Anglistentag 2014 Hannover

Anglistentag

2014 Hannover

Proceedings

edited by

Rainer Emig and Jana Gohrisch

Wissenschaftlicher Verlag Trier

Anglistentag 2014 Hannover Proceedings ed. by Rainer Emig, Jana Gohrisch Trier: WVT Wissenschaftlicher Verlag Trier, 2015 (Proceedings of the Conference of the German Association of University Teachers of English; Vol. 36) ISBN 978-3-86821-623-3

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Proceedings of the Conference of the German Association of University Teachers of English

Volume XXXVI

Contents

Rainer Emig (Mainz) and Jana Gohrisch (Hannover) Preface XI

Section 1: Perspectives on the 18th Century

Claudia Claridge (Duisburg-Essen) and Ilse Wischer (Potsdam) Perspectives on the 18th Century: Introduction 3

Ulrich Busse (Halle-Wittenberg) "It remains that we retard what we cannot repel, that we palliate what we cannot cure": Samuel Johnson's A Dictionary of the English Language (1755) in a Synchronic-Diachronic Perspective 7

Göran Wolf (Dresden) English Grammaticography as Discourse Tradition: Comments on 18th-Century Developments 19

Lieselotte Anderwald (Kiel) The 19th-Century Perspective on 18th-Century Grammar Writing 35

Birte Bös (Duisburg-Essen) "... which they read not so much for the Newes as the Stile": Impartiality as an Important Asset in Early 18th-Century News Writing 49

Thomas Kohnen (Köln) Indirect Speech Acts in the 18th Century and After: Stagnation, Transformation, Innovation? 67

Ingrid Tieken-Boon van Ostade (Leiden) Jane Austen's Correspondence with James Stanier Clarke 79

Section 2: Georgian Britain: Representations of Political Power in 18th-Century Literature and Culture

Oliver Lindner (Leipzig) and Kai Merten (Erfurt) Georgian Britain: Representations of Political Power in 18th-Century Literature and Culture: Introduction 93

Martin Spies (Gießen) "Neck or Nothing": John Dunton's Anti-Jacobite Pamphlets and the Accession of King George I 99

VIII

Kirsten Sandrock (Göttingen) 'The Wee, Wee German Lairdie': Georgian Bodies in Jacobite Literature 109

Kerstin Frank (Heidelberg) Walpole's Magic Wand – The Abuse of Power in Fantastic Satires of the 1720s and 30s 121

Mascha Hansen (Greifswald) Queen Charlotte and the Character of the Monarchy 137

Barbara Schaff (Göttingen) The Bodies of the Georges in British Neoclassical Satire and Caricatures 151

Katrin Berndt (Bremen) A Romance Subversion: Representations of Aristocratic Power in Thomas Holcroft's Anna St. Ives (1792) 169

Section 3: Enlightenment Fictions – Fictions of Enlightenment

Sabine Volk-Birke (Halle-Wittenberg) Enlightenment Fictions – Fictions of Enlightenment: Introduction 183

Jan Alber (Aarhus) Innovative 18th-Century Fiction: The Case of the Speaking Objects in Circulation Novels 187

Katharina Boehm (Regensburg) Enlightenment Fictions and Objects: 18th-Century Culture and the Matter of History 203

Jürgen Meyer (Halle-Wittenberg) Dr. Johnson's Lives of the Poets: Criticism between Character-Writing and Historiography 213

Susanne Peters (Magdeburg) The Dynamics of Censorship and the Female Novel of Development: Regulating the Power of Her Text 227

John Richetti (New York) Panegyric and Satire: The Hanoverians Enter English Literature 237

Wolfgang Funk (Mainz) From Hamelin to Hertfordshire: The Wondrous Journey of Peter the Wild Boy 251

Michael Szczekalla (Greifswald) The Radical Enlightenment in Contemporary Fiction – Malcolm Bradbury, To the Hermitage and Jennie Erdal, The Missing Shade of Blue 265 IX

Section 4: Narrative, Identity Formation, and the Bildungsroman

Georgia Christinidis and Christian Schmitt-Kilb (Rostock) Narrative, Identity Formation, and the Bildungsroman: Introduction 279

Nadine Böhm-Schnitker (Erlangen-Nürnberg) Discursive Entanglements of the Bildungsroman: Victorian Literary Criticism and Different Kinds of Bildung in Realism and Sensation Fiction 287

Anton Kirchhofer (Oldenburg) The Modern Self and the Re-Invention of Torture: Narration at the Limits of the Bildungsroman 301

Felix C. H. Sprang (Berlin) Identity Deformation and the Anti-Anti-Bildungsroman 317

Ursula Kluwick (Berne) Climate Change, the Novel, and the Bildungsroman: The Relation of Things in an Emergent World 329

Stella Butter (Mannheim) Paradigms of Intimacy and the Formation of Selfhood in the Contemporary Female Bildungsroman 341

Benjamin Kohlmann (Freiburg) "Possible Failures": Doris Lessing and Individual Formation in a Tragic Key 353

Notes on Contributors 363

Preface

The tercentenary of the union of the Hanoverian and the British crowns offered a fitting frame for the annual conference of the German Association of University Teach- ers of English (Deutscher Anglistenverband) 2014, which took place in the recon- structed 18th-century summer castle Herrenhausen at Hanover from 21 to 24 Septem- ber. There, our generous host was the VolkswagenStiftung, which provided marvellous rooms and technology and excellent food for nearly 200 participants. The immediate proximity to the historical gardens of Herrenhausen proved a further attraction. The conference complemented a range of academic and cultural events in Hanover and Lower Saxony that focused on the role of the city and the country in the development of Europe since the 18th century. Apart from the usual conference warming on the evening before the conference started, a very welcome prequel was added in the form of a workshop "Von der Bewerbung zur Berufung" ("From Application to Professor- ship") organised by Jana Gohrisch (Hanover), Andrea Sand (Trier) and Merle Tönnies (Paderborn), which coached postdoctoral colleagues for the often tough academic job market. The conference opened with words of welcome by Dr. Wilhelm Krull, Secretary Gen- eral of VolkswagenStiftung, Prof. Klaus P. Schneider, President of the German Asso- ciation of University Teachers of English and Prof. Liliane Louvel, President of the European Society for the Study of English (ESSE). These were followed by the award of the Journalism Prize of the German Association of University Teachers of English to Angela Schader of Neue Zürcher Zeitung for her long-standing efforts to promote literatures in English in the German-speaking world. The Helene Richter Award, a prize founded by Prof. Franz K. Stanzel that commemorates a colleague murdered in the concentration camp at Theresienstadt, was then awarded to Dr. Nora Pleßke (Pas- sau) for her PhD thesis entitled "The Intelligible Metropolis: Urban Mentality in Con- temporary London Novels". Finally, the conference organisers, Prof. Rainer Emig and Prof. Jana Gohrisch, declared the conference officially opened. In contrast to the usual open and diverse format of the Anglistentag, the 2014 one had opted for a thematic focus. Its plenary lectures and sections critically investigated the impact of the union of the crowns on the language, literature, culture and politics of the period and after. A section on the currently very vibrant performance poetry scene was added, whose results will be published elsewhere. English Linguistics, which had chosen "Perspectives on the 18th Century" as their topic, opened the proceedings with a daringly interdisciplinary lecture by Ingrid Tieken- Boon van Ostade (Leiden) on "Jane Austen's Letters". The remaining papers in this section, which was organised and introduced by Claudia Claridge (Duisburg-Essen) and Ilse Wischer (Potsdam), featured Ulrich Busse (Halle-Wittenberg), who presented a paper entitled "'It remains that we retard what we cannot repel, that we palliate what we cannot cure': Samuel Johnson's A Dictionary of the English Language (1755) in a Synchronic-Diachronic Perspective"; Göran Wolf (Dresden), who spoke about "Stan- dardising Grammars"; Anita Auer (Utrecht/Lausanne), who provided insights into "'Language History from Below' in 18th-Century England"; Lieselotte Anderwald (Kiel), who outlined "The 19th-Century Perspective on 18th-Century Grammar Writ- XII RAINER EMIG AND JANA GOHRISCH ing"; Birte Bös (Duisburg-Essen), whose investigation was called "'…which they read not so much for the Newes as the Stile': Impartiality as an Important Asset in Early 18th-Century News Writing"; and Thomas Kohnen (Cologne), who analysed "Indirect Speech Acts in the 18th Century and After: Stagnation, Transformation, Innovation?". The sections on Literary and Cultural Studies contained one on "Georgian Britain: Representations of Political Power in 18th-Century Literature and Culture", organised and introduced by Oliver Lindner (Leipzig) and Kai Merten (Erfurt). It was opened by Martin Spies (Gießen), who talked about "'Neck or Nothing': John Dunton's Pro- Hanoverian Pamphlets and the Accession of King George I", and Kirsten Sandrock (Göttingen), who presented "'The Wee, Wee German Lairdie': Georgian Bodies in Jacobite Literature". It was complemented by Kerstin Frank (Heidelberg), who presented "Walpole's Magic Wand – The Abuse of Power in Fantastic Satires of the 1720s and -30s", Mascha Hansen (Greifswald), whose talk was entitled "'Do unto them as You would be done by': Queen Charlotte and the Representation of the Mon- archy", Barbara Schaff (Göttingen), who introduced "George III and George IV in British Caricatures", and Katrin Berndt (Bremen), who discussed "A Romance Sub- version: Representations of Aristocratic Power in Thomas Holcroft's Anna St Ives (1792)". A further 18th-Century section on "Enlightenment Fictions – Fictions of Enlighten- ment" was organised and introduced by Sabine Volk-Birke (Halle-Wittenberg) and contained the following contributions: Jan Alber (Freiburg), who spoke about "Innova- tive Eighteenth-Century Fiction: The Case of the Speaking Objects in Circulation Novels"; Katharina Boehm (Regensburg), who presented "Enlightenment Fictions and Objects: Eighteenth-Century Culture and the Matter of History"; Jürgen Meyer (Halle- Wittenberg), who talked about "Dr Johnson's Lives of the Poets: Criticism between Character-Writing and Literary Historiography"; and Susanne Peters (Magdeburg), whose paper dealt with "A Censoring Consciousness and the Female Novel of Devel- opment: Regulating the Power of Her Text". Wolfgang Funk (Mainz) with a paper on "From Hamelin to Hertfordshire: The Wondrous Journey of Peter the Wild Boy", and Michael Szczekalla (Greifswald), who demonstrated "The Radical Enlightenment in Contemporary Fiction – Malcolm Bradbury, To the Hermitage and Jennie Erdal, The Missing Shade of Blue" completed the section. The third section on the 18th Century was organized and introduced by Georgia Chris- tinidis and Christian Schmitt-Kilb (both at Rostock) and dealt with "Narrative, Identity Formation, and the Bildungsroman". It featured Anton Kirchhofer (Oldenburg), who lectured on "The Modern Self and the Invention of Torture: Narration at the Limits of the Bildungsroman"; Benjamin Kohlmann (Freiburg), who introduced us to "The So- cialist Bildungsroman and the Time of the Revolution"; Felix Sprang (Berlin), who presented "Identity Deformation and the Anti-Anti-Bildungsroman"; Nadine Böhm- Schnitker (Erlangen), who demonstrated "Discursive Entanglements of the Bildungs- roman: Victorian Literary Criticism and Different Kinds of Bildung in Realism and Sensation Fiction"; Stella Butter (Mannheim), who analysed "Practices of Intimacy and the Formation of Selfhood in the Contemporary Bildungsroman"; and Ursula Kluwick (Bern), who spoke about "Climate Change Narratives and Identity Forma- tion". PREFACE XIII

The sections on Literary and Cultural Studies were excellently complemented by a very stimulating plenary lecture by Prof. John Richetti (New York) on "Panegyric and Satire: The Hanoverians Enter English Literature". The final section on "Poetry and Performance" was organised by Pascal Fischer (Bam- berg) and Julia Lajta-Novak (Vienna). It hosted another vastly entertaining, but also learned and impressively interdisciplinary plenary performance by the poet Patience Agbabi (London) entitled "Telling Tales". Its other papers were presented by Angelika Zirker (Tübingen), who discussed "Aspects of Drama and Performance in John Donne's Holy Sonnets", Ralf Haekel (Göttingen), whose contribution was entitled "'O body swayed to music': Performance, Performativity and the Medium of Poetry", Katrin Röder (Würzburg), who spoke about "Performing T. S. Eliot's Four Quartets", Sarah Herbe (Salzburg), who analysed "Songs as Performed Poetry", Sebastian Domsch (Greifswald), whose paper was entitled "Speaking the Other – Teaching Cul- tural Identity through Poetry Performance", and finally Andrea Sand (Trier), Merle Tönnies (Paderborn), and Joana Brüning (Paderborn), who presented "The Duality of Page and Stage: Constructing Lyrical Voices in Contemporary British Poetry Written for Performance". As was already mentioned above, this section's papers will be published separately elsewhere. A further performative angle to the conference was finally offered by a performance of the English Theatre Group of Leibniz University Hanover under the expert direction of Dr. Peter Bennett. The company showed a selection of scenes from The Beggar's Op- era by John Gay in the very suitable ballroom of castle Herrenhausen. An excursion to nearby Hamelin guided by a very captivating Pied Piper concluded the conference. The conference also contained two lunchtime sessions on publishing and ongoing publication projects. A workshop on academic publishing, "Wissenschaftliches Publizieren: Medien, Publikationsformen, Qualitätssicherung", was offered by Oliver Waffender (Peter Lang). Martin Middeke (Augsburg), Gabriele Rippl (Bern) and Hubert Zapf (Augsburg) presented their Handbooks of English and American Studies: Text and Theory (de Gruyter). The organisers wish to thank all the student helpers involved in the organisation of the event. These were directed by Johanna Marquardt, who was also in charge of the programme, contact with participants and many other time-consuming tasks. The Hanover English Department's secretaries Susanne Battersby and Melanie Königshagen dealt expertly with the paperwork, as did Ute Reuter, the Head of Department's Assistant. The present publication of the conference proceedings was largely in the capable hands of Hannah Pardey.

Rainer Emig Jana Gohrisch

Section 1

Perspectives on the 18th Century

Chairs:

Claudia Claridge and Ilse Wischer

CLAUDIA CLARIDGE (DUISBURG-ESSEN) AND ILSE WISCHER (POTSDAM)

Perspectives on the 18th Century: Introduction

The 18th century is no longer the 'Cinderella' of English Historical Linguistics, as several recent publications have shown (see Beal 2004, Hickey 2010, Tieken-Boon van Ostade 2011). With hindsight the linguistic neglect this century has suffered in the past may be surprising, but it was most likely due to the fact that no large-scale, categorial changes were in progress at this time. Instead of the major structural upheavals of earlier periods, the 18th century contributed more subtle changes and adjustments of the linguistic system, such as the development of new quantifiers/determiners (e.g. a bit of) or shifts in the use of (semi-)modals. Also, the increased recent interest in historical discourse and pragmatic studies has highlighted the importance of the 18th century, with the rise and development of new registers (e.g. press and science writing) or the influence societal developments may have had on politeness culture. With the increasing number of electronically available language resources, new possibilities have opened up for linguists to broaden our data basis, to search for smaller-scale changes, and shifts in frequencies, together with their potential causes and the factors of language change. The 18th century is also the time when authorities have tried to influence the shape of the language with the aim of establishing rules of 'correctness' and 'good usage'. The role of prescriptivism in language change has long not been taken due note of, but this too has changed. Only recently Anne Curzan has demanded that prescriptivism should be integrated into the study of language history and has established the following three principles for studying the history of English: (1) "[t]he history of the English language encompasses metalinguistic discussions about language, which potentially have real effects on language use", (2) "[t]he history of the English language encompasses the development of both the written and the spoken language", and (3) "[t]he history of the English language encompasses linguistic developments occurring both below the level of speakers' conscious awareness […] and above the level of speakers' conscious awareness" (2014, 48). The effects of metalinguistic discussions on language use are very important for the 18th century, as becomes obvious in the following contributions on dictionaries and grammars (see Busse, Wolf, Anderwald). When focusing on the 18th century, it is quite clear that particular emphasis is to be placed on the written form of language use, although some of the investigations might provide evidence about the spoken language, too (see Kohnen). Linguistic developments occurring above the level of consciousness are potentially more important for the 18th (and 19th) century than for other times in English history. It therefore comes as no surprise that most of the contributions to this section focus on such developments (see Busse, Wolf, Anderwald, also Bös to a certain extent). 4 CLAUDIA CLARIDGE AND ILSE WISCHER

The 18th century also witnessed the changing nature of the literary field, and in general of discourse production. No less a person than the famous contemporary lexicographer, Samuel Johnson referred to that period as 'the Age of Authors' (see Keen 2013) since writing was no longer restricted to those people who had gained an appropriate qualification or professional recognition as authors. This led to an unprecedented increase and diversification of reading matter produced (see Goring 2008, 9), as well as of the reading public. A large number of people without higher levels of education became involved with written texts. As a consequence, there was felt to be a growing need for guidelines and instructions about a 'correct' language use. The workshop on "Perspectives on the 18th Century" at the Anglistentag in Hannover in 2014 endeavoured to investigate linguistic developments and practices in the 18th century. However, some of the following papers also put the 18th century into a larger perspective, by comparing it to preceding and/or following centuries (see Anderwald, Kohnen) or by outlining a much larger tradition to which 18th-century developments belong (see Wolf). The first three papers share a focus on dictionary and grammar writing both from a contemporary and a modern perspective: Ulrich Busse looks at Samuel Johnson's Dic- tionary of the English Language "in a Synchronic-Diachronic Perspective" in order to corroborate the view that this dictionary set a new benchmark in the field of English dictionary writing and also had an important and continuing influence on English lexicography. To this end he first compares the "Plan of an English Dictionary" (1747) to the "Preface to the Dictionary" (1755) and discusses the allegedly innovative character of Johnson's dictionary, before he takes a closer look at its competitors and dictionary writing after Johnson with a final view on the influence that this dictionary had on the development of English lexicography. Göran Wolf expands the perspective from Johnson's dictionary to 18th-century "Eng- lish Grammaticography as Discourse Tradition". He makes the attempt to relate certain observable trends, such as recurring topics, concepts, and forms of description, in the huge number of grammars published in the 18th century to the grammarians forming a discourse community. As such they shared a common way of thinking, goals, methods, and even particular formulations. This can be unearthed in texts as a particular 'discourse tradition', thus enabling new theoretical insights and perspectives on the prescriptive undertaking in the 18th century. "The 19th-Century Perspective on 18th-Century Grammar Writing" is taken by Liese- lotte Anderwald, who thus focuses on the two centuries which are commonly now taken together as a linguistic period in their own right, namely Late Modern English. She looks for continuities of normative judgements and in particular prescriptive practices between the two centuries, but also for instances where the 19th century was innovative or independent of the previous century. Particular case studies relate to variations in the past tense forms, the use of get-constructions, and the decline of the be-perfect – i.e. on some of the smaller-scale changes that are now no longer overlooked. The other two papers in this section share a focus on stylistic and discourse-pragmatic issues relying on corpus analyses. Birte Bös discusses "Impartiality as an Important Asset in Early 18th-Century News Writing" using data from the 17th-18th Century Burney Collection Newspapers. She shows that impartiality, which was meant to stand PERSPECTIVES ON THE 18TH CENTURY – INTRODUCTION 5 for factuality, truth, and trustworthiness, was paid extensive lip-service to as a useful sales ploy in many newspapers. An in-depth study of three newspaper samples shows a somewhat different picture, however, with stance markers relating to emotivity, reliability, and evidentiality being commonly found and pointing to clearly partisan stand- points of the papers. Thomas Kohnen analyses data from a variety of corpora (the Helsinki Corpus, the Corpus of English Dialogues 1560-1760, ARCHER, and the Corpus of Nineteenth Century English) to trace the development of "Indirect Speech Acts in the 18th Cen- tury and After". He finds stagnation with regard to indirect requests, but instead ample evidence for more direct request types of a highly formal and ceremonious nature, which pay attention to the status of speakers, their right to authority, and their need of deference respectively. He connects this not only to different concepts of politeness but also to the prevailing ideology of authority and correctness. Ingrid Tieken-Boon van Ostade's plenary talk on "Jane Austen's Correspondence with James Stanier Clarke" strictly speaking falls outside the scope of this section by date of the letters, but of course both letter writers grew up in the late 18th century. How- ever, the paper is linked to both Bös and Kohnen by approaching the letters with a corpus-linguistic methodology and by dealing with discourse as well as politeness. Tieken shows how emotional and interpersonal stances are constructed by the strategic use of politeness formulae and by careful lexical choices, highlighted by her keyword analysis.

References Beal, Joan (2004): English in Modern Times, 1700-1945. London: Arnold Curzan, Anne (2014): Fixing English: Prescriptivism and Language History. Cambridge: Cambridge UP Goring, Paul (2008): Eighteenth-Century Literature and Culture. London/New York: Continuum Hickey, Raymond (ed., 2010): Eighteenth-Century English: Ideology and Change. Cambridge: Cam- bridge UP Keen, Paul (ed., 2013): The Age of Authors: An Anthology of Eighteenth-Century Print Culture. Peter- borough, ON: Broadview Press Tieken-Boon van Ostade, Ingrid (2011): The Bishop's Grammar: Robert Lowth and the Rise of Pre- scriptivism. Oxford: Oxford UP

ULRICH BUSSE (HALLE-WITTENBERG)

"It remains that we retard what we cannot repel, that we palliate what we cannot cure": Samuel Johnson's A Dictionary of the English Language (1755) in a Synchronic-Diachronic Perspective

1. Introduction In many respects, Samuel Johnson's Dictionary of the English Language (1755) can be regarded as a landmark or even as a "watershed" (Simpson 1990, 1954) in English lexicography setting both a new and also a long-lasting standard for the following dictionary-makers. In order to substantiate this view, we shall first take a look at some representative present-day assessments of Johnson's achievement, before we move on to an analysis of the lexicographical landscape leading up to Johnson. In the next step, the "Plan of an English Dictionary" (1747) shall be compared to the "Preface to the Dictionary" (1755). This short-term diachrony provides insights into how tenets give way to pragmatic decisions over a period of eight years of intensive work on a huge lexicographical project and it reveals how ideals are replaced by a kind of grudging realism as expressed in Johnson's statement from the "Preface to the Dic- tionary" quoted in the title of this paper. This is followed by a more detailed discussion of the supposedly innovative and modern features of Johnson in order to substantiate in how far it is justified to regard John- son's Dictionary as a major innovation or even a turning point in English lexicography. Finally, the legacy and 'afterlife' of Johnson's Dictionary shall be investigated. In the 18th century, a new market for dictionaries began to emerge, and therefore, Johnson's Dictionary was not without competitors, but it proved to be authoritative and commer- cially successful. The reprints, revisions, and abridgements 'survived' Johnson by more than a century and had a major impact on subsequent lexicographers up to the Oxford English Dictionary. Some critics even say that this towering position impeded the progress of English lexicography.

2. Johnson and Present-Day English Meta-Lexicography When doing research on Samuel Johnson and his Dictionary it soon becomes obvious that both the man and his work have received much scholarly attention over the years. The bibliographical references to Johnson are legion.1 In 2005, the Dictionary saw the 250th birthday of its publication and a volume with papers by leading scholars in the field (see Lynch/McDermott 2005) was published showing that Johnson's Dictionary is still a topic of great scholarly relevance.

1 For a first instructive and reliable orientation see Lynch (n.d., website); especially Section 8. Works 'The Dictionary'; for comprehensive bibliographical surveys see Clifford/Greene 1970 and Congleton/Congleton 1984. 8 ULRICH BUSSE

Standard reference works on the history of English lexicography often take Johnson's Dictionary (1755) as a dividing line. Thus, for instance, Starnes/Noyes (1946) in their account of The English Dictionary from Cawdrey to Johnson 1604-1755 describe the history of English (monolingual) lexicography from the early beginnings2 up to John- son, but they exclude him for the following reasons: To treat adequately Johnson's relations to his predecessors, to analyze and evaluate his work, to discuss the abridgments and revisions, and to consider, even in a limited way, the criticism and controversy arising from each revision or Johnsonian offshoot would be to extend this study almost twofold. (Starnes/Noyes 1946, vi) Volume two (1990) of the three-volume reference work on Dictionaries edited by Franz Josef Hausmann et al. (1989-91) also divides the account of English lexicography in two chapters, namely in "English Lexicography From the Beginning Up To and Including Johnson", written by Noel Osselton, and a second one, entitled "English Lexicography After Johnson to 1945", written by John Simpson. In the introduction to his survey, John Simpson states that Samuel Johnson's Dictionary of 1755 marked a watershed for lexicography in England; it set a new standard for subsequent dictionary-makers in most departments of their trade, and in many ways it also elevated English lexicography to the status of an art. This had benefits and draw- backs for his successors. Indeed, for the next half century it tended to restrict new lexicographical work. (Simpson 1990, 1954) In his contribution to the Oxford History of English Lexicography, Allen Reddick claims that SAMUEL Johnson's folio Dictionary of the English Language (1755) represents a towering achievement in lexicography and letters, one which immediately captured attention throughout Europe; it remains a source of considerable scholarly interest to the present day, especially for specialists in lexicography, language, literature, history, and culture. (Reddick 2009, 155) Therefore, it seems justified to regard Johnson's Dictionary as a major achievement and a decisive turning point in the history of English lexicography.

3. The Lexicographical Landscape in England Leading Up to Johnson "Monolingual English dictionaries had appeared from [Cawdrey] 1604 on: they were initially devoted to hard words, and only slowly extended their scope towards what we perceive as a full dictionary" (Görlach 2001, 138).3 Noel Osselton (see 1990, 1943) states that the evolution of monolingual dictionaries from Cawdrey (1604) to Johnson saw the development of three different types of dictionaries, namely: 1) the compact 40,000-word reference dictionary; e.g. Bailey (1721), 2) the more encyclopaedic type; e.g. Kersey/Phillips (1706), and 3) the first scholarly inventory of the English language; i.e. Johnson (1755).

2 For a detailed analysis of dictionaries ranging from The Leiden Glossary to John Florio's A Worlde of Wordes of 1598 see Stein 1985. 3 As in the preceding centuries (see Stein 1985), bilingual dictionaries continued to be produced in the Late Modern English period. For a survey of post-1700 bilingual dictionaries see Alston 1966. SAMUEL JOHNSON'S DICTIONARY OF THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE (1755) 9

With special reference to Scott-Bailey and Johnson, Starnes/Noyes say that lexicographical progress in the 18th century "registered in three ways: in the dictionary, in the lexicographer, and in the public" (1946, 195): 1) The lexicographical macrostructure (scope, coverage) and the microstructure (of the entries) are improved. 2) In contrast to their 17th-century predecessors, who were "dilettantes or specialists", with Kersey, Bailey, Martin, and Johnson, "the function of the lexicographer comes to be regarded with increasing gravity" (ibid.). 3) "By 1755 the public has also awakened to the interest and the usefulness of lexicography" (ibid., 196). In terms of reading public, Noel Osselton (see 1990, 1949-50) sketches a tripartite development from the 16th to the 18th century: 1) Especially the hard-word dictionaries cater for the semi-educated. 2) The monolingual 17th-century dictionary "was conceived of as a prop to the linguistically insecure" (1950). 3) Johnson (and other 18th-century dictionaries) were meant to be "both instructive and morally improving among the upper ranks of society" (ibid.).4 However, Allen Reddick argues that "Johnson was much more attuned to 'common diction' and the 'common reader' than has previously been assumed (the 'common reader' would be specifically addressed in the Preface to the abridged dictionary of 1756)" (2009, 170-71). Another important point we have to take into account is the development of market mechanisms, resulting in the professionalisation of lexicography with modern methods of organisation, the introduction of editors, a struggle for survival on the market and, very importantly, the emergence of dictionary criticism. Due to the growing importance of newspapers and magazines, advertising was used as a promotional strategy to enhance the selling of dictionaries. The following advertisement from the Public Advertiser from 15 April 1755 announces the publication of Johnson's Dictionary: This Day is published, In Two Large VOLUMES in FOLIO, (Price bound Four Pounds Ten Shillings) A DICTIONARY of the ENGLISH LANGUAGE: In which the Words are deduced from their Originals, and illustrated in their different Significations, by Ex- amples from the best Writers. To which are prefixed, A HISTORY of the LANGUAGE, and a GRAMMAR, By SAMUEL JOHNSON, A. M. Printed for J. and P. Knapton, T. and T. Longman, C. Hitch and L. Hawes, A. Millar, and R. and J. Dodsley. (Transcription from The Public Advertiser, Tuesday, 15 April 1755)5

4 See De Maria 1986 for greater detail. 5 , last accessed 20 March 2015. 10 ULRICH BUSSE

4. Johnson's Dictionary in the Synchronic Perspective of the 18th Century 4.1 The Size of Johnson's Dictionary For the overall size of Johnson's Dictionary in comparison to its predecessors, Noel Osselton provides the following figures as shown in Table 1.

AUTHOR TITLE FORMAT DATE ENTRIES Kersey-Philips New World of Words Folio 1706 38,000 Bailey Universal Etymological English Dictionary Octavo 1721 40,0006 4th ed. 1728 42,500 21st ed. 1770 44,000 25th ed. 1783 50,000 Bailey Dictionarium Britannicum Folio 1730 48,000 2nd ed. 1736 60,000 Johnson A Dictionary of the English Language Folio 2 vols. 1755 55,0007 Table 1: The size of Johnson's Dictionary in comparison (table mine [U.B.] based on Starnes/Noyes (see 1946, 100; 106; 118; 122) and on Osselton (see 1990, 1943)) Table 1 documents that the major dictionaries appearing during the first half of the 18th century slowly grew in size. In their appraisal of the works, Starnes/Noyes consider Kersey-Philips and Bailey (1730) as lexicographical milestones leading to John- son and to modern lexicography; especially the latter is credited to have made ad- vances "in scope, etymology, and other lexicographical technique" (1946, 117). Furthermore, it is an important stepping stone for Johnson because the second edition served "as working base for Johnson's dictionary" (ibid.).8 The number of entries in Johnson is slightly smaller than that in Bailey (1836), but Osselton (see 1990, 1942) shows that the letter tokens (26 million in Johnson as opposed to 7.25 million in Bailey) illustrate that Johnson's treatment is much more comprehensive. More recently, Allen Reddick has shown that when multiple meanings of words "listed by Johnson under the initial verb element […] are taken into account and considered as separate headings, then Johnson's number of usages in total compares favourably with Bailey's" (2009, 157).

4.2 Front Matter Whereas Starnes/Noyes find it "surprising and disappointing that such an important work [as Bailey (1730)] lacks a preface" (1946, 118), Johnson's Dictionary affords not only a preface but also an earlier "Plan of an English Dictionary" (1747). For John- son's contemporaries the "Preface to the Dictionary" (1755) may simply have functioned as an introduction to the dictionary. From today's perspective these two works are very interesting, because the time-span of eight years separating the two offers the

6 "A conservative estimate places Bailey's vocabulary at about 40,000 words; thus his bulky octavo of about 950 pages treats more items than even the folio Kersey-Philips of 1706 with its 38,000 items" (Starnes/Noyes 1946, 100). 7 Reddick (see 2009, 157) says that Johnson's wordlist contains fewer than 43,000 entries. 8 For more detailed information on "Johnson's debt to Bailey's Dictionarium Britannicum" see McCracken 1969. SAMUEL JOHNSON'S DICTIONARY OF THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE (1755) 11 possibility to study "the growth of the lexicographer's mind" (1972, 89), as Harold Weinbrot in his detailed comparison of the two texts once put it.9

PLAN (1747) PREFACE (1755) Dedication TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE PHILIP [92] In hope of giving longevity to that which its DORMER, EARL OF CHESTERFIELD, One of his own nature forbids to be immortal, I have Majesty's principal Secretaries of State devoted this book, the labour of years, to the honour of my country, that we may no longer yield the palm of philology to the nations of the continent. The language and the lexicographer This, my Lord, is my idea of an English dic- [84] Those who have been persuaded to think tionary; a dictionary by which the pronuncia- well of my design, require that it should fix our tion of our language may be fixed, its attain- language, and put a stop to those alterations ment facilitated; by which its purity may be which time and chance have hitherto been suf- preserved, its use ascertained, and its duration fered to make in it without opposition. With this lenghthened. consequence I will confess that I flattered myself for a while; but now begin to fear that I have indulged expectation which neither reason nor experience can justify. […] the lexicographer [may] be derided […] [who] shall imagine that his dictionary can em- balm his language, and secure it from corruption and decay, […]. [91] If the changes that we fear be thus irresistible, what remains but to acquiesce with silence, as in the other insurmountable distresses of humanity? it remains that we retard what we cannot repel, that we palliate what we cannot cure. Table 2: Johnson's "Plan of an English Dictionary" (1747) compared to the "Preface to the Dictio- nary" (1755) (emphasis added) Harold Weinbrot (1972) has shown that there are several significant changes between the two texts, concerning stance and attitude as well as subject matter.10 In terms of contents, three major areas of change can be discerned: 1) the rejection of Lord Chesterfield as a patron, 2) the idea of a clearly fixed language, and 3) the subservient role of the lexicographer. The title page of the Dictionary (see the advertisement in section 3) does not include a dedication to a patron, but the names of its author, publisher, and printers. In the "Preface", Johnson complains in Section [94] "that the English Dictionary was written

9 Osselton (see 1990, 1944) mentions that in terms of excellence, the preface by Benjamin Martin (1749) to his dictionary Lingua Britannica reformata and that by Johnson (1755) clearly surpass their contemporaries. Whether Martin or Johnson was the first to take this scholarly "approach is difficult to determine. […] It is clear from Martin's preface that it is his dictionary rather than Johnson's that is the first to have been produced to a plan rather than by a process of accretion" (Beal 2004, 41). 10 In the reference section, Weinbrot (1972, 179) offers the following additonal data: For more "details concerning the composition, publication and reception of the Plan" see Sledd/Kolb 1955, 46-84 and for a reconsideration of some of their arguments see Leed 1970. 12 ULRICH BUSSE with little assistance of the learned, and without patronage of the great; not in the soft obscurities of retirement, or under the shelter of academic bowers". Allen Reddick argues that this establishes the Dictionary as a 'bookseller's project' and that "its lack of explicit institutional authority [of an aristocratic patron] necessarily tempers the prescriptive aspects of the book" (2009, 158). On the other hand, to my mind, it clearly strengthens the deontic authority of its maker. Apart from the letter to Lord Chesterfield of 7 February 1755,11 the dictionary entry for Patron (with the first sense description) seems to be the proof of a relationship turned sour and also of the power of the lexicographer:

PA'TRON. n.s. [patron, Fr. patronus, Latin.] One who countenances, supports or protects. Commonly a wretch who supports with insolence, and is paid with flattery. (Johnson 1755, s.v. patron) It is well known that the idea "to preserve the purity, and ascertain the meaning of our English idiom", as expressed in the "Plan of an English Dictionary" (1747), firmly roots in early 18th-century thought, as voiced prominently in Swift's (1712) famous proposal for an academy adressed to the Earl of Oxford: "But what I have most at Heart is, that some Method should be thought on for ascertaining and fixing our Language for ever, after such Alterations are made in it as shall be thought requisite".12 However, the idea of fixing the language is given up in the "Preface" (1755). The recognition of the subservient role of the lexicographer is immortalised in the famous and much-quoted dictionary entry: LEXICÓGRAPHER. n.s. [λεξικὸν and γράφω; lexicographe, French.] A writer of dictionaries; a harmless drudge, that busies himself in tracing the original, and detailing the signification of words. (Johnson 1755, s.v. lexicographer) The changed role of the lexicographer is perhaps the most important one. In Section [75] of the "Preface", Johnson comments on how to deal with "confounded senses" and argues that this uncertainty is not to be imputed to me, who do not form, but register the language; who do not teach men how they should think, but relate how they have hitherto expressed their thoughts. Allen Reddick interpretes this statement as a "crucial moment in English lexicography: he [i.e. Johnson] announces the necessity of a descriptive, documentary policy rather than a prescriptive and normative one" (2009, 169). John Simpson, however, is a little more sceptical concerning this matter: "[Johnson] would prescribe where he felt it necessary, but tried not to let this natural tendency in himself override the evidence" (1990, 1954). In its own time, the Dictionary was not universally acclaimed (see Noyes 1954/55, Rypins 1925), and it "precipitated an avalanche of criticism, as the public turned increasingly from its preoccupation with the academic question of a perfect English language to the more specific and practical question of the perfect English dictionary" (Starnes/Noyes 1946, 196).

11 Available online at: , last accessed 20 March 2015. 12 For a recent reappraisal of Swift's "Proposal" see Watts 2011, ch. 7. SAMUEL JOHNSON'S DICTIONARY OF THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE (1755) 13

4.3 The Man Behind the Dictionary Since the plans to found an English Academy (as a counterpart to similar institutions in France and Italy) did not come to fruition, the codification process was entrusted to the hands of individuals. "Codifying the English language hence became the result of private enterprise, as in the case of Samuel Johnson […]" (Tieken-Boon van Ostade 2006, 242). The dictionary was compiled almost single-handedly with the assistance of a few amanuenses to copy quotations over a period of just nine years of work: - the work was commissioned and contracted in 1746, - the "Plan" was published a year later, in 1747, and - the Dictionary was published eight years later, in 1755. The speed of its publication compares rather favourably to the Dictionaries of the French Academy. In his "Preface", Johnson cannot refrain from a wry remark: [94] […] if the embodied criticks of France, when fifty years had been spent upon their work, were obliged to change its oeconomy, and give their second edition another form, I may surely be contented without the praise of perfection, […]. Here, Johnson obviously alludes to the publication history of Le Dictionnaire de l' Académie française. The Académie française was institutionalised in 1653. In 1687 three incomplete editions had appeared and three complete editions (1694, 1718, and 1740) were issued before the publication of Johnson's Dictionary in 1755. Concerning this matter, James Boswell reports the following conversation between Dr. Adams and Samuel Johnson, in which Johnson talks "with ease and pleasure" about his "prodigious labour":13

ADAMS. But, Sir, how can you do this in three years? JOHNSON. Sir, I have no doubt that I can do it in three years. ADAMS. But the French Academy, which consists of forty members, took forty years to compile their Dictionary. JOHNSON. Sir, thus it is. This is the proportion. Let me see; forty times forty is sixteen hundred. As three to sixteen hundred, so is the proportion of an Englishman to a Frenchman. (Boswell [1791] 1995, 113) Noel Osselton reports that "[t]he dictionaries of the French Academy and the Italian Academy were constantly admired at the time and we know that Johnson possessed copies of these as well as numerous other foreign dictionaries in his library" (1990, 1950-51). Allen Reddick adds that "Johnson wanted his work to be compared with the activities of the continental academies" (2009, 158). He concludes that the creation of the Dictionary "instantly became part of English heroic myth" (ibid.). Apart from being a lexicographer, Johnson was an important writer and intellectual figure in 18th-century life. In the 1860s, "Johnson was […] the leader of the London literary world, and a friend of notable artists and writers such as Joshua Reynolds, Edmund Burke, Oliver Goldsmith, and David Garrick".14 Ingrid Tieken-Boon van Ostade (see 2006, 268) argues that Johnson – as Addison before him – was regarded as a linguistic model, and an important hub in terms of social networks:

13 I would like to thank Dr. Eva Oppermann, who brought this passage to my attention after the talk. 14 , last accessed 20 March 2015. 14 ULRICH BUSSE

In the network around Johnson at the time the Dictionary was published in 1755, […] Johnson conceivably picked up innovations […] which others in turn adopted from Johnson, due to his own recognized status as a writer and lexicographer. (Tieken-Boon van Ostade 2006, 269)

4.4 Innovative Features of Johnson's Dictionary In section 3 it was outlined that Johnson had important predecessors by whom he was influenced, from whom he borrowed, and to whom his work is indebted. Therefore, Joan Beal puts a question mark after her chapter heading "Johnson's Dictionary of the English Language (1755): the first 'modern' dictionary?" (2004, 40) In order to answer this question Beal (see 2004, 41) works on four criteria, set up earlier by Noel Osselton (1983): 1) a scholarly record of the whole language, 2) based on, or derived from, a corpus, 3) emphasis put on literary, rather than technical language, 4) assumed an authoritarian or normative function. For the first three criteria, Joan Beal concludes that Johnson cannot be regarded as the inventor of "modern" techniques, but rather as somebody building on innovations, which had been "at least partially introduced" by predecessors (2004, 43). But she finds it hard to deny "that Johnson's dictionary was the first that 'assumed an authoritarian or normative function'" (2004, 43f.). In his detailed analysis of Johnson's Dictionary, Allen Reddick argues that "Johnson's Dictionary surpassed the aims and achievements of other dictionaries of his day, combining the best features of current lexicography in what may be considered the first modern dictionary of English. It was also in certain respects innovative" (2009, 156). As innovative features Reddick (see 2009, 156) lists the following (and deals with them in detail): 1) the two-volume folio format, 2) the unprecedented Preface, Grammar and History of the language, 3) the incorporation of written quotations, 4) the reliance upon empirical evidence in constructing the word-list and the explanations, 5) the relation between definitions and quotations within an entry, 6) the attention to historical usage and development, 7) the unprecedented treatment of polysemy and phrasal verbs, and 8) the relationship of Johnson's lexicography to the world of letters. These points cover three different areas, namely the overall design of the dictionary, the microstructure of the dictionary entries, and the role of the lexicographer. Having said something about the macrostructure of the dictionary and the man behind the work, let us now turn our attention to the dictionary entries themselves. In his account of the legacy of Johnson, John Simpson comments on the strengths and weaknesses of Johnson's Dictionary and argues that the work "should be noted for drawing together into a single work lexicographical strands which had previously been SAMUEL JOHNSON'S DICTIONARY OF THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE (1755) 15 apparent in only an isolated and disjointed manner in the work of his forerunners" (1990, 1954). In summary he mentions the following weaknesses and strengths: Weaknesses - The approach to etymology was amateur (but apart from Skinner and Junius there was little to build on). - His pronunciations were scanty (but scholarship was still weak in this area). Strengths - The use of quotations as authorities was not his invention, "but his thorough- going examination of texts for quotable examples to support and decorate his definitions marks perhaps most strongly the emergence of the scientific principle in his work" (ibid.). - Johnson also consolidated the concept of labelling by subject (which he took over from his predecessors and which he extended to new technical terms). To my mind, one particular strength lies in Johnson's detailed treatment of semantically fairly empty everyday verbs such as to get, give, go, make, set, and others. In the "Preface", Johnson spends considerable effort (see Sections [43-56]) on how to define words and how to differentiate the sense of words and admits that both tasks are very difficult, and he, therefore, does not expect to have pleased everybody. This goes in particular for "word[s] of extensive use". According to the methodology devised in the "Plan" (1747), the senses should be ordered as follows: 1) the natural and primitive signification, 2) the accidental or consequential signification, 3) the remoter or metaphorical signification (i.e. the natural and figurative senses), 4) the poetical sense, 5) the familiar sense, 6) the burlesque sense, and 7) the peculiar sense, in which a word is found in any great author. In the "Preface" (1755), he admits (in Section [49]) that this practice to "show by what gradations of intermediate sense it [a word of extensive use] has passed from its primitive to its remote and accidental signification" […] [50] "is specious, but not always practicable; kindred senses may be so interwoven, that the perplexity cannot be disentangled, nor any reason be assigned why one should be ranged before the other". This goes in particular for verbs such as set "of which the signification is so loose and general, the use so vague and indeterminate, and all the senses distorted so widely from the first idea, that it is hard to trace them through the maze of variation" (Section [45]). The detailed semantic description and exemplification of the verb set takes up the pages 1797 to 1800 and contains no less than 66 numbered sense divisions. From sense no. 27 dealing with set about to sense nos. 59 to 66 dealing with set up, verb- particle-combinations are listed:15

15 For "Dr. Johnson and the English phrasal verb" see Osselton 1986. 16 ULRICH BUSSE

27. To SET about. To apply to. 59. To SET up. To erect; to establish newly. […] 66. To SET up. To raise to a sufficient fortune. (Johnson 1755, s.v. set (verb active), sense nos. 27; 59; 66) The special attention to verb-particle-combinations had been announced in the "Pref- ace": [40] There is another kind of composition more frequent in our language than perhaps in any other, from which arises to foreigners the greatest difficulty. We modify the signification of many verbs by a particle subjoined; as to come off, to escape by a fetch […]. These I have noted with great care; […] I believe I have so far assisted the students of our language, […]. This statement and the lexicographical practice document that as reading public Johnson did not only imagine the (educated) native speaker but also the foreign language learner. Here, the lexicographer comes close to being a "harmless drudge": [H]e has abjured Chesterfield and the notions of external authority and a clearly fixable language; he has reconsidered the role of the lexicographer and placed it in its proper necessary but subservient place; he has stopped regarding the audience as purchasers and turned, instead, to the audience as composed of those in need of a reasonably clear path through the boundless chaos of language […]. (Weinbrot 1972, 94)

5. Publication History and Afterlife During Johnson's lifetime six editions were published, including the thoroughly revised fourth edition of 1773, on which Johnson worked for almost two years. The first abridgement in octavo format appeared in 1756. In 1818, Henry J. Todd produced a revised and enlarged version in four volumes. Robert Gordon Latham provided a further enlargement (1866-70), and in 1891, Dent published a dictionary entitled John- son's Pocket Dictionary of the English Language.16 As regards the circulation of Johnson's Dictionary and its offshoots, Noel Osselton reports that "we know that some 6000 copies of the folio were printed by 1778, and the octavo edition, with 40,000 copies produced down to 1786, must be classed as a bestseller" (1990, 1950). However, the new editions, and also the abbreviations did not keep competitors such as Nathan Bailey's dictionaries from the market. During the early 19th century, "[o]nly the dictionaries of Charles Richardson and Noah Webster (who both explicitly defined themselves against Johnson) competed effectively" (Reddick 2009, 172) with Johnson.17 The fact that a pocket version of Johnson was published as late as 1891 shows for John Simpson "that Johnson's name (as much as Webster's) was still a potent force in the marketing of dictionaries" (1990, 1954) at the end of the 19th century. But it was not only in economic terms that Johnson's Dictionary had quite a long afterlife; it also made a profound impact on the following generations of lexicographers. According to Ronald Wells, Noah Webster said in 1807 that Johnson "had in Philology the effect which Newton's discoveries had in Mathematics, to interupt for a

16 For more information on the publication history see Alston 1966, nos. 37-41; Osselton 1990, 1950, Section 4.2; Reddick 2009, 17; and Sledd/Kolb 1955, 156-64. 17 For a comparison of Johnson and Richardson see Beal 2004, 45-49 and Reddick 2009, 172-181. SAMUEL JOHNSON'S DICTIONARY OF THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE (1755) 17 time the progress of this branch of learning" (1973, 24). So when Webster turned his interests from politics to linguistics, he wanted to free the American people from "the stranglehold of Johnson" (Simpson 1990, 1954) with his own dictionaries. In Britain, Charles Richardson (1775-1865), one of Johnson's successors, complains in the Preface to his New Dictionary of the English Language: Had the Dictionary of the English Language been the production of any writer of less name, a period of eighty years would not have been permitted to elapse without the appearance of a rival. And so far the name of Johnson has been an obstacle to the advancement of Lexicography in this country: it has commanded admirers and supporters: and it has deterred competition. (Richardson 1835, 39; quoted in Beal 2004, 45) Johnson also came to be drawn on heavily as a source for pronouncing and foreign- language dictionaries (see Sledd/Kolb 1955, 156-64). Thus, Allen Reddick concludes that Johnson's Dictionary influenced the development of the New English Dictionary [i.e. the OED] through its incorporation of multiple definitions, its method of defining, the relation between definitions and authorities, and its extensive treatment of phrasal verbs. (Reddick 2009, 180) Noel Osselton adds one further feature, which seems to be important, namely that Johnson's Dictionary will have been resorted to for its "good taste in usage" (1990, 1951). All in all, the long-lasting impact seems to rest on two components: 1) The Dictionary united innovative lexicographical features, such as etymology, quotations, subject labels, etc. which we nowadays regard as key components of any proper dictionary. 2) The author behind the work was a key figure in the intellectual life of the mid- 18th century and was therefore vested with authority. On the basis of this, the audience and the marketing (with revisions and adaptations) secured a long-term economic success and – depending upon the point of view – a sustained impact or even a burden on the following lexicographers.

References Primary Sources Boswell, James (1995 [1791]): The Life of Samuel Johnson. London: Everyman Johnson, Samuel (1747): "The Plan of an English Dictionary". Ed. Jack Lynch. [last accessed 20 March 2015] --- (1755): "Preface to the Dictionary", in: Johnson, Samuel: A Dictionary of the English Language. Ed. Jack Lynch. London [last accessed 20 March 2015] --- (1755): A Dictionary of the English Language. A Digital Edition of the 1755 Classic by Samuel Jonson. Ed. Brandi Besalke. Last modified 25 November 2013 [last accessed 20 March 2015] Johnson's Letter to Chesterfield, 7 February 1755. Ed. Jack Lynch [last accessed 20 March 2015] Richardson, Charles (1835): A New Dictionary of the English Language. London: Bell and Daldy Swift, Jonathan (1712): "A Proposal for Correcting, Improving and Ascertaining the English Tongue", in: Görlach, Manfred (2001), 228-231 18 ULRICH BUSSE

Secondary Sources Alston, Robin Carfrae (1966): A Bibliography of the English Language from the Invention of Printing to the Year 1800. Vol. V: The English Dictionary. Leeds: Arnold; corrected reissue 1974 Beal, Joan C. (2004): English in Modern Times. London: Arnold Clifford, James L.; Greene, Donald J. (1970): Samuel Johnson: A Survey and Bibliography of Critical Studies. Minneapolis: U of Minnesota P Congleton, James Edward; Congleton, Elizabeth C. (1984): Johnson's Dictionary: Bibliographical Survey 1746-1984. Terre Haute: Indiana State University De Maria, Robert, Jr. (1986): Johnson's Dictionary and the Language of Learning. Chapel Hill: U of North Carolina P Görlach, Manfred (2001): Eighteenth-Century English. Heidelberg: Winter Hausmann, Franz Josef; Reichmann, Oskar; Wiegand, Herbert Ernst; Zgusta, Ladislav (eds., 1990): Wörterbücher. Dictionaries. Dictionnaires. Ein internationales Handbuch zur Lexikographie. Berlin: De Gruyter, vol. 2 Leed, Jacob (1970): "Johnson and Chesterfield: 1746-47", Studies in Burke and His Time 12, 1677- 1690 Lynch, Jack (n.d.): A Guide to Samuel Johnson. Web. [last accessed 23 December 2014] Lynch, Jack; McDermott, Anne (2005): Anniversary Essays on Johnson's Dictionary. Cambridge: Cambridge UP McCracken, David (1969): "The Drudgery of Defining: Johnson's Debt to Bailey's Dictionarium Britannicum", Modern Philology 66, 338-341 Noyes, Gertrude E. (1954/55): "The Critical Reception of Johnson's Dictionary in the Later Eighteenth Century", Modern Philology 52, 175-191 Osselton, Noel Edward (1983): "The History of English-language Dictionaries", in: Hartmann, R.R.K. (ed.): Lexicography: Principles and Practice. London: Academic Press, 13-21 --- (1986): "Dr. Johnson and the English Phrasal Verb", in: Ilson, Robert (ed.): Lexicography: an Emerging International Profession. Manchester: U of Manchester P, 7-16 --- (1990): "English Lexicography From the Beginning Up to and Including Johnson", in: Hausmann, Franz Josef et al. (eds.): Wörterbücher. Dictionaries. Dictionnaires. Ein internationales Handbuch zur Lexikographie. Berlin: De Gruyter, vol. 2, 1943-1953 Reddick, Allen (1990): The Making of Johnson's Dictionary 1746-1773. Cambridge: Cambridge UP --- (2009): "Johnson and Richardson", in: Cowie, A.P. (ed.): The Oxford History of English Lexicog- raphy. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 155-181 Rypins, Stanley (1925): "Johnson's Dictionary Reviewed by His Contemporaries", Philological Quarterly 4, 281-286 Simpson, John A. (1990): "English Lexicography After Johnson to 1945", in: Hausmann, Franz Josef et al. (eds.): Wörterbücher. Dictionaries. Dictionnaires. Ein internationales Handbuch zur Lexiko- graphie. Berlin: De Gruyter, vol. 2, 1953-1966 Sledd, James H.; Kolb, Gwin J. (1955): Dr. Johnson's Dictionary: Essays in the Biography of a Book. Chicago: U of Chicago P Starnes, De Witt T.; Noyes, Gertrude E. (1946): The English Dictionary from Cawdrey to Johnson 1604-1755. Chapel Hill: U of North Carolina P Stein, Gabriele (1985): The English Dictionary before Cawdrey. (Lexicographica, Series Maior 9). Niemeyer: Tübingen Tieken-Boon van Ostade, Ingrid (2006): "English at the Onset of the Normative Tradition", in: Mugglestone, Lynda (ed.): The Oxford History of English. Oxford: Oxford UP, 240-273 Watts, Richard J. (2011): Language Myths and the History of English. Oxford: Oxford UP Weinbrot, Howard D. (1972): "Samuel Johnson's Plan and Preface to The Dictionary: The Growth of a Lexicographer's Mind", in: Weinbrot, Howard D. (ed.): New Aspects of Lexicography: Literary Criticism, Intellectual History, and Social Change. Carbondale/Edwardsville: Southern Illinois UP, 73-94 Wells, Ronald A. (1973): Dictionaries and the Authoritarian Tradition: A Study in English Usage and Lexicography. The Hague: Mouton GÖRAN WOLF (DRESDEN)

English Grammaticography as Discourse Tradition: Comments on 18th-Century Developments

1. Introduction The 18th century is a crucial period in the history of how the English standard language was formed and Samuel Johnson's 1755 Dictionary of the English Language may well be the preeminent evidence of that observation. The 18th century is also a crucial time in the history of English grammaticography, since it witnessed a considerable increase in the number of published grammars. Some 272 grammars were published in the 18th century (see Michael 1970, 2), which is more than ten times as many as in the century before (see Alston 1965) – quite apart from the 19th century, which boasts more than 2,000 grammars (see Görlach 1998). While 18th-century grammars as a (heterogeneous) group have been subjected to extensive research for many years, only a few grammarians stand out as far as research interest is concerned, most notably Robert Lowth, Lindley Murray, and Joseph Priestley.1 The mark, however, that 18th- century grammarians as a whole have left on the history of the standard language is, of course, unquestionable, although in some works it is probably reduced to the prescriptivism of the grammars. In comparison with the history of grammar-writing in other languages,2 it is important to emphasise the intriguing and, to the best of my knowledge, unique fact that English grammars have been issued in surprising abundance. Regarding that very abundance as a tradition without any gaps, the present contribution attempts to introduce the heuristic concept of 'discourse tradition' to the study of (English) grammaticography. In the main, I shall comment briefly on observable trends in 18th-century grammars and relate those to the core issues of the said heuristic concept.

2. Preliminary Observation In what follows I shall attempt to draw conclusions from the observation that, in 18th- century grammars (and also in grammars of the centuries before and after the 18th century), certain topics, conceptions, and depictions recur. Of course, grammaticograph-

1 For detailed accounts of the lives and works of these authors, see e.g. Fens-de Zeeuw 2011, Hodson 2006, Straaijer 2011, Tieken-Boon van Ostade 1996, and Tieken-Boon van Ostade 2011. 2 In its general course, the English tradition of grammar-writing does not show developments that are entirely different from those traditions of other European languages. For instance: English grammaticography is considerably influenced by philosophical grammars, as is the German tradition (see Naumann 1996); English grammarians had to develop and maintain that English was equal to Latin in grammaticographical terms, a process of emancipation that grammar authors in Slavonic and Romance languages experienced, too (see Bartschat 2005, 5 and Winkelmann 1990, 338). 20 GÖRAN WOLF ical research has long been aware of this. It is, however, necessary to carry on research that is devoted to that particular aspect, about which Ian Michael has said: The uniformity of the grammars is not, of course, absolute. There were innovations, but the innovative grammars are little known and, so far as we can tell, largely uninfluential. The uniformity is real. (Michael 1991, 14) If that uniformity can teach us much about contemporary attitudes towards education, language teaching, language development, language awareness, or language conceptions, it is also able to tell us something about the development of the grammars themselves. If we spread a selection of, say, 18th- or 19th-century grammars across the table and read them cursorily, we cannot but detect a great deal of similarity. That observation is not restricted to the centuries mentioned. It can also be found well before that time. Let me give you an example of the 16th century to illustrate what I am trying to posit. My example in Table 1 is a comparison of selected passages from two important and highly regarded grammars: 1) the left-hand column gives us passages from the so- called Lily-Colet Grammar, and 2) the right-hand column presents passages from Wil- liam Bullokarz Pamphlet for Grammar. However, before we take a look at the parallel text samples, allow me to say a few words about these grammars. The Lily-Colet Grammar is a turning-point in the history of English grammar-writing, because, although it is a Latin grammar with regard to its target language, it was decreed to be the sole grammar for the teaching of Latin. In fact, it was decreed by Henry VIII: Henry the VIII, By the grace of god kyng of England, Fraunce, and Ireland, defendour of the feithe, and of the church of England, and also of Irelande, in erth the supreme hed, to all schoolemaisters and teachers of grammer within this his realm greetynge. Emong the manyfolde busi- nes and moste weyghty affayres, appertaynyng to our regall auctoritee and offiyce, we forgette not the tendre babes, and the youth of our realme, whose good education and godly bryngyng vp, is a greate furniture to the same and cause of moche goodnesse. And to the intent that hereafter they may the more readily and easily attein the rudymentes of the latyne toung, without the greate hynderaunce, which heretofore hath been, through the diuersitie of grammers and teachynges: we will and commaunde, and streightly charge al you schoolemaisters and teachers of grammer within this our realme, and other our dominions, as ye intend to auoyde our dis- pleasure, and haue our fauour, to teache and learne your scholars this englysshe introduction here ensuing, and the latyne grammer annexed to the same, and none other, which we haue caused for your ease, and your scholars spedy preferment bryefely and playnely to be compyled and seth forth. Fayle not to apply your scholars in lernynge and godly education. (Blach 1909, 85; emphasis added)3 The aspect that makes this grammar a watershed is its aim to bring about uniform education as far as the teaching of Latin is concerned. William Bullokar's 1586 work is properly known as William Bullokarz Pamphlet for Grammar and consists of two texts that are commonly, yet incorrectly, viewed as se-

3 As far as possible I adhere to the original punctuation and orthography of the Early and Late Modern English sources quoted. Further typographical conventions such as upper-case letters or small capitals are not carried over, since they are irrelevant to what is portrayed here. Some original sources were printed in what can be regarded as reformed alphabets. If present-day type-setting enables the imitation of specific occurrences, they are mirrored in my quotations. ENGLISH GRAMMATICOGRAPHY AS DISCOURSE TRADITION 21 parate.4 Bullokar's 'grammar' is taken to be the beginning of English grammaticography. Indeed, it is the first attempt to write an English grammar in English that has come down to us. Whether it represents the actual beginning, however, I do not view without reservations, and later I shall suggest a means to relativise that. Apart from showing the similarities between Lily-Colet and Bullokar, Table 1 also shows that Bullokar surely succeeded in contextualising the contemporary conception of Latin grammar for his native English language, i.e. applying Latin-related description to the English language. This quality must be acknowledged, as will be shown in the next chapter, since, without giving away too much of the corresponding concepts, it constitutes a decisive step in the history of English grammaticography.

Section on 'Pronoun' in Lily-Colet Section on 'Pronoun' in Bullokar A Pronowne is a parte of speache, much like to A Pronown is a part of spech much-lyk a nown, a Noune, which is vsed in shewinge or rehears- & vzed in Shewing or Rehærcing. (Plessow ing. (Blach 1908, 83) 1906, 351) Section on 'Adverb' in Lily-Colet Section on 'Adverb' in Bullokar [An adverbis a] parte of speache ioyned to the An Aduerb iz a part spech jooined with a verb or Verbs to declare their signification. (Blach participl too declar their signification mor- 1909, 51) expresly by such aduerb[.] (Plessow 1906, 365) Section on 'Conjunction' in Lily-Colet Section on 'Conjunction' in Bullokar A Coniunction is a parte of speache that ioyneth A Coniunction iz a part of spech that iooineth wordes and sentences together. (Blach 1909, 52) wordz, sentencez, or clausez of sentencez toogether. (Plessow 1906, 368) Table 1: Comparison of Lily-Colet and Bullokar

3. Grammar-Writing as Discourse Tradition The noteworthy interrelationship, mutual interference, or interdependence of grammars – which, as I have just illustrated, is not restricted to the 18th century – can be grasped with the help of the notion of 'discourse community'.5 That this is a successful undertaking has been shown by Richard Watts, who convincingly conceptualised grammarians as a group of authors who share common goals, expertise, and communicative means (see Watts 1995 and 2008). Still, if we wish to perceive those authors as a 'discourse community', we need to look into the relevant discourse itself. In this discourse – it very frequently takes place in the 'paratexts' of the grammars, i.e. in prefaces, dedications, and footnotes –, the members of the discourse community of grammarians do not only exchange experiences, viewpoints, etc.; they also refer to each other expressis verbis.6 Alexander Murray, for instance, begins his grammar by integrating himself into that discourse: I must acknowledge, that it is not the want of English Grammars, that makes me trouble the Public with a new one. So far from this being the case, I have thirty different books on the sub-

4 For an account of this misinterpretation of Bullokar's Pamphlet, see Alston 1965, 2. In the following I shall quote Bullokar from Plessow's edition (1906). 5 Needless to say, all of the notions related to discourse ultimately go back to Michel Foucault's 1971 work. 6 For the notion 'paratext' see Genette 1997. 22 GÖRAN WOLF

ject lying about me […]. Yet I am not singular in opinion, that something is still necessary, though perhaps, not so much with respect to the matter as the manner of forming the most useful school-book […]. (Murray 21787, iii) Thus, the discourse of 18th-century grammarians is a conscious one. If an author states in his preface that his grammar is not sufficient to replace preceding works and that such an accomplishment can only be in the hands of eminent authors such as Robert Lowth or Samuel Johnson (see Bicknell 1790, xii), we have a concrete manifestation of this discourse. That is why I have suggested elsewhere that grammars be viewed as a 'discourse tradition' (see Wolf 2011). Since it is not widely known in English linguistics, this term and my application of it require further explanation here. The concept of 'discourse tradition' was first suggested by Brigitte Schlieben-Lange (1983) and has been elaborated by Peter Koch (1997) and by Wulf Oesterreicher (1997). Essentially, it is an extension of Coseriu's threefold concept of language (see Coseriu 1988) in which the universal level is speech in the sense of 'ability to speak', the historical level is the individual language, and the individual level is the speech act (see Koch 1997, 44). 'Discourse tradition' is an extension to this concept, because Koch doubles the historical level, and 'discourse tradition' is the concept that is able to cross boundaries of individual languages. The latter is significant if applied within the complex context of grammaticography. In that regard, it is also important to add that the concept of 'discourse tradition' draws upon an essential analogy: If there are 'rules' in languages, there are rules in discourse traditions (see Koch 1997, 45). These rules – and this is where the concept ties up with Watts' 'discourse community' – are supported and maintained by cultural communities such as professional, literary, or political groups (see Koch 1997, 49). Some discourse conventions of the discourse tradition of 'grammar' are: 1) the didactic way of proceeding from small to large linguistic entities, i.e. from letters/sounds via syl- lables and individual words to sentences, 2) the imitation of classroom dialogue by writing in question-and-answer mode, and 3) the rigid structure of topical chapters according to a sequence that proceeds from definitions via discussions to exemplifications.7 If, accordingly, grammaticography is viewed as a 'discourse tradition', at least two interpretations result: a) grammar-writing is an individual discourse tradition within the many different discourse traditions that constitute the English language, and b) grammar-writing is an individual discourse tradition within the bounds of the language sciences. Therefore, any contribution to the study of the history of English grammar- writing is two things at one and the same time: a contribution to the study of the history of the science of the English language, and a contribution to the study of the history of the English language. On the basis of the aforementioned premises as regards 'discourse tradition' (which also include minor parameters such as '(family) resemblance', 'prototypicality', and 'markedness/distinctness'), but at the same time without going into further detail (see Wolf 2011), I propose to join the discourse tradition of English grammaticography with its contextual tradition of western European grammaticography as follows:

7 Where the discourse tradition of grammar contains the discourse rule 'presciptivity', this discourse rule is contained within the discourse tradition of 'usage guides', a 20th-century example being Fowler's A Dictionary of Modern English Usage (1927). ENGLISH GRAMMATICOGRAPHY AS DISCOURSE TRADITION 23

Fig. 1: The Discourse Tradition of 'Grammar' In Figure 1, the vertical arrow refers to the historical dimension, while the horizontal arrow refers to the distinctiveness of grammars. The circular shapes stand for separate stages in the history of grammar-writing. To those stages, prototypical specimens are assigned. A is the beginning, i.e. the ancient Greek tradition. B refers to Roman grammaticography as epitomised by Donatus or Priscian. While the developmental step from A to B is by and large one in which a linguistic boundary was crossed,8 the step to C brings us towards the mediaeval Latin grammar, i.e. the didactical change towards a foreign-language-teaching perspective. As indicated by the dotted line, D is the beginning of the English tradition: Ælfric's grammar is written in the vernacular, and he exemplifies Latin grammar using English constructions. Circle E, the example of which is Lily-Colet, is the early modern type of D. From F onwards, uninterrupted circular shapes are used. This is to express the fact that English grammar-writing in the sense of 'the tradition focused on the vernacular' sets in. F is the early Pamphlet for Grammar by Bullokar. However, these vernacular grammarians are still largely dependent on Latin: [Their approach to English grammar] was based on their knowledge of Latin. They supposed the English language to operate on Latin principles, with the same systems of verbs and nouns, and the same kinds of constructions. It was thus the medieval schoolmasters who set the fashion, which endured so long, for treating English as a Latin analogue. (Orme 1982, 235)

8 This does not mean that Priscian explicitly related to Thrax's Tékhne. Instead, in its early beginning the Roman tradition fell back upon the Greek tradition without modifying Greek conceptions according to the distinct language structure of Latin (see Robins 1951, 48 and Hovdhaugen 1982, 68). 24 GÖRAN WOLF

G distances itself from that. Grammars such as Wallis' derive their description and criteria from English itself. H and I represent the developmental stages of 'prescriptive' grammars and 'descriptive' grammars respectively. Both are stages that fall into the 18th century, and they cannot be separated clearly from each other. Both are labels referring to advanced, prototypical specimens that are difficult to identify, since there are many sample texts which show features of both stages. Whereas H and I flow into each other, J and the boxes representing usage guides symbolise the divergence of the prototypical characteristics of H and I. The descriptivity of I develops further into grammatical treatments that are also representatives of 19th-century philology and early linguistics (J). The prescriptivity of H finds its continuation in usage guides that are still present as the discourse tradition of prescriptivism.

4. Observations In the following, I shall present my findings in relation to the research that I carried out for my dissertation (see Wolf 2011). For the latter I consulted the grammars of 112 authors covering the period from 1600 to 1900. Here I restrict myself to 18th-century authors and, therefore, to some 52 grammars. They include a) widely known works, such as Robert Lowth's A Short Introduction to English Grammar (1762), Lindley Murray's English Grammar (1795), Joseph Priestley's The Rudiments of English Grammar (1761), or Noah Webster's A Grammatical Institute of the English Language (Part I 1783, Part II 1784), that have been the subject of very thorough scholarly examination, b) lesser-known pieces, such as John Ash's Grammatical Institutes (1761) or Ann Fisher's A New Grammar (1753), which have gained greater attention in more recent publications (see e.g. Tieken-Boon van Ostade 2008 or Navest 2011), and c) almost unknown specimens that are, of course, named and listed in Alston's bibliography, but whose scholarly consideration, as far as I have been able to verify, does not go much beyond that. Subsequently I will present quotes of original definitions and explanations supporting the observation that the grammar texts, i.e. the discourse constituting the discourse community, exhibit a high degree of uniformity.

4.1 The 'Conventional Formula' Definitions are an important means to clarify the usage of technical terms or to introduce new, difficult, or arcane concepts. Accordingly, grammars, as text books of a fairly specific discipline when it comes to technical terminology, must contain a plethora of definitions, and, obviously, they very often give a definition of the foundational term: 'grammar'. As stated above, my observations are not the first to explore the uniformity of grammars. Most notably, Ian Michael has hinted at that phenomenon. He specifically drew attention to uniformity with regard to the definition of the concept of 'grammar'. He said that, if grammarians gave a definition – if not, they took things for granted – they did so by using the "conventional formula", i.e. grammar is "the art of speaking and writing correctly" (Michael 1970, 189). In my selection of grammars, I have singled out the definitions given in Table 2. A closer look shows that in the 18th century the formula appears to be that 'grammar is the art of speaking and writing properly/with ENGLISH GRAMMATICOGRAPHY AS DISCOURSE TRADITION 25 propriety'. It goes without saying that 'properly/with propriety' relates to Michael's 'correctly'. Yet there is a subtle difference. Proper language use is not necessarily that language use which is correct because of its correspondence to all available and grammatically correct patterns found in language. Proper language use is that language use which is correct because it is the language use of those people who behave 'properly', i.e. in a manner that is accepted by the polite section of the population. It is the specific reference to propriety that signals prescriptiveness in those definitions, because the preferred language use is charged with the ideology of propriety just described. That, however, is typical of grammars and, thus, normal in a century in which philology, as a precursor of empirical language sciences, had not yet been established.

