however, is not really conveyed here. Emma appears younger and prettier in Brock's plate. Her dress is more sumptuous, but maybe not as true to Regency era fashion as the simpler one in Hammond's illustration.

208 Brock's Emma seems more fragile, too. It appears as if he depicted her more as an ingénue character, while his Mr Knightley also seems more manly in a traditional sense, stronger and more dominant. After all, he is also significantly older than her. The movement of the two protagonists, however, can be read as a clever reference to the progress they are making both as individuals and as a couple. So maybe Brock decided to stress that their relationship, their love, is only just unravelling as they are strolling though nature. It is nearly impossible to determine, if the illustrators' genders can be held responsible for the differences in their plates. Some might suspect that Hammond as a woman was more inclined to show Emma and Mr Knightley as equals, while Brock was more sensitive towards the slight power imbalance between the two. Both approaches can be traced back to Austen's novel, which stresses again that book illustration presents us with an interpretation of the text it accompanies. This is true especially in this case, where a consultation with the author was no longer possible and the artist worked fairly on her/his own.

209 Figure 37: George Cruikshank, "Rose Maylie and Oliver", illustration for Charles Dickens's “Oliver Twist”, etching on steel, 1839 (The British Library).

210 Figure 38: George Cruikshank, "The Fireside Plate", rejected illustration for Charles Dickens's "Oliver Twist", etching on steel, 1839 (scanned image and text by Philip V. Allingham., The Victorian Web).

211 Figure 39: Hablot Knight Browne, “I Fall Into Captivity”, illustration for Dickens's "David Copperfield", etching, 1850 (scanned image by Philip V. Allingham, The Victorian Web).

212 Figure 40: Fred Barnard, "Dora", illustration for Charles Dickens's “David Copperfield”, 1870s (scanned image by Philip V. Allingham, The Victorian Web).

213 Figure 41: George du Maurier, "Oh! It Is No Wonder!, illustration for Elizabeth Gaskell's "Wives and Daughters", 1866 (The British Library).

214 Figure 42: Mary Ellen Edwards, "Florence Burton Makes Up a Packet", illustration for Anthony Trollope's "The Claverings", wood engraving, 1867 (Scanned image by Simon Cooke, The Victorian Web).

215 Figure 43: John Tenniel, "Drink Me", illustration for Lewis Carroll's "Alice's Adventures in Wonderland", wood engraving, 1865 (Student assistants from the University Scholars Program, National University of Singapore, scanned this image under the supervision of George P. Landow, The Victorian Web).

216 Figure 44: Charles Lutwidge Dodgson, drawing for the manuscript of "Alice's Adventures Underground" (The British Library).

217 Figure 45: Chris Hammond, "Say 'No' if it is to be be said. She could really say nothing", illustration for Jane Austen's "Emma", 1898 (Houghton Library, Harvard University).

218 Figure 46: Charles Edmund Brock, "Most beloved Emma - tell me at once", illustration for Jane Austen's "Emma", tinted line drawing, 1898 (Molland's).

219 4.1.2 The Angel in the House

Derived from Coventry Patmore’s narrative poem of the same name, the Angel in the House became a popular stereotype during the 19th century. As I said before, it essentially describes the continuation of the ingénue stereotype after marriage – an idealised image of the housewife. The Angel in the House is not only an extremely capable household manager, she also possesses all the positive qualities of the ingénue: beauty, purity, charm, inherent goodness and altruism. Although after marital consummation she is no longer pure in the sense of virginal, her mind remains innocent and angelic – she is untouched by excessive academic schooling and rather relies on her mother wit. Above all, the Angel in the House is a paragon of domesticity.

In section 3.3.2, I already explained that some 19th-century female stereotypes are more common than others when it comes to literature and art. The ingénue (see preceding section) and the prostitute (see section 4.2.1), for example, can be found in many literary and artistic works of the time. With the Angel in the House as well as the true mother (see next section) this is not the case. There seems to be a problem of translating the virginal nature of the ingénue into post- wedding bliss, which accounts for these stereotypes not being as common as others. In many works of fiction, mothers are likely to be absent and sisters or friends, whose age and status would still qualify them as ingénues, often take their place in the family. In short, the female characters with the most potential for becoming an actual Angel in the House, that is the perfect wife, often fail to do so for various reasons.389 What we actually encounter in many novels – as Ingham (1992) points out – is young women acting as surrogate mothers. They manage the household and take care of their family, sometimes already at a very young age. Like most overly positive stereotypes, the Angel in the House is a middle-class ideal. Nevertheless, it was also common for lower-class women to

389 cf. Reynolds/Humble 1993, 17.

220 take the role of the nurturer and household manager – for example as governesses, nursery maids or housekeepers.390

As is the case with the ingénue, the use of the stereotype of the Angel in the House also seems to depend on whether the author of the work is male or female. Ingham (1996) determines that there is a significant difference between Dickens's and Gaskell’s or Brontë’s realisation: while the former focusses on the traditional Angel/whore dichotomy, the latter’s perception and representation of domesticity appears much more subversive.391 What I also noticed in works by both women and men, is the general lack of representation when it comes to positive examples of domesticity. For instance, many novels deal with courtship and culminate in marriage – the aftermath is seldom shown, mostly only alluded to in a few final sentences (in Austen’s works in particular). Other novels only deal with domesticity when it has gone wrong, as is the case with Dora’s inability to perform her wifely duties in Dickens's David Copperfield. Thus my analysis in this section draws from a limited range of appropriate characters and not only focusses on the traditional husband-wife dynamic. It is also important to note that due to their affectionate and nurturing personalities, most of the characters I chose for my analysis of the Angel in the House stereotype would just as well qualify as true mothers. I selected Amelia Sedley from Thackeray’s Vanity Fair (1847/48), Esther Summerson from Dickens's Bleak House (1852/53) and Hermione Clavering from Trollope's The Claverings (1866/67) as well as Charlotte Collins from the 1895 illustrated edition of Austen’s Pride and Prejudice.

Vanity Fair was published in twenty serial parts from 1847 to 1848. The publications included 40 full-page etchings, 77 wood-engraved vignettes and 67 initials.392 The fact that Thackeray himself provided the illustrations for the novel

390 cf. Ingham 1992, 62. 391 cf. ibid., 29/30. 392 cf. Cooke 2016b, online resource.

221 is particularly interesting. Chris Hammond also created a series of illustrations for a later edition in 1898.

In discussions of Vanity Fair, the focus usually lies on the more complex heroine Rebecca “Becky” Sharp, whom I will examine in a later section. When it comes to the stereotype of the Angel in the House, however, Amelia Sedley with her modest and passive character is more fitting. Good-natured, industrious and obedient, she is often described as the polar opposite of Becky. Reynolds/Humble (1993) mention Becky and Amelia as one of the frequent good girl/bad girl pairings which can be found in Victorian fiction.393 The two girls get to know each other while they are both attending Miss Pinkerton’s Academy. While Amelia comes from an affluent and respectable middle-class family, Becky is an orphan. Amelia is portrayed as a sweet, young girl who is well-liked by the staff and pupils of the school. Her appearance is referred to as reasonably pretty, although not outstandingly attractive, her character as amiable but meek:

But as we are to see a great deal of Amelia, there is no harm in saying, at the outset of our acquaintance, that she was a dear little creature; and a great mercy it is, both in life and in novels, which (and the latter especially) abound in villains of the most sombre sort, that we are to have for a constant companion so guileless and good-natured a person. As she is not a heroine, there is no need to describe her person; indeed I am afraid that her nose was rather short than otherwise, and her cheeks a great deal too round and red for a heroine; but her face blushed with rosy health, and her lips with the freshest of smiles, and she had a pair of eyes which sparkled with the brightest and honestest good-humour, except indeed when they filled with tears, and that was a great deal too often; for the silly thing would cry over a dead canary-bird; or over a mouse, that the cat haply had seized upon; or over the end of a novel, were it ever so stupid; and as for saying an unkind word to her, were any person hardhearted enough to do so – why, so much the worse for them.394

393 cf. Reynolds/Humble 1993, 50. 394 Thackeray 1854, 4.

222 This passage already alludes to Amelia’s sentimental and overly sensitive personality. Miss Pinkerton even ceases to scold her after incorrect answers in the classroom out of fear of troubling her too much. Amelia’s selflessness, her devotion to caring for others as well as her interest in “the principles of religion and morality” are all appraised in Miss Pinkerton’s letter to Mrs Sedley. The letter also contains advice on making Amelia wear a “backboard” daily in order to improve her “deportment and carriage”.395 Amelia’s needing support to stand upright alludes to her inability to stand up for herself, it literally implies her lack of backbone. Nevertheless, she possesses all necessary qualities of the perfect Victorian lady, in comparison with Becky especially. Throughout the novel, Amelia develops from caring friend and virtuous daughter to selfless wife and mother. As the child of a wealthy merchant, she grew up among London’s high society. Her childhood friend and later husband George Osborn belongs to the same class. When Amelia’s father goes bankrupt, George’s father forbids him to marry her – he disobeys, marries her nonetheless and loses his inheritance. It is interesting to note that George does not marry Amelia out of genuine affection but rather to spite his father as well as flatter himself for rescuing her from her desperate situation. While Amelia is completely infatuated with his whole personality, he shows little to no interest in her despite their being engaged. It is George’s friend Captain William Dobbin who eventually convinces him to marry Amelia despite her desolate financial circumstances. Shortly after their marriage, George gets bored with his wife’s modest ways and starts gambling. He also resumes his flirty behaviour towards other women – Becky Sharp, to be precise. Noticing the tension between her husband and her friend, Amelia does not become distrustful about their nature, but assumes that everything is her fault – him being “so clever and so brilliant, and [her] such a humble foolish creature”. She also feels she has abandoned her parents and should have “stopped at home

395 For the quotation see Thackeray 1854, 2. Backboards were wooden planks with handles young girls were encouraged to wear for several hours a day in order to develop an upright posture. This practice was quite popular in private boarding schools during the 19th century (cf. Mitchell 1996, 181).

223 and taken care of poor papa”. In this moment, Amelia even thinks that it was selfish of her that she “forced” George to marry her.396 Amelia’s love for her husband remains unaltered – even long after his death, she clings to his memory and rejects William Dobbin for she believes she cannot love anybody else. Until the very end of the novel, Amelia holds on to an idealised image of George, which keeps her from moving on. When Becky finally tells her the truth about her late husband’s advances towards her in chapter 67, Amelia’s first reaction is, of course, denial. As soon as she digests the news, she realises that despite the pain it caused her, it also leaves her free to continue with her life and choose a new partner (William Dobbin). Again, she has to rely on others in order to cope with reality – without Becky and William, many things might have turned out differently for her. While Amelia can certainly be characterised as an ingénue, I will take a look at her as a doting daughter and wife. Her character practically lives through others and while she is often in need of help, she certainly cares for those around her, for the men especially. According to Coventry Patmore’s poem of the same name, the Angel in the House is a passive, gentle creature. In perpetual self-sacrifice, she puts the needs of her husband above her own: “Man must be pleased, but him to please / Is woman’s pleasure” as it reads in the poem.397 These lines can be applied to Amelia – I will examine an illustration by Hammond which shows her with her husband George. I mentioned before that the dynamic created by the Angel in the House not only applied to the traditional constellation of husband and wife, but often referred to a girl caring for her father as a surrogate for an absent mother. Thus, I also selected one of the original illustrations Thackeray himself produced for Vanity Fair where Amelia is shown listening to the stories of her father. I will analyse the illustrations in chronological order.

Thackeray’s plate (see fig. 47) shows four people. Two of them, an older man and a young woman, are sitting on a park bench in the foreground. The woman

396 Thackeray 1854, 197. 397 Patmore’s poem was originally published in 1854 and revised in 1862.

224 is sitting on the left half of the bench facing away from the viewer. Her upper body, however, is turned sideways towards the man to her right so that her face can be seen. She is dressed in a lightly coloured gown and a bonnet beneath which her hair frames her face curling around her forehead. A light shawl is draped around her back, falling loosely on the back of her skirt. Her left hand touches the man’s arm, while her right hand is held in front of her midsection. She gently smiles at the man next to her. He sits very upright with his body facing the viewer. Dressed in a dark suit with a light neck tie, a top hat and black boots, he is well-dressed for going out. Between his closed legs he holds a cane on the knob of which both his hands are resting. His face appears blank and he seems to stare into the distance. The other two people can be seen in the middle and background – a woman in a long dark dress, complete with shawl and bonnet who turns her back to the viewer and seems to be walking away from the scene in the foreground, and a man wearing a long coat and a top hat who is standing in the distant background. The scene takes place outdoors, trees and a row of houses are visible in the back of the plate. A parasol lies on the ground to the left.

The illustration originally accompanied chapter 58 and shows a scene between Amelia and her elderly father:

Old Sedley was seated on a bench, his handkerchief placed over his knees, prattling away, according to his wont, with some old story about old times to which Amelia had listened and awarded a patient smile many a time before. She could of late think of her own affairs, and smile or make other marks of recognition of her father's stories, scarcely hearing a word of the old man's tales.398

The two other characters visible in the plate are Mary Clapp (sometimes she is referred to as Polly), the daughter of Mr Sedley’s clerk, and William Dobbin. The latter has just arrived at the Sedley’s house and Mary offers to take him to Kensington Gardens where Amelia and her father spend the day. According to

398 Thackeray 1854, 491.

225 William’s wish, Mary rushes to the park bench in order to announce his arrival. At first, Amelia suspects that there is something wrong with her son Georgy, whom she has sent to live with his paternal grandfather Mr Osborne, but when she sees her old friend in the distance she is relieved. In the chapters before, Amelia had made the difficult decision to let Georgy live with Mr Osborne who is able to offer him a comfortable life and education. Since Mr Sedley’s bankruptcy, the family lives on the brink of starvation and Amelia cannot bear to see her child suffer. Her mother becomes gravely ill and dies. Afterwards, Amelia devotes all her time to the care of her father. The text passage Thackeray selected for his plate nicely illustrates her eagerness to please her father. Despite having heard his tale several times, she patiently smiles and at least gives the impression of listening. This is a good example of her Angel in the House qualities – she puts the needs of others above hers: she gives away her son to give him a better life and tirelessly tends to her sick and elderly parents. Mr Sedley’s absent, maybe even demented state of mind is transported in the illustration by the blank look on his face and the strange upright position of his body. This gives the impression of him being merely physically present, while his mind is entangled far away in old stories. It also seems as if he did not notice the arrival of Mary, William’s messenger, who can already be seen walking away from the scene in the foreground. The look on Amelia’s face also tells of absent- mindedness: she smiles into the distance, maybe she is happy about the news of William’s arrival. The fact that Mr Sedley’s legs face the viewer, while Amelia’s are turned away towards Mary and William, alludes to them belonging to different realities, so to speak. Amelia is present in everyday life, Mr Sedley, in contrast, is lost in thoughts about his past. Meanwhile, the story of his daughter, her future (and by extension his grandson’s), unfolds behind his back. It is incredibly hard to take care of one’s ageing parents and to experience them losing touch with reality. Thus this not only highlights Amelia’s altruism and goodness, but also tells of her inner strength. Although Amelia is often depicted as weak and lacking backbone, her actions later in the novel establish her even

226 more as a foil for strong-minded femme fatale Becky Sharp. Amelia embodies the ideal of feminine strength which comes into play only in times when caring and nurturing for others are needed. In the following, we will take a look at Amelia’s relationship with George as it is interpreted by illustrator Chris Hammond.

Hammond’s illustration (see fig. 48) shows two women inside a room. The younger one is seated sideways on a chair at a small bureau in the foreground, with her right elbow resting on the tabletop and her left arm resting in her lap. In her right hand, she holds a three-page letter, which she seems to be reading. She appears to be in her early twenties and is dressed in a high-waisted gown with long puff sleeves. Her hair is dark and worn in a loose high chignon. The older woman is standing a little further towards the background in front of a chair which is located left of a door that has been left open, with a short-haired man in a dark waistcoat peeking through the crack. The woman wears a simple dress with an apron and dark shoes. On her head she wears a house bonnet with a ruffled rim and a dark ribbon. She is facing the viewer and with both her hands on her hips, she looks at the younger woman while slightly tilting her head forward. In the background, a canopy bed can be seen.

The plate refers to a scene in chapter 19 where Amelia receives a letter from George asking her to marry him with the words “’I must see you,’ the letter said. ‘Dearest Emmy – dearest love – dearest wife, come to me’”.399 After Mr Sedley lost all his money, the family was forced to move out of their house and sell all their possessions – one of them being Amelia’s beloved piano. Her faithful friend William then proceeded to visit the auction where it was to be sold and bought the piano for her. When the instrument is delivered, Amelia thinks George to be the benefactor and William lets her believe it. Upon visiting her, he is shocked by her “ghastly” appearance and “look of despair”. In order to help her, he tells George that Amelia is dying. George comes to her rescue, bearing the letter

399 Thackeray 1854, 147.

227 Amelia is seen reading in Hammond’s illustration. In contrast to the description in the text, the Amelia in the plate does not really look ill or exhausted – only her slightly casual hairstyle hints at her being a little less put together. She also appears a little tired in the way that she leans on the bureau for support while reading the letter. Her face does not show any signs of happiness, neither of sadness; she seems almost indifferent with her lips curling into a very faint smile. This is surprising given that a marriage proposal from George seemed to be everything she ever wanted, something she had dreamed of since her childhood. As I pointed out earlier, Amelia is established as a very emotional character at the beginning of the novel. This gives Hammond’s portrayal of her as a nearly stoic reader of news from the supposed love of her life an odd quality. At this point in the novel, the text does not (yet) give any evidence of Amelia’s questioning her feelings for George – she even believes that he gifted her with the piano which was actually bought by William. It takes a long time and, of course, Becky’s telling the truth about the infamous note in the nosegay, till Amelia realises George’s true character. Probably Hammond intended to foreshadow this development and thereby presented Amelia as a wiser woman than Thackeray’s text might imply? Conventions of representation might be another possible reason behind this depiction: despite her family's loss of fortune, Amelia is portrayed throughout the novel as a middle-class woman. She is educated, does not do any hard labour and possesses qualities such as beauty, purity, kindness and passivity which are traditionally associated with the middle- class ideal of femininity. The mental image created in chapter 19 when William is astounded by Amelia’s appearance, is completely different. The choice of words such as “ghastly”, “despair”, “pathetic”, “frightened”, “pale”, “fatal” and “terror” do not suggest a fragile Victorian beauty resting in her bed, but rather allude to a dishevelled woman marked by illness and poverty. Of course, we have to keep in mind that we perceive Amelia’s state in the text through the eyes of William, who is eager to rescue her and might present an exaggerated version of reality. Nevertheless, the expressions used to describe Amelia would

228 commonly be associated with lower-class women – respectable middle-class women were expected to remain collected in all circumstances. If Hammond had depicted a dishevelled Amelia with wild hair, she would have compromised her affiliation with the middle class and by extension her status as Angel in the House. It is implied several times that Amelia’s extreme desirability largely stems from her non-threatening beauty as well as submissiveness – she embodies the meek and mild Angel and in order to keep this status, she has to be portrayed as a member of the middle class. Another interesting dynamic in the illustration arises from the other woman depicted in the same room with Amelia, watching her half-amused with her hands on her hips. The only other woman mentioned in the corresponding text passage is the “buxom Irish servant-girl” who works at the Sedley’s house and tries in vain “to give Amelia aid or consolation”. 400 She is the one who delivers George’s note and curiously awaits Amelia to cheer up. We do not know much about the servant, not even her name is mentioned in the chapter. The fact that she “perform[s] all the duties” in the household of the bankrupt Sedley family suggests that she does not earn a lot of money. Belonging to a lower class, she surely wonders about Amelia’s state of self-pity and despair. She delivers George’s letter “smiling, and looking arch and happy” - it seems as if in addition to her frustration given Amelia’s behaviour she also gains some amusement from the situation. This is also shown in the illustration: the servant’s pose and her mischievous grin appear provocative; as if she was challenging Amelia to finally get her act together. The comparison of these two female protagonists can be read as a commentary on the self-image of the 19th- century middle class. Amelia, a young woman embodying the ideal of femininity, falls on hard times and has to leave her comfortable life behind. She is confronted with a young servant-girl who has likely been working from an early age and is probably used to much worse living conditions than the ones Amelia finds herself in at this moment. Additionally, the former certainly does not have any prospects of improving her situation any time soon, while Amelia will

400 Thackeray 1854, 147.

229 proceed to marry George and can always count on the help of her wealthy friend William. Thus, Amelia’s self-pity seems ridiculous and out of proportion. Hammond’s decision to capture this scene accordingly can be read as a commentary on Amelia’s unawareness of her sheltered existence. This is achieved by giving a face as well as a central role to a minor character Thackeray did not even bother to properly name in the novel. The fact that George is looming outside the door awaiting Amelia’s response alludes to his continuous presence in her mind which lingers on even after his death. Thackeray makes it very clear that George never was the right man for Amelia – something she cannot seem to realise on her own. As an Angel in the House, all she longs for is someone to take care of, so she clings to a romanticised image of her husband. In comparison with Thackeray’s illustration, Hammond’s seems to present us with a more nuanced portrayal which holds potential for a more critical analysis of Amelia’s character.

Dickens's novel Bleak House was first published as a monthly serial between 1852 and 1853. Illustrations were once again provided by Phiz, who worked with the author over the course of 23 years and contributed to ten of his books. According to Cohen, the plates for Bleak House proved more challenging for Phiz than those he did for previous works. The novel’s focus on social criticism demanded that he concentrated less on the characterisation of individuals with the help of numerous allegorical details, but rather satirised institutions and society as a whole. The periodicals were published in a blue wrapper to be distinguished from the preceding novel’s green one and to allude to its dealing with a satirical take on the Court of Chancery. In addition, Phiz made frequent use of his dark plate technique where he worked close-set fine lines into the plate with a ruling-machine in order to achieve striking contrasts of light and shadow. When Phiz first introduced this technique while working on Dombey and Son, Dickens did not like it. For Bleak House, however, he considered it well- suited – maybe because it paired better with the grimmer narrative of the

230 novel.401 In the following, I will examine the novel’s main protagonist Esther Summerson.

Apart from being the novel’s heroine, Esther also functions as one of its narrators, the other one being an omniscient narrator. She is far from confident about her own abilities and it seems that from an early age on she has believed herself to be “not clever”.402 Born out of wedlock, Esther is raised by her godmother Miss Barbary who is also her maternal aunt. Despite Esther’s assuring that her aunt is a “good, good woman”, the reader gets a different impression from the way she treats her niece. When Esther dares to ask about her birth mother, her aunt cruelly answers that her mother is Esther’s disgrace and Esther is hers. Her aunt also thinks it best not to celebrate Esther’s birthday since it would have been better if she had never been born.403 We later learn that her parents are Lady Dedlock and Captain Hawdon – her relation to the former accounts for Esther being connected to the novel’s main subject, the Jarndyce and Jarndyce case. After the death of her aunt, Esther is taken in and allowed an education at a boarding school by John Jarndyce, a wealthy man involved in the court case. He also assumes guardianship of two wards of Chancery who are both beneficiaries in one of the Jarndyce and Jarndyce wills: Ada Clare and Richard Carstone. After several years of education, Esther is supposed to act as Ada’s companion since Mr Jarndyce is not married and has no other female relatives. Furthermore, she becomes the housekeeper at Bleak House. This position is well-suited to her abilities and her personality: early on in the novel, it becomes clear that Esther is a very nurturing, selfless character. She deeply cares about those around her and generally puts their needs above her own. This is stressed in chapter 4, when on their way to Bleak House Esther, Ada and Richard spend the night at the house of the Jellyby family. Even before they get

401 cf. Cohen 1980, 107-109. 402 In the beginning of chapter 3, Esther relates how as a little girl she used to prop up her doll in a chair and talk to her. While she was too shy to talk to anybody else, she often told her doll: “Now Dolly, I am not clever, you know very well, and you must be patient with me, like a dear !” (Dickens 1858, 9). 403 cf. ibid., 10/11.

231 there, Esther assists in freeing one of the Jellyby children who had got his head stuck between the area railings. Mrs Jellyby is obsessed with philanthropic projects in Africa to an extent that she neglects her own family, her housekeeping and her appearance – outrageous behaviour for a 19th-century woman. As Esther and her friends enter the Jellyby house, they notice many children everywhere, one even falling down the stairs as they make their way up. As the latter wants to show his mother the injuries he acquired in the fall, she quickly dismisses him. While she continues her correspondence with Africa, Esther picks him up and cradles him to sleep in her arms. The Jellyby’s older daughter Caddy acts as a secretary to her mother – a position with which she is highly displeased and which leaves her “jaded, and unhealthy looking”.404 At this point in the novel, Esther has just met the Jellyby family for the first time and is yet already managing their household, which stresses her self-sacrifice and altruism, but also her commitment to her vocation as an Angel in the House. This behaviour only intensifies in the course of the novel and culminates in chapter 31, where Esther takes home fatally ill street urchin Jo in order to take care of him. The boy is gone the next morning, but Esther’s maid and friend Charley has become infected. Of course, Esther sacrificially nurses her back to health, while denying everyone else entrance to the room to avoid spreading the illness, only to eventually contract it herself. As she fights the mysterious infection, she goes temporarily blind and in the end, her face is left disfigured.405 Accustomed to downplay her own feelings, Esther assures Charley that her disfigurement “matters very little” and that she will be able to live without her “old face very well”.406 In chapter 36, however, for the first time since her illness, Esther dares to take a look in the mirror and despite her effort to be brave, she is saddened by her reflection. Nevertheless, Esther exhibits a certain

404 Dickens 1858, 26. 405 Dickens does not specify which illness exactly befalls Esther and her friend, but is has been widely suspected from the symptoms mentioned (temporal blindness, inability to speak, specific odour) that they caught smallpox. The fact that Esther’s face is left “changed” also alludes to the permanent scarring patients suffering from the disease sometimes experienced as a result of pustules and ulceration (cf. Carpenter 2010, 91 ff.). 406 Dickens 1858, 288.

232 sentimentality in this scene, she is definitely mourning her beauty and actually thinking of herself first, if only for a brief moment. This might be due to the perceived connection between attractiveness and marriageability – shortly after consulting the looking-glass, she confesses that she has kept the flowers given to her by Mr Woodcourt (whom she is secretly in love with and will marry later) and relates that she feels guilty keeping them now. Physical beauty played an essential part in 19th-century femininity (and still does today), so while Esther’s strength of character helps her to get over the loss of her looks, she senses that although she had never thought herself a beauty in the first place, this will surely be a disadvantage. Of course, beauty also is a vital feature of the Angel in the House. For my analysis, I selected Phiz’s plate for chapter 30.

In the illustration (see fig. 49), we see a comfortably furnished room dominated by a large canopy bed with white curtains. On the bed, amongst white pillows and sheets, lies a young girl dressed in a nightgown. Her dark hair falls loosely down her neck and covers her face which she buries in the sleeves of a young woman sitting on a chair next to the bed. The young girl embraces the woman’s left arm with both her hands. The woman is neatly dressed in a light gown with a collar and dark tie. Her right arm rests in her lap, while she slightly leans her upper body towards the girl in the bed. She wears her dark hair in a tidy chignon. Behind her chair, we see a mantelpiece with a vase of flowers and a small chest, above which an oval portrait is visible. Next to it, in front of a curtained window, stands a dressing table with a mirror and some toiletries on top. In the right foreground of the plate, a small bedside table with a variety of small bottles and a candle can be seen.

As I mentioned above, Phiz’s illustration details the events in chapter 30 called “Nurse and Patient”, where Esther tends to the sick Charley:

Charley fell ill. In twelve hours she was very ill. I moved her to my room, and laid her in my bed, and sat down quietly to nurse her. I told my guardian all about it, and why I felt it was necessary that I should seclude myself, and my

233 reason for not seeing my darling above all. [...] So patient she was, so uncomplaining, and inspired by such a gentle fortitude that very often as I sat by Charley holding her head in my arms – repose would come to her, so, when it would come to her in no other attitude – I silently prayed to our Father in heaven that I might not forget the lesson which this little sister taught me.407

The details mentioned in the excerpt are mirrored in the illustration: the bed in which Charley lies clearly is not what could be expected at a maid’s quarter, as are the ornamented furniture and the richly stocked dressing table. With the help of these furnishings, Phiz indicates that it must be Esther’s room, the room of a Victorian middle-class woman. Thus he perfectly echoes Dickens’s text where it is explicitly stated that as soon as Charley showed the first signs of illness, Esther decided to move her to her room and let her sleep in her bed. Overall Phiz works closely to the text in this chapter: the furnishings of the room, the position of Charley’s head buried in Esther’s sleeve – who tirelessly nurses her and sits by her side. The numerous bottles on the bedside table shown in the plate allude to Charley’s illness – while physicians were already providing vaccines for smallpox and the Compulsory Vaccinations Act was passed in 1853, once the disease had been contracted, there were no effective treatments available.408 Esther’s appearance is demure but quite attractive in this illustration. It strongly reminds me of Phiz’s visual representation of Dora Spenlow which we have seen in the preceding section. They both have dark hair which is worn in a similar chignon and their dress is nearly identical: a white, floor-length gown with a collar and dark tie. I already mentioned that Dickens was often accused of being unable to convincingly write positively connoted female characters, that they were always too flat and lifeless in their angelic goodness. While it is certain that Esther and Dora are indeed presented as different characters, they seem very much alike in some aspects. Dickens's forte were his humorous, caricatured, often dark characters – something similar might

407 Dickens 1858, 258. 408 cf. Carpenter 2010, 92.

234 be true for Phiz who still made use of the satirical tradition popular in illustrations from the early 19th century. The character of Esther Summerson caused quite a lot of debate among both readers and scholars. Charlotte Brontë thought her portrayal “too often weak and twaddling; an amiable nature is caricatured, not faithfully rendered”.409 Salotto (1997) assumes that the lack of dimension in Esther’s personality can be interpreted as an ironic comment on her function as the novel’s Angel in the House: she mimics an unattainable ideal of femininity and thus loses the authenticity of a fully rounded character. According to her research, the reader can only seldom catch a glimpse of Esther’s true, subversive self through her first-person narrative, for example when she relates how she felt like an “impostor” when she was teaching her “blind follower” Caddy Jellyby housekeeping and pretended to love it in chapter 30.410 There is some truth to this assumption, as the behaviour of the protagonist appears at times highly staged, as if she was performing the role of the ideal Victorian woman. Additionally, the theme of mimicry and masquerade does indeed have its place in the novel, if we think about the resemblance between Lady Dedlock, her maid Hortense and Esther. It is questionable, however, if this can really be read as an intentional criticism of the Angel in the House stereotype. 19th-century femininity by itself required a lot of performance, starting with the appropriate appearance to manners and graces. And of course, the fact that a woman submits to a certain ideal does not automatically mean that she will love every minute of it. Neither does it have to mean that she will hate all of it. During the 19th century especially, social expectations were even more tightly knit than they are today – most people who were born into certain circumstances did not question them since they were too busy conforming to the social responsibilities they entailed. This is a phenomenon still present today: for example, despite rather obvious disparities such as the gender pay gap or domestic violence statistics, it seems that many women are still convinced that

409 Salotto 1997, 333. 410 cf. ibid., 335.

235 they no longer need to concern themselves with thoughts about women’s equality. Of course, dealing with feminist theories is complex and everyday life does often not allow an in-depth consideration of the persisting relevance of the topic.411 In case of Esther Summerson, I would argue that her altruism, helpfulness and goodness make her an Angel in the House. Her nursing of little Charley is a very good example of this since it entails her becoming ill, too. While telling us nothing new about her character, Phiz’s illustration presents Esther exactly as we imagine her from reading her narrative. The fact that Charley’s face is buried in Esther’s dress and therefore remains obscure to the viewer adds another dimension: without the narrative, we are not able to clearly identify the girl, which turns her into a place holder for all the characters Esther has taken and will take care of in the course of the novel/her life. This establishes her as the ultimate nurturer, the mother of all, and again shows how closely the Angel in the House is linked to the stereotype of the true mother, which I will look at in the next section.

In the previous section, I examined the character Florence Burton from Trollope's The Claverings in the context of the ingénue stereotype. For the analysis of the Angel in the House, I will take a look at another female character from the novel: Hermione Clavering, the wife of the main protagonist's affluent relative, baronet Sir Hugh Clavering. She is also the sister of Harry Clavering’s love interest Julia Ongar née Brabazon. The illustration featuring Hermione was again provided by Mary Ellen Edwards.

Hermione is first mentioned in chapter 1 as the oldest daughter of the late Lord Brabazon, a man born into nobility “who [had] no means equal to [his] rank”. It was therefore necessary for his daughters to find wealthy husbands and Hermione was the first to do so in marrying Sir Hugh. In the last paragraph of the first chapter, it is said that she just gave birth to a son – the eagerly awaited

411 cf. Jowett 2004, 91.