1) Grammar is the Knowledge or Art of Expressing our Thoughts in Words join'd together in Sentences according to the Use, Form and Propriety of every Tongue either in Speaking or Writing. (Gildon/Brightland 1711, i) 2) Grammar is the Art of Speaking rightly. (Greenwood 1711, 34) 3) Grammar is an Art, which teacheth the way of writing and speaking truly and properly. (Mattaire 1712, 1) 4) Grammar is the Art of Speaking and Writing truly and properly. (Greenwood 1737, 2); English Grammar is the Art of speaking and writing English truly and properly. (ibid. 3; emphasis added) 5) Question. What doth the English Grammar teach? Answer. To speak, or write English truly and properly. (A New English Grammar 1746, 1) 6) Grammar is the Art of Speaking and Writing truly and properly. (Gough 21760, 1) 7) Grammar is the art of using words properly. (Priestley 1761, 1) 8) Grammar is the Art of expressing the Relations of Words in Construction, with due Quantity in Speaking, and Orthography in Writing. Hence it is, that a Grammar of whatever Language, shews the Art of Speaking and Writing that Language well. What does the English Grammar teach? The English Grammar teaches to speak and write the English language rightly. (Bu- chanan 1762, 1f.) 9) Grammar is the Art of rightly expressing our thoughts by words. (Lowth 1762, 1) 10) Grammar is the art of writing or speaking any language correctly […]. English Grammar is the art of writing or speaking the English language properly. (Burn 1766, 19) 11) Grammar is the Art of speaking and writing with Propriety. (Hodgson 1770, 1) 12) A New Grammar of the English Language; or An Easy Introduction to the Art of Speaking and Writing English with Propriety and Correctness (Fenning 1771, front matter) 13) Grammar is the Art of speaking or writing any Language rightly; as Hebrew, Greek, Latin, English, &c. M. What is English Grammar? S. The Art of speaking or writing the English Tongue. (Metcalfe 21771, 1) 14) Grammar is the Art of Speaking, or Writing a Language properly. English Grammar is the Art of Speaking or Writing the English Language properly. (Raine 1771, 1) 15) Grammar is the art of speaking and writing correctly. Latin or English Grammar is the art of speaking and writing the Latin or the English language correctly. (Adam 1772, 1) 16) Grammar is the Art of expressing our Thoughts with Propriety, either in Speaking or Writing. (Ward 1777, 1) 17) Question. What is Grammar? Answer. The Art of rightly expressing our Thoughts by Words. (Corbet 1784, 9) 18) Grammar in general, may be denominated an art of speaking and writing with propriety. (A., M. 1785, 5) 19) Grammar is the art of speaking and writing any language with propriety. English Grammar teaches to speak and write the English Language properly. (Murray 21787, 1) 26 GÖRAN WOLF

20) Grammar teaches the proper use of words, and enables us to communicate our thoughts with perspicuity. (Brittain 1788, Introduction [1]) 21) Grammar, is the Art of speaking, and writing, any Language properly, and correctly. (Chown 1788, 5) 22) Grammar is that art which teaches due and proper arrangement, and also the choice of words, in order to express our thoughts by the mouth, or in writing. (Bicknell 1790, 1) 23) Grammar is the Science of using Words correctly. (Francis 1790, 11) 24) What is English Grammar? The art of speaking and writing the English language correctly, according to rules and general practice. (Webster 1790, 5) 25) Grammar, in general, teaches us the art of expressing our thoughts with propriety; therefore the English Grammar instructs us how to convey our thoughts in proper English. (Hornsey 1793, 13) 26) Grammar is the art of speaking or writing a language properly. (A Short English Grammar 1794, 1) 27) English Grammar is the art of speaking and writing the English language with propriety. (Murray 1795, 1) 28) The English Grammar is the Art of speaking and writing the English Language with Correct- ness and Propriety. (Postlethwaite 1795, 1) 29) English Grammar is the art of speaking or writing the English language properly. (Rhodes 1795, 7) 30) Grammar is the Art of speaking, or of writing, a Language with propriety, and the intent of Language is to communicate our thoughts to others. (Coar 1796, 1) 31) Grammar is the art of speaking and writing correctly. (Bullen 1797, 1) 32) Grammar is the art of speaking and writing with propriety. (Kitson 1798, 1) 33) Grammar is the art of speaking and writing a language with propriety. (Gardiner 1799, 1) 34) Grammar is the art of speaking and writing with propriety. (Eves 1800, 1) Table 2: Definition of 'Grammar' in 18th-Century Grammars of English

4.2 Varying Syntax – Double Negation and Pronominal Forms Owing to their nature, 18th-century grammars make comments about very specific syntactical constructions. My interest in commentary about 'double negation' and 'pronominal forms' was not only fuelled by the fact that there is a considerable body of studies on the phenomena as well as on the development of how those constructions are portrayed in grammar. Rather, it was also motivated by the lasting observation that informal spoken English (all over the world) does not behave according to the torrents of prescriptive remarks that have been appearing ever since the time of those early grammars. The scope of this article does not provide enough room for more extensive lists that give empirical evidence of my claim. Therefore, the arbitrary reference to the line "We don't need no education" from the well-known 1979 song Another Brick in the Wall by Pink Floyd must be accepted as sufficient here. As to what I am aiming at, it is immediately apparent that comments, explanations, and remarks also tend to be similar, if not identical (see Tables 3 and 4).

1) Lastly two Negatives affirm[.] (Jones 1724, 41) 2) Two Negatives, or two Adverbs of denying, do in English affirm. (Greenwood 1737, 99) 3) A Negative in English, cannot be expressed by two Negatives[. …] Such Expressions are Solecisms, which, instead of Negatives, make Affirmatives[.] (Fisher 31753, 120) ENGLISH GRAMMATICOGRAPHY AS DISCOURSE TRADITION 27

4) Two Negatives, or two Adverbs of denying, make an Affirmation in our Language[.] (Bu- chanan 1762, 179) 5) Two Negatives in English destroy one another, or are equivalent to an Affirmative[.] (Lowth 21763, 139) 6) Two negatives make an affirmative, and therefore ought not be used in a denying form[.] (Burn 1766, 77) 7) Two Adverbs of denying, or two Negatives make an Affirmative, and therefore instead of denying do affirm[.] (Hodgson 1770, 84) 8) Two Negatives in the English Language make an Affirmative[.] (Metcalfe 21771, 85) 9) Two Negatives, i.e. two Adverbs of denying in English are equal to an Affirmation[.] (Raine 1771, 138) 10) [T]wo negatives make an affirmative[.] (Smetham 1774, 97f.) 11) Two Negatives are equal to an Affirmative, and should not be used together. (Ward 1777, 73) 12) Two negatives, or two adverbs of denying make an affirmation in our language[.] (Murray 21787, 127) 13) Two negatives, combined, are equal to an affirmative[.] (Brittain 1788, 78f.) 14) When two negatives occur in the same member of a sentence, they have the force of an affirmative; one of the negatives contradicting the denial intimated by the other, and implying affirmation […]. But it is better to express an affirmation by a regular affirmative, than by two negatives. (Coote 1788, 240) 15) Two Negatives in English destroy one another, or become equal to an affirmative[.] (A Short English Grammar 1794, 64) 16) Two negatives, in English, destroy one another or are equivalent to an affirmative[.] (Murray 1795, 121) 17) Two Negatives are equivalent to an Affirmative[.] (Postlethwaite 1795, 170) 18) Two negatives destroy each other, and are equal to an affirmative[.] (Rhodes 1795, 39) 19) Never us two Negatives […] for two negatives make an affirmative, and you assert the very contrary to what you mean[.] (Bullen 1797, 104) Table 3: Double-Negation Formula in 18th-Century Grammars of English

1) [A]fter the Verb Am or Be, the Foregoing State of the Pronoun is used[.] (Greenwood 1711, 211) 2) The Substantive Verb am usually requires a Nominative Case after it, as well as before it[.] (Collyer 1735, 101) 3) The Verb Substantive, i.e. am, with its Past Time was, has the leading State of a Relative Name both before and after it[.] (Fisher 31753, 116) 4) The Substantive Verb am, with its Past Time was, has the foregoing State of a Pronoun both before and after it. (Buchanan 1762, 189) 5) The Verb to Be has always a Nominative Case after it[.] (Lowth 1762, 105) 6) The substantive verb am or be admits of a nominative before it and another after it. (Burn 1766, 66) 7) The Verb am, and Verbs of naming and Gesture, have a Nominative both before and after them[.] (Metcalfe 21771, 73) 8) The Verb am with it[s] Variations has always a Nominative Case both before and after it[.] (Raine 1771, 130) 9) Am and was have the leading state of a pronoun both before and after it. (Smetham 1774, 131) 10) The Verb to be has always a Nominative Case after it[.] (Devis 1775, 14) 11) [T]he Verb to be […] is followed by the Nominative Case of the Pronoun. (Harrison 1777, 28) 12) The verb to be, and certain passive verbs of calling and estimation will have a nominative case after them as well as before them[.] (Fell 1784, 98) 28 GÖRAN WOLF

13) The Substantive Verb to be in all its forms […] requires a subject, or nominative case, to follow it[.] (A., M. 1785, 64) 14) The Verb to be is followed in all its Tenses by the Nominative Case[.] (Ussher 1785, 53) 15) The verb am has a nominative both before and after it[.] (Murray 21787, 62) 16) The verb to be, except the infinitive mood, is followed, as well as preceded, by the nominative case[.] (Brittain 1788, 97) 17) The Verb Substantive, that is, am, with its past Time, was, has the leading State of a Relative both before and after it[.] (Chown 1788, 13) 18) The neuter verbs to be and to become have the nominative case after them[.] (Coote 1788, 221) 19) The neuter verb am or be, with its past tense was, has a nominative case both before and after it[.] (Hornsey 1793, 48) 20) The Nominative case likewise comes after the Verb, when it is a Neuter or Passive Verb[.] (A Short Grammar 1794, 61) 21) The neuter verb to be always requires the nominative case after it[.] (Alderson 1795, 18) 22) The verb to be has a nominative case after it[.] (Murray 1795, 113) 23) When the Substantive Verb is not in the Infinitive, it has always a Nominative Case after it[.] (Postlethwaite 1795, 153) 24) The substantive-verb, am, has a nominative case after it[.] (Rhodes 1795, 37) 25) The verb to be requires the same case to follow it, as that which goes before it[.] (Coar 1796, 159) 26) A Verb Neuter will have the same case after it as before it, as I am he whom ye seek. (Bullen 1797, 80) 27) The verb to be will have a nominative after it[.] (Kitson 1798, 33) 28) The verb to be has the nominative case of a pronoun both before and after it[.] (Gardiner 1799, 81) 29) The verb to be has always a nominative case after it[.] (Eves 1800, 21) 30) The verb to be has always a nominative ca[s]e after it. (Lovechild 1800, 42) Table 4: Pronoun Formula in 18th-Century Grammars of English If, as referred to above, the definitions of the notion 'grammar' can be reduced to a conventional formula, the explanations given in Tables 3 and 4 also exhibit a formulaic nature, resulting in the corresponding two formulas: 'two negatives make an affirmative' and 'the verb to be has a nominative case after it'.9 The apparent uniformity can, of course, be explained on the grounds that a (recurring) formula is much better mem- orised compared with detailed and highly idiosyncratic treatments of single issues. Yet again, if that uniformity is viewed against the concept of 'discourse tradition', we may consider it a result of authors understanding 'discourse rules' and duly applying them, which makes that formulaic nature one very particular discourse rule.

4.3 The 'Conventional' Verb To love grammar or not to love grammar? This is no pointless wordplay. Quite the contrary, it is to introduce the question of what the verb to love has to do with 18th-

9 The varying numbers of examples reflect the fact that authors differentiated between exemplification and explanation. If they thought commentary necessary, they obviously included a section on the feature in question. If an issue was considered irrelevant, or if authors did not observe any conflicting usages, the matter was simply not included. ENGLISH GRAMMATICOGRAPHY AS DISCOURSE TRADITION 29 century grammars, or even the history of English grammar, indeed the history of grammar in general. Before we get to that answer, we may reconsider the linguistic properties of the English verb to love and the corresponding Latin amare. The latter represents the 'simplest' conjugational pattern of Latin verbs that adhere to the a-conjugation. As such, amare had already featured in Priscian's treatise. The same holds true for Ælfric's Excerptiones de arte grammatica anglice. There, Ælfric famously discussed the future tense, which of course was not a feature of his contemporary Old English, by calling the futurum tempus "towerd tid" (Zupitza 1880, 123) and by translating amabo with "ic lufige gyt to dæg oððe to merjen" (ibid., 131). Referring to the English verb to love, one must agree that it is, with regard to its grammatical and syntactic behaviour, a prototypical lexical verb of the English language – it can be used intransitively and transitively, in the active and passive voice, has a regular past and past-participle form, etc. – and, with regard to its semantics, it is, without doubt, a completely positive lexeme. Considered against this language-based background, it only seems understandable that to love is mentioned and used as a sample verb in relevant sections of 18th-century grammars. In fact, in 93% of the grammars of my selection to love gets a mention. The only grammars (in my selection) in which to love is not referred to at all are: Barker (1733), Bullen (1797), Coote (1788), and Ward (1765). If the verb to love is mentioned, authors draw upon to love quite extensively in paragraphs on the verb or verbal conjugation, etc. A variety of examples is given in Table 5 below.

1) Q. What is the indicative mode? A. The indicative mode is that which declareth, or asketh a question; as thou lovest, or lovest thou? (A., M. 1785, 24) 2) Active verbs govern the noun or pronoun which follows them in the accusative case; as; 'Thomas loved her, but she did not value him.' (Alderson 1795, 17) 3) The Indicative Mood simply indicates or declares a thing, or asketh a question; as, 'I love you.' 'Do you love me?' The Imperative Mood (from the Latin word impero, to command) bids, or entreats; as, 'Love thou.' 'Let us love.' 'Pray spare him.' (A Short English Grammar 1794, 18) 4) To conjugate the Verb to love, through all its Moods and Tenses, with its Participles, – is thus […]. (Bettesworth 1778, 21) 5) What do you mean by the Indicative Mood? The Indicative Mood, which is first both as to Dignity and Use, declares, affirms, or denies positively; as, I love, I do not love; or else doubts and asks a Question; as, Do I burn? Do I not burn? (Buchanan 1762, 106) 6) Q. What is a Verb Passive? A. A Verb Passive expresses a Passion, or a Suffering, or the Re- ceiving of an Action, as I am called, I am beaten, I am kicked – N. B. It is called passive, because it necessarily implies an Object acted upon, and an Agent by which it is acted upon, as, to be loved, Thomas is loved by me. (Corbet 1784, 16) 7) What is a Verb? A Verb is a Word that signifies To do; as I love. (Devis 1775, 25) 8) Q. What do you call a Principal Verb? A. A Verb that can be formed through the present and past Times, without the Help of any of these Helping Verbs; as, love in the present Time thus: […]. (Fisher 31753, 85) 9) The Verb, itself, has but two Terminations respecting Time; as love, and loved; which last may be called the Inflexion of the preter or past Tense: And when this Inflection of the preter Tense is formed by adding d, or ed, to the first Person present Tense, the Verb is regular, and is declined after the following Examples. (Francis 1790, 19) 10) A Verb hath Four Modes; the indicative, the imperative, the subjunctive, and the infinitive. The indicative Mode declareth somewhat; as, thou lovest; or asketh a question; as, lovest thou? The imperative biddeth or commandeth; as, love thou. The subjunctive is used to ex- 30 GÖRAN WOLF

press doubt, or uncertainty after the words although, if, whomsoever, unless, &c. unless he love. The infinitive Mode, being the Verb itself, without reference to Number or Person, hath commonly the sign to before it, and in signification is like unto a Noun; as, boys love to play; i.e. boys love play. (Harrison 1777, 14) Table 5: The Verb to Love in Selected Explanations and Exemplifications If 18th-century grammars are considered against the wider background that is suggested by the occurrence of amare and to love in grammaticography, the examples listed in Table 5 give evidence of a number of things. First, the citations indicate that the aforementioned language-based criteria seem to be those upon which authors founded their choice. Second, at a closer look, the samples also reveal a great deal of similarity and/ or formulaicness. Third, if the vast majority of grammars feature references to to love and if twenty-five grammars in my selection even contain paradigm tables of that verb, as does for instance Ash's Grammatical Institutes (see Ash 41761, 48-49), we may consider such references a necessity in grammars.10 To use that sample verb is, thus, another discourse rule.

5. Conclusion The observations that I have presented here are, in my view, also an indication of what was referred to before: that the motors of language standardisation became increasingly uniform, or, one might say, were themselves standardised. Yet it is only by tracing such standardising tendencies that we are able to observe extensions and modifications. Those may accommodate innovations. To detect those innovations provides us with an understanding of the meandering development of the study of the English language. Eventually, that will enable us to see that, with regard to the 18th century, grammarians did not base their works on "fixed and eccentric opinions about language" or on "idiosyncratic pronouncements as to what was 'right' and what was 'wrong'" (Aitchison 32001, 10-11). Rather, it becomes clear that, at that time, grammars were prescriptive because (empirical) descriptiveness had not yet been made available as discourse rule.

References Grammars Where indicated by the abbreviation ECCO, grammars were accessed via the Gale Group database called Eighteenth Century Collection Online at . A., M. (1785): The Elementary Principles of English Grammar. Bridport: S. Margrie. ECCO A New English Grammar (1746). London: no publisher. ECCO A Short English Grammar (1794). London: C. Dilly. ECCO

10 Above I stated that there are grammars that do not refer to the verb to love. This does not necessarily mean that there grammars do not give any examples at all. Quite the contrary, three of the four 'love-less' grammars draw upon other regular lexical verbs: to turn (Barker 1733), to rule (Bullen 1797), and to gain (Coote 1788). In some grammars other verbs are taken to illustrate conjugational patterns in larger paradigm tables. There, we find the following verbs: to burn (Greenwood 1711 and 1737), to dance (Kitson 1798), to call (Ussher 1785), to learn (Webster 1784), and to turn (Webster 1790). ENGLISH GRAMMATICOGRAPHY AS DISCOURSE TRADITION 31

Adam, Alexander (1772): The Principles of Latin and English Grammar. Edinburgh: A. Kincaid and W. Creech. ECCO Alderson, James (1795): English Grammatical Exercises. London: C.D. [Figenuit]. ECCO Ash, John (41761): Grammatical Institutes. London: E. and C. Dilly. ECCO Barker, Isaac (1733): An English Grammar. York: Thomas Gent. ECCO Bettesworth, John (1778): The English Grammar Epitomis'd. London: G. Keeble & J. Bettesworth. ECCO Bicknell, Alexander (1790): The Grammatical Wreath. London: A. Bicknell. ECCO Brittain, Lewis (1788): Rudiments of English Grammar. Louvain: L.J. Urban. ECCO Buchanan, James (1762): The British Grammar. London: A. Millar [facsimile reprint: English Lingu- istics 1500-1800 97. Ed. R.C. Alston. Menston: The Scolar Press, 1968] Bullen, Henry S.J. (1797): Rudiments of English Grammar. Bury St. Edmund's: P. Gedge, G.G. & J. Robinson. ECCO Burn, John (1766): A Practical Grammar of the English Language. Glasgow: Archibald McLean. ECCO Chown, William (1788): English Grammar Epitomised. Northampton: T. Dicey. ECCO Coar, Thomas (1796): A Grammar of the English Tongue. London: James Phillips. ECCO Collyer, John (1735): The General Principles of Grammar. Nottingham: Tho. Collyer. ECCO Coote, Charles (1788): Elements of the Grammar of the English Language. London: C. Coote. ECCO Corbet, John (1784): A Concise System of English Grammar. Shrewsbury: T. Wood. ECCO Devis, Ellin (1775): The Accidence. London: [n.p.]. ECCO Eves, [Mrs.] (1800): The Grammatical Play-Thing. Birmingham: T.A. Pearson. ECCO Fell, John (1784): A Essay towards an English Grammar. London: C. Dilly. ECCO Fenning, Daniel (1771): A New Grammar of the English Language. London: S. Crowder. ECCO Fisher, Ann (31753): A New Grammar with Exercise of Bad English. London: A. Fisher. ECCO Francis, William (1790): A Concise Introduction to English Grammar. Marlborough: E. Harold. ECCO Gardiner, Jane (1799): The Young Ladies' English Grammar. York: T. Wilson & R. Spence. ECCO Gildon, Charles; Brightland, John (1711): A Grammar of the English Tongue. London: [John Brightland] [facsimile reprint: Ed. R.C. Alston. Menston: The Scolar Press, 1967] Gough, James (21760): A Practical Grammar of the English Tongue. Dublin: I. Jackson. ECCO Greenwood, James (1711): An Essay towards a Practical English Grammar. London: R. Tookey. ECCO --- (1737): The Royal English Grammar. London: J. Nourse. ECCO Harrison, Ralph (1777): Institutes of English Grammar. Manchester: Charles Wheeler. ECCO Hodgson, Isaac (1770): A Practical English Grammar. London: I. Hodgson. ECCO Hornsey, John (1793): A Short English Grammar. York: Wilson, Spence & Mawman. ECCO Jones, Hugh (1724): An Accidence to the English Tongue. London: John Clarke. ECCO Kitson, Roger (1798): A Short Introduction to English Grammar. Norwich: Stevenson & Matchett. ECCO Lovechild, [Mrs.] (1800): The Mother's Grammar. London: John Marshall. ECCO. Lowth, Robert (1762): A Short Introduction to English Grammar. London: J. Hughs. ECCO. --- (21763): A Short Introduction to English Grammar. London: A. Millar and R. and J. Dodsley [facsimile reprint: Robert Lowth (1710-1787) The Major Works. Vol. 7. With a new introduction by David A. Reibel. London: Routledge/Thoemmes Press, 1995] Mattaire, Michael (1712): The English Grammar. London: W.B. ECCO Metcalfe, Lister (21771): The Rudiments of the English Tongue. Newcastle: T. Saint. ECCO Murray, Alexander (21787): An Easy English Grammar. London: B. Law. ECCO Murray, Lindley (1795): English Grammar. York: Wilson, Spence & Mawman [facsimile reprint: Ed. R.C. Alston. Menston: The Scolar Press, 1968] Postlethwaite, Richard (1795): The Grammatical Art Improved. London: J. Parsons. ECCO Priestley, Joseph (1761): The Rudiments of English Grammar. London: R. Griffiths [facsimile reprint: Ed. R.C. Alston. Menston: The Scolar Press, 1969] 32 GÖRAN WOLF

--- (1768): The Rudiments of English Grammar. London: T. Becket, P.A. De Hondt & J. Johnson. ECCO Raine, Matthew (1771): English Rudiments. Darlington: John Sadler. ECCO Rhodes, Benjamin (1795): A Concise English Grammar. Birmingham: J. Belcher. ECCO Smetham, Thomas (1774): The Practical Grammar. London: J. Cooke. ECCO Ussher, George N. (1785): The Elements of English Grammar. Glocester: R. Raikes. ECCO Ward, H. (1777): A Short, but Clear System of English Grammar. Whitehaven: [n.p.]. ECCO Ward, William (1765): An Essay on Grammar. London: Robert Horsfield. ECCO Webster, Noah (1784): A Grammatical Institute of the English Language. Part II. Hartford: Hudson & Goodwin [facsimile reprint: Ed. R.C. Alston. Menston: The Scolar Press, 1968] --- (1790): Rudiments of English Grammar. Hartford: Elisha Babcock. ECCO

Secondary Sources and Other References Aitchison, Jean (32001): Language Change: Progress or Decay? Cambridge: Cambridge UP Alston, R.C. (1965): A Bibliography of the English Language from the Invention of Printing to the Year 1800. Vol. 1. English Grammars Written in English and English Grammars Written in Latin by Native Speakers. Leeds: E.J. Arnold & Son Bartschat, Brigitte (2005): "Zur Grammatikographie der slavischen Sprachen. Von den Anfängen bis zum Beginn des 20. Jahrhunderts", in: Schmitter, Peter (ed.): Sprachtheorien der Neuzeit III/I. Sprachbeschreibung und Sprachunterricht, Teil 1. Tübingen: Gunter Narr Verlag, 1-42 Blach, S. (1908): "Shakespeares Lateingrammatik. Lilys Grammatica Latina nach der ältesten bekannten Ausgabe von 1527 und der für Shakespeare in Betracht kommenden Ausgabe von 1566 (Lon- don, R. Wolfius)", Jahrbuch der Deutschen Shakespeare-Gesellschaft 44, 65-117 --- (1909): "Shakespeares Lateingrammatik. Lilys Grammatica Latina nach der ältesten bekannten Ausgabe von 1527 und der für Shakespeare in Betracht kommenden Ausgabe von 1566 (London, R. Wolfius). (Fortsetzung und Schluss.)", Jahrbuch der Deutschen Shakespeare-Gesellschaft 45, 51-100 Coseriu, Eugenio (1988): "'Historische Sprache' und 'Dialekt'", in: Albrecht, Jörn (ed.): Energeia und Ergon. Sprachliche Variation – Sprachgeschichte – Sprachtypologie. Vol. I. Schriften von Eugenio Coseriu (1965-1987). Tübingen: Gunter Narr Verlag, 45-61 Fens-de Zeeuw, Lyda (2011): Lindley Murray (1745-1826), Quaker and Grammarian. Utrecht: Lan- delijke Onderzoekschool Taalwetenschap Foucault, Michel (1971): L'ordre du discours. Leçon inaugural au Collège de France prononcée le 2 décembre 1970. Paris: Gallimard Fowler, Henry W. (1927 [1926]): A Dictionary of Modern English Usage. Oxford: Clarendon Press Frank, Barbara; Haye, Thomas; Tophinke, Doris (eds., 1997): Gattungen mittelalterlicher Schriftlich- keit. Tübingen: Narr Genette, Gérard (1997 [1987]): Paratexts. Thresholds of Interpretation. Trans. J.E. Lewin. Cambridge: Cambridge UP Görlach, Manfred (1998): An Annotated Bibliography of 19th-Century Grammars of English. Amster- dam/Philadelphia: Benjamins Hodson, Jane (2006): "The Problem of Joseph Priestley's (1733-1804) Descriptivism", Historiogra- phia Linguistica 33, 57-84 Hovdhaugen, Even (1982): Foundations of Western Linguistics. From the Beginning to the End of the First Millenium A.D. Tøyen: Universitetsforlaged Johnson, Samuel (1756): A Dictionary of the English Language. 2 vols. London: Knapton Koch, Peter (1997): "Diskurstraditionen: zu ihrem sprachtheoretischen Status und ihrer Dynamik", in: Frank, Barbara; Haye, Thomas; Tophinke, Doris (eds.), 43-79 Michael, Ian (1970): English Grammatical Categories and the Tradition to 1800. London: Cambridge UP --- (1991): "More than Enough English Grammars", in: Leitner, Gerhard (ed.): English Traditional Grammars. An International Perspective. Amsterdam/Philadelphia: Benjamins, 11-26 ENGLISH GRAMMATICOGRAPHY AS DISCOURSE TRADITION 33

Naumann, Bernd (1996): "Die Tradition der Philosophischen Grammatik in Deutschland", in: Schmit- ter, Peter (ed.): Sprachtheorien der Neuzeit II. Von der Grammaire de Port-Royal (1660) zur Kon- stitution moderner linguistischer Disziplinen. Tübingen: Narr, 24-43 Navest, Karlijn (2011): John Ash and the Rise of the Children's Grammar. Utrecht: Landelijke Onder- zoekschool Taalwetenschap Oesterreicher, Wulf (1997): "Zur Fundierung von Diskurstraditionen", in: Frank, Barbara; Haye, Thomas; Tophinke, Doris (eds.), 20-41 Orme, Nicholas (1982): "Schoolmasters, 1307-1509", in: Clough, Cecil H. (ed.): Professional Voca- tion, and Culture in Later Medieval England. Essays Dedicated to the Memory of A.R. Myers. Li- verpool: Liverpool UP, 218-241 Plessow, Max (1906): Geschichte der Fabeldichtung in England bis zu John Gay (1726). Nebst Neu- druck von Bullokars "Fables of Æsop" 1585, "Booke at Large" 1580, "Bref Grammar for English" 1586, und "Pamphlet for Grammar" 1586. Berlin: Mayer & Müller Robins, Robert H. (1951): Ancient and Mediaeval Grammatical Theory in Europe. With Particular Reference to Modern Linguistic Doctrine. London: G. Bell Schlieben-Lange, Brigitte (1983): Traditionen des Sprechens. Elemente einer pragmatischen Sprach- geschichtsschreibung. Stuttgart: Kohlhammer Straaijer, Robin (2011): Joseph Priestley, Grammarian: Late Modern English Normativism and Usage in a Sociohistorical Context. Utrecht: Landelijke Onderzoekschool Taalwetenschap Tieken-Boon van Ostade, Ingrid (ed., 1996): Two Hundred Years of Lindley Murray. Münster: Nodus Publikationen --- (2011): The Bishop's Grammar: Robert Lowth and the Rise of Prescriptivism. Oxford: Oxford UP --- (ed., 2008): Grammars, Grammarians and Grammar-Writing in Eighteenth-Century England. Ber- lin/New York: De Gruyter Vorlat, Emma (1959): "The Sources of Lindley Murray's 'The English Grammar'", Leuvense Bij- dragen 48, 108-125 Watts, Richard J. (1995): "Justifying Grammars. A Socio-Pragmatic Foray into the Discourse Commu- nity of Early English Grammarians", in: Jucker, Andreas (ed.): Historical Pragmatics. Pragmatic Developments in the History of English. Amsterdam/Philadelphia: Benjamins, 145-185 --- (2008): "Grammar Writers in Eighteenth-Century Britain: A Community of Practice or a Discourse Community?" in: Tieken-Boon van Ostade (ed., 2008), 37-56 Winkelmann, Otto (1990): "Französisch: Sprachnormierung und Standardsprache. Norme et standard", in: Holtus, Günter; Metzeltin, Michael; Schmitt, Christian (eds.): Lexikon der Romanistischen Lin- guistik. Vol. V,1. Französisch. Tübingen: Niemeyer, 334-353 Wolf, Göran (2011): Englische Grammatikschreibung 1600-1900 – der Wandel einer Diskurstradi- tion. Frankfurt/Main: Peter Lang Zupitza, Julius (ed., 1880): Ælfrics Grammatik und Glossar. Ed. J. Zupitza. Berlin: Weidmannsche Buchhandlung

LIESELOTTE ANDERWALD (KIEL)

The 19th-Century Perspective on 18th-Century Grammar Writing

1. Introduction The Late Modern English period is (among other things, of course) known for its grammar writing, constituting one of the last phases in Milroy's model of the standardisation of the English language, codification (see Milroy/Milroy 1999, as applied in Nevalainen/Tieken-Boon van Ostade 2006). Although grammars of the English language were published before (see Michael 1970), the 18th century sees a significant rise in the number of grammars published, especially during the second half, and this increase continues into the 19th century, where almost 2,000 different grammars (not counting different editions) are recorded (see Görlach 1998), and we can assume that actual numbers must have been even higher. A distinction between normative and prescriptive grammar writing is sometimes drawn (see Vorlat 1979), and the turnover point towards prescriptivism is usually set in the 1760s (see Tieken-Boon van Ostade 2009) – a landmark that assigns the 19th century rather sweepingly to 'prescriptive' grammar writing. It is therefore a valid question to investigate the prescriptive character of 19th-century grammar writing per se, as I have done in many individual studies (Anderwald 2011a, 2012a, b, c, 2013, 2014a, b, c, d). In this paper, I want to look back in time a little and ask in how far grammar writing in the 19th century continues trends that were already apparent earlier.

2. Preliminary Remarks 2.1 Rationale In order to determine the influence of tradition across the turn of the century from the 18th into the 19th, I will look at some case studies on verbal phenomena undergoing change over the course of the 19th century, and investigate what 18th-century grammars had to say; in particular, I will use the systematic collection of normative comments in Sundby, Bjørge, and Haugland (1991) to correlate attitudes in the 18th century with their 19th-century counterparts. In this paper, I will look at comments on variable past tense forms in several verb classes (the variation between past tense forms with and in a group of verbs I will call U/A-verbs, e.g. SING vs. SLING; variation between strong and weak verb forms, e.g. in THRIVE; and two groups of irregular weak verbs, e.g. DREAM vs. LEARN), the rise in GET-constructions, and the de- 1 cline in the BE-perfect. In all cases, corpus studies have shown clear trajectories of change that these phenomena undergo over the course of the 19th century (and often earlier), so that we can assume that it would have been at least possible for grammar-

1 Two other case studies I have conducted, on the progressive passive and the (active) progressive, do not lend themselves to an investigation in this framework, and I will briefly comment on why not later. 36 LIESELOTTE ANDERWALD ians of the time to notice either shifts in frequency, the disappearance of a construction, or the rise of a new form, and comment on it accordingly.

2.2 Materials Sundby et al. (1991) is a collection of all negative comments, or, as they say, "of the forms […] that did not find favour with eighteenth century English grammarians" (Sundby et al. 1991, 2), culled from 188 grammars that were published over the course of the 18th century. The number of grammars included per decade in their collection roughly follows publication figures, and thus rises considerably from the early 18th century (3 to 6 grammars per decade) to the 1790s (over 40 grammars included). Un- fortunately, the authors decided not to quote any original comments, but to group them (semantically? etymologically?) into higher-level categories. Thus, their category "err=erroneous" contains quite a wide range of original epithets like abuse, anomaly, blunder, defect, deviation, faulty, incongruity, less correct, less eligible, licentious, mistake, ought to be avoided, peculiar expression, perverse, unnatural, variation from rule, wrong (and in fact many more, see Sundby et al. 1991, 44-53) – a more fine- grained semantic analysis is therefore often not possible, even though it would probably have offered itself; note that many of these terms carry undertones of moral dis- approbation (licentious), others conceptualise language in terms of nature (defect, perverse, unnatural), and that they differ considerably in strength (compare ought to be avoided with perverse); in addition, we do not actually know which author said what. Despite these problems and gaps, however, Sundby et al. (1991) is a valuable source that provides a good first overview of some 18th-century tendencies. For the 19th century, I rely upon my own collection of 258 grammar books from Brit- ain and the US, the Collection of Nineteenth-Century Grammars (CNG), which I manually annotated for the description and comments of verbal categories and of a range of phenomena undergoing language change. Again, the number of grammars varies from decade to decade, depending on differences in publication history and present-day availability. However, apart from the first two decades, most decades are represented by at least 20 grammar books, many by more. In contrast to the collection in Sundby et al. (1991), my collection contains all comments in an unfiltered manner. Also in contrast to their collection, I have decided to include both negative and positive evaluations, as well as figures for how many grammars noted a phenomenon neutrally, without evaluating it at all, and how many grammars did not mention a construction. In this sense, my data for the 19th century are more detailed, and allow for more fine-grained analyses over time. Nevertheless, overall developments should become apparent from a comparison across these two sources. My first case studies will relate to irregular verbs, which lend themselves particularly well to an investigation, since almost every grammar included a list of irregular verbs.

3. Case Studies 3.1 Past Tense Forms: U/A-Verbs What I call U/A-verbs are two present-day verb classes that behave quite differently today (at least in writing), but that were more variable historically, and are still variable today in spoken language (see Anderwald 2009, 2011b). The two verb classes THE 19TH-CENTURY PERSPECTIVE ON 18TH-CENTURY GRAMMAR WRITING 37 cluster around spin-spun-spun on the one hand (with 2 different verb forms and very little variation, both historically and today), and sing-sang-sung, with 3 different verb forms today and long-standing variation in the past tense form between sang and sung. This variation has been resolved in writing in favour of forms in , making verbs like SING quite distinct from the closely related group around SPIN, even though historically they can be traced back to the same Old English verb class (as shown e.g. in Krygier 1994). As corpus studies show, much of this resolution happened over the course of the 19th century, where at the end we basically find the 20th-century conventions.

Fig. 1: Variable past tense forms between and in COHA; % of forms in (vs. )

Figure 1 clearly indicates very little variation in SWING, SLINK, and SPIN, where the past tense is formed with in nearly 100 per cent of all cases throughout the 19th century; in a second group (at the bottom of the diagram), its mirror image, the past tense is practically always expressed by (SWIM, DRINK, BEGIN), and in a large group of verbs in between, past tense forms are still very variable at the beginning of the 19th century (SINK, SING, RING, SPRING), but come to be formed almost exclusively with towards the end. Finally, the most striking development is found for SHRINK, which changes completely in class membership from patterning with SPIN, to patterning with DRINK (i.e. from categorical use of past tense shrunk to a categorical use of shrank). The timing of this change, and the direction (towards more finely differentiated forms) might suggest prescriptive 'meddling', and this change therefore constitutes an interesting case study. What we find in the grammars, however, is equivocal. In Sundby et al. (1991), some early criticism of past tense forms in is recorded for the 1710s and the 1730s. However, although this is then found continuously from the 1750s onwards, it is overall quite rare, and considering that most verbs still occurred with past tense forms in in writing at the time, warning readers not to use past tense forms in is possibly descriptively accurate. Criticism of past tense forms in (i.e. the reverse) starts with Robert Lowth in 1762 (see Lowth 1762), and would thus be a good candi- 38 LIESELOTTE ANDERWALD date for prescriptive success, at least at first glance. However, Lowth, and authors following him, criticise in particular the forms begun and drunk. If we consider that these verbs are categorically used with in writing at the very beginning of the 19th century, and there is little change, we can assume that this state of affairs probably held earlier too. In this sense, then, prescribing past tense forms in (for BEGIN and DRINK) is actually not particularly prescriptive per se, but descriptively quite adequate as well. For the 19th century, in the CNG overall past tense forms in are preferred, and this stance becomes dominant, if not categorical, in the lists of irregular verbs over the course of the 19th century. What is striking, however, is that very little overt criticism is actually noted. For the most part, grammarians seem to have been quite happy to record actual variation, and beyond the order of variants very little indication is given that one form is actually preferred over the other, as the (representative) extract from William Kirkus (1863) shows: In terms of epithets, the comments collected in Sundby et al. (1991) show that starting with Lowth, past tense forms in are called colloquial, vulgar, corrupt, barbarous, improper, and unidiomatic (but remember that these terms are Sundby et al.'s cover terms, not original quotes from the grammars). By contrast, past tense sang, for example, in the CNG calls forth both positive and negative comments. It is noted both as preferable, and solemn by some, but also (contradicting these evaluations in part) as obsolete, not to be used in familiar style, and to be avoided by others. On the other hand, it is also sung that is claimed to be archaic. (Al- though objectively it is clear that sang and sung cannot both have been archaic and/or obsolete at the same time!) While there seems to have been some continuity in evaluation across the turn of the century (colloquial matches familiar style as opposed to solemn language, and can possibly be linked to vulgar too), other terms used in the 19th century, especially those referring to obsolescence and archaisms, rather look like new developments. Fig. 2: Part of a list of irregular verbs, implicitly ordered into subgroups (Kirkus 1863: 36) THE 19TH-CENTURY PERSPECTIVE ON 18TH-CENTURY GRAMMAR WRITING 39

3.2 Other Past Tense Forms When we look at interesting variation in some other past tense forms, based on corpus studies we know that the past tense of THRIVE was variable over much of the 19th century between the older strong form throve (incidentally noted as the only past tense form in Kirkus above), and the regularised form thrived; over much of the 19th century, throve was still the form used in the majority of cases, and it only starts to decline towards the end of the 20th century (see Anderwald 2012c, 2013). Despite this long- standing variability, THRIVE is hardly ever mentioned in Sundby et al. (1991), and also the CNG has only very little criticism of throve (which would be the 'required' direction of prescription if the development towards thrived was triggered, or at least supported, by normative grammars of the time). Despite the fact that throve is actually the majority form in written AmE of the time, grammars occasionally say that throve is little used, erroneous, or obsolete, but the majority of grammarians (like for sang vs. sung) acknowledge variation between throve and thrived, mostly without comment, and prefer throve overall. The situation is slightly more complex for verbs like DREAM, where variation is between irregular dreamt and regular dreamed. For these verbs, dreamt is actually historically the innovation, but over the course of the 19th century dreamt changes back to dreamed (at least in writing), as Figure 3 illustrates.

Fig. 3: Irregular weak verbs with vowel change in COHA; % of irregular forms (vs. regular ones)

For the verbs like DREAM and LEARN, i.e. KNEEL, DREAM, LEAP, LEAN, and perhaps PLEAD as irregular verbs with vowel change, DWELL, SPELL, SPILL, SMELL, BURN, SPOIL, LEARN without vowel change, Lowth (1762) vaguely mentions some variability, but overgeneralises; following him, Lindley Murray (1795), especially from the third edition onwards (1797), mentions some stylistic differences, but then excludes these verbs from his consideration of irregular verbs altogether (since he regards them as not irregular, but "merely contracted"), and it seems to have been this stance that had the 40 LIESELOTTE ANDERWALD most influence on 19th-century grammarians. In the CNG, these verbs are not mentioned by many grammars. In addition, there is no awareness of differences between categorical and variable forms (e.g. the difference between knelt and dreamt, or between dwelt and smelt), no awareness of dramatic changes in frequency (e.g. in dreamt, spelt, or smelt), and no awareness of very different trajectories of change (e.g. in the DREAM class vs. the LEARN class, as in Figure 4 below). If anything, we can dis- cern an influence of 18th-century grammar writing not so much on the prescriptive stance (which is really non-existent in either century with respect to this phenomenon), but in the fact that grammarians do not comment much on these groups of verbs, and do not really consider them to be irregular in the first place.

Fig. 4: Irregular weak verbs without vowel change in COHA; % of irregular forms (vs. regular ones) But perhaps it is the site of variation (past tense forms as a clearly morphological phenomenon) that is not conducive to prescriptivism. More noticeable may be the overall rarer morphosyntactic periphrastic combinations that underwent change at the same time, which will be investigated in the next sections.

3.3 GET-Constructions The verb GET is one of the most polysemous verbs of the English language – Samuel Johnson already lists over 30 separate meanings (see Johnson 1755, s.v. get). The various central meanings of the lexical verb ('obtain', 'learn', 'movement') and of more grammatical constructions (the inchoative use, or causative GET) have given rise to the lexicalised form of possessive HAVE GOT on the one hand (from 'obtain'), which further grammaticalised into the semi-modal HAVE GOT TO in the 19th century, and to the GET- passive on the other (from inchoative GET, if we follow Fleisher 2006) in the 17th or 18th century. While one might expect criticism especially of these new and bleached THE 19TH-CENTURY PERSPECTIVE ON 18TH-CENTURY GRAMMAR WRITING 41 uses of GET, especially the GET-passive is worth mentioning for being largely exempt from criticism. Instead, it seems to be the overall use of GET that is criticised, and criticism of GET as too 'colloquial' seems to start with Philip Withers, whose popular Aris- tarchus from 1789 contains a (spoof) letter illustrating and ridiculing the 'overuse' of the verb GET, the beginning of which is represented in Figure 5.

Fig. 5: Spoof letter illustrating the "overuse" of GET (Withers 1789: 141-142)

In total, this 'letter' contains 28 instances of the verb GET, but most of them (20) are actually in the core lexical senses of 'movement' or 'obtain'. Only a minority are instances of HAVE GOT, or the GET-passive (get shaved, get dressed). In the following sarcastic explanation, Withers claims that "it is far from my Wish, to deprive the Vul- gar, and the wealthy Illiterate of so convenient an Abridgement of Terms" (Withers 1789, 142). The stigmatisation of GET as colloquial thus seems to start here, and With- ers is copied straight away until the end of the 18th century, and his spoof letter keeps appearing in grammars in the 19th century. In connection with this letter, 'overuse' of 42 LIESELOTTE ANDERWALD

GET quite generally is often mentioned. In addition, 19th-century grammarians tend to criticise the bleached meanings of possessive HAVE GOT (21 grammars) and obligational HAVE GOT TO (9 grammars), as well as some idioms that contain GET (such as to get into a scrape). While Withers cleverly makes swipes at social climbers when he mentions the "wealthy illiterate", in the 19th century HAVE GOT in particular continues to be criticised as improper, vulgar, or low; as ungrammatical, superfluous, redundant, or unnecessary; and, finally, as a solecism or a tautology. The underlying principle is made explicit by Thomas Harvey (1900), when he says, "[t]he word GOT is unnecessary, and we should always omit unnecessary words" (Harvey 1900, 19). In other words, criticism in the 19th century is levelled in particular at bleached uses of GET in the possessive and obligational construction, but not at the GET-passive specifically. It is perhaps also worth noting that most of the criticism of GET comes from American grammars (25), whereas British grammars mention GET much less (only 11 criticise it in some way). In fact, at least anecdotally criticism of GET and HAVE GOT continues well into the 20th century in American educational establishments (for just one example see Crumpton 1916). In fact, the canonical criticism of GET as 'too colloquial' becomes so strong by the middle of the 19th century that it is put forward even by authors who otherwise try to promote Germanic over Latinate vocabulary, such as John Beard (1854), who complains "how freely and how loosely is the verb to get employed in ordinary life" (Beard 1854, 140).

3.4 The BE-Perfect My final case study relates to the decline of the BE-perfect, a process that had been underway since the beginning of the Early Modern English period (see Kytö 1997), if not earlier, as Figure 6 shows.

Fig. 6: The decline of the BE-perfect (after data from Kytö 1997); % of forms with BE (vs. HAVE) While the period of the most rapid decline clearly falls in the 19th century, Figure 6 also shows that over much of the 19th century, BE was still variable with HAVE in the use with mutative intransitive verbs, such that he is come could be expected to appear THE 19TH-CENTURY PERSPECTIVE ON 18TH-CENTURY GRAMMAR WRITING 43 side by side with he has come, they are arrived with they have arrived, and the bird is flown with the bird has flown. Despite the rapid decline before the very eyes of 18th- and 19th-century grammarians, the BE-perfect is rarely evaluated (see also Rydén/ Brorström 1987). If criticism is voiced, this is quite muted; thus Robert Lowth quite carefully says, "I doubt much the propriety of […] are swerved" (1762, 63), a sentiment which was then much quoted. In Sundby et al. (1991), about 10 per cent of grammars are critical of the BE-perfect from the 1760s onwards, following Lowth. Over the 19th century, this picture changes somewhat, as Figure 7 illustrates.

Fig. 7: Evaluations on the BE-perfect in the CNG; absolute numbers of grammars As Figure 7 shows, grammarians in the 19th century are split between preferring the BE-perfect (at least in some contexts) and criticising it, as the grey and black bars indicate. A particularly interesting view is shown by the vertical stripes, as the BE-perfect is often criticised because it was (mis-)analysed as a strange passive (for more detail see Anderwald 2014d). The terms of criticism are also revealing. In Sundby et al. (1991), the BE-perfect is called improper, ungrammatical, and uncouth. It is also called French – a term that is clearly not meant as a term of endearment (but it does not relate to the French perfect with ÊTRE either, even though one might perhaps expect knowledge of this typologi- cally parallel construction). In the CNG, the BE-perfect is also criticised as improper, clearly a term that has continued from the 18th century, but also as offensive to the ear and objectionable, a departure from grammatical correctness, awkward, and an anomaly. While we have to remember that the epithets in Sundby et al. are meta-terms, the semantics of the 19th-century terms overall seem quite closely related to their 18th- century precursors, and we can basically trace back 19th-century criticism of the BE- perfect to its starting point, Robert Lowth.

3.5 Where Comparisons Fail The progressive passive, quite possibly the construction 19th-century grammarians hated the most and therefore one of the most interesting ones to investigate in detail (see Anderwald 2014 b, c), cannot be traced back in 18th-century grammar writing for 44 LIESELOTTE ANDERWALD the simple reason that it did not really exist before the end of the 18th century, and only comes to the grammarians' notice in the 1820s and 30s. Similarly, criticism of HAVE GOT TO would be highly unexpected in the 18th century, since the first attesta- tions in writing are from the 1830s (see Krug 2000), only slightly antedated by the American Joseph Hull explicitly mentioning it (1828, appendix 5). The situation is slightly different for the (active) progressive, which of course has existed for much longer. It rises dramatically over the course of the 19th century (see Arnaud 1998, Hundt 2004) and is in fact regularly commented on by 19th-century grammarians (although the change in frequency, or its "secondary grammaticalization" [Kranich 2010] is never noticed). However, and quite curiously, the active progressive is only ever evaluated positively by 19th-century grammar writers. As noted above, Sundby et al. (1991) only include negative comments in their collection. For this reason, this positive assessment of the progressive cannot be systematically traced back further in time,2 although judging by my more cursory investigation, it was Lindley Murray just before the turn of the century who again proved very influential. He claims (rather nebulously) that "[t]his mode of conjugation has, on particular occasions, a peculiar propriety, and contributes to the harmony and precision of the language" (Murray from the third edition 1797 onwards), and this is actually one of the passages quoted the most (often without acknowledgement) by grammarians over the course of the 19th century; in fact, copying this passage from Murray, or only slightly adapting it, is current well into the 1860s in the grammars included in the CNG. Murray does not actually detail which "particular occasions" are conducive to using the progressive, or what constitutes its "peculiar propriety", but undoubtedly his positive assessment has set the tone for many subsequent grammarians.

4. Overall Assessment As my case studies have detailed, there is of course much continuity across the turn of the century, and in this sense the year 1800 constitutes an arbitrary break-off point that is probably not justified on internal grounds. If we do find categorical differences between 18th- and 19th-century grammar writing, this is often due to external reasons in the sense that certain constructions simply had not existed yet in the 18th century, such as obligational HAVE GOT TO, or the progressive passive. As starting points for trends that persist in the 19th century I have been able to identify some of the 'usual suspects' that are regularly mentioned as some of the most influential grammar writers of the 18th century, in particular Robert Lowth and Lindley Murray. Especially through Murray, parts of Lowth's grammar were copied and his judgements were popularised into much grammar writing of the 19th century, causing the 19th century (at least in these respects) to be quite conservative and backward looking, and, in some cases, out of date with current linguistic developments. It is perhaps interesting to note that the third 'arch' grammarian usually mentioned in this context, Joseph Priestley, does not seem to have left a lasting imprint, although often hailed as the first descriptivist. This is a topic I cannot delve into here, but it has to be mentioned that although Priestley's (1768) grammar was in fact regularly reprinted

2 Of course it is also the case for the other phenomena, such as the BE-perfect, that potentially positive attitudes cannot be traced with the help of DENG. However, for the BE-perfect we have the study by Rydén/Brorström (1987), who also give an overview of 18th-century attitudes. THE 19TH-CENTURY PERSPECTIVE ON 18TH-CENTURY GRAMMAR WRITING 45 over the 19th century, and grammar writers do mention him in forewords and occasionally in notes, his actual text was rarely copied, and his influence cannot have been as extensive as Lindley Murray's (see also Straaijer 2011). On the other hand, some influential 18th-century texts (such as Withers' Aristarchus) and sources have not been mentioned in the traditional literature so far, and even my limited number of case studies were thus able to point to a more diverse range of influences than the ones usually mentioned. However, even this more diverse range of influences tends to cluster around the turn of the century. Since Murray and Withers, for example, wrote and published quite close to the turn of the century, it would actually make sense to speak of a 'long' 19th century also with regard to linguistic prescriptivism, and include these forerunners with their more hardcore prescriptivist followers in the 19th century. Certainly, some trends that can be traced back to them solidify over the course of the 19th century, and become truisms of grammar writing that are often not questioned further, or related to actual language use. Also when it comes to terminology (a topic I haven't been able to deal with here), it becomes very noticeable that the dominant trend in the 19th century is one of reduction in variation, and consolidation. In this sense, we can also observe the emergence of a canon of grammar writing, encompassing terminology, examples, as well as attitudes over the course of the 19th century. On the other hand, my case studies have also shown that, perhaps surprisingly, for many phenomena grammar writers in the 19th century were not as prescriptive as is often still assumed. On the topic of past tense forms, variation as a rule was simply noted, and often not even commented on, let alone criticised. In the case of the progressive, despite massive changes in frequency and also in grammatical status that we can observe, grammar writers are without exception very positive. Similarly, the new form of the HAVE-perfect – where it supplants the older BE-perfect – is practically never criticised, but in this case it is the older, more conservative form that is seen as 'incorrect' (and worse). While it is still true, then, that the 19th century can with some justification be characterised as the century of prescriptivism, this does not mean that observable trends do not start earlier, that all phenomena were criticised in the same terms, or that prescriptive comments may not have contained grains of descriptive truth. In this sense, then, 19th-century prescriptivism is prefigured by grammar writers from the 1760s onwards (and incidentally continues beyond the year 1900). 19th-century prescriptivism also has to be qualified internally, and it is clear that we need more, and more detailed, empirical studies to do this – an enterprise that promises more nu- anced, and hopefully also further unexpected, results in the future.

References Anderwald, Lieselotte (2009): The Morphology of English Dialects: Verb-Formation in Non-Standard English. Cambridge: Cambridge UP --- (2011a): "Norm vs. variation in British English strong verbs: the case of past tense sang vs. sung", English Language and Linguistics 15, 85-112 --- (2011b): "Are non-standard dialects more 'natural' than the standard? A test case from English verb morphology", Journal of Linguistics 47, 251-274 --- (2012a): "Clumsy, awkward or having a peculiar propriety? Prescriptive judgements and language change in the 19th century", Language Sciences 34, 28-53 46 LIESELOTTE ANDERWALD

--- (2012b): "Variable past tense forms in 19th-century American English: Linking normative grammars and language change", American Speech 87, 257-293 --- (2012c:) "Throve, pled, shrunk: The evolution of American English in the 19th century between language change and prescriptive norms", in: Tyrkkö, Jukka; Kilpiö, Matti; Nevalainen, Terttu; Rissanen, Matti (eds): Outposts of Historical Corpus Linguistics: From the Helsinki Corpus to a Proliferation of Resources. Helsinki: Varieng, n.p. --- (2013): "Natural language change or prescriptive influence? Throve, dove, pled, drug and snuck in 19th-century American English", English World-Wide 34, 146-176 --- (2014a): "Burned, dwelled, dreamed: The evolution of a morphological Americanism, and the role of prescriptive grammar writing", American Speech 89, 408-440 --- (2014b): "Measuring the success of prescriptivism: Quantitative grammaticography and corpus- linguistics", English Language and Linguistics 18, 1-21 --- (2014c): "'Pained the eye and stunned the ear': Language ideology and the progressive passive in the nineteenth century", in: Pfenninger, Simone; Timofeeva, Olga; Gardner, Anne-Christine; Honkapohja, Alpo; Hundt, Marianne; Schreier, Daniel (eds): Contact, Variation, and Change in the History of English. Amsterdam/Philadelphia: Benjamins, 113-136 --- (2014d): "The decline of the BE-perfect, linguistic relativity, and grammar writing in the nineteenth century", in: Hundt, Marianne (ed.): Late Modern English Syntax. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 13- 37 Arnaud, René (1998): "The development of the progressive in 19th century English: A quantitative survey", Language Variation and Change 10, 123-152 Beard, John Relly (1854): Cassell's Lessons in English; Containing a Practical Grammar, Adapted for the Use of the Self-Educating Student. London: John Cassell Crumpton, Claudia E. (1916): "Better Speech Week at Montevallo", The English Journal 5, 569-570 Fleisher, Nicholas (2006): "The origin of passive get", English Language and Linguistics 10, 225-252 Görlach, Manfred (1998): An Annotated Bibliography of 19th-Century Grammars of English. Amster- dam/Philadelphia: Benjamins Harvey, Thomas W. (1900 [1869]): An Elementary Grammar of the English Language, for the Use of Schools. Cincinnati/New York: Wilson, Hinkle & Co. Hull, Joseph Hervey (1828 [1827]): English Grammar, by Lectures: Comprehending the Principles and Rules of Syntactical Parsing, on a New and Highly Approved System; Intended as a Text Book for Students; Containing Exercises in Syntax, Rules for Parsing by Transposition, Critical Notes, and a Lecture on Rhetoric. 4th ed. Boston: Printed by Lincoln & Edmands, for the author Hundt, Marianne (2004): "Animacy, agentivity, and the spread of the progressive in Modern English", English Language and Linguistics 8, 47-69 Johnson, Samuel (1755): A Dictionary Of The English Language: In Which The Words are deduced from their Originals, And Illustrated in their Different Significations By Examples from the best Writers. To Which Are Prefixed, A History of the Language, And An English Grammar, By Samuel Johnson, A.M. In Two Volumes. London: Printed by W. Strahan, For J. and P. Knapton, etc. Kirkus, William (1863): English Grammar: for the Use of the Junior Classes in Schools. London: Longman, Green, Longman, Roberts and Green Kranich, Svenja (2010): The Progressive in Modern English: A Corpus-Based Study of Grammatical- ization and Related Changes. Amsterdam: Rodopi Krug, Manfred G. (2000): Emerging English Modals: A Corpus-based Study of Grammaticalization. Berlin/New York: De Gruyter Krygier, Marcin (1994): The Disintegration of the English Strong Verb System. Frankfurt/M.: Lang Kytö, Merja (1997): "Be/Have + past participle: The choice of the auxiliary with intransitives from Late Middle to Modern English", in: Rissanen, Matti; Kytö, Merja; Heikkonen, Kirsi (eds): English in Transition: Corpus-based Studies in Linguistic Variation and Genre Styles. Berlin/New York: De Gruyter, 16-85 Lowth, Robert (1967 [1762]): A Short Introduction to English Grammar. Reprint. Menston: Scolar Press Michael, Ian (1970): English Grammatical Categories and the Tradition to 1800. Cambridge: Cam- bridge UP THE 19TH-CENTURY PERSPECTIVE ON 18TH-CENTURY GRAMMAR WRITING 47

Milroy, James; Milroy, Lesley (1999 [1985]): Authority in Language: Investigating Standard English. 3rd ed. London/New York: Routledge Murray, Lindley (1795): English Grammar, Adapted to the Different Classes of Learners. With an Ap- pendix, Containing Rules and Observations for Promoting Perspicuity in Speaking and Writing. York: Wilson, Spence, and Mawman Nevalainen, Terttu; Tieken-Boon van Ostade, Ingrid (2006): "Standardisation", in: Hogg, Richard M.; Denison, David (eds): A History of the English Language. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 271-311 Priestley, Joseph (1768 [1761]): The Rudiments Of English Grammar, Adapted to the Use of Schools; With Notes and Observations, For the Use of Those Who have made some Proficiency in the Lan- guage. 2nd ed. London: Printed for J. and F. Rinvington, etc. Rydén, Mats; Brorström, Sverker (1987): The Be/Have Variation with Intransitives in English: With Special Reference to the Late Modern Period. Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell Straaijer, Robin (2011): Joseph Priestley, Grammarian: Late Modern English normativism and usage in a sociohistorical context. Utrecht: LOT Publications Sundby, Bertil; Bjørge, Anne Kari; Haugland, Kari E. (1991): A Dictionary of English Normative Grammar, 1700-1800. Amsterdam: Benjamins Tieken-Boon van Ostade, Ingrid (2009): An Introduction to Late Modern English. Edinburgh: Edin- burgh UP Vorlat, Emma (1979): "Criteria of grammaticalness in 16th and 17th century English grammar", Leu- vense Bijdragen 68, 129-140 Withers, Philip (1789): Aristarchus; or, The Principles of Composition: Containing a Methodological Arrangement of the Improprieties Frequent in Writing and Conversation; with Select Rules for At- taining to Purity and Elegance of Expression. 2nd ed. London: J. Moore

BIRTE BÖS (DUISBURG-ESSEN)

"… which they read not so much for the Newes as the Stile": Impartiality as an Important Asset in Early 18th-Century News Writing

1. Introduction At the dawn of the newspaper age, when the Licensing Act had lapsed (1695), many tried their luck in the booming English newspaper market. Trying to find and defend their niche and differentiate their paper from its competitors, newsmakers often emphasised their impartiality as a major asset. This is aptly illustrated by the following extracts from editorial metadiscourse found in the first issues of newspapers entering the market. Though striving for originality, they strike remarkably similar tones (1-3):1 (1) I shall take care, as I did in my Letters, to write truth and give an impartial account of the most remarkable occurrences both at home and abroad. (The London News-Letter, 29 Apr 1695) (2) To be Published every Wednesday and Saturday, and to contain an Impartial Collection of such Foreign and Domestick Occurrences, […] (The English Courant, 25 May 1695) (3) The New State of Europe, Both as to publick Transactions and Learning. With Impartial Ob- servations thereupon. (The New State of Europe, 23-30 May 1701) Just what exactly was this impartiality and were the papers really living up to their own ideals? In order to find out more about contemporary conceptualisations of impartiality and actual realisations of news writing, this study combines two perspectives. After a short introduction of the data and methodology (section 2), the paper first investigates metadiscursive comments including the labels impartial/impartiality (section 3). Here, the focus is on the formative years of early newspaper writing, a period of roughly one generation from 1695 to 1730. In a second step, three sample papers (The Daily Journal, The Flying-Post or the Post-Master, and The Weekly Journal or Saturday's Post2) are singled out for a case study on expressions of evaluation and stance in early 18th-century news writing (section 4).

2. Data and Methods The data for this study are taken from the 17th-18th Century Burney Collection News- papers. For the analysis of the labels impartial/impartiality3, the automatic search

1 Where necessary, relevant passages in the examples have been highlighted by bold type. Other typographical conventions and spellings are as in the original. 2 Henceforth, the short versions of the titles, Daily Journal, Flying-Post, and Weekly Journal, will be used to refer to these newspapers. 3 Other search words tested in the first phase of this study are authentick, design, and stile/style, which, however, yielded a lower number of relevant hits. Further interesting candidates to be investigated more systematically are the adjectives (un-)biased, candid, and just. Although these terms certainly provide further interesting insights into newsmakers' ideals of news-writing, they are neglected here for reasons of space. 50 BIRTE BÖS function of the Burney Collection was employed to extract relevant instances from the archive. Naturally, such an archive-based search involves severe problems of recall and precision. Due to the varying quality of the originals, which is occasionally quite poor, the results of Optical Character Recognition (OCR) are not fully reliable and clearly, not all instances of the labels could be retrieved from the archive.4 On the other hand, not all of the instances retrieved proved relevant for this study and the search results had to be cleaned up manually (see Table 1). The hits considered here were those which occurred in metadiscursive comments by newsmakers relating directly to the news discourse. Additionally, it proved relevant to include those instances which established impartiality as a characteristic of the parties involved in the news production and reception processes, thus reflecting indirectly on the desired news quality (see section 3 for examples). Burney Collection Key term Hits (all) Hits (relevant) 1695-1730 impartial 1,434 118 impartiality 305 51 Total 1,739 169 Table 1: Results of the archive-based search of the key terms impartial/impartiality For the case study on expressions of stance, 10,000 word samples of each the Daily Journal (Sample 1), the Flying-Post (Sample 2), and Mist's Weekly Journal (Sample 3), all from 1720/1721, were keyed in, which allowed for the use of software tools like WordSmith and MAXQDA. In a qualitative approach, selected evaluators in this data set were tagged and thus made available for comparison (see section 4).

3. (Re-)Constructing the Notion of Impartiality The basic definition of 'impartial' has remained stable from the past centuries to this day: "Not partial; not favouring one party or side more than another; unprejudiced, unbiased, fair, just, equitable. (Of persons, their conduct, etc.)" (Oxford English Diction- ary (OED), s.v. 1). As regards modern journalism, "the values of objectivity, fairness, truthfulness and accuracy" (though actually often neglected) are considered "the basic tenets of all journalistic codes of practice" (Bednarek/Caple 2012, 36). Yet, as will be shown below, impartiality is a quality that has been idealised from the very beginning of newspaper history.5 As already pointed out, metadiscursive comments including the labels impartial/impartiality relate to both the quality of the news itself or the people writing and reading them, thus reflecting on the news discourse in a secondary fashion. Considering the cotext of the relevant hits for impartial/impartiality, the following picture emerges (Figure 1):

4 This became evident, for example, when comparing the automatic search hits to the instances found in a small corpus of editorial metadiscourse from 30 inaugural editions of newspapers (1694-1737), which had been compiled manually from the same archive for a previous study (see Bös forthc.) 5 Sambrook (2012, 7) points out that, in fact, the ideals of impartiality and objectivity, can be traced back to ancient Greece and were clearly boosted by Enlightenment ideas in the 17th century. IMPARTIALITY IN EARLY 18TH-CENTURY NEWS WRITING 51

CORRES- PONDENTS READERS Self: positive

positive positive positive positive

NEWSPAPER person-focus

AUTHOR / EDITOR person- / product-focus Self: positive product-focus

negotiable negotiable

negative OPPONENTS GENERAL CONTEM- Self: PLATIONS positive

Fig. 1: Usage of the labels impartial/impartiality in metadiscursive comments in early English newspapers Generally speaking, the labels impartial/impartiality were used with a person- or product-focus, either in self- or in other-reference. Next to the newspaper itself, which, in the 17th/18th centuries, was typically represented by an editorial persona, often an author cum editor, there are references to the newspaper's correspondents, its opponents (mostly other newspapers and their representatives), and its readers. It is hardly surprising that self-references were usually positive, asserting the impartiality of the respective party and their own news output, whereas other-references were positive only with regard to affiliates and readers, and negative in relation to competitors and their news reporting. Below, some examples of these constellations will be provided. In addition, the data set also displayed a few more general contemplations on the quality of impartiality in writing as such, which will, however, be neglected in the discussion to follow.

3.1 Self-References by the Newsmakers Self-references to the newspaper and its representatives and self-references in correspondents' contributions (though rarer than the former) take relatively similar forms. For example, there is a quite formulaic pattern of promising that the paper or correspondents' contributions provide an impartial account6 of news. Further nouns used in a similar way are collection, examination, and observations. Occasionally, impartial

6 On the metadiscursive usage of terms such as account in English newspapers, see Bös 2015 and, for 17th-century precursors of the newspaper, see also Brownlees 2015 and Cecconi 2015.

52 BIRTE BÖS is complemented by other, often coordinated adjectives (4 a-d), which illustrate that next to impartiality, truthfulness and brevity were considered important values:7 (4a) a faithful and impartial account of all Transactions both Foreign and Domestick (118 London Evening Post, 12-14 December 1727) (4b) a diligent, honest, and impartial Examination of the Truths of such Facts (084 Daily Journal, 21 March 1722) (4c) a brief and impartial Account of Facts, as near as possible (081 Weekly Journal or British Gaz- etteer, 8 July 1721) (4d) a short (but Impartial) Account of that Matter (082 Applebee's Original Weekly Journal, 25 November 1721) In addition to modifying the formats and modes of publication, impartial is also used to indicate the intended style of news presentation (5): (5) And this I design to do in the most unprejudiced, impartial, and natural Manner; for that it may be a lesson of Instruction at all Times; […] (121 British Journal or The Censor, 22 June 1728) Of course, such assertions should not tempt us to assume that impartiality indeed meant balanced, unbiased reporting for early newsmakers. This is not just a matter of the actual realisations of news writing (as will be shown in section 4). The editorial metadiscourse itself, complemented by historical background knowledge, reveals more varied conceptualisations of impartiality. The following editorial comment from Nathaniel Mist's Weekly Journal provides a particularly complex case in point. It was published when the newspaper had (once more) been accused of libel against King George and his ministry, and the newsmakers saw the need to acknowledge their "desire to live peaceably and innofensively [sic], in a due and full Submission to the present Government, in Loyaly [sic] to King George, and Observance of the established Laws of their Country". This statement suggests a one-sided, pro-government position – one which Mist, in fact, had never taken (see e.g. Clarke 2010, 66f.). Interestingly, the comment is assumed to be the first contribution to the paper by Daniel Defoe, who "was paid by the government to moderate the anti-Hanoverian and anti-whig tone of the paper" (Chapman 2014, 2).8 Example 6 provides another extract from the same editorial note: (6) As to the Home Account of News, as this Paper will be filled with a greater Variety every Day, than any other Paper can be, no Pains, or Cost being spared to gather up every material Passage that occurs in every Corner of the Town, and from every Part of the two Kingdoms, so we assure our Readers of every Party, that we shall endeavour to observe so exact a Neutrality of Parties, and give such an impartial Account of things, keeping to the Matters of Fact only, that as we have not the least Design to give Offence to the Government, so we depend upon the publick Justice, that no Offence will be taken at any thing we shall innocently publish without Design to injure, or offend them. (066 Weekly Journal or Saturday's Post, Saturday, 3 August 1717)

7 Although 'impartial + noun' is the most frequent structural pattern, impartial is, of course, not only used attributively, but also predicatively (see e.g. example 7 below). 8 Chapman furthermore suggests that although Defoe might have succeeded in holding back some of the most harmful articles, "any attempt to curb Mist's Jacobite tendencies were unlikely to succeed for long" (2012, 3). IMPARTIALITY IN EARLY 18TH-CENTURY NEWS WRITING 53

The publication of home news was, of course, a particularly sensitive matter at that time of fierce censorship. It could be argued that the apparent loyalty to the government suggested by Defoe could be backed by Mist (and his Jacobite readership) only by wearing the cloak of impartiality. By asserting neutrality and factualness, responsibility is transferred to the censors. With subtle irony, the blame is put on the government, if they perceive innocent matter-of-fact reportage as punishable defamation. The shaping role of the newsmaker for an (ideally impartial) news output is brought into view in example 7, and receives more explicit emphasis in the person-related instances of impartial in examples 8 a-d: (7) This account of this unhappy Prelate is as Impartial as I can form it. (080 Weekly Journal or British Gazetteer, 14 May 1720) (8a) to shew my Readers what a candid and impartial Person I am (072 Weekly Packet, 24 January 1719) (8b) examining their Performances with an impartial eye (036 Spectator, 31 December 1711) (8c) the People throughout the Kingdom […] shou'd, if possible, be set right in their Opinions by some impartial Hand (027 Examiner or Remarks upon Papers and Occurrences, 16 November 1710) (8d) like an impartial SPECTATOR (037 Spectator, 14 January 1712) Next to a combination with person-references like person (8a), writer (9 below), or more specific nouns like Historian, all relating to the newsmaker, there are also meto- nymic constructions (as in 8 b-c), and puns involving the name of the newspaper (8d). The latter are made possible by the fact that many early newspapers relied heavily on the principle of personification, featuring person references of various kinds as their titles (Spectator, Examiner, Plain Dealer, etc.) and strong (usually fictional) editorial personae of the same name embodying the newspaper's voice (see Bös forthc.). Again, also person-related self-references provide interesting insights into the conceptualisation of impartiality. In example 9, the second statement in bold type clearly con- tradicts the first, when we rely on the OED definition provided at the beginning of this section:

(9) IN my Paper of this Day, I shall have an occasion to Touch upon a Subject, which will fully demonstrate my Zeal for Truth and Justice; and settle the Opinion of my Readers concerning me, that I am really an impartial and disinterested Writer. My Design at present is to attack the Present Min----y. (059 Examiner or Remarks upon Papers and Occurrences, 14 May 1714) Here, the author cum editor equates impartiality with a Zeal for Truth and Justice. Thus, what only shines through in the comment from Mist's Weekly Journal in example 6, that reporting the truth might result in (allegedly unintended) criticism of the government, is made abundantly clear in this comment: It is the newsmaker's own perspective that is 'objectively' the right one and needs to be defended, if necessary even at the risk of being prosecuted.

3.2 Other-References by the Newspaper and Its Correspondents Other-references of newspapers and their correspondents work in both ways. On the one hand, there are often comments by the editors pointing out the value of their correspondents' contributions. These, of course, have a positive impact on the quality of

54 BIRTE BÖS the newspaper itself and are thus noteworthy. Example 10 shows an instance of such other-reference, in this case a person-related one. Example 11 illustrates one of the rarer cases where the editor directly addresses the correspondent, here using the product-related labels just and impartial to express his trust in the correspondent's work: (10) [t]his letter, which comes from a good and impartial hand, confirms […] (029 Post Man and the Historical Account, 27 January 1711) (11) If any thing happens, worth your Notice, […] oblige me with those just and impartial Obser- vations, which I know you can make, upon all Occurrences, that affect the Publick. (055 Ex- aminer or Remarks upon Papers and Occurrences, 23 November 1713) On the other hand, the data also displays evidence of the correspondents using the metadiscursive labels under discussion in relation to the editor of the paper. For example, they occasionally appeal to the impartiality of the editor in order to insert certain pieces – and in having published the material (including the respective comment), the editor obviously proves that quality (12): (12) but if you design to be impartial, pray be so honest as to print the Information I now give you […] (039 Spectator, 7 March 1712) Often it is not recognisable whose, exactly, is the voice represented in such comments. Clearly, many of the letters involving praise by correspondents (and also readers) seem to be manufactured to boost the image of the newspaper and its editors. This is certainly true for the following comment (13) by a certain Tom Sharpsight who dissects the whole newspaper market in his letter. After providing unfavourable comments on all the major contemporary competitors (see section 4, example 19 for more details), the correspondent with the telling name concludes: (13) In short, on reading over all the Papers that are now publish'd, I find none impartial, and at the same time intelligible, but yours […] (091 Weekly Journal or Saturday's Post, 11 May 1723)

3.3 Other-References by the Newspaper and Its Readers For other-references between newspaper and reader the material also delivers evidence of both directions of usage. As already mentioned, we cannot always be sure about the authenticity of letters to the editor and thus the genuineness of readers' praise of editors and their papers as impartial. However, what is also interesting to see is how the editor establishes the readership as a moral instance judging the quality of the newspaper. Most frequently, the collocation impartial reader could be observed (e.g. 14), but there are also some more generic person-references (e.g. persons, men): (14) […] the difference of this Paper from these others Published, is with all modesty submitted to the judgment of every Judicious and Impartial Reader. (The Old Post-Master, with the Oc- currences of Great Brittain and Ireland, and from Foreign Parts, Collected and Published, 20- 23 June 1696) This usage can, of course, count as a deferential strategy by the newsmaker. In addition to flattering their readership, the newsmakers often carefully prepare the grounds for their readers' judgements by presenting themselves in the best light and their opponents, on the contrary, as partial and deceitful (15): (15) HAVING already shewn, to the Satisfaction of impartial Readers, the Examiner's base Ingrati- tude for my last Favour; it remains for me to shew likewise, that he was in extreme want of such a Friend; and that I was neither impertinent nor officious in offering him my Counsel, and send- IMPARTIALITY IN EARLY 18TH-CENTURY NEWS WRITING 55

ing him my Instructions. This can only be done by giving undeniable Proofs, that a great deal of what he has publish'd to the World, is neither True nor Probable […] (034 Medley, 28 May 1711) Again, the notion of impartiality seems to be reduced here to adopting the 'right' position and it is taken for granted that the reader sides with the newspaper at hand.

3.4 Other-References by the Newspaper and Its Opponents It does not come as a surprise that positive self-references are often contrasted with a negative other-presentation of competitors or political opponents. Thus, when the terms impartial/impartiality are employed in reference to opponents, it is typically in hypothetical (16a) or ironic usage (16b). In the first case, impartial is contrasted with politick behaviour, politick clearly being used here in the derogatory sense of 'schem- ing, crafty, cunning' (see OED, s.v. 2c). In the latter case, the ironic reading of the term is enforced by a reference to the writer provided earlier in the text, which describes him as "[a]n obscure Author, who trys to make himself Noted": (16a) if your journalists were as impartial as they are politick (018 Daily Courant, 6 September 1708) (16b) That our Readers may see how Impartial this New-sprung-up Writer is, in his Dispensations, we will enumerate certain Particulars […] (040 Examiner or Remarks upon Papers and Occur- rences, 10 April 1712) What is less straightforward is that the newsmakers also publish the critical opinions of opponents in their own papers, which actually challenge their own impartiality. This practice helps them to construct themselves as editors who accept and even make public the criticism of others and are thus impartial after all. Additionally, the adversarial remarks usually provide a good trigger for their counter argumentation. Such an incorporation of other (occasionally invented) voices is, of course, no innovation of 18th-century news writing, but a well-described rhetorical device (see e.g. Fahnestock 2011). Example 17 shows the opening of an unsigned letter to the editor which is reproduced in Mist's Weekly Journal and then rebutted:

(17) Mr. MIST, YOU are a devilish Tory, that I know, and yet you sometimes pretend to be impartial […] To this cunning Letter we reply, we are not to give Account of what the Whig-Writers mean, who generally write so as that the kindest Thing that can be said of them, is, that they do not mean at all; but […] (071 Weekly Journal or Saturday's Post, 12 July 1718) The example gives vivid evidence of this useful argumentative strategy which preserves an air of impartiality, yet allows for the deconstruction of the opposing party.

3.5 Summary The previous discussion has shown that the concept of impartiality, in our data, relates both to selection and processing principles of news, input and output, the news discourse itself, and the parties involved in their production and reception. Although there have been attempts, in modern journalism research, to differentiate the terms 'impartiality' (relating to an absence of bias) and 'objectivity' (emphasising facts and evidence), they are often used interchangeably (see Sambrook 2012, 3; 5) and, indeed, these notions are also blurred in the metadiscourse of 18th-century newsmakers.

56 BIRTE BÖS

Their comments put strong emphasis on the factual and balanced nature of their reports, promising that "[n]o Room shall be lost upon Politicks, but the Facts fairly deliver'd" (General Post, 24 July 1711) and contrasting impartiality and 'sentiments'. They negotiate truth values and the trustworthiness of the sources of news. Further- more, the metalinguistic labels impartial/impartiality relate to the way in which the news is presented. Thus, the notion of impartiality evokes important dimensions of expressing stance and evaluation, as described in frameworks like those by Biber/Finegan (1989) and Bed- narek (2006), most notably those of EMOTIVITY, RELIABILITY, and – closely related to that – EVIDENTIALITY, and STYLE. The case study provided in the next section will take up three of these dimensions, EMOTIVITY, RELIABILITY, and EVIDENTIALITY, and look at how they are realised in three selected papers.

4. Living Up to the Ideals? Evaluation in the Daily Journal, the Flying-Post, and the Weekly Journal 4.1 The Selected Newspapers This case study takes into view three early 18th-century newspapers of different character. The Daily Journal started to appear on a daily basis in January 1721. It presented mainly foreign and domestic news and a quite limited range of advertisements, which "seems to have made it less popular with readers" (see Burney Collection, headnote on Daily Journal). The Flying-Post had already entered the newspaper landscape in 1695 as one of the first tri-weekly morning papers. Its innovative practice of "the so-called half-printed, half-written method of publishing, which meant that anybody could write and submit an article for publication" (Studer 2008, 66) might have contributed to its poor and sensationalist image.9 Competition from the evening posts which began to enter the market in the 1710s made its life difficult, so that [b]y the 1720s, the Flying-Post was in such a sorry state that its author and proprietor, Stephen Whatley, had to translate the continental papers for other newspapers in order to make a living until he managed to secure a bribe of £50 a year for keeping the Flying-Post loyal to the Minis- try […] (Clarke 2010, 50) In contrast, the Weekly Journal was a highly successful weekly paper, popular for its unusually extensive coverage of home news and its risky attacks on the King and his ministry (see Chapman 2014, 1; Clarke 2010, 66). Nathaniel Mist, certainly one of the most intriguing newsmakers of his time, had started the journal in December 1716 and managed to widen "the appeal of the newspaper to cover the interests and preoccupa- tions of a lower class" (Clarke 2010, 70). What unites the three papers, apart from their contemporaneous appearance, is that they all include metadiscursive negotiations of impartiality. Of the relevant hits retrieved from the Burney collection, eight were found in the Daily Journal, five in the Flying-Post, and as many as 23 in the Weekly Journal. Of course, all the papers claim impartiality for themselves. Furthermore, they draw comparisons between themselves

9 The rather bad reputation of the Flying-Post is, for example, reflected in the following provoca- tive question from a letter to the editor of The Weekly Medley or the Gentleman's Recreation, who is challenged: "Do you begin to copy Falshood and Scandal from the Flying-Post?" (14-21 November 1719). IMPARTIALITY IN EARLY 18TH-CENTURY NEWS WRITING 57 and their competitors, as illustrated by example 18, the extract from the inaugural issue of the Daily Journal that has also provided the title for the study at hand: (18) I would advise all those Gentlemen, who take so much Delight in Mist, or the Flying Post, and which they read, not so much for the News as the Stile, or rather the Party-Reflections of their Authors, not to give themselves the Trouble of perusing this Paper, lest they should find their Expectations baulk'd, […] (Daily Journal, 24 January 1720) This case study thus takes the perspective of the contemporaries, who would compare and evaluate the impartiality of these competitors in the news market, notwithstanding any differences in publication rhythm and concepts of news writing. Tom Sharpsight's judgements, whose favourable evaluation of the Weekly Journal was already mentioned above (13), may serve as another example here. Sharpsight introduces himself as "a Country Gentleman" with "a natural Curiosity to inspect all the Papers of News and Entertainment" and provides the following assessment regarding the two selected competitors of the Weekly Journal: (19) I next read the Daily Post and the Daily Journal; the first I found writ in a dry, pedantick, cox- comical Style with some feint Truth; the other in a loose, nonsensical, unintelligible Dialect, without any Foundation of Truth, and containing the most impotent Attempts of Wit, that ever appeared since Grub-Street has flourish'd. After these, I came to the Flying-Post and the Post-Boy; the first seems to be so besotted with a false and ungovernable Zeal for a certain Party, and so very ignorant, that he's become the very Jest of those he intended to serve; and the latter is so much obliged to the Daily Journal, that he is dwindled at least from an elegant News-Writer. […] (Weekly Journal or Sat- urday's Post, 23 May 1723) The following analysis will put these assessments to the test.

4.2 The Selected Evaluators and Their Distribution in the Data Set Biber/Finegan, in their paper on the marking of evidentiality and affect, suggest that press reportage displays a "faceless stance", i.e. a "relative absence of all affective and evidential stance features" (1989, 108) considered in their study. Their results seem to support the notions of media objectivity and impartiality, the ideal of an entirely balanced, fact-based presentation of news, void of any linguistic markers of evaluation. However, Bednarek's (2006) comprehensive study of evaluation in news discourse shows that not even prototypical hard news are free from evaluation and both modern British broadsheets and tabloids display substantial numbers of evaluative expressions. She points out that their differences rather lie in the frequency and combination of certain parameters of evaluation. The three dimensions selected for investigation here prove central insofar as they relate immediately to the aims and generic characteristics of news discourse (see Bed- narek 2006, 191). News is essentially embedded speech, whose sources are assessed by EVIDENTIALITY expressions and whose propositions are negotiated by RELIABILITY evaluators. Adopting a particular audience design (see Bell 1991, 104-106), newspapers use EMOTIVITY tokens to modulate the emotive stance cherished by their target audiences. EMOTIVITY and RELIABILITY belong to the core parameters of Bednarek's framework of evaluation. They are characterised by their scalar nature and display different de-

58 BIRTE BÖS grees of intensity (see Bednarek 2006, 44). EVIDENTIALITY is considered a peripheral parameter, which – in contrast to the core parameters – does not directly relate to qualitative evaluations of certain entities, situations or propositions, but to the source of information (ibid, 53). For the study at hand, the three 10.000 word samples of the newspapers (all dating back to 1720/21) were fed into MAXQDA, a software for qualitative data analysis. The small corpus was tagged manually, considering the three major categories mentioned, EMOTIVITY, EVIDENTIALITY, and RELIABILITY. Additionally, a fourth category provides a glimpse at the interplay of evaluators, taking account of the frequent combination of RELIABILITY + EVIDENTIALITY. An important distinction in the analysis of evaluation is that of averral (i.e. the writer's own evaluation) and attribution (i.e. evaluations attributed to others). Generally, Bed- narek (see 2006, 60f.) points out, every case of attribution also includes averral, an evaluation of the writer concerning the attributed evaluation. More specifically, in our data of historical news discourse, at the beginning of the 18th century, newsmakers' expressions of stance were often disguised as the opinions of others. Hence, they often used "a manifest intertextual marker to acknowledge the presence of an antecedent authorial voice" (Groom 2000; quoted in Bednarek 2006, 60), for example a fictitious correspondent, in order to cope with censorship and avoid prosecution. The three papers analysed show different percentages of material presented in the author/editor's voice (or without any indication of authorial voice) and material clearly presenting other voices.10 In the Daily Journal, 13.6% of the sample comprises inserted material with a distinctive non-authorial voice. In the Flying-Post, non-authorial material amounts to 51%, mainly reproductions of letters by newspaper-external send- ers and addressees with distinct expressions of opinion. In the Weekly Journal, the percentage of non-authorial material is lower (36.6%), but it is particularly prominent, as it is typically found on the front page, in (fictitious) letters to the editor, often explicitly address to "Mr Mist". Example 20 illustrates the explicitness of opinion and the density of evaluators displayed in such material: (20) Mr. Mist, ALthough I am declared Enemy to the many fallacious Schemes and Projects lately set on Foot, so justly called Bubbles; yet I heartily wish well to all fair and generous Undertakings for the publick Good, without any self interested Views; and more especially when under- taken by a great Number of Gentlemen of such Reputation and Fortunes in the World, as will not admit the least Doubt of their upright Intentions; among these the Subscription lately taken at Sadlers Hall for two Millions, to insure Houses and Goods from Fire all over England, is in every Respect in an eminent Manner distinguished. […] (Sample 3, Weekly Journal 1720) Indeed, all the three papers display such drastic differences in the number and kind of evaluators found in authorial/editorial material and non-authorial passages. Thus, the higher the percentage of non-authorial material (and the more salient its position in the paper), the more pronounced is the evaluation. Still, this does not automatically make

10 The count of non-authorial material includes texts markedly attributed to other sources and differentiated from the authorial/editorial voice. Reports taken over uncommented and unchanged from other newspapers (a practice abundantly employed in the early days of news writing) were considered as authorial/editorial material, as they display newsmakers' voices after all. IMPARTIALITY IN EARLY 18TH-CENTURY NEWS WRITING 59 the paper less impartial. This analysis therefore acknowledges the practice of attribut- ing certain evaluations to other sources as a strategy of avoiding responsibility for the stances expressed. Such clearly attributed material has been neglected in the case study and will not be discussed further. Based on the above considerations, the following results were gained in the MAXQDA- analysis (see Table 2): All papers Daily Journal Flying Post Weekly Journal EMOTIVITY 12.0 7.2 16.2 15.4 EVIDENTIALITY 10.7 11.1 9.1 11.3 RELIABILITY 2.0 0.8 3.2 2.5 RELIABILITY + 2.3 2.3 0.6 3.5 EVIDENTIALITY TOTAL 26.9 21.4 29.1 32.8 Table 2: Distribution of evaluators in the Daily Journal, Flying Post, and Weekly Journal (per 1,000 words)

4.3 EMOTIVITY The expression of sentiments, some contemporary editorial comments made clear, was to be shunned in early news discourse which idealised factuality as an important component of impartiality. This issue was also raised in the inaugural edition of the Daily Journal (21): (21) [L]et my own private Sentiments be what they will, they never shall appear in a News-Paper. (Daily Journal, 24 January 1720) Accordingly, the hypothesis regarding this dimension of evaluation is that a lower number of EMOTIVITY tokens indicates a higher degree of impartiality. EMOTIVITY, which covers newsmakers' evaluations of certain entities, situations, or propositions as (more or less) positive or negative, has justly been described by Bed- narek as "probably the most problematic of all parameters" (2006, 46) of evaluation. Major challenges in capturing EMOTIVITY evaluators in corpus analyses result from their complex, context-bound nature. In order to cope with that, Bednarek postulates six different clines (see 2006, 46-48), which – among other aspects – deal with the differentiation of inscribed and evoked evaluation and the problem of 'accessibility to intuition', i.e. that some emotionally charged terms are easily recognisable for the researcher, whereas others are very subtle. As regards the tagging process in this case study, the focus was on those evaluators with "a high degree of attitudinal saturation" (ibid., 74), i.e. the clearly inscribed, explicit evaluations, and not on evoked, implicit ones. Admittedly, this approach undeniably limits the complexity and informative value of this case study, and the methodological decision is by no means clear-cut, as the inscribed-evoked divide as well as the notion of accessibility are scalar, and not dichotomous in nature (ibid., 46). How- ever, it appeared unavoidable, as the interpretation of invoked, implicit evaluations involves historical background knowledge of a comprehensiveness and depth which could not be guaranteed by the modern analyst. Still, some examples of the more elusive evaluations will be discussed below.

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What was easy to capture were explicit metadiscursive expressions of newsmakers' approval or disapproval relating to the news itself, which could take the form of pre- modifying adjectives like favourable or agreeable (22), but also clausal modifications (23): (22) Vienna, March 15. Yesterday, arriv'd here Post from Rome, Mr. Vescovi, Cardinal Althan's Gentleman with the agreeable News, that his Holiness having call'd a Consistorial Congrega- tion, had resolv'd to make Vienna an Archbishoprick. (Sample 1, Daily Journal 1720) (23) We have one Piece of News from Italy this Week, by way of Paris, which don't at all please us. (Sample 3, Weekly Journal 1720) Yet, EMOTIVITY evaluators were, of course, not just used metadiscursively, but also (and predominantly) showing the newsmakers' perspectives regarding certain persons, plans, events, etc. For example, next to the basic good (found 12 times in the authorial/editorial material) and bad (with two instances rather rare), the data displayed a range of further evaluative adjectives. Varying in intensity, they covered a spectrum from positive (e.g. advantageous, acceptable, and charitable; see 24) to negative (e.g. odious, vile, and perfidious, see 25). Both examples below are taken from the Flying- Post, where such evaluative adjectives were particularly prominent: (24) We hear that the Governor and Company of Undertakers for raising the Thames Water, in York- Buildings, having already granted several Annuities, will very soon give further Proposals relating to Annuities, advantageous to the Publick, and particularly intended for the Good of Wid- ows and Orphans, who stand most in need of Support and Protection; which, as it seems to be a very good and charitable Design, will, without doubt, be very acceptable to the Publick. (Sample 2, Flying-Post 1720) (25) It has appear'd already, that this perfidious Plot was of a very large Extent, and that the Czar endevor'd to bring the K's of Spain and Sardinia into it; […] (Sample 2, Flying-Post 1720) Explicit evaluation is also provided with the formula it is hoped, which (including or- thographic variants like 'tis hop'd) is found five times in the data set (26): (26) 'Tis hop'd, that the Landgrave of Hesse Cassel will recall his Troops, which are in the Country of Hesse Rheinfeld, which may prevent any fatal Consequence, and make all factious People hold their Tongues. (Sample 1, Daily Journal 1720) Here, problems of averral and attribution are stirred up again, because it is not always entirely clear who feels hope. Sometimes, this question can be disambiguated by deictic expressions hinting at the newsmakers themselves or at other people's perspectives, for instance, that of the participants of the news events reported. However, disam- biguation is not always possible. Somewhat more implicit, but still fairly accessible are terms carrying positive or negative connotations and thus implying the approval or disapproval of the writer, e.g. loyalty, integrity, and friendship vs. mob, rebellion, and conspiracy. Here, the difficulty for the modern researcher is that the associative meanings of certain terms might have changed and thus their emotive value might be misinterpreted or even escape notice. Among the cases of less obvious emotive evaluation is, for example, the use of deferential titles (e.g. his Excellency, Gentleman). They have not been considered in the tagging process, as their effect depends on their degree of formulaicity, which could not be investigated with the relatively small data set at hand. It would take a more comprehensive analysis of the general naming practices of the respective newspaper in order to identify deviating, and thus potentially meaningful evaluative patterns. IMPARTIALITY IN EARLY 18TH-CENTURY NEWS WRITING 61

With all the necessary precautions in interpreting the results thus limited, the picture that emerges when we compare the EMOTIVITY tokens in the editorial material of the three papers is sufficiently clear: With 7.2 evaluators per 1,000 words (henceforth: ptw), the Daily Journal clearly displays a much lower degree of EMOTIVITY than the Weekly Journal (15.4 ptw) and the Flying-Post (16.2 ptw), which both contain more than twice as many EMOTIVITY tokens as their competitor.

4.4 EVIDENTIALITY Generally speaking, EVIDENTIALITY expressions relate to the sources of information, they "illustrate the type of justification for a claim that is available to the person making that claim" (Rooryck 2001, 125). With regard to news discourse, Biber/Finegan state that "evidential certainty is not overtly expressed because all information presented is assumed to be factual unless explicitly marked otherwise" (1989, 109). How- ever, their assumption, if at all,11 rather seems to be true for highly professionalised, 20th-century news writing which relies on information from well-established, credible sources (like large international news agencies)12 than for early news discourse. In the 18th century, news was still a precious commodity and news gathering was a challenging process, involving a range of more or less trustworthy sources. Thus, we could argue – and this is the hypothesis here – that the more impartial the newspaper, the more carefully it will relate to its sources of information. Indeed, the data set displays numerous expressions regarding the sources of their news. EVIDENTIALITY is the second-most frequent of the investigated parameters, with an average of 10.7 tokens ptw, the Daily Journal slightly higher, the other two papers slightly lower (see Table 2 above). Many such evaluators were used in a formulaic fashion and can, in fact, be considered a genre marker of 18th-century news discourse. For example, it was still common practice in the old days to copy or translate material from other newspapers, and this is regularly acknowledged (27), and even when they offered no news, sources were mentioned, e.g. to provide further evidence for previously given information (28): (27) From the Gazette a-la-main. Paris, July 20. ON the 17th Instant, the Bank paid their Bills of 100 Livres, […] (Sample 2, Flying-Post 1720) (28) Some private Letters from Provence give a favourable Account of the Plague; but as it is just the same as what was inserted in Wednesday's Paper, in the Article from Brussels, we shall forbear repeating it. (Sample 1, Daily Journal 1720) There are many such routine formulae indicating a range of sub-values relating to the sources of the propositions, which were described by Bednarek as HEARSAY, MIND- SAY, PERCEPTION, GENERAL KNOWLEDGE, and (lack of) PROOF (see 2006, 53f.). Table 3 provides some examples from the data set illustrating these categories:

11 See Bednarek's (2006, 189) findings according to which EVIDENTIALITY is the second-most frequent parameter of evaluation in modern British news reports from 2003. 12 New changes in this parameter seem to be ahead with the drastic changes of journalism in the digital age. As Sambrook's (2012, 11) discussion of modern news practitioners' views suggests, transparency with regard to sources, means, and positions starts to outweigh objectivity.

62 BIRTE BÖS

EVIDENTIALITY: HEARSAY we hear, 'Tis said EVIDENTIALITY: MINDSAY It was thought EVIDENTIALITY: PERCEPTION it was observed, it seems EVIDENTIALITY: GENERAL 'tis generally believ'd, KNOWLEDGE well known EVIDENTIALITY: PROOF They write (from [place]) We have Advice Letters from [place] say Yesterday came in a Mail from Holland, with the following Advices.

Table 3: Sub-values of EVIDENTIALITY expressions

All these tokens were tagged as EVIDENTIALITY evaluators, relating to the sources of information. However, they clearly evoke RELIABILITY assessments as well, as there is "a correlation between the type of evidence or 'mode of knowing' […] and certainty of knowledge" (Bednarek 2006, 127). This is also pointed out by Rooryck: Evidentials indicate both source and reliability of the information. They put in perspective or evaluate the truth value of a sentence both with respect to the source of the information contained in the sentence, and with respect to the degree to which this truth can be verified or justified. (Rooryck 2001, 125) Thus, if not specified otherwise by additional evaluators, precise references to the documents transmitting the news would usually suggest a higher degree of trustworthiness than, for example, PERCEPTION or HEARSAY evaluators.

4.5 RELIABILITY As the discussion of metadiscursive labels in section 3 has shown, the notion of impartiality is inseparably tied to the value of truth. This is once more emphasised in example 29, which outlines general principles of (news) writing:

(29) IT is a Maxim which no good Writer of History should ever deviate from, that no Falshood should be told, nor any Truth left untold. (116 British Journal, 16 September 1727) It is this facet of RELIABILITY, newsmakers' explicit judgments regarding the genuine- 13 ness of certain pieces of information, that is taken up in the analysis at hand. As such negotiations of truth values will necessarily involve a certain positioning of the paper, it can be argued that a high number of such evaluators has diminishing effects on its impartiality. In the three papers selected, such truth-related RELIABILITY evaluators are less frequent than those in the other two dimensions. They occur on average in 2.0 ptw cases, are least prominent in the Daily Journal (0.8 ptw), and most often found in the Flying Post (3.2 ptw). Negotiations of reliability would sometimes put an emphasis on the truth values of certain news (30). However, more commonly, assessments of certain propositions as lies and pretence are found in the data set (31):

13 Bednarek (2006, 52) furthermore describes different values of intensity (low, median, high RE- LIABILITY), which were neglected here. IMPARTIALITY IN EARLY 18TH-CENTURY NEWS WRITING 63

(30) Tis true the Populace at the sight of some Persons who were stifled in the Croud, raved against Mr. Law […] (Sample 2, Flying Post 1720) (31) THE Memorial presented to the King, by the Czar's Minister, in December last, was so very impudent, and full of Falshoods, as has been already shewn in this and other Papers, […] (Sample 2, Flying Post 1720) Just as evaluators of EVIDENTIALITY often evoke RELIABILITY assessments (see section 4.4 above), so RELIABILITY expressions regarding the genuineness of news items evoke EMOTIVITY. As Bednarek points out, "[a]pparently, there is a cultural equation which states that what is genuine is 'good' and what is 'fake' is bad'"(2006, 114).

4.6 EVIDENTIALITY + RELIABILITY However, the interplay of the various dimensions of evaluation is not just a matter of one parameter being associated with another one based on cultural norms and expectations. It is also not uncommon for evaluative tokens to be multifunctional, as illustrated here by the combination of RELIABILITY and EVIDENTIALITY. This is the case in example 32, where, among other evaluations, certain pieces of information are assessed as rather the Work of Imagination than Information: (32) The Town has been alarm'd for these two or three Days past, of Camps to be formed at Home, new Alliances Abroad, new Demands, &c. But this seems to be rather the Work of Imagin- ation than Information, we shall suspend our Belief of these things 'till we have a better Authority for them than Common Fame. (Sample 1, Daily Journal 1720) In example 33, the term Report is clearly not just used as a neutral EVIDENTIALITY expression, in the sense of 'descriptive account' (see OED, s.v. 2.a), but with an assessment of its reliability as limited, i.e. in the sense of 'rumour, gossip' (OED, s.v. report, II.4.a).14 This evaluative effect is strengthened by the predicate of the clause: (33) Dresden, March 18. The Report still grows stronger and stronger, that the Kings of Poland and Prussia, intend to have an Interview with the Czar. (Sample 1, Daily Journal 1720) The interplay of RELIABILITY and EVIDENTIALITY evaluators can most frequently be observed in the Weekly Journal (3.5 ptw), less often in the Daily Journal (2.3 ptw), and rarely in the Flying-Post (0.6 ptw).

5. Conclusion Impartiality, the examination of metalinguistic labels has shown, has been a central ideal in news writing since the beginning of newspaper history. Next to unbiasedness, its conceptualisation in 18th-century editorial metadiscourse includes the connotated values of factuality, truth, and trustworthiness. Yet, contemporary comments also indicate that impartiality often seemed to be equated with taking a particular position, which was (subjectively) perceived as being objectively the 'right' one, and put forward in according fashion. Indeed, the three 18th-century newspapers selected for the case study of evaluation were far from achieving the ideal of impartiality in their news writing. As far as political positioning goes, all of them make abundantly clear whose side they are on: The

14 See Bös (2015) for a more detailed discussion of diachronic semantic shifts in the use of the metadiscursive term report.

64 BIRTE BÖS sympathy for the King is clearly reflected in the Daily Journal. The Flying-Post, it was already pointed out, was corrupted to support the government in power. The Weekly Journal, in contrast, clearly showed its oppositional status and regularly attacked the King and his ministry. Promises of impartiality also do not hold true, when we look at the linguistic tokens of EMOTIVITY, RELIABILITY, and EVIDENTIALITY found in the three 10,000 word samples analysed. None of them displays a 'faceless stance'. If we were to select the most impartial of the three, it would turn out that Tom Sharpsight, the fictitious correspondent who designated the Weekly Journal as the only impartial newspaper of the time (see 13 and 19), was obviously wrong. Of the three competitors analysed, the Daily Journal does not only contain less of the highly evaluative material attributed to other sources. Its authorial/editorial part displays a drastically lower number of EMOTIVITY evaluators than the Flying-Post and Weekly Journal, its EVIDENTIALITY tokens are slightly above average, and RELIABILITY-connected evaluations are rarer than in the other two papers. Thus, the Daily Journal's self-advertisement which emphasises the different concepts of news writing and the more partial nature of the Flying-Post and the Weekly Journal (see 18) appears justified. However, the Daily Journal's form of news presentation was not necessarily the best sales strategy. That providing evaluations and taking stances was a means to attract readers had already been recognised by some early 18th-century newsmakers. Nathan- iel Mist appealed to larger audiences by using "his papers as a platform to create a highly personal dialogue between politics and his own interpretations of them for his readers" (Conboy 2010, 44). By the 1720s, his Weekly Journal – with the highest density of the investigated evaluators (32.8 ptw) – had become "one of the most popular opposition papers" (Burney Collection, headnote on Weekly Journal). Claiming to be impartial, but instead taking sides and expressing stance thus proved a successful popularisation strategy. As prominently as the notion of impartiality featured in early editorial metadiscourse, it was not established in a code of ethics before the 1920s, first in the US and later – and to a smaller extent – in the UK (see Sambrook 2012, 8f.). Once set up as a journalistic convention, it was, of course, not necessarily adhered to in 20th-century news writing. To this day, impartiality is an asset associated with independent, quality journalism. However, Sambrook (2012) points out that in view of the increasing fragmentation of the media and new impacts from social media and citizen journalism, the standards of impartiality and objectivity need to be redefined, and their variability needs to be accounted for. It would thus be interesting to complement the synchronic, early 18th-century view of impartiality discussed in this paper by a diachronic investigation of the shifting conceptualisations and realisations of impartiality.

References 17th-18th Century Burney Collection Newspapers. Web. [last accessed 29 October 2014] Bednarek, Monika (2006): Evaluation in Media Discourse: Analysis of a Newspaper Corpus. London: Continuum ---; Caple, Helen (2012): News Discourse. London: Bloomsbury IMPARTIALITY IN EARLY 18TH-CENTURY NEWS WRITING 65

Bell, Allan (1991): The Language of News Media. Oxford: Blackwell Biber, Douglas; Finegan, Edward (1989): "Styles of Stance in English: Lexical and Grammatical Marking of Evidentiality and Affect", Text 9, 93-124 Bös (2015): "Conceptualisations, sources and agents of news: Key terms as signposts of changing journalistic practices", in: Bös, Birte; Kornexl, Lucia (eds.): Changing Genre Conventions in His- torical English News Discourse. Amsterdam: Benjamins --- (forthc.): "'A full Account of the rise, progress and declension of our Journal': Negotiations of failure in early English newspapers", in: Brakensiek, Stefan; Claridge, Claudia (eds.): Fail better. Scheitern in der frühen Neuzeit. Bielefeld: transcript Brownlees, Nicholas (2015): "'We have in some former bookes told you': The significance of metatext in 17th-century news", in: Bös, Birte; Kornexl, Lucia (eds.): Changing Genre Conventions in His- torical English News Discourse. Amsterdam: Benjamins Cecconi, Elisabetta (2015): "Comparing discourse construction in 17th-century news genres: A case study of murder reports", in: Bös, Birte; Kornexl, Lucia (eds.): Changing Genre Conventions in Historical English News Discourse. Amsterdam: Benjamins Chapman, Paul (2014): "Mist, Nathaniel (d. 1737)", in: Oxford Dictionary of National Biography. Oxford: Oxford University Press, online edition. Web. [last accessed 20 March 2015] Clarke, Bob (2010): From Grub Street to Fleet Street. An illustrated history of English newspapers to 1899. Brighton: Revel Parker Publishing Conboy, Martin (2010): The Language of Newspapers. Socio-Historical Perspectives. London: Con- tinuum Fahnestock, Jeanne (2011): Rhetorical Style: The Uses of Language in Persuasion. Oxford: Oxford UP Oxford English Dictionary Online. 3rd ed. in progress. Web. [last accessed 20 March 2015] Rooryck, Johan (2001): "Evidentiality, Part I", Glot International 5/4, 125-133 Sambrook, Richard (2012): "Delivering Trust: Impartiality and Objectivity in the Digital Age", Ox- ford: Reuters Institute for the Study of Journalism. Web. [last accessed 20 March 2015] Studer, Patrick (2008): Historical Corpus Stylistics. Media, Technology and Change. London: Contin- uum

THOMAS KOHNEN (KÖLN)

Indirect Speech Acts in the 18th Century and After: Stagnation, Transformation, Innovation?

1. Introduction Most studies on the evolution of directive speech acts in the history of English suggest that so-called indirect directives (e.g. I would like you to… or Could you please…?) do not appear until late Middle English or even later (see e.g. Culpeper/Archer 2008, Jucker 2011, Kohnen 2000/2002/2008, Wierzbicka 2006). Politeness in the sense of face-saving strategies is hardly ever found in directives before the Early Modern period. Comparative studies also suggest that the frequencies of these constructions are lower than in contemporary English. While an increase in more polite manifestations across the centuries seems plausible against the background of today's conventional- ised indirectness, we still do not know exactly what happened with the indirect directives in the 18th century and after. An initial pilot study which I conducted, focussing on the 19th and 20th centuries (with the Corpus of Nineteenth Century English (CONCE) and the various LOB corpora) quite surprisingly showed stagnation in the frequency of the classic indirect speech acts and at the same time the emergence of new forms (e.g. Why don't you... and You'd rather…) and fairly 'aggressive' uses of the earlier forms (e.g. Will you get the hell out of my goddam bathroom?). In the present study I will focus on the 18th century since this is still an unexplored period (with regard to indirect directives), linking Early Modern to Modern English. Was there an increase in formal, deferential politeness, was there stagnation, or was there a rise of more informal, colloquial forms? In order to put the situation in the 18th century in perspective, I will also look at the 17th century (including the results from an earlier study, see Kohnen 2002) and, above all, at the 19th century. My data stem from a variety of corpora (the Corpus of English Dialogues 1560-1760, ARCHER, the Corpus of Nineteenth Century English and, for the 17th century, the Helsinki Corpus),1 covering the development of four relevant genres (drama, fiction, letters, and trials). The aim of this study is to find out which developments of indirect directives after 1700 point to a decrease in the number of indirect directives (stagnation), to new uses of the classic forms (transformation), and the emergence of new manifestations (innovation). My paper falls into four parts. After a short survey of the basic manifestations of indirect directives I will have a quick look at the background of the 18th-century ideology of politeness and at the structure of the corpus. Then I will present the results of my analysis. In the conclusions section I will attempt to specify which position the

1 I would like to thank Merja Kytö (University of Uppsala) for the opportunity to work with CONCE and Marianne Hundt (University of Zurich) for the opportunity to work with ARCHER. 68 THOMAS KOHNEN

18th century covers in comparison to Early Modern English on the one hand and the 19th century on the other and in how far the results confirm our 'typical' picture of the 18th century.

2. Indirect Directives: Basic Manifestations In my definition of the class of directive speech acts I follow Searle's basic concept of a directive. He defines a directive as an attempt by a speaker or writer to get the addressee to carry out an act (see Searle 1969, 66 and 1976, 11). Searle's notion of a speech act is usually associated with (the utterance of) a sentence or clause. Thus, in the present analysis a directive speech act is expressed by a language unit which corresponds to a sentence or clause, not to a larger stretch of discourse. In my definition of indirectness I will not follow Searle, but rather Culpeper/Archer (see 2008, 56), who define indirectness as the varying degree to which the illocutionary point is made explicit by the utterance. In this study I will investigate a specific but rather common subset of indirect directives, which may be called the 'classic' indirect manifestations. They mainly focus on the volition and ability of the speaker and hearer, or they highlight specific aspects of the speech act (e.g. the need, advantage, or possibility of the hearer performing the requested act; for a more detailed description and classification of the various indirect directives see Kohnen 2002/2007/2008). These manifestations are supplemented by some new forms, listed in Wierzbicka (2006), which according to her are more recent developments (e.g. Why don't you… and You'd rather...). Indirect directives can be classified according to the sentence type and the basic orientation towards speaker or hearer. In this way, we find speaker-based declaratives, hearer-based interrogatives, hearer-based declaratives, and hearer-based conditionals. These types will be defined and illustrated in the following paragraphs. Speaker-based declaratives are directives formed by declarative sentences that express speaker volition (e.g. I desire, I want, I wish, I would like to, etc.; see example 1 below): (1) By the bye I wish you would speak to him about having a statement of our money affairs […] (CONCE, t1letwor) Hearer-based interrogatives are manifestations that question the volition/ability of the hearer or the fact that the hearer will perform the requested act (e.g. can you, could you, will you, would you, won't you, why don't you; see example 2 below): (2) Will your Honour be pleas'd to discharge 'em, and send 'em home? (ARCHER, 1723bull.d3b) Hearer-based declaratives are formed by declaratives expressing the need, advantage, benefit, or possibility of the hearer performing the required act (e.g. you had better, perhaps you, you might consider, you might want to, etc.; see example 3 below): (3) You had better go to bed, however; if it is known that you visit me here, it will be bad for us both. (ARCHER, 1778reev.f4b) Hearer-based conditionals are indirect directives expressed by conditionals that refer to the willingness or reluctance of the hearer performing the requested act or to the possibility of the hearer performing the act (e.g. if you will, if you would, if you don't mind, etc.; see example 4 below): INDIRECT SPEECH ACTS IN THE 18TH CENTURY AND AFTER 69

(4) If your Lordship will have but a little Patience 'till the Scene be chang'd, you shall see him on the Stage. (CED, D5CFIELD)

3. The Background of the 18th Century: The Ideology of Politeness Indirect directives are typically associated with the emergence of negative politeness and the consideration of the hearer's negative face (see Brown/Levinson 1987). In this regard the background of the 18th century and what has been called the ideology of politeness are particularly relevant. The 18th century (as well as the 19th century) was a period of upward social mobility. This upward mobility is often linked to developments associated with the Industrial Revolution and the rapidly expanding commerce but also with the emergence of a new class consciousness. There was a growing expectation that members of the 'genteel' classes should behave in a particularly 'refined' way, especially with regard to language. Thus, polite behaviour and refinement in speech and manners was a constitutive factor of social status. In a recent study on compliments and thanks in 18th-century English, Irma Taavitsainen and Andreas H. Jucker (2010) talk about the "ideology of politeness". Among the most characteristic examples they mention is what they call "ceremonious compliments". These are long and elaborate formulations of praise that follow the rules of elegant diction and courtesy. Example (5) below is a typical example and may be taken as an 18th-century way of saying 'nice to meet you': (5) Sir, I esteem it a singular Happiness, to have met with such good Company, seeing I have by this Means obtained the Favour of being acquainted with you. (Taavitsainen/Jucker 2010, 168) Such ornate and notoriously exaggerated compliments must appear stilted, inappropriate, and even hilarious to a present-day speaker, but they seem to reflect the requirements of linguistic refinement people tried to meet during the 18th century. If we transfer the spirit of such ceremonious compliments to directive speech acts, we must expect similarly exaggerated formulations that will overemphasise negative politeness and indulge in awe and deference, especially if the speaker is in a subordinate or similar social position vis-à-vis the addressee. On the other hand, if the addressor occupies a superior position, formality and ceremoniousness may also result in the simple assertion of the speaker's status and the privilege entitling him or her to issue a request. None of these options seems to conform to our present-day (Western) conventions of making polite requests. Thus, the ideology of politeness of the 18th century may not really support face-based politeness but rather promote exaggerated deference or self-assertion. If this expectation should be confirmed, the 18th century would turn out to be an obstacle to the progress of face-based politeness.

4. The Data My pilot study on indirect directives in the 19th and 20th centuries showed that indirect directives are fairly rare and particularly genre-specific. In all corpora they only (but consistently) occurred in drama, fiction, letters, and trials with acceptable frequencies. Elsewhere their distribution was negligible and erratic. Against the background of their low frequency and rather idiosyncratic distribution and in order to make consistent comparisons possible, I decided to compile a corpus consisting only of the four genres (drama, fiction, letters, and trials) and to calculate regularised fre- 70 THOMAS KOHNEN quencies only for centuries, that is, treat the 18th and the 19th centuries as two separate 'blocks'. Table 1 below specifies the word counts for the four genres in the two centuries. The corpus includes files from The Corpus of English Dialogues, ARCHER, and the Corpus of Nineteenth Century English.

18th century 19th century drama 122,700 89,940 fiction 145,200 111,190 letters 63,490 212,510 trials 108,300 130,160 ∑ 439,690 543,800 Table 1: Structure and word count of the corpus used in the present analysis There is a slight imbalance in the distribution of words across some of the four genres in the two centuries. In particular, there is only a small share of letters in the 18th century, whereas their proportion is fairly large in the 19th century. A detailed analysis of the individual genres should bear this particular distribution in mind. But the later analysis will show that (apart from the trials) there do not seem to be genre-specific manifestations of indirect directives in the data.

5. Results of the Analysis Table 2 below gives an overview of the indirect directives found in the data, their frequency and incidence. I have also included the results of an earlier study (see Kohnen 2002) that focussed on the (late) 17th century (based on the sub-period E3 of the Hel- sinki Corpus). That study only includes speaker-based declaratives and hearer-based interrogatives. However, due to the low frequencies, the individual constructions will not be included in the later analyses.

18th century 19th century I desire 22.06 [97] 0.73 [4] I would 2.95 [13] 0.73 [4] I wish 1.81 [8] 5.7 [31] I want -- 1.1 [6] I would like -- 0.91 [5] Table 3: Frequencies of speaker-based declaratives in the present corpus (frequency per 100,000 words and number of tokens)

2 This decrease may, of course, be due to the change of the verb will/would, which is no longer used as a full verb with volitional meaning. 72 THOMAS KOHNEN

Constructions with I desire are mostly rather formal and detached. They are usually issued by a person at a higher level (or at least at the same level) and they typically assert authority, the implication being that the 'desire' of the speaker suffices to legitimate the request (see examples 7-9 below and 6 above): (7) Step you out, Charles, and receive Lady Rodolpha; – and, I desire you will treat her with as much respect and gallantry as possible. (ARCHER, 1792mack.d4b) (8) At present I desire you, Edmund, to relate all that you can remember of the conversation that passed between you and Oswald in the wood last Monday. (ARCHER, 1778reev.f4b) (9) Well, Sir, I desire you'd look your Simples elsewhere; for I don't like you, notwithstanding your fair Pretences. – Sir, I shall obey you. But pray who does this House belong to? (ARCHER, 1709cent.d3b) This kind of use, which is quite formal and detached, and very much relies on the authority of the speaker and the importance of his/her will, is typical of the 18th century. There are only four items with I desire in the 19th century. As we saw, constructions with I wish spread during the 19th century. The few examples found in the 18th century reflect a deferential ceremoniousness and are typically issued by a speaker in a subordinate position (see examples 10 and 11 below): (10) Very true, my Lord, but I wish your Lordship would think it worth your Consideration, as the Morals of a People depend, as has been so often and well prov'd, entirely on their publick Diversions, […] (CED, D5CFIELD) (11) At the same time I am very much disposed to go to the Bath where I hope to put my self in good humour for the rest of the year […] I wish your inclinations woud determine you to the same place or that going thither or coming back I might have the Honour of waiting on you […] (ARCHER, 1708adds.x3b) Formulations like your Lordship would think it worth your Consideration and your inclinations woud determine you to the same place very much recall the stilted and ceremonious deferential politeness mentioned by Taavitsainen/Jucker (2010). This picture changes radically in the 19th century. The spread of I wish constructions goes along with a loss of deferential ceremoniousness. The speaker in example (12) below is far from submissive but quite determined and serious (I don't want you). The same applies to example (13). Here the writer quite plainly and without much ado requires the addressee to show full discretion: (12) 'I wish you to go elsewhere', she said, a paleness of face invisible to the eye being suggested by the trembling words. 'Do not remain on this farm any longer. I don't want you – I beg you to go!' (CONCE, t3fichar) (13) This is the uneasiness I spoke of to Mr Butts, but I did not tell him so plain & wish you to keep it a secret & to burn this letter because it speaks so plain. (CONCE, t1letbla) Constructions with I want you and I would like you seem to be newcomers in the 19th century, with a fairly low frequency. Here, the available data suggest that I want you is used in rather informal situations, whereas I would like you, due to its literal meaning, implies a much more tentative treatment of the addressee. In example (14) a father is addressed in an intimate family setting, and in (15) the address term you girls seems to evoke a similarly relaxed atmosphere. The situation in (16) is still the formal setting of an interview at the law court, but the witness (a doctor) is treated with more polite distance: INDIRECT SPEECH ACTS IN THE 18TH CENTURY AND AFTER 73

(14) An.: Pshaw, foolish fond girl, you know I do. Em.: Yes, but I want you to love me very very much! An.: I do love you, my dear child. (CONCE, t1drahol) (15) I want you girls to come and lunch with me to-morrow – no, the day after; to-morrow I am engaged. (ARCHER, 1886giss.f6b) (16) Was he a man given to dosing himself? – Yes, he was. Distinctly? – Distinctly. I would like you to tell the jury what you mean by that? (CONCE, t3trimay) To sum up, in all, it seems that in the 18th century speaker-based declaratives are either quite formal and detached, relying mostly on the authority of the speaker, or deferential and ceremonious. During the 19th century both the formality and the deference seem to wane, giving way to more informal and tentative manifestations. Table 4 below contains the distribution of the hearer-based interrogatives.

18th century 19th century will / would 11.37 [50] 18.57 [101] can / could 0.68 [3] 6.8 [37] why don't you 0 0.91 [5] Table 4: Frequencies of hearer-based interrogatives in the present corpus (frequency per 100,000 words and number of tokens) Both in the 18th and in the 19th centuries the large majority of the hearer-based interrogatives is covered by constructions involving will and would (151 as opposed to 45 tokens in all other constructions). From the 18th to the 19th century their frequency rises considerably. By contrast, constructions with can/could are relatively scarce, especially in the 18th century (three tokens, spread out across the first six decades). In the 19th century their frequency rises significantly (from 0.68 to 6.8). Lastly, there are also very few examples of why don’t you in the 19th century (due to their scarcity and since the interpretation of these examples as indirect requests may be somewhat doubtful, they will not be included further in the analysis). Generally, hearer-based interrogatives are more tentative than speaker-based declaratives because they do not state the addressor's will but inquire about the ability or volition of the addressee. The typical examples of will you constructions in the 18th century are those expressing deferential politeness, with a person in a subordinate position addressing a superior. The deference and ceremoniousness of the request is additionally stressed by honorif- ics (e.g. your Honour, Madam, Sir, etc.) and expressions like be pleased and pray (see examples 17-19 below): (17) Will your Honour be pleas'd to discharge 'em, and send 'em home? (ARCHER, 1723bull.d3b) (18) Will you be pleas'd to walk up, Madam? (CED, D4CKILLI) (19) Pray, Sir, will you oblige us with a song? (CED, D4CFARQU) We also find a minority of less ceremonious and stilted manifestations (see example 20 below) and even one formulation which is in fact impatient and impolite (see example 21 below): (20) Will you take this letter for me? That I will with all my heart. (ARCHER, 1780piln.d4b) (21) Will you hold your Tongue, Serpent? I'll make you be silent, or I'll – […] (CED, D5CMILLE) 74 THOMAS KOHNEN

Apart from these few examples, the overall majority of the will you constructions are elaborate and ceremonious along the lines of the ideology of politeness pointed out above. When we move to the 19th century, the examples of ceremonious deferential politeness significantly decrease (there are just five items). Instead, we find many cases of the conventional negative politeness we would expect in contemporary everyday conversation, with expressions such as have the kindness/goodness, be so kind, etc. (see examples 22-23 below). There are also an increasing number of neutral examples that do not employ any expressions of deference or additional negative politeness (see examples 24-25 below): (22) My dear Sir Will you have the kindness to deliver into Mr. John Hunt's hands such copies of Mr. Shelley's works as you still retain. (CONCE, t1letshe) (23) Will you be so kind as to enclose in your next letter a paper of accounts that I gave you to take care of for me. (CONCE, t1letshe) (24) 'Will you let me try? Will you trust me with the manuscript?' He reluctantly and jealously allowed her to take away the precious document. (CONCE, t3ficbes) (25) What a fool I've been – I can't meet them this morning. Will you go for me? – With pleasure. (CONCE, t2drarob) These neutral cases and the examples involving the addressee's goodness and kindness form the large majority of the 19th-century constructions with will you. So, a clear tendency away from ceremoniousness and deference can be registered in the 19th century. As we saw above, the constructions with can and could are basically newcomers in the 19th century. The data do not contain any examples of deferential politeness. They are typically used by superiors or people at the same level. Also, the contexts in which they are used suggest that they are much more informal and matter-of-fact (see examples 26-28 below): (26) 'I want you girls to come and lunch with me to-tomorrow – no, the day after; to-morrow I am engaged. But I forgot; can you come Hilda?' 'Yes, on Saturday.' 'That's just right, then. And can you dine with me on Sunday, Mr. Meres? I shall have some one you would like to know, I think.' (ARCHER, 1886giss.f6b) (27) Can you tell me what the Message to Mrs. Fleming was? I know not what to do about it. (CONCE, t1letwo2) (28) 'Spruce, my boy, as I've nothing but 1000 bank notes about me, could you just lend me five shillings? (SPRUCE looks surprised) Not for myself. – Not for myself. – No, but I wish to tip the waiter something.' {=M SPRUCE.} 'Certainly.' (ARCHER, 1889madd.d6b) So, to sum up the development of hearer-based interrogatives in the 18th and 19th centuries, there seems to be transformation in the case of will (from ceremonious deference to conventional negative politeness) and innovation in the case of can/could (more or less new manifestations used for conventional and informal negative politeness). The last group of indirect directives to be considered here are hearer-based declaratives. These rise from only three instances in the 18th century to 47 one century later (see Table 2 above). Here it is above all the constructions following the pattern perhaps you and you had better, which show a remarkable increase. These manifestations can be seen as typical instances of negative and positive politeness strategies. In the perhaps you-pattern the act which is predicated of the hearer is presented as a sheer INDIRECT SPEECH ACTS IN THE 18TH CENTURY AND AFTER 75 possibility, leaving the hearer's freedom of action untouched. Often the unlikelihood is additionally emphasised by would or may (see examples 29-30 below): (29) 'Perhaps you would allow my friend G. Lamb – (who is a man of great good sense & considerable powers) to attempt the adaptation – as you are not upon the spot yourself – […]' (CONCE, t1letbyr) (30) 'I have been puzzling over a foolish matter, and I thought aloud. As you heard what I said, and seem interested, perhaps you may be able to relieve my perplexity?' (ARCHER, 1895mach. f6b) In the you had better-pattern, the act requested of the addressee is presented as being of benefit to the hearer, showing that the speaker cares about the hearer, a clear positive-politeness strategy (see examples 31-32 below). One could also say that such directives are requests disguised as advice: (31) 'Are you cold, Sibyl?' I added hastily, for she shivered suddenly and her face grew pale – 'You had better come away from the river, – it is damp under these trees.' (ARCHER, 1895core.f6b) (32) And we think you had better not leave England. Let the Portmans go to Ireland, but as you know nothing of the Manners there, you had better not go with them. You will be in danger of giving false representations. (CONCE, t1letaus) Since both the manifestations with perhaps you and you had better are hardly ever found in the 18th century (two items), they can be seen as innovations of the 19th century, reflecting a growing influence of negative and (in the case of you had better) positive politeness.

6. Conclusions The aim of this corpus-based study was to describe the development and nature of indirect directives in the 18th century and to determine whether they reflect stagnation, transformation, and innovation. We can approach this aim now in two steps: first, by comparing the results of the 17th century with the 18th century, and secondly, by comparing the results of the 19th century with the 18th century. In addition, we can ask whether the resulting picture confirms our perspective on the 18th century, and, on a more general level, what the results tell us about the emergence and spread of politeness strategies in the history of English. Let us first compare the 18th century with the results of the study on the late 17th century (see Kohnen 2002; see also Table 2). Both with regard to speaker-based declaratives and hearer-based interrogatives the data suggest stagnation. The numerical increase in the speaker-based declaratives is only due to 85 formulaic manifestations with I desire, which were restricted to one single genre (trials); in all other genres there was a decrease. With hearer-based interrogatives the data clearly show a general decline. This stagnation of indirect directives in the 18th century typically goes along with an exaggerated formality and ceremoniousness, and an emphasis on the authority and status of the speaker. Generally speaking, this means that, if people are in a superior position, they will display their own volition and desire, whereas people acting from a subordinate (or possibly similar) position will typically show extreme deference. Thus, the two basic options for requests were privilege and deference. How does the 19th century compare to the 18th century? With speaker-based declaratives we find stagnation, transformation, and innovation. The formal constructions 76 THOMAS KOHNEN with I desire decrease (stagnation), the manifestations with I wish spread, become less ceremonious, and more neutral (transformation), and the new manifestations using I want and I would like show negative politeness and less emphasis on the status of the speaker (innovation). Generally, all this reflects a decrease in formality and ceremoniousness and less emphasis on the authority and status of the speaker. With hearer-based interrogatives we find transformation and innovation. Both the constructions with will you and with can/could you spread and reflect what we today call conventional negative politeness. This is again combined with a decrease in ceremoniousness and less emphasis on the authority of the speaker. Thus, when people communicate, they show more negative politeness when acting from a higher position and less or no deference when acting from a lower position. With hearer-based declaratives we find innovation. The new manifestations with perhaps you and you had better spread and employ typical strategies of negative and positive politeness. So the data suggest that the 18th century is a period of stagnation of indirect directives, characterised by formality, ceremoniousness, and emphasis on status and authority. These results clearly confirm the expectations based on the ideology of politeness pointed out in section 3. But they also fit the general image of the era, which has been called the age shaped by (the appeal to) authority and prescription (see e.g. Baugh/ Cable 2002). Despite the amount of variability that has been attested by the data (not only deference and self-assertion, but also the more neutral and the clearly impolite manifestations with will you, see examples 20 and 21 above), the speech-act conventions of the 18th century seem to agree with its stereotypical picture. If this result is true, it raises interesting questions about the development of face-based politeness in the history of English. Clearly, late Middle English and Early Modern English saw the emergence of strategies of face-based politeness. Was the 18th century then something like a 'retraction period' between the evolving politeness of Early Modern English and the beginning of the 'colloquialisation' of the later 19th and 20th centuries (see Leech/Smith 2009)? In other words, was the 18th century an obstacle to the emerging face-based politeness of the Early Modern era, due to the exclusive emphasis on formality and ceremoniousness, privilege and deference? And, on a more general level, what would this tell us about the emergence and development of politeness strategies in the history of English? Must we conceive the emergence of face- based politeness as a uniform and straight development or were there ups and downs? These are, of course, questions, not results, but they seem to be highly relevant for the pragmatic history of the English language and they show that the study of the speech- act conventions and politeness strategies of the 18th century is highly rewarding and deserves further studies that include more data and focus on a broader inventory of speech acts. INDIRECT SPEECH ACTS IN THE 18TH CENTURY AND AFTER 77

References Electronic Sources ARCHER = A Representative Corpus of Historical English Registers 3.2. 1990-1993/2002/2007/ 2010/2013. Originally compiled under the supervision of Douglas Biber and Edward Finegan at Northern Arizona University and University of Southern California. Modified and expanded by subsequent members of a consortium of universities. Current member universities are Northern Arizona, Southern California, Freiburg, Heidelberg, Helsinki, Uppsala, Michigan, Manchester, Lancaster, Bamberg, Zurich, Trier, Salford, and Santiago de Compostela. Web. CONCE = A Corpus of Nineteenth-century English, compiled by Merja Kytö (Uppsala University) and Juhani Rudanko (University of Tampere) A Corpus of English Dialogues 1560-1760. 2006 (CED). Compiled under the supervision of Merja Kytö (Uppsala University) and Jonathan Culpeper (Lancaster University). Web. Helsinki Corpus = The Helsinki Corpus of English Texts. 1991. Helsinki: Department of English. Web.

Secondary Sources Baugh, Albert C.; Cable, Thomas (2002): A History of the English Language. London: Routledge Brown, Penelope; Levinson, Stephen C. (1987): Politeness: Some Universals of Language Use. Cam- bridge: Cambridge UP Culpeper, Jonathan; Archer, Dawn (2008): "Requests and directness in Early Modern English trial proceedings and play-texts, 1640-1760", in: Jucker, Andreas H.; Taavitsainen, Irma (eds.): Speech Acts in the History of English. Pragmatics & Beyond New Series 176, 45-84 Jucker, Andreas H. (2011): "Positive and negative face as descriptive categories in the history of Eng- lish", Journal of Historical Pragmatics 12.1-2, 178-197 Kohnen, Thomas (2000): "Corpora and speech acts: The study of performatives", in: Mair, Christian; Hundt, Marianne (eds.): Corpus Linguistics and Linguistic Theory: Proceedings of the 20th ICAME Conference, Freiburg im Breisgau 1999. Amsterdam: Rodopi, 177-186 --- (2002): "Towards a history of English directives", in: Fischer, Andreas; Tottie, Gunnel; Lehmann, Hans Martin (eds.): Text Types and Corpora. Studies in Honour of Udo Fries. Tübingen: Nie- meyer, 165-175 --- (2007): "Text types and the methodology of diachronic speech act analysis", in: Fitzmaurice, Susan M.; Taavitsainen, Irma (eds.): Methodological Issues in Historical Pragmatics. Berlin: De Gruyter, 139-166 --- (2008): "Directives in Old English: Beyond politeness?" in: Jucker, Andreas H.; Taavitsainen, Irma (eds.): Speech Acts in the History of English. Amsterdam: John Benjamins, 27-44 Leech, Geoffrey; Smith, Nick (2009): "Change and Constancy in linguistic change: How grammatical usage in written English evolved in the period 1931-1991", in: Renouf, Antoinette; Kehoe, Andrew (eds.): Corpus Linguistics: Refinements & Reassessments. Amsterdam/Atlanta: Rodopi, 173-200 Searle, John R. (1969): Speech acts. Cambridge: Cambridge UP --- (1976): "A classification of illocutionary acts", Language in Society 5, 1-24 Taavitsainen, Irma; Jucker, Andreas H. (2010): "Expressive speech acts and politeness in eighteenth- century English", in: Hickey, Raymond (ed.): Eighteenth-Century English: Ideology and Change. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 159-181 Wierzbicka, Anna (2006): "Anglo scripts against 'putting pressure' on other people and their linguistic manifestations", in: Goddard, Cliff (ed.): Ethnopragmatics: Understanding discourse in cultural context. Berlin: De Gruyter, 31-63

INGRID TIEKEN-BOON VAN OSTADE (LEIDEN)

Jane Austen's Correspondence with James Stanier Clarke

1. Introduction One of the much lamented facts about Jane Austen (1775-1817) and her writing is the loss of large parts of her correspondence. It is believed that she may have written as many as 3,000 letters during her lifetime (see Le Faye 2005, 33), though only some 160 out-letters have come down to us, and no more than five in-letters (see Le Faye 2011).1 In this light it is remarkable that one complete exchange of letters has survived: that between Jane Austen and James Stanier Clarke (1766-1834), a clergyman who was the librarian of Carlton House, the Prince Regent's residence in London (ODNB, s.v. "James Stanier Clarke"). The correspondence is brief, consisting of no more than six letters altogether, exchanged between 15 November 1815 and 1 April 1816, but the reason the letters were preserved appears to have been that they concern the publication of Emma (1815), more particularly the possibility of having the book dedicated to the Prince Regent. Fergus (1997) argues that Jane Austen took great pride in her literary authorship, much in contrast to the way in which her family (her sister Cassandra excepted) viewed her, as is perhaps most evident from the text on her tombstone (see Tieken-Boon van Ostade 2014a, 326).2 The fact that all five preserved in- letters, three from James Stanier Clarke, one from Richard Crosby, the publisher "who had bought Susan (Northanger Abbey) for £10 […] and done nothing with it" (Tomalin 1997, 210), and one from the Countess of Morley, an admirer of Emma, have in one way or another to do with her authorship confirms this (see Tieken-Boon van Ostade 2014b, 74-78). Much has been made of the correspondence with James Stanier Clarke, and especially of his suggestion that after the publication of Emma Jane Aus- ten would write a novel featuring someone like himself as its main character, and, after Jane Austen's polite refusal to do so, that she would write a "Historical Romance illus- trative of the History of the august house of Cobourg" (JSC to JA, 27 March 1816)3 (see Le Faye 2004, 225-229). The episode in the correspondence, according to Le Faye

1 For the terms "out-letters", letters written by Jane Austen herself, and "in-letters", letters she received from others, see Baker (1980, 123). 2 The text on the tombstone reads as follows: "In Memory of JANE AUSTEN, Youngest daughter of the late Revd GEORGE AUSTEN, formerly Rector of Steventon in this County she departed this Life on the 18th July 1817, aged 41, after a long illness supported with the patience and the hopes of a Christian. The benevolence of her heart, the sweetness of her temper, and the extraordinary endowments of her mind obtained the regard of all who knew her and the warmest love of her intimate connections. Their grief is in proportion to their affection they know their loss to be irreparable, but in their deepest affliction they are consoled by a firm though humble hope that her charity, devotion, faith and purity have rendered her soul acceptable in the sight of her REDEEMER" (see Tomalin 1997, 275-276). 3 The quotations from the letters in this paper are taken from the electronic version of the third edition of Jane Austen's letters (Le Faye 1995), as made available through the database InteLex Past Masters. 80 INGRID TIEKEN-BOON VAN OSTADE

(ibid., 228), allegedly led to a great deal of hilarity within the Austen family, eventually giving rise to what Le Faye describes as Jane Austen's "burlesque Plan of a Novel, according to hints from various quarters" (ibid., 235), which was probably written around May 1816. Le Faye describes the correspondence between Jane Austen and James Stanier Clarke as "ludicrous" (ibid., 235), largely because of what has come to be viewed as Clarke's attempted interference with Jane Austen's authorship. However, there is more to the correspondence than has been acknowledged in biographies of Jane Austen, as has become clear by my analysis of the language of the letters (see Tieken-Boon van Ostade 2014b, 65-68). Analysing the opening formulas of the letters, for instance, I was able to demonstrate a slowly growing increase in intimacy between the two correspondents, which, though always initiated – as would be common practice at the time – by James Stanier Clarke, was not left unreciprocated. What is more, the letters are not solely about the possibility of dedicating Emma to the Prince Regent or Clarke's suggestions to Jane Austen for new topics to write about. Another most interesting suggestion made by Clarke is the following: Pray, dear Madam, remember, that besides My Cell at Carlton House, I have another which Dr Barne procured for me at No 37, Golden Square — where I often hide myself. There is a small Library there much at your Service — and if you can make the Cell render you any service as a sort of Half-way House, when you come to Town — I shall be most happy. There is a Maid Servant of mine always there […] (JSC to JA, ?21 December 1815) Clarke's offer, which might have been interpreted as potentially carrying indecent overtones, was ignored by Jane Austen, leading to a gap in the correspondence of over three months, but also by her biographers (the ones I checked were Laski 1969, Cecil 1978, Halperin 1984, Nokes 1997, Tomalin 1997, and Le Faye 2004), who never allude to it. This may be due to the fact that the passage had not originally been quoted in the earliest biographical account of Jane Austen, her nephew James Austen-Leigh's Memoir of Jane Austen (1870) which has been a major source for all later biographies, but it is curious all the same. Sutherland (2005) argues that, despite the fact that much has been published about Jane Austen and her works, the primary biographical sources on her life are "desper- ately thin" (108). Much of what we know about her is based on James Austen-Leigh's Memoir of his aunt, written more than fifty years after her death. Sutherland also suggests that "Jane Austen biography has reached an interesting moment in its development; it may be about to shed some of its most cherished assumptions" (109), and casting doubt on these widely held assumptions about Jane Austen's life is what she proceeds to do in her book. In my own study of the language of Jane Austen's letters I aimed to show how fruitful a detailed linguistic analysis of her letters can be, and that new insights into what we really know about her can be acquired accordingly (see Tieken-Boon van Ostade 2014b). In this paper I will take the same approach: By going back to the actual correspondence between Jane Austen and James Stanier Clarke and closely studying its language, I will try to throw new light on their relationship, thus questioning some of the "most cherished assumptions" biographers appear to have about Jane Austen. Analysing the language of the letters, assessing among other things the correspondents' linguistic involvement with themselves, with each other, and with the topics they wrote about (see Sairio 2005), this paper will give yet another example JANE AUSTEN'S CORRESPONDENCE WITH JAMES STANIER CLARKE 81 that shows the importance of carrying out detailed linguistic analyses of the language of Jane Austen's letters.