236 heir to the family fortune and title.412 Their marriage is all but happy, which is mostly due to Sir Hugh’s dislikeable personality:

Sir Hugh was not a gambler like his brother, but I do not know that he was therefore a more estimable man. He was greedy and anxious to increase his store, never willing to lose that which he possessed, fond of pleasure, but very careful of himself in the enjoyment of it, handsome, every inch an English gentleman in appearance, and therefore popular with men and women of his own class who were not near enough to him to know him well, given to but few words, proud of his name, and rank, and place, well versed in the business of the world, a match for most men in money matters, not ignorant, though he rarely opened a book, selfish, and utterly regardless of the feelings of all those with whom he came in contact.413

He also applies double standards to his wife, for example by accusing her in chapter 11 of always having “some cursed secret”, while he is “a man very secret in his own affairs”. Hermione is given a small allowance per month and is by any means expected to attend to her husbands wishes. In the above mentioned chapter, there are many incidents which hint at Sir Hugh’s dominance over his wife, for instance as he scolds her for bringing their son down before dinner or as he calls her “in a voice that always caused Lady Clavering to tremble”. Hermione seems to be used to this treatment, almost conditioned to react to it. In the course of the novel, it does not become entirely clear if Hermione is in fact as “timid” as she is presented in the plot and thought to be by other characters or if she is so confined in her role as Sir Hugh’s submissive wife that she is incapable of developing a personality of her own. It is without doubt that the passages where she is involved are sometimes hard to read for they present her as pitiful and weak. We are not able to identify her as the household manager or the competent wife and mother, she is too insecure and starved for her husband's affection to thrive on her own. Of course, this makes her a fundamentally different version of the Angel in the House than Esther Summerson, the proficient caretaker of all. We have to keep in mind, however,

412 Trollope 1866, 4/5. 413 ibid., 48

237 that the latter belongs to a different class: despite being taken in by an upper- middle-class man, Esther was actually born into a lower class, considering especially her birth out of wedlock. Hermione, in contrast, belongs to the gentry – a down-to-earth approach to household management and child-rearing would never be expected of her (her baby is cared for by a nurse, for example). As a noblewoman, she would be less involved into actual care-giving but rather preside over everything with a slightly aloof attitude. The fact that Hermione is not able to act like this, alludes to the ideal of the Angel in the House being even more brittle than that of the ingénue. I already mentioned the findings of Ingham (1992) and Reynolds/Humble (1993) stating that the Angel of the House and the true mother are two stereotypes which are often incredibly hard to identify since they were based on middle-class values but various factors accounted for them being better suited to lower-class women, the result being that characters like Esther, who live a middle-class life but actually fall in a lower-class category, are often more easily identified as conforming to the ideal.414 The two women do have one thing in common, however: both are mostly interested in the well-being of others, albeit for different reasons. Where Esther lives and breathes altruism, Hermione’s submissiveness makes her think of her husband and son long before she even considers herself. She is so wrapped up in her marriage that she seems to have lost touch with the world outside. When Sir Hugh and his brother drown before Heligoland, Hermione, the “enfranchised slave”, seems to be the only one truly grieving her husband. While everyone else is secretly relieved that he is gone, she keeps on insisting that she was happy with him.415 One of the most interesting story lines concerning Hermione and her husband starts when their baby son dies in chapter 20. The plate by Edwards I selected for my analysis deals with the grief the couple experiences.

414 cf. Ingham 1992, 62 and Reynolds/Humble 1993, 17. 415 cf. Trollope 1866, 192 ff.

238 The illustration (see fig. 50) shows a room with two people – a seated man to the right and a standing woman to the left. The man is sitting on a chair, his body slightly caved in with his arms crossed and his head tilted. He is dressed in a dark coat, trousers and shoes. His dark hair is wavy and parted on the right side; he has sideburns, a moustache and bushy whiskers. The woman is standing very close to him, touching his right upper arm with her right hand and leaning towards him. She also faces him, her head turned in his direction, so that the viewer can see her face in profile. Her dress is simple, it is dark with a floor- length bouffant skirt and white collar. Her hair is lighter than his and she wears it in a chignon. In front of her, just where her skirt hits the floor, a white, crumbled piece of paper or cloth can be seen. In the background, a window is visible to the right and the lower corner of a picture frame or mirror to the left.

Edwards’s illustration bears the title “The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away”, alluding to the Bible. It is a variation of a sentence from Job 1:21, which has become a popular saying indicating the inevitability of death but also the power of God.416 In case of The Claverings, it is of course linked to the death of Hermione and Sir Hugh’s son. Edwards selected the following passage from chapter 20 for her plate:

When he had entered the room she was the first to speak. “Oh, Hugh!” she exclaimed, “oh, Hugh!” He had closed the door before he uttered a word, and then he threw himself into a chair. There were candles near to him, and she could see that his countenance also was altered. He had indeed been stricken hard, and his half-stunned face showed the violence of the blow. The harsh, cruel, selfish man had at last been made to suffer. Although he had spoken of it and had expected it, the death of his heir hit him hard, as the rector had said. “When did he die?” asked the father. “It was past four, I think.” Then there was again silence, and Lady Clavering went up to her husband and stood close by his shoulder. At last she ventured to put her hand upon him. With all her own misery heavy upon her, she was chiefly thinking at this moment how she might soothe him. She laid her hand upon

416 cf. Garner 2009, 1101.

239 his shoulder, and by degrees she moved it softly to his breast. Then he raised his own hand, and with it moved hers from his person. He did it gently; but what was the use of such nonsense as that?417

At the beginning of the chapter, it is mentioned that while Sir Hugh was away on business (as he seems to be quite often), the baby became very ill and Hermione sent for Mrs Clavering. When the doctor came to see the child, he advised to message Sir Hugh and tell him to come home at once – there was no hope left for the boy. Hermione had already written to her husband and it seems that he had no haste to return from his trip. Now she is eagerly awaiting his return, doubtful that he will come at all. She also does not seem to want to tell her husband the sad news herself, as becomes clear from her conversation with Mrs Clavering, who takes pity on her and agrees to let Hannah, the housekeeper, do it. For Mrs Clavering, this is no surprise and another proof of Hermione’s “weak,[...] worldly, listless, and perhaps somewhat selfish” nature – she only consents because she also believes that Hermione truly loved her child. Hermione, however, seems to care more about Sir Hugh’s reaction to the death of his heir, fearing that he will throw her out. In order to distract her from this train of thought, Mrs Clavering takes her into the nursery, hoping that it will make Hermione weep and thus experience relief. But she cannot cry over her baby, which does not seem very odd in the light of the shock she must have suffered. While she waits for her husband, Hermione cannot help but hope that their shared loss will produce in him “something of tender solicitude”. When Sir Hugh arrives, he does not immediately go to his wife after the housekeeper has told him everything, but he takes his time changing out of his clothes and putting away his things. This makes Hermione think wistfully that “at such a time any other husband and wife would have been at once in each other's arms”. She becomes intensely aware of “all that they had lost” and fears that their child was the one thing keeping them together. When Sir Hugh finally comes to her, as detailed in the passage cited above, instead of taking her into his arms, he

417 Trollope 1866, 89.

240 immediately sits down in a chair. Hermione is the first to address him and despite her own misery and his lacking response, she thinks of comforting him. As she puts her hand on his shoulder, he at least gently pushes it away. This seems almost enough to comfort her – as well as seeing that the “harsh, cruel, selfish man had at last been made to suffer”. She tries to stir the conversation into a religious direction by quoting the aforementioned sentence from the Bible but her husband will not have any of it. After a short reference to the late child’s ill health and weakness since birth, he orders Hermione to tell the servants to prepare him food and concludes that it would be best not to think of the tragedy any longer.418 We experience two different ways of expressing grief in this chapter – that both characters do grieve, becomes obvious in the text passages I summarised. Hermione, while not openly crying, is very shaken and fearful in the wake of the baby’s death. Sir Hugh, in contrast, tries to rationalise the situation and suppress any further thought about it. Another big difference is Hermione’s attempt to take care of her husband, whom she knows to be rather cold and unfeeling towards her. Nevertheless, she puts his feelings above her own and tries to console him. This is nicely visualised in Edwards’s plate with the help of the protagonists’ body language: Hermione is seen leaning down towards Sir Hugh, gently touching his arm indicating her attempt at offering love and support, while Sir Hugh has his arms crossed and sits motionlessly. Her face also shows signs of sorrow, his appears grim and grumpy. The white object in front of Hermione’s skirt might be a handkerchief – there is no mention of one in the scene selected by Edwards but in a later scene, where Hermione takes Sir Hugh to see the dead child in his room. The little boy’s face is covered with a handkerchief which Hermione proceeds to remove.419 Given the illustrator's usual reduced style without many emblematic details, it is very likely that this object is not an arbitrary prop but meant as an allusion to the dead boy. Instead of using various objects as symbols of Christianity, death or such, Edwards thus

418 Trollope 1866, 89. 419 cf. ibid., 90.

241 concentrates on the essential: the characters’ different personalities and by extension the subject of their shared grief. While Hermione is not always portrayed favourably in the novel, the illustration presents her as a more positive character. In the plate, she does not seem weak or selfish – her posture suggests dignity and the comforting gestures towards her husband make her appear selfless. Sir Hugh, on the other hand, seems as disagreeable as ever. As I already determined in my analysis of Florence Burton, it appears that Edwards tried to establish Hermione, too, as a more sympathetic character in her illustration. Her status as Angel in the House is even more demanding in this time of loss and yet she makes an effort to take care of her husband, who does not really reciprocate this action aside from advising her to have some wine to ease the pain.

The last character I choose to examine in this section is Charlotte Collins née Lucas from Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice. Charlotte might not be an obvious choice when it comes to the Angel in the House, but we will later see why she can definitely be identified accordingly. The novel was first published in 1813 and reissued later in the century with accompanying illustrations. I will take a look at Hugh Thomson’s 1894 plates and Charles Edmund Brock’s 1895 black- and-white line drawings. The novel was also illustrated by Chris Hammond but I was not able to get a hold of the original 1900 edition. While Austen’s male illustrators are generally well-documented in various media, merely two of Hammond’s plates for Pride and Prejudice can be found in digital form and unfortunately they do not show the character I intend to analyse here.

Charlotte, the oldest daughter of the Lucas family, is introduced in chapter 5 as “a sensible, intelligent young woman, about twenty-seven”. She is main protagonist Elizabeth Bennet’s “intimate friend” and seems to be her most valued adviser in her quest for love.420 Early on, we get the impression that Charlotte has a more rational approach to courtship and marriage than Elizabeth. She also demonstrates considerable insight into the matters of the heart. For example in

420 Austen 1870, 14.

242 chapter 6, when she comments on Jane Bennet’s affection for Mr Bingley that it might be best for a woman to go against the reservations usually expected of her and actually show a man that she likes him. However, Charlotte is not only older than the Bennet sisters, she is also less attractive – in chapter 9, for instance, she is referred to as “very plain” by Mrs Bennet. She is called “a very pleasant young woman”, too, but it is strongly implied that this can never be enough to compete with Elizabeth and her sisters in the marriage market.421 In the context of the 19th-century feminine ideal, Charlotte is already on her way to spinsterhood. Her awareness of this is manifested in her becoming engaged to Mr Bennet’s cousin, the pompous clergyman Mr Collins, whom Elizabeth had rejected earlier. She makes no secret of her plans, plotting to “secure [Elizabeth] from any return of Mr Collins's addresses, by engaging them towards herself”. When Mr Collins proposes, her family is glad that Charlotte will not be “dying an old maid”. She herself is well-aware that her future husband is “neither sensible nor agreeable”, but she is content with the prospects of gaining independence from her parents and having her own household. Although she does not think “highly either of men or of matrimony, marriage had always been her object: it was the only honourable provision for well-educated young women of small fortune, and, however uncertain of giving happiness, must be their pleasantest preservative from want”.422 Again, her approach to the subject is very practical. While Elizabeth has a hard time understanding her friend’s actions and fears “that no real confidence could ever subsist between them again”, Charlotte’s wish for a considerably independent life is completely understandable. Elizabeth’s intense relationship with Mr Darcy might be more interesting and emotionally rewarding, but it remains for the most part a romantic fantasy. It appears more likely that the young women who read the novel when it was published would have found themselves in Charlotte’s place than in Elizabeth’s. Although marrying for love was acceptable then, it was inevitable for a middle-class

421 Austen 1870, 43. 422 ibid., 115/116.

243 woman of low income to find a husband who could support her. Doubtless on these grounds it was more often the case that marriages were based on financial stability rather than romantic love. When Elizabeth visits Charlotte at her new home in Hunsford, she discovers that the latter uses her intelligence and resourcefulness to make the best of her marriage to Mr Collins. On the occasion that her husband “said anything of which his wife might reasonably be ashamed, which certainly was not seldom”, she observes that “in general Charlotte wisely did not hear”. In addition, Charlotte cleverly finds a way to keep her husband busy encouraging his gardening by stressing the “healthfulness of the exercise” and praising his green thumb.423 In order to minimise the time she has to spend with Mr Collins, she has arranged for him his own book room at the front of the house where – in his constant need for attention - he often spends his time looking out of the window waiting for passers-by. For herself and entertaining friends, Charlotte chose a room at the back of their house, which is less lively and therefore not as interesting to Mr Collins as his room facing the road.424 This excellent managing of her husband inspired me to group Charlotte under the stereotype of the Angel in the House: while she lacks the Angel’s beauty, her household management is perfect and although she is not overly pleased with Mr Collins’s character, she never lets him know. Instead she quickly identifies how to flatter him and this allows her to keep her own peace of mind. The illustrations by Thomson and Brock both deal with Charlotte and Mr Collins as a married couple. Since they illustrate the same scene from the novel, I will provide descriptions first and subsequently analyse them in comparison with each other.

Thomson’s plate (see fig. 51) shows a carriage drawn by two horses standing on a country road in front of a fence and a row of trees. Two women can be seen sitting inside the carriage, both are seen in profile and the left one is only visible from her shoulders up. They wear embellished bonnets and coats with fur

423 Austen 1870, 145. 424 ibid., 156.

244 trimmings; the one on the right also seems to keep her hands in a muff. The two women are addressed by a couple standing next to the carriage: a man on the left, dressed in a dark coat, trousers, a white shirt with a high collar and black shoes, and a woman, wearing a light high-waisted gown with ruffles on the neck and ruffled embellishments on the hemline, to the right. The man holds his hands folded into an upside down triangle in front of his breast. His dark hair is short and his head is slightly bowed to the side. The woman wears her wavy hair in a chignon with a fringe and some side-curls framing her face. She stands very close to the man next to her, her right shoulder touching his left side. We only see her left arm with which she seems to gesticulate, holding it out in front of her hip as if she was pointing to something. Her face is turned towards the women in the carriage and her mouth is open as if she was engaged in a conversation. Behind the couple towards the right border of the plate, we see the two horses and the coachman in his uniform with button-down coat and top hat standing next to them.

C. E. Brock’s illustration (see fig. 52) opens on a scene taking place in a country road. In the foreground to the left, we see a coachman in a white button-down coat with black cuffs, white breeches, buttoned gaiters, black shoes and top hat. He is seen in profile with his left hand holding a whip and his right hand touching the nose of a skewbald horse. The horse is harnessed to a carriage which can be seen in the middle-ground. Two women are sitting inside, an older one to the left and a younger one to the right. Both wear bonnets and high- necked coats which we can only see from their upper arms upwards. They turn their heads towards a couple standing next to the carriage on the right: a tall man in a dark coat, breeches and boots as well as a white tie, and a smaller woman dressed in a light, high-waisted gown with a ruffled neck and hemline, who seem to be in conversation with the two women. Their hair is dark and wavy, his is parted on the left side and hers worn in a loose chignon with curls falling all around her face. The man is leaning forward with his right hand resting on the side of the carriage and his right leg put forward. The woman is

245 standing close to him, also slightly leaning forward but with a little more distance to the carriage. She has her hands folded in front of her skirt. In the background, a variety of trees and bushes are visible; in the foreground near the right border of the plate, a white picket fence and some smaller bushes can be seen.

Both illustrators capture a scene or rather a sentence from chapter 28: “Mr. Collins and Charlotte were both standing at the gate in conversation with the ladies”. Brock references this exact sentence beneath his artwork, while Thomson only uses the last part “in conversation with the ladies”. The ladies are Miss Anne de Bourgh, the daughter of Lady Catherine de Bourgh, Mr Collins’s benefactor and Mr Darcy’s aunt, and old Mrs Jenkinson who lives with them at Rosings Park.425 Composition-wise, the position of the carriage in relation to the viewer is of course the most notable difference between the plates. Thomson's carriage is almost shown from the side as it would be perceived by someone standing near or inside the Collins’s home (we can assume it to be there since it is mentioned in the text that the carriage is visible from the house’s dining room window and the opposite side is blocked by the fence and trees here), Elizabeth for example. In Brock’s plate, in contrast, it appears that the viewer is standing a little further down the country road the women are travelling on and is able to observe them stop and engage in a conversation with Mr Collins and Charlotte. The difference in perspective results in a change of atmosphere: in Thomson's plate, the viewer gets the impression of being involved into the scene, he or she can even imagine standing by the window with Elizabeth while observing the characters outside. Brock’s illustration, however, creates much more distance between the viewer and the scene. While the perspective is different, there are also many similar aspects in the plates. The set of two ladies look surprisingly alike in both plates with their adorned bonnets and high collars. Mrs Jenkinson is always positioned on the side of the carriage, which is farther away from Charlotte and Mr Collins; her face is a little sunken and wrinkled, her long nose

425 cf. Austen 1870, 148.

246 pokes out from under the brim of her hat. Miss de Bourgh appears very petite in both plates – in Thomson's, we cannot even properly see her face, which might allude to her self-effacing timidity and declining health; in Brock’s her head is turned towards the incessantly talking Mr Collins, her mouth is opened wide and she looks at him confusedly. Despite Lady de Bourgh’s interest in marrying her daughter to Mr Darcy, it becomes obvious that she is no match for Elizabeth Bennet. Thomson’s portrayal of Miss de Bourgh’s carriage is a bit more accurate since it is shown with two horses – Mr Collins explicitly states that she drives by his house often “in her little phaeton and ponies”.426 In case of Miss de Bourgh and Mrs Jenkinson, Thomson and Brock present us with a comedic approach to two minor characters. Likewise, Mr Collins is shown in his element, talking and displaying unshakable self-approval. In Thomson's illustration, he appears a little more stiff in his dark suit with the white collar and the hand gesture – these might be allusions to his being a clergyman. The triangle he forms with his hands is generally considered a symbol of the number three and can be read in terms of the Christian doctrine of Holy Trinity.427 In addition, politicians have been observed with their hands positioned into an inverted triangle in front of their bodies while giving important speeches or being photographed – German Chancellor Angela Merkel is a current example of this phenomenon. Concerning Mr Collins, we can assume that Thomson portrayed him in this way to emphasise his pompous personality and the fact that he always takes himself far too seriously as he is conversing with his important lady visitors. Mr Collins in general is one of the most ridiculous protagonists in Austen’s novel and in spite of the trouble he causes for our heroines, he inspires the reader to laugh. Thomson continues in this fashion and identifies him as utterly absurd. Brock’s version of the clergyman focusses less on his profession, but it features a more dynamic image of him. Although he dresses Mr Collins in the traditional black- and-white frock, his attire does not immediately suggest his being a man of the

426 Austen 1870, 64. 427 cf. Weissmann 2003, 17/18.

247 church. The emphasis, too, is on his ridiculous behaviour: his face looks slightly grotesque, his hair dishevelled, as he lengthens his neck and puts one foot forward while talking to Miss de Bourgh. His touching the side of her carriage appears possessive and less polite or trivial than he might think it is. His benefactor’s daughter is an unmarried woman of social status, a more respectful behaviour on his side would surely be expected. But Mr Collins cannot contain himself, he is too eager to talk to the ladies and to show off his connections to the visiting Elizabeth (to make her realise what she missed by declining his proposal?). Brock’s portrayal of him makes it easy to imagine Mr Collins sitting in his book room observing the street, impatiently awaiting the next visitors to grace them with his attendance. But what about Charlotte? Both illustrations show her quite favourably, patiently standing next to her husband and smiling politely at the two ladies in the carriage. The plainness that is ascribed to her in the novel is not echoed in the plates – there are no overly long noses or other odd features to her. She looks perfectly normal, even attractive with a slender figure and a pretty face. Her attire is modest and simple, as one would expect of the wife of a clergyman. In Thomson's illustration, the position of her arm as well as her opened mouth suggest movement and a stronger involvement into the conversation than it is visible in Brock’s work. There she is shown with her hands folded and only slightly bends towards the carriage as if she was listening to her husband’s talking with Miss de Bourgh. However, both plates portray Charlotte as the sweet, angelic companion to a ridiculously foolish man: she definitely is the Angel in Mr Collins’s house since she stands beside him in all his blustering glory without blinking an eye. Charlotte uses the stereotype of the Angel in the House as a means to live the life she wants – it is her disguise, which permits her a certain degree of independence. This is already alluded to in Austen’s text, but the illustrations stress it even further. Charlotte thus becomes an example of a woman who uses a common stereotype to her advantage.

248 Figure 47: William Makepeace Thackeray, illustration for chapter 58 of Thackeray's "Vanity Fair", wood engraving, c. 1860 (scanned image by Gerald Ajam, The Victorian Web).

249 Figure 49: Hablot Knight Browne, "Nurse and Patient", illustration for Dickens's "Bleak House", etching, 1853 (The British Library).

Figure 48: Chris Hammond, illustration for chapter 19 of Thackeray's "Vanity Fair", 1898 (The British Library). 250 Figure 49: Hablot Knight Browne, “Nurse and Patient”, illustration for Dickens’s "Bleak House", 1853 (scanned image and text by George P. Landow, The Victorian Web).

251 Figure 50: Mary Ellen Edwards, “The Lord Giveth, and the Lord Taketh Away”, illustration for Trollope's “The Claverings”, wood engraving, 1867 (The British Library).

252 Figure 51: Hugh Thomson, "In conversation with the ladies", illustration for Austen's "Pride and Prejudice", 1894 (Wikimedia Commons).

253 Figure 52: Charles Edmund Brock, "Mr Collins and Charlotte Were Both Standing at the Gate in Conversation with the Ladies", illustration for Austen's "Pride and Prejudice", 1895 (The British Library).

254 4.1.3 True Mother

The stereotype of the the true mother basically presents itself as a continuation of the Angel in the House: while bearing a child was seen as an essential part of a woman’s life, if not the most important thing she could contribute to society, she would ideally have already reached the state of the Angel beforehand. 19th- century society believed that it was a woman’s duty to make a comfortable home for her husband, to cater to his needs and thus provide the backdrop to raising the children she would soon bring into the world. I mentioned in section 3.1.2 that the customs of child-bearing and -rearing varied quite strongly according to the class a woman belonged to. We have also seen in the previous sections that the positive stereotypes analysed in this thesis are mostly based on middle-class notions of femininity. Similar to the Angel in the House, the true mother presents us with the problem that the women addressed with this stereotype often failed to conform to it. While lower-class women were usually very much involved in the upbringing of their children, middle- and upper-class women were likely to employ wet-nurses and governesses. Middle- and upper-class women’s contact with their children was thus sometimes less intense and did not really correspond to the ideal of unshakable motherly love. Of course, this leads to a strong questioning of the true mothers stereotype. As I already pointed out in section 3.3.2, 19th-century fiction offers relatively few examples of true mothers. Many main protagonists whom we meet at a young age find themselves without mothers, the motherless heroine is particularly common – many of the characters I examined in section 4.1.1 match this description. As common as the motherless child in 19th-century literature is the surrogate mother. Many of the characters from the two preceding sections have either acted as surrogate mothers for other protagonists or were themselves cared for by a sister, friend or other female relative. Thaden (1997) observes that the most popular novelists of the 19th century indeed largely failed at presenting the reader with a credible,

255 nuanced portrayal of a mother. She assumes that the absent, deceased or distant mother allows the fictional characters a wider scope for personal development and adventure.428 According to Pykett (2001), the absence of biological mothers can partially be explained by the problematic concept of virginal femininity, which literally prevents the idealised ingénue characters to make the transition from nubile girl to married, sexually active woman.429 In the same way the Angel in the House turned out to be rather incompatible with the reality of middle- and upper-class life, the ideal of motherhood failed to be transported authentically in 19th-century fiction. Both stereotypes rely heavily on duties that were commonly performed by lower-class women who were not expected to submit to the same strict social standards as their higher-class peers.

As I already outlined in section 3.1.1, children were of utmost importance during the 19th century and their well-being had to be a mother's highest priority. This in turn affected women’s position within society: since children were this highly valued, women’s worth first and foremost depended on their fertility as well as their nurturing skills. A mother’s love was (and still is) characterised as pure, altruistic and self-sacrificing. Strongly influenced by Queen Victoria’s own large family, motherhood was thus quickly established as woman’s one true mission and most vital contribution to the Victorian cult of domesticity. This was obviously a very constricting notion of women’s purpose in life which left little room for self-fulfilment. Many scholars from various fields have dealt with the difficult topic of motherhood. For my thesis, the feminist approach to the subject is particularly interesting. Just to name a few examples of the questions asked by feminist research: does women’s biological ability to bear children automatically render them (more) capable of raising them? Is there really a genetically defined maternal instinct which makes the experience of being a parent different if you happen to be female? Why does it seem that there is no satisfying resolution for women who want to both work and be a mother while men have been working

428 cf. Thaden 1997, 4. 429 cf. Pykett 2001, 87/88.

256 fathers for many decades? Why is there still so much social pressure on women to have children at all, when this should actually be a personal decision? In my opinion, these are important questions to be dealt with and my examples are only limited to those which mainly focus on a heterosexual, binary conception of gender. Kinser (2010) highlights the complexity of motherhood as a feminist issue which also results from the fact that being a mother is in itself a many- sided experience which entails various social and cultural prospects.430 During the 19th century, feminism as we know it today did not exist and the women’s movement was concerned with different matters such as the right to vote, education and working conditions. For most 19th-century women, thus, becoming and being a mother was still an integral and inevitable part of their lives.

As I mentioned above, the physical reality of motherhood was more associated with lower-class women, and novels usually featured middle-class heroines whose mothers were deceased or absent while they themselves often became surrogate mothers for other characters. For this reason, there are not as many true mother characters available for analysis as in case of the ingénue, for example. In order to establish a coherent overview of the stereotype, I chose to limit the selection to characters who had actually given birth and/or were featured in the novels alongside their children, with the exception of Mrs Reed as adoptive mother in Jane Eyre. This leaves open the possibility of widening the scope of analysis to include the manifold surrogate mothers of 19th-century fiction, for instance Esther Summerson whom I have dealt with in the previous section. It has been said several times in this thesis that the dynamic changes significantly if the child is shown with its surrogate or birth mother. While the former is often an integral part of the plot, the latter is usually only shown in minor scenes, for example in the final chapter when the hero or heroine are shown in the circle of their families. If (biological) motherhood is mentioned in the course of the novel, it is frequently only in terms of criticising the mother for

430 cf. Kinser 2010, 2.

257 caring too little about or even mistreating her children. Examples of the first case would be David Copperfield’s Agnes Copperfield, who finally gives David the happy family life he longs for, and for the second case Mrs Bennet from Austen’s Pride and Prejudice, who is presented as an utterly ridiculous character in her tireless effort to find suitable husbands for her daughters. In the following, I will take a look at Dickens's Bella Wilfer from Our Mutual Friend (1864-65), as well as Mrs Bennet from Austen’s Pride and Prejudice (1813). As an exception to these biological mothers, I will include Mrs Reed from Brontë’s Jane Eyre (1847) as an example of an adoptive mother. The characters will be analysed in chronological order according to the publication date of the illustrated editions, meaning that I will start with Dickens's novel and then proceed to Austen and Brontë.

The first character I will examine is Bella Wilfer from Dickens's 1864/65 novel Our Mutual Friend. It was originally published as a monthly serial featuring two illustrations by Marcus Stone.

We first meet Bella in chapter 4 of the first book, where her family hears about the supposed death of wealthy heir John Harmon who according to his late father’s will was supposed to be her future husband. Bella is described as “a girl of about nineteen, with an exceedingly pretty figure and face, but with an impatient and petulant expression both in her face and in her shoulders”.431 While her beauty is praised several times in the novel, her personality is always referred to as less than ideal. In chapter 16 of the first book, her later husband John Rokesmith (who is later revealed to be the aforementioned John Harmon living under a different name) perceives her as “so insolent, so trivial, so capricious, so mercenary, so careless, so hard to touch, so hard to turn".432 Coming from a lower-class background, the marriage to John Harmon was supposed to be Bella’s ticket to a more comfortable life. Thus she is very disappointed when this does not work out the way it was planned, which might partly explain her hardened character and her strong conviction that she must

431 Dickens 1872, 22. 432 ibid., 129.

258 marry for money. Bella is aware of her faults – in chapter 8 of the second book, she explains to her father that wealth meant nothing to her until the point when the inheritance she was supposed to profit from went to Mr and Mrs Boffin and she thus “came to see it from day to day in other hands, and to have before [her] eyes what it could really do”.433 In the course of the novel, Bella’s self-awareness leads to a change in her personality: when she witnesses the bad treatment of John at the hands of Mr Boffin, who has been seemingly corrupted by the inheritance, she speaks up for him. She also tells John in chapter 15 of the third book that she is “deeply sorry” for her behaviour towards him (she refers to her turning down his proposal).434 This is when she finally realises her affection for John and marries him despite his alleged lack of money in chapter 4 of the fourth book. At the end of chapter 5 of the same book, Bella announces that she is expecting a baby. She gives birth in chapter 12 and it seems as if motherhood softens her personality even more: focussed on her newborn child and domestic bliss, Bella becomes less self-involved and materialistic. It appears that she has found her true calling – exactly this moment is captured by Stone in his illustration.

Stone’s plate (see fig. 53) shows a young woman sitting in a cushioned chair with two tassels at the back in front of a fireplace. She wears a dark blouse with a light ruffled neckline and cuffs as well as a wide light skirt. The skirt is draped around the legs of her chair and falls on the floor, so that we cannot see her feet. Her hair is dark and worn in a chignon with a tiny, curled fringe. While she seems to be seated comfortably, she is leaning forward instead of resting against the back of her chair. We see her in profile, her left hand touching her left cheek as she gazes into the fire in the lower right border of the plate. With her right arm she holds what appears to be an infant – we can only see the back of a small head resting against the woman’s breast and drapes of white linen covering her forearm and falling down her knees. The mantelpiece around the fireplace is

433 Dickens 1872, 200. 434 ibid., 372.

259 richly decorated with botanical ornaments and a nude female statuette is sitting atop of it. Furthermore, a mural painting showing a series of trees bordered by an arched shape can be seen above the mantelpiece. In the background to the left, we see a man standing in a doorway. He seems older than the woman, with sparse hair on his head and mutton chops. He is dressed in a light coat and shirt, his arms hanging down at his sides. Facing the viewer, his mouth is formed into a grin while he tilts his head slightly to the right. Behind him in the shadows, another face is visible – it is difficult to identify if it is either part of another mural painting or an actual person.

Stone’s illustration originally accompanied chapter 13 of the fourth book, where Bella learns about her husband's true identity from the Boffins, who knew about it all along. In collaboration with John, they created an elaborate scheme of Mr Boffin turning into a miser after supposedly inheriting the money in order to provoke Bella’s change of character and to make sure that she marries John out of love. Surprised and thankful, but not angry, Bella happily reconciles with the Boffins and does not seem to care much for her new financial security. The scene captured by Stone is described as follows:

The house inspected, emissaries removed the Inexhaustible, who was shortly afterwards heard screaming among the rainbows; whereupon Bella withdrew herself from the presence and knowledge of gemplemorums, and the screaming ceased, and smiling Peace associated herself with that young olive branch. “Come and look in, Noddy!” said Mrs. Boffin to Mr. Boffin. Mr. Boffin, submitting to be led on tiptoe to the nursery door, looked in with immense satisfaction, although there was nothing to see but Bella in a musing state of happiness, seated in a little low chair upon the hearth, with her child in her fair young arms, and her soft eyelashes shading her eyes from the fire.”It looks as if the old man's spirit had found rest at last; don't it?” said Mrs. Boffin. “Yes, old lady.”435

435 Dickens 1872, 486.

260 Shortly beforehand, John and the Boffins take Bella to see the Harmon’s house – of course it is “dainty” and “tastefully beautiful” with many expensive details such as an “exquisite toilette table” and “a nursery garnished as with rainbows”.436 Said nursery can be seen in Stone’s plate, the arched shape in the mural painting being the rainbow mentioned in the text. Bella is said to sit “in a little low chair upon the hearth”, as she is depicted in the illustration. The cosiness of the chair as well as its costliness are emphasised by the plushy upholstery, richly ornamented frame and tassels at the back. Other details hint at the Harmon’s new wealth: the mural painting, the statuette on the mantelpiece which in itself is highly decorative. Both text and illustration suggest that this is no longer a working-class but an upper-middle-class household where nobody has to worry about money. In contrast to earlier chapters of the novel, Bella is now portrayed in terms of the positive female stereotypes and it is made very clear that she no longer cares about whether they are rich or not. The illustration shows her as an attractive young woman and in my opinion appropriately reflects the text, in which she is repeatedly described as beautiful and graceful. Even in this scene her “fair young arms” and her “soft eyelashes” are mentioned as an allusion to her extreme attractiveness. In comparison with the female characters by Cruikshank or Phiz, she appears more lifelike and less like a caricature in Stone’s plate. While her dress is not overly extravagant – which is quite fitting since she only just learned of her husband's fortune – it is elegant and in line with mid-19th-century fashion for women. It appears to be a simpler, more minimalistic version of the day dress we have seen on Barnard's illustration of Dora Spenlow in a preceding section: the dark blouse features the signature pagoda sleeves of the time with the cuffs of a white shirt peeking out underneath and contrasting white ruffles gracing the neckline; the fullness of her skirt is enhanced by the numerous creases and folds it develops as Bella is sitting down.437 Looking at the illustration, we do not get the impression of a woman

436 Dickens 1872, 486. 437 The dress worn by Dora Spenlow is far more exquisite with many adornments and underlines her wealth as well as her extravagant character. Nevertheless, the basic shape of Bella’s clothing

261 who has just learnt that she is well-off – she seems to be completely at ease in her new habitat. Her hand touching her cheek implies the “musing state of happiness” suggested in the text. The simple elegance of her appearance paired with her blissful facial expression suggest that she has finally found her calling. While her change of personality came shortly before her marriage, being a mother seems to make her even more content. Motherhood is staged as the ultimate stimulus for women to realise their purpose in life – no matter who Bella was or aspired to be beforehand, she has arrived at her destination now. Dickens establishes Bella as a protagonist who is able to give up her superficial longing for riches and develop into a better person, which gets her the life she always wanted. Of course, this can be read in terms of the typical Dickensian character development which makes protagonists realise their faults and redeem themselves one way or another. To a more extreme extent, we see this, for example, in one of his most famous protagonists, the miser Scrooge from A Christmas Carol. In Bella’s case, however, the transition from “mercenary wretch” to the most perfect wife and mother appears less convincing. As a female character, she does not experience much development in terms of self- fulfilment apart from conforming to traditional 19th-century notions of femininity: her value as a person is mostly measured according to her relationships with chiefly male characters such as her father, her (future) husband and Mr Boffin. As soon as she submits to society’s ideal of the loving daughter, wife and mother, she is presented in a more favourable light. This is also shown in Stone’s illustrations: the plate for chapter 13 suddenly portrays her as blissful and happy, while in all preceding illustrations her face reveals moodiness and dissatisfaction. Cohen (1980) emphasises that this can be seen especially if one compares Stone’s plate for chapter 13 to the one for chapter 8 of the second book since they are very similar in composition. The latter shows a moody Bella reading in front of the fireplace, obviously displeased as the droopy is reminiscent of the popular fashion for women around 1865 and this was also when the novel was first published. Thus it is likely that Stone used the fashions of the day as inspiration for his works (for an overview of this specific style of women’s fashion cf. Blum 1974, 45).