2. Letter Writing Formulas Jane Austen appears to have taken the initiative for the correspondence with James Stanier Clarke, since the first letter we have is from her. Given the time in which she lived, this would have been considered an untoward action for a woman to take. How- ever, the letter follows closely upon her visit to Carlton House, to which James Stanier Clarke had invited her so that he could show her the library there. They had been introduced to each other by one of Jane Austen's brother Henry's doctors, a Dr. Baillie, who was also the physician of the Prince Regent, when Jane Austen was in London to nurse Henry during his illness (see Le Faye 2004, 225). During the visit to Carlton House, James Stanier Clarke had evidently suggested that she might dedicate her next novel to the Prince Regent, who was an admirer of her work. Having thought this over, Jane Austen decided to write to Clarke two days later to ask for more information: I must take the liberty of asking You a question — Among the many flattering attentions which I recd from you at Carlton House, on Monday last, was the Information of my being at liberty to dedicate any future Work to HRH the P. R. without the necessity of any Solicitation on my part. Such at least, I beleived to be your words; but as I am very anxious to be quite certain of what was intended, I intreat you to have the goodness to inform me how such a Permission is to be understood, & whether it is incumbent on me to shew my sense of the Honour, by inscribing the Work now in the Press, to H. R. H. — I shd be equally concerned to appear either presumptuous or Ungrateful […]. (JA to JSC, 18 November 1815) A reply already came the next day, followed by four more letters between the two. In sequence, the six letters that make up the correspondence may be presented as follows (the numbers refer to Le Faye's edition, 2011): Letter 1 – 125(D): 15 November 1815 (JA to JSC) 145 words Letter 2 – 125(A): 16 November 1815 (JSC to JA) 293 words Letter 3 – 132(D): 11 December 1815 (JA to JSC) 377 words Letter 4 – 132(A): ?21 December 1815 (JSC to JA) 482 words Letter 5 – 138(A): 27 March 1816 (JSC to JA) 160 words Letter 6 – 138(D): 1 April 1816 (JA to JSC) 328 words. Le Faye's annotations, with a D identifying a draft letter and an A a letter either copied by Jane Austen or not written by her (see Le Faye 2011, xv), indicate that Letter 1 is a draft version; however, it appears to be a copy, since it is headed "Copy of my Letter to Mr Clarke". That Jane Austen copied the letter and also kept the draft versions of her other letters to James Stanier Clarke shows the significance of the correspondence in her eyes. There don't seem to be any missing letters: The gap between Letters 4 and 5 is addressed by Jane Austen in Letter 6, when she wrote, evading the issue raised by the invitation in Letter 4: I have also to acknowledge a former Letter, forwarded to me from Hans Place. I assure You I felt very grateful for the friendly Tenor of it, & hope my silence will have been considered as it was truely meant, to proceed only from an unwillingness to tax your Time with idle Thanks. — (Letter 6, JA to JSC, 1 April 1816; emphasis added in bold, here and throughout this paper) For all that, she used the relatively informal opening formula "My dear Sir" in this letter, closing with "I remain my dear Sir,/ Your very much obliged & very sincere 82 INGRID TIEKEN-BOON VAN OSTADE friend/ J. Austen" (Letter 6). This closing formula is unusual in Jane Austen's correspondence as a whole: She never used the word friend in in a closing formula in any other letter that has come down to us (see Tieken-Boon van Ostade 2014b). If we look at the preceding letter by James Stanier Clarke, we are able to see where she found inspiration for it, since it ends similarly: "Believe me at all times/ Dear Miss Austen/ Your obliged friend/ J. S. Clarke". It might even be argued that by the addition of sincere Jane Austen adopted a somewhat greater positive politeness than her correspondent had done. The term 'positive politeness' derives from the politeness model developed by Brown and Levinson (1987), which distinguishes between two types of politeness according to whether speakers wish to indicate closeness (positive politeness) or distance (negative politeness) towards the addressee. In the case of letters, this can be signalled among other things by the choice of opening or closing formulas. Following Baker's analysis of the Methodist minister John Wesley's (1703-1791) letters, it is possible to identify a hierarchy of address terms, ranging from most distant to very close, as follows (Baker 1980, 48; see Tieken-Boon van Ostade 2009, 123): Sir/Madam Dear Sir/Dear Madam My dear Mr. −/Mrs. −/Miss X My dear brother/sister Dear James/Jane, etc. Dear Jemmy/Jenny, etc. In Jane Austen's letters, a very similar hierarchy of address terms can be found, with some minor variations only (see Tieken-Boon van Ostade 2014b, 66). Letter writers may develop greater personal closeness – or indeed distance – in the course of their epistolary relationship, and they can effect corresponding politeness moves by adopting opening formulas that express different degrees of politeness. In the case of Jane Austen's correspondence, I have identified this for her developing relationship with her publisher John Murray (1778-1843), whom she addressed as "Sir" in her earliest letters to him and as "Dear Sir" in the later ones, and a similar development can be found in her correspondence with James Stanier Clarke. In none of the politeness moves, however, did she act on her own initiative, always responding to one initially made by Clarke instead. This may be seen in the following overview (Tieken- Boon van Ostade 2014b, 68): Sir (Letter 1) – Dear Madam (Letter 2) – Dear Sir (Letter 3) – My dear Madam (Letter 4) – Dear Miss Austen (Letter 5) – My dear Sir (Letter 6). That the opening formula of Letter 6 reciprocates the one adopted by Clarke in Letter 4 instead of the one expressing greater closeness in Letter 5 confirms the idea expressed above that Jane Austen felt that Clarke was putting too much pressure on her, and perhaps not only in relation to the suggestions he had made for new topics for her to write about. She never responded to his offer of the use of his "small Libray" at "No 37, Golden Square", despite the fact that it was situated at less than two miles from Hans Place in Covent Garden, where Henry lived and with whom she would stay when in London. Le Faye suggests that "Jane's carefully considered reply to [Clarke] put a polite end to any further correspondence" (2004, 227), but it may also have been the case that Clarke never replied to the letter because he felt that he wasn't getting JANE AUSTEN'S CORRESPONDENCE WITH JAMES STANIER CLARKE 83 anywhere in trying to bring about a closer relationship with his correspondent. Look- ing at the correspondence from Clarke's end, his letters can also be read as an attempt to achieve greater closeness with his addressee. The first one he wrote to her included a PS, already itself a sign of informality, since according to current epistolary etiquette resorting to a PS suggested lack of planning beforehand on the part of the writer as to the contents of the letter:4 P.S./ I am going for about three weeks to Mr Henry Streatfeilds, Chiddingstone Sevenoaks — but hope on my return to have the honour of seeing you again (Letter 2, JSC to JA) As with the offer of the use of the library, the wish for another meeting met with no response from Jane Austen in her reply (Letter 3). The letter is dated three and a half weeks after Letter 2, so by this time James Stanier Clarke would have been back in London. Jane Austen, too, was in London at the time: On the same day, she wrote two letters from Hans Place to her publisher, John Murray (see Le Faye 2011, 317-318). The possibility must of course be allowed for that they had met in person in the meantime, but this was also the time when Jane Austen appears to have felt an interest in the apothecary Charles Thomas Haden (1786-1824), who had been called upon to treat Henry during his illness (see Le Faye 2004, 225). Though this is a controversial topic, perhaps because of the age difference between the two, there is some evidence in the language use in the only letter Jane Austen wrote to Haden, dated 14 December 1815, that suggests an emotional attachment to him (see Tieken-Boon van Ostade 2014b, 71). Halperin, too, believes that in her reports about Haden to Cassandra she appeared "like a woman in love" (1984, 285). Jane Austen may well have had other things on her mind at the time than Clarke's attempts to make closer acquaintance with her.

3. The Language of the Letters To be able to study the language of the letters, I divided them into two subcorpora, comprising Jane Austen's letters (843 words) and James Stanier Clarke's (944 words), and analysed them with the help of WordSmith Tools. WordSmith Tools is a con- cordancing program developed by Mike Scott from the University of Liverpool which allows for the compilation of frequency and alphabetical lists of words used in texts, for studying the words within their context (concordance searches), and for studying the keyness, or 'aboutness', of a particular text by comparing it to a reference corpus (see Culpeper 2009). For the purposes of my analysis I decided to use Jane Austen's complete correspondence, without the letters to and from James Stanier Clarke, as a reference corpus (143,162 words). One interesting difference between the two subsets of letters, no matter how small they are, can already be seen in the different frequency lists, of which the ten most frequently occurring words are presented in Table 1. The frequencies for the Jane Austen correspondence as a whole, excluding the letters exchanged with James Stanier Clarke, are presented in the third column:

4 The 19th edition of The Complete Letter-Writer, for instance, which was published around 1800, reads: "When you write to your superiors, never make a postscript: And (if possible) avoid it in any letters to your equals" (Anon. 1800?, 38). Earlier on in the Introduction, the author advised: "Before you begin to write, think what you are going to write" (Anon. 1800?, 33). 84 INGRID TIEKEN-BOON VAN OSTADE

JA to JSC JSC to JA entire correspondence (JA to JSC and JSC to JA excluded) 1 I the to 2 to to the 3 the of I 4 of I of 5 you you a 6 in and in 7 my your is 8 be in if 9 a a you 10 very have not Table 1: The ten most frequent words in Jane Austen's letters to James Stanier Clarke and vice versa, and in the remainder of Jane Austen's correspondence (the reference corpus) To begin with, I is more frequent in Jane Austen's letters to James Stanier Clarke than in his letters to her or in the reference corpus. You, however, is equally frequent in both sets of letters, but more frequent than in the reference corpus, and the intensifier very, which occurs at position 10 on the frequency list for Jane Austen's letters to James Stanier Clarke, takes up a much lower position in the other collections: positions 47 in Clarke's letters and 19 in the reference corpus. Barchas (2007), finding that very is remarkably frequent in Emma, argues that the usage of this intensifier very likely reflects Jane Austen's linguistic fingerprint (see 2007, 320). Analysing the language of the letters as a whole, however, I encountered a somewhat more complex picture, which showed that the use of very differs according to who Jane Austen wrote to, with a considerably higher frequency of usage in the letters to her younger family members than in those to her contemporaries (see Tieken-Boon van Ostade 2014b, 161). The higher frequency of very in the letters to James Stanier Clarke confirms that usage in her letters was variable and that the relationship with the addressee or the topic she wrote about might be held responsible for this. The use of first and second person pronouns along with that of intensifiers like very and evidential verbs such as think, believe, suppose, find, be sure, and doubt can be studied according to Sairio (2005), who draws on Chafe's study of the linguistic differences between speech and writing (Chafe 1985) for this, in order to analyse a letter writer's involvement with him or herself, with the correspondent, and with the topic written about. Within this model, three types of involvement may be distinguished: ego involvement, interpersonal involvement, and involvement with the topic of the text (letters, in Sairio's study). The first type can be measured according to Sairio by means of analysing the occurrence of first person pronouns (I, me, mine, my, myself), the second by analysing second person pronouns (you, your, yours, yourself), and the third by evidential verbs and degree adverbs like so, such, quite, and really. Applying this model in my analysis of the language of Jane Austen's letters to measure any differences of involvement between the way she wrote to members of her own generation and to her nieces and nephews, I found her degree of ego involvement with both groups of addressees fairly similar, but her interpersonal and topic involvement, though only for her use of intensifiers, to be greater in the letters to the younger generation of Austens than in those to her contemporaries (see Tieken-Boon van Ostade 2014b, 156). JANE AUSTEN'S CORRESPONDENCE WITH JAMES STANIER CLARKE 85

To study the degrees of involvement in the letters Jane Austen and James Stanier Clarke wrote to each other, I used the same method as in my study of the language of Jane Austen's letters generally. The results are presented in Table 2, with the figures normalised to 1,000 words within brackets following the absolute figures: JA to JSC (843 words) JSC to JA (944 words ego involvement I, me, mine, my, myself 67 (79.5) 43 (45.5) interpersonal you, your, yours, yourself 29 (24.4) 40 (42.4) involvement topic involvement I am sure 1 − I believe − − I doubt − − I fancy − − I find − − I suppose − − I think 1 − total (evidential verbs) 2(2.4) 0 pretty well − − quite 3 − really − − so 1 2 very 12 4 total (intensifiers) 16 (19) 6 (6.4) Table 2: Degrees of involvement in Jane Austen's letters to James Stanier Clarke and vice versa The figures show that Jane Austen expressed greater ego involvement and involvement with the topic but less interpersonal involvement towards James Stanier Clarke than he did in relation to her. This is striking in view of the fact that Clarke is usually regarded as someone who was trying to impose himself upon Jane Austen by making unsolicited suggestions for new topics for her to write about; in this light, greater ego involvement on his part would have been expected to characterise the language of his letters. What is also striking is the much higher frequency of very in Jane Austen's letters, and particularly the fact that she once used very in collocation with itself, as in (1), as well as that very occurs twice in the closing formula to the last letter in the correspondence (2): 1. You are very, very kind in your hints as to the sort of Composition which might recommend me at present (Letter 6, JA to JSC) 2. I remain my dear Sir,/ Your very much obliged & very sincere friend/ J. Austen (Letter 6, JA to JSC) Clarke used very only once in a closing formula, the one in Letter 4, while the ending of Letter 5 seems much more neutral: 3. Yours dear Madam, very sincerely/ J. S. Clarke (Letter 4, JSC to JA) 4. Believe me at all times/ Dear Miss Austen/ Your obliged friend/ J. S. Clarke (Letter 5, JSC to JA) These differences in linguistic involvement in the letters give rise to some speculation: What if Jane Austen had shown greater interpersonal involvement with James Stanier Clarke in her letters, similar to his expression of interpersonal involvement with her, would that have prolonged their correspondence? Did Clarke feel put off by the evident lack of interest from Jane Austen in him as a person in addition to having had his 86 INGRID TIEKEN-BOON VAN OSTADE suggestions for topics for new books she might like to write rejected twice, alongside the offer of the use of his library and the desire to see her again? What more should he have done, he may have wondered, to bring about greater closeness with his addressee? Another feature of WordSmith Tools is the possibility of performing keyword searches of texts to discover more objectively than by a casual reading – that is, with the help of statistical analysis – what texts are about. A keyword analysis of the two sets of letters, with the remainder of the Jane Austen correspondence serving as a reference corpus, produced the following keywords: JA to JSC: Romance JSC to JA: Madam, Regent, Prince, Honour, Clergyman, Dear, Carlton, your. That the word Romance should be key in Jane Austen's letters is not surprising: A romance, as she explained to Clarke, was something she felt she could not write, "no more […] than an Epic Poem" (Letter 6). Indeed, the word does not appear in her other letters at all. Nor is it surprising to see Clergyman in the keyword list for James Stanier Clarke's letters: After all, that was the persona, based on himself, which Clarke wished Jane Austen to write about. That Regent, Prince, and Carlton should be key in his letters as well is due to their particular topics, the visit to Carlton House, and the dedication of Emma to the Prince Regent. Madam as a keyword is of greater interest here: It occurs nine times in Clarke's letters, in eight instances collocating with Dear. This is more frequent than the minimally required number of times in letters of the period, for which epistolary etiquette required that opening and closing formulas were to contain the same form of address (see Anon. 1800?, 38). Dear, also key, occurs ten times, mostly collocating with Madam but twice with Miss Austen. In three instances Dear Madam is preceded by pray in the main text of the letters, while pray occurs by itself in Letter 4 as well: 5. Pray dear Madam think of these things (Letter 2, JSC to JA) 6. Pray, dear Madam, remember, that besides My Cell at Carlton House, I have another which Dr Barne procured for me at No 37, Golden Square (Letter 4, JSC to JA) 7. pray dear Madam soon write again and again (Letter 5, JSC to JA) 8. Pray continue to write (Letter 4, JSC to JA) The further context of the instance in (8) – "& make all your friends send Sketches to help you" – shows that Clarke was not encouraging Jane Austen to continue her epistolary activities with respect to himself,5 but it is clear that he was drawing on his most persuasive skills here. Clarke's use of honour in the letters, another keyword, is of interest, too. On the one hand it reflects common politeness (so obliging as to do me the Honour of…, I hope to have the honour of sending you…, if you wish to do the Regent that honour), while on the other it is used for different purposes, to praise his addressee's skills as a writer as in (9), but also his wish to see her again, expressed as a PS in his first letter to her in (10):

5 A similar reference may be found in the opening sentence of the next letter: "I have to return you the Thanks of His Royal Highness the Prince Regent for the handsome Copy you sent him of your last excellent Novel — pray dear Madam soon write again and again" (Letter 5). JANE AUSTEN'S CORRESPONDENCE WITH JAMES STANIER CLARKE 87

9. Your late Works, Madam, and in particular Mansfield Park reflect the highest honour on your Genius & your Principles (letter 2, JSC to JA) 10. P.S./ I am going for about three weeks to Mr Henry Streatfeilds, Chiddingstone Sevenoaks — but hope on my return to have the honour of seeing you again (letter 2, JSC to JA) While his praise of Jane Austen may be interpreted as flattery, his interest in her, as expressed by the PS in (10), may have been genuine. This is confirmed by the fact that your is another keyword in James Stanier Clarke's letters.

4. More Evidence for Clarke's Interest in Jane Austen? In the light of all this, it seems significant that a portrait has come to light, drawn by James Stanier Clarke and believed to represent Jane Austen on the occasion of her visit to Carlton House (see Ray/Wheeler 2005). The portrait was discovered in what is generally referred to as Clarke's Friendship Book, a collection of "more than one hundred drawings, verses, and autographs by such celebrities as poet William Cowper, painter George Romney, novelists Charlotte Smith and Anna Seward, and actors Richard Brinsley Sheridan and John Kemble" (ibid., 113). The portrait occurs close to the sig- natures of Charlotte Smith and Anna Seward, female novelists admired by Clarke. The identity of the woman in the portrait never seems to have been authenticated (see ibid., 117), so as evidence this is extremely tenuous. But if Clarke did indeed portray Jane Austen in his Friendship Book, this agrees with the linguistic evidence presented here of his interest in her, an interest which, again on linguistic grounds, he probably felt wasn't reciprocated. There is another portrait from around this time, not of Jane Austen but of James Stanier Clarke. It is, however, not a portrait as such, nor in any way a flattering one: The ODNB entry on Clarke describes it as "a scurrilous print", called The Divine and the Donkey – or Petworth Frolicks, the result of a "drunken prank played on Clarke by the prince regent and his circle" in 1814. The print is not reproduced in the ODNB entry, nor is it described in any further detail there, in contrast to the Wikipedia entry on Clarke, which describes it as a satirical print with which Clarke "was being 'punished' for setting up an assignation with a servant-girl". None of the biographies of Jane Austen I have consulted refer to the print, nor does Jane Austen herself do so in her letters to Cassandra, though not all letters have come down to us; from the period of the correspondence with James Stanier Clarke, Le Faye notes in her edition, several letters are missing (between 26 November and 2 December, and between 2 and 11 De- cember 1815 (see Le Faye 2011, 315; 317)). Clarke was an unmarried man: According to the ODNB entry, he married only in 1824, a widow called Abigail Aitkins (1781/2- 1862). Was he in search of a wife when he made his acquaintance with Jane Austen in 1815? And would Jane Austen have been aware of the existence of the scandalous print that had been published the year before? She may not have known about the print, but if she did, she might not have felt a lack of sympathy for the object scandalised in it. The print would have confirmed her dis- like for the Prince Regent, whom she "hated", as she put it herself in a letter to her friend Martha Lloyd (1765-1843) dated 16 February 1813, for his "profligate conduct and licentiousness" (Nokes 1997, 467). The tone of her letters to Clarke as well as her language use – ending the last letter she wrote to him with the word friend in the closing formula – confirm that, had she known about it, the existence of the print did not 88 INGRID TIEKEN-BOON VAN OSTADE affect their relationship. By this time, 1 April 1816, it would already have been clear that her earlier interest in Charles Thomas Haden would lead nowhere. Haden got married that same year to a woman called Emma Harrison (see Le Faye 2011, 529), who is described as "an excellent musician" in the ODNB entry on their son, the later etcher and surgeon Sir Francis Seymour Haden (1818-1910). Perhaps, in retrospect, Jane Austen regretted the fact that a possible friendship with James Stanier Clarke came to nothing either. The last letter she wrote to him was twice as long as the one she replied to, and she appears to have gone out of her way to explain why she was unable to take him up on his advice: "You are very, very kind in your hints as to the sort of Com- position which might recommend me at present", explaining that she "must keep to my own style & go on in my own Way; And though I may never succeed again in that, I am convinced that I should totally fail in any other". To me, the closing formula to the letter, "I remain my dear Sir,/ Your very much obliged & very sincere friend/ J. Aus- ten", doesn't read like the close of a correspondence: By adopting the word friend from an earlier letter by Clarke it seems to convey the very opposite. Jane Austen wrote the letter from Chawton, where she had returned towards the end of the previous year (see Le Faye 2004, 229), so even if she would have wished to change her mind about the offer of the use of the library, she was no longer in a position to take Clarke up on it.

5. Conclusion I'd like to end with another illustration of the importance of understanding Jane Aus- ten's language use in the fullest possible detail. In his Life of Jane Austen, Halperin (1984) summarises the contents of the letter Jane Austen wrote to Cassandra on 26 November 1815, in which she describes the current stage in the publication progress of Emma (as well as what amounted to her feelings for Charles Thomas Haden). The letter includes the sentence "We are glad the Mama's cold has not been worse" (quoted in Le Faye 2011, 314), which Halperin interprets as "Mrs Austen […] having another of her little illnesses" (1984, 285). According to Le Faye, however, the sick woman was not Mrs. Austen but Jane Austen's brother Frank's wife, Mary Gibson (see 2011, 452), as can indeed be verified from the context. But it is also evident on linguistic grounds: As I have shown in my study of the language of Jane Austen's letters, Jane Austen always referred to her mother in her letters to Cassandra as my Mother (see Tieken-Boon van Ostade 2014b, 157-160). The word mama to her was a children's word, and she used it as such in her letters. In the letter to Cassandra the word was, however, used in a slightly different meaning. Frank and Mary had eleven children before Mary's death in 1823. With a fifth child (Cassandra-Eliza) born in 1814 and a sixth in 1815 (Herbert-Grey) (see the Austen family tree in Tomalin 1997, 346-347), in the eyes of her two childless sisters-in-law Mary may have seemed like a mama indeed. Studying a writer's language in full sociolinguistic detail, as I have tried to demonstrate in the present paper, is in my view indispensible for any biography. In the case of Jane Austen, my approach has challenged one "cherished assumption", as Suther- land (2005) put it, i.e. what has repeatedly been shown in biographies to be a negative perspective on James Stanier Clarke. Halperin (1984) is the only biography I read which attempts to place Clarke in a slightly more favourable light. Though calling Clarke's suggestions for new novels by Jane Austen a "presumptuous piece of interfer- JANE AUSTEN'S CORRESPONDENCE WITH JAMES STANIER CLARKE 89 ence" (293), Halperin does note that "a historical novel about the Cobourgs probably would have sold very well indeed at this moment in history", and also that "Clarke's badgering at least provoked the novelist to a serious estimate of her literary capabil- ities and limitations", which culminated in Jane Austen's Plan for a Novel (ibid., 292- 293). Halperin concludes by saying that "perhaps it is therefore unfortunate, though understandable, that [Clarke] did not venture to write again". James Stanier Clarke has been called "ridiculous" (Sutherland 2005, 231) and "irrepressible" (Nokes 1998), and his letters "bizarre" (Halperin 1984, 284) and "ludicrous" (Le Faye 2004, 235) by Jane Austen's biographers. In the final instance, however, and on the basis of an analysis of the language of the letters, I believe that Jane Austen herself doesn't seem to have thought so. Le Faye (2004, 227) suggests that it was Jane Austen who ended the correspondence (§2), but I think that it was not Jane Austen but James Stanier Clarke who did so (see also Halperin 1984, 293), and that his reason for doing so was that he had begun to recognise that his attempts at making her reciprocate his interest in her had come to nothing. I have arrived at this very different interpretation both by analysing the language of the correspondence and by looking at the contents of the letters, which turned out to deal with more than the issue of Clarke's attempts at influencing the direction Jane Austen's writing career might take. I find it striking, to put it mildly, that all the biographies of Jane Austen which I consulted on the correspondence with James Stanier Clarke in effect repeat the same account as it was first presented in James Aus- ten-Leigh's Memoir of Jane Austen. My motivation for studying the letters was linguistic in the first place, and my findings confirm how valuable it may be to adopt a different approach when attempting to describe Jane Austen's life rather than continuing to draw on the same traditional account we have of her. Something new about her may consequently still come to light after all, as indeed I found in my book In Search of Jane Austen (Tieken-Boon van Ostade 2014b).

References Anon. (1800?): The Complete Letter-Writer. 19th ed. London: James Scatcherd/Salisbury: B.C. Col- lins. ECCO Austen-Leigh, James Edward (1987 [1870]): A Memoir of Jane Austen, with an introduction by Fay Weldon. London: Century Hutchinson Baker, Frank (1980): The Works of John Wesley, Vol. 25, Letters I, 1721-1739. Oxford: Clarendon Press Barchas, Janine (2007): "Very Austen: Accounting for the Language of Emma", Nineteenth-Century Literature 62.3, 303-338 Brown, Penelope; Levinson, Stephen C. (1987): Politeness: Some Universals in Language Usage. Cambridge: Cambridge UP Cecil, David (1978): A Portrait of Jane Austen. London: Penguin Chafe, Wallace (1985): "Linguistic differences produced by differences between speaking and writing", in: Olson, David R.; Torrance, Nancy; Hildyard, Angela (eds.): Literacy, Language, and Learning. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 105-123 Culpeper, Jonathan (2009): "Keyness: Words, parts-of-speech and semantic categories in the character-talk of Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet", International Journal of Corpus Linguistics 14.1, 29-59 90 INGRID TIEKEN-BOON VAN OSTADE

ECCO: Eighteenth Century Collections Online Thomson Gale. Web. Fergus, Jan (1997): "The professional woman writer", in: Copeland, Edward; McMaster, Juliet (eds.): The Cambridge Companion to Jane Austen. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 12-31 Halperin, John (1984): The Life of Jane Austen. Brighton: The Harvester Press InteLex Past Masters (English Letters Collection). Web. Laski, Marghanita (1969): Jane Austen and her World. London: Thames and Hudson Le Faye, Deirdre (2004): Jane Austen: A Family Record. 2nd ed. Cambridge: Cambridge UP --- (2005): "Letters", in: Todd, Janet (ed.): Jane Austen in Context. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 33-40 --- (ed., 1995): Jane Austen's Letters. Oxford/New York: Oxford UP --- (ed., 2011): Jane Austen's Letters. 4th ed. Oxford/New York: Oxford UP Nokes, David (1998): Jane Austen. London: Fourth Estate Limited ODNB: The Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, Online edition. Web. , [last accessed 18 February 2015] Ray, Joan Klingel; Wheeler, Richard James (2005): "James Stanier Clarke's portrait of Jane Austen", Persuasions: The Jane Austen Journal 27, 112-118 Sairio, Anni (2005): "'Sam of Streatham Park': A linguistic study of Dr. Johnson's membership in the Thrale family", European Journal of English Studies 9/1, 21-35 Sutherland, Kathryn (2005): Jane Austen's Textual Lives. From Aeschylus to Bollywood. Oxford: Ox- ford UP Tieken-Boon van Ostade, Ingrid (2009): An Introduction to Late Modern English. Edinburgh: Edin- burgh UP --- (2014a): "'To my dearest sister Cassandra': An Analysis of Jane Austen's Will", English Studies 95/3, 322-341 --- (2014b): In Search of Jane Austen. The Language of the Letters. Oxford/New York: Oxford UP Tomalin, Claire (1997): Jane Austen, A Life. London: Penguin WordSmith Tools. Web. Section 2

Georgian Britain: Representations of Political Power in 18th-Century Literature and Culture

Chairs:

Oliver Lindner and Kai Merten

OLIVER LINDNER (LEIPZIG) AND KAI MERTEN (ERFURT)

Georgian Britain: Representations of Political Power in 18th-Century Literature and Culture: Introduction

In 2014 Great Britain celebrated a significant anniversary. Three hundred years before, Parliament had invited a German prince to become the British monarch, upon the death of Queen Anne, the last reigning monarch of the Stuart dynasty. Thus, the 54- year-old George Ludwig of the House of Hanover ascended to the throne on 20 Octo- ber 1714 as the new King of Great Britain and Ireland. The Hanoverian succession of 1714 underscored the crucial importance of confessional affairs, since, it was "the third occasion since 1603 when faith had been placed above birth in the calculations of the English political nation in determining their monarch" (Thompson 2007, 167). The Hanoverians reigned over an eventful period in British history, characterised by development towards an increasingly urban and industrial country set on the path to modernity. Although ridiculed in the 21st century as, to quote a recent article by The Guardian, "a largely dysfunctional family soap opera" (Davies 2014), the Hanoverians changed the political landscape of Britain markedly and, in hindsight, are remembered as "among the most successful monarchs in British history" (Black 1997, 203). Never- theless, Georgian Britain was to a large extent defined by the decline of monarchic power in favour of Parliament. It also led to Britain's first prime minister, the Whig Robert Walpole, and the development of the relationship between monarchs and ministers as a crucial component of political power (see Black 1997, 211). In fact, the Hanoverian succession of 1714 seemed to resolve several questions about political authority raised in 17th- and early 18th-century Britain. The power of Parlia- ment was affirmed, absolute monarchy became a spectre of the past, and, in religious affairs, the Anglican Church managed to keep the upper hand over Catholics and dis- senters. Furthermore, the party-political system of Tories and Whigs became firmly entrenched in the political landscape of Britain. However, throughout the 18th century, the turbulent developments of royal power as well as that of Parliament in the preceding century cast a shadow over the period. The beheading of Charles I, the abolition of the monarchy in 1649 and its re-establishment in 1660, as well as the disposal of James II in 1688 remained very much alive in the public cultural imaginary, and "all political groups defined themselves by reference to the Glorious Revolution of 1688 and the struggle against Stuart absolutism" (Brewer/ Hellmuth 1999, 16). Moreover, the emergence of a distinctly 'modern' system of government, continuing religious struggles, wars in Europe and in overseas territories, colonial expansion with British power both confirmed and tested, as well as radical demographic change towards a much more populous nation, the increased public visibility of women, disturbances within colonial territories and revolution in America and France – all of this contributed to the continuity of deep-seated feelings of insecurity persisting throughout 18th-century British society. 94 OLIVER LINDNER AND KAI MERTEN

In this context, it is revealing to follow the major debates and innovative new discourses on political power and its representation throughout the era. In the first half of the 18th century, the legitimacy of royal succession became a central component of political discourse. Rumours of foreign plots and papist conspiracies circulated widely and kept the fear of an invasion by continental enemies, above all by the militantly Catholic France, vivid in the public mind. The accession of the Hanoverian George I in 1714 seemed to put an end to this pressing question, but the looming shadow of Jacobite claims to the throne continued to haunt the British monarchy until the middle of the 18th century, when, with the Battle of Culloden in 1746, Jacobite forces under Charles Edward Stuart were finally crushed on Scottish soil (see Black 1997, 192). Even in the early decades of that century, due to the increasingly publicised relationship of the monarch with party factions and the government, the dangers of corruption, mismanagement, and even treason were the main subjects of pamphlet writers, journalists, political commentators, clergymen, and intellectuals, as, for example, Daniel Defoe's career as a political author testifies (see Novak 2001, 263). The rise of commercial capitalism and the entrepreneur class also led to a profound redistribution of political authority, away from the aristocracy and the landed gentry, at the very least sensitising the public to questions on the nature of political power itself. The debate on political authority and its relationship to natural rights and society became even more pressing in the second half of the 18th century, fuelled by Enlighten- ment ideas and, in particular, Jean Jacques Rousseau's philosophy about the depravity of 'civilised society'. Moreover, contemplating the legitimacy of political authority itself, the 17th-century theories of Thomas Hobbes and John Locke remained essential contributions to the debate on authority and state power and exerted a huge influence on political thinkers over the course of the whole period. The Gordon riots of 1780, when popular collective violence raged in the streets of London and other cities, were regarded by contemporaries as a "lethal cocktail of religious fanaticism, the criminal violence of the lower orders and a dark political conspiracy involving foreign powers" (Haywood/Seed 2012, 8), thereby foregrounding the legitimacy, but also the necessity of the authority of the state. In the aftermath of the French Revolution, resistance to royal and hegemonic power continued to generate heated debate, and discourse on political power, on the whole, tended to highlight the state and the monarchy as a source of stability (see Black 1997, 205). Thus, particularly the excesses of the French Revo- lution led to a more thorough acceptance of how political power was distributed in Great Britain. Finally, towards the end of the 18th century, aspects of gender rose to prominence in public discourse, inspired by Mary Wollstonecraft's epochal Vindica- tion of the Rights of Woman, in which the author "makes her own culture's stubborn insistence upon the reality of 'characteristic difference in sex' a measure of its own incomplete state of civilisation" (O'Brien 2009, 174). Kathleen Wilson argues that Georgian Britain also witnessed "localized versions of an emergent governmentality that sought to intervene directly in the internal lives and social, sexual, and gender practices of its subjects" (Wilson 2004, 7). On the other hand, with the growing dissemination and popularity of print culture, especially pro- vincial newspapers "coaxed and confirmed their readers' involvement in national and international affairs in ways that gave form to contemporary conceptualizations of power and market relations, at home and abroad" (Wilson 2002, 32). Through these GEORGIAN BRITAIN: INTRODUCTION 95 practices, the representation of political power and its ramifications, it can be argued, became much more pronounced in public discourse in the course of the 18th century than in the centuries before. Of course, representations of political power were also closely entangled with the existence of British colonies overseas, as, for example, in their role in the struggle between metropolitan and colonial authorities and as com- mentaries on the character of non-European forms of government. Nevertheless, when looking at representations of political power in 18th-century Brit- ain, the public image of the monarch as the prime personification of power and "the ultimate political authority" (Black 1997, 213) has to be taken into account. Here it is important to note that the era was also subject to "the long-term process by which the office of monarchy in Britain (and indeed Europe) came to be seen as separate from the person of the monarch, a process which French historians describe as the 'de- sacralisation' of monarchy" (Harris 2007, 211). Generally, public perceptions of the Hanoverians underwent considerable changes throughout the period. George I and his son, George II, were overwhelmingly perceived as foreigners, and aroused little sympathy in their subjects, not least due to the fact that their involvement in British affairs remained weak (see Colley 1992, 199). Under George III, however, the monarchy turned into an institution "more celebrated, more broadly popular and more un- alloyedly patriotic than it had been for a century at least" (Colley 1992, 195). Indeed, representations of royal power, particularly in the later 18th century, contributed to the formation of national identity in several ways. The distinct 'Englishness' of George III was emphasised, thus offering a unifying token of national pride to smooth over internal political and national struggles (see Riotte 2007, 58). Due to its many political developments and their manifold cultural reverberations, this century provides an exciting subject for addressing representations of power and monarchy in literary and cultural texts. As part of the discursive fabric of the public, literary texts throughout the century commented on aspects of political power. For example, Daniel Defoe's Robinson Crusoe (1719) has Robinson pondering over his position as the absolute monarch of his island, while in Jonathan Swift's satirical Gul- liver's Travels (1724), representations of royal power and of power and reason are very much at the centre of the protagonist's musings. The Gothic novel in the second half of the 18th century negotiates aspects of absolutist political power and its often pernicious impacts on social relations. Towards the end of the century, Mary Wollstone- craft's A Vindication of the Rights of Woman (1792), as an early work of feminist philosophy, makes a stand for the participation of women in public life, and, by extension, as participants in the realm of political power. In our panel, however, we are glad to say, we will be able to go beyond tracing the contemplations of political power in merely the canonical landmark works of British literature and political commentary, by providing fresh insights into the topic in various, diverse areas of the field, spanning over a range of cultural texts and media. While it is beyond the scope of this introduction to discuss the three terms contained in its title, 'representation', 'political', and 'power' at length, let us provide a few words by way of definition at this point. Interestingly, the semantics of both 'representation' and 'power' touch upon the realms of politics and aesthetics and also entail a fusion of the two. From the 16th century onwards, 'representation' meant both 'to make available to the human senses' and 'to stand and act on the behalf of', thus combining an aesthetic- 96 OLIVER LINDNER AND KAI MERTEN epistemic and a political semantics (see Merten 2014, 65-67). The same double meaning can be said to exist for 'power'. On the one hand, the term implies an asymmetrical relation between two persons or groups, theorised by innumerable political and cultural thinkers in the 20th and 21st centuries, and ranging from notions of fixed power structures to the idea of an all-pervasiveness and multiplicity of power (see for a survey Hanne 1994, 20-24). On the other hand, power in literature and media culture can refer to the power of cultural artifacts, hence denoting the power they afford their recipients (as sources of inspiration and knowledge for example) but also exert on them by way of persuasion and imaginative cogency (see ibid., 24-29). Again, a political meaning of the term must be set alongside a more cultural and aesthetic one, even if a strict differentiation of politics and aesthetics is exactly what becomes impossible at this point. In this sense, the cultural artifacts and practices studied in the contributions to this section, by referring to the politics of their time, entail what could be seen as a rapprochement of politics and aesthetics intrinsic to the two realms (see for the concept of aesthetic politics von Vacano 2007 and for political aesthetics Sartwell 2010). In representing political power, they indeed partake in it, while they also show that there is always an aesthetic dimension to politics. Politics in the narrower sense of governmental institutions on the one hand and media culture on the other hence shape together what could be called 'the political' (see Sartwell 2010, 8-11), collective explorations and representations (in the double meaning) of the community. Two historical examples serve to bring the nature and development of this nexus into focus. In the early modern period, political power was symbolically centered on the figure of the monarch. The community, its 'communalities' as well as its politics, became tangible in the physical form – the so-called 'body politic' – of the King or Queen. The monarch in this sense 'represented' the people politically as well as aesthetically. Even if the body politic was an abstract construction of the legal discourse, this very abstraction nevertheless mainly served the function of ensuring that political power became concretely visible and represented in one specific human body, the body of the ruling monarch (see Kantorowicz 1957). In this context, representation is also a form of material exchange and circulation, involving concrete bodies, their vestments, ornaments, and abilities (see Greenblatt 1989). In the institution of monarchy, this kind of representation is also founded on the idea of the monarch as the vicarius Christi on earth, who assumes, and hence makes present again, Christ's physical healing power in his – or her – own body. Concomitantly, monarchic power was often seen as an equivalent of the theatre – the main cultural representation of political power in the early modern period. While this makes the theatre a competing representation of politics, and a carefully guarded and fetishised one, it also leads to what Greenblatt calls "containment" (Greenblatt 1989, 30-35). Theatre is continually characterised as, and makes itself known as, powerful but also merely illusionary. By doing so, it seals off – or at least attempts to seal off – a fictional theatre culture from the courtly theatre of monarchy. Alternative and subversive versions of politics and monarchy, as they are produced on stage, are therefore powerful representations of political power, but ones that know themselves to be guarded and contained by – and contained in – the bigger and purportedly more 'real' theatre of monarchic representation of this power. GEORGIAN BRITAIN: INTRODUCTION 97

Throughout the 18th century, the notion of political power and its representation underwent considerable changes, as the visibility, materiality, and corporeality of power decreased (see Foucault 1975/1977). In Britain, this general development of the period is exemplified by the abandoning of the grand court life when Whitehall burned down in 1698, and the creeping demystification of the figure of the King under the Georges (see Kirsten Sandrock's article) associated with the increasing representative power of Parliament after the Glorious Revolution. As a consequence, more abstract notions of political power and political representation were developed, which made power, politics, and representation increasingly available to more individuals in society as well as to the category of the individual as such. For the individual, political power was both wielded and negotiated along the axes of its social, cultural, and gender affiliation, as a wealth of research on power, both theoretical and historically focused on the 18th century, has shown us. At the same time, however, this also meant that power permeated society more generally; it became discreetly omnipresent, leading to Enlightenment projects such as public education and public health as well as to the cult of self-control that we are arguably still living in right now. This problematis- ing notion of power as omnipresent governmentality, already mentioned above, can be supplemented with a more optimistic perspective by suggesting that through its dissemination, power also became more strongly contested in the 18th century, more basically negotiated, and more fundamentally dialogised. A much-cited example for this is the transformation of the public sphere throughout the age, which both discussed and stood for an increasing fragmentation of political power and which was carried out in media such as the London periodicals The Tatler and The Spectator (see Habermas 1962/ 1989). British 18th-century media culture as a whole increasingly disseminated and perspectivised political power, as becomes clear in the contributions to this section. Throughout the revolutionary phase of the 17th but also in the 18th century, the cultural representation and negotiation of political power was more and more taken up by textual media, at the expense of the theatre, which increasingly lost its status as the key cultural representation of political power. This is mainly due to the various forms of theatre prohibition developed in the 17th and continued in the 18th century, culminating in the Theatre Licensing Act of 1737. An important 'political' medium of both the 17th and the 18th century is the pamphlet, cheaply and easily distributable texts of varying length, which often fuse the verbal and the visual in a richly diversified and polyperspectival culture of power representation. In becoming more textual, this culture by no means lost its theatricality. As Barbara Schaff notes in her contribution, printed caricatures took up the theatre of the political where stage culture had left it behind. This textual theatre is also played out in various literary genres, such as satire, romance, or the novel (see the essays by Kerstin Frank and Katrin Berndt). While this heightened the politicisation of fictional narratives, it also brought a potentially visionary element into political thinking, a dreaming of a political order yet to come, and one still in need of being fantasised and fictionally narrated. As can be seen in a number of our contributions, despite its textuality the body politic remained strikingly present in this new media culture of the political. Now, however, in caricatures and satirical texts, the King's (or Queen's) body was contested, deformed, and overwritten to a degree unthinkable in the early modern age and before the shattering attack on the monarchy in the British Civil War and the Glorious Revo- 98 OLIVER LINDNER AND KAI MERTEN lution. The early modern notion of the centralisation of power in the body politic was still followed in the sense that the monarchic body still constituted an important hub of the cultural negotiation of the political. On the other hand, the very wealth and diversity of cultural representations of the body politic in 18th-century culture also bespoke the de-centralisation and proliferation of political power typical of the age. Altogether, the two conceptions of political power and its representation sketched out in this introduction – one material, exclusive, and concrete, the other more abstract, versatile, and discreet – can both be applied to the Georgian period.

References Black, Jeremy (1997): An Illustrated History of Eighteenth-Century Britain. Manchester: Manchester UP Brewer, John; Hellmuth, Eckhart (1999): "Introduction", in: Brewer, John; Hellmuth, Eckhart (eds.): Rethinking Leviathan. The Eighteenth-Century State in Britain and Germany. Oxford: Oxford UP, 1-21 Colley, Linda (1992): Britons. Forging the Nation, 1707-1837. New Haven/London: Yale UP Davies, Caroline (2014): "By George: events mark tricentenary of Hanoverian accession to UK throne", The Guardian Online. Web. [last accessed 15 January 2015] Foucault, Michel (1975/1977): Discipline and Punish: The Birth of the Prison. Trans. Alan Sheridan. New York: Pantheon Books Greenblatt, Stephen (1989): Shakespearean Negotiations. Oxford: Oxford UP Habermas, Jürgen (1962/1989): The Structural Transformation of the Public Sphere: An Inquiry into a Category of Bourgeois Society. Trans. Thomas Burger. Cambridge: Polity Hanne, Michael (1994): The Power of the Story: Fiction and Political Change. Providence: Berghahn Books Harris, Bob (2012): "Hanover and the Public Sphere", in: Simms, Brendan; Riotte, Torsten (eds.): The Hanoverian Dimension in British History, 1714-1837. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 183-212 Haywood, Ian; Seed, John: "Introduction", in: Haywood, Ian; Seed, John (eds.): The Gordon Riots. Poli- tics, Culture and Insurrection in Late Eighteenth-Century Britain. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1-17 Kantorowicz, Ernst (1957): The King's Two Bodies: A Study in Medieval Political Theology. Prince- ton: Princeton UP Merten, Kai (2014): Intermediales Text-Theater: Die Bühne des Politischen und des Wissens vom Menschen bei Wordsworth und Scott. Berlin: De Gruyter Novak, Maximilian E. (2001): Daniel Defoe. Master of Fictions. His Life and Ideas. Oxford: Oxford UP O'Brien, Karen (2009): Women and Enlightenment in Eighteenth-Century Britain. Cambridge: Cam- bridge UP Riotte, Torsten (2007): "George III and Hanover", in: Simms, Brendan; Riotte, Torsten (eds.): The Hanoverian Dimension in British History, 1714-1837. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 58-85 Sartwell, Crispin (2010): Political Aesthetics. Ithaca: Cornell UP Thompson, Andrew C. (2007): "The Confessional Dimension", in: Simms, Brendan; Riotte, Torsten (eds.): The Hanoverian Dimension in British History, 1714-1837. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 161- 182 Von Vacano, Diego (2007): The Art of Power: Machiavelli, Nietzsche, and the Making of Aesthetic Political Theory. Lanham: Lexington Books Wilson, Kathleen (2002): The Island Race. Englishness, Empire and Gender in the Eighteenth Cen- tury. London: Routledge --- (2004): "Introduction: Histories, Empires, Modernities", in: Wilson, Kathleen (ed.): A New Imper- ial History. Culture, Identity and Modernity in Britain and the Empire, 1660-1840. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1-26

MARTIN SPIES (GIESSEN)

"Neck or Nothing": John Dunton's Anti-Jacobite Pamphlets and the Accession of King George I

If the eccentric bookseller and pamphleteer John Dunton (1659-1732) had taken a motto for his life, it might well have been 'neck or nothing'. Always outspoken and generally unafraid of his many enemies, the ardent Protestant and Whig wrote numerous anti-Jacobite pamphlets that have hitherto been largely overlooked. This paper intends to revisit some of those that were published in the years 1713 to 1719 in support of the Protestant heir to the British crown, George of Hanover, in the face of massive threats of Jacobite rebellions, which aimed at restoring the Catholic branch of the Stuarts to the throne, even after George had been crowned at Westminster. The Jacobite movement had its origins in the tumultuous 1680s: It all began when the unpopular King James II, who had converted to Catholicism before succeeding to the throne in 1685, finally got the son and heir he had been praying for for many years. Though the king's enemies spread the rumour that the boy, Prince James Francis Ed- ward, was in fact a common child who had been smuggled into the queen's bed in a warming pan (see McTague 2013, 433), James hoped that his only son might one day inherit his crown. The Glorious Revolution of 1688 put paid to this when the royal family was forced to go into exile and seek refuge at the court of Louis XIV of France. James's son-in-law, the Protestant William of Orange and his wife Mary Stuart, a daughter from the king's first marriage, became joint monarchs, and a year later the Bill of Rights effectively excluded the Catholic Stuarts from the line of succession. William and Mary had no children, and when the only surviving child of Mary's younger sister, the future Queen Anne, died suddenly on 30 July 1700, the Protestant line of the Stuarts was doomed for extinction. In order to guarantee a Protestant succession after all, the Act of Settlement of 1701 decreed that the crown should pass to the nearest Protestant descendant of a Stuart king – the elderly Sophia, Electress of Hanover, a granddaughter of King James I and a great-granddaughter of Mary Queen of Scots. From the beginning, the Act of Settlement was hotly contested by the Jaco- bites, the adherents of the exiled royal family, and when it became obvious that Queen Anne would soon be dead, a flood of propaganda in support of either the House of Hanover or the Catholic Stuarts swept across the country. In the end, Sophia of Hanover predeceased Queen Anne, but when the latter died on 12 August 1714, Sophia's son, the Elector George Louis of Hanover, set sail for London and was crowned there on 20 October of that year (see Szechi 2006). On that day, John Dunton must have felt jubilant. He had been deeply disappointed by the last years of Queen Anne's reign, which had been dominated by Tory ministers, and he now placed all his hopes in the new king, whose patronage he wished to attract by means of his pen. Judging by numbers only, John Dunton must count among the most productive booksellers, publishers, and writers of his day with over 600 titles to his name. Of these, less than 200 could be traced by Stephen Parks, who in 1976 pub- 100 MARTIN SPIES lished the only in-depth study of Dunton's life and career with an annotated bibliography of his works (see Parks 1976). Born into a family of Anglican ministers in 1659, the boy's future seemed to be prede- termined, but when he showed no aptitude for learning and no inclination to follow the family tradition, Dunton was sent to London and became apprenticed to the distinguished Presbyterian bookseller Thomas Parkhurst in 1674. During that time he became keenly interested in politics and began to get involved with the Whig party, of which he would remain a lifelong supporter (see Berry 2008). John Dunton started his publishing career with religious and devotional books, but soon he also offered Whig propaganda and miscellanies of various kinds. Perhaps inspired by his journey to the American colonies and continental Europe in the second half of the 1680s, Dunton wrote the autobiographical novel Voyage Round the World (1691), a precursor of Laurence Sterne's Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentle- man (1759ff.). This book heralded a decade of successful projects including the periodical Athenian Mercury and serials such as the denouncing Night Walker: or Evening Rambles in Search after Lewd Women (1696-97) (see Kubek 2010). Following the death of his beloved first wife, however, Dunton's life took a turn for the worse as he also writes in his autobiography Life and Errors (1705) (see Greene 2010). An ill- matched second marriage, his declining health, and the eventual collapse of his business all contributed to turning Dunton into the bitter and uncompromising pamphleteer of his later years, whom many of his contemporaries considered as increasingly eccentric, if not downright mad. During the first three decades of the 18th century, Dunton churned out pamphlet after pamphlet in what must have appeared to many as a one-man propaganda war on many fronts – the targets of his verbose and vituperative attacks range from his detested second wife, his mother-in-law, prostitutes and sodomites, corrupt politicians (mostly of Tory leanings), and Jacobite sympathisers, whose real or imagined support of James Stuart, the so-called Old Pretender, became the main focus of Dunton's pamphleteering activities for the years to come (see Parks 1976, 148-179). Today Dunton is mostly remembered for what is still considered as his one major contribution to the history of British publishing: the Athenian Gazette, or, Casuistical Mercury. Launched in 1691, the periodical with its novel question-cum-answer format initiated a genre that has lost little of its attraction today, but the already mentioned death of his first wife in 1697 unsettled Dunton so much that he no longer managed to publish the gazette (see McEwan 1972). Though the Athenian Gazette thus ceased to appear after a run of only seven years, Dunton always remembered its commercial success and reissued parts of it in later years when he was increasingly faced with financial hardship. In addition to that, he was well aware of the brand value of anything 'Athenian' and thus continued to write and publish numerous tracts and pamphlets such as The Athenian Spy and The Athenian Catechism (both 1704), another Athenian Spy (1720), and finally The Athenian Library (1725), which was one of his last publications before he retired for good in 1728 (see Parks 1976, 153-166; 176f.). Many, though not all, of these ventures were advertised as multi-part projects or periodicals, but only few lasted for more than two or three numbers. Many titles did not sell well, but as Dunton, whose urge to write and publish seems to have become compulsive, if JOHN DUNTON'S ANTI-JACOBITE PAMPHLETS 101 not obsessive, over the years, was always short of money, failures did not deter him from setting his pen to paper. So far, scholars have largely ignored John Dunton's later works. Even Stephen Parks, who undertook the Sisyphean task of disentangling the more than complicated publication history of Dunton's publications in his monograph of 1976, dedicates only one chapter to the second half of the career of the "abusive scribbler" (Parks 1976, 148). One reason for this must be the lack of cohesion of many of his texts, which Dunton himself admitted to as early as 1691: "I have got such a trick of making Digressions, that I find it is hardly possible for me to hold long to a Point" (quoted in Parks 1976, 149). This observation is certainly true for most of his later writings, including the 'Neck or Nothing' pamphlets, which are the main subject of this paper. Dunton published these violently anti-Jacobite tracts in the years 1713 to 1719 as part of his "neck-adventure" pamphlets, as he calls his campaign against Tory politicians and Jacobites on the title page of King George for ever: or, Dunton's Speech to the Protes- tant Associators of Great-Britain (1715) (see Parks 1976, 368ff.). The first pamphlet of this campaign was inspired by Robert Walpole's tract A Short History of Parliament of 1713, which the Whig statesman wrote while he was effectively barred from speaking in the House of Commons. Charged with corruption, Walpole (1676-1745) had been expelled from Parliament and committed to the Tower at a time when he and other prominent Whig voices were trying to prevent the Tories' attempts to end the War of the Spanish Succession on terms which they regarded as leaving France in too strong a position rather than achieving a balance of powers in Europe. In his Short History the former Secretary-at-War condemns the signing of the Treaty of Utrecht in April 1713 and its likely effects on the future of British politics and commerce (see Plumb 1956, 173-186). Amongst other things, Walpole argues that this treaty could mean nothing less but that the present government planned to frustrate the Protestant succession of the House of Hanover in favour of the Stuart claimant, who had the full support of the French King Louis XIV. Walpole ends his Short History with a stern admonition to the Whig electorate for the upcoming general elec- tion in the autumn of 1713, which eventually returned him to Parliament: [B]y this Sample the Freeholders of England may judge, by what Means this Parliament has de- serv'd to have their Memory transmitted to Posterity, and will surely consider well of their past Behaviour, before they choose those again, who for the Characters of Loyal and Dutiful, have sacrific'd their Country to the Power of France, which can end in nothing but bringing in the Pretender, Popery, and Slavery. (Walpole 1713, 20) Walpole's contrasting juxtaposition of traditional English or British values and French vices, which would threaten the country in case of Prince James's succession, must have deeply impressed John Dunton as they reverberate in many of his own anti- Jacobite writings. Within weeks of the publication of Walpole's Short History, Dunton quotes the catchwords 'Pretender, Popery and Slavery' on the title page of his first 'Neck or Nothing' pamphlet – Neck or Nothing: In a Letter to the Right Honourable the Lord –– Being a Supplement to the 'Short History of the Parliament' – which openly accuses the two most prominent leaders in the Tory government, Viscount Boling- broke and the Earl of Oxford, of treason. In this rambling and repetitive diatribe, which is almost three times as long as Walpole's succinct attack on the Tory party, Dunton describes his main motive for publishing his opinions as follows: 102 MARTIN SPIES

[I]f your LORDSHIP [i.e. Bolingbroke] has ventur'd your Neck to ruin your Country, […] I humbly conceive I may with as good Reason venture my Neck to save it; and I don't question but all the Protestant Nobility and Gentry in the Queen's Dominions will stand by and support me, in thus venturing my Life and Fortune, in crying Fire, Fire, Fire, to a Frenchify'd Nation, that's fast asleep in the midst of Flames. But whether they do or no, Vertue is its own Reward; and as I give the Alarm, neither for Honour nor Profit, but purely to serve my Country, I don't fear, shou'd I die in the Attempt, but I shall meet with a Glorious Reward in the other World, tho' I shou'd meet with nothing but Death or Disgrace in this; if suffering to defend Her Majesty's just Title to the British Crown, or the Rights of the Illustrious House of Hanover, can be call'd Dis- grace, which is the greatest Honour a Loyal Peer is capable of receiving on this side Heaven […]. (Dunton 1713, 5f.) Casting himself in the role of Britain's Protestant champion who is prepared to fight the 'frenchify'd' government regardless of personal consequences, Dunton indeed ven- tured his neck for a first time as Bolingbroke not only tried to ban the circulation of this pamphlet and its sequels but also ordered the arrest of the writer. Dunton, however, escaped his pursuers and the first part of Neck or Nothing continued to be in demand (a twentieth edition was printed in 1719; see Parks 1976, 175). As in the case of the Athenian Gazette, Dunton did his best to exploit its success as much as possible: Queen Robin: or the second part of Neck or Nothing (1714) reconsiders the final years of Queen Anne’s reign; it was followed by the abortive gazette Neck Intelligence (1715) and the pamphlets The Shortest Way with the King: or plain English spoke to his Majesty. Being the third part of Neck or Nothing (1715), Neck for Nothing: or, satyr upon two great little men now in the ministry (1719), and last but not least Neck or Nothing in Verse (1719), which will be discussed below (see Parks 1976, 359-384). The larger the number of Dunton's anti-Jacobite tracts became over the next few years, the larger his belief in his own contribution in helping to uncover treasonable plots against the succession of King George and the House of Hanover grew. With hindsight it is difficult to tell if there is any substance behind his many claims of having been instrumental in paving the way for the new regime, but there can be little doubt that whichever services he may have rendered must be grossly overstated. Because few of his contemporaries believed in his exploits but rather considered them as proof of his growing madness, he became more and more irritated at being largely ignored after the accession of George I. Dunton, who had spent most of the money he still possessed in publishing unsolicited propaganda for the Protestant succession, could not understand that no reward was forthcoming while many others clearly profited from having supported the claims of the new dynasty. Time and again Dunton petitioned the new king and his counsellors to acknowledge his services to the crown, but his overreaching expectations suggest that he may indeed have lost his grip on reality as the following lines from King George for ever: or, Dunton's Speech to the Protestant Associators of Great-Britain (1715) imply: [I] humbly beg your Majesty will not Attribute what I am now going to Mention to any Ambi- tion or Vanity of mine (who being Born a Gentleman, do not Value a Knighthood upon any other Foot, only as 'tis a visible Mark of my Sovereigns Favour) but I am saluted by all my Fel- low-Citizens that know me and what I have dared for your Majesty's Service, by the new Title of Sir JOHN; yet without a Post or Pension to support that Title, I should be far from desiring the Honour: However, in both, I throw my self at your Majesty's Feet, determine my Fate as you please […]. (Dunton 1715c, xxiv) JOHN DUNTON'S ANTI-JACOBITE PAMPHLETS 103

There can be no doubt that his fellow citizens' alleged reverence was little more than derision that Dunton failed to grasp, and so it comes as somewhat of a surprise that this rather presumptuous plea for royal patronage indeed reached the king's ear and, if not a knighthood, at least earned him a reward in the shape of a gold medal with the king's portrait on it. Dunton was immensely proud of the medal, which he seems to have worn as a pendant whenever he was not forced to pawn it for bread, as the Earl of Oxford sneeringly noted (see Parks 1976, 172). As always, he was immune against the scorn he was earning from many sides and sincerely hoped that by wearing the king's portrait en miniature he might inspire others to follow his example and proclaim their loyalty to the crown. Full of gratitude and certainly hoping for further rewards, Dunton wrote The Medal: or, A Loyal Essay upon King George's Picture, As 'twas presented to Mr. John Dunton (1715) and dedicated it to Hans Caspar von Bothmer, the Han- overian diplomat and minister who had apparently drawn the king's attention to his self-appointed propagandist. The lengthy pamphlet also includes a few poems on the medal and the king's portrait as an icon of royalty: This Medal represents that Royal Case, Whence Soul and Body dart such chearing Rays, As shew both Worlds are Pictur'd in a Face, For GEORGE, our Sovereign, is no Party-King; His Looks bless all, his Reign is every thing: His very Medal does our Heav'n presage, And is a Picture of The Golden Age. (Dunton 1715b, title page) This ideal representation of a king, whose innate royalty is meant to appeal to all subjects irrespective of their party affiliation, shows that early on in the reign of the new king, Dunton had not given up the hope that George might unite all Britons and bring peace to a divided country. That this peace was not, however, forthcoming in the near future was made abundantly clear by the dangerous but ultimately unsuccessful Jaco- bite rising of 1715, which lingered on in the popular imagination and was remembered in the propaganda issued by both sides (see Lenman 1980, 155; Monod 1989, 195). Towards the end of the decade, John Dunton planned what might have become the most interesting project in the 'Neck or Nothing' series if he had not abandoned it after the publication of its first instalment, probably for want of buyers. The only number that ever made it to the press was printed in 1719 (not 1715, as the STC entry for T174181 tentatively suggests; see Parks 1976, 384) as a reaction to the ever growing body of Jacobite poems in the aftermath of the crushed rebellion, which Dunton and others perceived as a serious threat to the stability of the country and the monarchy: Neck or Nothing in Verse: or, A Compleat Collection of all the Treasonable Poems that have been Privately Dispers'd throughout the British Dominions in Favour of the Pretender. With Answers to 'em in Rhime. Proving King George our Rightful and Ever Glorious Sovereign. In his introduction Dunton claims his intention to procure, "tho' at great Expence" (Dunton 1719, A3v), a collection of Jacobite poems and answer them with "Antidote Rhimes" (Dunton 1719, A4v). In what follows, Dunton lists some of the poems' titles and although not all of them can be identified now, the pamphleteer apparently describes one of the manuscript volumes of poetic propaganda, such as the so-called Townley Manuscript (see Grosart's edition of 1877), which includes at least two Jaco- bite poems that Dunton also knew. The only poem Dunton ever 'answered in rhyme' is 104 MARTIN SPIES the following one on a portrait of the exiled Stuart prince, whom the Jacobites considered to be their rightful king: The KING's Picture. By a Lady. What Britain can survey that Heavenly Face, And doubt his being of the Martyr's Race? Every Feature does his Birth declare, The Monarch, and the Saint, are Painted there. This Face wou'd sure the boldest Whig convince, It speaks alone the Stuart, and the Prince, O Glorious Youth! 'tis evidently Plain, By those Majestick Eyes, thou'rt Born to Reign. My Heart bleeds as I view thy Noble Shade, And grieves it cannot bring Thee better Aid. I, on no other Terms, a MAN would be, But to defend Thy Rightful Cause, and Thee: For Both, my Life, I'd bravely chuse to lose; But Now, can only serve You with my Muse. Oh! were my Pen, a Sword, Thy Foes I'd meet, And lay the Conquere'd World before Thy Feet. (Dunton 1719, 1f.) Versions of this poem survive in a number of manuscript collections of Jacobite verse, including the already mentioned Towneley Manuscript (see Grosart 1887, 86f.), which has led to some confusion regarding the dating of the original text (see ibid., 193). However, as the version printed by Dunton is the earliest datable one, there can be little doubt that the poem was written in 1719 at the latest; in fact the poem could date from as early as 1715, when the antiquary Thomas Hearne noted in his diary on 24 July 1715 that "[t]here is just come over a very fine large print of King James IIId. [i.e. Prince James Stuart] which I have purchased for half a guinea, besides half a crown I gave for the frame" (Hearne 1869, 5f.). Although no particular portrait of the Stuart prince can be identified as a direct inspiration, the poem nevertheless points to a large number of engraved portraits that were imported from the Continent as Jacobite propaganda. What all of these portraits have in common is that they show the youthful face of the prince, who at the age of 27 had indeed a 'heavenly face' that must have appealed to many as decidedly more attractive than that of the 55-year-old King George. Perhaps it was for this very reason that the poem "The King's Picture" is written from a female perspective and attributed to an unidentified female poet, who is apparently captivated not only by the prince's 'rightful cause' but also by his noble physical appearance. However, it is impossible to know if it was indeed written by a woman or perhaps rather by a male author with a female readership in mind. Whatever the case, the purported female authorship is targeted by Dunton at the very beginning of his aggressive reply poem, which is five times longer than the original one: By a Lady! – No! – 'Tis some Pox'd Strumpet writes This Picture, for all our Whores are Jacobites: A King, (Lewd Drab!) Grop'd from a Warming-Pan, Is that the Martyr's Race? – Your King is but a Sham. (Dunton 1719, 3) These first lines are symptomatic of what is to follow: Misogynistic ramblings full of double entendres aim at discrediting not only the female poet but the entire exiled court of the 'sham' prince 'groped from a warming pan'. Like many other anti-Jacobite JOHN DUNTON'S ANTI-JACOBITE PAMPHLETS 105 pamphleteers before him, Dunton here draws on the rumours that Prince James was not the biological son of the deposed King James II but a changeling smuggled into the queen's bed in a warming pan. That he knew all the details of the ill-founded scandal is also shown in his Hereditary-Bastard: Or, The Royal-Intreague of the Warming-Pan: Fully Detected, which quotes from earlier pamphlets on the rumours surrounding the birth of the prince and proved popular enough to go through three editions in 1715 (see McTague 2013, 445; Parks 1976, 367f.). In the black-and-white world of propaganda this could mean only one thing: As a consequence of his purported illegitimacy the prince could not be anything but corrupt, and Dunton envisages him as the centre of a profligate and decadent world, in which secular powers, the Catholic church, money, and sex have conspired to lead astray those who give in to their temptations: Yes! should this Harlot [i.e. the poet] Conquer with her Quill, (Or her Muse Poyson, as her Tail does Kill) Her Glorious Youth will pardon all that's Ill You then may Swear, and Whore, just as you please, For Pope, and the Pretender, pardon these; For Gold (Good Store of Gold) they'll strait your Conscience ease. (Dunton 1719, 10) Throughout the poem Dunton invokes the prejudices against female authors which many of his contemporaries shared. In Dunton's eyes, the poet has forsaken her claim to the title of a lady in speaking up for a dishonourable cause. Accusations of sexual incontinence draw on the obvious attraction expressed by the female speaker for the handsome prince and result in Dunton calling her a whore. This line of attack was by no means new to Dunton, who in The Night Walker had claimed as early as 1696 that "all the Whores in Town are Jacobites" (quoted in Kubek 2010, 453). Dunton's youthful Pretender, then, is anything but glorious, instead he is illegitimate and tainted, his handsome appearance nothing but an alluring facade and certainly not the incarnate evidence of a royal spirit and soul as in the original poem. The separation of body and soul that Dunton ultimately tries to achieve here is important and serves as a further proof of the prince's illegitimacy – if his 'heavenly face' is but a lie, then he cannot be accepted as 'being of the martyr's race', the legitimate descendants of the executed King Charles I. The conjunction of the Pretender's portrait and the martyred king would also have aroused Protestant fears of the power of devotional paintings, especially in a Catholic context, to "force from the beholders an Interior Love and Honor" (Gother 1687, 21). This quotation from John Gother's A Discourse of the Use of Images in Relation to the Church of England and the Church of Rome (1687), which Kevin Sharpe cites in his recent discussion of the "popish face" of James II, the Pre- tender's father (see Sharpe 2013, 271), helps explain why Dunton tries by all means to discredit the prince's image and to deny his descent from Charles I. For Dunton, as well as for the Jacobite poet, there can only be one legitimate king, for, as Gother writes, "'tis impossible, for a Good Subject to have by him the Picture of his Prince and of a Traitor, without being differently affected in his Soul towards them, even in the very same manner, as he is to the Persons they Represent" (Gother 1687, 21). For Dunton, a 'good subject' could, of course, only be a supporter of the House of Hanover, and he therefore turns the tables on the writer of the original poem by using the same strategy of celebrating the union of body and soul – minus its Catholic overtones – in his poetic portrayal of King George. 106 MARTIN SPIES

Throughout Dunton's reply poem the court of the new Hanoverian king is presented in stark opposition to the degraded 'Roman hell' of the Pretender's court, and again it is a portrait that is meant to offer proof of the exemplary character of the monarch:

But if you'd see a REAL PRINCE that's Great, and Good, and Wise, (That's Monarch and Saint, without the least Disguise) View GEORGE's Royal Face, in Answer to your Lies. This Prince is drawn, (let none think Truth a Crime) By KNELLER, the Apelles of our Time: 'Tis HE alone the Mystick Art could find To Paint a Monarch's Person, and his Mind. This matchless Piece is most Divinely wrought, And in Great George's Aspect read his Thought: The self-same Look the Pious Hero shows, As when consulting for the World's Repose; The same undaunted Brow, as when he chac'd That Rebel MAR, and Cannons Thunder fac'd; For I affirm (to sum my Thought's Intent) This Perfect Face, all Monarch does Present, So much of Majesty throughout remains, You'd swear the very Picture Lives and Reigns. These are the Features of our Present King, Whose Royal Title does from Heaven spring; For in his Looks there is a Wonder shown, True Goodness represented in a Crown. (Dunton 1719, 4f.) Here, King George is celebrated as a monarch by divine right, a monarch, furthermore, who combines in his 'perfect face' all those royal qualities that the Pretender is supposed to lack. He is 'great, good and wise', a defender of the Protestant faith, a 'pious hero' and a warrior king who has defeated his Jacobite enemies headed by the Earl of Mar in the Jacobite rising in November 1715. What is most remarkable about this passage, however, is Dunton's attempt to relate his word-portrait of the new king to the official portraits commissioned from 'the Apelles of our time' – the court painter Sir Godfrey Kneller (Dunton had already used this sobriquet in The Medal). A source of inspiration that Dunton must have had in mind while composing his bombastic lines in praise of the king and of Kneller's royal portrait is Nahum Tate's "Portrait-Royal. A poem upon her Majesty's picture set up in Guild-Hall" (1703), for which he had already expressed his admiration in The Medal (see Dunton 1715b, A2r). As Tate was Queen Anne's poet laureate, it is tempting to imagine which possible rewards Dunton, who had already unsuccessfully petitioned the king for a knighthood, had in mind while penning Neck or Nothing in Verse. In the end, Dunton is convinced that he has unmasked the portrait of James Stuart as an image that merely copies the trappings but not the substance of royalty. The Cath- olic prince can therefore never be a legitimate ruler on the Protestant British throne: Thus have I given our Lady-Crack the Lie, That wou'd a Picture make of Monarchy: Popish Head to Protestant Body join, Then swear the monstrous Reign is Right Divine, Because [of] a sham Hereditary Line. For James, thour't neither Prince, nor Stuart, but their Stain, JOHN DUNTON'S ANTI-JACOBITE PAMPHLETS 107

And such a Mock-King all good Men disdain, That's rather born to Hang, than born to Reign. (Dunton 1719, 6) In this direct address to the Pretender, Dunton divests him of any claim to the Stuart heritage that according to the original poem is obvious in the prince's resemblance to the 'saint' Charles I, whereas Dunton's Pretender is nothing but an anagrammatic 'stain'. One cannot help but get the impression that with this damning conclusion Dun- ton had shot his bolt, and perhaps this is also a reason why Neck or Nothing in Verse was discontinued after its very first instalment. At least the outline for the next issue that never appeared affords a glimpse at Dunton's original plans for the series: An advertisement inserted in the first part of Neck or Nothing in Verse lists the titles of the next five 'treasonable poems' from Dunton's collection of Jacobite verse (see Dunton 1719, 12). Four can no longer be identified with certainty, but the poem entitled "Cato's Ghost" is probably identical to another poem that has survived in the Towneley Manuscript (see Grosart 1877, 101-104). This poem bears the date 1715 and accuses Joseph Addison, a convinced Whig and supporter of the Hanoverian succession, of having twisted the story of the Roman statesman Cato the Younger in his tragedy Cato (1712) into a piece of anti-Jacobite propaganda. If Dunton had proceeded with Neck or Nothing in Verse he would certainly have written a fierce defence of Addison's interpretation of Cato. The pamphlets that have been briefly introduced here represent only a fraction of the anti-Jacobite titles John Dunton published in the second decade of the 18th century. Often planned as multi-part projects, most of them apparently did not find an audience willing to pay for them. As many of his pamphlets have not survived and are only known because Dunton advertised for them elsewhere, it is impossible to assess this particular body of his writings as a whole. The titles that have survived have two things in common – not only are they an expression of John Dunton's unwavering support of the House of Hanover, but they are also a plea for royal patronage that was never forthcoming. In the end, John Dunton had lost his modest fortune and most of his friends in his single-minded and obsessive pursuit of royal favour. He died in 1732.

References Primary Sources Dunton, John (1713): Neck or Nothing: In a Letter to the Right Honourable the Lord –– Being a Sup- plement to the Short History of the Parliament [etc.]. London: T. Warner --- (1715a): The Hereditary-Bastard: Or, the Royal-Intreague of the Warming-Pan: Fully Detected [etc.]. London: Printed for the Author --- (1715b): The Medal: Or, a Loyal Essay upon King George's Picture, as 'twas Presented to Mr. John Dunton, (Author of The Golden Age) By His Majesty's Order. London: Printed for the Author --- (1715c): King George for ever: or, Dunton's Speech to the Protestant Associators of Great-Britain [etc.]. London --- (1719): Neck or Nothing in Verse: or, A Compleat Collection of all the Treasonable Poems that have been Privately Dispers'd throughout the British Dominions in Favour of the Pretender. With Answers to 'em in Rhime. Proving King George our Rightful and Ever Glorious Sovereign. Part I. [etc.]. London: Printed for the Author Gother, John (1687): A Discourse of the Use of Images in Relation to the Church of England and the Church of Rome [etc.]. London: Printed by Henry Hills 108 MARTIN SPIES

Grosart, Alexander B. (ed., 1877): The Towneley Mss. English Jacobite Ballads, Songs and Satires, etc. From the Mss. at Towneley Hall, Lancashire. Manchester: Charles E. Simms Hearne, Thomas (1869): Reliquiae Hearnianae: The Remains of Thomas Hearne, M.A. of Edmund Hall [etc.], vol. 2. Ed. Philip Bliss. London: John Russell Smith Walpole, Robert (1715): A Short History of the Parliament. London: T. Warner

Secondary Sources Berry, Helen (2008): "Dunton, John (1659-1732)", Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, OUP, online edition. Web. [last accessed 30 September 2013] Greene, Jody (2010): "Ego non sum Ego. John Dunton and the Consolations of Print", The Eighteenth Century 50.2/3, 127-144 Kubek, Elizabeth (2010): "'All Whores are Jacobites': Terror, Book, and Body in the Writings of John Dunton", The Eighteenth Century 51.4, 451-470 Lenman, Bruce (1980): The Jacobite Risings in Britain 1689-1746. London: Eyre Methuen McEwan, Gilbert D. (1972): The oracle of the coffee house. John Dunton's Athenian Mercury. San Marino, CA: Huntington Library McTague, John (2013): "Anti-Catholicism, Incorrigibility and Credulity in the Warming-Pan Scandal of 1688-9", Journal for Eighteenth-Century Studies 36.2, 433-448 Monod, Paul Kléber (1989): Jacobitism and the English People 1688-1788. Cambridge: Cambridge UP Parks, Stephen (1976): John Dunton and the English Book Trade. A Study of His Career with a Check- list of His Publications. New York/London: Garland Publishing Plumb, J.H. (1956): Sir Robert Walpole. The Making of a Statesman. London: The Cresset Press Sharpe, Kevin (2013): Rebranding Rule. The Restoration and Revolution Monarchy, 1660-1714. New Haven: Yale UP Szechi, Daniel (2006): "The Jacobite Movement", in: H.T. Dickinson (ed.): A Companion to Eight- eenth-Century Britain. Malden, MA: Blackwell Publishing, 81-96 KIRSTEN SANDROCK (GÖTTINGEN)

'The Wee, Wee German Lairdie': Georgian Bodies in Jacobite Literature

0. Introduction Renderings of the body natural in Jacobite literature reflect upon the body politic of Georgian Britain in more ways than it has been previously acknowledged. This is particularly true for representations of George I in Jacobite ballads and songs. Drawing on theories of body criticism, the following article suggests that bodily images of George I function as hitherto neglected leitmotif in Jacobite works from the 18th century. Whereas previous studies of Jacobite poetry and song mainly concentrate on the representations of the Stuarts as strong and frequently erotic figures (see Pittock 1994, 4-5; 48; 135-45), I should like to demonstrate that a focus on the monarchs of the House of Hanover is equally revealing regarding Jacobite imaginings of the British monarchy and, indeed, the British nation. This Scottish perspective is an important one, seeing as Great Britain in the early 18th century was as much divided over the question of unity as the United Kingdom is today, in the year of the Scottish independence referendum. 2014 is a suitable moment, then, not only to remember the 300th anniversary of the succession of George I of Hanover to the throne of Great Britain but also to remember what kind of strife this succession brought onto the UK – both in political and cultural respects. When I speak about a 'Scottish' perspective on Georgian Britain or about 'Scottish' Jacobitism, then it is important to remember that there was neither a singular Scottish perspective on British politics in the 18th century nor a singular Jacobite movement. Although I will focus on the literary productions of the opponents of the House of Hanover, it is worth mentioning that there were also Scots writing in favour of George I and the Union of Parliaments of 1707, which otherwise spurned a new wave of Jacobitism in Scotland. William Patterson, William Seton of Pitmedden, and the Earl of Cromarty are three examples of Scottish authors writing in favour of the union and, at least partly, the Hanoverian succession. Their works may not be particularly well known today but they should not be forgotten when talking about 18th-century Scot- land and its literary culture, lest to create the false image of a cohesively united anti- Georgian Scotland. This reminder of Scotland's political and cultural heterogeneity also prompts me to declare that a considerable body of Gaelic Jacobite literature exists, which will, however, be excluded from this article. More research in the field of Gael- ic Jacobite literature would be welcome, including research focusing on bodily images of George I. This will, however, have to be done at a different time and in a different place. With these disclaimers in mind, let me turn to Jacobite literature in English and Scots, and its particular take on the Georgian body.

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1. Jacobite History and Literature It is well known that Jacobites were supporters of the Stuart monarchy. From the year 1688 onwards, a Jacobite movement emerged from the belief that James VII and II (and later on his heirs) was the rightful monarch of England, Scotland, and Ireland. It is not necessary to recount the well-known history of uprisings and rebellions that took place between 1688 and 1745; yet, it is useful to keep in mind that the history of Jaco- bitism reveals how drastically Great Britain was divided over the subject of the Han- overian rule in the late 17th and early 18th centuries. It was mainly Scots who wanted to restore the Stuart monarchy and, in so doing, displace the German Georges from the British throne. That being said, there were also Jacobites in Ireland and some people in England who hoped that James VII and II would be restored to the throne (see Pittock 1994, 1-188, esp. 134). Nonetheless, it was in Scotland where Jacobite ideology left its strongest political and cultural marks, and where an entire body of literature grew thanks to the Jacobite movement and its political principles. Jacobite literature is primarily a literature of poetry and song (see Donaldson 1988, 1; Hook 1987, 3). In the late 17th and early 18th centuries, the "popular tradition of Scots ballad and song" (Hook 1987, 3) was immensely widespread among those who supported the Jacobite cause. This was another way, albeit a subtle one, in which Jaco- bites set themselves apart from English mainstream culture. They did not attempt "to write an English prose as pure and correct as anything written in London and the South" (ibid.). Instead, Scottish Jacobite literature drew on earlier, markedly Scottish traditions to express both its political and aesthetic ideals. This included the rejuvenation of the vernacular tradition of earlier Scottish 'makars', such as William Dunbar (born ca. 1459) or Robert Henryson (fl. 1460-1500), both of whom had helped to establish Middle Scots as a literary language in late medieval and early modern literature. In the course of the 18th century, this tradition of Scottish vernacular literature was taken up again by authors such as Allan Ramsay (1686-1758), Robert Fergusson (1750-1774), or Robert Burns (1759-1796). In addition to these familiar authors, a large body of Scottish popular poetry exists in the form of Jacobite literature that sets itself apart from English literature not only in terms of dialect and style but also in terms of political posture. In Poetry and Jacobite Politics in Eighteenth-Century Britain and Ireland (1994) Mur- ray Pittock identifies three principal strands of Jacobite literature. These can be distinguished according to their prevalent themes and/or imagery, including "the aggressive/ active song, calling for war or opposition to the Whig state; the erotic song, portraying the absent kin as lover; and the sacred lyric, in defence of Episcopacy or what can only be called Anglo-Catholicism" (Pittock 1994, 5). While I agree with Pittock that these three types of Jacobite literature exist, I would add a fourth category, namely texts aimed at the satirical portrayal of all those kings and queens who do not belong to the line of the Stuart monarchy. There is an entire set of ballads and songs in which Jacobitism is endorsed not through the depiction of what it stands for – i.e. the support of the Stuarts – but, vice versa, through the satirising of what it does not stand for, which is, in the early 18th century, above all the Union of Parliaments and the House of Hanover. Stylistically speaking, the most characteristic feature of this fourth category of Jacobite literature is the use of satire. 18th-century Britain is known for its production of a great

GEORGIAN BODIES IN JACOBITE LITERATURE 111 number of satirical works, several of which are examined in the other articles in this panel. These satires range from literary works to caricatures and musical productions, and most of them have either politics or general cultural developments as their object of ridicule. What all of these satires have in common is, as Frank Palmeri argues, that "satire sets against each other opposed points of view; it criticizes or parodies both extremes, but typically devotes little or no attention to positions that might mediate or accommodate the differences between them" (Palmeri 2003, 11). This observation is certainly true for satirical Jacobite literature and its particular representation of Geor- gian Britain. The two extremes in this case are the Stuart monarchy vs. the House of Hanover. Representatives of these two monarchies are depicted as binary opposites, with one side being idealised whereas the other side is mocked and devalued in every possible manner. George I comes away particularly badly in this fourth branch of satirical literature. The reason for this is probably that his succession in 1714 radically reduced Jacobite hopes to retrieve the throne for the exiled James Francis Edward Stuart, the son of James II. It is, unfortunately, impossible to date most Jacobite ballads and songs, including those I will analyse below. Yet, it is easy to imagine that the Jacobite rising of 1715, popu- larly known as 'The Fifteen', may have given rise to a series of scornful literary representations of George I, either to heighten oppositional sentiments against the House of Hanover before the uprising or, once the Jacobites had surrendered to the English government forces in November 1715, to subsequently cope with the disappointment over the failed attempt to restore the Stuart monarchy. Either way, George I of Hanover is a popular figure of ridicule in Jacobite literature of the 18th century, and his body serves as a satirical reference point in a considerable number of ballads and songs. The body offers an entrance into Jacobite literature, one that adds further force and complexity to the satirical antithesis of Stuart vs. Georgian Britain that is repeatedly sketched out in Jacobite works. Following Barbara Korte's argument in Body Lan- guage in Literature, I take as my vantage point that "body language" and non-verbal behaviour "is 'meaningful' in both natural and fictional communication" because it "constitutes one subsystem of the text's entire sign repertoire" (Korte 1997, 4). This can mean, for instance, that a figure is characterised by its 'face' or 'physique' or that a certain corporal trait becomes a mark for a character that is meant to give insight into his or her personality (see ibid.). As Korte remarks, the discipline of physiognomy has left many traces in literature from antiquity up to the nineteenth century. […] Posture and spatial behaviour, facial expressions, gestures, and eye behaviour, both conscious and unconscious, provide the reader with clues to the personal traits, mental states, and interpersonal relations of the fictional characters. (Korte 1997, 4; 6) In Jacobite literature, this idea of a character's bodily features reflecting upon his or her personality can be clearly perceived in the representation of George I. He is pictured as a shorter, more puerile, and generally feebler figure than his opponent James Francis Edward Stuart and, more generally, than all Stuart monarchs. In this manner, Jacobite literature draws a metaphorical parallel between the bodily features of the different kings and "their social status" (ibid., 27), as my reading of three Jacobite songs shall illustrate.

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2. The Georgian Body in Jacobite Literature: Three Songs The following songs were chosen from the Broadside Ballads collection of the Bod- leian Library.1 As already mentioned, the dates of origin for these and most other Jacobite songs and ballads are unknown. Yet, the examples have in common that they all address the rule of George I of Hanover in Great Britain (1714-1727) and satirise his physical features in order to promote the Jacobite cause. They do so in a manner that allows us not only to broaden our understanding of Jacobite literature and its different stylistic and thematic strands, but also to extend our awareness of the use of body imagery in various kinds of poetry and song, as I shall argue below.

2.1 "The Turnip Song" My first example is a ballad called "The Turnip Song".2 It features the subtitle "A Georgick", which is not only a reference to Virgil's Georgics (c. 29 BC) but already indicates the main target of the song: George I of Hanover. Like Virgil in his famous long poem, the anonymous author(s) of "The Turnip Song" use the semantic field of agriculture to comment upon political affairs, in this case the rule of George I over Great Britain. The song satirises what this German 'turnip' does in Great Britain, using the physical attributes of the common vegetable to assert how unfit George I allegedly is for the British throne: "THE TURNIP SONG: A GEORGICK" – To the tune of, A Begging we will go.

Of all Roots of H——r, The Turnip is the best: 'Tis his Sallad when 'tis Raw, And his Sweetmeat when 'tis Drest; Then a Hoeing he may go, may go, may go, And his Turnips he may hoe. A Potato to dear Foy, And a Leek to Taffy give: But to our Friend H——r, A Turnip while you live, That a Hoeing he may go, may go, may go, etc. No root so fit for barren H——r can be found; For the Turnip will grow best When 'tis sown in poorest Ground; Where a-hoeing he may go, may go, may go, etc. But if it be Transplanted, 'Twill shortly have an End: And the higher still it grows, It must the sooner Bend. Then a-hoeing he may go, may go, may go, etc. (lines 1-21) The point of "The Turnip Song" is, of course, that George I himself is the turnip described here. He is compared to a root vegetable that is known for "having toothed,

1 In future references, Bodleian Library Broadside Ballads is abbreviated as BLBB. 2 All references to "The Turnip Song" are to BLBB 2011a.

GEORGIAN BODIES IN JACOBITE LITERATURE 113 somewhat hairy leaves, and yellow flowers, cultivated from ancient times as a culinary vegetable, and for feeding sheep and cattle" (OED Online). This association with cattle-feeding and the turnip's rather uninviting exterior already bring to the fore what the satirical portrait of George I's body in Jacobite literature is about. Drawing on Palmeri's words about the general function of satire, the metaphorical depiction of George I as a turnip is meant to achieve the "levelling [of] accepted hierarchies of value, such as high and low, the spiritual and the physical" (Palmeri 2003, 11). In other words, George I's body is represented as a turnip in order to demote his consecrated status as a monarch and to flatten the hierarchical relationship that otherwise exists between him and the people. This also emerges in those parts of "The Turnip Song" where George I's physical features are described more explicitly. In one verse, the turnip is depicted as a root that "ne'er should swell / like the turban of a Turk, / For 'tis best when 'tis no greater / than the white rose of York" (lines 27-30). This reference to the turnip's smallness is an allusion to the idea that George I was particularly small – an image that runs as leitmotif throughout Jacobite literature. By contrasting the idea of George's smallness with the largeness of the Turkish turban, the quotation not only implies that George's body was particularly small but, additionally, that his empire will be a small one: no larger than the House of York and never as large as the Ottoman Empire in the 17th and 18th centuries. The reference to the Ot- toman Empire here seems well chosen, seeing as George I was known for having brought his Turkish protégés Mehmet and Mustafa to the court upon his arrival in London in 1714.3 Knowledge about this presence of two Turkish courtiers in the inner circle around George I only adds to the mocking depiction of the Hanoverian monarch in "The Turnip Song". The turbans of his courtiers are said to be grander than the king himself, meaning that George I remains a minor figure at court, both in physical and in political terms. In the remainder of the verses, "The Turnip Song" goes beyond the belittlement of George I's royal status and anticipates the decline of Georgian Britain. To do so, it uses further agricultural imagery which, again, take on a physical quality by linking the seeds of the turnip to the seeds of the king, i.e. his offspring. The verses read as an en- couragement to listeners – and singers – to assist the collapse of the House of Han- over's rule by removing the king's seeds from British soil: Their Seed (tho' small) increases, If the Land doth it befriend: But when they grow too Numerous, 'Tis Time they should be Thinn'd. Then a Hoeing he may go, may go, may go, etc. May the Turnip make a Season For a better Plant to grow: Lest the H——r Root prove The Root of all our Woe. Then a Hoeing he may go, may go, may go, And his Turnips he may hoe. (lines 37-47) The suggestion that the seed of the House of Hanover is small can be read as a reference to the relative small number of children that George I and his wife Sophia Doro-

3 I am indebted to Christoph Heyl for the reference to Mehmet and Mustafa.

114 KIRSTEN SANDROCK thea of Celle had. They had two children: George Augustus (1683-1760), the later George II, and their daughter Sophia Dorothea (1687-1757). Despite this relatively small number of children for couples of the period, the song warns that the turnip's seed may increase rapidly, i.e. take over the entire country of Great Britain if the land is too friendly to the turnip's seed. As a remedy, the ballad suggests that the turnip seeds should be 'Thinn'd', i.e. plucked out in order to make room for a new and better plant to grow. It is easy to imagine that this new and better plant hinted at here is the Stuart monarchy, which, in the world of Jacobite satire, only needs room in order to take over the kingdom's reign again. How exactly the Hanoverian seed should be removed remains unsaid, but given the history of Jacobite uprisings of the early 18th century, it could easily be conceived that the word 'Thinn'd' is a euphemism for more cruel forms of physical elimination.

2.2 "I am a turnip ho-er" The second example is clearly related to the previous Jacobite song, both in form and content. It features the title "I am a turnip ho-er" and takes up the same semantic paradigm for its representation of George I as the previous song, i.e. farming and country life. In the Broadside Ballads collection of the Bodleian Library it is printed on the same sheet as "The Turnip Song".4 Moreover, the tune to which the song is to be sung is the same for both ballads, namely "A Begging we will go", also known as "The Jo- vial Beggar". Consequently, it can be assumed that the two songs are variants of each other. Nevertheless, it is worth analysing the lyrics of "I am a turnip ho-er" in detail, because the body imagery used here is even more explicit and, in some ways, more cutting than in the previous song: "An Excellent New Ballad" To the Tune of, A Begging we will go

I am a Turnip Ho-er, As good as ever ho'd; I have hoed from my Cradle, And reap'd where I ne'er sow'd And a Ho-ing I will go, &c For my Turnips, I must Hoe. With a Hoe for my self, And another for my Son; A Third too for my Wife— But Wives I've Two, or None. And a Ho-ing I will go, &c At Brunswick and Hanover, I learn'd the Ho-ing Trade; From thence I came to England, where A strange Hoe I have made And a Ho-ing I will go, &c (lines 1-16) Taking up the imagery from the previous ballad, the song portrays George I as a country boy, a farmer who is better in handling the hoe than the royal sceptre. His entire family is pictured as a gardening people, including his son and his wife, or, rather, two

4 All references to "I am a turnip ho-er" are to BLBB 2011b.

GEORGIAN BODIES IN JACOBITE LITERATURE 115 wives, as the song insists in its allusion to George I's affair with Ehrengard Melusine von der Schulenberg, the Duchess of Munster and Kendal, with whom George I had two further daughters. All of these Hanoverian figures are said to be farmers, meaning that none of them is fit to rule over an allegedly civilised country like Great Britain. It is interesting to reflect upon the fact that a Jacobite ballad that potentially comes from Scotland makes so much of the rural background of George I and his home city and country, Hanover and Lower Saxony, where he is said to have learned the 'ho-ing trade'. From a London perspective, the satirical denunciation of Brunswick and Han- over as minor cities may be understandable, but from a Scottish perspective, it is not so easily comprehensible why a king should be ridiculed for coming from an agricultural area. After all, Scotland itself was, and largely is, not quite what one would call urbanised. And yet, it is the image of George I as a farmer's boy that functions as central motif in Jacobite literature and is meant to mock the social status of the Hanover- ian king and his family. The body of George I turns into what Korte calls a "comic body", meaning a body that "easily lends itself to distortion and exaggeration" (Korte 1997, 148). The difference between the image of the country boy from Lower Saxony and the Scottish people only becomes clearer when having a look at the manner in which Britons are represented in the text: If Britons will be Britons still, And horny Heads affront; I'll carry Home both Head and Horns, And Hoe where I was wont. And a Ho-ing I will go, &c To Hannover I'll go, I'll go, And there I'll merry be; With a good Hoe in my right Hand, And Munster on my Knee. And a Ho-ing I will go, &c Come on, my Turks and Germans, Pack up, pack up, and go Let J—s take his Scepter, So I can have my Hoe. And a Ho-ing I will go, &c (lines 42-56) The image of 'Britons' as sturdy and headstrong here is contrasted with the image of a countrified king who prefers a peaceful farming life over the royal sceptre. George I is described as longing to go back to Hanover to be with his mistress, the Duchess of Munster – and, significantly, with his hoe. Following the logic of Jacobite ideology, this would make room for James Stuart to take up the sceptre, which is rightfully attributed to the Stuart monarch through the use of the pronoun 'his'. Through the contrast of opposed physical images – James Stuart with the royal sceptre and George I with the hoe in his hand – "I am a turnip ho-er" figuratively demotes the figure of George I from a monarch to a mere farmer. In this manner, the text employs a typical strategy for the use of body language in satirical literature, namely the "reduction of spiritual ideals to bodily facts" (Palmeri 1990, 12). As Palmeri argues, "satire reduces the spiritual and abstract to the same level as the physical and material" (ibid., 10). It frequently does so by "concentrating for this purpose on the natural functions of the body" (ibid.). This concentration on the body and its natural functions is meant to

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"reduc[e] all that might be heroic and noble to a common level of physical experience" (ibid.). This is exactly what happens in Jacobite literature. Bodily images of George I are used to mock the royal status of the monarch and to reduce his nobility and political power to the level of ordinary humanness. Moreover, his body is often claimed to be inferior to those of the Stuarts, thereby questioning whether or not the House of Hanover is, or ever was, fit to rule over Great Britain. A final example will help to make this point definite.

2.3 "The wee German lairdie" The third ballad to be looked at is called "The wee German lairdie".5 It is presumed to have been "written after the accession of George I" in 1714, "but where or when it first appeared" is unclear (BLBB 2011, n.p.). Various versions of the song co-exist. The one reprinted in the Broadside Ballads collection of the Bodleian Library, and used here, is based on the version "given in Hogg's Jacobite Relics of Scotland, vol. 1, Ed- inburgh 1819" (BLBB 2011, n.p.). The body image of the song's title reveals everything about the way George I is portrayed in this ballad and throughout Jacobite literature: as a small German "lairdie", i.e. a physically minute and petty landowner but not a powerful or noble monarch. As in the previous examples, the song combines the image of the small king with the idea of George I being a minor country-boy: "The Wee German Lairdie" Air – Coming through the Rye.

Wha the de'il ha'e we gotten for a king, But a wee, wee German lairdie? And, when we gaed to bring him hame, He was delving in his kail-yardie: Sheughing kail, and laying leeks, But the hose, and but the breeks; And up his beggar duds he cleeks… This wee, wee German Lairdie. And he's clapt down in our gudeman's chair, The wee, wee German lairdie; And he's brought forth o' foreign leeks, And dibbled them in his yardie. He's pu'd the rose o' English loons, And broken the heart o' Irish clowns; But our thistle taps will jag his thumbs, This wee, wee German lairdie. (lines 1-16) The repetition of 'wee' in the refrain together with the rhyme 'lairdie/yardie' intensifies the image of George I as a minor landlord who cares more about his vegetable garden than about his monarchy. It is noteworthy that the text uses images that are otherwise typically associated with Scottish agriculture – e.g. the 'kailyard' or 'laying leeks', meaning planting vegetables – only that they are used in a ridiculing manner. The trousers of George I, for instance, are described as 'beggar duds', meaning the rags of a beggar but certainly not the royal garments that one expects a king to wear. The pic-

5 All references to "The wee German lairdie" are to BLBB 2011c.

GEORGIAN BODIES IN JACOBITE LITERATURE 117 ture of the beggarly clothes goes together with the idea of George I being an inadequate king, both in physical and in political respects. Again, it is interesting to consider that a Scottish satire would employ farming images for the representation of George I, especially when taking into account that Scotland itself is at times denoted as a rural and, sometimes, marginal part of the country. Yet, this is exactly what we find in Jacobite literature: the mockery of George I as a turnip, a turnip hoer, or a farmer in his kailyard. At first sight, it almost seems as if the songs are projecting English prejudices against Scotland onto the German king. At second sight, however, it becomes clear that there is a difference between the image of the pastoral farmer boy from Germany who is small and weak and the vision of the rough Highlander that figures in "The wee German lairdie": Come up amang our Highland hills, Thou wee, wee German lairdie, And see the Stuart's lang-kail thrive They dibbled in our yardie: And if a stock you dare to pu', Or had the yoking o' a plough, We'll break your sceptre o're your mou,' Thou wee bit German lairdie. Our hills are steep, our glens are deep. Nae fitting for a yardie; And our Norland thistles winna pu', Thou wee bit German lairdie: And we've the trenching blades o' weir, Wad prune ye o' your German gear, We'll pass ye 'neath the claymore's shear, Thou feckless German lairdie! (lines 17-32) Scotland here stands for the land of the strong, with glens so deep and thistles so thick that only a stalwart king can survive there. This is not a land for the feeble, i.e. not a land for a "wee German lairdie". George I is portrayed as lacking both the strength and the bravery to rule over the harsh Highlands, thus standing in stark contrast to James Stuart, who is idealised as being the superior monarch. The glorification of the Stuarts surfaces amongst others in the exaltation of their bodies, as becomes apparent in the reference to the 'Stuart's lang-kail' in the above quotation. Literally, a 'lang-kail' means a long cabbage, but given the ideological and stylistic context, this may well be read as an allusion to the male sexual organ of the Stuarts, which is said to be particularly long. In this case, then, the ridiculing of George I's smallness goes hand in hand with the idealisation of the Stuart body, thereby turning the song into an example of both Jacobite satirical literature and the erotic song that Pittock identifies as one of the dominant themes in Jacobite literature (see Pittock 1994, 135-146). When connecting the image of the sexually superior Stuarts with the idea of the 'small seed' of George I from the first song, it is evident that the physical features of the House of Stuart and George I are used as opposing paradigms that serve to build up a clear-cut binary in Jacobite literature.

118 KIRSTEN SANDROCK

3. Conclusion The continuity of body images in the examined songs illustrates how "permanent physical features" are used in Jacobite literature not merely "as a means of characterization" (Korte 1997, 134) but as a mode of satirical classification. The body of George I is portrayed as small, weak, and generally inapt for the position of a British king. It does not even matter whether or not the actual body of George I corresponds to these characteristics. What is important is that Jacobite songs constantly repeat these physical images, thereby generating a systematic sense of George's incapability as a king and his inappropriateness as a ruler. As Korte remarks, physical features are used in literature to "emphasiz[e] the stability of a character trait" (ibid.), in this case the alleged immaturity and unsuitability of George I as King of Great Britain and, in contrast to that, the exaltation of the Stuart monarchy as ideal rulers of Scotland and Great Britain. Jacobite literature thus draws on the capacity of body imagery to "emphasize the contrast between the 'good' and the 'bad'" (ibid., 153), meaning in this case the opposition between the House of Stuart and the Hanoverian monarchy which Jacobite ideology viewed as absolute. It could be argued that the revelation of this binary opposition in Jacobite literature is not particularly new. After all, it has always been clear that the Georges were the targets of Jacobite writings, whereas the Stuarts naturally appeared as the 'good' ones. What is new, however, is the idea that Jacobite songs and ballads may use more body imagery than other forms of poetry. As Korte states, poetry is usually not the most typical genre to feature an extensive use of body images. Korte argues that this may have something to do with the relative brevity of poetry as well as its "imagistic" character (Korte 1997, 162). Yet, following my reading of Jacobite ballads and songs, I should like to reason that this restrictive use of body imagery is only true for a certain kind of poetry, but not for all. Popular verse as well as political and vernacular poetry may be more inclined than other kinds of verse to employ body images in order to bring out sharp contrasts between people, ideas, and ideologies. This is especially true for satirical and political poetry, which might be worth discussing as a 'genre' of its own because it employs a number of strategies that are otherwise commonly associated with prose narratives. This includes the telling of a continuing story line – in this case Stuart vs. Georgian Britain –, the setting up of clear character constellations, and the recurrence of prominent figures which may be portrayed in different circumstances and affairs, but which reappear with the same character traits throughout the different verses and songs. A reading of body images in Jacobite poetry helps to understand how satirical poetry shares certain features of prose narratives, including not only the representation of characters from the House of Hanover and the Stuart monarchy as clearly identified antagonists and protagonists, but also the use of body imagery as a prominent means of characterisation. In the end, then, the poetic function of the depiction of George I's body in Jacobite literature is more than merely 'imagistic'. The physical qualities attributed to the Han- overian king in the above examples express the political philosophy of Jacobitism, as they seek to flatten social hierarchies and generate a sense of emotional detachment from the ruling British monarchy that is clearly meant to win favour for the oppositional forces, i.e. the House of Stuart. Following William Donaldson's argument "that

GEORGIAN BODIES IN JACOBITE LITERATURE 119 instead of merely reflecting popular attitudes and beliefs, popular song was capable of generating important cultural change" (Donaldson 1988, ix), I would like to suggest that the use of body imagery was one way of helping to produce resistance against the House of Hanover and to win support for the Jacobite cause. Of course, the body and its natural functions are only one facet of the larger Jacobite propaganda, though I believe an underestimated one that should be considered when examining literary and cultural representations of Georgian Britain.

References Primary Sources Bodleian Library Broadside Ballads (2011): Oxford: University of Oxford, last updated 25 May 2012. Web. [last accessed 10 October 2014] --- (2011a): "The Turnip Song", MS Rawl. poet. 207(109, 110). Oxford: University of Oxford, last updated 25 May 2012. Web. [last accessed 10 October 2014] --- (2011b): "I am a turnip ho-er", MS Rawl. poet. 207(109, 110). Oxford: University of Oxford, last updated 25 May 2012. Web. [last accessed 10 October 2014] --- (2011c): "The wee German lairdie", Shelfmark 2806 c.11(114), Oxford: University of Oxford, last updated 25 May 2012. Web. [last accessed 10 October 2014]

Secondary Sources Donaldson, William (1988): The Jacobite Song: Political Myth and National Identity. Aberdeen: Aberdeen UP Hook, Andrew (1987): "Introduction", in: Hook, Andrew; Craig, Cairns (eds.): The History of Scottish Literature. Vol. 2. 1660-1800. Aberdeen: Aberdeen UP, 1-10 Korte, Barbara (1997): Body Language in Literature. Trans. Erica Ens. Toronto: U of Toronto P Palmeri, Frank (1990): Satire in Narrative. Austin: U of Texas P --- (2003): Satire, History, Novel. Narrative Forms, 1665-1815. Newark: U of Delaware P Pittock, Murray G.H. (1994): Poetry and Jacobite Politics in Eighteenth-Century Britain and Ireland. Cambridge: Cambridge UP

KERSTIN FRANK (HEIDELBERG)

Walpole's Magic Wand – The Abuse of Power in Fantastic Satires of the 1720s and 30s

1. Introduction In the heyday of satirical writing in England during the first half of the 18th century, Prime Minister Robert Walpole was the most popular and most ferociously attacked target. Indeed, he appears to have served as the greatest stimulant for literary productions of the time – a somewhat ironical achievement, since he was far from being a patron of the arts or an avid reader of literature himself (see Goldgar 1976, 3; 9-10). Walpole inspired artists not by patronage or profound criticism, but through the ruth- less and highly efficient methods he used to establish and retain an unprecedented position of ministerial power. Out of the wide range of works from all genres that are concerned with his person and his political activities, the overwhelming majority is de- rogative and satirical.1 The variety of his nicknames and epithets is legendary – he has been presented as a monster, as a "gamester, quack doctor, puppeteer, and stage man- ager", as well as a "screen", and compared to the notorious criminal Jonathan Wild, to Cardinal Wolsey, and, ironically, to Hercules (see Kramnick 1968, 21; Mack 1969, 131; Langford 1986, 12; 29; 32; 67).2 The realm of magic offered itself to the satirists as a further productive source of metaphors, and as a particularly apt one at that: Walpole's complex and secret machinations, his invisible web of helpers,3 and his obstinate hold on power in the face of considerable obstacles and vigorous opponents seemed to suggest almost supernatural affiliations. In this context, the magic wand (i.e. staff of office) presented a central symbol of his position. Its phallic associations neatly combined the ideas of his political power and his sexual conquests, given his frequently satirised reputation as a libertine. The most complex literary representation of Walpole as a sorcerer is Eliza Hay- wood's Eovaai (1736), which combines traditional genre features from romances and Oriental tales with popular anti-Walpole elements, only to destabilise and question seemingly clear-cut oppositions and categories from these traditions. After a brief survey of previous representations of Robert Walpole and other politicians as evil magicians, the following analysis focuses on Eovaai and explores its strategies of undermining stability and authority both within the fictional world (af-

1 Studies and collections focusing on the representation of Walpole in literature, journalism, and graphic arts are numerous. For plays see Kern 1976, 40-53; for satirical prints see Langford 1986; for journalism see Plumb 1960 and Kramnick 1968, 17-30; for ballads see Percival 1916; for fiction see Beasley 1981; for Pope and Walpole see Mack 1969. The most comprehensive studies are Goldgar 1976 and Gerrard 1994. 2 The most famous and elaborate representation of Walpole as Wild is Fielding's Jonathan Wild (1743); earlier versions are described in Irwin 1941, 22-28. 3 Walpole's critics particularly focused on his patronage (or corruption) of MPs, which stabilised his support in parliament (see Kvande 2003, 628-29; Black 1990, 21). 122 KERSTIN FRANK fecting both metaphysical and political power) and in the narrative framework. The text shows a complex interaction of characterisation, narrative voices, and fantastic elements, which together destabilise established power structures and playfully expose traditional genre expectations. This highly self-reflexive change and combination of genre traditions is used to show a sense of empowerment as well as insecurity of the individual subject, who struggles with his or her quest for more individual agency and responsibility that is at the core of the emerging genre of the novel.

2. Ministers and Magic Even before Walpole's time, the figure of the evil magician had been employed in literature to portray unbeloved politicians.4 Sidney Godolphin, Lord High Treasurer under Queen Anne, appears as the enchanter Arcalaus in George Granville's dramatic opera The British Enchanters: Or, No Magic Like Love (1706). Jonathan Swift's poem "The Virtues of Sid Hamet the Magician's Rod" (1710), also satirising Godolphin, reflects on the flexibility and multiple functions of the wizard-minister's wand,5 comparing it to various similar magic items from Greek mythology and the Bible. Here, the use of the wand prefigures its associations of changeability, abuse of power, and phallic implications in later anti-Walpole fiction. As in Haywood's Eovaai, its loss deflates the minister's power and exposes him to ridicule. Benedict describes the ever-changing wand in this poem as "a mythic motif symbolizing human mutability" (Benedict 2008, 94) and as undermining ideas of a stable personal and political identity. Furthermore, Robert Harley, Secretary of State and later Lord High Treasurer under Queen Anne, makes an appearance as a sorcerer in Samuel Croxall's Original Cantos of Spencer (1713-14), where he is cast in the role of Archimago. During the Spenser revival of Queen Anne's reign, the poet was instrumentalised for both Whig and Tory propaganda (see Gerrard 1994, 168). The first elaborate representation of Robert Walpole as a sorcerer appears in Eliza Haywood's Memoirs of a Certain Island Adjacent to the Kingdom of Utopia (1724- 1725), which is heavily influenced by Delarivier Manley's The New Atlantis (1709). The necromancer Lucitario promotes a supposedly enchanted well, and "by the help of his pernicious Art, wrought so far on the Minds of the deluded Multitude, as to make it almost universally believed, that whoever would be rich, must repair to this miraculous Spring" (Haywood 1724-25, 7). The sorcerer's magic is little more than an extreme power of persuasion. His success is based as much on the people's credulity and greed as on his abilities. The magician and his well do not corrupt the people, but rather exploit an already existing tendency towards corruption. The power of magic does not consist in force, but in deception; it is thus an internal, psychological factor rather than an instrument of active, physical repression. Lucitario's moral opponent, the god Cupid, watches in frustration as the people flock to the well and readily offer their money. But "there is an over-ruling, – an Almighty Fate, which prevents even the Im- mortals themselves from giving unask'd Assistance" (ibid., 4). This limit to the gods'

4 Gerrard (1994, 175-76, FN 93) provides an extensive list of political magician characters, to which the following overview is indebted. 5 Rogers (1982) shows that Swift's use of the wand in this poem is based on a story in the journal The Visions of Sir Heister Ryley, which exposes the public's credulity in believing in a fake pro- phetic wand. WALPOLE'S MAGIC WAND 123 power corresponds with the specific type of magic which Lucitario employs: Both give the power of decision and therefore moral responsibility to the people themselves. Neither black nor divine magic can do anything if the individual does not consent. The well is not just a reference to Robert Walpole's self-enrichment in office, but also to the 'South-Sea Bubble', the first great financial collapse in the context of the development towards modern finance, for which Walpole was not to blame, but which certainly paved the way for his political ascent (see Pearce 2007, ch. 6).6 Magic, by implication, does not only represent fraud, but also the deluded hopes of the speculators, who believed in the possibility of quasi-magical dividends. It thus emphasises the central target for this satire, which, although labelled a 'scandal fiction', is not primarily aimed at individuals, but draws a general picture of social trends towards "self-interest and desire" (Kvande 2003, 629). Here mainly expressed in acts of sexual self-fulfilment, the modern individual is shown to assert his or her rights proactively in the fields of both politics and sexuality. The internalised role of magic is adjusted to this shift of focus towards the individual, which also plays a central role in Haywood's Eovaai, as I will go on to show. The association of Walpole with wizardry gained new momentum in 1735 with Queen Caroline's 'Merlin's Cave' in Richmond Gardens, where the wizard Merlin is one of six wax figures designed to link the Queen to British royal and cultural history (see Ger- rard 1994, 169-170). Opposition propagandists were quick to deflate these pretensions and ridicule the arrangement. As Gerrard notes, Merlin was associated with Spenser and Ariosto, but also with the prophecies of cheap pamphlets and fortune tellers' booths, and thus represented a figure of mixed cultural quality and moral worth, which could be exploited and re-interpreted at will by different factions (see ibid., 170-171). Among the satirical prints that were published in the vein of this mockery, the most famous is "The Festival of the Golden Rump" (1737), which was complemented by a pseudo-oriental satirical narrative entitled "Vision" in the opposition journal Common Sense.7 In this story, a Western traveller sees worshippers flock to a temple and happens upon a religious ceremony in which great tributes are being paid to the statue of the Golden Rump (King George II), overseen by its high priestess (Queen Caroline) and a sorcerer (Walpole). The king is reduced to a static role and to the overpowering image of his backside, a popular feature in Hanoverian caricature (see Thomson 1993, 101). State power, in contrast, is represented by the chief magician (Walpole), who controls the magic representative and seat of this power: his rod or wand. When he throws it on the ground, it changes "into a Serpent, or rather, a monstrous Dragon" (Mack 1969, 147) and greedily eats its way through the golden offerings of the devout until the magician transforms it into a wand again before it can blasphemously extend its appetite towards the golden rump itself. The wand here emphasises Walpole as the true seat of power in contrast to the ridiculed monarch, and its changeability, similar to Swift's "The Virtues of Sid Hamet the Magician's Rod", undermines ideas of political and individual stability and reliability. Its devouring of the tributes satirises Walpole's

6 One of the contemporary keys to the texts claims Lucitario to be a representation of James Cragg the Elder, who was involved in the South Sea Bubble (see Aravamudan 1999, 23). 7 Both text and print are fully reproduced in Mack 1969, 142-147. Part of their notoriety is the fact that Walpole brought about the Licensing Act based on his claims that a play with the same subject existed (see Mack 1969, 143, FN 2). 124 KERSTIN FRANK alleged self-enrichment at the tax payers' expense. Again, political regulations and power are presented as based on the self-interests of a few individuals whose quasi- magical or religious hold on the masses is exposed as cheap illusionism. While these examples focus mainly on the materialism and concrete financial exploit- ation that generally feature prominently in anti-Walpole propaganda, Eliza Haywood's Eovaai shows a more complex and intricate political critique, destabilising authority and claims to power in the character constellation as well as the subversive use of narrative techniques and fantastic elements, which will be analysed in the following.

3. Eliza Haywood: Eovaai The first edition of Eliza Haywood's Eovaai was published anonymously in 1736 under the title Adventures of Eovaai, Princess of Ijaveo. A Pre-Adamitical History. In 1741, the text was reissued under Haywood's name with a new title: The Unfortunate Princess, Or, the Ambitious Statesman.8 Apart from this, there are no changes towards the second edition (see Wilputte 1999, 39), but the new title suggests a slight change of focus from Eovaai as the only central figure to the juxtaposition of the princess and the statesman, and the adjectives imply a difference in agency, contrasting the active, 'ambitious' male with the 'unfortunate', helpless female. At first glance, the main plot seems to comply with this traditional, gendered opposition and to reproduce the conventional, popular pattern of the innocent maiden being persecuted by the villain. Eovaai's father, king of Ijaveo, educates her according to the strictest principles of virtue and honour and prepares her for her future task of ruling and serving the country. He dies when she is sixteen, and although she rules wisely and successfully at first, one day she makes a mistake which costs her the crown and the country its peace: She loses a precious jewel given to her by her father, which carries the protection of the greatest of all genii. With the jewel she loses all power and control, and watches helplessly as the country descends into chaos and civil war. The evil sorcerer Ochihatou, representing Robert Walpole, who rules over the adjacent country Hypotofa,9 seizes this chance to abduct her in order to make her his wife and join the two countries. Twice he almost overpowers her, once by seduction, once by force, and both times she manages to escape him with the help of magic. The third time, however, she actively fights him herself and breaks his magic wand. When the traditional romance hero Adelhu appears to rescue her from the sorcerer's revenge, Ochihatou, "running furiously against a knotted Oak, dash'd out his Brains" (Haywood [1736] 1999, 153)10 and thus escapes further punishment. Adelhu restores the jewel to Eovaai and, as he turns out to be the true king of Hypotofa, they each reclaim their respective crown and join their kingdoms in marriage. This brief summary leaves out many twists in the main plot as well as several sub- plots.11 It suffices to show, however, that Eovaai and Ochihatou are established as op-

8 One reason for the new edition may have been the decline of Walpole's power at this time and Bolingbroke's return to England (see Kubek 2001, 250). 9 Due to the ambiguity in the spelling of 's' and 'f', this country has been spelled 'Hypotofa' and 'Hypotosa'. I follow Wilputte's choice of the first variant (see Wilputte 1999, 39). 10 Hereafter, single page numbers in parentheses refer to this edition. 11 For detailed summaries see Aravamudan 1999, 17-18 and Ballaster 2000, 155-156. WALPOLE'S MAGIC WAND 125 positions in terms of gender, politics, ethics, and (supernatural) power: She is female, young, and weak, represents hereditary monarchy, believes in virtue, and is protected by the good genii. He is male, ambitious, unscrupulous, and very active, a political upstart and usurper, and his helpers are the bad genii, also called Ypres. These contrasts correspond to conventional genre expectations concerning romances and Orien- tal tales. The following reading, however, will reveal the seemingly clear-cut opposition to be rather ironic in relation to the text, which uses both the female and the male protagonist not only to emphasise, but also to question individual political agency.

3.1 Sexuality and Self-Knowledge Both Eovaai and Ochihatou receive an education that is designed to suppress the influence of the body and cultivate the mind. In Eovaai's case, her father tries to shape her to be a rational, wise ruler, and "there was nothing of which he so much endeavour'd to keep her in Ignorance as her own Charms" (53). Ochihatou's parents devote all their energies to the improvement of his mind because his body is deformed and ugly (see 62).12 Thus, for very different reasons, both characters are taught to disregard their bodies, and both make it part of their stories to reclaim them. Ochihatou does this by living a hedonistic life of sexual pleasure – a stock element in anti-Walpole-fiction, which ridicules his affairs and projects his political thirst for power on the sexual level. Eovaai discovers her own beauty when Ochihatou puts into operation his plot to se- duce her: A mirror in the canopy of her bed, female attendants praising her beauty, and beautiful clothes awaken her physical self-knowledge and desire (see 72-73). Thus she lets herself be seduced, and she keeps her virtue only because Ochihatou is oppor- tunely called away to urgent political matters. During this break, the good genii Hala- famai intervenes, as she tells Eovaai, "to save you from yourself" (93) and opens her eyes to Ochihatou's true shape with a magical telescope. Nixon sees this as a turning- point and claims that "[r]ational enquiry and discussion, rather than the sensual seduction offered by Hypotosa, becomes the model of self-definition enacted by Eovaai" (Nixon 2002, 144).13 In a similar vein, Loar sees Eovaai's discovery of her body and the assaults on it as "a necessary step on the path to rational citizenship" (Loar 2012, 566). The text shows, however, that Eovaai remains aware of her physical needs. When she laments "Why must our Pains alone be Virtue, and all our Pleasures Vice?" (97), she submits again to the accepted moral laws, but recognises the existence of different forces within herself. She learns to control these until, in the end, she is able to combine her political duties and her desires in the choice of her husband. The critical narrator even suggests a bias towards the erotic reasons: "[S]he determined to offer him her Crown and Person, as she said, to recompense him for what he had done for herself and People, but in reality to gratify the Passion she was enflamed with for him" (158; emphasis in the original), whereas the fictional translator14 defends Eovaai in a footnote by stressing her motive of gratitude towards her saviour (see 158, FN 1). The

12 These attributes might also be a reference to Pope (see Aravamudan 1999, 24). 13 Nixon's reading of Eovaai as a development towards rationality and political control implies the linearity of a Bildungsroman (see Nixon 2002, 143) and does not do justice to the many twists and breaks in Haywood's novel. 14 The different narrative voices are described in 3.3. 126 KERSTIN FRANK text offers neither a linear development of the heroine nor an unambiguous interpretation of her behaviour. The connection between sexuality and politics figures prominently in the playful, subversive manipulations of the text. Throughout, the themes of sexual and political control are closely linked, as Kubek argues: Haywood does not simply depict active sexual/political desire as immoral and dangerous; instead she attempts to demonstrate, through Eovaai's erotic adventures as well as her education in leadership and self-control, the role 'natural' desire plays in the development of an autonomous and mature self. (Kubek 2001, 232) In this context, the body represents not only base physical desire, political egotism, and short-sightedness, but also implies a level of self-awareness and self-determination that is necessary to a balanced individual and to a good ruler. Kubek's wording here implies too much linear logic concerning Eovaai's development, but her observation shows the central role of self-investigation and the ambiguous moral status of desire in the text. Ochihatou's machinations thus contribute significantly to Eovaai's experiences. His amorous approaches are not simply the traditional villain's attempts that endanger the heroine's purity, but exert a significant transformative power on her. The constellation of the two main characters, which begins as a traditional opposition, develops along less traditional and binary lines, and with Eovaai's different experiences and experiments both as a woman and as a ruler, the moral and political distance between them is called into question. Thus, in combination with the figure of Eovaai, Ochihatou is part of a dynamics that leaves the black-and-white satirical assaults of standard anti- Walpole fiction behind and introduces a more complex questioning of gender roles, political leadership, and individual agency in a context of unsettling, but, at the same time, potentially liberating social change.

3.2 Politics and Transgressive Individuals The central parallel between Eovaai and Ochihatou is that they overstep the boundaries of traditional social and political roles and thereby destabilise established contexts of justification of power. Eovaai's loss of the jewel15 which had been entrusted to her by her father represents her initial breach with the patriarchal and monarchical tradition. Her curiosity makes her take it out and admire it, and she "cou'd not conceive how it shou'd be of so much consequence to her Happiness as she had been told" (57), when she accidentally drops it and it is carried away by a bird. That this act is not only an accident but rather an affront against the system of patriarchal constitutional monarchy is made clear both by its disastrous consequences in the plot and by the comments of the narrative authorities, i.e. the narrator and a fictional scholarly commentator, who condemn her act as "presuming […] human Nature", "Vanity", and "Self-sufficiency" (57). Later, the wise magician and patriot Alhahuza tells her that by this loss she has "renounced" (101) the help of supernatural protection. It is significant that while she does receive some help on her way, e.g. by Halafamai (93), a good genius, and Atamadoul (132), the jewel and therefore absolute supernatural protection is only returned to her when she has defeated Ochihatou and reclaimed her kingdom (see 164).

15 For intertextual references to the Arabian Nights see Aravamudan 1999, 18. WALPOLE'S MAGIC WAND 127

The use of the jewel as a complex and ambivalent symbol is characteristic of this text's playful treatment of literary conventions. While it clearly has sexual connotations, representing the potential loss of her virginity (see Fowler 2011, 132; Wilputte 1999, 56, FN 1; 58, FN 1), its political associations are equally prominent. In both fields, however, the moral implications of her action are ambiguous – on the one hand, she is punished and blamed for the loss, on the other, it is the key to a new set of experiences, both sexual and political, which, without providing the clear progress of a Bildungs- roman, nevertheless bring her the kind of insight and self-assurance that the theoretical teachings of her father could not provide. Eovaai's curiosity and Faustian hubris thus lead to her fall and force her on the individual road to emancipation and self-knowledge. As Loar puts it, this break "represents a more modern form of selfhood, troubled by desires and, as the narrative unfolds, unconstrained by conventional authority" (Loar 2012, 568). Although they are antagonists, Eovaai and Ochihatou are both individuals who reject the traditional hierarchies and who are faced with their own moral decisions and have to create new alliances. Running counter to genre traditions and the narrator's chastisements, the conflicting facets of individual agency defy a traditional black-and-white morality. This friction formed the main appeal for contemporary readers, who, as Ingrassia emphasises, were "a reading public […] with desires", eager for the "imaginative re-creation of self" (Ingrassia 1998, 84). This desire and ambition are more forcefully expressed in the figure of Ochihatou. While Eovaai's fall from grace is attributed to her great youth and inexperience (see 55), Ochihatou's "natural Pride, his Lust, his exorbitant Ambition" (63) make him transgress the limits of his position on his way to power. Having been "born of a mean Extraction" (62), he rises to the position of viceregent and prince in the country of Hypotofa. He turns the king into his willing puppet and corrupts the people into submission. The only incorruptible person, the young prince Adelhu, is removed by force; all the others are easy victims of deception and corruption. Thus, when the great patriot Alhazuza (generally seen as representing Bolingbroke, e.g. Kubek 2001, 225) gives a speech to the Hypotofian people on the verge of rebellion, he blames them for Ochihatou's power: "[I]f you are undone, it is by your own Act and Deed" (104). They let themselves be blinded, trusting the royal authority without realising that the royal seal did not represent the king's will but the minister's machinations, and they allowed themselves to be denounced to the king by Ochihatou as a factious and rebellious people whose freedom must be curbed. It is emphasised both in the narrator's description and in the patriot's analysis that the minister's rise to power is not based on violence or terror but on deception. Once he has established himself as the undisputed ruler, he continues this indirect exercise of power by filling all important positions with his followers, setting up a system of spies, and by corrupting the morals of the people by distancing them from religion and bribing them (see 64-66). All of these strategies are familiar from anti-Walpole propaganda. In this text, however, it is not only the individual evil minister who upsets the traditional, stable system of hierarchies and responsible political rulership. His success is shown to be based on a general social and political trend towards dissolving traditional bonds to satisfy short-lived, highly personal interests and greed. Even when the people of Hypotofa finally start a rebellion, their political fervour is mainly due to resentment caused by 128 KERSTIN FRANK the extraordinary amount of money the minister takes from them in the form of taxes to finance his own palaces and a standing army (see 64-65). The minister is not portrayed as morally and politically opposed to his victims. He represents and capitalises on general trends in society, religion, and politics that dissolve the traditional bonds between individuals and their sense of place and duty and set them on their (modern) journey towards personal ambition and wish-fulfilment. The specific critique of Wal- pole is thus embedded in a much more general and profound critique of social and political developments.16 The two sides are hard to separate because, at the time, any general critique of moral decline or corruption was commonly read as an implicit critique of the political leaders (see Goldgar 1976, 26; King 2006, 105). In this text, however, the reasons for Ochihatou's easy usurpation of power and, importantly, his parallels to the heroine indicate that the general social and moral decline are not simply blamed on the actions of one single minister. The text's wariness of simple oppositions becomes most apparent at the end. When Eovaai breaks Ochihatou's wand during their final confrontation, she displays a newly found self-assurance; in her victory, female strength overcomes the aggressive phallus, and traditional hereditary monarchy puts the usurper in his place. However, immediately after Eovaai has thus asserted her power as an individual, a woman, and a monarch, the text plunges into stereotypical romance once again, and she is rescued from Ochihatou's revenge by the traditional hero Adelhu, reverting to the role of the passive, weak female. Not only does its "artificiality jar […] against the earlier constructs that rebel against quaint idealisms and romantic resolutions" (Wilputte 1995, 42), but the happy ending is in turn destabilised by two external comments: One is the narrator's claim that Eovaai wants to marry Adelhu not out of gratitude, but based on passion (see 3.1), which, despite the translator's protests, unsettles the picture of the now fully educated, rational heroine. The other is the last footnote of the text (see 165, FN 1), in which the translator reflects on the open question of whether or not Eovaai tells her future husband about her erotic misconduct with Ochihatou. The elaborate narrative system which enables this destabilisation will be discussed in the following. On the level of plot and character, this question regarding Eovaai's honesty introduces a note of doubt into the happy ending and unsettles the expected and generically determined sense of closure. Since, as mentioned before, the levels of political power and of sexual desire are linked very closely throughout the text, this doubt is of political as well as of interpersonal relevance, and Kubek claims that with this footnote, "politic scepticism has the last word" (Kubek 2001, 249). Seen in the context of Eovaai's steps towards individual self-determination, however, the heroine's possible secrecy or deceit also counteracts her otherwise complete submission to the traditional roles provided for her by her gender and birth, and grants her a residue of autonomy and private history.

16 Gerrard also emphasises these "larger patterns of deception, enticement, and moral metamorphosis which Walpole's critics perceived underlying people's changed moral behaviour in Wal- polian Britain" (Gerrard 1994, 176) and sees these patterns represented in Milton's Satan and Spenser's Archimago. Wilputte states with reference to Ochihatou that "Haywood also aims to reveal that the British, aware of Walpole's viciousness, actually invite his intentions" (Wilputte 1995, 39). WALPOLE'S MAGIC WAND 129

Both Eovaai and Ochihatou in their constellation and development thus undermine any easy moral imputations. While she is not the ideal of (political and personal) innocence and virtue,17 he is not the sole reason for the decline of his country and serves to represent its inherent problems just as much as he augments them.18 The seemingly obvious fairy-tale structure of good vs. evil and the cliché of the persecuted heroine are exposed as too simple on closer examination, which raises questions about moral and political categories and justifications in general.

3.3 Undermining Narrative Authority and Historical Truth If the character constellation and plot development playfully subvert simple binary oppositions regarding gender and political positions, the narrative framework goes several steps further in the same direction. The text is introduced in the preface as part of a collection of stories from a "pre-Adamitical"19 era, written in the "Language of Nature" (50; emphasis in the original). Many years later, commissioned by a great Chinese emperor, a cabal of learned men started translating these texts into Chinese, but their work remained unfinished when the emperor died. In the preface, the son of a Chinese Mandarin currently living in England presents himself as the new translator of the story of Eovaai into English. In his footnotes to the story, he sometimes quotes the explanatory notes of the learned Chinese cabal and sometimes comments critically on the way in which the original narrator tells the story. In these passages, the translator shows himself more sympathetic towards the heroine and to women in general than the rather critical narrator (see e.g. 158, FN 1) and the commentators (see e.g. 57, FN 1). The very last footnote (see 165, FN 1), mentioned above, is the culmination of this multi-layered narrative destabilisation: The translator refers to a learned dispute between one commentator and Hahehihotu, another eminent critic. The translator here uncharacteristically sides with the negative view of Eovaai and agrees with the commentator, who assumes that she has not told Adelhu the truth about her passionate moments with Ochihatou. Their arguments in this debate are highly superficial, trivial, and speculative, and thus the passage satirises, as do the footnotes throughout the text, the pretensions and seriousness of scholarly commentary. More shattering, however, is their effect of destabilising narrative authority and belief in historical truth. As all information is shown to be filtered through different narrative layers with highly opin- ionated and biased voices, the idea of historical transparency becomes obsolete. To complicate matters, the different voices clashing in this framework of narrator, commentators, and translator are not always clear and consistent in their positions, which has in its turn caused discord among 21st-century commentators: Kvande suggests that the ancient narrator sympathises with Whig and Republican views, while the

17 The example of other parallel or contrast figures in the novel shows that there is no stable, outright positive political or moral ideal to counteract Eovaai's moral ambiguities. Yximilla, for example, a female parallel to Eovaai, is rewarded for her unwavering virtuousness by betrayal and rape (see 89; Fowler 2011, 130). 18 Similarly, Robert Walpole has been seen as a representative of modern 'Englishness', "the self- confidence, even arrogance, that would in due course and for a considerable period assume the empire of the world" (Mack 1969, 229). 19 The subtitle of the first edition is A Pre-Adamitical History. The term playfully refers to scientific debates about the time before Adam (see Aravamudan 1999, 19). 130 KERSTIN FRANK modern translator (the most influential voice, in her view) is a Tory figure (see Kvande 2003, 639-640). Kubek, in contrast, emphasises the modern translator's parallels to Bolingbroke and his Patriot Whigs (see Kubek 2001, 227-228). Not only political affiliations are debated: Kubek revokes Wilputte's view of the translator as a feminised figure and describes him as the male, Oriental other (see ibid., 226), which Fowler in turn criticises as belittling his authority (see Fowler 2011, 124). This confusion alone shows how far Eovaai departs from the topical references and single-minded critique of mainstream anti-Walpole prose. The text distances itself not only from Walpole's politics, but also from the simplifications and crudeness of much opposition writing, particularly from its misogynistic streaks (see Ballaster 2000, 151). To try and find a clear political message or even a political programme of Eliza Hay- wood herself in this text20 is to disregard its overall subversion of clear, fixed positions and systems. Instead, the playfulness and humour in Eovaai, in particular in the pseudo-scholarly debates and the absurd background history of the text, satirise the righteousness and complacency of political writings from all sides.21 Ultimately, any form of narrative – and, by extension, political – authority is thus called into question, and the individual, subjective interpretation (and possible twisting) of 'truth' is highlighted in a strikingly modern way.

3.4 Reframing Fantastic Elements While the elaborate narrative framework of Eovaai has received much critical attention, the use of fantastic elements has been largely neglected or dismissed as "sugarcoating" (Nixon 2002, 145) and "nonsensical magical trappings" (Grieder 1972, 5). This analysis, in contrast, aims to show that both join forces in a similar purpose, which Ballaster summarises as a "retreat from uncomplicated advocacy of an ideal of sexual, social, and political order maintained through rational government of both self and state" (Ballaster 2000, 163). The fantastic elements that are part of the genre conventions of Oriental romance are used in a radically modern way and modified to fit a new purpose. The traditional functions of magic and of supernatural beings are to ex- aggerate power structures and moral oppositions by investing the protagonists or their helpers with supernatural powers, and to bring about poetic justice; in other words, they create stability and clarity. In this text, in contrast, these traditional fantastic elements mainly serve to create ambiguity. The metaphysical system in Eovaai is based on an opposition between good and bad spirits or supernatural helpers, the Genii and the Ypres. When Eovaai loses her jewel, the scene around her becomes dark and apocalyptic, and she thought no less than that the Ypres had got the better of the Genii of Mankind, that the eternal Barriers between them were thrown down, and each contending Element was broken loose, and had free Liberty, by turns, to o'erwhelm each other, for a final Dissolution of all things. (59)

20 This search for parallels to Haywood's political opinions is attempted in Wilputte (see 1995, 37). 21 Fowler also emphasises the critics' neglect of the text's playfulness in their search for political meaning (see 2011, 133). WALPOLE'S MAGIC WAND 131

The momentous consequences of Eovaai's deed are projected on the level of cosmic order, and the individual's breaking free of traditional constraints upsets the fragile cosmic harmony. The isolation and moral uncertainty of the individual that follow are reflected on the metaphysical/fantastic level by the loss of supernatural protection. Help is now restricted to warning, as when the genius Halafamai shows Eovaai Ochihatou's true form through the magic telescope (see 94-95). This magic tool represents a modernisation of fantastic elements in two ways: first, as Loar emphasises, because it is a "conjunction of the magical and the technological" and "associated with modern reason" (Loar 2012, 566).22 Second, because it reduces the extent of supernatural help to advice and information. The changing status and function of fantastic helpers here represent the emergence of a modern sense of individual freedom and responsibility, where the external (physical or metaphysical) world provides empirical data while ultimately, moral decision-making rests with the individual mind and consciousness.23 Similarly, in Ochihatou's case, the use of magic is more closely connected to vision and perspective than to real transformation.24 His political rise is only partly based on the magic that makes him seem "most comely and graceful" (62) and thus only changes his outward appearance. Apart from this, his rise is due both to his "most soothing and insinuating Behaviour" and to his successful completion of the tasks and offices entrusted to him (see 62). In order to win over the king, the minister flatters his excessive vanity and taste for fashion and finally makes him his obedient puppet with the help of a beautiful enchanted feather which the king puts into his crown (see 63).25 Thus, on Ochihatou's way to power, magic mostly means deception and delusion, let- ting people see what they want to see. His most important strategies are not magical at all, but simply trade on the foibles of human nature, such as the king's vanity and the people's greed. When he does resort to magic, it is based on his cooperation with the Ypres. His exact relation with them, however, remains ambiguous. On the one hand, they are described as invisibly sitting on him and steering his actions, which makes him appear as their slave and instrument (see 94). On the other hand, when he kills himself, "a thousand frightful Ypres, kept in subjection by Ochihatou's Power, now freed", leave his body, and it is said that "the Ypres, who for his Ruin had become his Servants, now deserted him" (151), which implies his dominance over them. This ambiguity also suggests a point of transition regarding the position of the moral subject: While still partly driven by external forces, it is given increasingly individual moral responsibility for its ac-

22 Loar adds a third aspect here, as he sees the gift of the telescope as a "quasi-colonial" (2012, 566) act or "civilizing mission" (2012, 574), with Eovaii as the colonised. To my mind, however, Eovaai rather represents the struggles of a Western individual confronting social and political change, not the colonised other. 23 This changing view of individual agency, of "disengagement and rational control" (Taylor 1989, 160), at the beginning of modernity is most comprehensively traced in Charles Taylor's Sources of the Self. 24 He can transform others and himself into animals (see 131; 136; 148), but this skill does not help him in his political ascent. 25 Wilputte argues that the king's vanity here suggests that this figure conflates King George and Queen Caroline (see 1999, 63, FN 1). 132 KERSTIN FRANK tions. Both in Eovaai's and in Ochihatou's stories, the supernatural helpers seem like residues of traditional constraints on the individual, both social and metaphysical, that the subject has to negotiate and redefine on its way to more moral autonomy. By the same token, the magical objects, representing supernatural help and empowerment of the individual, display this ambiguity and liminal state of the individual between heteronomy and autonomy. When Eovaai destroys Ochihatou's wand, she invokes the help from the most powerful of the genii, and "speaking these Words, she seemed inspir'd by the Power to whom they were address'd" (151), but as she breaks the wand with her own hands, there is no evidence of external help. The patriarchal authority has thus been internalised into a psychological force. All in all, fantastic and supernatural elements are devaluated both explicitly and implicitly and their representation of traditional institutional power and authority is used to indicate a shift towards individual social and professional mobility and responsibility. However, the metaphysical powers (i.e. traditional institutional authorities) are not only destabilised and weakened, they are also devaluated more radically as mere cultural constructs. Ochihatou exploits the existence of different religious groups for his evil plans, as he orchestrates debates and clashes between them, to the effect that the people lose their respect for religion in general, thus removing an important incentive for morally considerate behaviour.26 Additionally, the translator and some of the commentators speculate about the hierarchies among the metaphysical powers in the Hypotofian world picture (Genii, Ypres, Gods, "one great Supreme Being", and Fate; see 130, FN 1; 145, FN 3) and thereby emphasise further their dependence on the beliefs of a specific culture at a particular historical moment.

4. Conclusion Satire, particularly topical political satire, is generally expected to create and cultivate clear binary oppositions and point out general and specific moral deficiencies with an authoritative voice. The 1720s and 30s show an abundance of such satirical attacks on Walpole and establish well-known tropes of Walpole criticism.27 The most comprehensive and literary satires,28 however, go beyond such topical attacks and expose more general and profound moral trends in society. They use established genres to expose the specific strategies they employ to create meaning and order, thus criticising, by implication, selective and reductive cultural meaning-making strategies in general (see Weiß 1992, 28).

26 This is probably also a reference to Robert Walpole's alleged lack of personal religiousness (see Black 1990, 16). 27 After Eovaai, two more famous Walpole-sorcerers appear before the minister's career and the wave of anti-Walpole literature subside, namely in Henry Fielding's Vernoniad (1741) and (briefly) in Alexander Pope's Dunciad (1742). Battestin (1967) shows the authors' mutual influence regarding the minister-magician. Both texts endow the politician with magical powers mainly to emphasise his extensive use of bribery and to explore the well-established topic of Walpolean corruption. 28 The two most famous such "systems satires" (Seidel 1998, 50) of the 1720s are Jonathan Swift's Gulliver's Travels (1726) and John Gay's The Beggar’s Opera (1728), each blending anti-Wal- pole satire with more general and less black-and-white social critique. WALPOLE'S MAGIC WAND 133

Eliza Haywood's Eovaai integrates the strategies and conventions of several genres or literary traditions and plays them off against each other, undermining and exposing genre expectations and sources of authoritative meaning. It modifies and mocks the clichéd conventions of romance and Oriental tales and unsettles the black-and-white morality and political simplifications of anti-Walpole propaganda. Aravamudan calls it "an orientalist alternative to both verse satire and realist fiction. In a political context where the subject is forced to choose, the orientalist imaginary allows the fantasy of a both/and rather than an either/or logic" (Aravamudan 1999, 24). However, the opposition to realist fiction that is presupposed here is in itself artificial and too much focused on an either/or logic. In the first half of the 18th century, different forms of prose narrative are in flux, and while the first English novels experiment with narrative ways of depicting an increasingly modern and complex social reality, other genres are changing their strategies and generic elements to incorporate this reality in their own way. This contribution's analysis of Eovaai has shown how the text creates its distinctive kind of 'realism' not only by depicting the challenges of the time in the fictional world, but also by translating them into formal complexity, using a strikingly modern (or even proto-postmodernist) narrative system and a modified use of fantastic elements. The text transforms these techniques and elements so that now they express disorder where they used to present order and complexity where they used to present simple binaries. The central topics, i.e. the loss of stability and the increasing complexity of moral choices for the individual subject, are incorporated into the structure of the text. The readers not only encounter a sense of disorientation in the characters, but experience it themselves as their expectations of certain well-established genre characteristics are raised and thwarted again in a roller-coaster of playful satire whose targets are constantly changing. The magician Robert Walpole and his wand are thus remodelled to exceed one-dimensional political critique and instead point to more general questions regarding authority and identity in a time of profound social change.