262 corners of her mouth indicate, while her future husband John Rokesmith/Harmon eagerly observes her from another corner of the room.438 The fact that Bella is shown happy only after becoming a mother sends a very clear message considering the fate of 19th-century women. Basically, both text and illustration suggest that for them, marriage and motherhood are the ultimate rewards for being a virtuous human being. In neatly outlining this concept, Dickens's text serves as a perfect model for Stone’s works. By showing Bella and her child in an immaculate state of delight, where Mr Boffin and his wife almost appear as grotesque intruders, Stone achieves to emphasise the message of the text even more. This is a very private moment between a mother and her child, she does not even seem to realise that she is watched. In the light of feminist research, it appears that the male gaze plays an important role in this scene. This not only refers to its being created by a male artist based on the text of a male writer, but it includes Mr Boffin as the delighted observer: the composition is basically dictated by what he sees, by the “immense satisfaction” he feels while watching Bella and the baby. Mrs Boffin, who according to the text is said to be there with her husband, is not as present in the illustration – we can only assume that the face partially visible behind Mr Boffin’s left shoulder is supposed to be her. I express this carefully since the hair and eyes of said face remind me more of a statue or mural painting than an actual human being. However, this kind of artistic representation of the intimacy between a mother and her child is not new: Stone’s portrayal of Bella quietly holding her baby mirrors paintings of Victorian mothers and children. As I mentioned in section 3.2.2, these paintings featuring idyllic domestic scenes were quite popular. They not only presented a 19th-century feminine ideal, they advertised this as the appropriate way of life, notably for middle-class women – Hicks’s triptych painting Woman’s Mission might be one of the best examples.439 According to Cohen (1980), it is evident that Stone’s female characters are more well-rounded

438 cf. Cohen 1980, 206. 439 For a more detailed look at Hicks’s famous triptych, see sections 2.1.2 and 3.2.2.

263 and appealing than Phiz’s. Apparently, Stone had a problem with Dickens's humorous, grotesque protagonists. This is what readers as well as scholars criticised – Stone’s works have their origin in a different visual tradition, he was influenced by naturalistic paintings rather than satirical sketches. It was also remarked that Stone’s drawings were not well-suited to be engraved, which might have led to many details being lost in the process.440 Nevertheless, it appears that both text and illustration are in agreement with each other in case of the female stereotype of the true mother impersonated by Bella. Since Stone collaborated with Dickens on the novel, we know that the latter oversaw his designs before they were published. It is interesting to note, however, that at the time of their collaboration Stone was in his twenties, while Dickens was in his fifties, already nearing his death in 1870. Similar to the power imbalance Dickens experienced with his older illustrator Cruikshank at the beginning of his career, the circumstances alone accounted for Stone acting subordinate to the author: he had known the latter since his childhood and certainly looked up to him. Additionally, Our Mutual Friend would be his first attempt at book illustration and marked a turning point in his career. Stone was hired by Dickens as a successor to his trusted illustrator Phiz and was meant to give what would become his last novel an updated look.441 Thus we can only suspect that the ideal of the true mother perpetuated in the illustration is largely based on Dickens's notions of femininity. Stone’s ability to create naturalistic and attractive female characters inspired by 19th-century art surely helped to emphasise Dickens's view on the stereotype where Phiz’s talent for caricature often compromised his ability to portray female protagonists.

We already learnt in the previous sections that Austen’s works were not illustrated until the last decades of the 19th century. Among her best-known 19th- century illustrators were Thomson and the Brock brothers. I will examine a black and white line drawing by C. E. Brock for the 1895 Macmillan edition and a

440 cf. Cohen 1980, 207. 441 cf. ibid., 203 ff.

264 tinted line drawing by his younger brother H. M. Brock for a 1898 edition of Austen’s works.

Mrs Bennet from Austen’s Pride and Prejudice is a very different kind of mother than Bella Wilfer. First of all, it is important to note that in contrast to Bella, Mrs Bennet is not presented as a young or new mother – all of her five daughters are at least in their teens. Of course, her interaction with her children is different, too: instead of focussing on the basic care of an infant or the playfulness of a toddler, Mrs Bennet’s biggest concern is whether she will be able to find suitable husbands for her daughters. As I implied in the previous section, Mrs Bennet is not presented as a positive character in Austen’s novel. In the first chapter already, we learn that she is “a woman of mean understanding, little information, and uncertain temper” and that the “business of her life was to get her daughters married; its solace was visiting and news”. She and her husband have been married for 23 years and still Mrs Bennet is not able to “understand his character”.442 This gives the impression that Mrs Bennet is an uneducated, small-minded woman who possesses no sense at all. Many times during the plot, she embarrasses herself and her family while trying to make a match between one of her daughters and certain eligible bachelors. Particularly notable are her efforts to rouse Mr Bingley’s interest in her eldest daughter Jane or to convince the novel’s heroine Elizabeth that Mr Collins would actually make a great partner for her. The latter especially shows how little insight she has into the personalities of her daughters. For the reader, Mrs Bennet presents a great source of comic relief – we laugh at her ridiculous missions of matchmaking and sympathise with her daughters, when Mr Darcy advises his friend Bingley against marrying Jane because of her family. There is more to her character, however. While most readers would probably categorise Mrs Bennet as a bad mother due to her lack of understanding and constant meddling, it is important to remember where she comes from. When she married Mr Bennet, she was still very young and in chapter 42, it is mentioned that her husband mainly chose her because he

442 Austen 1870, 7.

265 was “captivated by youth and beauty, and that appearance of good humour which youth and beauty generally give”.443 This implies that the two of them did not really take time to get to know each other before their marriage. It is also likely that Mrs Bennet hoped for a comfortable life when she married a man who belonged to the gentry – which proved more complicated than she expected since the rule of succession dictates that Mr Bennet’s humble fortune and estate must be passed to a male heir. She comes from a middle-class family – her father worked as an attorney – and she brought her dowry of four thousand pounds into the marriage.444 While this surely does not excuse Mrs Bennet’s foolish behaviour, it at least explains her eagerness to secure her daughters’ futures. In addition, Mr Bennet is not very helpful in his lack of “respect, esteem, and confidence” for his wife – even Elizabeth is well aware of the “impropriety of her father's behaviour as a husband”.445 We will see in the following how the character of Mrs Bennet was interpreted by two late-19th-century illustrators.

C. E. Brock’s illustration (see fig. 54) shows a middle-aged woman sitting in a wooden chair at a table wrapped in what appears to be a white tablecloth. The woman wears a white high-waisted gown with puff sleeves; the fabric of the bodice and skirt of her gown are plain white whereas the sleeves feature a pattern of stripes or dotted lines. Her dress has ruffled cuffs and a ruffled collar made of broderie anglaise. The woman’s head is entirely covered by a cap – which is heavily embellished with embroidery, lace, ruffles and ribbons – we only see a few dark curls peeking out around her forehead. She seems to look at something or someone standing beyond the right border of the plate. Her head is tilted towards her left shoulder, her mouth is slightly opened as if she was in the midst of speaking and she holds her left hand up to the height of her face while pointing her index finger to the upper right corner of the plate; with her right hand she lifts a small teacup standing right in front of her on the table. Her facial expression is that of amusement. Next to the teacup, we see a little teapot, 443 Austen 1870, 217. 444 cf. ibid., 28. 445 ibid., 217.

266 a jug of cream or milk, a pot of jam or marmalade with a teaspoon and another small container which is partially hidden by a large object shaped like a silver trophy.

While C. E. Brock’s plate features a reduced composition which does not present us with many details let alone different characters, it shows a very interesting interpretation of the type of mother Mrs Bennet is supposed to be. The setting is simple, but effective: the variety of 19th-century tea accessories neatly arranged on the clean white tablecloth indicate that the mother of Austen’s heroine is not just having any meal in this illustration, she is enjoying tea, the drink which is probably most associated with Britishness. The fact that she has the time to sit down in her laced bonnet and simple, yet elegant dress alludes to her being a member of a higher class. The tea set reinforces this impression – it is made from delicate china and seems to be decorated with flowers or other ornaments. C. E. Brock also includes a tea urn in his illustration – the object I identified as being “shaped like a silver trophy” above – which included a heat source and helped to keep tea or water warm for longer. The use of a tea urn also alludes to the fact that Mrs Bennet belongs to a wealthier household where most of the domestic work is done by staff. It was introduced in the late 18th century to especially accommodate middle-class households where the kitchen was downstairs while the breakfast parlour and drawing room were located upstairs: in order to serve hot tea without the trouble of running upstairs with the heavy kitchen kettle, a strong infusion of tea was brewed inside a small china teapot by the servants. Subsequently, it was brought to the dining table where it would be diluted with hot water from the silver tea urn. The urn included a tap at the bottom, so it was easy for the mistress of the house to refill the teapot and distribute tea to her guests and family.446 While the tea motive dominates C. E. Brock’s illustration, we learn from the inscription at the bottom of the plate that the scene from chapter 13 pictured here refers to the Bennet family sitting down to have breakfast:

446 cf. Fromer 2008, 91/92.

267 "I hope, my dear," said Mr. Bennet to his wife, as they were at breakfast the next morning, "that you have ordered a good dinner to-day, because I have reason to expect an addition to our family party." "Who do you mean, my dear? I know of nobody that is coming, I am sure, unless Charlotte Lucas should happen to call in - and I hope my dinners are good enough for her. I do not believe she often sees such at home." "The person of whom I speak is a gentleman, and a stranger." Mrs. Bennet's eyes sparkled. - "A gentleman and a stranger! It is Mr. Bingley, I am sure. Why, Jane - you never dropped a word of this; you sly thing! Well, I am sure I shall be extremely glad to see Mr. Bingley. But - good Lord! how unlucky! there is not a bit of fish to be got to-day. Lydia, my love, ring the bell - I must speak to Hill this moment."447

Mrs Bennet is shown in her element: her sheer delight as her husband informs her of a male visitor who will join the family for dinner is reflected in both text and illustration. Teasingly, she addresses her eldest daughter and calls her a “sly thing” since she expects the guest to be Mr Bingley. In the plate, this is expressed with the help of her playfully pointed index finger and her mischievous smile. Mrs Bennet’s clothing further amplifies her role as the ever-meddling mother, the quintessential matchmaker, but it also sets her apart from the other female characters of the novel. I mentioned before that she married and possibly had her children when she was quite young – assuming that Jane is in her early twenties, she must be no older than her mid-forties at the time of the plot. Nevertheless, C. E. Brock depicts her in the type of dress typically associated with an older woman during the 19th century. For example, the cap Mrs Bennet is wearing in the illustration was usually worn by married women and spinsters, sometimes it was even referred to as a matron’s cap. In the first half of the 19th century, respectable middle-class women were expected to cover their hair at all times to show their modesty. Different types of lingerie caps allowed them to appropriately dress themselves for various occasions, i.e. breakfast, receiving visitors or sleeping. By the end of the century, when C. E. Brock designed the

447 Austen 1870, 58.

268 illustration for Pride and Prejudice, these types of indoor hats were mostly worn by elderly women.448 The characteristics ascribed to Mrs Bennet on the grounds of this depiction result in her being akin to the various spinsters and peculiar old ladies we encounter in 19th-century fiction. This is not the image of a loving, altruistic mother, but that of a shameless meddler – a caricature of a widespread stereotype. Her matron’s cap as well as her dress are heavily embellished, which might imply that she tries to show off her supposed wealth. Her haughtiness is also alluded to in the text when she proclaims that Charlotte Lucas surely does not often experience dinners as good as the Bennet’s at her own home. Despite this rather unfavourable portrait of Mrs Bennet, both the illustration and the text present her as a capable household manager. In the text, as soon as she learns of the gentleman visitor, she asks Lydia to ring for the housekeeper Mrs Hill in order to discuss menu options. The precious tea set with the silver urn’s tap facing Mrs Bennet subtly alludes to her capability as mistress of the house – she is the one to distribute the tea. In summary, C. E. Brock’s account of Mrs Bennet echoes Austen’s presentation of her – the character serves as a humorous element, offering comic relief as well as being another obstacle for the novel’s heroine on her way to love and marriage.

H. M. Brock’s illustration (see fig. 55 shows three people in a room: a seated middle-aged man and two standing women. The man is sitting in a ornamented wooden chair with high back rest and upholstery. In front of him, we see part of a wooden bureau with three books atop, one of them lying open. The man is dressed in a tail-coat, vest, white tie, breeches, knee socks and shoes. His hair appears greyish and he wears glasses. In his right hand, he holds a book placing his index finger between the pages to mark where he was reading. His left hand leans on the arm of his chair while he turns his head to look at the woman standing next to his chair with a grim expression on his face. Said woman is the youngest character in the illustration – she appears to be about twenty years of age. Her high-waisted, floor-length gown is white with ruffles on both the

448 cf. Chico 2013, 295/296.

269 neckline and the cuffs of its short, puffed sleeves. She wears her wavy hair in a loose chignon decorated with ribbons. Her head is slightly bowed down as she looks at the man in the chair; her hands are folded in front of her dress. The second woman is standing left of the man; her skirt is partly covered by his chair. She seems to be at least the same age as the man. Her long-sleeved, floor- length dress features a large white collar which covers her décolleté and has a bow in the middle. On her head she wears a white, ruffled cap which is tied beneath her chin and reveals locks of hair on her forehead. Her arms crossed in front of her stomach, she looks at the young woman with her mouth slightly opened and a displeased look on her face. Behind her in the background, shelves with numerous books as well as several paintings are visible. In front of the man’s feet, we see a pile of books and a folder filled with documents.

Although the plate by H. M. Brock shows Mrs Bennet in a different scene, it will become clear in the following that his account of her is similar to that of his brother, while it also contains different aspects. Again, we perceive Mrs Bennet as she is not pleased with one of her daughters’ decisions. This time Elizabeth becomes the target of her mother’s disapproval: in chapter 19, Mr Collins proposes to her – an action he has asked her “respected mother's permission for” – and she declines. In the following chapter, Lizzie is summoned to speak with her father and mother about the incident. Of course, Mrs Bennet is not happy about her daughter’s refusal to marry the heir to Longbourn and “excessively disappointed” given her husband's reaction

“Come here, child,” cried her father as she appeared. “I have sent for you on an affair of importance. I understand that Mr Collins has made you an offer of marriage. Is it true?” Elizabeth replied that it was. “Very well - and this offer of marriage you have refused?” “I have, sir.” “Very well. We now come to the point. Your mother insists upon your accepting it. Is it not so, Mrs Bennet?” “Yes, or I will never see her again.” “An unhappy alternative is before you, Elizabeth. From this day you must be a stranger to one of your parents. Your mother will never see you again if you do not marry Mr

270 Collins, and I will never see you again if you do.” Elizabeth could not but smile at such a conclusion of such a beginning; but Mrs Bennet, who had persuaded herself that her husband regarded the affair as she wished, was excessively disappointed.449

Mrs Bennet’s disapproval is expressed in H. M. Brock’s plate via her facial expression which is pure shock and disappointment. Similar to C. E. Brock’s illustration, she is also seen wearing a ruffled cap. This helps to establish her as the polar opposite of beautiful Elizabeth in her white dress – the two characters are even positioned vis-à-vis. While the younger one radiates youth and gracefulness, her mother appears matronly and downright haggard. Her crossing her arms in front of her body seems defensive and judgemental. Thus Mrs Bennet’s body language and facial expression in this plate not only illustrate her character, but also hint at her and Elizabeth’s relationship. As I have established in the introductory paragraph, the 19th-century stereotype of the true mother called for an altruistic, nurturing type of woman – a mother who puts her children’s needs before hers, who is gentle, understanding and kind. Both text and illustration do not in the slightest portray Mrs Bennet accordingly. While the text stresses her penchant for gossiping and meddling, H. M. Brock’s drawing makes her seem grumpy and appalled by her daughter’s actions. His Mrs Bennet appears far more unsympathetic than the one his brother designed. Of course, we have to take into account that we are looking at different scenes here – nevertheless, the one designed by H. M. Brock appears even less favourable. Composition-wise, it is interesting to note that Mr Bennet is positioned between Mrs Bennet and Elizabeth, which alludes to his function as supposed mediator in the novel. I already mentioned that Mr Bennet’s strategy is withdrawal from any kind of conflict; he does not actively involve himself into parenting. He does, however, enjoy making fun of his wife and some of his daughters – the excerpt from chapter 20 is an example of his not really dealing with a problem. He takes sides with his favourite daughter Elizabeth, but instead of explaining to his wife

449 Austen 1870, 106.

271 why the latter's union with Mr Collins would be a bad idea, he makes a joke at Mrs Bennet’s expense and virtually orders her out of the room. In the illustration, this is only implied by his looking at and turning his upper body towards Elizabeth. He literally “sides with her” and turns his back on his wife, while his facial expression does not give away his intentions. His face looks dark and earnest, which could be H. M. Brock’s way of alluding to Mr Bennet’s penchant for dark humour. The numerous books everywhere indicate that he is an educated man, the slightly chaotic way they are distributed over his bureau as well as the floor hint at his inability to sort out his family life. He is the patriarch, after all, and 19th-century society would expect him to be. Thus we can conclude that H. M. Brock’s plate not only alludes to Mrs Bennet’s inability to be a true mother, but also at her husband's failure to be supportive, which leaves her alone in the corner looking more like a spinster than the middle-aged married woman and mother she is.

Charlotte Brontë’s novel Jane Eyre was first published in 1847 under the pseudonym Currer Bell. In contrast to most of the novels by her male contemporaries, Brontë’s works were not illustrated until the late 19th century. Edmund Garrett, Frederick H. Townsend and John H. Bacon, for example, each designed plates for the novel during the 1890s. During the 20th century, numerous illustrators followed suit and provided readers with their interpretations of Brontë’s famous novel. Due to availability and comparableness, I selected plates by Bacon and Townsend featuring Jane and her adoptive mother Mrs Reed – both were published with 1897 editions of Jane Eyre.

As I already mentioned, the dynamic between Jane and Mrs Reed is especially interesting since they are not – as is the case with the other fictional mother- daughter-duos I examined so far – related by blood. We already meet Mrs Reed in the first chapter – she is the wife of Jane’s maternal uncle who wished for her to take care of his niece on his deathbed. We learn a little more about her personality and appearance in chapter 4:

272 Mrs. Reed might be at that time some six or seven and thirty; she was a woman of robust frame, square shouldered and strong-limbed, not tall, and, though stout, not obese: she had a somewhat large face, the under-jaw being much developed and very solid; her brow was low, her chin large and prominent, mouth and nose sufficiently regular; under her light eye-brows glimmered an eye devoid of ruth; her skin was dark and opaque, her hair nearly flaxen; her constitution was sound as a bell - illness never came near her; she was an exact, clever manager, her household and tenantry were thoroughly under her control; her children, only, at times defied her authority, and laughed it to scorn; she dressed well, and had a presence and port calculated to set off handsome attire.450

In chapter 1, Jane is ten years old and struggles to fit in with her adoptive family at Gateshead Hall, her aunt Mrs Reed and her cousins Eliza, John and Georgiana. It is established early on in the novel that Mrs Reed is not fond of Jane: while she is a loving mother to her biological children, her treatment of Jane is cold-hearted and unfair. In order to justify her behaviour, Mrs Reed states that it is Jane’s fault and that her character does not earn her “privileges intended only for contented, happy, little children”.451 She also turns a blind eye to her children’s permanently picking on Jane. Clever and eloquent as Jane is already in her younger years, she tries to defend herself with the help of the knowledge she gathers from endlessly reading. In chapter 1, when fourteen year old John Reed, who in particular seems to take pleasure in torturing his cousin, takes away her books claiming that she has no right to read them, while quoting his mother calling Jane a “dependant” without money, she compares him to the Roman emperors.452 Jane’s self-defence is punished, though: Mrs Reed orders the servants to lock her in the old bedroom where her uncle died nine years prior. Alone in the room completely decorated in red (it is called the “red-room”), darkness creeps in and Jane starts to panic, imagining her uncle’s ghost. She

450 Bell 1869, 30/31 (If possible, I try to use editions from the 19th century for my analysis – thus the sources of Brontë’s works will be found under her pen name Currer Bell). 451 ibid., 1. 452 cf. ibid., 6.

273 eventually starts screaming in terror, but Mrs Reed takes no pity on her and Jane is locked back in again – only to pass out moments later. 453 She is cared for by the apothecary Mr Lloyd and confides in him that she is unhappy living with the Reeds, which leads to her being sent to Lowood, a boarding school for orphaned girls. When Mr Brocklehurst, the director of the school, visits to meet Jane, Mrs Reed does not hesitate to inform him that her niece “has not quite the character and disposition” she wishes for in a child and that he should guard himself against “her worst fault, a tendency to deceit”.454 In chapter 21, years later, Jane returns to Gateshead Hall and tries to make amends with her aunt, who is very sick and near death. It turns out that Mrs Reed kept an important letter from her, which contains her paternal uncle’s wish to adopt her and make her his heir. Despite Jane’s generous forgiveness, Mrs Reed still cannot accept her niece and dies a bitter woman.

Bacon’s plate (see fig. 56) shows four women inside what appears to be a corridor – a door frame is visible in the background to the left; the walls are bare without any embellishments or paintings. In front of the door frame, a tall, middle-aged woman elegantly dressed in a dark gown with large puffed sleeves, ruffles and a pair of long gloves is visible. She wears her hair up with side-curls and a white ruffled cap with its long white ribbons trailing behind her. Her arms are hanging down at her sides, while only one of her dark slippers can be seen peeking out from beneath her voluminous skirt as if she was moving forward. To her right, a younger woman aged around twenty in a dark gown with puffed sleeves can be seen. She wears her dark hair in a similar chignon with side-curls, but without a cap. Her forearms are bare and her hands are on her hips, as she gazes frowningly in the direction of a third woman and a girl standing next to her to the right. The woman appears to be about the same age as the younger woman, although we cannot be sure since she turns her face away from the viewer to look at the middle-aged woman to the far left. She wears a simpler

453 cf. Bell 1869, 9 ff. 454 cf. ibid., 28.

274 gown than the other two women – it is patterned and has puffed sleeves; her forearms are bare, too. Her hair is worn in a simple chignon with a plain white bonnet on top. She holds the upper arms of the girl right in front of her, as if she was restraining her. The girl seems to be approximately ten years of age and appears agitated: we see her in profile, as she leans forward with her upper body and tries to hold onto the woman’s skirt. Her head is at the height of the woman’s stomach. The girl is dressed in a plain, light gown with puffed sleeves, stockings and light slippers. Her hair is dark and falling loosely on her shoulders.

The scene illustrated by Bacon corresponds to chapter 2, where Jane is locked inside the red-room and, in utter fear of Mr Reed’s vengeful ghost, alerts the nursemaid Bessie and the maid Miss Abbot to let her out. Mrs Reed hears Jane’s cries and arrives at the scene:

“What is all this?” demanded another voice, peremptorily; and Mrs. Reed came along the corridor, her cap flying wide, her gown rustling stormily. - “Abbot and Bessie, I believe I gave orders that Jane Eyre should be left in the red-room till I came to her myself.”455

In some ways, Bacon’s account of Mrs Reed’s storming down the corridor appears even more threatening than it is described in the text passage: her upright posture, her dark yet classy gown and her grim face are truly terrifying. However, Bacon’s Mrs Reed is not unattractive – her appearance radiates beauty and terror, she seems noble and graceful. The worrisome face of the younger woman next to her as well as Jane’s desperate struggle to cling to the other woman’s skirt indicate the imminent danger emanating from Mrs Reed’s arrival. Mrs Bennet did not represent the stereotype of the loving mother and neither does Mrs Reed. The latter is the evil stepmother personified and Bacon’s illustration intensifies this impression. At the same time terrible and beautiful, his Mrs Reed is very much reminiscent of some of the women featured in the Pre-Raphaelite paintings I discussed in section 3.2.2. The fact that Bacon depicts her as tall and slim despite her being described as “not tall, and, though stout,

455 Bell 1869, 12.

275 not obese” also hints at his connection to the British art scene of the late 19th century, which favoured an idealised type of women: very tall, graceful and with strong features. While I found no evidence directly linking Bacon to the Pre- Raphaelite school, he was indeed not only an illustrator, but also a painter who specialised in portrait, genre and historical works.456 This might be the reason for his illustration being less whimsical, but more dramatic and staged – movement plays a great role, as we see in both Mrs Reed’s and Jane’s representation. It is also interesting to note that our gaze is directed towards Mrs Reed in Bacon’s plate. This is achieved with the help of accessories and – again – the impression of flowing movement generated by the flying ribbons of her cap, her shifting gown and the tip of her foot showing beneath her bustling skirt. It makes her the central character of this scene, while in the text, the emphasis is clearly placed on Jane. It could have been Bacon’s intention to stress even more that Mrs Reed’s behaviour is not acceptable. She somehow takes the role of the evil stepmother we know from popular fairy tales such as Snow White or Cinderella, but Brontë’s novel does not particularly focus on this dynamic. Jane’s development, her quest for self-fulfilment, is a far more central topic. So why did Bacon choose to illustrate the scene accordingly? Maybe it has something to do with the way in which 19th-century society viewed mothers. As I already mentioned, the mother was central to the Victorian cult of domesticity. Her loving care was meant to ensure that the nation’s offspring was securely guided into adulthood and alerted to their duties within society. This not only applied to biological mothers, but also to adoptive and surrogate mothers as we have seen so far. Mrs Reed is not willing to fulfil her obligation to her late husband as well as society – she will not love Jane, nor will she treat her as one of her own children. To Jane, Mrs Reed becomes a sort of anti-mother, a cruel woman who cannot make peace with her niece, not even when death is near. By presenting Mrs Reed as a Pre-Raphaelite angel of terror storming towards the helplessly wiggling girl, Bacon stresses the former’s cruelty as well as her failure to subject

456 cf. Baily 1914, 202/203.

276 herself to the 19th-century stereotype of motherhood. His illustration thus transcends the text and makes the reader/viewer question Mrs Reed’s wrongdoings even more. As I said before, the other women and Jane seem to become mere minor characters in this plate. This is emphasised with the help of their dress and the composition as a whole, which resorts them as a group to the right border of the image. It is also striking that Bacon does not seem to have paid close attention to the two young women he depicted with Jane. We know from the text that the servants Bessie and Miss Abbot are supposed to be present in this scene: Bessie is the children's nursemaid and Miss Abbot is referred to as Mrs Reed’s maid. Accordingly, both would be expected to be wearing work clothes, Miss Abbot especially. In Bacon’s plate, however, they appear to be dressed rather casually, except for the cap on the woman holding Jane, who we can assume to be Bessie. What might seem to be a fault on Bacon’s side, turns out to be an accurate depiction of 19th-century life: according to Richmond (2013), it was not unusual for a lady’s maid to receive and wear her mistress’s old clothes. Sometimes she could even be mistaken for a member of the middle- class household. Distinctions could often be made with the help of the gown’s material and design – by the late 19th century, patterned dresses, for example, were mostly worn by servants while their employers preferred simple gowns without prints.457 Bacon’s portrayal of Jane is even less eye-catching than the one of the servants, at least concerning her outward appearance: her dress is very plain, her hair too, her face can barely be studied. While simple clothing was in general not unusual for 19th-century children, even from higher classes, in Jane’s case it also stresses her status as an outcast among the Reed children. Mrs Reed does not care for Jane’s well-being and this extends to all aspects of her young life. What is striking about Bacon’s representation of Brontë’s heroine is that he shows her in the midst of fighting in order to not be locked back into the red- room. The girl’s body is bent forward, clinging to the nursemaid’s gown, as if she was fearing for her life. I mentioned above that Jane is not presented as a central

457 cf. Richmond 2013, 253.

277 character in this illustration – with the help of her bending body and her plain appearance she is made smaller and feebler than she actually is. This underlines her helplessness regarding Mrs Reed’s – who appears gigantic in comparison – cruelty. Maybe it also alludes to the general power imbalance which naturally exists between children and adults and which makes it even more important for adults not to misuse their power. We know from the text that Jane is a strong character already in her childhood, but even more so when she comes of age. While Bacon does not focus on this aspect in the plate, it can be assumed that he implied it by showing her trying to escape her unjust punishment the best she can.

Townsend’s illustration (see fig. 57) shows a middle-aged woman and a girl in front of a fireplace with wood panelling above and surrounding the mantelpiece. The woman is sitting in a large cushioned armchair. She wears a simple, voluminous gown with long puffed sleeves as well as a white cap with a ruffled brim and ribbons. Her dark hair is partly visible beneath the cap and curled slightly at her temples. Both her hands are in the air, her left one at the height of her stomach and her right one at the height of her clavicle. She looks at the girl standing in front of her with a distraught expression on her face. The girl wears a simple, long-sleeved dress which ends below her knees as well as white stockings and black slippers. Her hair falls down her neck; it is neatly combed and partly covers her face. As she is shown in profile, we cannot see her right side. Her left arm is hanging down at her side, she holds a piece of paper in her hand.

The illustration accompanied chapter 4 and deals with a conversation between Jane and Mrs Reed, which takes place after Mr Brocklehurst has left. Understandably upset by what Mrs Reed has told Lowood’s director about her being a liar, Jane proceeds to confront her adoptive mother. Taking all her courage, she dismisses the accusation and explains that neither does she love

278 Mrs Reed nor will she ever visit her again. Mrs Reed is rather shocked given her niece’s reaction:

“How dare you affirm that, Jane Eyre?” “How dare I, Mrs. Reed? How dare I? Because it is the truth. You think I have no feelings, and that I can do without one bit of love or kindness; but I cannot live so: and you have no pity. I shall remember how you thrust me back - roughly and violently thrust me back - into the red-room, and locked me up there, to my dying day; though I was in agony; though I cried out, while suffocating with distress, 'Have mercy! Have mercy, aunt Reed!' And that punishment you made me suffer because your wicked boy struck me - knocked me down for nothing. I will tell anybody who asks me questions, this exact tale. People think you a good woman, but you are bad; hard-hearted. You are deceitful!” Ere I had finished this reply, my soul began to expand, to exult, with the strangest sense of freedom, of triumph, I ever felt. It seemed as if an invisible bond had burst, and that I had struggled out into unhoped for liberty. Not without cause was this sentiment: Mrs. Reed looked frightened; her work had slipped from her knee; she was lifting up her hands, rocking herself to and fro, and even twisting her face as if she would cry.458

This scene is a very good example of what I already mentioned in my analysis of Bacon’s plate: Jane is a strong character, and she is well-versed for a girl of her age. In the text, the effect of Jane’s little speech is indicated by the “frightened” look on Mrs Reed’s face and her lack of response. Townsend’s illustration captures this very well, the shock is clearly visible in the woman’s face and as she raises her hands in disbelief, she looks as if she has seen a ghost. This is not the cruel, authoritative woman we met in previous scenes, she is shaken to the core. In comparison with Bacon’s portrayal of Mrs Reed, Townsend’s appears not only more troubled, but also less intimidating. Her appearance and sense of dress seem different, too: where Bacon’s Mrs Reed is a dark queen dressed for going out, Townsend’s is far more modest and plain. From afar, she also appears to be a little older, but this is only evoked by the matronly style of her gown and cap,

458 Bell 1869, 32.

279 as one realises while zooming in. Townsend’s account of Jane clearly indicates her “first victory” (emphasis mine). Again, we do not see much of her face since she is shown in profile, her posture, however, is strong and confident. Despite their clear difference in size, Jane appears more threatening than Mrs Reed in the plate. Clutching the pamphlet about “a naughty child addicted to falsehood and deceit” Mr Brocklehurst handed her before, she stands very close, touching her adoptive mother's dress as she leans forward.459 This is the reaction of a girl who has nothing to lose, who stands up for herself, and it is the adult Jane Eyre we can see in this behaviour. While the strength Townsend worked into her portrayal is quite accurate, it is, however, striking that Jane’s appearance is not particularly feminine in a 19th-century understanding. Her face and her hairstyle, especially, could also belong to a young boy. Mrs Reed’s face, in contrast, appears rather pretty. This could be read as a hint at Jane’s supposed plain exterior. It is also possible that Townsend chose to portray her as somewhat masculine looking in order to abide to 19th-century gender rules. As I detailed before in this thesis, men were believed to be more assertive and demanding, while women were thought of as soft and demure. A little girl was not supposed to speak her mind, while this quality would be encouraged in a little boy. A headstrong, eloquent girl like Jane might have been regarded as boyish, particularly if her appearance was rather plain. In general, we can say that Townsend’s illustration shows a shift in the power balance between Mrs Reed and Jane. Their relationship is a negative one in the first place and the true mother stereotype is not applied here. The illustrations by Bacon and Townsend both echo this convincingly, while each artist emphasises different aspects.

459 Bell 1869, 30.

280 Figure 53: Marcus Stone, "Mr Boffin Does the Honours of the Nursery Door", illustration for Charles Dickens's “Our Mutual Friend”, wood engraving,1865 (scanned image by Philip V. Allingham, The Victorian Web).

281 Figure 54: Charles Edmund Brock, "Why Jane, you never dropt a word of this; you sly thing!", illustration for Jane Austen's “Pride and Prejudice”, black and white line drawing, 1895 (The British Library).

282 Figure 55: Henry Matthew Brock, "And this offer of marriage you have refused?", llustration for Jane Austen's “Pride and Prejudice”, tinted line drawing, 1898 (Molland's).

283 Figure 56: John H. Bacon, "Mrs Reed Came Along the Corridor", illustration for Charlotte Brontë's "Jane Eyre", 1897 (The British Library).

284 Figure 57: Frederick Henry Townsend, "How Dare I, Mrs Reed?", illustration for Charlotte Brontë's "Jane Eyre", 1897 (The British Library).

285 4.1.4 Summary

While some of the positive female stereotypes I examined in this first section of my analysis are more common than others, they all seem to be deeply rooted within middle-class notions of society. This is not surprising since the 19th- century novel itself was mainly directed at middle-class readers and intended to perpetuate the views of said class. The cultural model surrounding 19th-century society’s notion of the ideal woman – be it ingénue, Angel in the House or true mother – was often so exaggerated that it could not be translated into true-to-life literary characters, much less into real life. The Angel in the House and the true mother are stereotypes which to a certain extent can be detected in the 21 book illustrations I analysed, although they are only seldom completely impersonated by middle-class protagonists. The transition from ingénue to Angel in the House and/or true mother could hardly be reconciled with 19th-century notions of femininity – which in case of middle-class women included purity of both mind and body as well as activity without actually working (for example managing the household). The real Angels and true mothers therefore often came from the lower classes: nurses, governesses, housekeepers, maids and others. The book illustrations I researched, however, mostly depicted the middle-class heroines of the novels.460 Thus, with the exception of the ingénue, the variety of illustrations was sometimes limited. Nevertheless, the illustrations I selected showed some interesting points.

As expected, the ingénue presented itself as the most popular stereotype, which was also happily picked up by many illustrators both male and female. First of all, there is a notable difference between the style of the illustrators working in the first half of the 19th century and those working in the second half. Dickens’s novels were illustrated by his collaborators when he was still alive – the illustrated periodicals were products of intense cooperation. This can be seen in the works by Cruikshank and Phiz, who both exhibit the whimsical, humorous

460 I am referring to the positive female characters here. There are plenty of illustrations featuring the so-called fallen women from lower classes, as we will see in the next section.

286 style in the tradition of satirists such as Hogarth. Their female characters are often not well-rounded and fail to convey the characteristics of the ingénue stereotype. At best, the protagonists appear small, pretty and innocent but still doll-like. In case of Dora Spenlow, the difference between early- and late-19th- century illustration is easily recognised: Barnard's 1872 version of Dora was designed independent of Dickens’s judgement, and composition-wise it is reminiscent more of a painting rather than an engraving. In a similar vein, Du Maurier and the Brock brothers each gave more humanised accounts of the female characters. Another slight difference not so much in style but in meaning can be detected in the plates by female artists Mary Ellen Edwards and Chris Hammond. While Florence Burton from Trollope’s The Claverings is not presented very favourably in the text, Edward’s shows her as attractive and dignified given a difficult situation. In her plate of Austen’s title heroine Emma and her love interest Mr Knightley, Hammond succeeds at presenting us with a nuanced, sensitive portrayal of two equal people without resorting too much to social conventions.

The Angel in the House showed many overlaps with the ingénue. Most of the characters I discussed in section 4.2 could thus easily be interchanged with those I examined in section 4.1. This could be due to their shared characteristics, for example: beautiful, selfless, loving, nurturing, domestic. I found that while the Angel in the House is a very prevalent stereotype – since the publication of Patmore’s poem, it has been referenced and analysed countless times – it is actually not very common to be seen in action. In 19th-century fiction, female characters who exhibit all the necessary attributes to qualify as Angels are really hard to find. This translated to the illustrations, too. Again, I found that the later illustrations often better succeeded at conveying the beauty of the protagonists, sometimes they were even presented as prettier than they were described in the texts. Thomson and Brock, especially, portrayed Charlotte Collins as very attractive despite Austen’s text stating otherwise. It is possible that as male

287 artists they placed more emphasis on female beauty. In case of Charlotte Collins, Austen’s slightly subversive approach is also missing from the illustrations. The works by female illustrators Edwards and Hammond once again prove a little more delicate and thoughtful. The characters Amelia Sedley and Hermione Clavering, who are generally presented less favourably in the text, appear more mature and positive in the plates.

The true mother was only seldom found in the book illustrations of the time. I already alluded to the problematic representation of middle-class mothers, who were often left out of the plot altogether in favour of surrogate or lower-class mothers. Curiously, the latter are largely missing from the illustrations. The mother figures I looked at in section 4.3 are thus quite diverse and represent both positive and negative portrayals of motherhood. While Stone tried to emulate Dickens's early illustrators, we still see a change of style in his design. His Bella Wilfer seems lifelike – we have to note, however, that the whole composition seems to be inspired by the male gaze with Mr Boffin spying on her. It is striking that both illustrators are completely in line with Dickens’s concept of the female characters improvement after motherhood. The Brock brothers’ accounts of Austen’s Mrs Bennet present her as a rather bad mother, a negative version of the stereotype. Brontë’s Mrs Reed, the only non-biological mother in my analysis is portrayed in two different ways: by Bacon as a beautiful angel of terror and by Townsend as a vulnerable, scared woman. It is noteworthy that in both plates, she is more attractive than described by Brontë.

In spite of all the multifariousness of the individual portraits, it can be stated that 19th-century book illustration generally supported the idealising clichés. It is, however, interesting to note that other elements such as personal style or decade of publication seem to have an even greater influence on the representation of the female characters. We will explore in the next sections, if this can also be said about the negative female stereotypes.

288 4.2 The Fallen Woman

4.2.1 The Prostitute

When dealing with fiction and art from the 19th century, it is important to understand that the term “prostitute” is not meant as literally as we understand it nowadays. I already explained earlier that it was not only applied to women who actually made a living from exchanging sex for money but also to women or girls who found themselves in a difficult situation due to an illegitimate pregnancy or accusations of immoral conduct of any kind. Young women, usually from lower classes, who had been seduced or deserted, were presumed to have initiated the encounter with (often higher-class) males. Most reputable members of society would refuse to interact with the prostitute at all, turning her into an outcast. While this might have been the approach of most higher- class 19th-century people to prostitution, there is a specific subtype which can be found in the fiction of the time: the saintly prostitute. Akin to the noble savage, the saintly prostitute was primarily used to underline the goodness of charitable middle-class characters, whose aim was to help the prostitute redeem herself and start a respectable life. They would recognise kind-heartedness in the prostitute and attempt to rescue her from her hardships. 19th-century literature and art intensely focuses on the Madonna/whore dichotomy – in most works, the prostitute is clearly outlined as the antithesis of the ingénue. In fiction, she thus frequently interacts with the hero and/or heroine. Similar to the ingénue, the prostitute is still a popular stock character in today’s literature and film, particularly the subtype which is also referred to as “whore with a heart of gold” can also be found in numerous contemporary works. As I already pointed out in earlier sections of this thesis, the prostitute was a popular subject of both literature and art of the 19th century. Paradoxically, as much as the public at the time disrespected fallen women, as obsessed was it with them.

289 While many 19th-century novelists dealt with the subject of prostitution, not all of their works have been illustrated. I found that, again, the most successful and established writers were most likely to have their works accompanied by plates. This accounts for the novels analysed in this section being limited to a few male authors, although I would have liked to include Gaskell’s Ruth and Eliot’s Adam Bede, for example. In the following, I will examine Dickens’s characters Nancy from Oliver Twist (1837-39) and Martha Endell from David Copperfield (1849/50) as well as Hardy’s protagonists Fanny Robin from Far from the Madding Crowd (1874) and Tess from Tess of the d'Urbervilles (1892). All four novels have been illustrated by different artists, some of them even by multiple ones in the course of the 19th century, and I will look at them in chronological order according to the (original) date of publication.

As I already mentioned in section 4.1.1, the illustrations to Oliver Twist were developed by Dickens and his illustrator Cruikshank in an intense collaborative process. Circa 1900, Joseph Clayton Clark, who in the style of Dickens's “Boz” and Browne’s “Phiz” used the pseudonym “Kyd”, designed a series of watercolours showing the characters from Dickens’s various works.461 I will look at both his and Cruikshank’s account of Nancy.

We first meet Nancy in chapter 9 of the first book as a member of Fagin’s gang. Although Dickens never uses the term “prostitute” when he refers to Nancy, it is strongly implied that this is how she makes money for Fagin. With another girl named Bet, she comes to visit Charley Bates and the Artful Dodger. Both girls are described as wearing “a good deal of hair, not very neatly turned up behind” and looking “rather untidy about the shoes and stockings”. The girls are said to be “not exactly pretty”, with “a great deal of colour in their faces”, but “quite stout and hearty”. Obviously oblivious to Nancy’s and Bet’s profession, Oliver perceives them as “very nice girls indeed” and notices that they are “remarkably free and agreeable in their manners”.462 This resonates with what I explained in section

461 cf. Allingham 2015, online resource. 462 Dickens 2003, 71.

290 2.1.2: there was a certain dress code for respectable 19th-century women, which advised them to wear little or no make up and dress cautiously. Prostitutes, in contrast, were often seen with their cheeks and lips painted bright red or pink, and dressed in colourful, provocative clothing with flamboyant accessories. While Nancy’s age is not openly mentioned in the book, she says in chapter 16 of the first book that she was half Oliver's age when she was captured by Fagin and has been working for him for twelve years. We can thus assume that she is still quite young, maybe in her late teens. Concerning her personality, we see a development in the course of the plot. First, she seems to fit in perfectly with Fagin’s gang, drinking and joking with them, but she starts to become more and more protective of Oliver. After partaking in Fagin and Sikes’s plot to recapture Oliver after he has been living securely with the Maylies for some time, Nancy starts to realise that their doing is wrong and decides to help Oliver. She secretly meets Mr Brownlow and Rose Maylie in order to inform them about Oliver’s half-brother Monks, who is in cahoots with Fagin. Unfortunately, it is her benevolent action that seals her fate: Fagin has sent out a spy to follow her. When Sikes learns of Nancy’s betrayal, he is furious. Believing that she has informed on him, he confronts Nancy and even though she seems to be in love with him still and tries to imagine “better lives” for them, he eventually kills her.463 I will describe both illustrations first and subsequently compare them with each other.

Cruikshank’s illustration (see fig. 58) shows four people standing at what appears to be the pier of a bridge. Three of them, a man and two women, are located in the middle ground to the left standing on the stairs, while the fourth person, another man, is seen in the foreground to the right hiding behind a wall so that he cannot be discovered by the others. He is dressed in a plain light shirt, dark tie, stockings and dark shoes. His hair is cropped short and he holds a walking stick in his left hand and a dark hat in his right hand. With his feet wide apart, he leans towards the ledge, turning his ear in the direction of the group to

463 Dickens 2003, 396.

291 the left as if he was listening to their conversation. The man in said group is neatly dressed in a dark tail-coat, white shirt and tie, light trousers and black shoes. He appears middle-aged and a little stout, wears glasses, a black top hat and holds a walking stick in his left hand. His right arm is bent – the woman next to him has linked her arms with it. She seems younger than him and is also very neatly dressed in a light, floor-length gown, white bonnet and dark shawl. She is almost as tall as the man next to her and very slim. Both are looking at another woman who is standing opposite them and is about the age of the first woman. She wears a simple calf-length gown with a white apron, a black bonnet and dark shawl as well as plain boots. The woman is smaller than the others and appears a little stout with a round face. While her left hand clutches her shawl, she holds her right hand at the height of her clavicle pointing towards the upper left corner with her index finger. Behind the group in the background, we see a wooden boat lying on top of the stairs. In the foreground, a body of water is visible.

Clarke’s plate (see fig. 59) shows a woman inside a room. She appears to be middle-aged and wears a patterned dress with a white apron, a short cape with a ribbon in the front as well as white stockings and black slippers. Her hair is not styled, it hangs out of her straw bonnet with a ribbon which has slipped from her head and hangs down her back. She leans slightly to the left as she clenches the fist of her right hand and clutches the ribbon of her cape with her left. Her face appears angry and she gazes in the direction of the left border of the plate. Next to her to the right, a wooden table with a bottle atop, a wooden stool and a wooden door frame are visible. To the left, a chair and a cabinet can be seen.

The illustrations by Cruikshank and Clarke present us with two very different accounts of Nancy. Cruikshank’s plate was specifically designed to accompany chapter 8 of the third book and bears the name “The Meeting”. It details the meeting between Mr Brownlow, Rose and Nancy, which is overheard by Fagin’s spy Noah Claypole. In contrast to other illustrations I examined so far,

292 Cruikshank’s does not focus on one paragraph but rather visualises a sequence of events that are told in chapter 8. The scene pictured is the sequel to Rose's encounter with Nancy in the third chapter of the second book. Fagin has instructed Noah to follow Nancy to see if she is doing anything to endanger his plans. When Nancy meets Rose at the pier, Noah hides nearby to eavesdrop. Mr Brownlow, who accompanies Rose, asks Nancy to turn in Monks or at least Fagin but she refuses to betray them. Brownlow assures her that her name will never be mentioned as a source of information and she finally reveals where to find Monks. Tension is created when Nancy starts to describe Monks’s appearance and he turns out to be someone Brownlow actually knows. He and Rose offer to help Nancy escape her life as a prostitute, but she refuses. When the party splits up, Noah Claypole proceeds to update Fagin.464 From the protagonists’ body language we can assume that Cruikshank chose to capture the moment when the meeting on the pier of London Bridge seems to be most exciting. It seems as if Nancy is telling Mr Brownlow something really interesting: he is seen leaning towards her, while Rose is clutching his arm tightly. Maybe this is precisely the moment when Nancy informs them about Monks's appearance and Brownlow remembers him. The contrast between the higher- and lower-class characters is clearly visible. Mr Brownlow and Rose are dressed more elegantly – we instantly recognise them as the “grey-haired gentleman” and the “young lady” mentioned earlier in the chapter. Nancy and Noah are dressed in plainer clothes. With Rose and Nancy especially, the different perceptions of a lady on the one hand and a prostitute on the other hand are obvious: Rose is by no means the angelic creature described in Dickens’s text, but she appears much more elegant with her slim and tall figure. Nancy is shown as rather small and stout, which fits her initial description. It is, however, implied in chapter 2 of the third book that in the course of the novel Nancy’s appearance changes and leaves her “so pale and reduced” that she is barely recognisable. This is not fully echoed in Cruikshank’s plates, although the Nancy we see in “The Meeting” appears a little more

464 cf. Dickens 2003, 381-389.

293 exhausted and less flamboyant. Another small yet important detail is the difference in length concerning Nancy’s and Rose’s skirts. A middle-class (or higher) woman in her late teens would be expected to wear a floor-length dress, shorter dresses were usually only worn by younger girls. In case of Nancy, this not only alludes to her status as a lower-class woman, but also to her profession. During the 19th century, demi-monde women such as singers, actresses or prostitutes usually wore clothing which would not be deemed appropriate for respectable women. In a nutshell, Nancy’s and Rose’s appearances alone tell us that they belong to entirely different worlds. Golden (2000) argues that here Cruikshank undermines Dickens's concept of Rose and Nancy being soul mates by making “their clothing alone [confirm] their differences in class and respectability“.465 The setting of the scene is important, too: it takes place on the pier of London Bridge and as we have learnt in section 3.2.2, the Thames and London’s bridges had a special significance in connection with fallen women who allegedly drowned themselves there. Both in art and literature, suicide by drowning implies a purification, a catharsis, which relieves the women from their sins and helps them find salvation. While Nancy does not commit suicide or drown in the novel, she is killed by Sikes. She is thus not really given the chance to redeem herself in the fashion of the saintly prostitute. Although Dickens seems to head into this direction at first, particularly by linking Rose and Nancy, he does not follow through with this plan. Like all the criminal characters in the novel, except for Charley Bates, Nancy has to be punished for her deeds and dies in the end. Cruikshank’s plate foreshadows this development, maybe he even influenced the plot, which shows his independence as an artist. This might be another instance of illustration having a great influence on our perception of a certain character and even on the author's construction of the plot. So let us take a look at Clarke’s version of Nancy. First of all, she appears much older than Cruikshank’s and her angular features give her a masculine appearance. She looks “stout and hearty”, but not in a girlish sense; she also seems very strong as

465 Golden 2000, 139.

294 she is clenching her right fist. The bottle to the right alludes to her drinking habits. Her opened mouth and frown suggest anger, which is likely directed at someone or something located beyond the left border of the plate. An illustration of Sikes from the same collection which was printed next to that of Nancy shows him broodingly gazing to the right border of the plate. We can thus suspect that Nancy is shown in the midst of an argument with her lover. He is shown with his club in hand, so we cannot be sure that the plates allude to Nancy’s death scene in chapter 9 of the third book where Sikes beats her with his pistol. In the text, she is described as very fearful, begging him to spare her life; in the illustrations she seems mostly furious. Her slightly dishevelled clothing and hair second this impression. Her dress is as simple as in Cruikshank’s plate, but interestingly, it seems more feminine. Her skirt is longer and the individual parts such as apron, bonnet and cape appear more coordinated, more put together. This results in a strange contrast between her masculine appearance and her feminine clothing, which undermines the character’s personality and makes her seem more ridiculous than she actually is in the text. This is not the saintly prostitute, the victim of circumstances and Fagin’s exploitative plans. It is highly possible that Clarke attempted to present Nancy from a more caricaturing point of view. While this is not particularly fitting in her case, it still resonates with many of Dickens's other criminal characters who were shown in Clarke’s collection The Characters of Charles Dickens. By equipping Nancy with physical strength and anger, however, Clarke might also have imagined a different ending for the good-natured prostitute: if she had been strong enough to fight Sikes, maybe she might have survived.

In the preceding sections, I have already examined Dora from Dickens's novel David Copperfield. Concerning the prostitute stereotype, I will take a look at Martha Endell as she is shown in an original 1850 illustration by Phiz as well as in a plate by Fred Barnard dating from the 1870s.

295 Martha is not the only female character in David Copperfield with whom Dickens explores the fallen women stereotype – Mr Peggotty’s niece Emily (Little Em’ly) can also be interpreted accordingly. Their story lines, however, are quite different. I chose to focus on Martha since the development of her personality appears to be a little closer to the stereotype of the prostitute; we will see that the imagery used to describe her in both text and illustration seems more traditional in the sense of what we have learnt about 19th-century values so far. Martha is first mentioned in chapter 12 as a “black shadow to be following” Emily on her visit to Yarmouth. David remarks that the “young woman” looks “bold, and haggard, and flaunting, and poor” and assumes that she is following Emily to beg for money.466 He later learns that Martha and Emily have known each other for a long time and have, in fact, many things in common: both are orphaned daughters of fishermen, originally from Yarmouth and around the same age (Martha is said to be two or three years older). Martha’s status is alluded to by Ham Peggotty when he does not want to talk to her at Mr Barkis’s house (where they meet since Mr Peggotty disapproves of their meeting at his house) and mentions to David that he considers her a bad influence on Emily. Martha wishes to start a new life in London where nobody knows her and Emily helps her with some money.467 It is clearly implied early on that Martha’s and Emily’s fates are tied together – thus Martha re-enters the narrative after Emily has run away with Mr Steerforth: in chapter 46, David learns that Mr Steerforth left Emily in Naples and assumes that she will return to London soon. Suspecting that Martha might know Emily’s whereabouts, he and Mr Peggotty go looking for her. They find her and follow her down to the banks of the Thames. It becomes obvious from her talking about the river and saying that she “[feels] that [she] must go with it” that she is at least contemplating committing suicide. She feels intense guilt in the face of Emily’s situation. Hesitantly at first, she agrees to help looking for her friend, but she refuses to take any money for it.468 And indeed,

466 Dickens 1850a, 229/230. 467 cf. ibid., 238/239. 468 Dickens 1850c, 542 ff.

296 Martha manages to find Emily and this is what leads to her eventual redemption: out of generosity and thankfulness, Mr Peggotty and Emily decide to take Martha with them as they emigrate to Australia in chapter 57. We learn in chapter 63 that this truly paved the way for Martha’s happiness since once there, she meets a young farmworker who asks her to marry him despite knowing her history.469 Since both Phiz and Barnard illustrated the same scene, I will first offer descriptions of the two plates and subsequently analyse them.

Phiz’s illustration (see fig. 60) shows a woman standing on the banks of a river. She is on the brink of stepping into the water as indicates her right foot already dipping into it. She wears a simple, ankle-length dress and a dark shawl which is wrapped around the crook of her right arm and held in place at her left hip with both her hands. A bonnet appears to be dangling down her back, its ribbons tied into a bow at her throat. Her dark hair is worn in a loose chignon with some strands falling into her face and down her neck. She leans her head to the right and gazes into the water so that we can see her face in profile. It is thin and emaciated with protruding cheekbones. Next to her, a lot of debris, an anchor, wooden stilts, patches of reed and even the wreck of a small boat can be seen. In the middle ground to the right, two men are standing in front of a deteriorating lattice fence. The younger one of them is neatly dressed in a dark suit, white shirt, vest and top hat. He seems to lunge forward into the direction of the woman, his left foot is put in front of his right and his right arm is bent. The other man to his right appears older and is more static; he is leaning on the fence with his right hand, while his left hand is at the height of his breast. He wears a simple jacket, vest and breeches as well as a hat. In the background to the left, the skyline of London can be seen.

Barnard's plate (see fig. 61) shows three people on the banks of a river, two men and a woman. The woman is cowering on the ground, her hair is falling around her face which she is also covering with her hands. Her dress appears simple

469 Dickens 1850c, 694.

297 from what we can gather given her kneeling position. The man to her right is kneeling with his left leg, while he rests his right arm on his bent right leg. He wears a dark suit and top hat; his chin-length hair is dark. The look on his face implies concern as he reaches out for the woman’s head with his left hand. The other man appears older. He is dressed in a simple, dark coat, dark shirt and light breeches. His right hand rests on a walking stick. He has mutton chops and wears a hat on his short, medium dark hair. He gazes down at the woman kneeling in front of his feet. Around them, we see a lot of debris and weed. The middle and background appear very dark, the water and the sky almost seem to merge with each other.

Both illustrations deal with the events taking place in chapter 47, which is also titled “Martha”. Phiz focusses on the following paragraph:

As if she were a part of the refuse it had cast out, and left to corruption and decay, the girl we had followed strayed down to the river's brink, and stood in the midst of this night-picture, lonely and still, looking at the water.470

David and Mr Peggotty have just arrived at the river and see Martha standing near the water. Barnard, in contrast, depicts this scene, which occurs a little later:

But a stronger hand than mine was laid upon her; and when she raised her frightened eyes and saw whose it was, she made but one more effort, and dropped down between us. We carried her away from the water to where there were some dry stones, and there laid her down, crying and moaning. In a little while she sat among the stones, holding her wretched head with both her hands.471

The setting is described in great detail in the text, making it easy to visualise the dark and gloomy riverbank full of “coarse grass and rank weeds” and several “strange objects” such as anchors, wheels, pipes and many more scattered on the ground. Dickens stresses that this is not a welcoming place – expressions such as

470 Dickens 1850c, 542. 471 ibid., 544.

298 “heavy and unbroken smoke” as well as “slimy gaps and causeways” evoke feelings of disgust. This worked to the advantage of the illustrators, who both designed quite similar versions of the setting. One notable difference is that in Phiz’s version the river is on the left of the woman, while in Barnard's it is the other way round. Kitton (2004) notes that in Phiz’s case this might be due to a compositional error: since the skyline features St. Paul’s Cathedral, which would not be visible from this point of view, it is likely that the scene has been reversed. And indeed, Phiz’s working drawings show the river right of the woman. It can be assumed that Phiz did not take into account that the design would be reversed in the printing process.472 Both plates are very dark, almost depressing, which reflects Martha’s desperation and hopelessness. Again, the illustrations make use of the 19th-century imagery of the despaired, lonely prostitute who decides to commit suicide by drowning herself in the river Thames. Martha is strongly linked to imagery of illness and death – just as the pier itself, she is “gradually decomposed into that nightmare condition”. This is underlined by the fact that the riverbank is rumoured to hold mass graves from the Great Plague, it is literally a burial ground.473 In a similar vein, the plot line involving Emily and Martha is constructed: Mr Peggotty and Ham were unhappy that Emily – then still in her state of perfect ingénue - associated with Martha as if the latter’s living conditions were contagious. Now that Emily herself has run away with Mr Steerforth and thus fallen from pristine girlhood, Martha, believing that she literally infected her friend, struggles with feelings of guilt. Standing on the pier, she becomes “part of the refuse [the river] had cast out, and left to corruption and decay”.474 Ingham (1992) stresses that this is in line with the 19th-century stereotype of the prostitute’s “moral, social and physical degradation and contamination”. Martha and the polluted river become one, flowing to inexorable decay.475 In Phiz’s plate, she simultaneously stands out and

472 cf. Kitton 2004, 104. 473 Dickens 1850c, 541. 474 ibid. 475 Ingham 1992, 46/47.

299 blends in with her surroundings: her features are sharp, her hair and clothing pitch black, which mirrors the intense darkness of the river, sky and refuse. The fact that she is placed almost at centre of the plate, however, directs our line of vision towards her solitary figure, making her stand out. Mr Peggotty and David nearly disappear into the background, which underlines Martha’s extreme loneliness. While she is certainly not idealised, Phiz does not show her as a disgusting criminal, but rather a pitiful victim of circumstances. This is in line with Dickens's text, where Martha gets the chance to redeem herself by helping Emily and is in the end rewarded with a respectable life in Australia. The depiction of Martha in the moment where she is on the brink of drowning herself, however, does have a voyeuristic quality, too. Similar to today’s news stories that sometimes feature explicit photos of accidents, Phiz’s plate borders on the exploitative. This is reminiscent of the general handling of the subject of prostitution during the 19th century, which, as I already mentioned, usually alternated between disgust and pity, but also involved plenty of curiosity. Barnard depicts Martha differently: we are not able to see her face as she is cowering at the feet of Mr Peggotty and David. Helpless and weak, Martha is shown in her extreme desperation. Where Phiz’s version of her appears more like a ghost – it almost seems as if she had already died and returned to haunt the pier – Barnard's displays a definite humanness. She is still a part of the human world and has not yet become one with the river. The fact that Barnard's illustration captures a later scene might be crucial in this case. David has already reached out to Martha and called her back from her deadly mission; he and Mr Peggotty are no longer distant figures in the shadows, but are placed right next to her. Even though Martha initially remains distant, the fact that Emily’s uncle and friend actually come to her for help seems to give her at least a bit of hope. There is, however, another way to look at Barnard's cowering Martha. By placing her at the feet of the male characters without even showing her face, Barnard establishes a clear power imbalance. Mr Peggotty’s standing above her, his head only slightly bent, particularly stresses her weakness and vulnerability in this

300 scene. David at least tries to lower himself halfway down. Nevertheless, Martha’s submissiveness is evident and gives the impression that this is what she needs to do in order to deserve a better life. Barnard’s not showing Martha’s face by presenting her kneeling down also spares him the trouble of creating an unattractive female character. I believe that this is quite important considering Barnard’s other plates for the novel – while Phiz was skilled at drawing humorous, grotesque protagonists, Barnard’s forte was a more painterly, naturalistic quality. Depicting Martha’s emaciated face and her desolate appearance might have been more of a struggle for him than it was for Phiz. While Martha is too minor a character to be as strongly positioned as the saintly prostitute as Nancy in Oliver Twist, the stereotype is at least hinted at. Another striking difference between the plates is the background: Phiz employs the London skyline – on the one hand, this specifies the setting of the scene as it is mentioned by Dickens and on the other hand, it reinforces the feeling of loneliness as well as the possibility to “get lost” in a large city with many inhabitants.476 The background in Barnard's plate is designed differently. Both river and sky are created with the help of parallel lines, the so-called hatching technique, and can only be distinguished by the lines’ opposing directions. The result is a feeling of immense range, as if river and sky formed an enormous black hole waiting to swallow anyone who dares to come close. Where Phiz’s Martha is alone amidst a city of millions, Barnard's is facing infinite darkness. According to Auerbach (1986), both versions resonate with the 19th-century notion that the prostitute does not belong to the domestic sphere. Artworks of the time thus mostly show her in empty city streets or near huge masses of water.477 The most important message of this imagery seems to be that the prostitute is an outcast everywhere she goes – whether in nature’s wide and open space or in a busy city, she is doomed and alone. In summary, one can determine that albeit employing slightly different approaches, both illustrators

476 cf. Allingham 2010, online resource. 477 Auerbach references the two versions as „sweeping vistas of space and […] impersonal urban masses“ (Auerbach 1986, 159).

301 mirror Dickens's portrayal of Martha as well as the general conventions of representation which were applied in 19th-century art. This is interesting since the plates were designed in different decades of the 19th century and, as we have seen in case of the depiction of the ingénue Dora Spenlow in an earlier section, Barnard actually had a very different style than Phiz and also worked without the author’s supervision. This leads to the assumption that the underlying cliché of the prostitute is a very dominant one, which accounts for neither Dickens nor his illustrators deviating from the social construct.

Thomas Hardy’s 1874 novel Far from the Madding Crowd was published as a monthly serial in Cornhill Magazine. It was very popular with readers and included illustrations by Helen Paterson Allingham. In the following, I will examine Allingham’s take on the minor character Fanny Robin. She is a good example of 19th-century society’s definition of the prostitute which in many cases did not actually involve sex work. Fanny fits the tragic cliché of the servant girl seduced by a man higher standing. When we first meet her in chapter 7, she is leaving Weatherbury and meets the male hero of the story, Gabriel Oak, who is on his way to main protagonist Bathsheba Everdene’s farm to work as a bailiff. Fanny is described in terms of smallness and (bodily) weakness as “timid”, “slim” and “too little”. Her voice is perceived by Gabriel as “unexpectedly attractive”, he seems to take a liking to her. It is also revealed that Fanny is “rather poor” – she is dressed too lightly and shivers so that Gabriel advises her to return indoors. When she insists that she must be on her way, he offers her some money which she gladly accepts.478 It is revealed in the next chapters that Fanny is Bathsheba’s “youngest servant” and ran away from her farm in order to pursue her lover who is in the regiment. In chapter 11, we learn that the man Fanny is involved with is Sergeant Frank Troy and that they are planning to marry. It is strongly implied in the text that although Fanny has a premarital affair, she is not a prostitute. When she is about to leave, she asks Frank to come and meet her at a different location since at the army barracks there are “bad women about, and they think

478 Hardy 1875, 58 ff.

302 [her] one”. This shows that it is important to her to set herself apart from actual prostitutes.479 The tragedy which would lead to Fanny’s downfall starts in chapter 16: she and Frank had agreed to marry in All Souls’ church, but in her utter excitement, Fanny mixes things up and goes to All Saints’ church. When she realises her mistake and hurries to meet her fiancé, it is too late. Angry for being stood up and embarrassed in front of everyone, Frank walks away from her without setting a new date for the ceremony.480 He goes on to meet and marry the wealthy Bathsheba despite still liking Fanny. In an earlier chapter, we learn through Bathsheba’s servant Liddy that Frank is known as a ladies’ man and also has a taste for gambling – something which was not highly estimated but tolerated in a man by 19th-century society.481 He thus fits the cliché of the male seducer. In chapter 39, Frank and Bathsheba meet an impoverished and desolate Fanny who is on her way to a workhouse at Casterbridge. In confidence while Bathsheba is tending to the horse, he gives Fanny some money and asks her to meet him in a few days. 482 Fanny makes it to the workhouse but dies in childbirth soon thereafter. Her body and that of her child are sent to Bathsheba’s farm for interment – Fanny and Frank’s affair can no longer be concealed. In chapter 43, Frank learns about Fanny’s death as well as his paternity, realises his mistake and declares his enduring love for her.483

Allingham’s plate (see fig. 62) shows a solitary figure crouched at the foot of a haystack in the left middle ground. From the clothing and hairstyle, it can be assumed that the figure is female. She is dressed in a dark gown, shoes and cloak with a hood covering the back of her head. Only her pale face and right hand as well as her light hair stand out against the darkness. The woman appears weak and sunken in, as if she broke down beneath the haystack; her head is tilted to the right, her eyes are closed and her body seems limp. Next to

479 Hardy 1875, 79 and 103. 480 ibid., 135. 481 cf. ibid., 193. 482 cf. ibid., 307/308. 483 ibid., 354/355.

303 the haystack to the right, a lattice fence and gate are visible; the background to the right is lined with dark bushes and conifers. Behind the conifers, a shear of pale light can be seen in the distance.

The scene depicted in the illustration corresponds to the beginning of chapter 40 – which details Fanny’s arduous march to Casterbridge Union. Exhausted from walking and apparently sick, the pregnant woman sits down to rest and falls asleep: “At length her onward walk dwindled to the merest totter, and she opened a gate within which was a haystack. Underneath this she sat down and presently slept.”484 When Fanny wakes up, it is already night. The details mentioned in the text are accurately reflected in Allingham’s plate; the pastoral setting is obvious, we see the gate, the haystack and the sleeping Fanny. The gloomy atmosphere, the endless darkness which engulfs her limp body and the distant glow behind the black conifers, however, seem to hint at more than just a woman resting during her journey. Chapter 40 is actually the last chapter where Fanny is still alive – in the preceding ones, she is only ever mentioned in the context of her passing. Thus Allingham’s illustration can be regarded as a foreshadowing of her death. In contrast to the plates from Dickens's novels, the present illustration does not make use of the most prominent symbolism of the prostitute stereotype. Fanny is not depicted near a river or lake. She is, however, portrayed as completely isolated, left alone in a wide open space, which, as I explained in case of Barnard's Martha, was also part of the visual stereotype. According to Jackson (1981), the composition of Allingham’s illustration is reminiscent of the depiction of the fallen woman in 19th-century genre paintings, for example Rossetti’s “Found” or Redgrave’s “The Outcast”. She stresses, however, that Allingham’s version is more sensitive and less judgemental than the paintings.485 It seems that Fanny is even more of an outsider and victim of society than Dickens's Nancy and Martha. This might be due to the fact that although she is a minor character, we are under the impression that we actually

484 Hardy 1875, 310. 485 cf. Jackson 1981, 80/81.

304 witness Fanny’s fall – when we first meet her, she is a poor servant-girl who is involved with a higher-class man. When he deserts her, her downfall begins. In chapter 40, she literally finds herself at the lowest point in her life, pregnant and crawling to the workhouse with only a dog acting as her companion. Fanny’s downfall culminates in her inevitable death. Like most prostitute characters in 19th-century fiction, she is thus punished for her alleged sins. Frank Troy is also punished for his wrongdoings by losing Fanny and his child as well as Bathsheba because of the incident. Fanny’s death also helps Bathsheba realise her husband's true nature. Aside from her status as fallen woman, Fanny is not presented as a well-rounded character. While she is said to be pretty and agreeable, there are no distinguishing traits about her. She could actually be anyone. Her fall seems to be of greater importance than her character, since it functions as a catalyst for the main characters’ development. This is echoed in Allingham’s plate where Fanny is a mere shadow of herself, collapsed, alone and wrapped in her dark cloak beneath the haystack. While Hardy’s text positions Fanny as the victim of seduction and thus evokes pity on the part of the reader, Allingham’s portrayal goes even further. Her Fanny is completely defeated – even though she is not yet dead in the depicted scene, she could as well be. Selfish and proud Frank has left her for another woman with a better social standing and from the absence of any family ties in the text we can assume that her next of kin are either dead or have abandoned her, too. It is said that she worked as a seamstress for a while and as I have mentioned before, this was one of the lowest paying jobs for working- class women during the 19th century. It is likely that she had to give up this job because of her pregnancy, which left her with the workhouse in Casterbridge as the only option to possibly survive. Allingham’s plate succeeds at conveying the utter desperation the young woman must have felt. The curve in her delicate body underlines her exhaustion from the long walk, which resulted in her losing all tension in her muscles and simply collapsing near the haystack. Similar to the other illustrations I discussed so far in the section, Allingham’s version of the prostitute has a voyeuristic quality: Fanny’s pastoral resting spot is described as

305 rather secluded and deserted, which is reflected in the illustrator’s dark and spacious design. Nevertheless, as viewers, we are invited to watch the sleeping woman, we literally spy on her. Of course, this can be said about most visual artworks, it is quasi a side effect of the medium – if we perceive only one character in a very private moment, however, the effect seems to be reinforced. While Allingham’s portrayal of Fanny does show some empathy, it defies neither the male gaze nor society’s notions on the stereotype which are prominent in the paintings and illustrations on the subject I have discussed earlier in this thesis. The general handling of the prostitute stereotype did not leave much room for a nuanced representation; in both literature and art, the fallen woman was often less of an individual and more of a means to explore the fall from respectable femininity and its impact on society. In many works of art, the fallen woman cannot be saved. Her death is inevitable, it is the ultimate punishment for her transgression. Allingham’s Fanny is as lost to her fate as Hardy’s – the faint glow behind the conifers in the plate is not a light at the end of the tunnel, it is the “distant halo which hung over the town of Casterbridge”, where she will eventually die in childbirth.486

Hardy’s Tess of the d'Urbervilles: A Pure Woman Faithfully Presented was published as a serial in the newspaper The Graphic in 1891; illustrations were provided by four different artists, which created a wide variety of style within the publication. The illustrators were Ernest Borough-Johnson, Hubert von Herkomer, Joseph Syddall and Daniel Wehrschmidt. Some of the plates were published in double page format and were thus considerably larger than the engravings normally used in publishing – scholars suspect that this is the reason why Hardy’s Tess was never published as an illustrated book during the 19th century.487 It is noteworthy that the serial publication of Tess was censored – the book edition included chapters which had initially been left out due to their

486 Hardy 1875, 310. 487 cf. Jackson 1981, 105.

306 supposed inappropriate content. I will examine one illustration by Borough- Johnson as well as one by Syddall.