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MASCHA HANSEN (GREIFSWALD)

Queen Charlotte and the Character of the Monarchy

In this essay, I will argue that the literary representations of Queen Charlotte (1744- 1818), Consort to George III, focused on her character, which in turn also represented the monarchy.1 The term 'character' is to be understood in its historical sense here, encompassing both 'testimonial' and "the sum of the moral and mental qualities which distinguish an individual" (OED, 'character', 9a), implying assessment rather than personality. This is not yet the dynamic understanding of the term introduced by the Bil- dungsroman, nor is it the Romantic idea of character as either interior depth or true individuality: The prevalent notion of character in mid-18th-century Britain was still the notion of character as reputation, to be found, for instance, in Locke's Thoughts Concerning Education, a book so prominently displayed in the portrait of the Queen and her two eldest sons by Allan Ramsay (1764).2 Besides, the historical notion of 'character' is closely connected to representation in the sense of 'image', or even 'symbol'. In the Queen's case, her 'character' seems to have replaced older emblems of power associated with a Royal Consort; even when the crown is displayed in her portraits, it is usually somewhere in the background. Despite its chameleon nature, 'char-

1 Since I deal with various aspects of representation in this essay – with pictorial as well as literary representation, the Queen's (official) character as well as her 'body' – I find it difficult to pinpoint 'representation' as a particular concept. Perhaps because of my literary background, I generally favour Frank Ankersmit's definition of historical representation (even if I do not go quite as far as he intends his readers to follow him). All representation, to him, is part of aesthetics, it is ultimately made of language (about 'things' in a broad sense of that term), and thus metaphorical in that it is "about" something rather than, like a sign, "referring" to it: As inter- preters, we tend to see through (i.e. directed and even limited by) the frame of the metaphor (see Ankersmit 2001, 13-14; 138). Far from ignoring the political level of representation, he arrives at the conclusion that "all history is, in the end, political history" (ibid., 268), but I will not, in this paper, explicitly deal with the Queen's political power as a representative of the monarchy. 'Metaphor' introduces another controversial concept, one which – to the dismay of the literary critic – Ankersmit does not specify beyond a very general definition of the trope. However, Ankersmit goes beyond Hayden White in the scope he gives to metaphor, which, he says, "comprises both the past itself and its representation". Critics like John Zammito refuse to follow that far, arguing that "[u]nless we can juxtapose the metaphor to its target, and not simply to other metaphors, it is unclear how insight into that of which it is a metaphor can occur" (Zam- mito 2005, 16). To Ankersmit, however, the meaning of (historical) representations "only reveals itself in a comparison with other texts about (roughly) the same represented" (Ankersmit 2001, 28). Zammito, in turn, errs in thinking that any metaphor is "just a metaphor" (Zammito 2005, 164), ignoring how much we, as Lakoff and his colleagues have outlined in various publications, rely on metaphor in the way we make sense of the world (see e.g. Lakoff/Johnson 1980). 2 See, for instance, Locke: "a Quality so wholely inconsistent with the Name and Character of a Gentleman" (Locke 1693, 196). Locke does not yet use the term 'character' when he describes his influential conviction that most men are what they are, "good or evil, useful or not" (ibid., 2), as a result of their education, and it is this notion which would still influence George and Charlotte's careful supervision of the strenuous education inflicted on their children. 138 MASCHA HANSEN acter' thus seems to me to be a more appropriate term than 'public image' (suggesting, as it does, that the private person remains hidden) or 'virtue', which was at once a yet broader concept and, in its narrow sense of 'virtuous mind', used as a stamp of approval for a particular kind of character. In this paper, I will make use of letters, novels, travel writings, and poetry, as well as some portraits, to show how much the Queen was judged by what were thought to be her character traits, rather than, say, by the more officially representative emblems or rituals of power, and that she may have actively encouraged such judgements by presenting herself as a model woman.3 This may also be the reason why her reputation began to suffer already during her lifetime: The Romantic notion of character did not favour the old 'virtuous mind' patterns of character, but interiority and individuality, personal aspects the Queen did not wish to reveal to the public. However, her 'public' character cannot neatly be separated from the one she displayed to, or was credited with by, her family, nor do I believe either the one or – as far as attainable – the other to be necessarily more 'true to reality' (a Romantic notion again). To her subjects, the Queen would have shown a different character than to her husband and children, and while she was playing a role – that of Queen, that of mother and wife – to both, this should not be taken to mean that her 'true' character must necessarily have been completely different. In any case, when dealing with any member of a royal family, it is next to impossible to separate representation from 'reality' since representation is part of their reality. And yet, the British public would not have accepted the Queen's public character without the conviction that this was akin to the Queen's personality, or 'true' character. By the late 18th century, an official portrait had to show the sitter's personality, too, even if we can still surmise that most of the official state portraits were carefully composed to reveal the character traits considered desirable by those who commissioned it. In the Queen's portraits, as well as in prints and caricatures, the character expressed always also reverberated on the image of the monarchy, its power and its values, and in that respect, any such portrait – or caricature – is an object of political representation, too. The Queen must be granted some agency in the public image she tried to convey, but the scope she had for action was still limited, much as it was limited by the scripts to be followed in all Royal events, since she had to convey a specific image to be credited with the character of a virtuous Christian both she and the King wished to present to the public (unlike her sons, who did not accept such limitations). How very much all of these images, (literary) portraits as well as caricatures, and the Romantic notion of character still influence modern historians can be seen, for instance, in Linda Colley's widely acclaimed Britons: Forging the Nation (1992): She discusses Gillray's caricatures as well as Benjamin West's portrait of the Queen (in which her diminutive size appears to have been rather elongated by the painter, while she looks unsmilingly ahead, away from her children, who are clustered in the gardens behind her), only to come up, seemingly out of the blue, with a character assessment: "She was plain, docile, conventional and remarkably prolific, producing fifteen chil-

3 I will not, in this paper, take the Court Journals and Letters of Frances Burney (1786-1791), currently re-edited by Peter Sabor et al. 2011, the Harcourt papers, still in private hands, or the personal letters of the Royal family into account as they have already been made extensive use of; for instance by Hedley 1975 and Fraser 2005. QUEEN CHARLOTTE AND THE CHARACTER OF THE MONARCHY 139 dren of whom thirteen survived. Usually dismissed as colourless, she was, in reality, a hard woman and just as important as a totem of morality as her husband was" (Colley 1994, 268). Colley, like other historians, considers George III (and his "royal propagandists" (ibid., 233)) to have searched for a new image of the monarchy, for a "newly invented royal magic" since he could no longer rely on the old one of "divine approval" (ibid., 232). "A more personal foundation for monarchy was wanted", she continues, and George III supplied this by being both a Royal and an ordinary man, husband, and father even to the nation: "Britons were being invited to see their monarch as unique and as typical, as ritually splendid and remorselessly prosaic, as glorious and gemütlich both" (ibid.). The Queen, however, in this account mutates into a "totem" of morality, a "hard woman", delighting in "having her smiling and abundant maternity commemorated in art, often posing with books on child care in her hands or on her dressing table" (ibid., 268).4 One century's ornament is another's bad taste, and the careful mise-en-scène of these portraits now seems to offend precisely because they were so carefully arranged to reflect on both the sitter and the monarchy. Literary representations, by contrast, were not (presumably) orchestrated by what Colley calls "royal propagandists", but neither were they without purpose or hoped-for effect (see ibid., 233). They, too, have their origins in aesthetics, and as such, following Frank Ankersmit, they have "to satisfy certain rules, criteria, or standards of scale, coherence, and consistency" (Ankersmit 2001, 44): They are largely bound by generic conventions, and readers' expectations, even with regard to the depiction of character.

1. The Queen's Character When George III published his betrothal to Princess Sophie Charlotte of Mecklenburg- Strelitz in the summer of 1761, the Princess's representative potential was as yet rather low: Raised in a then-as-now unknown duchy, nobody had heard of the family, let alone the younger daughter. The very first notice taken of the bride in literary circles (where letters were usually carefully composed and often read aloud or passed on to others) may have been Horace Walpole's, who wrote to a friend: "Think of the Crown of England and a handsome young King dropping out of the clouds into Strelitz" (Hed- ley 1975, 35). The 'frame' immediately available to Walpole is that of the fairy tale. To him, there seems to have been little or no reason for the King's choice, who was apparently writing the stuff of legends rather than history. Yet, as historian Regina Schulte argues about Queen Charlotte's French counterpart, Marie Antoinette: [S]he was not trained for her future role, not prepared for political action; she was, rather, a tabula rasa, young, cheerful and naïve. In her malleability she presented the ideal body of a bride who was to take shape in the splendour of the French court, and there only. (Schulte 2001, 6) Queen Charlotte, raised in an obscure duchy that could not have prepared her for her future role even if it had wanted to, was selected with a similar notion of her malleability in mind, yet the British Court shaped quite a different Queen. Charlotte had not been a "tabula rasa" before she was chosen, nor did George III look for such a one when he set out to find a bride. He considered quite a number of German princesses, most of whom had more reason to hope for Royal favour than Princess Charlotte. Fer-

4 To my knowledge, there is only the one portrait by Allan Ramsay (1764) in which a book is to be seen anywhere close to the Queen. 140 MASCHA HANSEN tility was as yet considered a matter entirely in the hands of God, but age was a factor: The future Queen had to be younger than the 22-year-old King, but Elisabeth of Brunswick-Wolfenbüttel at 14 was considered too young. Family counted, and what might be "in the blood" was also fearfully considered (Hedley 1975, 10). Princesses with disreputable family members, such as mothers reported to be unchaste or – ironically – fathers considered to be mentally deranged, were not considered suitable candidates. The King's councillors rejected a fair number of Princesses for the possible impact of traits potentially inherited (see ibid., 11). Princess Charlotte was without such troublesome relations, but the fact that she usually resided in Mirow, as remote then as it is now, made the King's councillors despair of her suitability for a great Court (see ibid., 10). The King himself, however, thought "a little England's air" would "soon give her the deportment necessary for a British Queen", especially if the Prin- cess had what he was looking for: the "very good sense" she was reported to have (Sedgwick 1939, 53). The Queen's age, at just seventeen, made her young enough to be still considered capable of instruction, and her character sober enough to fit into the King's vision of a virtuous Court. That the councillors' fears of the bride's suitability were shared by her future subjects is evident, for instance, in another letter written by a member of an influential literary circle: Elizabeth Montagu, soon-to-be Queen of the bluestockings, wrote to her husband when the King's choice was proclaimed: The sight of our brilliant Court, the salutations of our navy on her arrival, the opulent appearance of our towns, and the greatness of our capital city will astonish her. I hope her mind is more proportioned to her lot in marriage than such a situation is to her present circumstances. A noble mind will fill a great situation, and enjoy it with pleasure and gratitude, without the swell- ings of insolence, but of sense and virtue. I heartily wish she may be worthy of our young King, be pleasing in the domestic scene, and great in the publick; his good nature will impart to her a share of power and a degree of confidence, and I wish for the publick she may never abuse the one, nor misapply the other. There seems not to be a very good choice of ladies about her, there is not one who is quite fit to teach her even the forms of her publick conduct, none at all equal to advise her private, ignorant as she must be of the behaviour that will be expected of her […]. (Climenson 1906, II: 251-252)5 Montagu's assumption that she should be "great" in public, and that the King would "impart to her a share of power" sheds a new light on the role that was expected of her over and above the merely ornamental value given to earlier consorts (and it would be interesting to investigate how far the companionate marriage she led allowed her to voice her political opinions or even influence the King's decisions).6 She assumed that

5 Montagu would later (1791) come to revere the Queen: "All that a great mind, and a benevolent heart can inspire appears in every word the Queen speaks, and every look and gesture can express" (Blunt 1923, II: 257). Her friend Elizabeth Carter agreed: "I perfectly subscribe to all your encomiums of the Queen and Princesses. I had the honour to be an eye witness to the truth of them two days before I left town, when I received her Majesty's commands to attend her at Chelsea" (Pennington 1817, III: 326-327). 6 The Queen's interest in politics, especially with regard to her native country, is apparent in the letters to her brother Charles of Mecklenburg-Strelitz, governor of Hanover from 1776-86, in which she frequently promises to speak to the King about affairs mentioned by her brother. The correspondence (only few letters by Charles have survived but more than 400 by the Queen are still extant) is stored in the Landshauptarchiv Schwerin, 4.3-2 Hausarchiv des Mecklenburg- Strelitzschen Fürstenhauses mit Briefsammlung. See, for instance, the Queen's letter to her QUEEN CHARLOTTE AND THE CHARACTER OF THE MONARCHY 141 the Queen would be influenced by the people who made up her household, and there seems considerable doubt in her letter that the young Queen would turn out to have a "noble mind", which she, too, seems to connect to a particular kind of education to be enjoyed at great Courts rather than in remote retreats. Not surprisingly, Montagu was sceptical on first seeing the King's choice: "[T]he Queen, being very little, did not appear to advantage" (ibid., II: 258-259). Indeed, it is interesting to note how little any possible ornamental value of the Queen counted in the King's choice, considering how important the Queen's lack of beauty would seem to her subjects (see Levey 1977, 3). Beauty was simply not a criterion: The King's first favourite, Caroline of Hesse-Darm- stadt, was "stout", and Charlotte quite openly described as plain by his correspondents (see Hedley 1975, 10-11). Allegiance to the House of Hanover was a point, and here the Mecklenburg-Strelitz family was known to owe some favours (see Drinkuth 2011, 16-17). In the end, what mattered most was, surprisingly, character: Even if that was not the one and only decisive factor, it certainly was among the most important aspects considered. The character sketches made by those in touch with potential princesses – the term 'character' was explicitly used, again in the sense of testimonial – were avidly perused by all concerned (see Hedley 1975, 10-11). Not only was the prestige of the Royal family concerned, indeed that of the monarchy, but also the King's personal happiness was at stake. The pursuit of happiness was not perhaps considered a legitimate quest yet, at least not when it led away from the path of duty, but it was obvious to all concerned that unsuitable, ill-matched characters would not be a safe foundation for either marriage or monarchy. When the King chose Princess Sophie Charlotte of Mecklenburg-Strelitz, he knew that the Crown of Britain would not be visibly damaged by the lower standing of the family now to be connected to it. It might have been damaged by a giddy Queen, a social butterfly, a spendthrift: Characters such as these would have had a potentially disastrous effect on the social prestige of the monarchy as George III envisioned it, since it was to be built on a "more personal foundation" (Colley 1994, 232). Princess Char- lotte's almost Rousseauesque upbringing, far from any corrupting influence, enabled her to be exactly the kind of Queen George III's morally sound, temperate, and frugal Court required. Character, usually in the guise of virtue, was indeed an important point not just in the choice of the future Queen, but also in that particular Queen's representative value to the monarchy. Her official deportment, as well as most of the official portraits painted of her, emphasise certain character traits (or virtues) considered worth cultivating in any woman of high standing, and particularly so in a Queen, who was by then no longer considered, and who did not consider herself, an exceptional being but rather a model of womanhood, an example, even a mother, to the nation (see Roberts 2004, 21). These traits, virtues, and values were in keeping with the notions of what Clarissa Campbell Orr, following Irene Brown, has called the rational-domestic, Chris- tian Enlightenment propagated at the Court of George III and Queen Charlotte; they were based on what the Royal couple considered to be the virtues of a Christian (see

brother, 868 (96), 16 June 1772, in which she promises to report back to him once she has found a favourable occasion to speak to the King. For the ornamental role of earlier Consorts see Schulte 2006, 4. 142 MASCHA HANSEN

Campbell Orr 2002, 236).7 Among these were benevolence, modesty, condescension, high moral precepts, and moral worth, generosity but also frugality, simplicity in dress combined with elegant comportment, patronage (of morally unexceptionable subjects), the willing subjection to a wiser husband, a love of domestic pursuits, and finally a disinclination to meddle with politics. The Queen exercised these virtues to perfection. She was in many respects the ideal Queen of the bluestockings, who shared the Court's values, and only her virtuous belief in her duty, or in Court protocol, kept her away from these circles.8 Indeed, to many she was a model Queen, inspiring awe and loyalty in her servants, even in such reluctant servants as Frances Burney. She also inspired masterpieces of art: her portraits by Gainsborough, Lawrence, and Zoffany. Perhaps all of these achievements are due in some part to her public character, that is, to what she considered ought to be her character in public, and of the testimony this public in turn paid to her character. Consider, for instance, the tribute heading James Harrison's compilation, The Lady's Poetical Magazine (1781): Skill'd in each art that serves to polish life, Behold, in HER, a scientifick wife! […] Tho' most entitled to the glare of dress, No private lady can regard it less: Yet still she keeps the glorious golden mean, And always wears what best becomes a queen; Rich, tho' not tawdry; elegant, tho' neat; And all her person, like her mind, compleat. While, in each duty of domestick life, She yields not to the less-exalted wife; Attends, herself, the royal offspring's care, And pours the virtuous precept in their ear; […] Whether we view her as a wife, possess'd Of ev'ry charm to make her consort bless'd; […] Or as a mother, christian, queen, or friend; Alike we must admire, alike commend! (Harrison 1781, 2, ll. 51-62; 72-73; 76-77)

In this poem, Harrison praises the Queen's scientific interests along with her virtues, giving her a character for modesty (the "golden mean") that is clearly not intended to offend; but it is impossible to imagine anything like this being used in praise of a Queen before the 18th century, or indeed after. This Queen is the model of the accomplished lady, a companion piece, and the poet, while commending her virtues, sets himself up to be her moral judge. Seeking to give a good example to her subjects, the Queen – more so than the King, because she was a woman – had put herself in this

7 For a discussion of the connection between virtue and politics during George III's reign see Po- cock 1985, 37-509. For a description of the Royal household as "governed by regularity, frugality, and religious observance" see Roberts 2004, 16. 8 For Charlotte's connections with the bluestockings see Campbell Orr 2005, 171-75. Even a second-generation bluestocking, Hannah More, lauded the queen, at least to the princesses's gov- erness Mary Hamilton: "I protest to you it is from her wisdom, her goodness and her truth, that I feel gratified, and not from her exalted rank. Were she only a Queen I might be flattered indeed, but I shou'd not be so internally pleased and proud of her good opinion which, from what I have heard you, and others say of the soundness and rectitude of her judgment is a distinction to which I cannot be insensible" (Anson/Anson 1925, 119-20). QUEEN CHARLOTTE AND THE CHARACTER OF THE MONARCHY 143 position: with the result that, like any woman ("mother, christian, queen, or friend"), she was subjected to man's approval, and no longer exalted above it.

2. The Queen's Portraits The Queen's official state portraits show her with all the dignity of a British Queen; perhaps the more so because she lacked what other Queen consorts had, beauty. Sym- bolical beauty, such as the one given to the elderly Queen Elizabeth, was no longer acceptable in mid-18th-century (state) portraits, and Charlotte's rarely seem to flatter her face much (see Levey 1977, 9).9 Neither, however, is her character merely given to her symbolically, as a character befitting a Queen (this may be one of the reasons why books do not regularly appear in her portraits: her character was meant to be understood without props). In a study of her portraits, Michael Levey comments on the difficulties a Court painter, who was expected to show not just the royalty but also the character of his sitter, had to face: "A painter could scarcely expect to know Queen Charlotte well – or even know how she would receive him, how long a sitting she would allow him, [and] to what extent she would require him to balance her private nature with her public role" (ibid., 3). Levey asserts that vanity cannot have been her motive for commissioning as many portraits as she did, and points out that, while the mastery is due to the painters, Charlotte clearly had a say in both the choice of painter and the actual arrangement presented (ibid., 4). In the Gainsborough portrait, probably painted around 1780, Levey notes especially the "personal happiness" and "universal benevolence" which the Queen, mature and dignified, seems to express in "a glittering blend of public and private image" (ibid.). In his words, the whole picture is an impression. Its simple setting is an enchanted nowhere: a not quite real interior, which easily merges into the open-air impression of feathery, Arcadian and unidentifi- able parkland beyond. The Queen appears a fitting inhabitant – a positive ruler – of this realm. Her costume suggests the sort of magnificence she assumed on the official court occasions of hers and the King's birthdays […] The ultimate triumph of the picture does not reside in the beautifully, boldly, painted costume but in the Queen's own dominance over it, thanks to Gains- borough. It seems quite natural to her, and her head rises buoyantly out of the almost rustling structure of silk, lace and expected elegance. (ibid.) Gainsborough seems to have replaced earlier Royal symbolism by an "Arcadian" setting which avoids giving an actual character to the Queen portrayed but which (therefore) succeeds in evoking a sense of power.

3. The Queen in German Literature This power may still have been felt by her subjects on the official birthday celebrations. The splendour displayed on these occasions resonated back as far as to Hanover. In Karl Philipp Moritz's novel Anton Reiser (1784-86), it is the great ambition of the young Anton to be allowed to compose hexameters for the festivities there, and to his great joy, he is allowed to write celebratory verses for Queen Charlotte's official birthday, celebrated on 18 January (see Moritz 1785, 102). For Reiser, the occasion marks a turning point in his life: Suddenly, he, too, is someone, he is even allowed to visit the Queen's brother (presumably Prince Charles, then Governor of Hanover). He has been

9 Johann Georg Ziesenis's portrait of the bride (1761) is an exception, but he is unlikely ever to have seen her while he painted it (see Roberts 2004, 15). 144 MASCHA HANSEN chosen to recite hexameters, but since he knows absolutely nothing about his subject, Reiser has to study previous celebrations to be able to compose his own. The result is somewhat predictable; a panegyric (mostly about George III rather than his wife) without much connection to real people, presumably inserted as such only because the genre is so much older than the Bildungsroman's interest in character. Moritz's earlier account of his travels through England, however, had also included some praise of the Queen, even though he did not meet her in person; and even though he hints at praise concerning her character, this remains tantalisingly hidden: An Englishman, who happened to be sitting by the side of the innkeeper, found out that I was a German; and of course of the country of his queen; in praise of whom he was quite lavish; observing more than once, that England never had had such a queen, and would not easily get such another (Moritz 1795, I: 125).10 Some years later, another German traveller actually met the Queen: In 1788, shortly before the King was hit by his first serious bout of illness, Sophie de La Roche trav- elled to England in order to collect material for a publication to support herself in widowhood. She was naturally keen to meet British Royals, again highlighting the other side of the coin of representation: the interest such descriptions of Royalty had for the readers. To promote the sales of her book, La Roche had to meet at least some celebrities, and among these, one of the most important of her book was the Queen, 'our German Charlotte of Mecklenburg': Aus diesem Tempel der Natur [...] kamen wir in den Palast der Königin. [Queen's House, now Buckingham Palace]. Ich war bei dem Gedanken dieses Wechsels innig gerührt, als ich den Bo- den des Hauses betrat, wo unsere deutsche C h a r l o t t e von Mecklenburg, mit jeder mo- ralischen Tugend, wohnt, – jede Mutter –, jede Königssorge fühlt, und jede Güte ausübt [...]. (La Roche 1992, 308) Partial and commercial, La Roche's Tagebuch einer Reise durch Holland und England was clearly written for a female readership, and her account of her visit of what was then the Queen's House reflects her personal interests as well as those of her implied readers. Not a word of politics, but a clear focus on domestic matters: furniture and paintings, tapestry, porcelain, library and gardens, interspersed with comments on how these arrangements reflected on their royal owners' characters. In short, it is an account of the representative parts of the palace – those rooms meant to represent the Royal family – as well as, in itself, a representation of the Queen as the enlightened, Chris- tian, prudent, and caring mother of family and nation: "Das edle Einfache der Geräthe, die Ordnung und Eintheilung – alles war Zug der Seele der Besitzerin; Zug der weisen Bescheidenheit auf dem Thron" (ibid.). Even though La Roche uses the term 'soul' rather than 'character', she gives a testimonial to the Queen's character, perhaps an indication that this term was in the process of changing towards its more Romantic notion, which La Roche glosses as 'soul'. Hers was not an official representation, but gave in effect something very much like the official view the Royal family may have wished to promote. Queen Charlotte, if she read it (and since she owned La Roche's works, and talked to her about them, it is quite likely that she did), may well have been

10 Moritz's Reisen eines Deutschen in England im Jahre 1872 (Berlin, 1783) were translated into English only in 1795. He also mentions that most inns were decorated with prints of the King surrounded by his family (see Moritz 1783, I: 199). QUEEN CHARLOTTE AND THE CHARACTER OF THE MONARCHY 145 pleased with the result of her own efforts. La Roche appreciated all of Charlotte's attempts at representing the moral character of the monarchy in the Queen's House: Die Bibliothek ist in dem größten Saale, und faßt den vollkommenen Schatz aller Kenntnisse des menschlichen Geistes, – Drei Zimmer sind dazu bestimmt. Zwei sind viel größer, viel schö- ner als die zu Versailles. Schöne Bilder von van Dyk, eine große Sammlung von Claude Lorain [sic], Guido Reni, del Sarto, Meisterstücke von Angelika, und treffliche Miniaturbilder, geben der simplen Damasttapete einen hohen Werth. – (ibid., 308-309)11 The Queen's library contained more than 4,000 works, her taste covering religious as well as educational works, and all the great names of 18th-century German, French, and British literature. However, the Queen never chose to be painted in her library, and even La Roche quickly moves back to the approved path of motherhood, so as not to make the Queen seem bookish, let alone learned: In einem Kabinett an dem Schlafzimmer sind die Bilder der vierzehn königlichen Kinder: – und also das näheste Moment des Erwachens diesem Anblick, und den treuen mütterlichen Gefühlen geweiht! (ibid., 309) La Roche also noted the Queen's embroidery, and the fact that she had young orphans taught the trade to enable them to support themselves. Clearly, this visitor saw what she should see, and supplied the rest from her own imagination, telling the reader what the ideal Queen was like, in those sentimental but nevertheless enlightened days: Sie ist schöner mittelmäßiger Größe; das wahre Bild eines Geistes der Ordnung; wohlwollende Herablassung, oder vielmehr Näherung zu ihren Mitmenschen, erkennt man in ihren Bewegun- gen; ein schönes Auge, und schöner Blick; eine huldvolle Miene, welche, wie ich glaube, durch die stäte zärtliche Sorgfalt für ihre Kinder so rein erhalten wurde [...]. (ibid., 411) La Roche was nevertheless sure that she did not bow to her rank but to her virtue only ("Tugend", ibid., 410). She was not the only German visitor to see the Queen, nor does her picture differ so very much from that given by Georg Friedrich Lichtenberg, who visited the Royal family already in 1774 and enthusiastically wrote to a female friend about the Queen: Ich spreche nicht als Unterthan, sondern blos als Passagier und Weltbürger, wenn ich sage: Mehr Menschenfreundlichkeit und Gefälligkeit, mehr Richtigkeit im Ausdruck und Verstand und Anmuth in allem was sie sagt, nicht allein ohne Stoltz, sondern auch selbst ohne den min- desten Anschein, als wenn Sie sich vielleicht mit Fleiß herabließe, und dieses mit einem so lieb- reichen Wesen in den Mienen und dem gantzen Betragen, habe ich noch nie, ich will nicht sa- gen in einer Fürstin, sondern überhaupt noch nicht so beysammen gesehen als in unserer Köni- gin [...]. (Lichtenberg 1983, I: 500-1)12 And yet, La Roche's first impression of the Queen, she informs the reader, was not so much gained by a tour of the Queen's palace, but by a picture showing the Queen with two of her boys, which she remembers to have had the subtitle "good Queen, and good Mother" (La Roche 1992, 411). This may have been the picture by Allan Ramsay

11 A full catalogue of the Queen's personal library was compiled after her death: A Catalogue of the Genuine Library, Prints, and Books of Prints, of An Illustrious Personage, Lately Deceased. which will be Sold by Auction, On Wednesday the 9th of June, 1819, and the following Days, by Mr. Christie, at his rooms in Pall-Mall, 1819. 12 An English translation is given in Campbell Orr. However, the letter is not addressed to the publisher Dietrich but to his wife Christiane. Campbell Orr goes on to describe the relations between Lichtenberg, George III, and Charlotte (see Campbell Orr 2004, 386-388). 146 MASCHA HANSEN

(1764). It does not bear any subtitle in the original, but the Queen sits next to her harp- sichord, on which John Locke's Thoughts Concerning Education reposes just under- neath a fine basket which seems to contain her needlework. While the Prince of Wales gambols next to her, the younger Prince sits on her knee, and the light subtly highlights the Queen's left breast, just at the height of the young Prince's mouth. This seems to suggest nursing, which she was of course not expected or allowed to do, but the idea nevertheless gives a Madonna-like quality to the picture not missed by La Roche. Despite the huge columns in the background, probably indicating the future importance of the royal Princes, the picture suggests the noble simplicity La Roche saw in the Royal household – at least compared to the picture of the Queen and the two eldest Princes painted by Johann Zoffany in the same year. The lace on the dressing table alone had cost more than a thousand pounds (£ 1,079 14s in 1762; see Levey 1977, 13). An exotic bird in the Royal gardens, elegant carpets and furnishings, fine fancy dresses for the children (a Telemachus, again suggesting a literary connection, and a Turk for the younger Prince) complement the picture, perhaps showing the other side of the as yet young Queen's character, her love of fun and finery.

4. The Queen in British Literature This sense of fun, which led the Queen to enjoy Shakespeare's comedies even before she could understand much English, gave way to a profound depression already in the 1770s.13 The Queen suffered from loneliness, and the American War of Independence affected her, too, as her letters to her brother indicate: "[E]n Verité, Mon Frere [sic], Je ne parle, je nentens [sic] je ne lis, & en honneur je ne songe que de la guerre, cela me fait croire qu'imperceptiblement, je deviendray politique malgré moi" (LHAS Schwe- rin, 4.3-2, 873, No. 3 [January 1778]). Later, during the King's madness, she clearly showed her interest in politics, wrestling for power with her eldest son, the Prince of Wales. After the King's recovery, the Royal couple attended several fêtes, and on the occasion of the King's next birthday she was covered in diamonds: making, in the words of Edmund Burke, "no small ostentation of the present power she possesses" (Hedley 1975, 176). Once more, perhaps for the last time, the nation believed in the royal representation of domestic happiness, conjugal love, and moral worth, captured in William Cowper's poem "On the Queen's Visit to London" (March 1789): When, long sequestered from his throne, George took his seat again, By right of worth, not blood alone Entitled here to reign; […] For no such sight had England's Queen Forsaken her retreat, Where, George recovered made a scene Sweet always, doubly sweet. Yet glad she came that night to prove, A witness undescried, How much the object of her love Was loved by all beside.

13 The young Queen's gaiety is best outlined by her biographer, Olwen Hedley (see e.g. Hedley 1975, 65 for the Queen's interest in Shakespeare and the theatre of her own day). QUEEN CHARLOTTE AND THE CHARACTER OF THE MONARCHY 147

Darkness the skies had mantled o'er In aid of her design, — Darkness, O Queen! ne'er called before To veil a deed of thine. (Southey 1854, 243-244, II.1-4; 25-36) The King reigns by right of worth, not birth, and the Queen is said to be his equal in virtuous deed. However, after her open quarrel with the Prince, the Whig cartoonists did their utmost to ridicule the now powerful Queen, whereas Royalists remained loyally impressed, lauding the Queen's dazzling appearance while continuing to see benevolence and kindness in her face (see Hedley 1975, 176). Not long after the King had recovered from his first bout of what seemed to be madness, Thomas Lawrence was allowed to paint the Queen, though reluctantly on her part, and since he rejected her choice of bonnet and hat, she posed with her head uncovered, much to the King's dismay when he found out. The posture is still upright, but the colouring of the picture seems to show how darkly tumultuous recent events had been. The Queen's biographer Olwen Hedley sees a traumatised Queen here, and Michael Levey discerns "isolation and a double loneliness" in the picture (see ibid., 178; Levey 1977, 5). To a present- day spectator, even the Queen's fashionable hairstyle seems to depict disorder. It is very much a pre-Romantic portrait, and it may be that rather than any personal expression to be found which displeased the King and Queen, but which makes the picture so much more appealing to modern spectators than West's rather stiff portraits. The Queen looks less regal, more individual, even vulnerable. At around this time, in the spring of 1790, the Queen acquired Frogmore House and gardens as her very own private retreat, where she spent much of her time in the company of her unmarried daughters, reading and botanising when officially staying at nearby Windsor. She also gave splendid breakfasts there for the loyal part of high society: fêtes champetres that found their way into literature, for instance into Maria Edgeworth's Belinda. Lady Delacour, with whom the heroine stays in town, spends a long time at the Queen's drawing room, and then tells the hero, Hervey, that "the Queen is soon to give a charming breakfast at Frogmore, and I am paying my Court with all my might, in hopes of being asked" (Edgeworth 1999, 74).14 However, the Queen here represents a kind of finery a lower mortal such as Belinda must not aspire to, since the birthday dress she should wear to be presented to the Queen is far beyond her means. Lady Delacour, always in debt, is not a suitable moral guide. Only a stupid but rich young gentleman boasts of having breakfasted at Frogmore, while Belinda proves her worth by preferring the personal education to be gained through family-life. Clearly, the Royals' attempts to represent themselves as simple human beings, favouring a country life over city splendour, did not quite pay off in middle-class literary circles. All in all, however, Queen Charlotte had been and had done what was expected of a queen, and the appearances she made in literature were largely positive until the

14 How much the reputation of the Queen suffered in her own day can be seen, for instance, in a letter by Maria Edgeworth to her aunt, written in 1813: "Mrs Roscoe told us an anecdote of the young Princess and the Queen which redounds little to the credit of either. To provoke the Queen the Princess hung up in her apartment at Windsor a cameo of Brougham and another of Sir S. Romilly on each side of a bust of Fox. The Queen the moment she saw them broke the cameos to pieces. Silly! Silly! was not it?" (Edgeworth 1971, 14) 148 MASCHA HANSEN

1790s. Yet while official representations may in themselves come close to being deliberate misrepresentations, it is striking to see how little weight they have in contemporary assessments of her character. Levey suggests that the Queen's very domesticity made her a cipher in the eyes of the public (see Levey 1977, 5). Yet the very caricatures of her do not suggest she seemed a cipher to her subjects. Indeed, some of the best known caricatures of the Queen show her as a domestic, caring wife, too – but exaggerated into a parsimonious housekeeper, not unlike Jane Austen's Mrs Norris: a character, even if by no means a likeable one.15 It may have been her very aspiration to be a moral example to the nation that caused the Queen's descent in public opinion. She was celebrated as a mother while bringing up her large family, and when her many children turned into unhappy adults – the princes riotous and immoral, the princesses cooped up at Court – she was, and still is, judged by that failure. Her children's complaints against their mother's bad temper are often taken at face value by historians, and even enlarged to her character in general, while her support of, and interest in, the arts, including music and literature as well as painters and paintings, have been all but forgotten, as has her status as a "scientific Queen" promoting the cause of botany.16 The King's bouts of madness as well as his public squabbles with the Prince of Wales further affected the Royal couple's public image, and the Prince's disastrous marriage to Caroline of Brunswick separated even the Royalists. Queen Charlotte was horrified when she was told of the impending nuptials since she knew what a bad character was given to the Princess by her German correspondents – but the King did not want to hear anything disadvantageous of his niece (see Hedley 1975, 189-190). The Queen's rigidly moral stance towards this German daughter-in-law as well as, later on, her refusal to welcome another (her beloved brother Charles's daughter, and Queen Luisa of Prussia's sister, Frederica, who married Prince Ernest) damaged her reputation in Ger- many, too. Besides these turmoils, Queen Charlotte's image may simply have suffered from the new notions developed by Romanticism: To be considered a character, one had to show more depth and more individuality, and to be considered a queen, one had to show more fairy-tale appeal. This, after all, was the time when the Grimm brothers collected the tales of lovely young princesses about to be married to handsome young kings. According to Schulte, Louise of Prussia fulfilled the newly-emerged longing for a 'bourgeois' Queen: a child of nature, raised far from any Court, with a love story to match that of any fairy-tale princess. This could have been Charlotte's story, too (at least Walpole thought so), but while the new Queens were considered to be virtuous and good, the old ones necessarily assumed the shape of wicked stepmothers (see

15 See e.g. "Royal Munificence" by Charles Williams (1814), reproduced in Barker 2007, 118; see Hedley 1975, 128. 16 For a book that relies almost entirely on the children's comments to each other about her bad temper, enlarging their grievances beyond proportion, see Hibbert 1998, 392-403; in which the King's mildness is explicitly contrasted with the Queen's allegedly "grumpy and remote" stance towards her family (Hibbert 1998, 393). Even the Queen's reader Miss Caroline Knight (1757- 1837), famed for her learning in her own day, is called "precise" and "humourless", as if to match the Queen's (fictive) character. Hibbert's statement that the Queen never saw her husband again after he was confined to his apartments in 1811 is unsubstantiated by fact but in keeping with the character he gives her (see Hedley 1975, 258). For a more sympathetic account of their relations, besides Hedley's, see Macalpin/Hunter 1991. QUEEN CHARLOTTE AND THE CHARACTER OF THE MONARCHY 149

Schulte 2006, 7). Queen Charlotte was born a little too early, and – unlike Luise or her granddaughter Princess Charlotte – she died a little too late. However, the fairy-tale notion of Queenship relies on the dichotomy of good Queen consort or powerful but wicked ruling Queen. Perhaps the accounts of Queen Charlotte's perceived ugliness also indicate that she was considered to have had more political power than a good Queen should have had. After all, as Linday Colley points out, "it all depends what you think politics should be about" (Colley 1994, 268).

References Primary Sources Anson, Elizabeth; Anson, Florence (eds., 1925): Mary Hamilton at Court and at Home: From Letters and Diaries, 1756 to 1816. London: J. Murray Blunt, Reginald (ed., 1923): Mrs. Montagu, 'Queen of the Blues': Her Letters and Friendships from 1762 to 1800. 2 vols. Boston/New York: H. Mifflin Climenson, Emily L. (ed., 1906): Elizabeth Montagu: The Queen of the Blue-Stockings. Her Cor- respondence from 1720 to 1761. 2 vols. London: J. Murray Edgeworth, Maria (1971): Letters from England, 1813-1844. Ed. Christiana Colvin. Oxford: Claren- don Press --- (1999): Belinda. Ed. Kathryn Kirkpatrick. Oxford: Oxford UP LaRoche, Sophie von (1992 [1788]): Tagebuch einer Reise durch Holland und England von der Ver- fasserin von Rosaliens Briefen. Reprint. Karben: Wald Lichtenberg, Georg Christoph (1983): Briefwechsel. Eds. Ulrich Joost and Albrecht Schöne. 4 vols. Munich: Beck Locke, John (131764): Some Thoughts Concerning Education. London: Printed for A. Millar (et al.) Moritz, Karl Philipp (1785): Anton Reiser: ein psychologischer Roman. 2 vols. Berlin: Friedrich Maurer --- (1795): Travels, chiefly on foot, through several parts of England, in 1782. Described in letters to a friend, by Charles P. Moritz, a literary gentleman of Berlin. London: G.G. and J. Robinson Pennington, Montagu (ed., 1817): Letters from Mrs. Elizabeth Carter, to Mrs. Montagu between the years 1755 and 1800. Chiefly upon literary and moral subjects. 3 vols. London: Rivington Southey, Robert (ed., 1854): The Works of William Cowper. 6 vols. London: Henry Bohn

Secondary Sources Ankersmit, Frank (2001): Historical Representation. Stanford: Stanford UP Barker, Kenneth (2007): George III: A Life in Caricature. London: Thames & Hudson Campbell Orr, Clarissa (2002): "Queen Charlotte: 'Scientific Queen'", in: Campbell Orr, Clarissa (ed.): Queenship in Britain, 1660-1837: Royal Patronage, Court Culture and Dynastic Politics. Manchester: Manchester UP, 236-266 --- (2004): "Charlotte of Mecklenburg-Strelitz, Queen of Great Britain and Electress of Hanover: Northern Dynasties and the Northern Republic of Letters", in: Campbell Orr, Clarissa (ed.): Queen- ship in Europe, 1660-1815: The Role of the Consort. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 394-395 --- (2005): "Queen Charlotte and her Circle", in: Marsden, Jonathan (ed.): The Wisdom of George the Third. London: Royal Collection Publications, 163-178 Clark, Christopher (2007): "The Prussian Coronation of 1701", in: Scott, Hamish; Simms, Brendan (eds.): Cultures of Power in Europe During the Long Eighteenth Century. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 14-35 Colley, Linda (1994): Britons, Forging the Nation, 1707-1837. New Haven: Yale UP Drinkuth, Friederike (2011): Königin Charlotte: Eine Prinzessin aus Mecklenburg-Strelitz besteigt den englischen Thron. Schwerin: Thomas Helms Verlag 150 MASCHA HANSEN

Fraser, Flora (2005): Princesses: The Six Daughters of George III. London: Murray Hedley, Olwen (1975): Queen Charlotte. Rome/London: Murray Hibbert, Christopher (1998): George III: A personal history. New York: Basic Books Lakoff, George; Johnson, Mark (1980): Metaphors We Live By. Chicago/London: U of Chicago P Levey, Michael (1977): A Royal Subject: Portraits of Queen Charlotte. London: The National Gallery Macalpin, Ida; Hunter, Richard (1991): George III and the Mad-Business. London: Pimlico Oxford English Dictionary: 'character' (9a). Web. [last accessed 29 December 2014] Pocock, J.G.A. (1985): Virtue, Commerce, and History. Cambridge: Cambridge UP Roberts, Jane (ed., 2004): George III and Queen Charlotte: Patronage, Collecting and Court Taste. London: Royal Collections Publishing Schulte, Regina (2006): "Introduction", in: Regina Schulte (ed.): The Body of the Queen. New York: Berghahn Books, 1-15 Sedgwick, Romey (ed., 1939): Letters from George III to Lord Bute, 1756-1766. London: Macmillan Zammito, John (2005): "Ankersmit and Historical Representation", History and Theory 44.2, 155-181 BARBARA SCHAFF (GÖTTINGEN)

The Bodies of the Georges in British Neoclassical Satire and Caricatures

1. Introduction A distinctive feature of the British artistic and literary field of the 18th century is its rich and diverse tradition of satire and caricature. No other European country at the time could claim an equally well-developed and intellectually astute culture of verbal and visual political satire, and in no other European country kings or members of the royal household were equally relentlessly attacked and vilified as were the Georgians in numerous satires and caricatures. Although the German provenance of the Han- overian kings, in other words their difference, is foregrounded in many of the contemporary satires and expresses British anxieties of foreign corruption, it is an effect of rather than a reason for the particular forms regal satire took in Britain after the Glori- ous Revolution. The increasing efflorescence and pervasion of the genre was only made possible by the fundamental political changes after 1688. In the period of the Personal Union, the supremacy of parliament continued to grow, not least due to the powerful Whig Prime Minister Robert Walpole, and later the Tory William Pitt the Younger. The transition of the British monarchy into a constitutional monarchy and the formation of a parliamentary political system entailed a growing argumentative culture between government and opposition. It allowed satire to become a tool to express critical public opinion as well as a powerful weapon to attack the political opponent. Caricaturists offered their services to Whigs and Tories alike, showing themselves extremely flexible when it came to proving their political loyalties. James Gillray, for instance, started his career by supporting the Whigs in the 1780s, and in the 1790s allied himself with the Tories, securing an annual pension for his services (see Donald 1996, 26f.; Newman 1997, 290). Altogether, the reign of the four Georges witnessed a continuous decline of royal prerogatives and a shift of power towards parliament, and consequently the Hanover- ian kings (and Princes of Wales) often enough became entangled in party politics. This process was further facilitated by a fundamental change in the conception of the monarchy. The doctrine of the divine right of kings had virtually disappeared after the Glorious Revolution and had been replaced by a growing recognition of the fact that kings were not divine but human beings after all. Looking at visual and verbal satirical representations of George II, George III, and George IV as Prince Regent and king, this paper will focus on the exposure and exaggeration of their physical traits – not just because the depiction of a gross and grotesque physicality has always been a means by which satire exposes human folly and moral vices, but because the medieval distinction between the king's two bodies1 still resonates in the portrayal of the king's body, adding semantic complexity and a subversive frisson. It gains a par-

1 See the influential study by Ernst H. Kantorowicz 1957/1998.

152 BARBARA SCHAFF ticular momentum when the physical attributes of the king's body natural not only display suffering and mortality but comical and vulgar flaws which undermine the body politics' sovereignty. 18th-century satirists and caricaturists unflinchingly de- ployed scatological and sexual representations of their kings' body natural: not as blasphemous strategies, but in accordance with the enlightened credo that kings indeed can do wrong morally and politically, and that they are kings no longer by the will of God but of their people. Apart from the constitutional changes, the Hanoverian monarchs themselves were partly responsible for their waning power and reputation: During the reign of George I and George II – who were both frequently absent from Britain and still largely involved in Hanoverian affairs – the Whig politician Robert Walpole acquired hitherto unknown power and authority in his uninterrupted run of twenty years as prime minister. In the sixty-year-long reign of George III, parliament's dominance was facilitated by the king's mental absence through his long bouts of mental illness caused by por- phyria. Ultimately, George IV's dissolute and profligate lifestyle in times of severe economic and political crises further dimmed the prestige of the British monarchy. All these factors helped to make satirical representations of the Georgian kings on the whole often appear less as a blasphemous slander than a justified commentary based on the moral values of 18th-century civil society, with whose requirements the monarchs rarely complied. During the reign of the Georges, and especially in the second half of the 18th century in the radical ideological context of the American and French Revolutions, the British political landscape turned out to be the ideal hotbed for the development of satire and caricatures as potent and widely circulated tools of social and political criticism. This rise of caricature goes hand in hand with the increasing importance and flourishing of the print industry, new artistic techniques such as coloured prints (see George 1959), the relative lack of censorship, and the emergence of a public sphere and a pluralistic political discourse which fuelled and developed political satire in Britain.2 As Vincent Carretta has shown, most of the charges made against the early Hanoverians were indirect, accusing them of condoning, if not directing, their ministers' attempts to subvert the British constitution either by corrupting one or more of its constituent elements or by introducing a new Jacobitism or new Toryism, expressed in the allegedly absolutist tendencies of the first two Georges (Carretta 1990, 11). Satirical attacks on George II's natural body and physical habits were frequently used as metaphors to denigrate him as a fool and foreigner, and sometimes as a despotic monarch. In 1731, Henry Fielding, who, as a staunch Tory, was an avid opponent of George II's and his Whig Prime Minister Robert Walpole's rule, published a burlesque play under the title The Welsh Opera. Alluding both to the king's German origin and his rather large bottom, the royal family appears here under the name of Ap-Shinken. The mockery of the Queen's dominance over her husband (the German queen who wears the trousers in the royal marriage should become a standard trope in further de-

2 The 'golden age of caricature' in 18th-century England has been the subject of many excellent scholarly works. Standard works are: George 1959, Donald 1996, Carretta 1990, and more recently Oberstebrink 2005 and Porterfield 2011. Two recent publications acknowledge the anniversary of the Personal Union in 2014: Kremser/Reich 2014 and Vetter-Liebenow 2014.

THE BODIES OF THE GEORGES IN BRITISH SATIRE AND CARICATURES 153 piction of the Georges) becomes apparent in the subtitle "The Grey Mare the Better Horse" and title page epigram, expressing the view that "a Batchelor Cobler is happier than a Hen-Peck'd Prince" (Fielding 1731, 1).3 Six years later, a fictional travelogue entitled "The Vision of the Golden Rump" was published anonymously in two instalments in the magazine Common Sense, the most important disseminator of an enlightened common sense discourse (see Henke 2014, 196). In the tradition of Montesquieu's "Lettres Persanes" (1721), the narrator relates a dream about a journey to a foreign country. He follows a procession towards a temple, where the festival of the Golden Rump is celebrated. The Golden Rump is an idol, a statue with a wooden head, goats' legs and feet, and an enormous golden posterior. Without difficulties, contemporaries would have recognised their king in this description, as his habit of kicking his servants when enraged was just as well-known as his haemorrhoidal problems. The significant part of the description is the idol's position: He turns his back towards his people: By this Description the Reader will easily conceive that the Back of the Idol was turned to the Congregation; an Attitude which I do not remember to have observed among the Chinese and Indian Pagods. But my friendly Conductor informed me, that he had placed himself in this Pos- ture upon his first Entrance into the Temple, as well to shew his politeness, as to testify his respect and gratitude to a nation which had elected him into the number of the Dii Majores or Greater Gods. Here I could not help smiling, to think how widely the Custom of this Country differed from mine, where the same Thing, which passed here for Civility, and good Manners, would be reckoned a Mark of Insolence and Brutality. (Anon. 1737, 3) The unknown author4 alludes here to the king's frequent journeys to the electorate of Hanover which were much frowned upon in Britain and regarded as a fundamental neglect of his British subjects.5 The London Rumpsteak Club, founded by critical Whigs in London in 1734, consisted of alienated members of the aristocracy who were offended that the king had 'rumped' them or turned his back on them. To accompany the satire, shortly afterwards an illustrating print came into circulation: "The Festival of the Golden Rump".

3 For a detailed analysis of caricatures depicting the German Queens as unbecomingly dominant see O'Connell 2014, 50-51. 4 The authorship question of the Vision is still unresolved. According to Christoph Henke, Henry Fielding was one suspected author, another and perhaps more likely one was the Jacobite Dr. William King of Oxford (see Henke 2014, 196). 5 Similarly, Alexander Pope criticises the king's absence in his imitation of Horace, "To Augus- tus". "Your country, chief, in Arms abroad defend": punning on "arms", Pope allows for a subtext referring to the king's extended visits to his mistress, Amalia Sophie von Walmoden, in Hanover rather than wars abroad (see Stack 1985, 158).

154 BARBARA SCHAFF

Figure 1: Anon., "The Festival of the Golden Rump", 1837. British Museum, Number Cc,3,173 The depiction of the monarch as a naked, farting satyr, kicking his Prime Minister Wal- pole, and about to receive an enema by his queen, marks a spectacular point of origin for a new tradition of blatantly malicious representations of the Hanoverian kings that had been enabled by the aforementioned abandonment of the doctrine of the divine right of kings. Exposing the physical flaws and handicaps of the king's natural body, they meta- phorically also denigrate the shortcomings of the body politic. From now on, the king's body would no longer be sacrosanct but could be used as a projection surface for excessive scatological slander. The theatrical staging of the king's statue on a plinth and theatrical props such as the curtains are an inherent part of the satire, exposing the hollow and outdated pageantry of royal representations still based on traditional symbols of power in an age that was moving fast towards the disempowerment of the monarch. In addition, "The Festival of the Golden Rump" indicates yet another important point in the history of political satire: The Prime Minister Walpole was so furious about the text and its provoking illustration that he spread rumours about a forthcoming play under the same title (although no manuscript was ever produced) and used this as a reason to carry a motion before parliament to the effect that henceforward all plays had to pass the approval of a censor before they could be put on stage. The ensuing Theatre Licensing Act of 1737 became a landmark of British censorship: It closed all non-patent theatres and required all plays to be approved before performance (see Thomson 2006, 87f.). Its far- reaching effects are well known: 18th-century British drama turned sentimental and domestic, and political satire shifted towards other media: ballads, pamphlets, newspapers,

THE BODIES OF THE GEORGES IN BRITISH SATIRE AND CARICATURES 155 magazines, and, perhaps most importantly, caricatures and satirical prints. These were to become popular forms of entertainment as well as instruments of sharp, direct, and fast political comment and assault. In the radical atmosphere of the late 18th century, caricatures would fill the gap that the Theatre Licensing Act had created. Increasingly, visual satire would emancipate itself from textual templates (see O'Connell 2014, 39) and develop into a unique, flamboyant, and colourful medium of political commentary and control (see Janke 2014, 18f.). Technical innovation led to faster production and circulation, thus making quick responses to the politics of the day possible (see George 1959). Caricatures were offered as single sheets for sale by booksellers, they were circulated through lending libraries and were on sale in print shops. Most of the London print shops were situated in the West End area – an affluent part of town, which tells us something about the potential buyers: They belonged to the well-to-do upper class, because in the 18th century prints were expensive. To own a considerable collection of caricatures was therefore an important asset among the upper classes and caricatures were shown to guests at dinner parties and exhibited in special cabinets (see Donald 1996, 19). How- ever, the high price of the single sheets did not mean that access to caricatures was exclusively restricted to the upper classes. Print shops would exhibit prints, and because their cultural and political status was high, people would flock to the shops to view the latest caricatures by a James Gillray or George Cruikshank – to name but the two most famous political caricaturists of the late 18th century who are connected with the rise of caricature (see Clayton 2014, 36).

Figure 2: Anon., "The Caricature Shop", 1801. Lewis Walpole Library, Farmington

156 BARBARA SCHAFF

The anonymous print "The Caricature Shop" illustrates the social differentiation of the target group for this form of art: Virtually everybody was interested in caricatures – young people, old people, men, women, rich people, poor people, white people, black people. It hints as well to a possible social effect of caricatures: The common pleasure in looking at how royalty and powerful members of the government were ridiculed created, at least for the moment, social cohesion. The caricature shop here is a medium, creating a public space in which a politically engaged public articulates itself. The print also alludes to the role of the artist who is standing in the door, his tool in his hand: He delivers his product to the public and profits from the sales, but at the same time he remains in the position of the distant observer who is powerful enough to expose all his contemporaries to ridicule. As we can see, not only the exhibited prints are caricatures, so is the depiction of the delighted crowd. The artist as powerful and independent commentator of society who catches the slips and foibles of his generation: This is the self-image caricaturists frequently drew of themselves. A rather dim view of the caricaturists was, on the other hand, often expressed by those who considered caricatures as mediocre medium for political commentary rather than art, and caricaturists as opportunistic hacks who would do anything for the right payment.6 As these self-referential prints clearly demonstrate, the late 18th century sees the emergence of the genre of caricatures as a new, fast, spectacular, and sensational form of art, countering the traditional representation of public personae in sculpture and portraits with a subversive, dynamic iconoclasm.

2. George III George III was known to enjoy a simple, if not frugal and quasi-bourgeois life style, and his love for the countryside earned him the nickname Farmer George. His image as a domesticated king and man of the people did not leave much room for acerbic political satire. On the whole, for much of his reign the king enjoyed general support and popularity which rendered the satirists of the opposition relatively impotent (see Carretta 1990, 281). A good example of a comical and benevolently mild satire, despite its articulation of distinct Jacobin ideas, is The Lousiad, a mock-heroic poem in five cantos by John Wolcott, published under the pseudonym Peter Pindar (1785- 1795). George III was known for a stammer in his voice, and during his mental illness, also for incoherent remarks and bizarre reactions. This was widely exploited in Wol- cott's mock-heroic. By the 1780s, the genre of the mock-heroic poem had already become an anachronism: Its satirical and parodic possibilities had been well explored by Pope and Dryden. But it would be Wolcott who first in the history of the genre made a reigning monarch the hero of a mock-heroic poem (see Broich 1990, 167). The plot of the poem is based on an apocryphal story, according to which at a royal dinner the

6 A deprecating comment on Cruikshank in an article published in Blackwood's Edinburgh Mag- azine in 1832 illustrates this attitude: "Generally speaking, people consider him as a clever, sharp caricaturist, and nothing more — a free-handed comical young fellow, who will do anything he is paid for, and who is quite contented to dine off the proceeds of a 'George IV' to-day and those of a 'Hone' or a 'Cobbett' tomorrow. He himself, indeed, appears to be the most care- less creature alive, as touching his reputation. He seems to have no plan — almost no ambition — and, I apprehend, not much industry. He does just what is suggested or thrown in his way, pockets the cash — orders his beef-steak […]" (Blackwood 1823, 18).

THE BODIES OF THE GEORGES IN BRITISH SATIRE AND CARICATURES 157 king had once found a louse on his plate and subsequently given the order to have all cooks shave their heads. In Wolcott's mock-heroic, this royal order gives cause for a rebellion among the cooks, thus mirroring the revolution in France. Modelling his poem after Pope's The Rape of the Lock, Wolcott, however, slightly shifts the focus of his satire. The trivial incident in The Lousiad is the louse on the king's plate, whereas the motif of the cut hair, signifying triviality in Pope's work, is here a much more serious matter: Threatened with a total shave, the cooks' wives claim the physical integrity of their husbands as a fundamental right no king can interfere with: "Yours is the hair", they cry, "th'Almighty gave ye, / And not a King in Christendom should have ye" (Wolcott 1805, 208). And yet, Wolcott's five cantos never exploit their political potential to the fullest; the focus rather remains on the comical representation of the king and his entourage's reaction to the louse, and particularly on their way of speaking. In The Lousiad, Wolcott effectively inverts the social hierarchy between royalty and domestics by contrasting the linguistic deficits of the former with the pol- ished diction of the latter. The king's idiosyncratic speech patterns, particularly his frequent use of the interrogative pronoun 'what' and his tendency for verbal repetitions were well known among his contemporaries, and consequently became a recurring motif in satirical representations. Flustered and confused through the confrontation with the louse, the king can only express himself in fragmented and repetitive lines and asks Madame Schwellenberg, Keeper of the Robes to the Queen, for advice: 'O Swelly, Swelly!' cry'd the furious King, 'What! What a dirty, filthy, nasty thing! – 'That thus thou come to ease my angry mind, 'Indeed is very, very, very very kind! 'Yes, yes, the cooks shall ev'ry one be shav'd – 'What! what! hae! hae! Now tell me, Swelly, pray, 'Shan't I be right in't – what! what! Swelly, hae? (ibid., 40-1) The inarticulate request of the king is answered by a linguistically equally insufficient outburst. Wolcott renders the lady's response with a distinct heavy German accent: To whom the Dame, with elevated chin, Wide-staring eyes, and broad, contemptuous grin: 'Yes, sure as dat my soul is to be sav'd. 'So sure de dirty rascals sal be shav'd – 'Shav'd to the quick be ev'ry moder's son – 'And curse me if I do not see it done! 'De barbers soon der nasty locks sal fall on, 'Nor leave vone standing for a louse to crawl on. 'If on der skulls de razor do not shine, 'May gowns and petticoats no more be mine – (ibid., 41) Wolcott projects contemporary xenophobic as well as misogynist anxieties onto the figure of Juliana Schwellenberg, who represents the threatening foreign body at the British court. Both the king's and the lady's linguistic inadequacies are further highlighted by the cooks' ensuing eloquent petition, expressed in the lofty style of the epic. The cooks not only assure the king of their heads' cleanliness, but, in a sophisticated pun on the double meaning of maggot as vermin and crazy idea, they imply that lice do not necessarily inhabit only heads of the lower classes ("How can you say, Sir, it belongs to us? / Maggots are found in many a princely head; / And if a maggot, why then not a louse?" (ibid., 205)) The end of the poem confirms the suspicion: The louse had indeed fallen

158 BARBARA SCHAFF from the king's own head. The subtext of this royal cosmos turned upside down, where cooks argue eloquently and reasonably and the king produces irrelevant babble, was certainly understood by Wolcott's readers as the zeitgeist's claim for equality and challenge of social divisions. It remained, however, firmly contained in the comical frame of the mock-heroic and therefore developed no real revolutionary momentum.

Figure 3: James Gillray, "The French Invasion; – or – John Bull, Bombarding the Bum-Boats", 1773. British Museum, Number AN139641001

THE BODIES OF THE GEORGES IN BRITISH SATIRE AND CARICATURES 159

In visual representations, the king's popularity and connectedness with his people was frequently expressed by the equation of the king with John Bull, the national personification of Britain: The stronger the antagonism with revolutionary and Napo- leonic France became, the more caricatures supported a view of George III as a representative or even allegory of England. A print by Gillray from 1793, entitled "The French Invasion; – or – John Bull, Bombarding the Bum-Boats", shows the maps of England and France in tellingly personified contours. England is George III: His head is formed of Scotland, and, squatting over France, he defecates into the open mouth of France.8 This representation can be seen in one line with other allegorical identifications of country and people, from Hobbes' Leviathan to the Ditchley portrait of Elizabeth I, of which Louis Montrose reminds us that what we see is not only the identification of the Queen with England, but also her possession of it (see Montrose 2006, 131). Such a distinction had collapsed in the 1790s: In Gillray's print, "the land incorporates its king and vice versa" (Carretta 1990, 301) or, in other words, the king is John Bull, he is nothing more than his people. Another frequent topic for caricatures was the king's stinginess. Digging at parsimo- ny was, however, rarely a means to its own end but had wider reaching political implications. Gillray's print "Anti-Saccharites or John Bull and his Family leaving off the Use of Sugar" (1792, BMC 8074) is situated in the abolitionist debate of the 1790s: Its title refers to the famous sugar boycott in the years 1791-1792, when many Britons refused to buy West Indian sugar, the most important colonial product (see Vaughan Kett 2014, 60). The caricature shows the royal family at tea: The king finds the tea without sugar delicious, and the emaciated queen tries to convince her sceptical daughters that tea without sugar is really tasty. This politically correct royal behaviour is exposed as merely a masquerade: The real reason behind the queen's attempt at banishing sugar from the royal household is that this will cut down expens- es. Far from being interested in human rights and the fates of slaves, she reminds her daughters: "Above all, remember how much expense it will save your poor papa!" James Gillray's 1792 caricature "Temperance enjoying a frugal meal" again is a dig at the royal couple's miserly life style. It depicts king and queen having salad and boiled eggs for supper, accompanied by water. In the light of 18th-century dinners of the upper classes, which would often last for hours and comprise ten, twenty or more dishes for the single courses, this simple fare presents shocking contrast. Equally poor is the decoration of the room: One picture frame is empty, the king sits on a chair covered with a sheet to spare the upholstery, the bottom of his trousers shows a large patch, and there is no fire in the fireplace. Altogether, Gillray's work displays an undignified image of a royal repast, and as such it is a biting remark on a royal couple who refuse to display what is expected of them: a fair share of pomp and circumstance. On the other hand, the depiction of a frugal monarch not only established a telling contrast to the well-known profligacy

8 A similarly scatological representation of the king's body natural is depicted in Gillray's "Taking Physick: – or – The News of Shooting the King of Sweden!" The symbolic and authoritative position of the king on England's throne is turned into the depiction of the king on the toilet – the common man's 'throne' as an apposite metaphor for equality.

160 BARBARA SCHAFF of the Prince of Wales, but also served as a comment on the situation in revolutionary France, where the detached "Let them eat cake"-attitude of the monarchy was understood to be one of the factors that engendered the revolutionary terror. Taking into account that in the wake of the French Revolution, anxieties of uproar and revolt in Britain resulted in a broad conservative reaction and support for the monarchy (see Carretta 1990, 244), this print may have conveyed a rather ambivalent message to its contemporaries.

Figure 4: James Gillray, "Temperance enjoying a frugal meal", 1792. Archiv der Wilhelm-Busch-Gesellschaft e. V.

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In the period of the Napoleonic Wars, the tenor of Gillray's caricatures on the whole became more patriotic and anti-revolutionary, and the object of derision now frequently was the French emperor, whose small size was repeatedly taken into focus. George III was increasingly shown as the defender of his country and the constitutional monarchy, disposing of the French emperor in a superior way. Gillray's successful Na- poleon caricature from 1803, "The King of Brobdingnag and Gulliver", shows George III and Napoleon in a Swiftian setting. Alluding to Gulliver's travels to the land of Giants, Brobdingnag, he has the king hold a tiny Napoleon in his hand and scrutinise him through a looking glass.

Figure 5: James Gillray, "The King of Brobdingnag, and Gulliver", 1803. Archiv der Wilhelm-Busch-Gesellschaft e. V.

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The king's speech is only slightly adapted from Swift: My little friend Grildrig; you have made a most admirable panegyric upon yourself and country, but from what I can gather from your own relation & the answers I have with much pains wringed & extorted from you, I cannot but conclude you to be the most pernicious little odious reptiles that nature ever suffered to crawl upon the surface of the earth. In Swift's novel, the wise Brobdingnagian king represents an enlightened monarch who rules by reason. Enquiring about Gulliver's home country and political system, it becomes clear that 'little England' has a long way to go before its economy and political system will become as beneficial to its people as the one of the land of giants. Projecting this dichotomy onto the relation between Britain and France, Gill- ray not only transfers Swift's comments on his contemporary England onto Napole- onic France but also invests George III with all the flattering attributes of an enlightened monarch. When George III died in 1820, ill, blind, and powerless, he was no longer a king who would provoke the liberal opposition. It is telling that Byron's satirical response to Robert Southey's panegyric epitaph on the king, A Vision of Judgement (1821), is much more concerned with an argument about the moral responsibilities of poets than a political condemnation of the king. In his preface, Byron attacks the sycophantic poet laureate for canonising "a Monarch, who, whatever were his household virtues, was neither a successful nor a patriot king" (Byron 2008, 940) and reflects on the moral and political accountability of literature rather than the political errors of the king. George III is already shown to be inconsequential and falling into oblivion, and the funeral service is a self-referential pageant in which the king himself is of no importance: "Who cared about the corpse? The funeral / Made the attraction" (ibid., 944). What is more, even Saint Peter, when informed about the king's death, does not know who he is: "And who is George the Third?" replied the apostle; / "What George? what Third?" (ibid., 946). In order to decide whether the dead king should go to heaven or to hell, Byron has archangel Michael and Satan agree on hearing witnesses and call upon John Wilkes, the journalist Junius (a former staunch opponent of George III) and, finally, Robert Southey, thus shifting the focus from the deeds of the monarch to their literary evaluations. In a brilliant final satirical assault, Byron exposes Southey not just as a moral turncoat, but foremost a really bad poet. Reading out from his manuscript, he creates such confusion among the congregation of the devils, saints, and angles who all try to escape, that George III manages to slip into heaven unnoticed.

3. George IV George Augustus Frederick, as the Prince of Wales, Prince Regent and later as King George IV provided a welcome target for satire over a period of 25 years. Had George III, particularly in later years, been met with much public sympathy due to his illness and been revered as the "popular and pious father of the nation" (Baker 1996, 73), the continuous financial scandals and sexual escapades of the Prince of Wales were regarded as "a potential threat to national unity" (ibid., 82). Hence, caricatures of the Prince of Wales proved to be irresistible commercial opportunities (see ibid., 69): No other monarch was as relentlessly satirised as George IV and even a successful action for libel in 1812 could not stop the constant flow of acerbic caricatures, poems, and pamphlets from a well-connected and closely collaborating radical opposition. Leigh

THE BODIES OF THE GEORGES IN BRITISH SATIRE AND CARICATURES 163

Hunt, journalist and editor of the liberal magazine The Examiner, had called the Prince a "fat Adonis of fifty",9 for which he had to go to prison for two years and pay 500 pounds. And yet, satirical digs on the Prince's sexual and culinary lifestyle, his debts and lack of responsibility would still continue to pour out. The Prince responded with bribery: As Iain McCalman has shown, George IV and his government were, particularly during the publicly conducted conflict with his wife, Princess Caroline of Brunswick, "remarkably sensitive to popular ridicule and caricature […] and spent at least £2600 in a vain attempt to buy off radical caricatures" (McCalman 1988, 174). In June 1820 George Cruikshank was paid £100 by the king "as a consideration for the artist's promise not to portray His Majesty in any immoral situation" (Vogler 1979, 135). On the whole, these attempts could not stop the continuous flow of verbal and visual satire against the Prince's sexual escapades and financial extravagance. They were only too well known: In 1788 Parliament granted the Prince £160,000 (equal to £17,850,000 today) to settle his debts (see Irvine 2005, 54). His obesity provided caricaturists with a welcome template to present his grotesque and monstrous body as a signifier for a deficient moral and political conduct. A famous print by Gillray from 1792, entitled "A Voluptuary under the Horrors of Digestion", portrays the Prince of Wales as a revolting glutton. The overall topic here is excess: The prince leans back in his chair, exhausted after an enormous meal, his waistcoat is about to burst, and he uses his fork to remove remnants of food from his probably not too healthy teeth. The candlestick at the wall has fork and knife as an emblem instead of the prince's coat of arms; the three white feathers on top clearly identify it as a personal item of the prince's quarters. Behind the chair one spots a chamber pot, rather disgustingly full to the brim, on a tray by the wall are various little bottles containing medication. One of them bears the label "for the piles": another hint to royal haemorrhoids as a consequence of too much luxury. The two empty bottles under the table also refer to the topic of a rather lavish lifestyle, or else they can be read as metaphorical hints to another of the prince's medical conditions: incontinence. Gillray's caricature depicts the prince's natural body in all its flaws and pathetic misery; the royal symbols of power are turned into telling signs of failure and indecency. The obvious disrespect for the monarch finds its justification in his character flaws and moral failings. A monarch who does not abide by the values of civil society, that is above all moderation and consideration for his people, is deemed to be unfit to rule.

9 Hunt's dictum eventually found its way into literature: Charlotte Brontë quotes this characterisation in Shirley (see Brontë 1849/2006, 384) and further refers to the Prince Regent as an "un- principled debauchee" (Brontë 1849/2006, 53) and "the royal profligate" (Brontë 1849/2006, 595).

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Figure 6: James Gillray, "A Voluptuary under the Horrors of Digestion", 1792. Archiv der Wilhelm-Busch-Gesellschaft e. V.