Tess Durbeyfield would probably not be considered a prostitute in the modern sense by today’s readers. Yet similar to Fanny Robin, she is a very good example of the 19th-century fallen woman, a lower-class girl whose life takes a turn for the worse after she is seduced by a higher-class man. As the novel’s title suggests, Tess is the main character, which means that we might expect her to be more well-rounded and more of an individual than Fanny. Her story is set in rural England and begins against the backdrop of her father's learning from a parson he encounters on his way home that he is allegedly “the lineal representative of the ancient and knightly family of the d’Urbervilles”. The family name Durbeyfield is supposed to be a variation of d’Urberville. Despite the parson’s indication that the family’s noble origin might be of little importance in the here and now, Mr Durbeyfield is immediately intrigued.488 We first meet Tess in the second chapter, where she attends a May-Day celebration with the other inhabitants of the village. She is described as a “fine and handsome girl” dressed in a white frock and wearing a red ribbon in her hair. While her beauty and youth are mentioned, it is implied that she is “not handsomer than some others” and a “genuine country [girl]” just like all of them. This stresses Tess’s simple, peasant background – there is nothing refined or cosmopolitan about her, but also nothing artificial or stilted. At the beginning of the novel, Tess is sixteen, with “bouncing handsome womanliness” and “phases of her childhood [lurking] in her aspect still”. The May-Day dance also marks the first meeting between Tess and her future husband Angel Clare, an educated young man from a middle-class pastor’s family.489 When Tess returns home from the dance, she finds that her father has celebrated his supposed nobility at the inn, which leaves him too drunk to drive to the market. Tess and her younger brother make the journey in his place – which results in a terrible accident, a collision with

488 Hardy 2004, 39. 489 ibid., 45 ff.

307 another carriage leading to the death of the family’s only horse.490 In chapter 5, the family urges Tess to seek out the well-off Mrs d’Urberville and “claim kin” to persuade her to help them financially. They are unaware of the fact that there actually is no relation since the wealthy family only adopted the name for its aristocratic sound. When a reluctant Tess arrives at the d’Urberville’s, she meets the family's son Alec, a philandering young man in his early twenties. He immediately starts to flirt with her despite her constant rejection of his advances and arranges for her to return as the manager of his mother’s poultry-farm. 491 One night after a visit to the town, Alec pretends to take Tess home on his horse but rides into the foggy woods instead. He then takes advantage of her as she lies sleeping under a tree – his raping her is not openly discussed in the text, it is however, strongly implied at the end of chapter 11 that a “coarse pattern” was traced upon her “beautiful feminine tissue”.492 Tess returns home and gives birth to a little boy who dies soon thereafter. When she takes up work as a milkmaid at a dairy farm later, she reunites with Angel Clare. When Angel learns about Tess’s past after their marriage, he is shocked and they separate shortly afterwards. They meet again in chapter 55 – Tess is living as Alec’s mistress and Angel’s effort to win her back prompts her to stab Alec in a fit of desperation. During her flight with Angel, she is discovered by the police at Stonehenge; we learn of her execution in the final chapter. Since the artists contributing to the serial publication of Tess each illustrated different scenes, I am not able to offer a comparative analysis between Borough-Johnson’s and Sydall’s work. Instead I will first examine Borough-Johnson’s plate for chapter 5 and subsequently Sydall’s for chapter 41.

Borough-Johnson’s illustration (see fig. 63) shows a man and a woman standing on a garden path in the foreground. The background is lined with trees and bushes. The man appears to be in his mid to late twenties; he is dressed in what appears to be a summer suit consisting of a white shirt with banded collar and a 490 cf. Hardy 2004, 63/64. 491 cf. ibid., 71 ff. 492 ibid., 110.

308 dark coat with matching breeches. He also wears dark shoes and gaiters. His dark hair is short and partly covered by a flat cap; he sports a dark moustache. We see his face in profile since he turns towards the young woman to his left. His left hand holds a small object up to the woman’s face as if he was trying to feed her something. His right elbow is bent and he holds a cigarette at the height of his stomach with his right hand. The woman next to the man seems to be slightly younger than him, maybe in her late teens or early twenties. She wears a simple, dark dress with short sleeves, a white apron, shawl and dark slippers. Her dark hair is covered by a lightly-coloured bonnet with two long ribbons dangling down on each side. In her left hand, she holds a small basket, while she tries to fend off the man’s offering with her right hand held up high. Her gaze is also directed at the man next to her.

The scene takes place in chapter 5, when Tess attempts to claim kinship at the d’Urberville’s estate and encounters Alec in the gardens. In full seduction mode, the young man tries to win her over by offering her fresh strawberries:

“They are already here.” d’Urberville began gathering specimens of the fruit for her, handing them back to her as he stooped; and, presently, selecting a specially fine product of the “British Queen” variety, he stood up and held it by the stem to her mouth. “No – no!” she said quickly, putting her fingers between his hand and her lips. “I would rather take it in my own hand.”493

As we can gather from the excerpt above, Tess is not comfortable with his actions. Alec, however, does not seem to care about her feelings and ends up feeding the fruit to her. He also decorates Tess’s dress and hat with roses; when she leaves, her body as well as her little basket are so overladen with roses and strawberries that she feels ashamed given the curious looks of the other passengers on the carriage home. While the ambiguous nature of our heroine has been discussed by numerous scholars, this scene in my opinion stresses that her supposed compliance with Alec’s seduction is forced. She is only sixteen and from what we can gather from the preceding chapters, she is rather

493 Hardy 2004, 73.

309 inexperienced with society and men – the quintessential cliché of the innocent country girl. The scene in chapter 5 does not present Tess as a femme fatale – it rather appears as if she does not really understand what is happening to her when Alec showers her with attention, flowers and food. Her “half-pleased, half- reluctant state” can be interpreted in terms of her feeling flattered by Alec’s courting. Additionally, it is likely that she is not as used to an abundance of expensive food as higher-class women would be. In Borough-Johnson’s plate, the class difference between Tess and Alec is emphasised with the help of their clothing. While Tess’s simple attire is reminiscent of country women dressed for going out, Alec’s elegant yet casual summer suit and his fashionable flat cap are something which was typically seen on upper-class men pursuing leisure activities in the countryside. The cigarette in Alec’s right hand is mentioned in the text and underlines his swanky, cosmopolitan manner – nowadays we would probably refer to him as a one of the “cool guys” – which gives him a dangerous but also alluring aura. The fact that he is shown holding onto it while attempting to feed Tess the strawberry, emphasises that to him, this is a casual act or at least he pretends that it is. Alec is supposed to be in his early twenties, not “more than three- or four-and-twenty” to be precise, yet he sports a “well-groomed black moustache with curled points”.494 According to Barber (2001), facial hair was a key factor of male attraction during the 19th century, suggesting virility, maturity and dominance.495 The fairly young Alec thus appears more mature than he actually is – this is echoed in the illustration where his dominance over Tess is very clear. The description of Alec’s physique in the text is also telling: his “almost swarthy complexion, with full lips, badly moulded, though red and smooth” and “touches of barbarism in his contours”, “his bold rolling eye” all allude to his strong sexuality.496 In the description, Hardy employs racial stereotypes which were prevalent during the 19th century. It is likely that it was not Hardy’s intention to inform the reader about Alec’s heritage, but rather to

494 Hardy 2004, 71. 495 cf. Barber 2001, 269. 496 Hardy 2004, 71.

310 draw on the cultural model surrounding blackness, which during the 19th century included a strong sexual desire.497 Apart from this, the description of Alec also alludes to his function as the story’s main antagonist – his dark exterior mirrors his character. In Borough-Johnson’s illustration, however, Alec is not presented as a dark, diabolical villain. He rather appears as the cliché-ridden arrogant upper-class male who is very sure of himself and used to having his way with the (young) women he encounters. As I said before, Tess is shown as the stereotypical country girl with her straw bonnet and simple cotton dress. Her state of emotional distress is reflected in the slightly disordered state of her appearance – the ribbons of her bonnet have come undone and dangle down her body. This literal disentangling of the ribbons could be read as a foreshadowing of the following events. While Tess’s defensive arm gesture stresses the intrusion she feels given Alec’s actions, her disorderly clothing as well as her overall appearance stress her desirability. It is implied in the text that despite being only sixteen, she is already attractive in a “womanly” way. This could be translated to her being physically mature for her age, which is also alluded to in the plate where she is shown as a curvy young woman with an hourglass-figure and full lips, the “mobile peony mouth” mentioned in chapter 2. Borough-Johnson’s Tess is the perfect combination of innocent and alluring. This resonates with the 19th- century belief that fallen women were at least partially responsible for what happened to them. Just as it is with Hardy’s characterisation of his heroine (and her seducer), Borough-Johnson’s version of Tess remains ambiguous. The illustration lacks the strong visual symbolism attached to the stereotype of the prostitute which we have seen in the preceding images in this section (water, bridge, wide open space, haggard appearance, only to name a few). The reason for this might be Tess’s status as main protagonist of the novel, which accounts

497 During the 19th century it was a widespread belief that according to evolutionary theory people of colour were inferior to white people. People of colour were seen as degenerate and driven by a primal sexual desire (cf. Lewis 2011, 200). Colonialism promoted many “studies” of black sexuality, one of the most notable examples being the exploitation of Saartje Baartman, who was presented to the British public as the “Hottentot Venus” from 1810 up to her death (cf. Lindfors 2001, 56 ff.).

311 for her being featured in a larger variety of scenes as well as in a more nuanced way. Borough-Johnson’s style is very painterly and his portrayal of the characters is realistic. There is no obvious satirical or humorous element in the illustration. Composition-wise, the scene appears very staged: Tess and Alec are the only characters present, they are surrounded by (cultivated) nature. This stresses that Tess is completely at the mercy of her seducer – she is younger than him, less experienced and badly prepared for what will happen to her in the course of the novel.

Syddall’s plate (see fig. 64) shows a solitary woman in a field. She wears a dark dress and overcoat as well as dark shoes and a lightly-coloured headscarf, which leaves some strands of hair on her forehead uncovered. She is slightly bowed down and grasps her skirts with her right hand, while her left hand is extended to her side. She appears to be gazing at something beyond the left frame of the image. Behind her in the background, a wide field lined with high trees is visible. In the middle and foreground numerous birds are lying on the ground in various poses, forming a dark mass right of the woman.

Syddal illustrated a later scene, when Tess’s fall had already taken place which, as we will see, leads to some interesting changes in her visual representation. After her and Angel’s separation following her truthfulness about the rape, Tess returns home only to be met with a lack of understanding on the side of her parents. Consequently, she leaves and takes up work at a dairy farm. In chapter 41, eight months have passed, it is late autumn and Tess finds herself out of work. Reluctantly, she starts to live off the money Angel gave and sends her; she also sends money to her parents. When the money is gone, Tess sets out for a farm where her friend Marian is employed. One November afternoon, she encounters a man who had previously approached her inappropriately at Trantridge. Fearing for her safety, she runs and hides in the deep brushwood of a nearby plantation. This is when she suddenly hears strange noises and follows them:

312 The plantation wherein she had taken shelter ran down at this spot into a peak, which ended hitherward, outside the hedge being arable ground. Under the trees several pheasants lay about, their rich plumage dabbled with blood; some were dead, some feebly twitching a wing, some staring up at the sky, some pulsating quickly, some contorted, some stretched out - all of them writhing in agony, except the fortunate ones whose tortures had ended during the night by the inability of nature to bear more.498

Sydall’s illustration captures the exact moment when Tess finds the dying pheasants. His composition appears almost surreal as Tess’s solitary figure emerges in the midst of the field. The ground is designed in a manner reminiscent of impressionist paintings, with short, quick brush strokes making it seem like a turbulent mass of water. The dark mass next to her, which we can assume represents the blood lost by the birds, seems to start engulfing her, like a black hole. Tess looks different than in Borough-Johnson’s plate: instead of her simple, but neat aproned dress and straw bonnet, she now dons “the wrapper of a fieldwoman”. This makes her appear much older than before although it has only been a few years since she was sixteen. In the course of the novel, Tess learns that her beauty often gets her into trouble, particularly with men. According to the text, this is even more the case when she runs out of the finer clothes she got for her wedding and has to dress like a lower-class woman. Apparently, the uniform of a middle-class woman that came with her marriage to Angel served as some kind of protective shield against the harassment she now faces. In chapter 42, she even cuts off her eyebrows in order to be “insured against aggressive admiration”.499 This is quite interesting in the light of the immense importance 19th-century society placed on female beauty. The positive stereotypes discussed in section 4.1 are all more or less based on idealised physical and spiritual femininity – they are, however, strongly rooted within the middle class. The stereotypes grouped under “fallen women” are mostly associated with lower-class women. As we see in case of Tess, beauty can

498 Hardy 2004, 323. 499 ibid., 325.

313 actually be disadvantageous for a woman who has to navigate a less sheltered life. But let us return to Syddall’s illustration. Composition and style are reminiscent of the Pre-Raphaelite artists – something I have already noted in this thesis with other illustrators of the late 19th century. While the plate does not reference water or drowning, showing Tess as a solitary figure among the dying pheasants on the wide open field is in line with the visual symbolism attached to the prostitute. She is completely alone in a truly terrifying situation – first she is harassed by a man and when she thinks she is safe, she discovers that she is surrounded by wounded birds lamenting under their last breaths. Her fear is implied in the plate by her slightly crouching posture, her violent clutching of her skirt and her outstrechted left arm. Jackson (1981) suggests that Tess’s hand and arm gestures can also be read as squeamishness given the gory scene she encounters with which she does not wish to get into contact. This would be unusual for a woman who grew up on a farm and spent quite some time working as a dairymaid. Jackson (1981) regards this as a deviation from Hardy’s text where Tess is presented as a child of nature, linked to the Roman goddess Ceres.500 I would not interpret the plate as particulary anti-pastoral. It indeed stands out among the original illustrations of the serial publication, but in my opinion, it adequately captures the peculiarity of the scene. In my opinion, Tess’s gestures first and foremost signify her caution and it is implied in the text that when she approaches the location of the pheasants, she is careful. After all she did not know what would await her. Although she is terrified, Tess takes courage and puts the pheasants out of their misery. The situation actually helps her to put things into perspective and she is able to realise “the relativity of sorrows and the tolerable nature of her own”.501 Another important aspect is the fact that the pheasants were most likely wounded and left for dead by a hunting party. Alec’s pursuit of Tess could also be characterised in the sense of a hunter chasing game. He succeeds in catching her and abandons her to her fate as a fallen

500 cf. Jackson 1981, 110. 501 Hardy 2004, 324.

314 woman. So Tess might see herself in the dying birds, she might recognise the way she is shunned by society for her actions. While Syddall does not solely rely on the visual elements generally associated with the prostitute, the composition of his plate has a haunting quality. Where Borough-Johnson’s illustration emphasises the distress of a young woman facing her fall from respectable girlhood, Sydall’s plate presents us with a woman who has already suffered many hardships because of said fall. Both artists do not deviate strongly from the text, which strengthens the assumption that the prostitute is a more deep-seated stereotype than, for example, the true mother. It does not allow for many variations since the criteria for fallen women were already fixed within 19th- century society and appear to be much narrower than those for the idealising stereotypes. We will see in the next sections if this is also true for the stereotype of the adulteress and the femme fatale.

315 Figure 58: George Cruikshank, "The Meeting", Illustration for Charles Dickens's "Oliver Twist", etching on steel, 1838 (scanned image and text by Philip V. Allingham, The Victorian Web).

316 Figure 59: J. Clayton Clarke ("Kyd"), "Nancy", published in Clarke's "The Characters of Charles Dickens", watercolour, c. 1900 (scanned image and text by Philip V. Allingham, The Victorian Web). 317 Figure 60: Hablot K. Browne (Phiz), "The River", illustration for Charles Dickens's "David Copperfield", steel etching, 1850 (scanned image and text by Philip V. Allingham, The Victorian Web).

Figure 61: Fred Barnard, "Oh, the river! she cried passionately. Oh, the river!", illustration for Charles Dickens's "David Copperfield", 1870s (scanned image and text by Philip V. Allingham, The Victorian Web).

318 Figure 62: Helen Paterson Allingham, "She opened a gate within which was a haystack", illustration for Thomas Hardy's "Far from the Madding Crowd", 1874 (scanned image and text by Philip V. Allingham, The Victorian Web).

319 Figure 63: Ernest Borough-Johnson, "I would rather take it, sir, in my own hand", illustration for Thomas Hardy's "Tess of the d'Urbervilles", 1891 (scanned image and text by Philip V. Allingham, The Victorian Web).

320 Figure 64: Joseph Syddall, "The plantation wherein she had taken shelter", illustration for Thomas Hardy's "Tess of the d'Urbervilles", 1891 (scanned image and text by Philip V. Allingham, The Victorian Web).

321 4.2.2 The Adulteress

19th-century society placed extreme importance on marriage and domesticity – anything threatening these values was harshly condemned. Similar to prostitution, the public discourse surrounding the subject of adultery was marked by contempt on the one hand and curiosity on the other. As we have seen in earlier sections, the rules and regulations for women were usually stricter than for men. It was not encouraged, but mostly tolerated if the latter had affairs or even frequented prostitutes while they were married. Women’s ability to bear children was often named as one of the reasons why female adultery was regarded as worse than its male counterpart. The Matrimonial Causes Act of 1857 made it easier to get divorced, but it did not significantly improve the inequality concerning the treatment of men and women.502

Whenever women dared to live their lives more independently, they risked becoming the target of society’s criticism. As we have seen in section 4.1, ideal femininity was always tied to purity and chastity. A woman openly acknowledging her sexuality was simply unthinkable – the stereotypes of the adulteress and the femme fatale are closely linked to female sexuality and sensuality, which were in themselves seen as highly questionable during the 19th century. Just as prostitution was not always understood in the same sense as today, adultery was defined differently during the 19th century. I already mentioned in section 3.3.2 that particularly in early to mid-19th-century works of fiction and in case of female protagonists, representations of near or putative adultery were far more common than portrayals of actual transgression. Whether the female protagonists concerned are shown committing actual adultery or not, they are usually presented as more self-confident, sometimes more headstrong and outspoken than other female characters. The adulteress (as well as the femme fatale) is described as beautiful, but cold and mysterious, her desirability is said to leave a bitter after-taste. These qualities were not in line

502 For a more detailed discussion of this topic see section 2.1.2 of this thesis.

322 with the feminine ideal, they were, in fact, seen as grave deviations from it. The adulteress was thus often demonised and shunned by “respectable” society. We will see in this section that some of the female protagonists categorised as adulteresses could also be grouped under the stereotype of the femme fatale. This might be due to the fact that the two types share many characteristics such as enchanting but slightly edgy beauty, mysteriousness or (alleged) promiscuity. The biggest difference lies in the focus on the act of (near) adultery committed by the adulteress – while it is sometimes implied that the femme fatale has many sexual partners, extramarital affairs are not the focal point of this stereotype.

According to the stereotype content model, the adulteress would be classified under the low-status, competitive group 3. She is condemned for her actions and generally met with contempt and disgust. The representation of the prostitute in 19th-century art and illustration employed specific visual elements, which helped immensely to identify and analyse the stereotype. With the adulteress, this does not seem to be the case – as I mentioned earlier, it was generally not very common to show adultery at all in fine arts. The characters I will analyse in the following are Becky Sharp from Thackeray’s Vanity Fair, Louisa Bounderby from Dickens's Hard Times and Eustacia Vye from Hardy’s The Return of the Native.

In section 4.1.2, I already had a look at another character from Vanity Fair, the angelic Amelia Sedley. The original 1847/48 publication was illustrated by Thackeray himself, so I will examine one of his plates. In addition, I also selected one of the plates Chris Hammond designed for an edition published in 1898. We will see in the following that Becky Sharp possesses characteristics of the adulteress as well as the femme fatale. Near adultery plays a great role in the novel and Becky utilises the modus operandi of the femme fatale to navigate her way through society.

Rebecca “Becky” Sharp is the main protagonist of Thackeray’s novel. Whereas Amelia is a wealthy merchant’s daughter (at least with regard to her status at the beginning), Becky is an orphan from a poor background. Her father was an artist

323 with a penchant for drinking and her mother an opera singer from France, who taught her daughter how to speak French. Since Becky’s father was a teacher at Miss Pinkerton’s Academy, she is allowed to stay there after his death. Nevertheless, she does not receive the same treatment as the other pupils – for example, at the end of her and Amelia’s stay, Miss Pinkerton refuses to officially bestow Becky with the traditional parting gift, a dictionary, which is given to Amelia. Becky’s personality is quite different from Amelia’s – she is outgoing, quick-witted and strong-willed. Her rebellious nature is stressed when she throws the dictionary, which Miss Pinkerton’s sister handed to her in secret, out of the coach window. In chapter 2, Becky’s appearance is mentioned, which is also quite different from Amelia’s. Becky is described as “small and slight in person; pale, sandy-haired, and with eyes habitually cast down: when they looked up they were very large, odd, and attractive”.503 Later another character remarks that she has “green eyes, fair skin, pretty figure, famous frontal development” and that “there is something about her”.504 These physical attributes help Becky tremendously as she tries to make her way up the social ladder in London’s society. First, she plans to marry Amelia’s brother Jos who has made a fortune in India, but when this does not work out, she takes a position as the governess in the household of Sir Pitt Crawley. There she meets his second son Rawdon, whom she marries despite the family’s disapproval. When Rawdon and Amelia’s husband George are deployed to Brussels, the women join them there. George is interested in Becky and although nothing further seems to happen, they continuously flirt with each other in front of Amelia and Rawdon. Eventually, Becky gives birth to a son and continues her schemes in order to secure her social standing. Rawdon has been disinherited by his family, so she seeks out ways to gain money – it starts out with her helping Rawdon cheat his way through card games and culminates in her association with the wealthy Lord Steyne, who is enchanted by her personality and

503 Thackeray 1854, 9. 504 ibid., 154.

324 appearance. It is not directly addressed if Becky actually has an affair with Lord Steyne, but it is heavily implied. In chapter 53, for example, Rawdon walks in on them as they are having dinner. Becky had told her husband before that she was too ill to go out and now he finds the “wretched woman [...] in a brilliant full toilette, her arms and all her fingers sparkling with bracelets and rings” sitting on the sofa with Lord Steyne bent over her.505 Despite her repeated pleas of innocence, Becky loses her husband and becomes a social outcast. Leaving her son with Rawdon’s family, she leaves England to travel across Europe. In a German town, she reunites with Amelia, Jos and William Dobbin, who find her in a desolate state. Since she has no means, she lives among “Bohemian vaulters and tumblers”.506 She immediately resumes her wooing of Jos resulting in his taking her with him on his travels. Jos takes out a life insurance policy of which Becky is a beneficiary – he dies shortly thereafter under circumstances not further explained in the text. Despite the suspicions surrounding his death, Becky collects the money and goes on to lives a comfortable life.507 Since the plates by Thackeray and Hammond capture different scenes, I will analyse them separately in chronological order.

Thackeray’s illustration (see fig. 65) shows a man and a woman on a balcony. She is sitting in the right corner with her left hand resting on the balustrade and her right hand lying in her lap. Behind her, a sea landscape with what appears to be a rock or cliffs within the ocean as well as seagulls can be seen. The woman wears an elegant, low-cut gown with short sleeves; her hair is parted in the middle and side curls fall around her face. Her bold gaze is directed at the man who is standing to her left next to a doorway. He, too, is elegantly dressed in a dark jacket, white shirt and vest as well as light trousers and shoes. He has short hair and mutton chops. Returning the woman’s gaze, he bends his right arm so that his hand is placed at the height of his lower abdomen, while his left hand hangs loosely down his side. His left leg is crossed above his right leg as he is 505 Thackeray 1854, 448. 506 ibid., 551. 507 cf. ibid., 583.

325 leaning casually against the house wall. Through the doorway, we are able to perceive three more people sitting inside: two men sitting at a table who seem to be engaged in a conversation or parlour game with each other and a young woman sitting in an armchair in the background gazing out at the pair on the balcony.

The scene captured in the plate described above takes place in chapter 25, shortly before Becky’s husband Rawdon and Amelia’s husband George leave for Brussels. The party find themselves in Brighton for George and Amelia’s honeymoon:

But so it was, and the night before Dobbin came to join these young people - on a fine brilliant moonlight night of May – so warm and balmy that the windows were flung open to the balcony, from which George and Mrs. Crawley were gazing upon the calm ocean spread shining before them, while Rawdon and Jos were engaged at backgammon within – Amelia couched in a great chair quite neglected, and watching both these parties, felt a despair and remorse such as were bitter companions for that tender lonely soul. Scarce a week was past, and it was come to this!508

The details mentioned in the text largely match the illustration: George and Becky on the balcony overlooking the sea, Rawdon and Jos playing backgammon as well as Amelia observing everything from her solitary armchair in the background. The focus is clearly on the scene in the foreground, everything happening beyond the door frame seems to move into the background. The door frame actually serves as a structuring device within the plate, the scene in the background almost appears like a picture within the picture. As I already detailed in my analysis of Amelia in section 4.1.2, George is not an ideal husband. He is preoccupied with himself and seeks out validation and thrills through flirting with other women, particularly Becky. So now he finds himself chatting to Becky in the half-privacy of the balcony, while his wife is looking on. Becky, on her part, is too flattered to refuse the attention she is given. Apart

508 Thackeray 1854, 198.

326 from that, she also needs George to keep playing and losing at various games against Rawdon by flirting with him, as we learn in the course of chapter 25. 509 The text tells us early on that Becky is not only a survivor, but also an adventuress. She manages to keep herself afloat by scheming and manipulating people. In Thackeray’s plate this is emphasised with the help of her facial expression – as I said in my description, she looks at her friend’s husband quite boldly. She challenges George, which in turn excites him. He pretends to casually lean on the wall (in the text, he is supposed to be smoking a cigar), but we can tell from the text that he is delighted by Becky’s witty conversation about the moon’s distance to the earth. She also talks about planning to go swimming in the morning – in the context of 19th-century England, which placed huge importance on female modesty, this can surely be read as a kind of sexual allusion. Her saying that she “loves how delicious [his cigars] smell in the open air” is also part of her seduction: in chapter 11, she wins Rawdon over by smoking one of his cigars and shortly before the scene on the balcony, she lights George’s cigar for him since “she [knows] the effect of that manoeuvre, having practised it in former days upon Rawdon Crawley”.510 The sexual suggestiveness of her actions is obvious enough to make her interesting in the eyes of her male targets, but understated enough to spare her the accusation of immodesty. Aside from the obvious phallic allusion, Becky’s taste for cigars also stresses her wild side and sets her apart from the ladylike, but boring Amelia. Becky and George do not commit adultery in this scene, nor do they in any of the following chapters. In chapter 29, however, he hides a love note for Becky in her bouquet at the end of the ball in Brussels on the night before the men’s deployment. In the note, he asks her to run away with him. Nothing comes of his suggestion in the following chapters and George later dies in the war. So this story line is a very good example of the aforementioned near adultery – Becky uses George (as well as Rawdon, Jos and Sir Pitt Crawley, only to name a few) to feel desired

509 For example, Becky writes Rawdon a note that says he should get the money from “Cupid”, which is their nickname for George (cf. Thackeray 1854, 201). 510 ibid., 197.

327 and to advance in life. She is a social climber and always keeps her eyes on the prize, that is being part of the high society in Vanity Fair. I mentioned in a previous section that upward mobility was seen as a despicable trait in women. Becky is presented as a charming character in the novel, but she is also shown as conniving and calculating. In the depicted scene, this is especially visible in the portrayal of Amelia, who is supposed to be Becky’s dearest friend. Of course, Amelia notices George’s infatuation with Becky and is all but happy about it. Becky, in turn, does not seem to care about her friend’s feelings. While she exhibits many traits attributed to the femme fatale, it becomes clear that she would also commit adultery to get her way – we see this later in her association with Lord Steyne, which has unfortunately not been depicted by Thackeray or Hammond. Her dealing with George appears in preparation for this affair, it seems to foreshadow her later actions. The negative parts of Becky’s character are emphasised with the help of her appearance. It is said in the text that she is very beautiful – Thackeray’s illustrations, however, always show her with a crooked smile, a pointy chin and squinted eyes. This gives her an almost witch- like appearance, which is contrasted with Amelia’s face of a dark-haired angel, which we can see in the plate. Becky’s outward appearance thus alludes to her manipulative personality. Thackeray’s plate echoes his text when it comes to the portrayal of Becky and it accurately depicts the 19th-century notion of female adultery. We will see in the following, how Hammond interpreted the character of Becky in a scene where, again, she is not openly shown as adulteress, but rather presented with the option to betray her husband.

Hammond’s plate (see fig. 66) shows an interior view of a living room or salon. A woman in her mid- to late twenties is standing on a patterned carpet next to a fireplace to the left. She wears a lightly-coloured, high-waisted dress with long sleeves and embellishments at both neck- and hemline as well as dainty slippers. Her hair is worn in a chignon with loose curls falling around her face. With her elbows bent, she raises her hands defensively in front of her body, clutching a handkerchief in her left hand. We see her in profile, as she looks at a man

328 kneeling before her. He appears older than her, with a receding hairline and a little stout. He is neatly dressed in a dark tailcoat, light shirt with high collar, light breeches and gaiters as well as dark shoes. His arms are bent and extended to the side with the palms of his hands turned up. He is also shown in profile and gazes at the woman in front of him. Behind the woman, a small pot and an urn can be seen on the mantelpiece above the fireplace. Next to it, a cushioned armchair is visible. In the background to the right, we see a wooden sideboard with a candlestick and another object atop. On the wall above the furniture, a framed painting can be seen.

The plate corresponds to a scene which takes place in chapter 14. Becky cares for the elderly Matilda Crawley, Rawdon’s wealthy aunt. The romance between Becky and Rawdon progresses, while everyone in the Crawley family awaits Matilda’s death in order to receive their share of the inheritance. Meanwhile, Sit Pitt’s wife is gravely ill and eventually dies. Shortly thereafter, Sir Pitt visits Becky to ask for her hand in marriage – this scene is depicted by Hammond:

“Say yes, Becky,” Sir Pitt continued. “I’m an old man, but a good'n. I'm good for twenty years. I'll make you happy, zee if I don't. You shall do what you like; spend what you like; and 'av it all your own way. I'll make you a zettlement. I’ll do everything reglar. Look year!” and the old man fell down on his knees and leered at her like a satyr. – Rebecca started back a picture of consternation. In the course of this history we have never seen her lose her presence of mind; but she did now, and wept some of the most genuine tears that ever fell from her eyes. “Oh, Sir Pitt !” she said. “Oh, Sir – I – I'm married already.511

Thackeray also designed a plate based on this scene, but I found the one I analysed above more fitting to the subject. Since receiving a marriage proposal when you are already married is of course not an act of adultery, it is important to note that I selected this illustration in the absence of other relevant plates to examine how Hammond portrays Becky in this context. In the chapter following

511 Thackeray 1854, 116.

329 the one I referenced above, we learn that it is Rawdon to whom Becky is secretly married. It says in the text that she “wept some of the most genuine tears that ever fell from her eyes”, implying that she earnestly regrets turning down Sir Pitt. His noble background and estate might have something to do with her immediate regret – Rawdon is not as well off as his father and, as it turns out, he never quite will be. Since Becky’s main goals in life are acquiring social status and money, it is likely that she might have considered Sit Pitt a more fitting husband if only his proposal had come at another time. But let us take a look at Hammond’s representation of our heroine and her admirer. Again, the difference between Thackeray’s comedic mid-19th-century style and Hammond’s late-19th- century picturesque design is striking. The latter's Becky appears graceful and attractive, also far more lifelike than Thackeray’s version. One similarity can be found in Becky’s sharp features – around her mouth in particular, the boldness and assertiveness of her personality are showing. Her gown is simple, yet exquisite. Her status as a lower-class woman is not transported through her sense of dress in the plate. This is in line with Thackeray’s text, where Becky’s great sense of fashion is repeatedly mentioned. In chapter 22, for example, she rides in Jos’s carriage and it is implied that she is “dressed in the height of the fashion”, outshining Amelia.512 Despite her lower-class background, she fits in perfectly with Hammond’s composition of the higher-class furniture and décor of the parlour. The handkerchief she clutches in her left hand alludes to the “genuine tears” she sheds given her missed chance of becoming a baronet’s wife. Her arms raised in front of her body as well as her glancing down towards the kneeling Sir Pitt results in her dominating the room. This alludes to her strong, controlling character. Becky knows how to read people and is able to manipulate them to her desire. In the course of the novel, we witness many men becoming infatuated with her, examples include Rawdon, George, Pitt Crawley, Lord Steyne, General Tufto and Jos. She is an excellent actress and learned to survive early on, as it is implied in chapter 2 of the novel that already as a young girl,

512 Thackeray 1854, 176.

330 she possessed “the dismal precocity of poverty”.513 With Sir Pitt it is no different: in chapter 11, Becky assumes in a letter to Amelia that “the old wretch likes me as much as it is in his nature to like any one”, meaning that she has successfully won him over.514 In contrast to the text, Hammond’s depiction of Sir Pitt appears quite favourably. While it is clear that he is several years older than Becky, he looks like a gentleman with his coat and breeches. In chapter 7 he is described as

a man in drab breeches and gaiters, with a dirty old coat, a foul old neck cloth lashed round his bristly neck, a shining bald head, a leering red face, a pair of twinkling grey eyes, and a mouth perpetually on the grin.515

While we can assume that he dressed more carefully in preparation of his proposal to Becky, there is a harsh contrast between the description above on the one hand, and Hammond’s portrayal on the other. It is interesting that Sit Pitt is shown more favourably in the plate, while Becky is not. She is portrayed as beautiful, but also terrifying, dominant and not sympathetic. Just as Thackeray criticises his heroine on several occasions, Hammond does so in her illustration. As I said before, Becky is not presented as a positive protagonist in the novel. Although her personality is occasionally justified as a by-product of her upbringing, it is made clear that she is not a model character. The stereotype of the seductive adulteress who cares about nobody but herself is reinforced in the text as well as the illustrations.

Dickens's novel Hard Times was first published in 1854. It is one of the few novels by the famous author that were initially published without illustrations. This is important since Dickens normally used to influence the designs for his novels. The only artist to provide a visual interpretation of Hard Times in 1868 while Dickens was still alive, was the painter Fred Walker. In the following, I will take a look at his portrayal of Louisa Bounderby. I will also examine one plate by Harry French dating from the 1870s.

513 Thackeray 1854, 9. 514 ibid., 77. 515 Ibid., 51.

331 Louisa Bounderby née Gradgrind is the main female protagonist of the novel. She is the eldest daughter of Thomas Gradgrind, the matter-of-fact school superintendent of Coketown. When we first meet Louisa in chapter 3 of the first book, she is about fifteen or sixteen years of age and said to be pretty.516 She and her brother Tom are caught at the circus by their father and directly ordered home. Louisa comes from a middle-class background and is brought up according to her father’s strict Utilitarianism to only trust reason and facts, disregarding all emotions.517 This leaves her “with uncertain, eager, doubtful flashes, which had something painful in them, analogous to the changes on a blind face groping its way”.518 In contrast to many of Dickens's other principal female characters, Louisa does not embody a 19th-century feminine ideal. As I explained in earlier sections, women were believed to be more in touch with their emotions than men – as occupants of the domestic sphere, they were supposed to stand for kindness, empathy and sensitivity. In Hard Times, these ideal characteristics are possessed by the circus girl Sissy Jupe who is taken in by Mr Gradgrind and becomes Louisa’s friend. In chapter 15 of the first book, Mr Gradgrind informs his daughter that she received a marriage proposal from his best friend, the significantly older, wealthy businessman Mr Bounderby, which he expects her to accept. The scene nicely illustrates to what extent Louisa is out of touch with her feelings: instead of protesting or rejoicing, she appears confused, states that she does not love him and repeatedly asks her father to advise her what to do. She does, however, seem to realise that Mr Bounderby and herself are an odd couple when Sissy looks at her “in wonder, in pity, in sorrow, in doubt, in a multitude of emotions” given the news of their engagement.519 When the wedding day arrives, Louisa even clings to her brother in a short fit of desperation. A year into their marriage, she meets James

516 cf. Dickens 1854, 17. 517 The Oxford English Dictionary defines Utilitarianism as “the belief that the right course of action is the one that will lead to the greatest happiness of the greatest number of people” (Waite 2012, 813). According to Schor (2001), Dickens presents us with a caricature of the utilitarian world view which is chiefly impersonated by Mr Gradgrind (cf. Schor 2001, 70). 518 Dickens 1854, 17. 519 ibid., 129.

332 Harthouse, a handsome upper-class gentleman who wants to do business with Mr Bounderby in order to gain access to the world of politics (his brother is a Member of Parliament and recommended him to Mr Gradgrind). He is instantly intrigued by Louisa’s mysterious and cold personality and begins to pursue her. They start to spend time together and Mr Harthouse quickly realises how he can manipulate the inexperienced young woman. Their relationship culminates in chapter 11 of the second book, when they secretly meet in the woods, where he professes his love for Louisa and urges her to begin an affair with him. Instead of meeting with Mr Harthouse again, Louisa goes straight home to her father. There, she confesses that she is deeply unhappy in her marriage with Mr Bounderby and was nearly seduced by Mr Harthouse because of it.520 Louisa decides to stay with her father – Sissy cares for her while she recovers. In chapter 2 of the third book, Sissy also confronts Mr Harthouse, telling him to never contact Louisa again and to leave town immediately.521 Meanwhile, Mr Bounderby is angered by Louisa’s behaviour and eventually renounces their marriage. Louisa subsequently undergoes personal development which brings her closer to her family. In the final chapter it is stated that she does not marry again.522 Again, I will analyse Walker’s and French’s illustrations separately and in chronological order.

Walker’s illustration (see fig. 67) shows four people in a richly decorated dining room. Three of them are seated at the dining table, while one of them is standing with his back turned to the viewer. He wears a dark suit and shoes and his dark hair is cut short. He faces a young woman sitting to the far left and seems to shake her right hand as if he was greeting her. She is dressed in an elegant gown with puff sleeves and wears her hair in a neat chignon. Her gaze is directed at the man standing in front of her. Next to him, another man is sitting at the table on a wooden chair. He appears older, wears a beard and is dressed in a dark suit with a white napkin on his lap. His face is visible in profile and he 520 cf. Dickens 1854, 273 ff. 521 cf. ibid., 292 ff. 522 cf. ibid., 376.

333 rests both his hands on the table. Next to him on the far right, we perceive the upper body of a fourth man. He has short hair and mutton chops. His clothing is elegant – he is dressed in a suit and shirt as well as a dark tie. He seems to look at the young woman sitting across from him. The table is set for a large dinner – tableware and a candelabra are visible. The walls in the background are adorned with three framed portrait paintings. Only the one in the middle is fully visible – it shows a man in a dark suit who is holding a scroll. In the foreground, an Ottoman is seen on the ground.

The plate refers to a scene which takes place in chapter 2 of the second book. Mr Bounderby has invited Mr Harthouse into his home where they are to have dinner together with Louisa and Tom. While Louisa appears to be impressed by Mr Harthouse’s deadpan statements about life, she remains reserved and cold until her brother arrives. This is exactly what Walker captures in his illustration:

Yes! By Jupiter, there was something, and here it was, in an unexpected shape! Tom appeared. She changed as the door opened, and broke into a beaming smile. A beautiful smile. Mr James Harthouse might not have thought so much of it, but that he had wondered so long at her impassive face. She put out her hand – a pretty little soft hand; and her fingers closed upon her brother’s, as if she would have carried them to her lips.523

Mr Harthouse realises that Tom is “the only creature [Louisa] cares for”. He plans to use this to his advantage by befriending Tom in order to get closer to his sister. In the plate we see Louisa and Tom on the far left. Her face seems soft and gentle, her neck long and graceful. Walker obviously portrays her as traditionally beautiful and reminiscent of ancient Greek sculptures. The fact that Tom is shown from behind directs the viewers’ gaze towards Louisa and makes her the main subject of the plate. The bearded man next to Tom can be identified as Mr Bounderby – his slightly baggy suit, the napkin draped on his lap and his slightly bent posture, as if he was leaning forward to articulate his displeasure given the belated arrival of his brother-in-law, seem to reflect his

523 Dickens 1854, 165.

334 unpleasant personality. Next to him, at the foot of the table and only partially visible to the viewer, sits Mr Harthouse. He appears more like a spectator than a participant of this dinner – Walker visualises Mr Harthouse’s observation of Louisa’s feelings for her brother and alludes to the subsequent plot to win her over. It seems as if this very favourable portrayal of Louisa in the illustration is mainly a reflection of Mr Harthouse’s infatuation with her. While she is described as attractive in the text, it is also mentioned that sitting at the table “her youthful figure, small and slight, but very graceful, looked as pretty as it looked misplaced”, which has a disruptive effect on her whole appearance. Louisa’s cold and rational manner keep her from being perceived in terms of one of the 19th-century ideals of femininity. This is also indicated in the text when Mr Harthouse observes upon his introduction into the Bounderby’s home that there is “no mute sign of a woman in the room”, meaning that Louisa’s fails at her performance as Angel in the House.524 The setting of the scene is not specified in the text, but the elegant tableware, the candelabra, the framed paintings on the wall as well as the furniture imply that this is an upper-middle-class household. The solitary Ottoman in the foreground appears randomly placed – Allingham (2002), however, presumes that it might be an allusion to Tom’s fate in the novel, from his gambling and robbing Bounderby’s bank to his lonely death abroad.525 Louisa Bounderby is a good example of a young girl who is led astray by a charming gentleman, which nearly leads to adultery. While Louisa is able to decide against an affair with Mr Harthouse, it appears that anything beforehand happened without her control – she was completely overwhelmed by the situation. This is what separates her from characters such as Becky Sharpe, who remain in control all the time and actually use adultery for survival. Louisa comes from a comfortable middle-class home, Becky’s struggle is foreign to her. When she is about to fall for Mr Harthouse, her moral compass prevents her from giving in to temptation and her family and friends help her. This keeps her

524 Dickens 1854, 161. 525 Allingham 2002, online resource.

335 from turning into a true fallen woman. Nevertheless, Dickens does not bestow a genuine happy ending on her – instead of marrying again, she lives the life of a spinster alongside Sissy and her family.526 Considering the negative qualities 19th-century society associated with spinsterhood, this is quite the punishment. One cannot help but wonder if Louisa is chastised for not conforming to the ideal of womanhood. The illustration, however, does not show her in a negative light – she seems happy, delighted to see her brother. If we were to look at it as an isolated portrayal of Louisa, our impression of her would be very different from the one we get while reading Dickens's text. It seems as if Walker wanted to stress Louisa’s innocent side and that her upbringing left her no choice but to consent to a loveless marriage with a far older man, which eventually led to her nearly committing adultery. While the text implies that the fault for her behaviour lies more with her father/the English school system, the fact that she is left a spinster by the end of the novel can be read as her being punished for her actions.

French’s illustration (see fig. 68) shows a man and a woman in a solitary meeting in the woods. They are seated on a tree trunk in the midst of a meadow overgrown with flowers and weeds. The woman appears quite young. She is dressed in a long-sleeved blouse and skirt with a dark belt and tie as well as a straw hat adorned with flowers which rests on her lap next to her folded hands. Her dark hair is styled in a chignon. Since she is sitting sideways, we only see her face in profile. The man seated next to her appears a little older and wears a moustache. He is dressed in a dark suit and vest with a light shirt and tie as well as a dark bowler hat. With his right hand, he supports himself on the tree trunk, while he holds an object in his left hand, which may be a stick or the top of a cane. He looks at the woman as she gazes downwards. The background is lined with trees and all kinds of shrubbery.

526 cf. Dickens 1854, 376.

336 It is probably one of the most intimate moments in Louisa and Mr Harthouse’s relationship that is captured in the plate. Additionally, it is a crucial moment in the plot since it basically signifies the point when Mr Harthouse completely gains Louisa’s trust by promising her to have a word with her brother about his gambling habits. The scene takes place in chapter 7 of the second book:

“Mrs Bounderby, I esteem it a most fortunate accident that I find you alone here. I have for some time had a particular wish to speak to you.” It was not by any wonderful accident that he found her, the time of day being that at which she was always alone, and the place being her favourite resort. It was an opening in a dark wood, where some felled trees lay, and where she would sit watching the fallen leaves of last year, as she had watched the falling ashes at home. He sat down beside her, with a glance at her face. “Your brother. My young friend Tom –” Her colour brightened, and she turned to him with a look of interest.527

Mr Bounderby has just purchased a “house and grounds, about fifteen miles from the town”, which includes the “leafy shadows of retirement” which provide the backdrop for the meeting between Louisa and Mr Harthouse.528 As stated in the quotation above, the latter carefully planned his actions, observing Louisa’s daily routine and thus pretending to casually run into her. Certain elements of French’s composition reflect Dickens's text – we see the dark woods and the felled trees serving as seats for the couple, the wild flowers and shrubbery are French’s interpretation of the hideaway. His version of Mr Harthouse looks very different from Walker's: despite the moustache and mutton chops, he somehow appears younger and more sympathetic than Walker's Mr Harthouse creepily lurking at the foot of the table. In the first chapter of the second book, he is described as “five and thirty, good-looking, good figure, good teeth, good voice, good breeding, well dressed, dark hair, bold eyes”, which is certainly more in line with French’s depiction of him.529 What is peculiar about Mr Harthouse in

527 Dickens 1854, 213. 528 ibid., 211. 529 ibid., 151.

337 this plate is his dress. His rough-textured jacket and bowler hat, especially, seem more middle- or lower- than upper-class.530 Maybe this is an allusion to his ability to adapt to his surroundings in order to manipulate people: he arrives in Coketown to get into politics with the help of his brother’s connections and talks his way into the hearts of Mr Bounderby, Tom and Louisa. With each of them, he adopts exactly the right way of speaking in order to gain their trust and approval. While it is made pretty obvious to the readers that Mr Harthouse is not a positive character, the other protagonists do not seem to realise this at first since they are captivated by his superficially charming personality. French’s version of Louisa is also attractive, but a little more demure than Walker’s graceful Grecian princess. She is shown wearing a simple skirt and blouse, which would be considered an appropriate day dress for a middle-class woman. Louisa, however, is the wife of a rich businessman and would be expected to wear something more expensive or extravagant. French’s depiction can thus be read as an allusion to her rejection of everything her husband gives her, which is also brought up during the conversation with Mr Harthouse when she tells him she sold jewelry to pay for her brother’s debts. She mentions that she sold the pieces which had no value to her and he instantly knows that she refers to “some of her husband’s gifts”.531 Louisa’s slightly bowed down head, her folded hands and her closed eyes allude to a scene which takes place a little later, where Mr Harthouse asks her about Tom’s gambling. She is said to look down and blush repeatedly during the conversation and this is exactly what we see in French’s illustration. This is not the cold, reserved woman described in the text several times – she appears shy and ashamed. I already mentioned that this is an important scene since it nicely illustrates Mr Harthouse’s scheme to win Louisa’s trust by using the love she has for her scallywag brother. It can also be read as a foreshadowing

530 By the late 19th century, suits of rougher texture, tweed for example, were part of the fashionable middle-class man’s wardrobe and were usually worn during morning activities (cf. Crane 2000, 47). Initially invented in 1850 for gamekeepers and hunters, the bowler hat quickly became popular with the middle and lower classes of all professions, but particularly those who did physical labour (cf. Dickens 1854, 84). 531 ibid., 216.

338 of his later attempt to persuade her to elope with him during their secret meeting in the woods. Their private meeting would have been by itself categorised as improper conduct for a married woman during the 19th-century – I outlined earlier that the regulations for girls and women instructed them to avoid being alone with men apart from their brothers, fathers or other close relatives. A woman meeting with a man in confidence was regarded as suspicious. We see this later in chapter 11 of the second book, when Mr Bounderby’s jealous employee Mrs Sparsit follows Louisa to her meeting with Mr Harthouse, immediately suspects an affair and proceeds to inform her employer about it. French’s dealing with this very intimate meeting seems both sensual and sensitive. Louisa and Mr Harthouse are depicted among largely uncultivated nature, the flowers and weeds grow as they please, the rules and regulations which dictate Louisa’s life are absent here. This alludes to feelings of passion and love which she has for a long time repressed and which awaken now given Mr Harthouse’s persuasion. Scenes of seduction and adultery in 19th-century art and literature often take place in open nature, for example in Hardy’s Tess, which I discussed in the previous section. This could be because 19th-century society refused to associate female passion of any kind with the domestic sphere. Female adultery was harshly judged and was thus linked to nature’s unruliness rather than to the well-regulated Victorian home. French returns to the imagery of nature in a later illustration, where he depicts Mrs Sparsit spying on Louisa and Mr Harthouse in the exact same setting. There, his portrayal of the near adulteress seems more favourable than Dickens's text. Again, it remains in question if French deliberately strayed from the stereotype of the adulteress and presented Louisa in a more positive light. As is the case with many late 19th- century illustrators, his designs appear very painterly, his characters lifelike and idealised, which might reinforce the impression of a more positive portrayal.

339 Hardy’s The Return of the Native was first published in 1878 as a monthly serial in the magazine Belgravia featuring twelve illustrations by Arthur Hopkins. I will examine the novel’s protagonist Eustacia Vye.

The story is set in the fictional Egdon Heath, a sparsely populated area in rural Wessex. Eustacia is first mentioned in chapter 5 of the first book. It is Guy Fawkes Night and a group of men at Damon Wildeve’s inn gossip about the “lonesome dark eyed creature up there, that some say is a witch” referring to nineteen-year-old Eustacia, who lives with her grandfather Captain Vye. It becomes clear that while they consider her strange and mysterious, they also find her hugely alluring.532 The next chapter details how Eustacia roams around the heath at night, equipped with a telescope and an hourglass. She was involved with Damon, but then he got engaged to another woman, the sweet- natured Thomasin Yeobright. In spite of this, Damon intends to win Eustacia back. From the very beginning, it is made clear that Eustacia is an astounding woman – incredibly beautiful, with thick, black hair, the “raw material of a divinity”. Her personality is also peculiar, in her “brain were juxtaposed the strangest assortment of ideas from old time and from new”. A foreign bandmaster’s daughter, she seems to be out of this world and completely out of place among the simple folks of Egdon Heath. It comes as no surprise that Eustacia is not happy there and longs for adventure, which she believes she will find in love affairs. Her “greatest desire” is “to be loved to madness”, to experience a passionate, unconditional love. It is also mentioned that “fidelity in love for fidelity’s sake had less attraction for her than for most women” – she wishes for a love so strong that fidelity would come naturally.533 Eustacia finds herself caught in a love triangle with Damon and Thomasin, which repeatedly causes arguments between her and Damon. Despite his affirmations that he loves only her, he somehow cannot break up with Thomasin, mainly because of her ingénue qualities.534 Shortly thereafter, Thomasin’s cousin Clement “Clym” 532 Hardy 2005, 105 ff. 533 ibid., 122ff. 534 cf. ibid., 137.

340 Yeobright returns to Egdon Heath after some time abroad in Paris. Hoping that he might be her chance to leave the heath behind, Eustacia starts daydreaming about him. In order to finally meet Clym, she secretly takes the place of one of the participants in a play at the Yeobright’s Christmas party in chapter 5 of the second book.535 She ends her relationship with Damon, which prompts the latter to marry Thomasin in chapter 8 of the second book. Eustacia and Clym get to know each other and despite her longing for city life, she appears to be impressed by his plans to stay in Egdon Heath and open a school. In chapter 4 of the third book, it becomes obvious that they have been meeting in secret for quite some time. Eustacia agrees to marry Clym, if he takes her to Paris, which he denies.536 They are married though and live in a small cottage on the heath. Clym’s mother disapproves of the marriage and is troubled seeing her son ruin his eyesight by studying hard to offer his wife a better life. Eustacia’s wish to move to Paris is ever-present and causes friction between the newly-weds. Meanwhile, Damon’s love for Eustacia is reignited and he eventually offers to take her to Paris since he has won some money gambling. They decide to elope in chapter seven of the fifth book. Eustacia goes out alone in a dark and rainy night to meet Damon, which ultimately seals her fate: it is not specified in the novel, if she jumps or falls into a nearby pond at Shadwater Weir. The rain has turned it into a dangerous whirlpool, so she drowns there despite Clym’s and Damon’s (who drowns, too) attempts to rescue her.537

Hopkins’s illustration (see fig. 69) shows four people standing inside a body of water which covers the whole lower half of the plate. It is very dark, the weir and some trees in the background are barely visible. Only a source of light, like a lantern, can be seen n the background to the left. Three of the people in the plate are apparently male since they are dressed in coats and trousers and wear flat caps. The man on the right border of the plate holds a lantern in his right hand to light the way. Next to him, another man is seen putting his left foot in 535 cf. Hardy 2005, 188 ff. 536 cf. ibid., 247. 537 cf. ibid., 410 ff.

341 front of his right and holding a large pole with both of his hands. The pole supports the third man, who is kneeling in the water, holding the limp body of a woman. She is draped across his right shoulder, with her left arm falling down his back, her right arm extended at her side and her head tilted backwards.

The plate accompanied chapter 9 of the fifth volume and illustrates how Eustacia’s lifeless body is recovered from the pond by Diggory Venn and two other inhabitants of Egdon Heath:

Venn vanished under the stream, and came up with an armful of wet drapery enclosing a woman's form, which was all that of the desperate and unfortunate Eustacia.538

The darkness of the plate as well as the drowning theme are reminiscent of the imagery we have seen concerning the prostitute stereotype in section 4.2.1. Eustacia Vye is another example of the fallen woman who is punished at the end of the novel. In contrast to the prostitute, however, who is mainly punished for her sexual transgression, it seems that it is also Eustacia’s otherness, which is even linked to witchcraft, that has doomed her from the start. Her adulterous relation to Damon is just the last straw to break the camel’s back. Whether she actually commits suicide or not, her death by drowning can be interpreted as an act of cleansing. The fact that Damon dies trying to save her, results in their being turned into tragic, star-crossed lovers by the people of Egdon Heath – which is a very romantic interpretation of a tragic event. But maybe this would have pleased Eustacia, who is an avid daydreamer throughout the novel. This implies that she somehow fails to live in the real world. Rather a force of nature than a regular woman, she also fails to conform to 19th-century society’s notion of femininity. Her ways of roaming the heath and exhibiting a definite independence of mind were not considered as feminine qualities. Hopkins’s composition partly mirrors the traditional imagery associated with the prostitute, which is reinforced by the fact that the characters in the plate are not really

538 Hardy 2005, 413.

342 recognisable. Diggory’s face is not visible at all, Eustacia’s is contorted and the other protagonists are just two minor characters who are only described in the text as “two men, roused by Thomasin”.539 Hopkins’s illustrations for the novel include five depictions of Eustacia and it is known from the correspondence between him and Hardy that the author disapproved of at least some of them. He felt that the illustrator failed to convey his idea of this impressive, beautiful female character, in the first plate especially. Jackson (1981) assumes that Hardy imagined Eustacia, his “Queen of the Night”, more like a Pre-Raphaelite goddess and thought Hopkins’s first designs too simple and harmless. While the later plates for The Return of the Native still feature a rather conventionally pretty Eustacia, Hardy apparently saw them as an improvement.540 Hopkins’s final plate presents Eustacia in a fitting manner – all her life’s struggles, her sadness, passion and her ever-present dreams seem to be released by her contorted body as it is draped over Diggory’s back. There is a certain morbid beauty in her portrayal and while the printing process does not allow for an artistic staging as it is present in Millais’s Ophelia, Hopkins makes the best of the medium here. The darkness of the plate, the small sources of light such as the lantern held by the man to the right or the glowing object in the left background create the impression of depth and space. It is almost reminiscent of the great Renaissance painters’ chiaroscuro technique.541 According to Jackson (1981) the use of light and darkness was recognised as Hopkins’s forte, in contrast to his ability to correctly draw human anatomy as well as perspective. Hopkins allegedly excused these deficits by pointing to the engraver’s incompetence. Jackson (1981), however, also views the last plate as an adequate portrayal of Eustacia’s personality – even her death appears like a staged melodrama.542 Overall, Hopkins’s portrayal of Eustacia is in line with the stereotype of the adulteress. Her whole personality is so contrary to the 19th-century ideal, she is

539 Hardy 2005, 412. 540 Jackson 1981, 89/90. 541 From Italian for light-dark, chiaroscuro refers to the “treatment of light and shade in drawing and painting” (Waite 2012, 118). 542 Jackson 1981, 90/91.

343 too passionate, too independent, too strong-willed, that, while Hardy himself seems to be in favour of her, it is impossible for her story to have a positive outcome. Eustacia is by no means an exclusively likeable protagonist, the ambivalence of her character can be detected throughout the novel. The way in which she is not allowed to redeem herself, however, is very similar to the handling of the prostitute in 19th-century art and literature. The design of her last scene, on the other hand, is slightly different if we compare it to what we have seen in the last section: the prostitute is mostly depicted in solitude, even if there are other characters present in the plates, they only seldom interact with her and if they do, they often impose something on her (for example Alec force- feeding the strawberries to Tess). Eustacia, in contrast, is carried out of the water by Diggory like a tragic, mythological heroine. In addition, her lover, with whom she was on the brink of committing adultery, dies trying to save her – this readiness to sacrifice one’s life is lacking with regard to the portrayal of the prostitute. Maybe this has something to do with the interpretation of adultery during the 19th century. As I said before, the type of adultery present in art and literature was often not executed, it was only putative. The logical consequence would be to assume that it was considered less severe than the actual sexual transgression associated with prostitution. Nevertheless, it was enough for the characters examined in this section to be punished in one way or another.

344 Figure 65: William Makepeace Thackeray, "A Family Party at Brighton", illustration for Thackeray's "Vanity Fair", wood engraving, c.1861 (scanned image by Gerald Ajam, The Victorian Web).

345 Figure 66: Chris Hammond, "’Oh Sir Pitt!’ she said. ‘Oh Sir - I - I am already married’", illustration for Thackeray's "Vanity Fair", photomechanical reproduction of pen and ink drawing, 1897 (scanned image by Simon Cooke, The Victorian Web).

346 Figure 67: Frederick Walker, "Mr Harthouse Dines at the Bounderbys", illustration for Dickens's "Hard Times", wood engraving, 1968 (scanned image by Philip V. Allingham, The Victorian Web).

347 Figure 68: Harry French, "’Mrs. Bounderby, I Esteem It A Most Fortunate Accident That I Find You Alone Here’", illustration for Dickens's "Hard Times", wood engraving, 1870s (scanned image by Philip V. Allingham).

Figure 69: Arthur Hopkins, "All that remained of the desperate and unfortunate Eustacia", illustration for Hardy's "The Return of the Native", 1878 (scanned image by Philip V. Allingham, The Victorian Web).

348 4.2.3 The Femme Fatale

The femme fatale is the last of the fallen women stereotypes I will examine in my thesis. As I already explained in section 2.1.2, the femme fatale can be categorised as an archetype because of her extreme prevalence in culture, literature and art. There are countless examples of enchanting, mysterious, but deadly women – they are even found in the Bible. Promising sexual gratification as well as romantic fulfilment, the femme fatale lures men into her trap and eventually takes their lives either literally or figuratively. Her seductive powers are often linked to the supernatural, which is why she is frequently referred to as a witch, demon or fairy.

Just as 19th-century society was preoccupied with the stereotypes of the prostitute and the adulteress, it was very interested in the femme fatale, even though (or because of it?) she represents everything that was seen as despicable and deviant in a woman. Superficially, the femme fatale seems to stand for female empowerment, sexual self-determination and freedom. In a society where virginity was replaced with blissful motherhood, defiance of the traditional roles for women could be read as a subversive act. From a feminist point of view, however, this is problematic since the femme fatale is entirely based on male fantasies. In contrast to the prostitute and the adulteress, who exist in real life, collective fantasies constructed the cultural model of the femme fatale. Her world does not belong to our reality. Hilmes (1990) suggests that in the role of the femme fatale, woman is functionalised to generate a myth of terrifying, female beauty – the true hero of the story remains male, though.543 While 19th- century art focussed on the deadly and supernatural aspects of the femme fatale, for example in paintings dealing with Keats’s poem La Belle Dame sans Merci, 19th-century literature offers a variety of passionate, outspoken female characters who could be categorised as versions of the femme fatale, without actually possessing all traits associated with the stereotype. For instance, their lovers are

543 Hilmes 1990, XIV.

349 usually made to suffer but do not actually die in the process. Becky Sharpe, whom I analysed in the previous section and who could also be categorised as a femme fatale, might be an exception as her lover Jos dies under mysterious circumstances.

According to the stereotype content model, the femme fatale, just as the two preceding stereotypes, would be categorised as low-status and competitive (group 3). She does not conform to 19th-century notions of femininity, which would lead to her being met with contempt. Additionally, she would be perceived as a threat to the domestic ideal. We will see in the following, to which extent the femme fatale stereotype can be detected in the 19th-century illustrated novel.

For my analysis, I selected the female protagonists Mary Crawford from Austen’s Mansfield Park, Estella Havisham from Dickens's Great Expectations, and Julia Brabazon/Lady Ongar from Trollope's The Claverings. I will take a look at the characters in chronological order according to the original publication dates of the novels.

Despite the fact that Jane Austen's novels were quite popular when they were first published during the 1810s, it was not until later in the century that they were illustrated. In the following, I will analyse a 1897 black and white pen-and- ink plate by Hugh Thomson and a 1898 tinted line drawing by Henry Matthew Brock designed for Austen’s Mansfield Park. Since they did not select similar scenes for their illustrations, I will examine two plates from different chapters in chronological order according to when they were first published.

We first meet Mary Crawford in the fourth chapter of the first volume. She arrives from London with her brother Henry to stay with their half-sister Mrs Grant, the parish priest’s wife. Both are quite well-off, Henry being in possession of “a good estate in Norfolk” and Mary having “twenty thousand pounds”. 544 Mary is said to be “remarkably pretty” with “lively and pleasant” manners. When

544 Austen 1853, 35.

350 Mrs Grant instantly plans for her to be married to Sir Thomas’s eldest son Tom, she is interested since – as would be expected of any 19th-century girl – “matrimony [is] her object, provided she could marry well”. This already underlines that it is her goal to secure a wealthy husband of social status. Upon their first meeting, the Bertrams are charmed by “her lively dark eye, clear brown complexion, and general prettiness” as well as her ability to make witty and entertaining conversation.545 In contrast to her and her sister's plan, however, it is the younger son Edmund who catches Mary’s eye. Despite their initial disliking each other, they soon bond over Mary’s harp, which she plays “with the greatest obligingness, with an expression and taste which were peculiarly becoming, and there was something clever to be said at the close of every air”. Edmund is enchanted by Mary’s feminine accomplishments and visits her often at the parsonage.546 In the course of chapter 7 of the first volume, their relationship deepens as he teaches her to ride using Fanny’s horse (which inspires the latter's jealousy). Mary’s infatuation with Edmund is dulled when she learns in chapter 9 of the first volume that he wants to be a clergyman. It is implied that she somehow assumed that as the second son he would inherit a fortune from a distant relative, i.e. would not be in need of making a living. Additionally, she seems to think that the church is not a place where a man will be able to “distinguish himself” and that being a clergyman is generally a very boring occupation.547 Mary eventually forms a friendship with Fanny, which is complicated since they are both interested in Edmund. While Fanny nourishes secret jealousy against Mary, the latter continues to influence the overly-moral Edmund, for example she convinces him to act alongside her in a play despite his condemnation of said activity. It is also Mary’s outspoken, slightly superficial personality that provides for disagreements between the two women. The shy, pious Fanny with her love of nature seems to be no match for the bold city girl Mary. This becomes particularly clear from chapter 6 of the second volume

545 Austen 1853, 36 ff. 546 ibid., 57 ff. 547 ibid., 81 ff.

351 onward, when Mary decides to aid her brother Henry in his pursuit of Fanny and we see her increasingly amused despite her knowing that (at least in the beginning) he just plans to make “a small hole in Fanny Price's heart”.548 Throughout the novel, Mary is essentially constructed as a foil for Fanny. One of the most crucial hints at this character constellation, aside from her dislike of the church, are her reaction to Tom’s illness as well as the affair which ensues between Henry and Edmund’s married sister Maria. In chapter fourteen of the third volume, Mary confesses to Fanny that she is actually quite pleased that Edmund’s older brother is on the brink of death since “it would be good luck to have Edmund the only son”.549 The two great scandals of the novel, which are discussed in chapter 16 of the third volume, are Maria’s adultery and her sister Julia’s elopement. Mary is not nearly as shocked by these events as the other characters of the novel – her referring to them as mere “folly” leads to a falling out with Edmund, who is appalled by Mary’s alleged lack of morality.550 We learn in the last chapter that Mary continues to live with her half-sister Mrs Grant and that it takes Mary quite some time to get over Edmund because of the “better taste she had acquired at Mansfield”.551

Thomson's plate (see fig. 70) shows a young man and woman. The woman is dressed in a lightly-coloured high-waisted gown with long sleeves as well as a bow in the back and ruffles at the neck- and hemline. She wears her curly dark hair in a chignon with a short fringe. We see her through a doorway standing inside a room, where she is positioned next to a door she seems to have just opened as indicates her holding onto it with both hands. Her head is slightly bent towards her right shoulder and she looks in the direction of the viewer with a smile on her face. The man is standing in the foreground to the right on the opposite side of the doorway. He wears a dark tailcoat, white vest, shirt, bow tie and trousers as well as dark riding boots. In his right hand, he holds a dark top

548 Austen 1853, 203. 549 ibid., 384. 550 ibid., 406 ff. 551 ibid., 420.

352 hat and in his left hand a walking stick; a small object appears to be fastened to his vest. His head with neatly side-parted hair is seen in profile, as he is in the midst of turning it towards the woman, while he puts his left foot in front of the other suggesting that he is moving away from the woman.