Inspired by the satirical poem "Triumph of the Whale" by Charles Lamb, published by Leigh Hunt in The Examiner in 1812, James Gillray composed a caricature illustrating the pun: "The prince of Whales or the fisherman at anchor in 1812". Lamb's poem is mildly satirical, describing the whale as the biggest creature of the sea and several fish as subservient subjects in terms of a biological classificatory scheme:

THE BODIES OF THE GEORGES IN BRITISH SATIRE AND CARICATURES 165

Name or title what has he? Is he Regent of the Sea? From this difficulty free us, Buffon, Banks or Linnaeus. With his wondrous attributes Say what appellation suits. By his bulk, and by his size, By his oily qualities This (or else my eyesight fails) This should be the Prince of Whales. (Lamb 1812) Gillray takes the poem's last line as motif for a much more politically astute caricature: It is directed at the Prince Regent's political lethargy, who had not fulfilled any of the expectations connected with his regency. Already in office for a whole year, he had not changed any of the political circumstances for the better as the ruling party were still the Tories. The whale exhales two fountains, one is called the liqueur of oblivion, the other dew of favour. The first comes down upon three Whig politicians, the latter meets a little boat with the prime minister and his cabinet. The Prince Regent's amorous entanglements are not neglected either: His mistress Lady Hertford is depicted as a siren, her husband as triton signifying the cuckold. Perhaps the most famous example of the radical opposition in the Regency Period is the pamphlet "The political House that Jack Built", composed in 1819 by William Hone and illustrated by George Cruikshank. This enormously successful document of radical 19th-century print culture – it ran into 54 editions – had been a direct response to the Peterloo massacre.10 It exposed an unjust and unfit government and monarch in their unfair treatment of the people, and it celebrates the power of the free press. Hone portrays George IV as the epitome of an irresponsible king: THE MAN – all shaven and shorn, All cover'd with Orders – and all forlorn; THE DANDY OF SIXTY, who bows with a grace, And has taste in wigs, collars, cuirasses and lace; Who, to tricksters, and fools, leaves the State and its treasure, And, when Britain's in tears, sails about at his pleasure: (Hone 1821, 12) Cruikshank's caricature follows the textual description in so far as he portrays the king as a pompous, ridiculous figure. However, he goes beyond the individual portrait by modelling his composition specifically after Holbein's well-known portrait of Henry VIII and thus associating it with a tradition of royal self-fashioning, which highlights regal authority and power. Louis Montrose has observed that Henry VIII's kingly image had as one of its hallmarks the display of masculine prowess: "martial, chivalric and erotic" (Montrose 2006, 20), and it is particularly in the Holbein portrait that he sees a powerful and "gender-specific resonance of the royal body" (ibid., 21). In the radical, post-revolutionary, and egalitarian framework of the early 19th century this

10 In 1819, some ten thousand workers, women, and children had peacefully congregated at St Peter's Field near Manchester to demonstrate for parliamentary representation. Local authorities called on the military who sent cavalry into the crowd, killing dozens of people and injuring hundreds more. The event caused a public outcry and ensued many sympathetic radical literary reactions, among them Percy Bysshe Shelley's poem "The Masque of Anarchy" and Hone's and Cruikshank's pamphlet.

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traditional distinction between the king's two bodies does no longer hold: The future monarch's royal body is nothing more than a ridiculously over-decorated object. The emblems of power – the peacock feathers and the orders – do not cover the fact that what we see is simply "THE MAN". Cruikshank echoes the Holbein portrait only to show how far removed from Re- naissance representation of royal power this monarch is. He is truly forlorn: Where Holbein has the king appropriately framed, Cruikshank depicts the Prince Regent without background and context, and where Holbein has Henry VIII's fists point to the prominent codpiece as central symbol of masculinity and power, Cruikshank relinquishes any allusion to the king's virility, having his right arm dangle dysfunctionally and his left hand clutch the downward pointing sword. With the works of Gillray and Cruik- shank, political caricature in Britain had reached hitherto unexplored forms of artistic expression. The end of the Georgian era, however, would see its demise. The great age of caricature, which marked the unprecedented reckless depiction of royalty, would become democratised in the 1830s. The new technique of lithography allowed for the reproduction of illustrations in books and magazines in large Figure 7: George Cruikshank, numbers. Here, caricatures found a new "The Political House that Jack Built", 1819. place – the print shop as a forum for po- Melton Prior Institut, Düsseldorf litical criticism and satire became a thing of the past. What is more, in the Victori- an age public taste and manners changed as well: Visual satire no longer was as overtly sexual, scatological, and physical, but was modified according to print media which were meant for a larger public. Pornography and scatology left the public sphere and went underground. And the nature of scandals also changed: The sexual libertinism, the open transgressions that had marked the period of the regency, did not prevail in the morally milder climate of Queen Victoria's reign. And last but not least, political re- forms weakened the radical spirit in the 1830s which up until then had been fuelled by the ideals of the French and American revolutions. With the end of the Personal Union, the age of flamboyant and radical political visual satire had come to an end as well.

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References Primary Sources Anon. (1837): A New Miscellany For the Year 1737. Containing I. The vision of the golden rump, printed in the Papers call'd Common Sense of March 19. and March 26. II. A dissertation upon kicking, printed in the same Paper of June 11. III. The Lord C-d's Speech against the Play-Bill, in the House of Peers. IV. C- C-r's Letter to the Craftsman, upon the Bill for restraining the Stage, printed in that Paper of July 2. V. The Year of Wonders. VI. The Man of Honour. Vii. A Letter from G. Kelly, &c. Viii. The Alchemyst of June 4. 1737. IX. Fog's journal, July 16. Printed in the Year, 1737, 48-63. Eighteenth Century Collections Online. Gale. Web. [last accessed 5 February 2015] Blackwood, William (1823): "Lectures on the Fine Arts", Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine 14.78 (July 1823), 18-26 Brontë, Charlotte (2006 [1849]): Shirley. Ed. Jessica Cox, Jessica. London: Penguin Lord Byron (2008): The Major Works. Ed. J.J. McGann. Oxford: Oxford UP Fielding, Henry (1731): The Welsh Opera: or, the Grey Mare the better Horse. As it is Acted at the New Theatre in the Hay-Market. Written by Scriblerus Secundus, Author of the Tragedy of Trag- edies. London. Eighteenth Century Collections Online. Gale. Web. [last accessed 5 February 2015] Hogarth, William; Trusler, John (1833): The works of William Hogarth, in a series of engravings: With descriptions, and a comment on their moral tendency, by John Trusler. To which are added, anecdotes of the author and his works. London: Jones Hone, William (1821): The political house that Jack built. London. Eighteenth Century Collections Online. Gale. Web. [last accessed 5 February 2015] Lamb, Charles (1812): "The Triumph of the Whale", The Examiner 220 (15 March 1812) Wolcott, John (1805): The Lousiad, by Peter Pindar. Paris: Parsons and Galignani

Secondary Sources Baker, James (1996): "The Royal Brat: Making Fun of George Augustus Frederick", in: Kremers, A.; Reich, E. (eds.): Loyal Subversion. Caricatures from the Personal Union between England and Hanover (1714-1837). Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 69-91 Broich, Ulrich (1990): The Eighteenth-Century Mock-Heroic Poem. Cambridge: Cambridge UP Carretta, Vincent (1990): George III and the Satirists from Hogarth to Byron. Athens: U of Georgia P Clayton, Timothy (2014): "Produktion und Vertrieb von Karikaturen in London um 1800", in: Vetter- Liebenow, G. (ed.): Königliches Theater! – Britische Karikaturen aus der Zeit der Personalunion und der Gegenwart. Dresden: Sandstein Verlag, 28-41 Donald, Diana (1996): The Age of Caricature: Satirical Prints in the Reign of George III. New Haven, CT: Yale UP George, M. Dorothy (1959): English Political Caricature to 1792: A Study of Opinion and Propa- ganda. Oxford: Oxford UP Goode, Mike (2011): "The Public and the Limits of Persuasion in the Age of Caricature", in: Porter- field, T. (ed.): The Efflorescence of Caricature, 1759-1838. Farnham: Ashgate, 117-136 Henke, Christoph (2014): Common Sense in Early Eighteenth Century British Literature and Culture. Berlin: De Gruyter Hunt, Tamara L. (2003): Defining John Bull: Political Caricature and National Identity in Late Geor- gian England. Aldershot: Ashgate Irvine, Valerie (2005): The King's Wife: George IV and Mrs Fitzherbert. London: Hambledon and London Janke, Karl (2014): "They're a Living Spectacle... Zerrbilder des Royalen", in: Vetter-Liebenow, G. (ed.): Königliches Theater! – Britische Karikaturen aus der Zeit der Personalunion und der Gegen- wart. Dresden: Sandstein Verlag, 10-27 Kantorowicz, Ernst H. (1998 [1957]): The King's Two Bodies: A Study in Mediaeval Political The- ology. Princeton, NJ: Princeton UP Kremser, Anorthe; Reich, Elisabeth (2014): Loyal Subversion. Caricatures from the Personal Union between England and Hannover. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht

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McCalman, Iain (1988): Radical Underworld: Prophets, Revolutionaries, and Pornographers in Lon- don 1795-1840. Cambridge: Cambridge UP Montrose, Louis (2006): The Subject of Elizabeth. Authority, Gender and Representation. Chicago: U of Chicago P Newman, Gerald; Brown, Leslie Ellen (1997): Britain in the Hanoverian Age, 1714-1837: An Ency- clopedia. New York: Garland O'Connell, Sheila (2014): "Attacks on the House of Hannover in Satirical Prints", in: Kremers, A.; Reich, E. (eds.): Loyal Subversion. Caricatures from the Personal Union between England and Hannover (1714-1837). Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 35-51 Oberstebrink, Christina (2005): Karikatur und Poetik: James Gillray 1759-1815. Berlin: Reimer --- (2011): "James Gillray, Caricaturist and Modern Artist avant la lettre", in: Todd Porterfield (ed.): The Efflorescence of Caricature, 1759-1838, Farnham: Ashgate, 159-174 Porterfield, Todd (ed., 2011): The Efflorescence of Caricature, 1759-1838. Farnham: Ashgate. Thomson, Peter (2006): The Cambridge Introduction to English Theatre 1660-1900. Cambridge: Cambridge UP Vaughan Kett, Anna (2014): "Without the Consumers of Slave Products There would be No Slaves. Quaker Woman, Antislavery Activism and Free-Labor Cotton Dress in the 1850s", in: Carey, B.; Plank, G.G. (eds.): Quakers and Abolition. Urbana, IL.: U of Illinois P Vetter-Liebenow, Gisela (2014): Königliches Theater! – Britische Karikaturen aus der Zeit der Perso- nalunion und der Gegenwart. Dresden: Sandstein Verlag Vogler, Richard A. (1979): The Graphic Works of George Cruikshank. Mineola: Dover Publications.

List of Figures Anon. (1801): "The Caricature Shop". Lewis Walpole Library, Farmington Anon. (1837): "The Festival of the Golden Rump". British Museum, Number Cc,3.173 Cruikshank, George (1819): "The Political House that Jack Built". Melton Prior Institut. Düsseldorf Gillray, James (1773): "The French Invasion; – or – John Bull, Bombarding the Bum-Boats". British Museum, Number AN139641001 --- (1792): "A Voluptuary under the Horrors of Digestion". Archiv der Wilhelm-Busch-Gesellschaft e. V. --- (1792): "Temperance enjoying a frugal meal". Archiv der Wilhelm-Busch-Gesellschaft e. V. --- (1803): "The King of Brobdingnag, and Gulliver". Archiv der Wilhelm-Busch-Gesellschaft e. V.

KATRIN BERNDT (BREMEN)

A Romance Subversion: Representations of Aristocratic Power in Thomas Holcroft's Anna St. Ives (1792)

Written in the midst of the French Revolution as a literary contribution to political debate in Georgian Britain, Anna St. Ives has been acknowledged as the "first full-blown revolutionary English novel" (Tompkins 1969, 300). The text was playwright and translator Thomas Holcroft's second foray into the genre, in which he combined different narrative traditions and forms in the attempt to promote Jacobin ideals. Proceeding from his belief that men and women had to become emancipated from an oppressive socio-economic system in order to act upon their innate virtues, which included "benevolence and [a] sense of justice" (Kelly 2004), Holcroft contended that aristocratic power presumptions only validated by hereditary rank were illegitimate. In Anna St. Ives, he promotes a meritocratic understanding of social and political leadership that would overcome prejudices based on rank, and liberate society from "artificial and false wants" so that every citizen would be "participating [in] the labour requisite to produce the necessaries of life, and all combining in one universal effort of mind, for the progress of knowledge, the destruction of error, and the spreading of eternal truth" (Holcroft 1970, 172). The text reflects the ambitions and self-conceptions of the ma- terially successful middle classes, whose increasing economic power in Georgian Brit- ain was translating into demands for adequate political representation.1 In line with the Enlightenment belief in improvement through education, Anna St. Ives endorses an egalitarian acknowledgement of personal worth, and introduces two main characters whose excellence as individuals derives from their understanding and their pursuit of the 'truth' rather than from an authority legitimized by hereditary rank. Holcroft's novel is also an early feminist text, which features "an ideal citizen […] not specifically sexed or classed" (Newman 2012, 122) who provides a political model that is "available to both men and women, the landed and the propertyless" (Wallace 2009, 85). In the late 18th century, the political establishment had become identified with corruption in electoral processes and with proprietarial boroughs (so-called 'rotten boroughs') that had either a very small, or a non-existing, electorate; such constituencies were often (mis)used by individual landowners who exerted political power for their own rather than for the interests of the public. Radical novels such as Anna St. Ives and its successors, William Godwin's Things as They Are; or, the Adventures of Caleb Wil- liams (1794) and Robert Bage's Hermsprong, or, Man As He Is Not (1796), were written to expose the intertwined structures of social privilege, economic wealth, and po-

1 "The first two campaigns for reform in the period came from the gentry and the City, not the un- propertied: they were waged against patronage and corruption, that is against a small oligarchy's effective monopoly of places in the public service. In the late 1760s wealthy Londoners and gentlemanly progressives combined forces in the pressure on Parliament for which John Wilkes was the figurehead; in the early 1780s a group of Yorkshire landowners led by Christopher Wyvill formed an association to campaign for an extension of the franchise" (Butler 1981, 13). 170 KATRIN BERNDT litical and moral corruption that rested upon the established power of the aristocracy. The flaws of Britain's parliamentary system were not a new subject in British fiction, and already had been addressed in mid-18th-century novels: Tobias Smollett, for example, criticized corruption and inherited electoral rights in The Adventures of Rod- erick Random (1748) and The Adventures of Peregrine Pickle (1751) (see Stewart 2010, 76-77). The era of "revolutionary enthusiasm" (Butler 1981, 94) that brought about the political novel in Britain had only a brief heyday between the outbreak of the French Revolution and the reign of terror under Robespierre that effectively stifled it.2 The demand for parliamentary reform, however, which was shared by radicals like Godwin, Holcroft, and Elizabeth Inchbald, and by moderate liberals like Maria Edge- worth, survived the damage that Jacobin excesses of violence had inflicted upon the reputation of reformist endeavours. With a focus on Thomas Holcroft's Anna St. Ives, this essay aims to demonstrate that radical fiction in Georgian Britain represented political power through both content and form.3 It argues that Holcroft's novel derives both its appeal and cogency from using popular features of the Romance, the literary predecessor of the novel and a genre strongly identified with noble heroes and heroines, fantastic entertainment, and court intrigue. Anna St. Ives features a number of Romance elements: themes such as love and adventure, and larger-than-life characters serve to attack aristocratic privileges through a critical evaluation of virtues and vices associated with the upper classes. In addition, heightened sentiments portray aristocratic values as outdated and morally corrupting. By adapting elements of the aristocratic Romance, Holcroft effectively subverts hereditary authority on the discursive level in addition to rejecting it in the narrative, and so vali- dates what he ultimately champions: the supremacy of rationality and reason. This strategy is intriguing since Romances rely on the very elements that political fiction would be expected to disregard: idealized characters and fanciful, i.e. improbable, situations and comportment. Holcroft himself was anxious to distinguish his novels from early- modern Romances and their late-18th-century equivalents, but he conceded similarities between the narrative traditions with regard to their ability to entertain and instruct. Ro- mances, he argued, do not have a plot, but they draw "the passion of love […] in the most hyperbolical manner", and show a "sameness of character, of incident, of language" and "one moral distributed through the endless pages of endless volumes" (Hol- croft 1780, v). The unity they display is derived from a uniformity of means, whereas the "legitimate novel" is distinguished by "unity of design" and therefore "a work much more difficult than the Romance, [which] justly deserves to be ranked with those dramatic pieces whose utility is generally allowed" (ibid., vii, vi, vii). The question whether the structural and thematic integration of Romance features in political novels would support or counteract the latter's didactic agenda has been de-

2 J.M.S. Tompkins summarizes the era of the political novel as follows: "It was under the impact of political events that English philosophic liberalism found utterance in the novel, and it was by the impact of political events that it was bludgeoned into silence. Setting aside Bage's earlier novels as a detached prelude, we may confine the whole development in about half-a-dozen years" (Tompkins 1969, 300). 3 Following Stuart Hall, representation is understood as a cultural practice that produces "meaning through language" and involves the embodiment of "concepts, ideas and emotions in a symbolic form which can be transmitted and meaningfully interpreted" (Hall 2003, 10).

A ROMANCE SUBVERSION 171 bated both among Holcroft and his contemporaries, and in present-day scholarship. In the age of revolutions, the Romance is often understood as signifying "cultural elements from which the [new 18th-century] hegemony – Whig, Protestant, middle class, masculine – progressively strove to differentiate itself" (Duncan 1998, 1113). After all, it was the novel that emerged and became established as the literary form with the epistemological claim to represent modern society and the focus on reason, education, and the enlightened individual. The 18th-century Romance, therefore, is most often a ''Gothic Romance'', associated with the supernatural, with inexplicable incidents, and a feminine countertradition of desire and fantasy.4 Georgian literary historian Clara Reeve praised the novel's credibility and familiarity, which, combined with the outlet for sympathetic identification it provided, accounted for the genre's appeal.5 However, this familiarity also had the potential to invite readers' sympathy with role models of dubious moral character, whereas Romances, in spite of telling fantastic tales in "lofty and elevated" (Reeve 1785, 111) language, encouraged virtuous behaviour because they presented idealized heroines and heroes. In modern criticism, this potential of Romances has long been neglected by scholars who presume that the factual representation of life is more likely to stimulate reasonable and rational conduct than the moral incorruptibility of larger-than-life characters. Ian Duncan correlates the "preference [of the Romance] for action over character" with the genre's endorsement of "an ethos determined by desire, wish-fulfillment, or escapism", which had "the stigma of a writing adrift from religious truth and scientific fact alike; in the age of an expanding reading public and the proliferation of religious and political dissent, the term acquired a disciplinary, censorious charge" (Duncan 1998, 1113, 1114). Whether the Romance was praised or condemned for its elevation of the ostensibly fictitious, it has provided the novel with a well of subversive themes and motifs that contributed to its diversification. Novel and Romance tend to serve as one another's reference model; their relation has been more of a mutually cultivating rather than an- tithetical nature, and there can be no doubt that Romance elements have been an important influence on political fiction of the late 18th century. In fact, radical novels are a case in point for the argument that the difference between Romance and novel has been ideologically inspired rather than ontologically founded. Emma Clery points out that women writers in particular favoured the Romance because, "by its very inclusion of the marvellous or the apparently marvellous, [it] can reveal the unpleasant truth about real life in a way impossible in the referential narratives of historians or realist novelists" (Clery 1996, 129). Fredric Jameson has conceptualized this notion when he argues that Romances surface at moments of historical transition, when they serve to imagine fictional possibilities – often in the form of nostalgic or utopian harmony – for

4 During the Regency period, Sir Walter Scott was to invest "modern romance with the authority of a national tradition" which took into account both "senses of romance as […] a subjective state of the imagination and as the literary form of a premodern culture" (Duncan 1998, 1114). 5 "The Novel is a picture of real life and manners, and of the times in which it is written [... It] gives a familiar relation of such things, as pass every day before our eyes, such as may happen to our friend, or to ourselves; and the perfection of it, is to represent every scene, in so easy and natural a manner, and to make them appear so probable, as to deceive us into a persuasion (at least while we are reading) that all is real, until we are affected by the joys or distresses, of the persons in the story, as if they were our own" (Reeve 1785, 111).

172 KATRIN BERNDT the resolution of factual conflicts.6 And as Arnold A. Markley more recently has shown, many radical writers had a preference for heightened sensibility in their fictional endeavours to promote reformist values: they presented characters as heroes "who could balance a deep sense of compassion with reason and cling to [their] 'new philosophical' values in the face of a nation struggling to maintain its age-old class hierarchy" (Markley 2009, 55). In his writing, Thomas Holcroft sought to advance "a new world of moral, social, and political freedom", a "revolutionary society" in which the values of the French Revolu- tion were realized (Baine 1965, 4). The self-educated son of a London shoe-maker, he established himself as a successful playwright of romantic comedies and as a translator of German and French plays. His first novel, which is believed to be based on autobiographical experience, was Alwyn, or, The Gentleman Comedian (1780); written in epistolary mode, it narrates comical scenes from the life of a wandering player (see Baine 1965, 13). Eleven years later, Holcroft turned to the genre again with the intention to address a larger audience than that which his plays and philosophical tracts would have reached. He considered novels to be a suitable means for political education, and they had the additional benefit of not being subjected to the Licensing Act.7 Like his friend William Godwin, Holcroft believed that "the best means of initiating reform lay in the conversion of the individual reader" (Markley 2009, 5), whom he hoped to convince with the radical virtuousness of the main characters. Anna St. Ives and Frank Henley represent the introduction of "the republican New Man […] and the Wollstonecraftian New Woman" (Verhoeven 2007, vii) to the public discourse of Georgian Britain. In her own review of the novel, Mary Wollstonecraft criticized its "improbabilities" but grudgingly accepted that some readers might "catch […] a spice of romance [… and] affectation" since "truth and many just opinions are so strongly recommended [by the text that they] will not fail to leave some seeds of thoughts in their minds" (Wollstonecraft 1989, 439). Several late-18th-century political novels advanced philosophical liberalism while relying on witty dialogues, fast action, and an incongruity of content and style that critics claimed was thwarting their meritocratic political message that a man's personal integrity was more essential than his wealth and status (see Meyer Spacks 2006, 240). Form and content apparently convey different meanings here, in an attempt to sell radical views with the help of, in Patricia Meyer Spacks's words, "the sugarcoating of romance" (ibid., 241). Building on Fredric Jameson's argument, Spacks describes political fiction of the late eighteenth century [as tending] more towards the visionary than the realistic. [… I]t typically dwells either, like Anna St. Ives, on possibilities of an idealized future condition or, like [William Godwin's] Caleb Williams, on grotesquely imagined versions – satiric visions – of the immediate human plight. The narrator's eye often focuses less sharply on

6 "As for romance, it would seem that its ultimate condition of figuration, on which the other pre- conditions we have already mentioned are dependent – the category of worldness, the ideol- ogeme of good and evil felt as magical forces, a salvational historicity – is to be found in a transitional moment in which two distinct modes of production, or moments of socioeconomic development, coexist. Their antagonism is not yet articulated in terms of the struggle of social classes, so that its resolution can be projected in the form of a nostalgic (or less often, a Uto- pian) harmony" (Jameson 2002, 135). 7 Passed in 1737, the Theatrical Licensing Act subjected all plays to censorship and approval by the Lord Chamberlain.

A ROMANCE SUBVERSION 173

the here and now than on the conceivable earthly life to come. Holcroft's plot inventions – his version of the here and now – eschew probability for the sake of significance (ibid., 237). This "idealized future condition" conceived in Holcroft's novel debunks hereditary power structures as inherently corrupt by presenting upper-class characters whose virtuousness is not noble, but whose vices are aristocratic. The author's reliance on structural elements with which his readers would be well familiar earned his protagonist the title of "a sans-culotte Clarissa" (Kelly 1976, 17). The comparison with Richardson's tragic heroine however does little credit to Anna's charming stubbornness, which first conjures up, and then vanquishes all threats to her virtue. An epistolary novel, Anna St. Ives is written in popular 18th-century narrative mode, and features the equally well-established plot of the love triangle. The eponymous protagonist, the beautiful and educated Anna St. Ives, daughter of a baronet, is devoted to Jacobin ideals and in love with Frank Henley, who is her moral and intellectual equal but social inferior, for he is the son of her father's steward. Frank returns her love, yet Anna's father wants her to marry the well-born Coke Clifton who, in spite of his rakish past, also falls for her.8 Anna accepts Clifton's proposal because she feels obliged to fulfil the expectations of her family. In addition to these all-too familiar story elements, the novel surprises with a number of "unexpected twists" (Meyer Spacks 1990, 177) and, for an 18th-century novel, with a heroine who displays an independent mind and forthright conduct. The story combines Romance elements with philosophical debate, for Anna is determined to marry Clifton only in order to reform him – proceeding from the belief that a man with his human potential must be won for the egalitarian cause in order to do good in society. If Anna would have been content with implementing her plan after the wedding, she might even have been successful. However, Holcroft altered the Romance plot element of a virtuous damsel in distress so as to make narrative space not only for the discussion of Jacobin ideals, but for their enactment in the story through the female protagonist. As a dutiful daughter, Anna turns down Frank Henley's proposal and accepts Coke Clifton's; and as an enlightened advocate of the liberating power of truth, she acknowledges her love for Frank, kisses him, and persuades him to assist her in her endeavour to improve Clifton's character.9 Frank, grateful for the opportunity to translate his passions into reasonable and honourable action, agrees to help Anna even though he doubts the success of her conversion project. In her eagerness to set an example for Clifton of the virtue of honesty, Anna not only informs him about her and Frank's plan to convert him, but also reveals that she actually loves Frank, the man whom Clifton has by then recognized to be his rival. Moreover, Anna confesses that she has kissed Frank. It does not come as a surprise to the reader that Clifton does not react well to such news: in fact, he becomes increasingly mad with anger and jealousy,

8 The character Coke Clifton is given an aristocratic distinction. His mother holds the courtesy title of "the Honourable Mrs. Clifton" (Holcroft 1970, 56), which marks her as the daughter of a viscount or baron who married a man whose rank does not supersede her courtesy title, for example the son of a viscount, baron, or baronet; the younger son of an earl; or a commoner. 9 According to Katherine Binhammer, the numerous evocations of truth in the novel represent an "Enlightenment battle cry" that "designates both the truth of sexual character (who is and is not the sexual villain) and the political truth (the democratic critique of the prejudices of ancient custom and the primacy of Jacobin reason)" (Binhammer 1999, 209).

174 KATRIN BERNDT and plans to revenge himself on Anna and Frank. He pretends to accept their scheme only to demand, once Anna believes him reformed, his conjugal rights before their wedding – arguing that legal ceremonies cannot make them any more husband and wife than they already are on the basis of shared principles and reciprocal sympathies (see Holcroft 1970, 326). Confronted with such a tangible application of William Godwin's demand for the "abolition of marriage" for the sake of a more sensible "commerce of the sexes", which in a perfect society would be "regulated by the dic- tates of reason and duty" (Godwin 1793, 382) alone, Anna breaks their engagement and turns to Frank. Clifton, who becomes more and more unstable, plans to rape Anna, kidnaps both her and Frank, and locks them up in different houses. But Anna manages to escape – climbing over walls in the attempt – and she reaches Frank just in time both to prevent his murder and to create a situation in which Clifton can finally suc- cumb to their superior value system: after renouncing his violent passions and vicious desires, he joins the company of Anna and Frank to pursue their common purposes of virtue, truth, reason, and equality. The portrayal of aristocratic characters and conventions in the novel relies on standards of the Romance genre that are subverted to advance meritocratic values. The sweetening effect of the love story pursues a very political agenda, for it promotes the superiority of reason with the help of heightened sentiments such as romantic yearning, stifled desires, and passionate outbursts. Holcroft uses Romance conventions because of their ability to captivate the reader, but he changes their implications. In spite of the above-mentioned popularity of sentimental strategies in radical fiction, such deviations from realism did not meet unanimous praise. Katherine Binhammer has shown that Godwin disapproved of the novel's presentation of his views on extramari- tal intercourse, for he disliked the interaction between the basic plot techniques of sentimental literature (attempted rape, madhouse confinement, tales of servants' misfortune, parental conflict) and his own philosophy. […] The only answer provided by the novel [to Clifton's selfish resort to Godwinian thinking] is that when truth is used by libertines for seduction, it is base and vile (Binhammer 1999, 212, 219). Irrespective of whether the four-times-married Holcroft simply did not share his friend's opinions on the institution, or whether he was "more politically pragmatic than Godwin and used the public's expectations about marriage to promote his political agenda" (ibid., 220), his heroine has no problems to understand her admirer's true intentions. Holcroft has often been criticized for his overt didacticism, yet Anna's immediate renunciation of her conversion plans emphasizes that the author considered mere factual lecturing on radical philosophy as unrewarding. Anna is not the damsel in distress of sentimental Romance, and she does not shy away from realizing her radical principles. Instead, she rejects the vicious manipulation to which Clifton has subjected her: "seduction would have been a petty injury, or rather a blessing, compared to this master evil!" (Holcroft 1970, 332). Holcroft employs Clifton's proposal of marital pleasures before the vows to reverse what has become known as the anti-Jacobin seduction plot.10 In Anna St. Ives, the heroine sees through the seduction ploy, prevents

10 "In the representational wars surrounding the Revolution, anti-Jacobins frequently accused radicals of politically seducing the nation the way the libertine seduces the maiden: corrupting the innocent nation and leading it down the path to ruin" (Binhammer 1999, 208).

A ROMANCE SUBVERSION 175 her own rape, and comes to realize that marriage is not the solution to social prejudice, injustice, and inequality: I have been guilty of a great error. The reformation of man or woman by projects of marriage is a mistaken a [sic] pernicious attempt. Instead of being an act of morality, I am persuaded it is an act of vice. Let us never cease our endeavours to reform the licentious and the depraved, but let us not marry them. (ibid.) Another example for Holcroft's alteration of Romance conventions in a way that undermines their hereditary significance is his use of plot. He combines two familiar plot structures, the love triangle and the quest – Anna's attempt to reform Clifton – to attack rather than substantiate what would have been considered aristocratic virtues in a Romance. The text goes to considerable lengths to denounce chivalry, female chastity as a virtue, and social hierarchies based on birth rather than character. It also condemns misanthropy and revenge, popular themes of Gothic Romances in the late 18th century, and it defends the new image of woman introduced by Holcroft's friend Mary Wollstonecraft (see Kelly 1976, 116). His narrative also borrows from the sentimental novel insofar as it seeks to stimulate compassion and approves of benevolence. But where the latter genre is often repetitive, self-contained, and tends to manipulate its readers in terms of soliciting emotional response rather than political reform (see Meyer Spacks 2006, 129), Anna St. Ives rejects the conservative comfort of charity. The moral values of the upper class, or so the novel insists, are unreasonable and haz- ardous to the progress of humanity. In this way, the novel seeks to undermine hereditary power positions by denouncing their principles of worth and merit. It demonstrates the appeal and superiority of republican values when it portrays members of the aristocracy as victims of their own class conventions that need, appropriately enough, to see reason. The majority of the novel's characters belong to the upper class in order to signify that want of enlightened instruction is not restricted to the untitled. Among Sir Arthur St. Ives and his family, including his children Anna and Edward, and Coke Clifton and his sister Louisa, who is Anna's closest friend and correspondent, only the two young women support a meritocratic understanding of value from the outset of the story. The occupations and concerns of the aristocratic characters illustrate the extent of hereditary power as well as its limits: the novel makes a point not only never to endorse any kind of authority derived from birth, but also to highlight the impediment a noble background presents to the development of a person's rational and virtuous faculties. An example for the potentially harmful character of outdated aristocratic codes of behaviour represents the subplot around Anna's brother, who becomes addicted to gambling, a common vice among gentlemen, and amasses considerable debts. When the gambler who tricked Edward into spending demands either his money or satisfaction in a duel, it is the reasonable Frank who suspects that the young man was framed, and who convinces Edward that his honour would not suffer when he delays the duel until the true circumstances of the affair have been uncovered (see Holcroft 1970, 226-228). The episode characterizes two "social practices" of the upper class as "irresponsible" and "destructive […]: an unbridled devotion to gambling and the persistence of duelling despite laws prohibiting the practice" (Markley 2009, 21). In addition, it demonstrates the vulnerability of young aristocrats in particular whose misguided – i.e. outdated and unenlightened – concept of honour makes them easy prey to professional

176 KATRIN BERNDT swindlers.11 Holcroft resorts to another popular trope of 18th-century literature here, which was well-established by the time he wrote his radical fiction. As Oliver Lindner has shown, the practice of duelling represented the problematic legacy of hereditary concepts of law, and the violent dimension of aristocratic conventions such as chivalry, already in early 18th-century novels such as Daniel Defoe's Colonel Jack (1722), which stands at the beginning of "a period that witnessed the demise of traditional, aristocratic notions of male honour in favour of the values of the emerging bourgeois society" (Lindner 2010, 237-238). In Holcroft's novel, the rejection of aristocratic codes of honour is reinforced when Frank's own reputation is at stake. After Clifton sees Frank leaving Anna's room, he becomes jealous, slaps his rival, and then expects to be challenged to a duel. Frank, however, politely informs him that he has no such intention, because "[n]o man can be degraded by another; it must be his own act; and you have degraded yourself, not me" (Holcroft 1970, 141). The rational hero of a radical novel, Frank would rather be called a coward than act against his principles.12 Scenes such as this confrontation portray Coke Clifton as another victim of upper-class conventions, for his past and present as a rake and man of leisure have turned him into an emotionally unstable and, according to the enlightened emphasis on education and improvement, an idle member of society. Holcroft's derogatory judgment of upper- class men also features in his play Love's Frailties (1794), which, according to Rodney Baine, was "hissed off the stage" by the "aristocratic and bourgeois audiences of Lon- don […] for the sentence 'I was bred to the most useless, and often the most worthless, of all professions; that of a gentleman'" (Holcroft 1794, 66; as qtd. by Baine 1965, 1). Baine's claim that bourgeois men felt attacked by the degradation of the 'gentleman' as well illustrates the change in meaning and affiliation of a status increasingly defined not (only) by birth and ownership of land, but also by education, manner, and conduct. Anna St. Ives points towards this transformation when, in line with its didactic agenda and discursive strategy, it does not stop at characterizing gentlemen as not at all virtuous, but endows the rank with a new distinction. The republican hero Frank Henley does not inherit, but rather earns the title 'gentleman' by conforming to the egalitarian ideal of a disinterested, honest, and truthful character. The political concern with individual merit is also discussed in the correspondence of Anna and Louisa, who are in agreement that "age or station have no claim upon superiority, only truth and reason have" (Holcroft 1970, 60). And eventually, Sir Arthur himself acknowledges Frank to be a "gentleman by nature" (ibid., 303), indicating his acceptance of his daughter's value system. With Sir Arthur, the text satirizes the landed gentry's obsession with improvement. The baronet discusses the development of his grounds and estate in endless letters with his steward Abimelech Henley, who – in contrast to his virtuous son – uses every op-

11 For the changing conceptions of honour in 18th-century England see Dabhoiwala 1996, 201- 213. 12 J.M.S. Tompkins notes that Frank was the "first hero to bear the blow and the stigma for conscience’ [sic] sake […], and he is soon able to re-establish himself by saving his enemy from drowning, though, to do Holcroft justice, it is not his gallant plunge that demands admiration so much as his perseverance in the Royal Humane Society's methods of life-saving" (Tompkins 1969, 79).

A ROMANCE SUBVERSION 177 portunity to exploit his position. Henley holds considerable power over the estate's income and spending, but he remains excluded from the political rights the upper class enjoys (see Beckell 1990, 56-58). Sir Arthur's rank, which has him believe that he "commands unwavering loyalty", makes him "blind to the machinations" of his cunning servant, who "schemes to dispossess [the baronet] of the land upon which his authority depends" (Newman 2012, 123). What is more, whenever he talks to Frank, "a man so young and so inferior to himself" (Holcroft 1970, 68), or to his daughter, Sir Arthur also suffers defeat when he, an experienced Member of Parliament, claims the authority to dominate the debate. In yet another representation of meritocratic ideology, his steward's son ventures to revolutionise Sir Arthur's political views when he claims that there is no "superiority, of man over man, except that which genius and virtue gave" (ibid., 73). Sir Arthur heartily disagrees with such "doctrine" only to find Frank's radical idealism portraying him, the "oppressor", as the one who is trapped by the hegemony from which he derived his superior status. Frank is convinced that members of the aristocracy "themselves feel [their claim to power] to be unjust, but [that] they think it dishonourable to relinquish" (ibid.) their privileges. Anna's father eventually sheds this fear, and admits he has seen excellent men of lower birth establish themselves and make "their way to the highest honours."13 It is, as the narrative suggests not without irony, Sir Arthur himself who, after all his endeavours to enhance his property, undergoes improvement. The conversion of aristocratic characters such as Coke Clifton and Sir Arthur is contrary to Romance standards, which consider character qualities as inherent, and antagonists like Clifton as both unworthy and incapable of reform. Anna St. Ives, however, was written to translate into fiction the philosophy of radical 18th-century thinkers such as Mary Wollstonecraft and William Godwin.14 It demands reform rather than punishment. Rea- son and virtue, after all, "must conquer error" (Kelly 1976, 129), whereas "prejudice, ignorance, and aristocratic vice" (Christian 1972, 494) must be overcome. As the discussion of the portrayal of upper-class characters has shown, the novel con- fronts aristocratic values and conventions with republican and egalitarian ideals in order to challenge hereditary power presumptions. It does not, however, reject the idea of a social and political elite based on individual merit. Set in an aristocratic milieu, Anna St. Ives suggests an understanding of status that depends on nobility of character – a conception that recalls the Greek definition of αριστοκρατία, which means literally, "the government of a state by its best citizens" (OED online, 2014). Holcroft believed in excellence and in human perfectibility, and his use of Romance features allowed him to introduce larger-than-life characters that embody his ideals of superior virtue and reason. He was by no means the only writer who argued in favour of a distinction between hereditary rank and nobility of mind: in her novel The Errors of In- nocence (1786), Harriet Lee also considered aristocratic status as noble only insofar as

13 "I do not think you quite so much in the wrong as I used to do; and perhaps there is something in what you say. Many men of low fortunes have made their way to the highest honours; and for what I know he may do the same" (Holcroft 1970, 345). 14 Although Anna St. Ives was published a few months before Enquiry Concerning Political Jus- tice (1793), Godwin's work is considered to be "the most complete and systematic commentary available for the explication of obscure points in the novel, for Holcroft and Godwin were at the time in almost complete agreement on most of the issues" (Baine 1965, 44).

178 KATRIN BERNDT it entailed an obligation to pursue esteem and worth: "A title indeed! may it prove the incitement to virtue, since it is not its reward" (Lee 1786, 166). Taking up Holcroft's radically egalitarian understanding of 'aristocracy', a final consideration will demonstrate how the superiority of virtue in the novel's main characters both sugar-coats and conveys the author's philosophy. Since Anna and Frank are drawn as paragons of the central concern of the novel (the superiority of reason over passion), scholars like Virgil Stallbaumer criticize the depiction of their love as unconvincing because it is "completely rationalized [… and] not passion, but a thing of the mind [that] springs from mutual idealism and faith in the supremacy of the intellect" (Stallbaumer 1948, 205). Their love is indeed delineated in rational terminology, and defended on the basis of their common egalitarian goals. It is not, however, occasioned by Jacobin ideology, and Holcroft uses reason to justify passion just as much as passion makes reason convincing. His adoption of the heightened sentiments of Romance gives the novel what J.M.S. Tompkins identified as its "peculiar sweetness" (Tompkins 1969, 302), which still engages the interest of readers since it accounts for an appeal that reaches beyond the novel's historical context and political agenda. This "sweetness" becomes tangible in Anna and Frank's struggle to reconcile their love and their devotion to egalitarian reform. For example, Frank is often in danger of losing sight of his rational virtues whenever he thinks of Anna: he tries to use his reason to come to terms with his passion, and to force his affections into a socially beneficial framework when he promises to assist Anna in her scheme to convert Clifton. Such virtuousness, however, renders him vulnerable rather than reasonable, for his motives are not all rational: Yet let me do her justice. Mistaken though I am sure she is, the motives of her conduct are so pure that even mistake itself is lovely in her; and assumes all the energy, all the dignity of virtue. Oh what a soul is hers! Her own passions, the passions of others, when she acts and speaks, are all in subjection to principle. Yes, Oliver, of one thing at least she has convinced me: she has taught me, or rather made me feel, how poor a thing it is to be the slave of desire. (Holcroft 1970, 139) Painfully aware that Anna's project is "fatal to my hopes", Frank agrees to help her in spite of his desperation because he honours her higher morality – and to prove that "my adoration shall be worthy of herself, and not degrading to me" (ibid., 100, 139). Anna's account of her rejection of Frank's proposal also does not lack passion, and it constantly oscillates between references to their common ideals and confessions of a love that cannot be conquered, as it ought. Anna leaves no doubt that were it not for her father's wishes, she would be more than willing to marry Frank, an indication that her improvement scheme is a pretext for spending time with Frank as much as an honest attempt to convert Clifton: Do not, Frank, for the love of truth and justice do not think me insensible of your excellence, deaf to your virtues, or blind to mind and merit which I never yet saw equalled! – think not it is pride, or base insensibility of your worth! Where is the day in which that worth has not increased upon me? […] Oh that I had prayers potent enough to draw down blessings on you! – Love you? – Yes! – The very idea bursts into passion. […] Why should you doubt of all the affection which virtue can bestow? Do you not deserve it? [… I l]ove you in the manner you could wish I must not, dare not, ought not: but, as I ought, I love you infinitely! Ay, dear, dear Frank, as I ought, infinitely! (ibid., 133, 134, 135) While Stallbaumer describes the subsequent kiss between Anna and Frank as "a cold kiss born of reason" (Stallbaumer 1948, 205), Patricia Meyer Spacks reads Anna's

A ROMANCE SUBVERSION 179 overflowing emotions at this moment as "a sexualized, emotionalized transformation of intellect [which implies] a revolutionary conception of human psychology not yet stated in the late 18th century" (Meyer Spacks 1990, 185). The engaging result of this "transformation of intellect" reflects Thomas Holcroft's belief that heightened sentiments and rational virtue have to justify and enhance one another, that political fiction must not educate alone, but should produce in readers "that animation which should make us happy in ourselves and useful to others" (Holcroft 1793, 338; as qtd. in Forster 2012, 178). Anna's description of the kiss illustrates this approach, for she exerts all her strength of mind to convince her friend Louisa – and herself – that her action merely expressed her admiration of Frank's immaculate virtuousness: Louisa! – Blame me if thou wilt – But I kissed him! – The chastity of my thoughts defied mis- construction, and the purity of the will sanctified the extravagance of the act. A daring enthusiasm seized me. I beheld his passions struggling to attain the very pinnacle of excellence. I wished to confirm the noble emulation, to convince him how different the pure love of mind might be from the meaner love of passion, and I kissed him! I find my affections, my sensibilities, peculiarly liable to these strong sallies. Perhaps all minds of a certain texture are subject to such rapid and almost resistless emotions; and whether they ought to be encouraged or counteracted I have not yet discovered. But the circumstance, unexpected and strange as it was, suffered no wrong interpretation in the dignified soul of Frank. With all the ardour of affection, but chastened by every token of delicacy, he clasped me in his arms, returned my kiss, then sunk down on one knee, and exclaimed – 'Now let me die!' (Holcroft 1970, 135-136) Holcroft uses the epistolary form to great effect: in both their letters to their friends, Anna and Frank's struggle to maintain the chastity of their conduct is wonderfully at odds with their actual yearning, which is rendered in Romance terms such as noble, daring, passionate. Tompkins points out that in the later 1780s, "a more liberal spirit moves through the English fiction, heartening the sinners and unsettling the rigid pose of the exemplary heroine", managing to combine "independence with […] delicacy, and […] warmth with prudence" (Tompkins 1969, 170). This combination of virtue and emotional warmth also secures Clifton's ultimate redemption, for only when his sister – Anna's friend Louisa – embraces him after he has renounced his sins is he willing to join their virtuous company. In summary, Holcroft adapts Romance features such as heightened sensibilities and larger-than-life characters in order to confront aristocratic privilege, to denounce upper-class values, and to create idealized visions of a meritocratic society. Aristocrat- ic power is represented here through elements of the very genre that used to narrate the quests of noble heroes, and that becomes transformed to advance the political and social changes demanded by Jacobinism. Ultimately, Anna St Ives deploys aristocratic form to endorse anti-aristocratic thought: egalitarian political participation for the enlightened, emancipated individual in a meritocratic society.

References Primary Sources Holcroft, Thomas (1794): Love's Frailties. London: Shepperson and Reynolds --- (1970 [1792]): Anna St. Ives. Ed. Peter Faulkner. London: Oxford UP Lee, Harriet (1786): The Errors of Innocence. 4 vols. London: G.G.J. and J. Robinson

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Secondary Sources Baine, Rodney (1965): Thomas Holcroft and the Revolutionary Novel. Athens: U of Georgia P Beckell, John (1990): "Estate management in eighteenth-century England: the Lowther-Spedding relationship in Cumberland", in: Chartres, John; Hey, David (eds.): English Rural Society, 1500-1800: Essays in Honour of Joan Thirsk. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 55-72 Binhammer, Katherine (1999): "The Political Novel and the Seduction Plot: Thomas Holcroft's Anna St. Ives", Eighteenth-Century Fiction 11.2, 205-222 Butler, Marilyn (1981): Romantics, Rebels, and Reactionaries. English Literature and Its Background 1760-1830. Oxford: Oxford UP Christian, William (1972): "Review Anna St. Ives", Eighteenth-Century Studies 5.3, 493-495 Clery, Emma (1996): The Rise of Supernatural Fiction, 1762-1800. Cambridge: Cambridge UP Dabhoiwala, Faramerz (1996): "The Construction of Honour, Reputation and Status in Late Seven- teenth- and Early Eighteenth-Century England", in: The Royal Historical Society Transactions. Sixth Series, Vol. 6. Cambridge: Royal Historical Society, 201-213 Duncan, Ian (1998): "Romance", in: Schellinger, Paul (ed.): Encyclopedia of the Novel. Vol. 2. Chi- cago: Fitzroy Dearborn Publishers, 1113-1117 Forster, Antonia (2012): "Thomas Holcroft and Reviewing Traditions", in: Wallace, Miriam L.; Markley, A.A. (eds.): Re-Viewing Thomas Holcroft, 1745-1809. Farnham: Ashgate, 167-180 Godwin, William (1793): An Enquiry Concerning Political Justice. Vol. II. Dublin: Luke White Hall, Stuart (2003): "Introduction", in: Hall, Stuart (ed.): Representation. Cultural Representations and Signifying Practices. Milton Keynes: The Open University, 1-11 Holcroft, Thomas (1780): "Preface", in Holcroft, Thomas: Alwyn: or the gentleman comedian. Vol. I. London: Fielding and Walker, i-viii Jameson, Fredric (2002 [1981]): The Political Unconscious. Abingdon: Routledge Kelly, Gary (1976): The English Jacobin Novel 1780-1805. Oxford: Clarendon Press --- (2004): "Holcroft, Thomas (1745–1809)", Oxford Dictionary of National Biography. Oxford: Ox- ford UP. Web. [last accessed 12 Feb- ruary 2015] Kinneging, A. A. M. (1997): Aristocracy, Antiquity, and History: An Essay on Classicism in Political Thought. New Brunswick: Transaction Publishers Lindner, Oliver (2010): 'Matters of Blood': Defoe and the Cultures of Violence. Heidelberg: Winter Lynch, Deirdre Shauna (2005). "Novels in the World of Moving Goods", in: Wall, Cynthia (ed.): A Con- cise Companion to the Restoration and Eighteenth Century. Malden, Mass.: Blackwell, 121-143 Markley, Arnold A. (2009): Conversion and Reform in the British Novel in the 1790s. New York: Palgrave Meyer Spacks, Patricia (1990): Desire and Truth. Functions of Plot in Eighteenth-Century English Novels. Chicago: U of Chicago P --- (2006): Novel Beginnings. Experiments in Eighteenth-Century English Fiction. New Haven: Yale UP Newman, Ian (2012): "Language and Landscape in Thomas Holcroft's Anna St. Ives", in: Wallace, Miriam L.; Markley, A.A. (eds.): Re-Viewing Thomas Holcroft, 1745-1809. Farnham: Ashgate, 121-131 Oxford English Dictionary Online (2014): "aristocracy, n.", Oxford UP. Web. [last accessed 18 September 2014] Reeve, Clara (1785): The Progress of Romance. Vol. I. Colchester: M. Keymer Stallbaumer, Virgil R. (1948): "Thomas Holcroft as a Novelist", ELH 15.3, 194-218 Stewart, Carol (2010): The Eighteenth-Century Novel and the Secularization of Ethics. Farnham: Ash- gate Tompkins, J.M.S. (1969 [1932]): The Popular Novel in England 1770-1800. London: Methuen Verhoeven, W.M. (2007): "Introduction", in: Verhoeven, W.M. (ed.): Anna St. Ives. London: Picker- ing & Chatto, vii-xxv Wallace, Miriam L. (2009): Revolutionary Subjects in the English "Jacobin" Novel 1790-1805. Lewisburg, PA: Bucknell UP Wollstonecraft, Mary (1989 [1792]): "Article XXXVII. Anna St. Ives. A Novel", in: Todd, Janet; Butler, Marilyn (eds.): The Works of Mary Wollstonecraft. Vol. 7. London: William Pickering, 439-441

Section 3

Enlightenment Fictions – Fictions of Enlightenment

Chair:

Sabine Volk-Birke

SABINE VOLK-BIRKE (HALLE-WITTENBERG)

Enlightenment Fictions – Fictions of Enlightenment: Introduction

In the context of English literary and cultural studies, an emphasis on the term "enlightenment" instead of "the long 18th century", 'old' or 'new', may be in need of a justification. In the context of German, French or Italian 18th-century studies, this vindication is much less necessary. In these disciplines, the question as to how far the 18th century is affected, in one way or another, by enlightenment philosophy provides an important angle from which to view the period (see Heinz Thoma (ed.), Handbuch Europäische Aufklärung. Begriffe, Konzepte, Wirkung (2015)). The centrality of enlightenment philosophy is all the more relevant as the modern world is regarded as being conceived from, if not born by, enlightenment thought and achievement. Wheth- er this should be counted as a blessing or a curse is a question which will be answered differently, depending on one's ideological stance, political affiliation, or even religious conviction. Of course, it is accepted by now that individual countries have their own specific en- lightenments, and that the French concept, based on the works of the philosophes, cannot be applied wholesale to other European nations, even if you want to write an 18th- century history of ideas. Jonathan Israel's thesis of a radical (and thus true) and a moderate (and thus second rate) enlightenment, with Spinoza's secularisation as its hero (see Radical Enlightenment. Philosophy and the Making of Modernity 1650-1750, 2001), though widely discussed, has provoked considerable controversy and not a little dissent. Clifford Siskin and Robert Warner took a very different perspective in their essay collection This is Enlightenment (2010) when they argued that enlightenment is an event, or a series of events, taking place between 1730 and 1780, with mediation as its common ground and social and institutional change as its result. One of the latest initiatives to come to terms with the legacy of the enlightenment is the Re-enlightenment project, initiated by Clifford Siskin in 2010: a global network of scholars and institutions who aim to re-assess and utilize the enlightenment inheritance, examining how "new technologies and research tools are transforming our understanding of what the Enlightenment was and how it worked" (see http://www.reenlightenment.org/ reenlightenment-project). Here enlightenment, far from being a pool of revolutionary ideas, is seen primarily as a set of useful tools, networks, and technologies. In Germa- ny, the perception of the period designated by the term Aufklärung is often more focused on ideas and institutions, but also takes the influence of its central philosophical tenets and literary fiction into account. In view of the wealth of detailed and complex research on the enlightenment, it has become difficult to find a unifying definition of the epoch. In The Enlightenment. A Genealogy (2010) Dan Edelstein suggested that the most significant feature of enlightenment is a "historical narrative" that defines the present in a new way as an advance, or an improvement on the past. Thus it is not so much what the enlightenment was, or helped to create, but rather the way in which it defined and positioned itself in a histor- 184 SABINE VOLK-BIRKE ical context that is fashioned into a new master narrative of the 18th century. The German Society for Eighteenth Century Studies (DGEJ) has chosen the subject of enlightenment narratives for its 2015 annual conference, seeking to explore the ways in which e.g. history, reason, tradition, and belief are conceptualized and transmitted through narratives, but also to question what kinds of narrative forms and techniques are developed to augment understanding, to captivate readers, and not least to create the epoch through a master narrative. In this context, it seems appropriate to choose samples of research performed currently by six German scholars and one American scholar, in order to take stock of approaches to the 18th century as the period of the enlightenment. Against the background of theories that attempt to define what constitutes the enlightenment they return to individual authors, narratives, practices and critical positions, and reexamine the particular case in order to test the general statement. All the papers in this session bear witness to attempts at grasping the significance and the specificity of enlightenment narratives. On the one hand, the first part of the title of our panel, enlightenment narratives, leads us to two questions: what kinds of narrative are innovative in the 18th century, and in what manner does contemporary fiction picture the 18th century as the period of enlightenment. The second part of the title, fictions of enlightenment, refers to the way in which we construct the period in and through contemporary philosophical or historical narratives: what do we consider, from our point of view, as the groundbreaking features and the historical development of the period called "enlightenment", and how can we tell its story. The plenary speaker John Richetti taps into the extensive resources of 18th-century poetry addressing kingship in general and the Hanoverian Georges in particular. His paper explores the wide range of panegyric and satire written in celebration of significant occasions like the arrival of George I in England, or royal birthdays and other significant events, juxtaposing modern historiographers' appreciation of the enlightened rule of these sovereigns with the extremes of praise and blame in what is, for the most part, occasional poetry. Yet he demonstrates that even a conventional genre like panegyric can be used with skill and originality, which testifies to the high standard of the poetic culture in the century. Satire, though widespread in the 18th century, cannot be regarded as a tool in the service of enlightenment, nor can panegyric be considered as a function of conservative monarchism. The dialogue between both, however, and the ferocity of some the satirical attacks on the Hanoverians, bear witness to the amount of tolerance extended to the sharp tongues of the poets. The first two papers of the panel address 18th-century material culture and the role played by objects from very different points of view. Jan Alber examines inanimate objects which become the narrators of circulation novels, an experimental sub-genre of the realist novel. He argues that the adventures and experiences of the narrating objects highlight 18th-century commodity fetishism and critique the way in which human relationships are reduced to commercial transactions. Moreover, the narrating objects that are circulated in society can even be said to function as allegorical figures representing the fate suffered by women as well as by authors and their works in an early capitalist society. Alber sees in these satirical works an early form of critique directed at commodification and alienation which can be set in relation to the modern attack on the enlightenment brought forth by Adorno and Horkheimer in Dialectic of Enlightenment ENLIGHTENMENT FICTIONS – FICTIONS OF ENLIGHTENMENT: INTRODUCTION 185 against consumerism and the erasure of the individual. Katharina Boehm, on the other hand, addresses the role played by antiquarian objects, particularly as they relate to the bluestockings' concept of history. On the one hand, the objects (primarily handcrafted domestic products like shell-work) provide a point of departure for new thinking about the relationship between the past and the present, while on the other hand, the antiquarian discourse is one in which women can have a voice and a pen. Boehm takes Sarah Scott's novel Millenium Hall as her case study, showing how the novel contributed to the development of a theory on antiquarian practices, particularly the question of how the past can be accessed from the vantage point of the present. The novel is shown to demonstrate a much more sophisticated approach to antiquarian artefacts than the mid-18th century has been generally given credit for. In this sense, Boehm reads Millenium Hall as an enlightened narrative. The second set of papers deals with literary criticism and censorship, showing ways in which readers' and writers' freedom of speech was controlled by tradition, genre, taste, and anthropological assumptions about the nature of man and woman. From the vantage point of a modern theory of mind approach, Jürgen Meyer takes a look at John- son's Lives of the Poets, investigating to what extent the sage's critical judgment on literary aesthetic merit is based on inferences regarding the poets' intellectual capacity, their learning, as well as their emotional state, if not their moral stance. Meyer thus demonstrates the extent to which these texts are a combat zone for contemporary criteria of critical statements about literature. Susanne Peters addresses the controlling power of censorship, pointing out that while official prepublication censorship had lapsed at the beginning of the 18th century, the habit of censoring had already filtered through to authors' consciousness. Potentially deviant or rebellious thoughts and practices are nipped in the bud, as this censorship works on the level of production, i.e. a father figure editing the writing of a female author, as well as on a narrative level, where heroines are controlled and censored by figures of authority. Novels like Maria Edgeworth's Belinda and Frances Burney's Evelina provide Peters with succinct examples of lacunae in which the enlightenment's call for toleration and freedom of speech fails to apply. The third set of papers uses two different approaches to the enlightenment, one within and one from outside the period. Wolfgang Funk takes up the much-discussed topic of feral children with a particular case that has a close connection to Hanover and the Hanoverians: Peter the Wild Boy. He explains how this case contributed to Lord Mon- boddo's research on his book The Origin and Progress of Language, a work that would prove immensely influential for subsequent theories of human evolution. And finally Michael Szczekalla offers us two 21st-century readings of the enlightenment in the shape of narratives that explore the legacy of Denis Diderot – in Malcolm Bradbury's novel To the Hermitage, and of David Hume – in Jennie Erdal's The Missing Shade of Blue. The section thus concludes with a literary critique of enlightenment philosophy, in the shape of a succinct reading of the way in which postmodern writers understand key figures of the enlightenment. This, then, is an answer to the question of how a 21st-century narrative of enlightenment thought may be evaluated in a beneficial manner for the contemporary audience of a novel on leading 18th-century philosophers. 186 SABINE VOLK-BIRKE

The panel thus offers a wide range of approaches to some key aspects of enlightenment thought: the nature of good government, materialism, history, free speech, (literary) criticism, language, and philosophy. JAN ALBER (AARHUS)

Innovative 18th-Century Fiction: The Case of the Speaking Objects in Circulation Novels

The 18th century witnessed the production of numerous experimental types of fiction (see Keymer 2002, Meyer Spacks 2006, Folkenflik 2009). While Ian Watt in The Rise of the Novel (1957) had focused on the realisms of Daniel Defoe, Henry Fielding and Samuel Richardson, other scholars look at what Patricia Meyer Spacks calls deviations from realism to present "a more complicated, confusing, and compelling picture" (2006, 2-4) of the 18th-century novel. Along the same lines, Robert Folkenflik foregrounds "the experimentalism of prose narratives during the eighteenth century". He writes that "an awareness of reigning conventions, and of their growing staleness, shaped the sometimes anxious and defensive experimentalism" of novels at the time (2009, 53). Experimental narratives deviate from realist ones by rendering the "process of world- making" more difficult (McHale 2012, 146) or by fusing "disparate elements […] (words, drawings, sculptures, photographs)" (Gibbons 2012, 240). Experiments may concern the level of the represented or the level of representation. Jonathan Swift's Gulliver's Travels (1726, amended 1735), for instance, features the incredibly small Liliputans, the incredibly tall inhabitants of Brobdingnag, the flying island of Laputa, and bizarre fusions of humans and animals such as the Houyhnhnms and the Yahoos. Laurence Sterne's The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman (1759-67), on the other hand, is notable for its lack of chronology – it begins in 1718 but ends in 1713. In addition, the novel starts with chapters that are set before the narrator's birth and during his mother's labour, and it also contains typographical games and eccentri- cities. The experiments in Gulliver's Travels take place at the level of the story, while the ones in Tristram Shandy concern the level of the narrative discourse. This article seeks to address another, slightly less well-known, form of 18th-century experimentalism. In what follows, I will analyse the object narrators of the so-called circulation novels of the 18th century. Examples of narrating things are coins (Charles Gildon's The Golden Spy [1709], Charles Johnstone's Chrysal; or the Adventures of a Guinea [1760-64], Mr. Truelove's The Adventures of a Silver Penny [1780], and Helenus Scott's The Adventures of a Rupee [1782]), slippers (the anonymous The His- tory and Adventures of a Lady's Slippers and Shoes [1754]), a sedan (the anonymous The Sedan: A Novel [1757]), a coat (the anonymous The Adventures of a Black Coat [1760]), an atom (Tobias Smollett's The History and Adventures of an Atom [1769]), a banknote (Thomas Bridges's The Adventures of a Bank-note [1770]), a corkscrew (the anonymous The Adventures of a Cork-Screw [1775]), a quire of paper (the anonymous Adventures of a Quire of Paper [1779]), a coach (Dorothy Kilner's The Adventures of a Hackney Coach [1781]), a watch (the anonymous The Adventures of a Watch [1788]), an ostrich feather (the anonymous The Adventures of an Ostrich Feather of 188 JAN ALBER

Quality [1812]) and a wig (Richard Fenton's Memoirs of an Old Wig [1815]), among many others.1 Such novels confront their readers with inanimate narrators (rather than standard an- thropomorphic ones). Even though speaking objects do not exist in the real world, we can easily imagine what it would be like if objects could talk. Gérard Genette, for example, notes that in fiction, nothing prevents us from entrusting the role of the narrative agent "to an animal […] or indeed to an 'inanimate' object" (1980, 244, n. 74). Marie-Laure Ryan also points out that "the narrator is a theoretical fiction; […] the human-like, pseudonatural narrator is only one of its many possible avatars" (2001, 152). But what exactly is the purpose or 'point' of non-human narrators? What do they tell us about human-object relations in the 18th century?2 In what follows, I will first present the most important features of circulation novels and explain my corpus: In this paper, I will only deal with novels that have object narrators. I will then illustrate how 'thingness' enters these narratives both at the level of the story and the level of the narrative discourse. In a third step, I will deal with the ideological ramifications of these narratives.3 Like all literary phenomena, these object narratives have to be understood in the historical context in which they were written. As I will show, they can be read as anti-consumerist narratives that use speaking objects to critique the commercialisation of human interactions and the resulting disregard of ethical principles in the context of the developing capitalist system in 18th- century Britain.4 Furthermore, in such a society, everyone potentially faces the danger of becoming a commodity him- or herself.5 This process of commodification can be observed in two areas. Some object narratives invite us to see a link between the circulation of things and the circulation of women who turn themselves into objects through

1 See the lists of examples provided by Richard K. Meeker 1969, 52-57; Viktor Link 1980, 223- 429; and Liz Bellamy 2007, 135-44. An atom is, of course, not a thing or an object but the smallest known unit that defines the chemical elements and their isotopes. I have included Smollett's novel in my corpus because the atom's purpose is comparable to the other narrators of circulation novels: They all provide a critical non-human perspective on human dealings. 2 Bill Brown argues that thing theory is primarily interested in the thing's "relation to the human subject", i.e. "a particular subject-object relation". As objects "circulate through our lives, we look […] to see what they disclose about history, society, nature, or culture – above all, what they disclose about us" (2003, 4; emphasis in the original). 3 For Louis Althusser, an ideology is an "imaginary […] world outlook", i.e. one that does not "'correspond to reality'" (2001, 1498). In this article, I am primarily interested in what Seymour Chatman calls the "attitudinal function" or "slant" (1986, 197), i.e. the ideological perspective of object narratives. 4 According to the OED, consumerism is "a doctrine advocating a continual increase in the consumption of goods as a basis for a sound economy" while the term 'capitalism' refers to "an economic system in which private capital or wealth is used in the production or distribution of goods and prices are determined mainly in a free market". With regard to 18th-century Britain, one can argue that consumerism was an effect of the developing capitalist system. As Ian Watt has shown, "capitalism brought a great increase of economic specialization" which "enormously increased the individual's freedom of choice" (1963, 63). One effect of this development was that more and more goods and objects circulated in the public sphere. 5 According to Karl Marx, the term 'commodity fetishism' denotes the idea that commodities dominate consciousness. In other words, human interactions cease to be relationships among people; rather they become purely economic connections whose sole purpose is the exchange of goods (see Marx 1990, 167). INNOVATIVE 18TH-CENTURY FICTION 189 prostitution (see also B. Blackwell 2007). Other object narratives can be read as allegories of authorial objectification: They illustrate how the book market may turn authors into commodities following the 1710 Copyright Act (see also Flint 1998, Englert 2007). Generally speaking, the circulation novels of the 18th century anticipate Dia- lectic of Enlightenment (1987) by Theodor W. Adorno and Max Horkheimer: Both circulation novels and the Frankfurt School of Critical Theory disapprove of the nul- lifying of the individual through the capitalist system, even though they obviously deal with different phases of capitalism. The speaking objects of the 18th century concentrate on the early stages of capitalism, whereas Adorno and Horkheimer show how technological progress reverts to forms of submission in the shape of the culture industry in late capitalism.

1. The Most Important Features of Circulation Novels The 18th century witnessed the production of almost 250 circulation novels with Charles Gildon's The Golden Spy (1709-10) being one of the first examples of this new subgenre of the novel. In the words of Liz Bellamy, […] these works recount the adventures of a non-human protagonist, such as a coin, a dog, a pin-cushion or a hackney coach, as it travels through society, encountering diverse characters and incidents. The coin describes its life story, and the numerous individuals into whose hands it falls, as it circulates through society. The hackney coach provides portraits of its various pas- sengers; dogs and cats give an insider's view of the lives of their numerous masters. While the framework of these narratives is loosely based around the biography of the protagonist, the bulk of the text is made up of accounts of the various people who have possessed or otherwise come across the narrating object or animal. (2005, n.p.)6 Sometimes these objects or animals narrate their own stories, while at other times, "they are merely narrative hubs around which other people's stories accumulate" (M. Blackwell 2007, 10). Most circulation novels feature first-person narrators that are animals or objects; there is only "a small minority of tales that have a third-person narrator" (Bellamy 2007, 123).7 In this article, I restrict myself to circulation novels that are narrated by inanimate objects, because they are the most surprising, disturbing or disorienting ones.8 To paraphrase Lisa Zunshine, object narrators are perennially attention-grabbing because it is not 'in the nature' of objects "to engage in activities that we associate with human beings [such as telling a story]" (2008, 133). Along the same lines, Lorraine Daston

6 Since an 'it' is "doing the narrating" (Hudson 2007, 300), many critics speak of 'it-narratives' rather than circulation novels (see Barchas 2003, Lupton 2006, M. Blackwell 2007 and 2012). From my perspective, the term 'it-narrative' is misleading because the narrators of circulation novels never use the pronoun 'it'. First-person narratives, on the other hand, use the first-person singular; you-narratives deploy the second-person singular (to refer to the central protagonist); and we-narratives also use the first-person plural. 7 Francis Coventry's The History of Pompey the Little; or, The Life and Adventures of a Lap-Dog (1751), for instance, is about a small lap dog that is handed on from one owner to the next but Pompey is not the narrator of the novel; rather, a third-person narrator tells us what happens to the dog. 8 There are some circulation novels (such as Memoirs of the Shakespear's [sic] Head in Covent Garden [1755]), in which the object narrator is static while human beings circulate around this object. I have excluded them from my corpus because my focus is on circulating objects. 190 JAN ALBER writes that "things that talk are often chimeras, composite of different species. […] The composites in question don't just weld together different elements of the same kind […], they straddle boundaries between kinds" (2006, 21). The speaking objects of my corpus circulate through society – they typically move from owner to owner – and give us a sense of what it might be like to be a commodity. At the very least, we are invited to look at the world from the perspective of a thing that serves as narrator. In- deed, in the words of Lars Bernaerts et al., non-human narrators in general ask "their readers to imaginatively adopt perspectives radically different from their own everyday experience" (2014, 75). What exactly do these object narratives do? They are first and foremost satires that mock and critique the development of consumerism and the increased circulation of objects in the public sphere. In the preface to The Adventures of a Black Coat, for instance, we are told that the novel's purpose is to "excite virtue, depress vice, and ridicule folly" as well as to present a "conspicuous […] moral" (1760, iii). Similarly, on the title page of Chrysal we read that the point of the speaking coin is to "Hold the Mirror up to Nature / To shew Vice its own Image, Virtue her own Likeness". And there is also a mocking tone to the epigraph of Thomas Bridges's The Adventures of a Bank-note: When I've held up a proper number Of fools and knaves, and such-like lumber, To public view, and public scorn, Contented I'll to dust return. Liz Bellamy points out that what all circulation novels share is "the use of a plot that focuses on the way that an object passes through a diverse range of hands. The protagonist can be sold, lost, found, given, and exchanged and thus come in contact with very different social groups" (2007, 118). The thing narrators of the 18th century move freely between society's diverse classes and spheres; they do not respect the limits that organise 18th-century society: Traditional rank boundaries are eroded (see Hudson 2007, 293). As the objects pass from hand to hand, we get to know a wide variety of different individuals and social milieus. The exchange of things is the primary event that moves the plot of circulation novels forward. In The Adventures of a Cork-Screw, for example, the transition from Chapter II to Chapter III is marked by the following words: "[A]s I have entered into a new service, it would not be consistent to introduce my new governor, otherwise than at the beginning of a new chapter" (1775, 34). With regard to this movement through social spheres, circulation novels are reminiscent of picaresque novels such as Thomas Nashe's The Unfortunate Traveller: or, the Life of Jack Wilton (1594), Daniel Defoe's Moll Flanders (1722) or Henry Fielding's Jonathan Wild (1725). George Sherburn likewise argues that circulation novels hark back to the picaresque pattern, while they frequently use "some unhuman piece of 'currency' […] instead of a human adventurer" (1948, 1031). To paraphrase Nicholas Hud- son, in circulation novels, object picaros move from owner to owner, alternating like a social yoyo between different social spheres (see 2007, 296). Despite the fact that the 18th century teems with circulation novels, some contemporary critics complained about what they perceived as a lack of literary merit. For example, one particularly displeased 18th-century reviewer commented on the new subgenre in the following words: INNOVATIVE 18TH-CENTURY FICTION 191

This mode of making up a book and styling it the Adventures of a Cat, Dog, a Monkey, a Hack- ney-Coach, a Louse, a Shilling, a Rupee, or – anything else, is grown so fashionable, that few months pass which do not bring one of them under inspection. It is indeed a convenient method to writers of the inferior class, of emptying their commonplace books, and throwing together all the farrago of public transactions, private characters, old and new stories, everything in short, which they can pick up, to afford a little temporary amusement to an idle reader (quoted in Tompkins 1961, 49; emphasis in the original). Today's critics also often proclaim the literary interest of circulation novels to be "in- significant" (M. Blackwell 2007, 2012). What is more, the circulation novel has meanwhile "languished in critical purgatory. Chrysal has dropped from even the most eccentric list of the period's canonical works, as have its literary counterparts" (ibid., 11). Perhaps this is so because circulation novels are perceived as a popular form of literature that follows a predictable and seemingly simplistic scheme. They are narratives that are critical of consumerism, but they are also consumer goods themselves. Since they were produced for a specific market following a certain demand, they all participate in the exchange mechanisms they critique. As Christina Lupton has shown, most circulation novels "were written by professional authors with a pragmatic approach to the production of literature. They reused material, copied formulas, and added volumes to their narratives as the market demanded" (2006, 407). From my perspective, circulation novels are highly interesting narratives. Firstly, their specific experimentalism involves different mental models from the realist novels of the 18th century. By urging us to create what Mark Turner calls "impossible blend[s]" (1996, 60) – such as the speaking coin, the narrating coach or the talking atom – they significantly widen the cognitive horizon of human awareness. Lisa Zunshine argues that dealing with such strange concepts is "crucial to our cognitive well-being". From her perspective, "contemplating concepts that challenge our cognitive biases may help the mind to retain its flexibility and its capacity for responding to its infinitely complex and changing environment" (2008, 144). Furthermore, in contrast to the celebrations of the bourgeoisie and its mercantile values in the novels by Daniel Defoe, circulation novels are critical of capitalism and the development of commerce and trade in the 18th century.