The illustration accompanied the penultimate chapter of Austen’s novel. It essentially refers to Edmund’s telling Fanny about Mary’s reaction to the scandal surrounding his sister Maria and her brother Henry. Since Mary views the whole affair far more casually than Edmund, he is shocked and tells her that he now sees her true character. When he is about to leave, Mary addresses him again:

‘I had gone a few steps, Fanny, when I heard the door open behind me. ‘Mr. Bertram’ said she. I looked back. ‘Mr. Bertram’ said she, with a smile – but it was a smile ill-suited to the conversation that had passed, a saucy playful smile, seeming to invite, in order to subdue me; at least it appeared so to me. I resisted; it was the impulse of the moment to resist, and still walked on.’552

While Mary cannot be regarded in terms of the traditional femme fatale archetype determined to end a man’s life, she certainly possesses many qualities linking her to the enchantress. Vivacious and strong-minded, she most of all presents us with an antithesis to the reserved Fanny. It is interesting, though, that in many respects, Mary matches the 19th-century notions of the ideal higher- class nubile woman – she is very beautiful, trained to entertain (male) relations with feminine accomplishments such as music and witty conversation and she is in the possession of a rather large dowry. She is, however, too opinionated to entirely fit the ideal, her tongue being a little to sharp, her views on religion and proper demeanour too progressive. In the text this is mainly shown through the debates regarding the church that she has with Edmund and Fanny. Just like her brother, Mary loves to enjoy herself, she dwells on the attention she gets from men especially. Reminiscent of the stereotype I examined in the preceding section, there are also hints at Mary’s exhibiting characteristics linked to

552 Austen 1853, 410/411. This excerpt is put into quotation marks since it refers to Edmund’s direct speech.

353 otherness, which are implied in the description of her outward appearance. In chapter 5 of the first volume, for instance, “her lively dark eye, clear brown complexion” are contrasted with the Bertram girls’ being “tall, full formed, and fair”.553 As I mentioned in earlier sections of this thesis, during the 19th century, darker complexions were usually associated with foreignness and also with promiscuity or looser morals. Linker (2011) refers to Mary as a “female libertine”, whose main purpose is to present Fanny in a better light. Mary’s corruption must be revealed in order for Edmund to realise that Fanny is the more marriageable woman.554 How is this transported in Thomson's illustration? First of all, in terms of physical beauty, his version of Mary does not live up to the description in the text. While her face looks sweet and her gown is certainly in vogue according to early 19th-century fashions, her portrayal lacks the boldness and grace associated with her. The smile on her face does not seem “saucy” and “playful”, either, but rather radiates sweetness. Given the details we know about Mary from the text, however, this can be interpreted as a disguise used by the femme fatale to lure the object of desire into her trap. Like a spider waiting for a fly to get caught in her net, Mary waits beside the door. Edmund comments on the scene that he considered Mary’s behaviour, her smiling face, “ill-suited to the conversation that had passed” – he is not going to step into her trap this time. Instead of returning into the room in order to listen to her trying to smooth over the situation, he simply turns and walks away. This is exactly what Thomson depicts in his plate. Edmund is shown as strikingly attractive and very well-dressed, maybe this is supposed to hint at his being the morally superior in this scene. The door frame serves as a structuring device within the plate, but it also functions as a symbol of a chapter of life figuratively closing behind Edmund’s back. Despite Mary’s plea, he refuses to be invited back into her life. This leaves Mary quite devastated, as we learn in the last chapter of the novel. Mary, a woman used to having her way with everyone and everything,

553 Austen 1853, 38. 554 Linker 2011, 144.

354 not only finds herself rejected, but she also experiences a dissatisfaction with her future suitors since they seem to be no match for Edmund. When the latter walks away from the closing door behind him, as the popular saying goes, another one opens in front of him: although he is left “suffering from disappointment and regret, grieving over what was, and wishing for what could never be”, he gradually recovers from his encounter with Mary and realises that he loves Fanny.555 Austen’s femme fatale appears more human, mainly because it is not only her victim who is left (emotionally) compromised. Mary is left vulnerable, too, which makes her character more ambivalent than traditional femme fatale stereotypes. Thomson's portrayal hints at her humanness by showing her less bold than she is described in the text. Her smile and ruffled dress, however, are dripping with sweetness, which again hints at the spider-fly-symbolism associated with the femme fatale. It can be stated that Thomson generally supports Austen’s version of the femme fatale – slight differences might be due to the illustrator’s style and artistic abilities.

H. M. Brock’s illustration (see fig. 71) shows a man and a woman inside a richly decorated living room. The man is sitting in the background in a cushioned chair in front of a window which reaches the floor and is framed by ruffled curtains. He is dressed in a tailcoat, vest, shirt, knee breeches and stockings as well as slippers. His right elbow leans on the arm rest of the chair, while his head rests in his right hand and his left arm dangles behind the back of the chair. He sports wavy, side-parted hair. The woman is seen in the middle ground to the right. She is sitting on a wooden chair placed on a carpet, with the fingers of both her hands touching the strings of a large harp placed right in front of her. Next to the harp, a music stand with sheet music is visible. Her gown is very elegant with ruffled embellishments and contrasting piping. Her hair is dark and worn in a chignon with side curls and a ribbon. On the wall behind her, an oval picture frame with the portrait of a woman can be seen. In the foreground to the right, part of a cushioned chair or stool as well as scattered sheet music are visible.

555 Austen 1853, 412.

355 This illustration focusses on an earlier scene in the novel, when Mary is about to win Edmund over with her harp playing:

Miss Crawford's attractions did not lessen. The harp arrived, and rather added to her beauty, wit, and good humour; for she played with the greatest obligingness, with an expression and taste which were peculiarly becoming, and there was something clever to be said at the close of every air. Edmund was at the Parsonage every day, to be indulged with his favourite instrument: one morning secured an invitation for the next; for the lady could not be unwilling to have a listener, and every thing was soon in a fair train.556

The setting of the scene is also described:

A young woman, pretty, lively, with a harp as elegant as herself; and both placed near a window, cut down to the ground, and opening on a little lawn, surrounded by shrubs in the rich foliage of summer, was enough to catch any man's heart.557

H. M. Brock works closely to Austen’s text; nearly all details mentioned above can be detected in his illustration. While his portrayal of Edmund is similar, his version of Mary appears more sincere and graceful than Thomson's. She seems elegant and attractive, with her fingers gracefully plucking at the strings as she dreamily half-closes her eyes. The tinted line drawing nicely shows her wavy black hair – H. M. Brock’s Mary clearly presents herself as an aloof enchantress. Her harp playing, just like the siren’s song, lures Edmund in. Beforehand, he was not particularly interested in her and even thought her comments about her uncle indecorous, but as soon as he sees her play his “favourite instrument”, he starts falling for her. What happens before Mary’s harp arrives from London is also significant: in chapter 6 of the first volume, she complains to her new friends at Mansfield Park that the arrival of her precious instrument is delayed since there were no carts available in the village due to harvest season. This leaves Mary quite confused given “that every thing is to be got with money” in

556 Austen 1853, 57. 557 ibid.

356 London.558 Thus it is already alluded to Mary’s understanding of the world, which is based on the selfish belief that she can have everything at any time, particularly if she pays for it. The scene also implies that Mary has little to no understanding of the country and its inhabitants, not to mention people of lower classes. In spite of her growing up without her parents, she has been living a very sheltered life resulting in her being spoiled and vain. The harp gives Mary an opportunity to spark not only Edmund’s but also Fanny’s interest – in chapter 4 of the second volume, the latter is invited to the parsonage by Dr Grant after having gotten into a rain shower. According to Nigro (2014), the harp was strongly associated with the French during Austen’s time. It was believed that women playing the instrument could meanwhile show off their bodies, i.e. draw attention to their attractive arms and hands as well as put their ankles on display. Of course, this was considered scandalous by 19th-century British society, which leaves the harp as a morally questionable instrument. Nigro (2014) adds that the fact that the novel’s most moral characters Fanny and Edmund share an intense love of the harp might imply that they both interpret it differently. The instrument’s origins as well as the lush green gardens in the background (visible in the plate) might have prompted them to link Mary to a romantic heroine or a Celtic muse, thus elevating her character in their fantasies.559 However, it becomes clear that Mary’s enchanting powers are multiplied by her musical performances. One of the femme fatale’s strengths is her ability to disguise herself in order to manipulate her lovers – Mary’s obligingness in the scene can be read as a means to cater to Edmund’s wishes. She knows about his love for the harp and uses it to her advantage. When she falls in love with him subsequently, she continues to influence him even more, as if she was trying to shape him into the man she envisions for herself. For example, she criticises his plans to become a clergyman despite his strong conviction and persuades him to participate in the play, although Edmund

558 Austen 1853, 52. 559 cf. Nigro 2014, online resource.

357 objects to this immoral activity. In Thomson's plate, we see a surprisingly relaxed Edmund, lounging in his chair, listening to Mary’s playing and absently gazing at her. Maybe this is an allusion to his being already hypnotised by her siren’s song. His lifted eyebrows, however, suggest that he is silently judging Mary’s alluring performance, while he somehow still feels morally superior to her. The scattered sheet music in the foreground could be interpreted as a comment on Mary’s true nature. Edmund is a modest, principled man who follows a strict moral code. From the text, we get the impression that he is rarely overwhelmed by his emotions – in fact, the only scene in which he appears truly distressed is the one when he recounts Mary’s reaction to Maria’s adultery to Fanny. While Mary can also be described as in control of her emotions, her inner life is not nearly as orderly and moral as Edmund’s. The sheet music might hint at her morals, which are perceived as loose by Edmund and Fanny. With her distant, but dreamy beauty, H. M. Brock’s Mary seems to be more in line with the 19th-century stereotype of the femme fatale. In addition, the selection of the scene where she is playing her harp is quite clever since it is very important for the development of Mary and Edmund’s relationship. It also underlines Mary’s overall appeal. Thomson's depiction appears a bit weaker in comparison, although his portrayal of Edmund as the morally superior character is strong.

Great Expectations (1860/61) is one of the two novels by Dickens which were originally published without illustrations (the other one being Hard Times). Marcus Stone was later commissioned to design eight plates for the 1862 Library Edition. Since his illustrations lack a proper representation of Estella, I will look at plates by Charles Green and F. A. Fraser, both dating from around 1877.

When Estella is introduced in the novel, she is still a young girl. We follow her development till she is in her twenties and mainly perceive her through the eyes of the main protagonist Pip. She is introduced in chapter 8, when she opens the door of her adoptive mother Miss Havisham’s estate Satis House. Pip remarks that she is “very pretty and seem[s] very proud” as well as “beautiful and self-

358 possessed”. Her beauty is implied many times, for example her “fair young bosom and [...] her pretty brown hair”. Although she is about the same age as Pip, she appears older, particularly because of her precocious remarks about beer brewing and the Latin origin of the house’s name as well as her condescendingly addressing Pip as “boy”.560 What distinguishes Estella from the other femme fatales I intend to examine here is the fact that, at the beginning of the novel, she is literally a femme fatale in training – brought up by Miss Havisham to avenge her broken heart. Upon the first meeting of Pip and Estella, when the latter is reluctant to play cards with the “common labouring boy”, Miss Havisham’s even openly suggests: “Well? You can break his heart". While she does not respond to this proposition, Estella continues in her cold and distant manner to belittle Pip for his lower-class origin. When Pip cries because of this cruel treatment, she shows “quick delight in having been the cause” of his tears.561 Despite her young age, Estella already owns the modus operandi of the femme fatale – and, surprisingly, it works. Instead of being appalled by her coldness and cruelty, he is intrigued by the girl and questions his whole existence as a labour boy with coarse hands, wishing he could be more appealing to Estella. Nowadays, we would probably say that Estella is playing hard to get, meaning that she is sparking Pip’s interest by deliberately giving him the cold shoulder. She also displays a small amount of affection, for example by letting him kiss her cheek at the end of chapter 11. We soon learn that her seduction is working on Pip, as he is always eager to see Estella, after her time away in France especially. In chapter 29, he is quite taken by the “elegant lady” Estella grew up to be, finding her “so much more beautiful, so much more womanly, [and that she] in all things winning admiration had made such wonderful advance”. It is interesting to note that it is mainly Estella’s physical beauty which entices Pip to hold her dear since her association with him is still cold and repellent. She even states herself that she has no heart, but he believes “that

560 Dickens 1850d, 30 ff. 561 ibid., 34.

359 there could be no such beauty without it”.562 This is reminiscent of the ingénue stereotype, which relies on the 19th-century notion that a girl’s angelic outward appearance always reflects her innocent personality. Basically, Pip is misled by the Victorian belief that a stunning face and body must be inhabited by a beautiful mind. While Pip’s love for Estella grows, she remains indifferent and repeatedly states that she does not love him. When she is introduced into society in chapter 38, Estella attracts many admirers and uses Pip to make them jealous. She meets the abrasive Bentley Drummle, whom she intends to marry as she informs Pip in chapter 44. In the last chapter, we learn that their marriage was all but happy, with Drummle being an abusive, mean husband to Estella. When she and Pip meet again in the ruins of what once was Satis House, Drummle has been dead for two years and the experience has left Estella greatly changed. While “the freshness of her beauty [is] indeed gone”, Pip still recognises “its indescribable majesty and its indescribable charm”. Estella apologises for her behaviour and wishes to remain friends with Pip. He agrees and sees “no shadow of another parting from her”.563

Fraser's plate (see fig. 72) shows a boy and a girl in front of a slightly run-down building. The boy is seen to the right, he is dressed in a simple dark jacket, a jumper with a light collar, trousers and shoes. On his short hair, he sports a cap. He holds an object with both his hands and gazes longingly in the direction of the girl standing next to him. She has turned her back on him, putting her right foot in front of her left, as if she was about to walk away. Her aproned dress is dark with ruffles at the cuffs and hemline. She wears a necklace as well as dark stockings and shoes. Her hair falls loosely down her shoulders, with some strands of it pinned together at the back of her head. With her hands hanging limply down her sides and her eyes seemingly closed, she appears to turn away from the boy. Between them on the ground, a beer mug is visible. In the background to the left, part of a window with a sill on which two tins are placed

562 Dickens 1850d, 136. 563 ibid., 279/280.

360 can be seen. In the lower left corner of the plate, a bucket is seen standing on the ground. In the background to the right, there are several barrels as well as a ladder leading up to a small window in the wall. Next to the girl’s head, a circular object seems to be fastened to the wall.

The illustration refers to a scene which takes place at the end of Pip’s first visit to Satis House. After the card game, Estella – ordered by Miss Havisham – brings him something to eat, which she just places on the ground of the court-yard. Understandably, Pip feels humiliated and is brought to tears by being treated “as insolently as if [he] were a dog in disgrace”. Estella appears to be thrilled that she has hurt him so much:

I was so humiliated, hurt, spurned, offended, angry, sorry – I cannot hit upon the right name for the smart – God knows what its name was – that tears started to my eyes. The moment they sprang there, the girl looked at me with a quick delight in having been the cause of them. This gave me power to keep them back and to look at her: so, she gave a contemptuous toss – but with a sense, I thought, of having made too sure that I was so wounded – and left me.564

In this scene, we get a taste of what Estella is capable of – first, she treats Pip like an animal, making sure that he knows she considers him inferior and then, without blinking an eye, she watches him cry in humiliation. Pip’s pain is mirrored in his face in the plate, where he looks at Estella with a mixture of longing and agony. This foreshadows their relationship, which, on his side, is mainly characterised by these two emotions. The object in Pip’s hands can be identified as the bread and meat he is handed by Estella, the little mug of beer is visible on the ground next to him. In chapter 7, where he is prepared for his visit with Miss Havisham, we learn that he is not only thoroughly scrubbed, but also dressed in “clean linen of the stiffest character, like a young penitent into sackcloth, and was trussed up in my tightest and fearfullest suit”.565 This is

564 Dickens 1850d, 35. 565 ibid., 30.

361 reflected in the illustration, where his clothes seem bulky, as if they do not fit him right. Estella’s dress looks fairly simple, like the stately school dress of a middle-class girl. What I made out as a necklace might refer to the piece of jewellery which Miss Havisham takes from her dressing table to try “its effect upon [Estella’s] fair young bosom and against her pretty brown hair”.566 The perceived age difference between the two characters is visualised by Fraser with the help of their body language and facial expressions. Pip literally looks like an overgrown toddler with his too big clothes and round face with an expression so sad as if he was crumbling to pieces. Estella, in contrast, stands very erect and the staggered position of her feet is reminiscent of classical ballet exercises. On the one hand, this points to her controlling, reserved personality. The ballet reference, on the other hand, also stresses that she comes from a wealthy, sophisticated background. At this point in the novel, Pip struggles to get a little education out of his ineffective lessons with Mr Wopsle, while Estella is already educated and later even sent to France for further refinement. It becomes very clear in the illustration that these two protagonists do not belong to the same world. This is intensified by Estella’s cold demeanour, her coarseness towards the young Pip, which is also reflected in Fraser’s plate. His use of the wall behind the characters is also interesting since its shading suggests movement, particularly on the part of Estella. In the text, she is said to walk away from Pip, who is trying very hard to stop crying, and this is indicated here with the help of the wall as well as the position of Estella’s feet. The objects in the background – tins, bucket, barrels and ladder – could be interpreted in different ways. First of all, the rather disorderly court-yard is of course an allusion to the state of decay Satis House is in. Furthermore, the objects are a sign of physical labour, as it was once performed in the now closed brewery on the property. The barrels are empty now, the production has come to a halt, just as Miss Havisham’s clocks have stopped at twenty minutes to nine. Estella grew up in this rather hostile environment, trained to become a heartbreaking ice queen. She does not seem

566 Dickens 1850d, 34.

362 happy in the illustration – while this can be fittingly read as arrogance towards Pip, it could also allude to her being generally miserable with her life. In the text, Estella occasionally reproaches Miss Havisham for having raised her to be heartless. Maybe the illustration hints at her being only partially responsible for acting like a femme fatale. Nevertheless, Fraser clearly shows her as the proud, unfeeling girl she was brought up to be. This echoes Dickens's portrayal of the young Estella, who is already on her way to become a true femme fatale.

Green’s plate (see fig. 73) shows a man and a woman outside, walking in what seems to be the garden of the large mansion visible in the background. The woman is dressed in a white, floor-length gown with long puff sleeves. Her dark curly hair is worn in a chignon. She faces the viewer and seems to stare into the distance. With her right hand, she gathers the side of her skirt, while her left hand rests on the shoulder of the man next to her. He is dressed in a dark frock coat, with a light vest and tie peeking out from beneath as well as light trousers and dark shoes. His dark hair is neatly parted on one side. We see him in half- profile, as he turns his head towards the woman; his hands are folded in front of his body. They are surrounded by (to some extent high) grass and in the background to the left, a tree partially covers the mansion. Next to the tree in the right middle ground, a structure reminiscent of a green house made of glass or the roof lights of an underground building are visible.

The text passage the illustration corresponds to is found in chapter 29, where Pip and Estella meet again at Satis House after her time away in France. They go for a walk in the garden and revisit the places they saw at their first meeting as children. Green captures this scene:

Her handsome dress had trailed upon the ground. She held it in one hand now, and with the other lightly touched my shoulder as we walked. We walked round the ruined garden twice or thrice more, and it was all in bloom for me. If the green and yellow growth of weed in the chinks of the

363 old wall had been the most precious flowers that ever blew, it could not have been more cherished in my remembrance.567

The illustration accurately reflects the description – Estella in her “handsome dress”, which she holds with one hand, while her other hand rests on Pip’s shoulder. The flowers and weeds growing around them are also shown, as is Satis House in the background. We do not get many details on Pip’s appearance in this chapter, but from Estella’s saying that he has changed “very much” we can assume that he is also altered to his advantage. His elegant dress indicates that he is no longer the common labouring boy, but has advanced in fortune. Estella, on her part, is “so much more beautiful, so much more womanly”, yet “proud and wilful as of old”. They are both about twenty at this point in the novel and Estella is said to “deceive and entrap” many men.568 Similar to Fraser's illustration, Green’s plate also depicts Pip gazing at Estella as she looks into a different direction or stares into oblivion. In Green’s illustration, however, she is not directly turning away from him, but leans on him for support. A gesture like this would normally indicate intimacy – in Estella’s case it is rather an act of convenience (she wants to keep herself from falling down) as well as dominance. We can assume that she strategically places her hand on Pip’s shoulder in order to lead him on. He looks at her confusedly, but also full of longing, which does not seem to interest her at all. Examining the different scenes from Dickens's novel, the chemistry between the two characters does not seem to have changed much. This is mirrored in the plates, which both demonstrate Estella’s influence over Pip. In Fraser's illustration, he is still a boy and has a hard time dealing with the self-assured, abrasive Estella. Their grown- up versions in Green’s plate are more elegant and exhibit composure – he is not crying and the sullenness in her is gone. One of the biggest factors might be that Estella’s attraction now contains a sexual component. She is said to be interesting and pretty as a child, but in chapter 29 she is described as incredibly

567 Dickens 1850d, 138. 568 ibid., 136.

364 beautiful and desirable. In the text, the term “womanly” hints at her curvaceous body – the plate shows her very much in line with the late 19th-century feminine ideal as a tall, slender woman with a small waist. Of course, the effect on Pip is only enhanced by her coming of age. Despite the implications that come with Estella’s femme fatale character, Green’s plate appears strangely romantic and dreamy. Her light dress is summery and would be fit for an ingénue. Pip looks surprisingly gallant. It almost seems as if we see the scene as imagined by Pip, which is not all that surprising since he is the narrator of the story, after all. Maybe Green’s painterly style plays an important role here, too. Although both illustrations were designed around 1877, their styles are notably different. According to Allingham (2004), Fraser was specifically hired by the publishing house Chapman and Hall to give Dickens's penultimate novel an up-to-date look.569 Retrospectively, he ranks among the illustrators of the sixties, whom I introduced in section 1.2.2. They were also referred to as the “Idyllic School” – also among them were members of the Pre-Raphaelite artists. Yet in comparison with Green, Fraser employs a more traditional approach, which in my opinion is reminiscent of the early 19th-century illustrators, moulding his protagonists out of darkness and light with the help of the hatching technique. While Green’s Estella and Pip appear more lifelike, they also seem much softer than in the text, the former especially. On the one hand, this results in the femme fatale stereotype not being transported in an obvious manner. On the other hand, this could be read as an allusion to the femme fatale’s alluring disguise – at first glance, we see a couple on a romantic walk, the “real” meaning does not unfold until we look closer and consult Dickens's text. It is important to note that none of the illustrators was able to consult with Dickens on the designs since the latter passed away in 1870.

As we have seen in an earlier section, Trollope's novel The Claverings was originally illustrated by Mary Ellen Edwards. In the following, I will examine the character Julia Ongar née Brabazon as she is portrayed in Edwards’s illustration.

569 Allingham 2004, online resource.

365 In the first chapter already (which is also named “Julia Brabazon”), Julia is introduced as a rather cold and calculating character: seemingly without hesitation, she breaks off her engagement to Harry Clavering in order to marry the older, wealthy Lord Ongar. She argues that despite their being the same age, she is “ten years older [...] by the world” and that Harry does not have the financial position to satisfy her needs.570 Julia is the sister of Hermione Clavering, whom I analysed in section 2.1.2. Their father was a nobleman without the wealth that usually accompanied such a position. A “handsome woman and fashionable withal”, Julia completely woos Harry – to an extent which has an influence on his later relationship with the demure Florence Burton, whom we met in an earlier section. Julia’s femme fatale qualities are alluded to in her treatment of Harry, which is “de haut en bas with all that superiority which youth and beauty give to a young woman over a very young man”.571 After the wedding, Julia and Lord Ongar depart for the continent. While they are abroad, the latter dies and leaves Julia a wealthy widow. Upon her return, she confesses to Harry that their marriage was all but happy and that Lord Ongar falsely accused her of adultery. This damages her reputation and leaves her shunned by society.572 At this point in the novel, Harry is already engaged to Florence, which he fails to tell Julia. Nevertheless, he continues to see Julia and in chapter 21, he even embraces and kisses her, giving her the impression that he is in love with her.573 When Julia learns of Harry’s engagement from Sophie Gourdeloup, she is deeply hurt, but still advises him to marry the “good girl” Florence. As we know from my earlier analysis, Harry follows Julia’s advice. Despite her being popular with various men, the novel provides no happy ending for Julia: when her sister's husband dies, she moves with her to a secluded town with “as few attractions as any place [she] ever knew” and eventually gives “not only the place called Ongar Park, but also the

570 Trollope 1866, 4. 571 ibid., 6/7. 572 cf. ibid., 33/34. 573 cf. ibid., 95.

366 whole of her income with the exception of eight hundred a year” to the Clavering family.574

Edwards’s plate (see fig. 74) shows a group of people emerging from the stony entrance of a building. The stained glass windows in the background indicate that it is a church. In the foreground, a young woman and an older man in wedding attire constitute the centre of the party. The woman is dressed in an embellished floor-length wedding gown with a bouffant skirt. She wears her hair up and adorned with flowers as well as a long veil, which she partially gathers at her side with her right hand. Two bracelets are visible on her right wrist and she also wears a short necklace. Her head is slightly turned towards her right shoulder and her face has a sullen expression, while her left arm is linked with the right arm of the older man next to her. He wears a dark frock coat, trousers and shoes as well as a light shirt and tie. His hair is short and dark and he sports a beard as well as mutton chops. He looks at the young woman next to him, while he holds his top hat in his left hand at the height of his stomach. Behind the couple, five men and two women in formal attire can be seen. They appear to be conversing with each other. One of the women is standing immediately behind the woman in the wedding gown, holding the train of the latter's dress.

The illustration served as the opening design of the novel, but it corresponds to chapter 2, where Julia marries Lord Ongar. The whole village gathers at the church to witness their wedding:

Therefore, there was not much of real rejoicing in the parish on this occasion, though the bells were rung loudly, and though the people, young and old did cluster round the church yard to see the lord lead his bride out of the church. ‘A puir feckless thing, tottering along like – not half the makings of a man. A stout lass like she could a'most blow him away wi' a puff of her mouth.’ That was the verdict which an old farmer's wife passed upon him, and that verdict was made good by the general opinion of the parish.575 574 cf. Trollope 1866, 211. 575 ibid., 15.

367 Edwards’s style is painterly and opulent, it is typical of the 1860s. Her portrayal of Julia and her groom is essentially based on the old farmer's wife’s comment in the quote above. It alludes to Lord Ongar’s advanced aged as well as his weak physical condition. In chapter 7 of the novel, Julia confides in Harry that her husband had a bad drinking habit and was basically killed by his love of brandy. Lord Ongar’s senility is contrasted with Julia’s being in the prime of her life – healthy, beautiful and strong. The age difference is visible in the plate, but there is something else, too: Julia’s facial expression, her mouth formed into a pout while she is looking away from her husband, implies that she is not really satisfied with her choice. She almost seems disgusted by Lord Ongar, who, on his part, is shown with a pointed, devilish face. He lustily glances at his new bride, as if he considered her some kind of trophy. We know that Julia marries Lord Ongar solely because of his money and title. This is in line with the stereotype of the femme fatale, whose main goal is the exploitation of her (male) victims. While Julia cannot be completely identified as a femme fatale, she definitely marries Lord Ongar with his advanced age in mind, hoping that he will pay off her debts and leave her a rich widow after his death. She confesses that during their marriage, “nothing but the conviction that it could not be for long, has saved [her] from destroying [herself]”.576 It is interesting that Edward's plate seems to establish a sort of equality between the two characters. Both are shown unfavourably, which stresses that actually none of them is morally superior to the other. While Lord Ongar is presented in the text as a debauched character, he is also a man of advanced age and an alcoholic, which in some way renders him vulnerable. Julia is cold and calculating in her decision to marry a rich, noble man who is many years her senior, but she is also desperate because of her debts and familial background. The illustration focusses on the negative qualities of both protagonists and presents them side by side. In the novel as a whole, Julia is presented as an ambivalent female character. In the excerpt the illustration is based on, however, the focus appears to be on Lord Ongar’s

576 Trollope 1866, 33.

368 senility, which implies a more vicious scheming on Julia’s part. Edward's plate seems to counteract this imbalance. The people behind the married couple are all but one engaged in a conversation – this could be interpreted as a hint at the village gossip surrounding the wedding. We can assume that it is not only the “puir feckless” Lord Ongar they are talking about. Julia likely became as much if not even more the target of gossip as her husband for making no secret of her true intentions concerning the marriage. The fact that the unsympathetic drunkard is positioned as a poor victim by the farmer's wife strengthens this assumption and indicates that for the townspeople, Julia truly embodies the femme fatale stereotype. According to Cooke (2016a), Edward's illustration stresses the unspoken deal behind their marriage, that is an exchange of sex for money and rank. Julias brings her youth and desirability to the table, Lord Ongar in turn offers her a life in wealth and nobility.577 This is not an unfamiliar set-up, which can still be found today in the yellow press: a young, beautiful woman marries a significantly older man with a considerable fortune. This usually sparks speculation on the woman’s motives, she is often accused of being chiefly interested in her husband's money. In the beginning of the novel, Julia is quite open about the motivation behind her marriage. She considers it her best option given her circumstances and intends to be “true to [Lord Ongar] – and useful”.578 The illustration, however, portrays her less self-assured, as if she just then realises what she has done. She comes to regret her decision when her husband mistreats her and damages her reputation. Similar to the other fallen women stereotypes, the femme fatale Julia is punished for her actions. She is denied true happiness since the man she loves is already engaged to another woman. In the end, she moves to another place with her widowed sister and donates a large part of her money to the Claverings, as if she was literally feeling emotionally indebted to them for jilting Harry. By contrasting her disgusted reaction with Lord Ongar’s lusty stare in the plate, Edwards seems to imply that

577 cf. Cooke 2016a, online resource. 578 Trollope 1866, 4.

369 Julia cannot be the only one to blame for the outcome of this scenario. While it appears to present a less harsh judgement of Julia’s femme fatale scheming, the illustration does not portray her as completely innocent. We can thus conclude that while Edwards hinted at a more nuanced perspective on Julia’s character, she also works fairly close to Trollope's text.

370 Figure 70: Hugh Thomson, "’Mr. Bertram,’ said she, with a smile", illustration for Austen's "Mansfield Park", 1897 (The British Library).

371 Figure 71: Henry Matthew Brock, "She played with the greatest obligingness", illustration for Austen's "Mansfield Park", tinted line drawing, 1898 (Molland’s).

372 Figure 72: Francis Arthur Fraser, "She gave a contemptuous toss...and left me", illustration for Dickens's "Great Expectations", 1877 (scanned image by Philip V. Allingham, The Victorian Web).

373 Figure 73: Charles Green, "Pip and Estella Walking in the Garden", illustration for Dickens's "Great Expectations", c. 1877 (scanned image by Philip V. Allingham, The Victorian Web).

374 Figure 74: Mary Ellen Edwards, "A puir feckless thing", illustration for Trollope's "The Claverings", wood engraving, 1866 (scanned image by Simon Cooke, The Victorian Web).

375 4.2.4 Summary

In contrast to the positive female clichés, the fallen women do not seem to be limited to a specific class. The prostitute, especially, appears to be rather associated with the lower classes. The other two stereotypes are represented by both higher- and lower-class characters. With regard to the novels, it is noteworthy that the fallen women have one particular thing in common: they are all punished in one way or another. If they are not fated to die, which they are in some cases, they are often denied a chance to redeem themselves and subsequently find happiness. When it comes to the 17 book illustrations I examined in the previous sections, it becomes clear that similar to the idealising stereotypes, not all of the fallen women can be detected therein in equal measure. The portrayals of the prostitute, for example, to a large extent mirror the strong symbolism used in 19th-century art and literature (bodies of water, wide open space, nearly dead or defeated female character), while the ones of the adulteress and the femme fatale are more diverse and difficult to pinpoint.

As I mentioned above, the prostitute stereotype was easier to identify in the illustrations than the other types. Three of the seven plates analysed (Cruikshank’s Nancy as well as Phiz’s and Barnard's Martha) feature a scene that takes place near a body of water, the Thames, to be precise, which was a popular symbol of prostitution in many 19th-century art works. The atmosphere is dark and gloomy, mirroring the intense desperation and hopelessness felt by the female characters. In four of the plates (Phiz’s and Barnard's Martha, Allingham’s Fanny as well as Syddal’s Tess) the protagonists are surrounded by wide open space, which gives the impression of immense range. It indicates that they are completely alone and lost. A nearly dead or defeated female character is shown in four of the illustrations (Cruikshank’s Nancy, Phiz’s and Barnard's Martha as well as Allingham’s Fanny). With the depictions of Martha and Fanny this is relatively clear – Phiz shows the former corpse-like and not of this world, while Barnard portrays her cowering in front of the male characters and Allingham’s

376 Fanny lies sleeping at the foot of a haystack as if she were already dead. Cruikshank’s Nancy, in contrast, seems alive in the plate, but in comparison with earlier plates, she is already marked by the circumstances she finds herself in, as is also mentioned in Dickens's text. The only exception among the plates analysed seems to be Borough-Johnson’s portrayal of Hardy’s Tess. His version of Alec force feeding Tess the strawberries from his garden – which can be read as a foreshadowing of his raping her and is thus not a positive scene – almost appears as a playful quarrel between two lovers with its pastoral background and neatly dressed characters. Syddal’s depiction of Tess, however, shows her in unflattering clothing among dead pheasants and blood. It also employs the wide open space symbolism to indicate her aloneness. Clarke’s portrayal of Nancy stands out among the illustrations I selected since it shows her completely different than she is described in the novel. This might be due to the different formats – his illustrations were published in a volume dedicated to certain protagonists from Dickens’s works and did not directly correspond to specific scenes in the novels. Of course, the styles of the illustrators also reflect the artistic tendencies of the decades they belonged to – Cruikshank’s and Phiz’s works are more whimsical and with hints of caricature, while the remaining artists offer more painterly designs.

The adulteress was harder to identify in the plates I chose for my analysis. One reason for this might be that real adultery was only rarely featured in 19 th- century novels. The typical scenes of near adultery appear rather harmless, in particular to the modern reader/viewer. It is likely that depicting this putative transgression was a challenge for the illustrators, too. And indeed, the literary portrayal of adulteresses was often so imprecise that they could hardly be distinguished from any other female characters negative or positive. Thackeray’s Becky Sharpe presents an exception, as she is clearly shown as a frivolous woman, who cheats on her husband and uses the modus operandi of the femme fatale. This is reflected in Thackeray’s and Hammond’s portrayals of her – both plates show her with a pointy chin and witch-like appearance, a trait not

377 mentioned in the novel. In contrast, Hard Times’s Louisa is presented very favourably by both Walker and French. While the former exhibits a rather traditional style and presents her as a classical beauty, the latter’s plate offers an incredibly idyllic scene of the near-adulteress and her almost lover, which actually tells nothing of their doing to the unsuspecting viewer. Hopkins’s dramatic portrayal of Eustacia, Hardy’s “Queen of the Night”, is strangely reminiscent of the plates featuring the prostitute. The symbols mentioned in the preceding paragraph can all be detected in the illustration.

The stereotype of the femme fatale shows intersections with the adulteress. It is also the one cliché among those I examined here that might be the most removed from 19th-century reality. The femme fatale clearly belongs more in a fantasy world than in real life – she is often linked to the supernatural, while the 19th-century fictional characters from the novels I selected are more or less true- to-life. That is to say, I did not take into account any kind of fiction dealing with the supernatural. It is thus not surprising that the featured illustrations only hint at the stereotype, as the texts themselves often did not offer a more comprehensive take on the subject. Austen’s Mary Crawford is shown by both Thomson and H. M. Brock in a very idealising way, her feisty personality is almost completely absent. While the illustrators utilise some interesting symbolism such as the door frame in Thomson's plate or the harp in H. M. Brock’s, Mary’s slightly edgy character is missing from the portrayals. In case of Dickens's Estella, Fraser's version stands out as being more reflective of the girl’s cold and proud demeanour. Green’s illustration is far too idyllic and without the text’s implications, one could get the impression of watching an ordinary couple on their afternoon stroll. Edward's demonstrates a fine grasp of Julia Ongar’s personality, by adding a sour facial expression to her face as well as a lusty stare to her fiendish husband, which are both not explicitly mentioned in Trollope’s text.

378 Altogether, it seems that with the exception of the prostitute, the negative female stereotypes are not as strongly mirrored in the illustrations as one would have initially expected. It can be surely said that in general, the artists supported the clichés – they did not actively try to counteract their existence. Yet again, other criteria such as personal style, artistic conviction and trends appear to play an even greater role. It is, however, interesting to note that the plates by female illustrators do not stand out as much as they did in case of the idealising clichés. Maybe this hints at the fact that deviant femininity was based on a more elaborate and deeply ingrained social model, particularly when it came to prostitution.

379 5 Conclusion

As the preceding sections have shown, 19th-century book illustration offers a wide and diverse field of research, not least since it is tied to 19th-century fiction, which is in itself multifarious. The clichés I selected for my research are also characterised by their variety as well as the Victorian belief that femininity could be divided according to a good or bad dichotomy. It is not surprising that these schemata influenced the representation of women in works of art and literature of the time – a phenomenon which has already been discussed by numerous 20th- century scholars. Since illustration was considered a vital part of 19th-century publishing, it seems reasonable to assume that this field was affected by the above-mentioned female clichés, too. In this section, I will outline and review my analysis as well as discuss my findings on the subject of female stereotypes in 19th-century book illustration.

The objective of my research was to comparatively analyse the occurrence of six female stereotypes in selected 19th-century illustrated novels. The idealising clichés (ingénue, Angel in the House, true mother) as well as the negative ones (prostitute, adulteress, femme fatale) are part of 19th-century cultural models of appropriate and deviant femininity and can all be found in culture, art and literature. The stereotype content model helped me to better understand the functions and consequences of stereotyping within society and to subsequently group the 19th-century female stereotypes accordingly. With the help of Panofsky’s three-level method of image analysis, I examined 38 plates by 19 different artists in connection with the text passages they intend to illustrate. When it came to the analysis of the texts as well as the fictional female characters whom I suspected to be modelled on the female clichés, I relied on narrative theory as well as cognitive literary theory. A comprehensive overview of book illustration, the everyday lives of 19th-century girls and women as well as the female side of art and literature of the time provided the sociocultural background to my analysis.

380 In my examination of the plates, I found that the female clichés were generally supported by the artists, yet not as strongly as initially assumed. It is undeniable that these clichés existed in 19th-century society and to some extent still do today, but contrary to my initial assumption, it seems that they did not penetrate the field of book illustration in the same way as they seem to have influenced 19th-century art and literature. With some of the clichés, I found it hard to pin down exactly how they would be represented in the plates and most importantly, how they could be distinguished from each other. The positive clichés in particular are in themselves rather homogeneous, as they all refer to a certain 19th-century ideal of femininity which is characterised by “woman’s mission” as a daughter, wife and mother. The only difference lies in their marital status and/or the associated maternity, which complicated a definite classification. While it was easy to identify a variety of ingénue characters, the Angel in the House and the true mother presented a challenge. This shows that the ingénue is connected to a cultural model which is deeply ingrained in 19th- century British society and a vital part of its literature. Ingénue, nubile girl, damsel in distress – whichever name is used to describe this type, its characteristics are widely known in our Western culture and it is indispensable in most literary genres. The Angel in the House stereotype, on the other hand, is not as clearly determined aside from Patmore’s poem. One reason for this might be that the Angel is only a married version of the ingénue, after all. She is, however, enlisted to perform or oversee household duties – something which was usually outsourced to lower-class domestic personnel. Motherhood is regarded as one of the most important achievements associated with femininity. Although a 19th-century notion of a “good mother” existed, it was often far removed from the reality of actually caring for children – a “job” most middle- and upper-class families entrusted lower-class women with. Why is this relevant for the outcome of my analysis? As Ingham (1992) and Reynolds/Humble (1993) point out in their respective research, certain aspects of the Angel and the true mother are hard to reconcile with the middle-class ideal propagated in

381 19th-century novels since in reality, child-rearing and household management were mostly performed by lower-class characters.579 These lower-class characters, however, often lack other traits of the stereotype in the selected 19th- century novels, i.e. ethereal beauty, purity or certain female accomplishments. It is thus hard to identify female characters who are truly modelled on the clichés of the Angel and the true mother, which is in turn reflected in the illustrations where they are sometimes not clearly identifiable. Similarly, the fallen women also contain one stereotype which can be easily pinpointed and two which are rather vague. In fact, only one of the stereotypes seemed so deeply-rooted in 19th-century culture that its influence cannot be denied: the prostitute. Five of the seven plates examined in section 4.2.1 employ at least one of the symbols associated with prostitution in 19th-century art and literature (bodies of water, wide open space, dead or defeated woman). It seems that the subject was so important at the time that it triggered the forming of a cultural model which enabled people to immediately decode the symbolism included in works of art and literature. Book illustrators followed suit and made use of the specific symbols in order to strengthen the author’s point. In contrast to the distinct artistic representation of the prostitute, the portrayals of the remaining two negative stereotypes seem rather amorphous. The adulteress cliché is in itself marked by a lack of clarity simply because of its peculiar occurrence in 19th- century literature and art. As I detailed before, portrayals of real adultery were almost non-existent during our period, while female characters almost giving in to the temptation of having an extra-marital affair were quite common. Rumours of adultery could arise from something as harmless as a private conversation between a man and a woman, which bears the risk of being a very unspecific scenario when it comes to the visual arts. In particular the idyllic, nature-related designs of the late-19th-century illustrators can easily be misinterpreted as the meeting of two blissful lovers, as we see in French’s plate for Hard Times. The only exceptions among the selected plates depicting adulteress protagonists are

579 cf. Ingham (1992), 62 and Reynolds/Humble (1993), 17.

382 both Thackeray’s and Hammond’s portrayals of Vanity Fair’s Becky Sharp, who is clearly shown disadvantageously with her witch-like appearance that is not explicitly mentioned in the novel. I dare to assume that here, the exception proves the rule since Becky is so clearly positioned in the text as a woman with many negative traits that the scope of interpretation is limited. It is also important to note that Thackeray originally illustrated his own novel, which adds considerable weight to his visual interpretation of the characters and might have influenced Hammond’s. The protagonists selected for the analysis of the femme fatale stereotype are very similar to those examined as adulteresses. Aside from the intersections, it was also hard to identify characters with all traits of the femme fatale since in her entirety, the latter belongs to the world of imagination. This world draws from the supernatural, which leaves the femme fatale as a deadly, sexually attractive enchantress – something completely out of line with 19th-century middle-class values of female respectability. During a time when novels were heavily censored if they contained open sexuality, a verbal representation of a true femme fatale would surely be avoided by most authors. The characters are thus often tamer than one would expect the stereotype to be – and this is also the case in the illustrations. Again, the late-19th-century illustrators’ sentimental style also heavily influences the portrayals, for example Green’s romanticised depiction of Great Expectation’s Estella. Not all of the artists included in this thesis worked closely with the authors whose works they illustrated, many of them produced their designs years after the novels were published for the first time. The influence of the authors on the plates can thus not always be determined – in case of Dickens, for instance, we know from his correspondence and other sources that he had a close eye on all visual material that went into the publication of his novels. It appears that other factors than the stereotypes played a role in the depictions of the female characters. In my analysis, I detected three elements which affected the portraits to a greater extent than the stereotypical 19th-century views on femininity. I will outline these factors in the following.

383 The first influential factor refers to each artist’s individual style and ability. Particularly in case of the positive female clichés analysed in section 4.1, which call for a very idealised representation with a strong focus on conventional female beauty, the strengths and weaknesses of the different illustrators featured in my analysis become evident. The ingénue characters are supposed to be paragons of virtue and at the same time highly desirable in their angelic, non- threatening loveliness. While this is at least partially reflected in most of the illustrations, some stand out. Two plates by Cruikshank showing virtuous Rose Maylie, for example, indicate that he had trouble depicting the young woman. Although there is a definite improvement of her appearance in the first design The Fireside Plate in contrast to the second Rose Maylie and Oliver, his version of the young woman is not what one would expect from reading Dickens's text. In a similar vein, Cruikshank’s successor Phiz struggled with the portrayal of the attractive but superficial Dora Spenlow. David Copperfield is instantly captivated by her exquisite beauty and charm – Phiz’s Dora, however, appears sweet but rather plain. Interestingly, his female protagonists also tend to resemble each other, as we see in section 4.1.2 in his portrayal of the Angel in the House Esther Summerson. Disregarding composition, their faces seem positively exchangeable. Further examples of an insufficient reproduction of the positive stereotypes’ physical beauty include Tenniel’s Alice and Thackeray’s Amelia Sedley. A possible reason for this might be that some of the illustrators such as Cruikshank, Phiz and Thomson were self-taught graphic artists who had not received any classical training in painting or drawing. Additionally, they all gained recognition with humorous, satirical cartoons. Tenniel received some formal training at the Royal Academy of Arts but worked for the magazine Punch. Thackeray mostly concentrated on writing, but when it came to the illustration of his own works, his style is akin to that of the great satirists. That is not to say that their illustrations are necessarily inferior to those of the other artists examined in this thesis – they often excel in their designs of grotesque protagonists. They just had difficulties with depictions of sincere scenes and

384 attractive characters. Opposite these illustrators with a talent for the absurd stand those with a more painterly style. Many of them were formally trained artists who also designed large canvasses, for example Barnard, Allingham, Hammond and C. E. Brock. This shows in their portrayals of the female characters, which are generally less whimsical and detailed, with a stronger focus on the protagonists depicted. This kind of style works well with the positive clichés since it usually offers lifelike, conventionally beautiful characters, who are still considered attractive nowadays. Barnard’s portrayal of David Copperfield’s child-wife Dora is a good example, offering both an interesting composition as well as lifelike characters: the flamboyantly dressed young woman is shown walking her pet dog, while her tongue-tied admirer watches her from the shadows. When it comes to the fallen women, however, the painterly style can also present a disadvantage. The overly favourable representation of the (near) adulteress Louisa Bounderby by Walker and French, for example, undermines Dickens's critical portrayal of the cold young woman. Likewise, both Thomson and H. M. Brock fail to convey Mary Crawford’s femme fatale qualities in their idealising plates. The technique used by the individual illustrators has to be taken into account, too. The Brock brothers’ tinted line drawings, for example, offered them more creative freedom in their designs as well as the possibility to express sentiment through colour – something other artists using techniques such as woodcutting did not have. We also have to keep in mind that not all illustrators were actually involved in the process of preparing the design for printing, which of course had an influence on the final outcome of the plate. It is known that Phiz, for example, was able to both draw and engrave his illustrations. Others, Edwards for instance, provided the drawings and cooperated with professional wood engravers.

While the artists’ individual abilities and styles are of importance, so are the stylistic conventions and trends in book illustration as well as British art in general. These conventions changed in the course of the 19th century, sometimes within years. In section 1.2.2 I already mentioned the great variety of 19th-

385 century illustrated fiction. The first half was dominated by the comic style of Dickens and his collaborators Cruikshank and Phiz. Their illustrations are usually charged with symbolic details, placing them in the tradition of 18th-century graphic artists such as Hogarth, Rowlandson and Gillray. As I detailed in the preceding paragraph, their portraits featuring positive female characters often failed to convey the heavily idealised ideal of femininity referenced in the novels. This is also visible in Tenniel’s and Thackeray’s plates. Both were active around the same time as Cruikshank and Phiz. They worked for the magazine Punch and adopted its humorous, satirical manner – this resulted in a limitation when it came to serious or aesthetic subjects. In my analysis I found that designs from the first half of the 19th century usually exhibit a very distinct style and can quite easily be distinguished from those of the later decades. While in my opinion, the latter appear more diverse and less recognisable as a group, they feature some distinct characteristics, too. The 1860s, especially, are often praised for their painterly, idyllic illustrations, which were strongly influenced by the style of the Pre-Raphaelite artists. We see this in the plates I selected for my research – illustrators such as Borough-Johnson, Walker, Allingham and the Brock brothers present the female protagonists as beautiful, often well-dressed and in picturesque settings. Nature in its tamer forms plays a great role in most of their designs, with flowers, weeds and trees creating a dreamy, enchanted atmosphere. Regarding the positive clichés, this seems appropriate and enhances the authors’ frequently romanticised accounts of the female characters. When it comes to the fallen women, however, it sometimes has a disruptive effect, which leads to the plates appearing far more positive than the text. Borough-Johnson’s portrayal of Hardy’s Tess might be one of the most striking examples out of the illustrations selected for this thesis. The garden setting as well as Tess’s seductively innocent country girl attire when she tries to escape Alec’s feeding her strawberries appears playful, teasing at most – which is misleading since he does so against her will, which foreshadows the rape that will take place in a later chapter. Similarly, French’s portrayal of the meeting between Louisa

386 Bounderby and her almost extramarital lover seems too sugar-coated. They are shown in the midst of a clearing, surrounded by trees and flowers, and the cold- hearted Louisa is shown as a coy, pretty girl. Green’s version of Dickens's Estella appears too positive and romantic given the woman’s femme fatale character. And again, nature is relevant in his design: a gentlemanly Pip and a glowing Estella who is innocently dressed in white are shown walking in the garden. The picturesque quality of these illustrations as well as the focus on blissful nature undermine the authors’ more complex character constructions by showing the female protagonists in a too positive light.

Another factor I would like to address is the influence of the constellation male author – female illustrator and vice versa. My analysis includes plates by three women artists: Helen Paterson Allingham, Mary Ellen Edwards and Christiana Hammond. They were all active in the field of book illustration during the second half of the 19th century, with Allingham and Edwards producing most of their works during the late 1860s and 1870s, while Hammond’s most notable works were generated during the 1890s. Regarding their style they can thus be linked to the more picturesque and idyllic school of illustration. With the exception of the true mother, at least one of the three is featured in the context of every cliché analysed in section 4. First of all, they all portray the female characters as lifelike and conventionally attractive – which I would rather attribute to their styles and abilities as well as their affiliation with the late-19 th- century illustrators than to their being women. Concerning the positive stereotypes, it is, however, noteworthy that both Edwards's and Hammond’s portrayals of the ingénue and Angel in the House protagonists seem more nuanced and sensitive. Trollope’s Florence Burton, for example, is presented in the text as a slightly boring, demure young woman drowning in self-pity given her fiancé’s relation to another woman. Edwards, in contrast, shows her surprisingly attractive, as she packs old love letters with dignity and composure. Florence appears less as a forlorn and helpless ingénue. Hammond’s version of Austen’s Emma finally giving in to her love for her long-term friend Mr Knightley

387 by accepting his proposal appears strikingly modern. The plate shows the two lovers standing side by side with their bodies and arms forming the shape of a heart – it seems that Hammond wanted to stress that this marriage is built on terms of equality. This becomes particularly clear considering C. E. Brock’s interpretation of the same scene. While he also shows the lovers strolling side by side, Mr Knightley is seen leaning towards Emma, who looks down shyly. It is implied that Mr Knightley dominates the plate, which in my opinion can be read as a stronger use of the ingénue stereotype than we see in Hammond’s version. While Austen can of course not be interpreted as a subversive author according to modern terms, her novels nevertheless create a strong emphasis on the female side of early-19th-century life. Her heroines were never just ingénues and maybe this is what Hammond wanted to stress in her illustration. We see the reverse effect in Thomson's and C. E. Brock’s illustrations featuring Austen’s Charlotte Collins. In the corresponding text passage, it is carefully unwrapped how Charlotte makes the marriage to insufferable Mr Collins work, which can also be read as a clever workaround to defy the confining stereotype of the Angel in the House. The two male illustrators do not include any allusions to Charlotte’s brilliant household management, but rather present her as conventionally attractive wife and concentrate on humorous depictions of her husband, who is also featured in the plates. This feeds into the cliché of the Angel, who is always presented as a mere decoration at her husband's side. It is hard to determine if this was done on purpose or if the two illustrators simply thought that Mr Collins was the more interesting character. The Brock brothers’ interest in caricature is also present in their portrayals of Austen’s Mrs Bennet, which show the latter like a ridiculous and homely old woman despite her actually being not really advanced in age – the overly idealised stereotype of the true mother is neither employed in the text nor in the accompanying plates. When it comes to the fallen women, the plates by female illustrators seem to generally blend in more with those of their male colleagues. Allingham’s portrayal of Hardy’s Fanny Robin makes use of the traditional symbolism associated with the prostitute. It is

388 noteworthy, however, that it does not in any way defy the male gaze. On the contrary, we get the impression that Fanny has been specifically positioned at the foot of the haystack in order to create a scene which is literally worth spying on. There is a distinct voyeuristic component to the plate. Similarly, Stone presents Bella Wilfer from Dickens's Our Mutual Friend as a blissful mother who is spied on by the Boffins. We see Bella through Mr Boffin’s eyes, which means that as viewers, we participate in his (male) gaze. Hammond’s version of Thackeray’s Becky Sharp does not present us with any deviation from the text, the illustrator rather seems to align herself with the author's own visual interpretation of the character – they both show her with a pointy chin to emphasise her digressive nature as adulteress. In Edwards's plate featuring Trollope's Julia Ongar, the illustrator adds some details which are not explicitly mentioned in the text. This results in her plate counteracting the imbalance presented in the text, where it appears that Julia is the main target of the village gossip, while actually she and her husband are equally responsible for their marriage of convenience. Although the plate attempts to offer an explanation for Julia’s femme fatale personality, they do not defy the stereotype. A possible reason for the female illustrators’ tendency to rework the positive clichés, but not the negative ones might be the occurrence and relevance of the latter within 19th-century culture. As I mentioned in the preceding paragraph, deviant femininity – above all prostitution – seems to be part of a more elaborate cultural model than its counterpart. Acting against these deeply-ingrained notions would have been very risky and potentially endangering to further employment – for a woman in particular. In summary, the role of the illustrators’ gender in relation to that of the authors seems moderate concerning the positive clichés and minor at best concerning the negative ones. Of course, the number of plates analysed in this thesis was limited. With a wider selection of both male and female illustrators and authors a different outcome may be reached.

389 In conclusion, this thesis has shown that there are other aspects which have a stronger influence on the representation of women in 19th-century book illustration than the selected female stereotypes. The vagueness of and similarities between certain clichés complicate their being represented within the medium, which in turn made it difficult to establish an analysis similar to Ingham’s and Casteras’s respective research on women in 19th century literature and art. My analysis offers an overview of the different ways in which women were portrayed in illustrated fiction, but it also shows what can be categorised as the limits of the medium. Where art and literature each possess a considerable creative freedom, the expression of book illustration seems to be restricted. It also becomes clear that some of the selected stereotypes appear to be of a less universal importance than initially assumed. For further research, one could widen the scope of the analysis by including novels and illustrations from the long 19th century or even look at designs from the 20th century. Another possibility would be to incorporate a larger variety of stereotypes. Concerning the female clichés, I mainly focused on those dealing with young women – women past what 19th-century society considered their prime years were subjected to stereotyping, too, however. For example, the occurrence of the grandmother or the spinster in 19th-century book illustration would be fruitful to investigate. The madwoman is a stereotype which is well-studied by scholars of art and literature – book illustration might offer a new perspective, for instance the different portrayals of Bertha in the illustrations for Brontë’s Jane Eyre. Aside from the female stereotypes, there are of course those dealing with appropriate and deviant masculinity. The novels analysed in this thesis already hint at the fact that male fictional characters were also divided into categories such as the villain or the knight in shining armour. It would be interesting to see if these male clichés are reflected in the accompanying illustrations or if, similar to the female ones, they are overpowered by other factors. Certainly, there are many other schemata prevalent in 19th-century British art and literature which are not related to gender that would be worth taking a look at, for example racial or

390 class stereotypes. An approach with a stronger focus on media theory – which only played a minor role in this thesis – is also possible and might offer some useful insights into the different functionalities of text and illustration.

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409 List of Figures

Figure 1: Block book, Biblia pauperum. (The Netherlands, c. 1460-1470). 2º, 40 (-2) leaves, provenance: Tongerlo collection, 1828 168 E 1:2, fol. i...... 14 Figure 2: Master of the Brussels Initials, “The Annunciation”, illuminated manuscript, France (Paris), circa 1407 (The British Library)...... 15 Figure 3: Albrecht Dürer, “The Vision of the Seven Candlesticks” (The Apocalypse), woodcut, about 1498 (National Galleries Scotland)...... 15 Figure 4: Thomas Bewick, "Chillingham Bull", 1789, wood engraving, (Victoria and Albert Museum)...... 16 Figure 5: George Cruikshank, "Fagin in the Condemned Cell", from Charles Dickens’s "Oliver Twist", etching on steel, 1893 (image scanned from “The Letters of Charles Dickens. Edited by his sister-in-law and his eldest daughter”, The British Library)...... 16 Figure 6: James McNeill Whistler, "Zaandam, the Netherlands", etching, c. 1889 (scanned image by Library of Congress)...... 17 Figure 7: William Hogarth, "Gin Lane", etching and engraving on paper, 1751 (© Tate)...... 17 Figure 8: Hablot Knight Browne, "I make the acquaintance of Miss Mowcher", etching, from Charles Dickens "David Copperfield", 1849 (The British Library)...... 27 Figure 9: Robert Seymour, "Dr. Slammer's Defiance of Jingle", engraving, from Charles Dickens "The Pickwick Papers", 1836 (scanned image and text by Philip V. Allingham, The Victorian Web)...... 28 Figure 10: John Leech, "Young Affection", wood engraving, from "Punch", 1844 (John Leech Archive)...... 28 Figure 11: William Holman Hunt, "Drifting in a Boat", wood engraving, from "Recollections of the Arabian Nights" in "The Moxon Tennyson", 1857 (scanned image and text by George P. Landow, The Victorian Web)...... 29 Figure 12: John Everett Millais, "The Crawley Family", wood engraving, from Anthony Trollope’s "Framley Parsonage", 1860 (scanned image and text by Simon Cooke, The Victorian Web)...... 29 Figure 13: The Illustrated London News, Vol. 27, July to December 1855 (Curtis 1995, 3)...... 30

410 Figure 14: The Illustrated London News, Vol. 57, July to December 1870 ( Curtis 1995, 36)...... 30 Figure 15: Stereotype Content Model according to Fiske et al...... 35 Figure 16: George Elgar Hicks, "Woman's Mission: Comfort of Old Age", oil on canvas, 1862 (© Tate)...... 49 Figure 17: George Elgar Hicks, "Woman's Mission: Companion to Manhood", oil on canvas, 1863 (© Tate)...... 50 Figure 18: Augustus Egg, Past and Present, No. 1, oil on canvas, 1858 (© Tate )...... 51 Figure 19: Arthur Hughes, "La Belle Dame sans Merci", oil on canvas, 1863 (NGV)...51 Figure 20: “Fraude”, from Cesare Ripa's “Iconologia”, 1603 (Heidelberger historische Bestände, Universität Heidelberg)...... 58 Figure 21: Matthias Grünewald, "Isenheim Altarpiece: The Resurrection", Colmar, France, 1512–1516 (Wikimedia Commons)...... 59 Figure 22: Elaborated Version of the Two-level Model...... 71 Figure 23: Emily Mary Osborn, "Nameless and Friendless", oil on canvas, 1857 (© Tate )...... 128 Figure 24: John Everett Millais, "Ophelia", oil on canvas, c. 1851 (© Tate)...... 128 Figure 25: Elizabeth Siddal, "The Lady of Shalott at Her Loom", pen and ink on paper, 1853 (The Victorian Web)...... 129 Figure 26: John William Waterhouse, "The Lady of Shalott", oil on canvas, 1888 (© Tate)...... 129 Figure 27: Kate Greenaway, "Girl Holding Tray", ink sketch, one of nine drawings Ruskin originally planned to use in his Oxford lecture, “In Fairyland.” (Image capture, text and formatting by George P. Landow, The Victorian Web)...... 130 Figure 28: Mary Ellen Edwards, "Husband and Wife", illustration for Anthony Trollope’s “The Claverings”, wood engraving, 1867 (Scanned image and text by Simon Cooke, The Victorian Web)...... 130 Figure 29: Sir Lawrence Alma-Tadema, "In the Tepidarium", oil on canvas, 1881...... 153 Figure 30: John Collier, "Lady Godiva", oil on canvas, 1898, bequeathed by Mr T. Hancock-Munn, 1937 (Wikimedia Commons)...... 154 Figure 31: Thomas Cooper Gotch, "The Child Enthroned", oil on canvas, 1894 (Wikimedia Commons)...... 155

411 Figure 32: Charles West Cope, "The Young Mother", oil on a gesso ground on panel, 1845 (photo: Valerie McGlinchey)...... 155 Figure 33: Ford Madox Brown, "The Nosegay", watercolour and oil, circa 1827 (photo: Julian Treuherz)...... 156 Figure 34: Richard Redgrave, "Going Into Service", oil on canvas, 1843...... 157 Figure 35: John Finnie, "Maids of All Work", oil on canvas, 1864-65...... 157 Figure 36: George Frederic Watts, "Found Drowned", oil on canvas, c. 1850...... 158 Figure 37: George Cruikshank, "Rose Maylie and Oliver", illustration for Charles Dickens's “Oliver Twist”, etching on steel, 1839 (The British Library)...... 210 Figure 38: George Cruikshank, "The Fireside Plate", rejected illustration for Charles Dickens's "Oliver Twist", etching on steel, 1839 (scanned image and text by Philip V. Allingham., The Victorian Web)...... 211 Figure 39: Hablot Knight Browne, “I Fall Into Captivity”, illustration for Dickens's "David Copperfield", etching, 1850 (scanned image by Philip V. Allingham, The Victorian Web)...... 212 Figure 40: Fred Barnard, "Dora", illustration for Charles Dickens's “David Copperfield”, 1870s (scanned image by Philip V. Allingham., The Victorian Web).....213 Figure 41: George du Maurier, "Oh! It Is No Wonder!, illustration for Elizabeth Gaskell's "Wives and Daughters", 1866 (The British Library)...... 214 Figure 42: Mary Ellen Edwards, "Florence Burton Makes Up a Packet", illustration for Anthony Trollope's "The Claverings", wood engraving, 1867 (Scanned image by Simon Cooke, The Victorian Web)...... 215 Figure 43: John Tenniel, "Drink Me", illustration for Lewis Carroll's "Alice's Adventures in Wonderland", wood engraving, 1865 (Student assistants from the University Scholars Program, National University of Singapore, scanned this image under the supervision of George P. Landow, The Victorian Web)...... 216 Figure 44: Charles Lutwidge Dodgson, drawing for the manuscript of "Alice's Adventures Underground" (The British Library)...... 217 Figure 45: Chris Hammond, "Say 'No' if it is to be be said. She could really say nothing", illustration for Jane Austen's "Emma", 1898 (Houghton Library, Harvard University)...... 218

412 Figure 46: Charles Edmund Brock, "Most beloved Emma - tell me at once", illustration for Jane Austen's "Emma", tinted line drawing, 1898 (Molland's)...... 219 Figure 47: William Makepeace Thackeray, illustration for chapter 58 of Thackeray's "Vanity Fair", wood engraving, c. 1860 (image scanned by Gerald Ajam, The Victorian Web)...... 249 Figure 48: Chris Hammond, illustration for chapter 19 of Thackeray's "Vanity Fair", 1898 (The British Library)...... 250 Figure 49: Hablot Knight Browne, "Nurse and Patient", illustration for Dickens's "Bleak House", etching, 1853 (The British Library)...... 251 Figure 50: Mary Ellen Edwards, “The Lord Giveth, and the Lord Taketh Away”, illustration for Trollope's “The Claverings”, wood engraving, 1867 (The British Library)...... 252 Figure 51: Hugh Thomson, "In conversation with the ladies", illustration for Austen's "Pride and Prejudice", 1894 (Wikimedia Commons)...... 253 Figure 52: Charles Edmund Brock, "Mr Collins and Charlotte Were Both Standing at the Gate in Conversation with the Ladies", illustration for Austen's "Pride and Prejudice", 1895 (The British Library)...... 254 Figure 53: Marcus Stone, "Mr Boffin Does the Honours of the Nursery Door", illustration for Charles Dickens's “Our Mutual Friend”, wood engraving,1865 (Scanned image by Philip V. Allingham, The Victorian Web)...... 281 Figure 54: Charles Edmund Brock, "Why Jane, you never dropt a word of this; you sly thing!", illustration for Jane Austen's “Pride and Prejudice”, black and white line drawing, 1895 (The British Library)...... 282 Figure 55: Henry Matthew Brock, "And this offer of marriage you have refused?", llustration for Jane Austen's “Pride and Prejudice”, tinted line drawing, 1898 (Molland's)...... 283 Figure 56: John H. Bacon, "Mrs Reed Came Along the Corridor", illustration for Charlotte Brontë's "Jane Eyre", 1897 (The British Library)...... 284 Figure 57: Frederick Henry Townsend, "How Dare I, Mrs Reed?", illustration for Charlotte Brontë's "Jane Eyre", 1897 (The British Library)...... 285

413 Figure 58: George Cruikshank, "The Meeting", Illustration for Charles Dickens's "Oliver Twist", etching on steel, 1838 (scanned image and text by Philip V. Allingham, The Victorian Web)...... 316 Figure 59: J. Clayton Clarke ("Kyd"), "Nancy", published in Clarke's "The Characters of Charles Dickens", watercolour, c. 1900 (scanned image and text by Philip V. Allingham, The Victorian Web)...... 317 Figure 60: Hablot K. Browne (Phiz), "The River", illustration for Charles Dickens's "David Copperfield", steel etching, 1850 (scanned image and text by Philip V. Allingham, The Victorian Web)...... 318 Figure 61: Fred Barnard, "Oh, the river! she cried passionately. Oh, the river!", illustration for Charles Dickens's "David Copperfield", 1870s (scanned image and text by Philip V. Allingham, The Victorian Web)...... 318 Figure 62: Helen Paterson Allingham, "She opened a gate within which was a haystack", illustration for Thomas Hardy's "Far from the Madding Crowd", 1874 (scanned image and text by Philip V. Allingham, The Victorian Web)...... 319 Figure 63: Ernest Borough-Johnson, "I would rather take it, sir, in my own hand", illustration for Thomas Hardy's "Tess of the d'Urbervilles", 1891 (scanned image and text by Philip V. Allingham, The Victorian Web)...... 320 Figure 64: Joseph Syddall, "The plantation wherein she had taken shelter", illustration for Thomas Hardy's "Tess of the d'Urbervilles", 1891 (scanned image and text by Philip V. Allingham, The Victorian Web)...... 321 Figure 65: William Makepeace Thackeray, "A Family Party at Brighton", illustration for Thackeray's "Vanity Fair", wood engraving, c.1861 (image scanned by Gerald Ajam, The Victorian Web)...... 345 Figure 66: Chris Hammond, "’Oh Sir Pitt!’ she said. ‘Oh Sir - I - I am already married’", illustration for Thackeray's "Vanity Fair", photomechanical reproduction of pen and ink drawing, 1897 (Scanned image by Simon Cooke, The Victorian Web).....346 Figure 67: Frederick Walker, "Mr Harthouse Dines at the Bounderbys", illustration for Dickens's "Hard Times", wood engraving, 1968 (scanned image by Philip V. Allingham, The Victorian Web)...... 347

414 Figure 68: Harry French, "’Mrs. Bounderby, I Esteem It A Most Fortunate Accident That I Find You Alone Here’", illustration for Dickens's "Hard Times", wood engraving, 1870s (scanned image by Philip V. Allingham)...... 348 Figure 69: Arthur Hopkins, "All that remained of the desperate and unfortunate Eustacia", illustration for Hardy's "The Return of the Native", 1878 (scanned image by Philip V. Allingham, The Victorian Web)...... 348 Figure 70: Hugh Thomson, "’Mr. Bertram,’ said she, with a smile", illustration for Austen's "Mansfield Park", 1897 (The British Library)...... 371 Figure 71: Henry Matthew Brock, "She played with the greatest obligingness", illustration for Austen's "Mansfield Park", tinted line drawing, 1898 (Molland’s)...... 372 Figure 72: Francis Arthur Fraser, "She gave a contemptuous toss...and left me", illustration for Dickens's "Great Expectations", 1877 (scanned image by Philip V. Allingham, The Victorian Web)...... 373 Figure 73: Charles Green, "Pip and Estella Walking in the Garden", illustration for Dickens's "Great Expectations", c. 1877 (scanned image by Philip V. Allingham, The Victorian Web)...... 374 Figure 74: Mary Ellen Edwards, "A puir feckless thing", illustration for Trollope's "The Claverings", wood engraving, 1866 (scanned image by Simon Cooke, The Victorian Web)...... 375

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