2. The 'Thingness' of Object Narrators Since the narrators of object narratives fuse features of inanimate commodities and human beings, I would like to begin my analyses by addressing the question of how much 'thingness' there is to these narrating entities. The object narrators of the 18th century always exist as things in the narrated world. The deictic signals at the beginning of The Adventures of a Hackney Coach, for example, convey a sense of the narrator's shape: This is the most fashionable Coach on the stand, says a pretty young lady, stepping into me, with all the hilarity of soul that distinguish the children of prosperity; after whom followed an elderly lady, her mother. (Kilner 1781, 1; emphasis added) The inanimate narrator actually has the quadrangular form of a coach and inhabitants of the represented world (such as the two prosperous ladies) may enter it to travel from one place to another. Similarly, the beginning of The Sedan informs us that the narrator is made of certain 'materials': "The materials necessary for my frame were […] 192 JAN ALBER bought of the most eminent men in their several ways" (2012, 82). Later on, we learn that the sedan is made out of wood, brass and leather. Also, at the beginning of The Adventures of a Silver Penny, the narrating coin tells us how it perceives the world from the inside of the pocket of a young thief: "I found myself in the pocket of a small boy that was called Jackey Meanwell, who had obtained me in a scramble with others" (Truelove 2012, 18; emphasis in the original). The object narrators of other circulation novels likewise exist as things in the narrative worlds of their novels, and they are used as consumer goods by their various owners. In the words of Nicholas Hudson, these narrating things speak from spaces that are classless, genderless, 'objective' and peripatetic (see 2007, 301). Moreover, the thing narrators of the 18th century often know that they are objects that have miraculously developed consciousnesses or minds. The narrator of The Adventures of a Cork-Screw, for instance, describes itself as a "spirit diffused through every part of a cork-screw" (1775, 5). These narrating things are frequently aware of their ability to think and speak but they never tell us how or why this bizarre talent has developed in the first place. The narrator of Thomas Bridges's The Adventures of a Bank-note, for example, reflects upon its peculiar powers as follows: "[T]he inquisitive world may perhaps be curious enough to enquire, why I alone, amongst so many thousands of bank- notes, came to be possessed of such uncommon talents" (Bridges 1770, Vol. I, 3). How- ever, the banknote never clarifies this issue so that we remain wondering how we are confronted with a speaking bank-note. A similar constellation can be found in The Ad- ventures of a Silver Penny, where the narrator comments on its ability to narrate in the following words: "That a SILVER PENNY should be able to speak or write, would indeed be extraordinary" (Truelove 2012, 18). But as in The Adventures of a Bank-note, we do not learn anything about the source of the penny's surprising talent. 'Thingness' does not only exist at the level of the story; the narrative discourse of circulation novels involves a certain degree of 'thingness' as well. More specifically, the speaking objects of the 18th century usually narrate rather neutrally, i.e. in the detached way in which one might imagine objects to narrate. They are covert first-person narrators that confront us with externally focalised accounts.9 These narrators often report in a rather disinterested way what happens to them as they are handed on from one owner to the next, and we are invited to draw our own conclusions about the represented transactions. From time to time, they become more overt and engage in explicit moral commentary. In such instances, they critique the lack of morality and the depraved state of the society they exist in. Regardless of whether these object narrators are covert or overt, "the thing contributes directly to the moral benefit of humanity, functioning either as an emblem, a lesson, or a reproach" (Lamb 2011, 201). The speaking coin in Charles Johnstone's Chrysal; or the Adventures of a Guinea even has access to the thoughts and feelings of its owners. The coin is not only able to think and narrate but also to "see the depravity of human nature, when stripped of disguise

9 Object narratives might thus be examples of what Gérard Genette calls homodiegetic narration with external focalisation (see 1988, 121). What Genette has in mind are first-person narrators who focus on behavior and external action (as opposed to thoughts and feelings). Examples of human narrators who focus (almost exclusively) on the outside can be found in Alain Robbe- Grillet's La Jalousie (1957) and Paul Auster's Moon Palace (1989). INNOVATIVE 18TH-CENTURY FICTION 193 and ornament" (Johnstone 1794, Vol. I, 110). The guinea explains, "besides that intui- tive knowledge common to all spirits, we of superior orders, who animate this universal monarch Gold, have also a power of entering into the hearts of the immediate pos- sessors of our bodies" (ibid., Vol. I, 17). The idea behind this passage seems to be that wealth has access to and influence on the psychological predispositions of its owners.10 However, such a mind-reading object is the exception rather than the rule. Most object narrators "report merely what they hear and see"; they only occasionally "enjoy supernatural powers of observation" (M. Blackwell 2012, vii).

3. The Commercialisation of Human Interactions and the Lack of Moral Principles Objects are considered to be so important in 18th-century Britain that they are endowed with minds of their own. The object narrators of circulation novels might thus be argued to satirise the fact that "the soul of this society is invested in its commodities" (Douglas 2007, 153). During their 'journeys', the narrators of circulation novels typically present their readers with kaleidoscopic views of a corrupt materialist society. The narrator of The Adventures of a Cork-Screw notes "the variety of different hands [it] passed through" (1775, 77), while the narrating coin of Chrysal "range[s] through the whole territories of the society, to which [it] belong[s]" (1794, Vol. I, 230). Similarly, in Helenus Scott's The Adventures of a Rupee, the rupee narrator encounters many societal ranks, from the lowest to the highest segment. At one point, a common sailor owns the coin, and, at a different point, a young princess (see 92-93; 223-40). Interestingly, the diverse owners of the corkscrew and the two coins are only interested in exchange or consumerism; they lack moral ties or convictions that could bind them together as a healthy community. This general (consumerist) focus on the value of goods can also be observed in The Adventures of a Watch. The narrator of this anonymous novel demonstrates that in 18th-century Britain, people are only popular if they have accumulated a significant amount of money because prosperity involves the potential benefits of others. Hence, one's social identity is first and foremost determined by one's income: "[A] man who possesses ten thousand pounds a year cannot be a fool; for everyone laughs at his jokes, feels his affronts, and sympathises with his – gold" (1788, 185). The watch here also highlights the superficiality of social relations. It realises that others do not actually care about the person in question; they are only interested in his or her wealth. The speaking objects in circulation novels mock the fact that the developing capitalist system and its commercial values begin to define all relationships in 18th-century Britain. The commercialisation of all human interactions obviously involves a loss of moral principles. The speaking corkscrew in The Adventures of a Cork-Screw, for instance, describes the character of Groveling as follows: "[G]old was the idol he adored and to which he sacrificed every ornamental virtue" (1775, 62). And this tendency is

10 Nicholas Hudson considers Chrysal to be "a full prototype of the […] omniscient narrator" (2007, 299). However, one important difference between the narrator of Chrysal and the omniscient narrator is that the former is homodiegetic, i.e. part of the story. The coin is not a godlike entity located above and beyond the storyworld and thus endowed with an Olympian perspective: It is an object that circulates through the society it depicts. 194 JAN ALBER indeed a general one. Most of the human characters in circulation novels consider wealth to be primary, whereas virtues are secondary or ornamental. The narrator of Chrysal also argues that material possessions and wealth repel ethical principles: "[W]hen the mighty spirit of a large mass of gold takes possession of the human heart, it influences all its actions, and overpowers, or banishes, the weaker im- pulse of those immaterial, unessential notions called Virtues" (1794, Vol. I, 17). In- deed, Chrysal accentuates the terrible moral state of the society it represents by having its narrator exchanged through economic transactions that involve bribery (ibid., Vol. I, 130; Vol. II, 194; Vol. IV, 129), corruption (ibid., Vol. III, 34) and prostitution (ibid., Vol. I, 118, 158; Vol. II, 43; Vol. III, 227). The speaking coat in The Adventures of a Black Coat foregrounds the depravity of the human inhabitants of the narrated world by stating that "when I contemplate the […] vile schemes I have been obliged to countenance in those whose sole merit and reputation arose from my close attachment to them, my very threads blush at the indignity" (1760, 6). In The Adventures of an Ostrich Feather of Quality, the narrator points out that the lack of moral principles is a problem which concerns many (if not all) societal ranks: "I have found the coarse mind of the merest footman in the lackey peer; and in the Lady of the Bedchamber, the small envy, the petty heart-burning of Molly the chambermaid at the Star and Garter" (1812, 46).11 The speaking banknote in The Adventures of a Bank-note observes that deceitfulness is a universal phenomenon; everyone tries to cheat everyone else: "[T]he jockey cheats the coal-merchant and the coal-merchant, to make it up, robs all his customers by short measure" (Bridges 1770, Vol. II, 39). At one point, the bank-note happily exclaims: "Who would not be a banknote to have such a quick succession of adventures and acquaintance?" (ibid., Vol. II, 25) However, the bank-note's acquaintances are only temporary, and the 'adventure' is always the same. Again and again, the narrator is given to a new owner in exchange for something else. The immoral state of society in this novel renders the bank-note's seemingly rhetorical question ironic, in that it means the opposite of what it purports to say. Sometimes, the narrating objects reproduce the human interest in wealth and upward mobility. The narrator of the anonymous Adventures of a Quire of Paper, for example, describes its newly achieved "prosperity" as follows: Arrived at last at a state I deemed so replete with blessings, I quickly forgot all my past humili- ations and sufferings, and looked down with mingled pity and contempt on the heaps of coarse sheeting and canvass around. I had soon the satisfaction of being presented in great form, and with great respect to a body of men, learned, I suppose, in linen, as a choice specimen of British art and industry, and as a rival to the contraband cambricks of another country. (2012, 30)

11 Even though Smollett's The History and Adventures of an Atom contains a preface in which S. Etherington, the fictional publisher, states that the novel's "several accounts of Japan" bear no "allusion to, or resemblance with, the transactions of these times" (Smollett 1989, 3), the atom- narrator critiques the immorality of the Japanese as a stand-in for the British during the Seven Years' War (1756-63). Throughout the novel, the atom primarily resides in the perineum of "Fika-Kaka" (ibid., 12), a Japanese minister who represents Thomas Pelham-Holles, the Duke of Newcastle and first Lord of the Treasury between 1754-56 and 1757-62 (ibid., 142, FN 119). INNOVATIVE 18TH-CENTURY FICTION 195

In any case, the speaking objects of the 18th century fuse humans and inanimate objects to satirise emergent problems of the capitalist system at the time. More to the point, they critique the potential loss of moral principles through the predominance of economic transactions. Human agents become indistinguishable from objects because the all-encompassing consumerism causes them to forget their ethical standards.

4. Prostitution and the Objectification of Women If all human relationships are nothing but commercial transactions, then all members of society potentially face the danger of becoming commodities themselves. It is often the case that the inhabitants of the society represented are so obsessed with things that they turn themselves into commodities as well. One important type of commodification is the prostitution of women. Indeed, according to Bonnie Blackwell, "women were exemplary objects" in 18th-century Britain (2007, 266). Also, in the words of Liz Bellamy, "prostitution is one of the most common forms of exchange" (2007, 127) portrayed in circulation novels. In The Adventures of a Cork-Screw, for example, the narrating corkscrew constructs a parallel between its own circulation and that of Lucy Lightairs, the daughter of a wealthy merchant, who prostitutes herself. The object narrator notably talks about its own mode of existence and that of Lucy by using similar expressions. While the corkscrew is "made" the "property" (1775, 77; emphasis added) of numerous human characters, Lucy becomes "at different times the property of the peer, the squire, the tradesman and others" (ibid., 76; emphasis added). Lucy's downfall begins with an unhappy marriage. By marrying Groveling, Lucy complies "with the commands of her parents" (ibid., 63), while she disregards her own feelings. Interestingly, the marriage is reminiscent of a business transaction: "[T]here was no real love on either side" (ibid., 64), and Groveling is primarily interested in "the fortune that Lucy was to bring with her" (ibid., 62). The heartless Groveling does not care about Lucy's emotions at all and treats her like an object. Even though he realises that she is unhappy, he uses "her still with the greater brutality" (ibid., 64). Later on, Groveling has "obtained all in his power from her parents" (ibid., 66), and waits for an opportunity to get rid of Lucy. Groveling finds an occasion when Lucy commits adultery out of unhappiness. And once her husband has thrown her out of the house, "the offers that were made [by a lustful old man] overbalanced her virtue": The corkscrew tells us that "the thoughts of living in a splendid state, without labour, contrasted to that of poverty and want, made her comply with the proposal of the letcherous old batchelor" (ibid., 75-76). In the society of The Adventures of a Cork-Screw, all human relations are reified. For example, the difference between Lucy's marriage to Groveling and prostitution is one of degree rather than kind. She is gradually lured into prostitution; following the terminology of Louis Althusser, one might argue that (like all other members of society) she is "interpellated" (2001, 1505) by the predominant ideology, i.e. the materialism that surrounds her. In this context, Stuart Hall argues that we experience ideology as if it emanates freely and spontaneously from within us, as if we were its free subjects, 'working by ourselves'. Actually, we are spoken by and spoken for, in the ideo- 196 JAN ALBER

logical discourses which await us even at our birth, into which we are born and find our place. (Hall 1985, 109) When Lucy has finally obliterated "every idea of virtue", she pursues "the path she had entered into without any regret" (1775, 76). In other words, she will continue to circulate through society like the inanimate corkscrew, which becomes the property of "a chambermaid" and then a "waiter" (ibid., 77). The phenomenon of prostitution is also negotiated in The Adventures of a Black Coat. This novel is set inside "a wardrobe" where "Sable", an old black coat which used to be hired by numerous "occasional gentlemen", speaks to a new "gay white coat" called both "Spark" and "White" about its "former life" (1760, 5-7). Sable foregrounds the newcomer's "native purity and unblemished form" and pities it because of "the many and various misfortunes [it is], in all probability, heir to" (ibid., 5). Among other things, the coat talks about Susan Sirloin, the daughter of a butcher, who becomes a prostitute because she wants to rise and thus dresses up "in the character of a lady of fortune" (ibid., 44). While Mrs. Sirloin feels that it is very important that her daughter has "a notion of dress and politeness", Mr. Sirloin fears that she might "turn whore" (ibid., 45). Unfortunately, Mr. Sirloin's fears come true. Susan's attempt at upward mobility ironically leads to her decline; her downfall is caused by her hypocritical effort to rise in society. We learn that she ends her life as an "abandoned prostitute" (ibid., 89). At this stage, the narrator is shocked by "the wretched condition she was reduced to" and concludes by stating, "what has happened to this young woman, is too often the consequence of encouraging pride and folly in those who have nothing to support it" (ibid.). Bonnie Blackwell points out that object-narrators often "juxtapose their own circulation with that of a woman, who, by dispersing her favors among many men […] short- ens her life and wastes her fragile beauty" (2007, 266). Indeed, the link between the worn-out coat, which used to be hired by various individuals and has experienced "a life of business, and a length of years" (1760, 5), and the abandoned prostitute, who used to be hired by many men, is obvious. The coat states that its "first adventure was not over pleasing" but it is worse not to be hired and to linger "in dull apathy and close imprisonment" (ibid., 10). Interestingly, a prostitute might say exactly the same about her profession. In the case of prostitution, the damaging nature of society's commodity fetishism becomes immediately apparent.

5. Object Narratives as Allegories of Authorial Objectification Christopher Flint also argues that the inanimate narrators of circulation novels highlight "the dismantling effects of human commerce" (1998, 219). At the same time, he takes the critique of consumerism one step further by interpreting these 18th-century object narratives as allegories of authorial objectification: "[T]he appearance of speaking objects in eighteenth-century fiction is linked to authorial concerns about the circulation of books in the public sphere" (ibid., 212). Following Flint, one might argue that in circulation novels, the object narrators, which fuse features of humans and things, are allegorical figures that represent the idea of authorship. Indeed, in these 18th-century novels, speaking objects typically serve as the supposed authors of the tales we read. This method of narration has to do with the INNOVATIVE 18TH-CENTURY FICTION 197 fact that they usually dictate their stories to human interlocutors who write down what the objects say and thus do not author the texts they write. To put this point slightly differently, in the represented scenarios, the human characters are passivised, while the speaking objects become active agents. The former become the listeners of the latter. The human interlocutor in Charles Gildon's The Golden Spy, for example, tells the readers how he "learn'd many Secrets of Policy, and Love" from the "Conversation" of "some Pieces of coin'd Gold that Fortune had thrown into [his] Hands" (1709, 2). In this scenario, the gold coin is the active teller/author, while the human addressee becomes the passive listener. Similarly, in The Adventures of a Cork-Screw, the "bright incorporeal substance […] that was enclosed within the limits of [a] cork-screw" talks to a man and tells him about "the variety of persons, their characters, and histories, in whose hands [it has] been" (1775, 3-5). In Tobias Smollett's The History and Adventures of an Atom, an atom that lodges in the pericranium, i.e. the membrane surrounding the skull, of one Nathaniel Peacock urges its human listener to "take up [his] pen […] and write what [it] shall unfold". Peacock describes the first dialogue between himself and the atom as follows: I heard a shrill, small voice, seemingly proceeding from a chink or crevice in my own pericranium, call distinctly three times, – 'Nathaniel Peacock, Nathaniel Peacock, Nathaniel Peacock.' – Astonished, yea, even affrighted, at this citation, I replied in a faultering tone, – 'In the name of the Lord, what art thou?' Thus adjured, the voice answered and said, – 'I am an Atom.' (Smollett 1989, 5-6) In Robert Fenton's Memoirs of an Old Wig, the new owner of a wig finds "twenty or thirty circular pieces of paper" (2012, 323) that the wig wrote about its history and its owners. Such extremely bizarre storytelling situations, in which coins, corkscrews, atoms or wigs begin to speak or write and then either dictate words to human interlocutors or urge them to read their writings, serve to explicitly alienate the involved human beings from the texts they are forced to produce or read. There are also other ways in which circulation novels construct a connection between their speaking objects on the one hand, and the idea of authorship on the other. On the title page of the anonymous The History and Adventures of a Lady's Slippers and Shoes (1754), for instance, the novel's object narrators claim that since so many bad writers of fiction exist, it should come as no surprise that slippers become authors: So common now are Authors grown, That ev'ry Scribler in the Town, Thinks he can give Delight. If writers then are got so vain, To think they pleasure when they pain, No wonder Slippers write. (Anon.) Furthermore, in what they call the "Preface, Introduction, Dedication, or Advertise- ment", the slippers speak as the authors of the novel, and explain that they try to imitate what human authors typically do: Having observed that every book of consequence (as this of ours undoubtedly is) hath either an Advertisement, Preface, Introduction, or Dedication prefixed to it, to beseech the favour of some GREAT PERSON, or to endeavour at an explanation of the Author's meaning (which, to be sure, is sometimes very necessary, tho' not always successful) we likewise think it proper to say 198 JAN ALBER

something by way of Prelude […] humbly hoping that these Adventures will meet with the same success as many voluminous works have had. (n.p.) Similarly, in Thomas Bridges's The Adventures of a Bank-note, the banknote even explicitly refers to itself as the tale's author and compares its right to speak with that of Dr. Samuel Johnson, one of the most learned men of letters of the 18th century: "The author thinks he has as great a title to coin words as the great Doctor anybody [Samuel Johnson]" (Vol. II, 42; emphasis added). From this vantage point, one can read the object narrators of the 18th century as allegorical 'figures' that represent authors and comment on the alienation from their works in the context of the developing market economy. Although the 1710 Copyright Act (also known as the Statute of Anne) formally granted the author the exclusive right to control the copying of his books, actual benefits for authors were non-existent. Before 1710, the common practice was that publishers bought the original manuscript from the author. After the passing of the copyright act, this practice was continued; the only alteration was that the publishers bought the manuscript's copyright as well. The year 1751 witnessed another quarrel between writers and publishers about "literary authority and the ownership of literary property" (M. Blackwell 2012, xii). It is thus fair to say that in the 18th century, the question of literary ownership was hotly debated (see also Englert 2007), and that these debates are clearly reflected in circulation novels. Object narratives highlight the possibility that the commercialised circulation of books in the public sphere may turn authors into commodities so that inanimate objects sometimes become better storytellers than human beings. In the words of Christopher Flint, these narratives are, among other things, parables of textual and authorial objectification; the storyteller is not only transformed into an inanimate form but also compelled by a system of ownership to describe the experience of others, usually at the expense of internal or personal reflection […]. (1998, 221). Circulation novels use speaking objects to make us aware of the fact that the principles of commerce and trade may gradually displace the self-determination of human authors.

6. Circulation Novels and Critical Theory Like Adorno and Horkheimer in Dialectic of Enlightenment, object narratives are concerned about the disassembling of the individual in the capitalist system. While the speaking objects of the 18th century address the early stages of capitalism, Adorno and Horkheimer focus on the role of the culture industry in the 20th century. The two philosophers argue that initially, the "enlightenment, understood in the widest sense as the advance of thought", aimed at "the disenchantment of the world": It "wanted to dispel myths, to overthrow fantasy with knowledge" (2002, 1). However, for them, the Enlightenment reverts to new forms of mythology and submission in the shape of technological progress and the culture industry: The enslavement of people today [i.e. in the 20th century] cannot be separated from social progress. The increase in economic productivity which creates the conditions for a more just world also affords the technical apparatus and the social groups controlling it a disproportionate advantage over the rest of the population. The individual is entirely nullified in face of the economic powers. (ibid., xvii) INNOVATIVE 18TH-CENTURY FICTION 199

According to them, the culture industry of the 20th century is an all-embracing manifestation of late capitalism that dominates society in its totality: "[T]he universal victory of the rhythm of mechanical production and reproduction promises that nothing will change, that nothing unsuitable will emerge" (ibid., 106-7). Adorno and Hork- heimer argue that the Enlightenment reverts to its opposite. It "is turning itself into an outright deception of the masses" (ibid., 34), i.e. a new type of witchcraft. Circulation novels likewise critique the omnipotence of consumerism and the nullify- ing of the individual through the central role of commodities; it is only that they focus on the early stages of capitalism. The novels discussed here also allude to the following ideas. Progress reverts to regress; rationality becomes a form of irrationality; and the (capitalist) promise of freedom turns into submission. First, the seemingly progressive 1710 Copyright Act continued or perhaps even worsened the problematic relationship between authors and their publishers in the 18th century. Second, the themat- ised commodity fetishism (including the scenarios in which passivised human beings literally listen to what inanimate objects have to say) constitutes a severe form of irrationality. Third, Susan Sirloin tries to rise in the society of The Adventures of a Black Coat but is ultimately turned into a prostitute whom men exploit. To my mind, both the Frankfurt School of Critical Theory and the object narratives of the 18th century make the following point: The relationships of human beings, including the relationship of individuals to themselves, have […] been bewitched by the objectification of mind. Individuals shrink to the nodal points of conventional reactions and the modes of operation objectively expected of them. (ibid., 21) Adorno/Horkheimer and circulation novels follow a moral impetus. The fundamental difference between human beings and objects is (or perhaps rather should be) an ethical principle.

7. Conclusions To my knowledge, the object narrators of the 18th century are almost unprecedented in the history of literature; they constitute a significantly novel mode of experimentalism and thus a very special kind of fiction. Admittedly, speaking animals already exist in Apuleius's The Golden Ass as well as in Aesop's beast fables, and there are also the talking vaginas in Denis Diderot's novel Les bijoux indiscrets (1748) (anticipated by the 13th-century fabliau Le Chevalier qui faisoit parler les cons et les culs). However, these narrators are animals or body parts rather than inanimate objects. I am only familiar with two anticipations, namely the speaking cross (which occurs in a dream) in the Old English poem "The Dream of the Rood", and some of the Anglo-Saxon Rid- dles of the Exeter Book in which musical instruments, weapons and horns serve as first-person speakers that urge their readers to find out what the pronoun 'I' refers to.12 It is also worth mentioning that after the 18th century, speaking objects did not exactly turn into a common literary convention. They sometimes exist in fantasy narratives (examples are the talking paintings at Hogwarts in the Harry Potter series) but they certainly do not flourish.13

12 I would like to thank Eva von Contzen for mentioning these riddles to me. 13 Only some recent types of fiction contain speaking objects: One of the narrators in Helen Oyeyemi's novel White is for Witching (2009) is a house, while the twelve narrators in Orhan 200 JAN ALBER

In the words of Mark Blackwell, circulation novels "played an important role in the development of fictional technique by sustaining an ongoing conversation about modes of narration, their possibilities and their limits" (2012, xviii). Object narratives in particular correlate with an aesthetic kind of pleasure that is perhaps valuable in itself insofar as such novels draw us into the new, the strange and the unfamiliar. To paraphrase Werner Wolf, one might argue that the speaking things of the 18th century celebrate the power of the imagination, i.e. "the faculty of the human mind to engage in the field of 'the imaginary' regardless of rational 'impossibilities'" (2005, 102), as a source of enjoyment and stimulation. As I have shown, 18th-century object narratives involve a high degree of 'thingness' at both the level of the story and the level of the narrative discourse. They simulate a non-human perspective on the represented storyworld in order to critique human behaviour in the context of the developing capitalist system. These speaking objects can be explained as satires on the commodity fetishism of the 18th century. They are objects endowed with minds that critique the overvaluation of material things at the time. In addition, these speaking objects may be seen as comments on the reification of humans. While some of them focus on the prostitution of women, others serve as allegorical figures that critique the commodification of authors in the public sphere. Final- ly, like Adorno and Horkheimer, these circulation novels see the capitalist system as an ambivalent phenomenon that promises liberation but actually leads to confinement and the erasure of the individual.

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KATHARINA BOEHM (REGENSBURG)

Enlightenment Fictions and Objects: 18th-Century Culture and the Matter of History

The surviving correspondence of the female authors and scholars of the Bluestocking circle, an informal network that began to form around a group of well-connected salon- ists in the mid-18th century, documents the diversity of the intellectual pursuits in which these women engaged. Two interests, however, stand out by virtue of the comprehensiveness and sheer frequency with which they are discussed: One is history and the other domestic crafts. Leafing through the Bluestocking letters, one is struck by how frequently discussion of one of these two subjects brought to mind and implicated the other. In 1751, the poet and classicist Elizabeth Carter received a letter from her friend and fellow Bluestocking, the scholar Catherine Talbot: [W]e shall […] try to make every minute turn to the best account we can – and whether that be in knitting stockings, painting violets, or ruling kingdoms, what does it signify when the minute is over? I am sick of all human greatness and activity, and so would you be if you had been turning over with me five great folios of Montfaucon's French Antiquities, where warriors, tyrants, queens, and favourites, have past before my eyes in a quick succession, […]. Here and there shines out a character remarkably good or great, but in general I have been forced to take refuge from the absolute detestation of human nature […], in the hope that the unillustrious in every age, the knitters, the triflers, the domestic folks, had quietly kept all the goodness and happiness among themselves, of which history preserves so few traces. (Carter 1809, 2: 58) Talbot suggests that her preoccupation with domestic activities – "knitting" and "painting violets" – places her outside of history spelt with a capital H. History is here understood, in the manner of dominant 18th-century strands of historiography, as a male- focused narrative of military and political events. Talbot's point anticipates the arguments of modern feminists like Christina Crosby who has claimed that "'women' were turned into the ideological and unhistorical Other of history […], against which men are defined as worthy of history and history making" (Looser 2000, 5).1 Widely read in historiography both ancient and modern, Talbot recognised that there was nothing natural in the evacuation from history suffered by "the knitters, the triflers", and "the domestic folk". Instead, their neglect stemmed from the personal choices and cultural trends that shaped the works of historiographers. In another letter to Carter, Talbot railed against the Athenian historian Thucydides: "I am very much offended with him on behalf of all the Grecian ladies, whom he does not think fit to mention once through his whole history; and indeed of all ladies in general" (Carter 1809, 1: 85).

1 Since the publication of Crosby's influential work – which studies male-authored historiog- raphies – historians and literary critics have begun to unearth the rich tradition of female historiography in the 18th and 19th centuries. They have also revealed the importance of women as readers and critics of historiographic works. However, Crosby's argument about male historiography and the construction of femininity is still influential and relevant (see Crosby 1991). 204 KATHARINA BOEHM

Historiography's neglect of female domestic crafts, which so irked Talbot, has not been redressed even in our own day. Since the second half of the 20th century, historians have produced a wealth of studies on the experience of women and other formerly marginalised groups in history. However, they have paid very little attention to female craft activities, which for Talbot and her fellow Bluestockings encompassed a surprisingly varied range of activities including embroidery, sewing, painting, carving, engraving, filigree and shell-work, upholstery, japanning, gilding, the fabrication of artificial flowers, and woodturning. Until very recently, historians and art historians rou- tinely dismissed these crafts as amateurish and of questionable taste, as a marker of suspect class-privilege and allegedly anti-feminist ideology.2 However, the fact that the Bluestockings – renowned today, as in their own day, for their intellectual energy and progressive social thought – spent a tremendous amount of time engaged in these craft activities and writing about them, very often in the context of their interest in history, should give us pause. In this paper, I suggest that we revisit received views about the Bluestockings' interest in history by exploring what it meant for eminent members of the circle to view the relationship between past and present through the lens of domestic crafts. The first part of the paper draws on the correspondence of members of the first generation of the Bluestockings to show that their craft activities reveal an antiquarian, rather than a purely historiographical, interest in the past. As I explain in more detail below, antiquarianism was a branch of 18th-century historical research that placed a premium on the detailed study of the material traces of the past – including ancient monuments, artefacts, and manuscripts – while showing little interest in the overarching model of historical change that 18th-century narrative historiography offered. In the second part of the paper, I turn to Sarah Scott's central and much- discussed novel Millenium Hall (1762), a book that critics have often described as the most significant fictional distillation of Bluestocking principles. Antiquarian ideas are almost as ubiquitous in Millenium Hall as detailed renditions of domestic craft practices, and I show that Scott offers the aesthetic of craft objects as a model for thinking about the nature of the historical experience that objects offer.

1. Object Histories: Antiquarianism and Domestic Crafts in the Middle of the 18th Century The letters of first-generation Bluestockings such as Talbot, Carter, and Sarah Scott's sister, the author and literary hostess Elizabeth Montagu, are littered with comments indicating they often thought about their craft projects as a way of engaging with the past. Talbot wrote to Carter in February 1743 that she regarded the working of "muslin and lawn" as a "laudable imitation of the quiet domestic virtues of our great grand- mothers" (Carter 1809, 1: 27). Domestic handicrafts are here associated with an older model of femininity as well as with a female lineage of ancestors whose patterns and embroidery techniques are passed on through the generations like an heirloom. In a letter to Talbot from the same year, Carter gives an account of working a particularly complicated piece of embroidery, which is based on a pattern that is "a perfect imitation of the gothic taste" (Carter 1809, 1: 28). And Talbot, in her turn, teased Carter, who was always eager to improve her pie recipes, by noting that "in a list of the curi-

2 For recent, revisionist takes on female handicraft practices in the 18th and 19th centuries see Edwards 2006, Fennetaux 2009, and Schaffer 2011. 18TH-CENTURY CULTURE AND THE MATTER OF HISTORY 205 osities found in all these years at Herculaneum, I find nothing extraordinary but a silver roll […] and a pye that had been in the oven 1000 years" (Carter 1809, 1: 363). Montagu, writing in 1741 to her friend, the Duchess of Portland, who was an avid col- lector of antiquarian artefacts, gave a detailed report of the antique furniture she had discovered in a friend's house: I am now sitting in an old crimson velvet elbow chair I should imagine to be elder brother to that which is shewn in Westminster Abbey as Edward the Confessor's. […] My toilette, I fancy, was worked by one of Queen Maud's maids of honour. There is a goodly chest of drawers in the figure of a cathedral, and a looking glass, which Rosamond or Jane Shore may have dressed their heads in. (Montagu 1825, 1: 87) This preoccupation with the material objects of everyday life in the past – gothic embroidery, antique furniture, and historical food stuff – signals a markedly different interest in the past than the taste for transhistorical abstraction that otherwise characterised Carter's, Montagu's, and Talbot's attitudes to classical and modern historiography. These three Bluestockings were both deeply familiar with the Greek and Roman chroniclers of the ancient world and up-to-date with the works of modern English and French historiographers (see Woolf 2011). Carter's, Talbot's, and Montagu's notes on historiographical works suggest that the classical idea of exemplar history, which was generally on the wane in the first half of the 18th century, still exerted a powerful influence on the ways in which these women understood the relevance of history to their own lives. Exemplar history, history as 'the great teacher of life', was premised on the idea of a fundamental continuity between past and present. This view made it possible to see history as a timeless fund of ideal examples that could be used to guide actions in the present (see Mack 2009, 5-6). Montagu expresses this view in a letter of advice to the son of her friend, the historian George Lyttelton: "The study of history will best fit you for active life. From history you will acquire a knowledge of mankind and a true judgement in politics" (Montagu 1825, 3: 98). Carter and Talbot spent much time discussing the character and values of historical figures in a manner that attests to their belief in the transhistorical nature of essential character traits (see Carter 1809, 1: 166). They also often developed analogies between current political events and events in classical history that operated on a level of abstraction that ruled out attention to historical change (see ibid., 87; 149; 159-60). Carter's, Talbot's, and Montagu's fascination with historical artefacts and historic craft practices cannot be accounted for as an aspect of their interest in exemplar historiography with its emphasis on historical abstraction. Because historians have been mainly interested in the Bluestockings as readers of history, their thinking about the material culture of everyday life in the past has been largely neglected. Carter's attempts to master modern imitations of gothic embroidery and Talbot's studying of reports on the newest archaeological finds in the ancient Roman town Herculaneum point us in the direction of antiquarianism. Antiquarianism was a scholarly movement that was widely considered, in the middle of the 18th century, to be the antipode of more pres- tigious strands of historiography, such as exemplar historiography and the newly emerging philosophical historiography. Tracing the Bluestockings' engagement with antiquarianism sharpens our perception of the diversity of 18th-century scholarly movements that vied for influence and prestige in defining how the past matters to the present. 206 KATHARINA BOEHM

Unlike the more famous historiographers of the age, the antiquaries were not interested in abstract, transhistorical comparisons or in accounts of the deeper causes of historical change. As enthusiastic archival researchers and pioneers in archaeological fieldwork, the antiquaries believed that the key to understanding the past lay in studying its material remains (see Sweet 2003, Pearce 2007). They studied not only ruins and ec- clesiastical monuments, but also were known for their interest in the material remnants of quotidian, domestic life. Female expertise in the production of textiles and craft objects was a strong asset in some of this research. The letters and memoirs of the Blue- stockings reveal that they took a lively interest in antiquarianism, and their social networks included eminent antiquaries. Carter's and Talbot's friendship began when they met through their mutual friend, the antiquary Thomas Wright, with whom Carter undertook antiquarian expeditions (see Carter 1809, 1: 1; 5). Elizabeth Montagu regularly invited antiquaries to her country seats and went on antiquarian excursions (see Montagu 1825, 1: 197; 2: 140-41; 3: 112-13). Meanwhile, Carter enjoyed poking around the manuscript collection of the Royal Society and reported in a letter to a friend that she "had the Honor to return half choked with the venerable dust of the Arundelian Library" and "should be well pleased to be locked up there for a Week" (Carter 2005, 51). In their correspondence, the Bluestockings sometimes cast themselves jokingly as antiquaries exchanging coveted collectibles – only that these collectibles were their own letters and handicraft objects. In a letter to Talbot, Carter describes the "more than Egyptian darkness of a manuscript" that she "looked over with great veneration […] imagining it had been wrote in Coptic characters" (Carter 1809, 1: 30). This manuscript, it turns out, is in fact a recent letter from Carter's and Talbot's mutual friend Thomas Wright. In 1751, Talbot sent Carter a stitched-around lock of her hair. She evoked the antiquarian enthusiasm for relics to explain her qualms about the best way in which to present this handmade gift: I have at last enclosed you the bit of hair, […]; indeed I intended to have sent an essay along with it. A good protestant essay against relicks, especially those of the living; and afterwards I intended, in the spirit of popery, to have put this trash into a crystal case for you, that there might be something at least of value in the present. But enquiring the price of the cheapest fashionable heart (and alas? fashionable hearts are of mighty little value) the spirit of covetousness persuaded me that it was a sin to buy trinkets […], so enfin, in the spirit of industry, I have darned it all over with red and blue silk; and though not in the form of a heart, yet I desire to send with it my sincerest love. (ibid., 2: 35) Talbot's letter elucidates the affinity which she and the other Bluestockings perceived between their own craft productions and antiquarian artefacts. Talbot suggests that the worth of female handicraft products, like that of antiquarian relics, is unstable because both kinds of objects participate simultaneously in different commercial and sentimental economies of value. The antiquaries' tendency to invest obscure artefacts with the quasi-magical ability to put them in touch with the past reminded their detractors of the cult of relics of the Catholic church. These critical voices were particularly amused by the fact that the antiquaries' reverence was directed at trivial and mundane artefacts. As the eminent antiquary Francis Grose put it in 1775: 18TH-CENTURY CULTURE AND THE MATTER OF HISTORY 207

It has long been the fashion to laugh at the study of Antiquites, and to consider it as the idle amusement of a few humdrum, plodding fellows, who, wanting genius for nobler studies, busied themselves in heaping up illegible Manuscripts, mutilated Statues, obliterated Coins, and broken Pipkins […]. (Grose 1775, iii) The objects of female domestic crafts, in their turn, were often made out of inexpen- sive materials and had no commercial value, but they accrued sentimental value by signifying the personal relationship between the craftswoman and the receiver of the gift. Talbot highlights this ambivalence: She begins tongue-in-cheek by hinting at the similarity between Carter's desire for a bodily token and the antiquarian or Catholic reverence for relics, before moving on to describe the stitched-around lock of hair as "trash" that needs to be encased in a crystal case, a ready-made commodity, in order to be of any worth at all. However, she immediately revokes this scheme, noting that these fashionable commodities – the heart-shaped crystal cases – possess in fact "mighty little value" when weighed against the symbolic value of female industry and accomplishments that her craft piece represents. Here, another parallel between antiquarian artefact and handicraft object is revealed: Antiquarian objects, like works of domestic handicraft, are unique, one-of-a-kind objects that do not normally circulate in the commercial marketplace.3 Instead, they are exchanged among like-minded individuals who invest labour in this object – the labour of excavation work and research in the case of the antiquary, manual and creative labour in the case of the craftsperson. These kinds of labour create significant symbolic but no financial exchange value. Some craft manuals made these shared features of antiquarian and domestic handicraft objects explicit when they pitted the alleged historical permanence of craft objects against the short-lived glamour of commercial fashion and designer fads. Hannah Robertson's The Young Ladies [sic] School of Arts (1767, 2nd ed.) notes that "filigree is a very pretty work, and, when executed with judgment, will last hundreds of years" (Robertson 1767, 4). In a similar vein, Robertson argues that some home-made mosaics are executed with so much justness, that they appear as smooth as a table of marble, and as finished and masterly as a painting in fresco; with this advantage, that they […] will hold almost forever. […] The finest works of this kind that have descended to us, are those whereon the moderns have retrieved the art almost lost; viz. those of the church of St. Agnes, formerly the temple of Bacchus at Rome; besides some at Pisa, Florence, and other cities of Italy. (ibid., 25- 26) Robertson prompts us here to consider the relationship between craft objects and antiquarian artefacts not as one of analogy but one of kinship: She proposes that the craftsperson's mosaic-work participates in the moderns' attempts to revive the ancient arts. Fashioned by methods that imitate ancient craft practices, the modern mosaic is imagined simultaneously as the product of female handicraft ingenuity and as an antiquarian artefact in the making that will last almost indefinitely. Another craft manual,

3 Crystal cases were often used to display relics in churches and during processions. In the religious context – as in the handicraft context – encasement in the crystal case signifies the special value religious belief or emotional attachment bestows on a material object that has little economic value. The crystal case fulfils a crucial function in stabilising the value of the object, but the case's own value is simultaneously drastically reduced because it is henceforth regarded as a mere container of the relic or sentimental keepsake. My thanks to Sabine Volk-Birke for drawing my attention to this point. 208 KATHARINA BOEHM

Robert Dossie's The Handmaid to the Arts (1764, 2nd ed.), writes in similar terms about the recent rediscovery of an ancient technique of painting: "The name encaustic was given to this method of painting, on the supposition of its being the same with that practiced by the ancients, […] and there is some foundation from several passages in Pliny for such a notion" (Dossie 1764, 246). Working with the descriptions given in Pliny, antiquaries and painters had begun to experiment with encaustic painting, a method of painting with wax, in the 1750s (see Aghion 2009, 178-80). Dossie's book, published just a few years later, shows how quickly these antiquarian endeavours were assimilated into the repertoire of female domestic crafts. The manner in which these modern replicas of ancient mosaics and encaustic paintings combine craft and attention to antiquarian detail prompts us to enquire into the nature of the historical consciousness that these craft objects encoded for mid-18th century audiences. In other words, what kind of access to the past does the re-enactment of ancient craft techniques grant? How does the modern revival of these craft practices connect a specific understanding of the past with the present moment? An exploration of these questions entails coming to terms with a scholarly prejudice that has contributed much to the long neglect of both 18th-century female domestic crafts and antiquarianism, namely that these movements lacked a theoretical rationale and a vocabulary for theoretical reflection. Scholarly work on female domestic handicrafts, often labelled 'ladies' amusements', has been predominantly descriptive. Mean- while, modern historians have often dismissed antiquarian work as undertheorised and naïve. They have taken issue, in particular, with the antiquary's desire to 'objectify' the past – to find the past in things that hold out the false promise of giving direct access to the experiential world of the past. However, these approaches to antiquarianism have not taken into account another medium that was critical in the cultural dissemination of antiquarian ideas: the 18th-century novel. The emerging genre of the novel played a fundamental role in theorising the implications of antiquarian practices for conceptualisations of the past and the ability to access it in the present. In the remainder of the paper, I offer a case study of Sarah Scott's Millenium Hall. Scott's novel uses the craft idiom to develop a sophisticated analysis of the manner in which material artefacts manifest the past in the present.

2. Crafting History: Sarah Scott's Millenium Hall Scott's novel is narrated by a gentleman traveller who has recently returned from his plantation in Jamaica. He tours England to reacquaint himself with his native country and discovers a beautiful, secluded country-house estate, which is home to an all- female community of accomplished, philanthropic ladies.4 The description of this estate, which he calls Millenium Hall, and of the charitable schemes of the ladies fills one half of the novel. The other half is taken up by interpolated tales that narrate the life stories and experiences of the ladies before their arrival at Millenium Hall. The genre conventions of contemporary antiquarian travelogues are evoked by the novel's frame narrative as well as by the full title of Scott's novel, A Description of Millenium Hall, and the Country Adjacent; Together with the Characters of the Inhabitants, and

4 Many critics have explored Millenium Hall's utopian and feminist features. See Pohl 1996, Cruise 1995, and Peace 2002. 18TH-CENTURY CULTURE AND THE MATTER OF HISTORY 209

Such Historical Anecdotes and Reflections as May Excite in the Reader proper Senti- ments of Humanity, and the Mind to the Love of Virtue. Antiquarian travel books, part guide to the natural and historical sites of a region and part antiquarian treatise, typically included ample topographical descriptions and, like Millenium Hall, were often written in epistolary style.5 As Crystal Lake has recently argued, Scott makes antiquarian pursuits a distinctive feature of the female community of Millenium Hall (see Lake 2009). The narrator of the novel marvels at the "magnificence of the ancient structure" (Scott 1995, 58) of the hall and relates how the ladies buy and restore other old country halls, which are described in one instance as "a very old, and formerly very fine mansion, but now much fallen to decay" (ibid., 219) and in another instance as a "seat of ancient hospitality" (ibid., 221). "I was pleased", notes the narrator, "to see with how much art they re- paired the decays of time, in things which well deserved better care, having once been the richest part of the furniture belonging to the opulent possessor" (ibid., 222). How- ever, and here my reading of Scott's engagement with antiquarianism departs from Lake's, the ladies' enthusiasm for restoration and renovation runs counter to the antiquaries' typical preference for unrestored ruins and artefacts that are in an authentic state of decay. Instead, the ladies' artful endeavours to "repair[] the decays of time" brings to mind the Bluestockings' fascination with domestic crafts, which use modern materials and techniques to create objects that often look like relics of the past. It is significant in this context that the objects that the ladies enshrine in their renovated mansions and in their newly crafted grottos and temples are not antique artefacts but their own, modern craft productions. These include, for instance, a drawing of "saint Cecilia, painted in crayons by Mrs. Mancel, and a fine piece of carved wood over the chimney, done by Mrs. Trentham" (ibid., 62), the "moon-light pieces, […] workman- ship of the ladies" (ibid., 69) that decorate the temple, and the coral and shell-work in the grotto (see ibid., 70). The novel consistently links handicrafts to questions of representation. The narrator's first encounter with the ladies is rendered with an extraordinary amount of attention to the ladies' domestic craft activities – eight different handicrafts are mentioned within the space of two sentences, including engraving, carving, wood-turning, sewing, and embroidery. The narrator begins, however, by presenting the scene obliquely: Instead of launching into a description of what he sees directly, he filters the view of the ladies through a famous fresco: "I could scarcely forebear believing myself in the Attick school" (ibid., 58), he notes. As critics have pointed out, for Scott and her contemporary audience the Attick school called to mind Raphael's celebrated fresco "The School of Athens", displayed in the Room of the Segnatura at the Vatican (see Weiss 2013, 460, FN 3). By framing his verbal description with a reference to an iconic painting, the narrator reminds us that all knowledge of the material world is mediated

5 The first half of the 18th century had seen an upsurge in domestic tourism, which at the time of Scott's composition of Millenium Hall received a further boost through the Seven Years' War with France and the complications for continental travel that ensued. The growth of domestic tourism raised the demand for antiquarian travelogues, which introduced diverse audiences to the basics of antiquarian studies. Scott could count on her readers' familiarity with antiquarianism. For two influential antiquarian travelogues see Stukeley 1724 and Defoe 1724-26. 210 KATHARINA BOEHM by representations and that female domestic crafts, often belittled as merely ornamental and decorative pieces, participate in the representational economy. It is significant in this context that in a novel that is chock full of handcrafted objects, the craft that dominates all others is shell-work – a technique that epitomises the imitative quality that has been described as a hallmark of domestic craft. Shell-work dec- orates not only the grotto in the grounds of Millenium Hall, but also it is a skill that the ladies teach to the orphaned middle-class girls they take in. Further, it is the handicraft to which the ladies turn when decorating newly acquired houses. The interior of a house they have bought for the minister's widow is described as follows: There were several very good drawings framed with shells, elegantly put together; and a couple of cabinets designed for use, but they became ornamental by being painted, and sea-weeds stuck thereon, which by their variety, and the happy disposition of them, rendered the doors, and each of the drawers, a distinct landscape. Many other little pieces of furniture were by the same art made very pretty and curious. (Scott 1995, 195) Sarah Scott had extensive knowledge about shell-work because her life-long companion, Lady Barbara Montagu, was a skilled craftsperson and shell-work was her favourite handicraft technique. Montagu's works decorated the two houses in which Scott and Montagu lived while Scott worked on Millenium Hall (see ibid., 195, FN 1).6 Shell- work entailed working all sorts of foreign and domestic shells until they provided the illusion of another material or object. Carefully assembled, painted over, and var- nished, shell-work on candelabras, cornices, and furniture could resemble the finest carving or simulate highly realistic flower bouquets. Shell-work objects illustrate a point that Talia Schaffer makes in her recent study on female handicrafts, namely that "faithful mimesis of another object was the highest goal of handicrafts" (Schaffer 2011, 41). Techniques like paper-work, quilling, varnishing, gilding, and japanning imitated costly and rare materials. The pleasure of fabricating and viewing these objects arose from what Schaffer calls the "double perspective" of handicrafts: "The viewer had to be momentarily tricked into believing the illusion, while also knowing at a deeper level that it was fictional and puzzling out the method that produced it" (ibid., 38). When Scott substitutes the antique artefacts one would expect in the ladies' antiquarian halls with handcrafted ornaments, she is not only making a point about the ladies' endeavour to claim a place in history for women and their labour as craftspersons. She also proposes that the imitative aesthetic of craft products allows us to conceptualise the material connection to the past that antique artefacts offer. By foregrounding – via its emphasis on shell-work – the double perspective for which many craft methods called, the novel turns against the idea that antiquarian artefacts provide direct, unme- diated access to the past. Instead, Millenium Hall suggests that we view antiquarian artefacts the way we would view a craft object, admiring the effect without buying into the illusion. Antique artefacts seem to offer a glimpse into the lost world of the past, but when we behold them or touch them, what we see or touch is not the past but wood, stone, or metal – materials whose tangible presence anchors us in the reality of

6 Elizabeth Montagu describes the domestic arrangements and charity work of her sister Sarah Scott and Scott's female companion Lady Barbara Montagu in one of her letters. See Montagu 1825, 3: 40-41. Some features of the all-female community of Millenium Hall resemble Scott's and Montagu's actual living arrangement and charitable activities. 18TH-CENTURY CULTURE AND THE MATTER OF HISTORY 211 our own present. The novel emphasises the fact that antiquarian objects signify the past rather than incarnating it. It suggests that these objects' materiality should not disguise the fact that they participate in the complex system of representation that medi- ates the relationship between past and present. Scott's discerning analysis of the epistemological questions raised by the material remains of the past casts a new light on the increasing popularity antiquarian practices that attempted to imitate ancient craft methods enjoyed from the mid-century onward. It becomes possible to view activities like modern mosaic-work and encaustic painting not as the result of a naïve belief in the possibility to replicate the objects and craft practices of the past in the present. In- stead, we can begin to think about these antiquarian craft experiments as a complex inquiry into the ways in which the "modern antiques" they produced share in the materiality of the past but remain bound to the domain of modern representation.7 The Bluestockings' letters and Scott's Millenium Hall demonstrate that for these female intellectuals, encounters with antiquarian artefacts ushered in a new way of thinking about the past. They no longer merely considered the past in the vein of exemplar history as a timeless "reservoir of multiplied experiences which the readers can learn and make their own" (Koselleck 2004, 27). Instead, they grew aware of the alterity of the past and of the rapid manner in which historical change had transformed quotidian life throughout the ages. The coexistence of these two vastly different perspectives on the past – antiquarianism and exemplar history – in the Bluestockings' correspondence illustrates the fact that the middle of the 18th century was a transitional period in which exemplar history was slowly losing its influence and a range of new historiographical and scholarly approaches to the past gained popularity. Many of these novel approaches highlighted the difference between past and present and asked how the subject can draw experientially close to the past when past and present no longer seemed to be sutured together as a continuous space of experience. Antiquarianism's answer to this question, namely that historical artefacts give the modern subject access to an alien past, has often been accused of outstanding naivety. This view, however, neglects the complex manner in which other cultural forms, like the novel, responded to antiquarianism. Scott's sophisticated thinking about antiquarian artefacts along the axis of domestic crafts reveals that by the middle of the century, the theorisation of antiquarian practices was well under way – it's only that we've been looking for it in the wrong places.

References Primary Sources Carter, Elizabeth (2005): Elizabeth Carter, 1717-1806: An Edition of Some Unpublished Letters. Ed. Gwen Hampshire. Newark: U of Delaware P ---; Montagu, Catherine (1809): A Series of Letters between Mrs. Elizabeth Carter and Miss Catherine Talbot, from the year 1741 to 1770. Published from the original manuscripts in the possession of the Rev. Montagu Pennington. 4 vols. London: Rivington

7 I am borrowing the term "modern antiques" from the title of Barrett Kalter's study on the commercialisation of newly discovered or, in some cases, newly fabricated antiquarian objects in the long 18th century. See Kalter 2012. 212 KATHARINA BOEHM

Defoe, Daniel (2001): Tour thro the whole Island of Great Britain. Ed. John McVeagh. 3 vols. Lon- don: Pickering & Chatto Dossie, Robert (1764, 2nd ed.): The Handmaid to the Arts. London: Printed for J. Nourse Grose, Francis (1775): The Antiquarian Repertory. London: Printed for the proprietor and sold by Francis Blyth and T. Evans Montagu, Elizabeth (1825): The Letters of Mrs Elizabeth Montagu. With Some of the Letters of her Correspondents. Ed. Matthew Montagu. 3 vols. Boston: Wells and Lilly Robertson, Hannah (1767, 2nd ed.): The Young Ladies School of Art. Edinburgh: Printed for Mrs. Robertson Scott, Sarah (1995): A Description of Millenium Hall. Ed. Gary Kelly. Peterborough, ON: Broadview Press Stukeley, William (1724): Itinerarium Curiosum, or, An Account of the Antiquitys and Remarkable Curiositys in Nature or Art, Oberv’d in Travels thro’ Great Brittan. London: Printed for the author

Secondary Sources Aghion, Irène (2009): "Horace Walpole: Antiquarian of His Time", in: Snodin, Michael (ed.): Horace Walpole's Strawberry Hill. New Haven: Yale UP, 171-82 Crosby, Christina (1991): The Ends of History: Victorians and "The Women Question". New York/ London: Routledge Cruise, James (1995): "A House Divided: Sarah Scott's Millenium Hall", Studies in English Literature 1500-1900 35.3, 555-573 Edwards, Clive D. (2006): "'Home Is Where the Art Is': Women, Handicrafts and Home Improve- ments 1750-1900", Journal of Design History 19.1, 11-21. Fennetaux, Ariane (2009): "Female Crafts: Women and Bricolage in Late Georgian Britain, 1750- 1820", in: Goggin, Maureen; Tobin, Beth Fowkes (eds.): Women and Things: Gendered Material Strategies 1750-1950. Aldershot: Ashgate, 91-108 Kalter, Barrett (2012): Modern Antiques: The Material Past in England, 1660-1780. Lewisburg, PA: Bucknell UP Koselleck, Reinhart (2004): Futures Past: On the Semantics of Historical Time. Trans. Keith Tribe. New York: Columbia UP Lake, Crystal B. (2009): "Redecorating the Ruin: Women and Antiquarianism in Sarah Scott's Mil- lenium Hall", English Literary History 76.3, 661-86 Looser, Devoney (2003): British Women Writers and the Writing of History, 1670-1820. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins UP Mack, Ruth (2009): Literary Historicity: Literature and Historical Experience in Eighteenth-Century Britain. Stanford: Stanford UP Peace, Mary (2002): "'Epicures in Rural Pleasures': Revolution, Desire and Sentimental Economy in Sarah Scott's Millenium Hall", Women's Writing 9.2, 305-16 Pearce, Susan (2007): "Antiquaries and the Interpretation of Ancient Objects, 1770-1820", in: Pearce, Susan (ed.): Visions of Antiquity: The Society of Antiquaries of London 1707-2007 (Vol. 111 of Archeaologia). London: Society of Antiquaries, 147-71 Pohl, Nicole (1996): "'Sweet place, where virtue then did rest': The Appropriation of the Country- House Ethos in Sarah Scott's Millenium Hall", Utopian Studies 7.1, 49-59 Schaffer, Talia (2011): Novel Craft: Victorian Domestic Handicraft and Nineteenth-Century Fiction. Oxford: Oxford UP Sweet, Rosemary (2004): Antiquaries: The Discovery of the Past in the Eighteenth Century. London: Hambledon Weiss, Deborah (2013): "Sarah Scott's 'Attic School': Moral Philosophy, Ethical Agency, and Mil- lenium Hall", Eighteenth-Century Fiction 24.3, 459-86 Woolf, Daniel (2011): "'A Most Indefatigable Love of History': Carter, Montagu, and Female Discus- sions of History, 1740-1790", Women's History Review 20.5, 689-718

JÜRGEN MEYER (HALLE-WITTENBERG)

Dr. Johnson's Lives of the Poets: Criticism between Character-Writing and Historiography

1. Cognition, Literary Criticism, and Literary History Cognitive criticism has been a thriving area of research in English literary studies since the early 1990s. It has generated many discussions about, for instance, the promises and failures of closing the gap between literary studies in the humanities and cognition theories in the field of neurology. It has also raised practical questions about the possibility of implementing innovative 'readings' of literary texts (with a strong focus on narrative) in an age after the heyday of poststructuralist literary theory.1 The present article attempts to show how much of what may be termed Samuel Johnson's cognitive theory feeds into his literary criticism, beyond the well-known mixture of biographical information, psychological interpretation, and stylistic analysis. His Lives of the Poets (1779- 81)2 provides a special case that, at first glance, is an enterprise in literary biography. Clingham's interpretation of the underlying implications in this collection of bio-critical essays models the text according to spiritual, rather than psychological, representation: The Lives are among the first biographies in English literature to have stripped themselves of medieval hagiographical overtones. […] Johnson's method is, therefore, not providential, but it

1 Neither this article nor this footnote provides sufficient space for a comprehensive survey of research carried out in cognitive literary and cultural studies. For present purposes it may suffice to briefly mark the beginning of this approach with Turner 1991 and 1997. The field was developed in such influential studies as Hogan 2003, Palmer 2004, and Zunshine 2006. Many of these and other more recent follow-up publications (see Bernaert et al. 2013 and Herman 2013) have been based on narratology. Armstrong 2013 shares the view of previous critics that cognitive narratology lacks innovative critical potential (see Sternberg 2003a, Sternberg 2003b, and Sternberg 2009). Such challenges are implicitly countered by the following statement, according to which "it is a sign of a cognitive approach's strength when it turns out to be with – yet offer new insights into – the claims of established literary criticism" (Zunshine 2011, 183). However, there is no disagreement over the broader claim that cognitive approaches to literature will help to "mutually illuminate the neurobi- ology of the brain and the experience of art" (Armstrong 2013, 3). Since cognitive literary studies may be compartmented into several fields, including those of "Cognitive Rhetoric and Conceptual Blending Theory" and "Cognitive Narratology", I situate my own approach, in accordance with one of the categories presented in Richardson's "Field Map", as part of an enterprise in "Cognitive Ma- terialism and Historicism" (see Richardson 2004, esp. 19-23). 2 These literary biographies appeared first in 1779, with four volumes featuring only 22 poets. A second instalment followed in six volumes, published in 1781. The complete ten volumes were marketed as Prefaces, Biographical and Critical, to the Works of the English Poets. A revised edition of eight volumes followed in two instalments in 1781 and 1783 as The Lives of the Most Emi- nent English Poets. On details of their textual genesis and publication history, see Lonsdale's section on "Composition", in his introduction to Johnson 2006a, 1-80. A note on referencing: Middendorf's Yale edition of the Lives of the Poets will be used here as a standard primary source. Its three volumes are consecutively paginated; therefore quoting them as "Johnson 2010" is sufficient. By contrast, Lonsdale's four-volume Clarendon edition of the same work is used for additional commentary, and, because of its individual pagination, will be referenced as "Johnson 2006a-d". 214 JÜRGEN MEYER

does register the moral and spiritual power of a person's life with regard to the quality and influence of his work […]. (Clingham 1997, 186-7) Clingham certainly has a point when he focuses on the often explicitly moral and the less prominent spiritual dimensions in Johnson's argument. However, since morality, spiritu- ality, and reason are always closely connected in Johnson's frame of mind, I shall argue that in the Lives, it is ultimately Johnson's evaluation of mental structures by which he justifies his ascription of literary quality, literary fame, and historical significance to the respective poet (on Johnson's "Theory of Fame", see Jackson 2009). Johnson views the individual minds of the poets as a set of characteristics adjusting, or failing to adjust, to the cultural framework of philosophical rationalism and sensibility (in the sense of the latter word, as a "capacity for perception and response" [De Maria 1993, 279]). Instead of choosing a conventional receptionist attitude, which focuses on the impact of the form and rhetoric of a work on its readers and critics, he reads the oeuvres of other poets as documents of a (usually linear) sequence of successive stages in the 'developmental' progress of their careers, and thus as a biographically progressive representation of their minds. Even though Johnson's 18th-century idea of cognition is safely rooted within contemporary philosophical and critical traditions, the following argument shows that his idea can easily be aligned with current theories of the mind popular in 21st-century cognitive literary criticism. Instead of producing an anachronistic method of analysis, the current critical paradigm may thus be given a historical perspective that reaches far beyond this particular case study. Johnson himself is well aware of the fact that no biographical representation will ever give reliable access to a poet's mind, or provide sufficient material to assess a poet's mental faculties. He describes the problem of the 'blind spot' in The Rambler No. 155 (10 September 1751), isolating the difficulty that all cognitive reasoning must seek to address: "It seems generally believed, that, as the eye cannot see itself, the mind has no faculties by which it can contemplate its own state, and that therefore we have not means of becoming acquainted with our real characters […]" (Johnson 1969c, 60). Any such moral and cognitive evaluation must be provided by someone else through observation, and in the case of poets, critics especially are assigned the capability of "impartial criticism to discover [the aesthetic, as well as moral, defects and faults]" (Johnson 2010, 193) in literary works. As a critic, Johnson himself classifies poets according to his inferences into their cognitive capacity and judges their works as sound or sorry testimonies of intellectual and emotional states. Therefore, the Lives provides excellent material for an analysis in the current paradigm of cognitive cultural and literary studies, and merits a study that follows Weinbrot through the various "entranceways" to the "theoretical foundation of Johnson's criticism support[ing] a complex and grand building" (Weinbrot 2005, 211), using the cognitive approach as a gateway to understanding the mental frames in Johnson's literary criticism.

2. Writing of(f) Historical Significance: Johnson's Minds of the Poets The biographer is explorer, inquirer, hypothesizer, compiler, researcher, Researcher Extraordi- naire, selector and writer. Today the biographer is seen benignly as guide, companion, interpre- ter, analyser (not necessarily analyst), literary critic, classifier, and artist. Or else as manipulator, propagandist, exploiter, critic, and competitor with the subject […]. (Backscheider 1999, xxi)3

3 In 1970, Lipking devised a similar range of roles that he applied to Warton, as Backscheider would do in imagining her ideal biographer: "The man who wrote the first full history of Eng- DR. JOHNSON'S LIVES OF THE POETS 215

Among the vast array of different roles for a biographer, Backscheider mentions two in her Reflections on Biography that seem essential for the following considerations: the analyser and the literary critic. However, this list still omits a role that Backscheider may have seen as subsumed within the part of the critic, but which, in my opinion, must be accorded a separate role – that of the (literary) historiographer who is in con- test "with the subject for being the site of truth and genuine understanding" (Back- scheider 1999, xviii). Indeed, Johnson himself saw his Lives standing side by side with other historiographical experiments of his time, aiming at the philological "construction of a literary past" (see the subtitle to Stierstorfer 2001). The most extensive, ambitious, and innovative of these attempts was Thomas Warton's History of English Poetry (3 vols., 1774-1781), which had begun to appear just a few years before John- son found himself engaged with his own "occasional and unforeseen" book-project (see "Advertisement", Johnson 2010, 2). Commissioned by a group of London booksellers, Johnson had to contribute short prefatory introductions to their selection of poetry by fifty-two authors. Clearly, the anthology did not reflect Johnson's personal preferences of what might constitute a representative canon of English literature. Moreover, the scale of Warton's History, beginning with the late 11th century and extending into the early 18th century, may explain why Johnson modestly referred to the rather arbitrary list of poets presented to him, covering only the mid-17th century and proceeding into the mid-18th, as a "minute kind of History" (ibid.). Apart from temporal pressure during composition, further difficulties arose for him due to the fact that "only five out of the fifty-two [authors] had reached the centenary of their death, which was the standard test of lasting fame" (Jackson 2009, 9), and in many cases Johnson lacked the necessary historical distance to write an objective preface. Still, Stierstorfer figuratively described this enterprise as the cornerstone of a "Walhalla of English poets", with embedded mini-histories of several genres, such as that of pastoral poetry (spanning the ages of Theocritus and Torquato Tasso), of the epistle (connecting the Elizabethan Thomas Howell with the Augustan Alexander Pope), and of the blank verse, following its earliest lyrical employment by the Earl of Surrey (see Stierstorfer 2001, 122-3). In this paper, the choice of very different "Lives", distinguished by length, complexity, and function, will focus on the mind-sets of the respective poets. Apart from the historical "test of time", which Johnson saw as an important evaluative criterion and which corresponds to Domsch's "Authority of Seniority", the categorisation of the individual mind-set is captured by the "Authority of Poetic Genius" (see Domsch 2014). The underlying principles, upon which Johnson builds what may be termed his 'critique of practical genius', are largely 'soft' characterological and mental categories, rather than 'hard' formal ones in the sense of neo-classicist rules. Certain aspects of evaluation and judgment may be derived from "Life of John Milton" as a standard gauge, against which I shall consider the following examples: "William Collins", "Jonathan Swift", and "Abraham Cowley". In each of these case studies, we will see that Johnson's argument displays a significant proportion of what in current criticism has been referred to as 'mind-reading strategies'.

lish would need to be a poet, a critic, an antiquarian, a man of taste; the explorer of an unknown land […]" (quoted in Stierstorfer 2001, 38).

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2.1 Ingenuity with an Edge: "Milton" On several occasions Johnson projects himself into Milton's emotional mind-set, in an attempt to understand the author's response to the slow appraisal of Paradise Lost by the reading public: "Invention is almost the only literary labour which blindness cannot obstruct, and therefore he naturally solaced his solitude by the indulgence of his fancy, and the melody of his numbers" (Johnson 2010, 142). Further along, he adds: "I cannot but conceive him [Milton] calm and confident, little disappointed, not at all dejected, relying on his own merit with steady consciousness, and waiting, without impatience, the vicissitudes of opinion, and the impartiality of the future generation" (160). However, there is also an inferiority complex surfacing in Milton's own fears circling around the question of his writing power, and culminating in his apprehension that he may be, despite his own historical value as a poet and although still "great among his contemporaries", merely "the giant of the pygmies, the one-eyed monarch of the blind" (154). Johnson finishes this portrait with a few strokes completing the positive impact of his projection: "The heat of Milton's mind might be said to sub- limate his learning, to throw off into his work the spirit of science, unmingled with his grosser parts" (189), and after all, "[h]e seems to have been well acquainted with his own genius, and to know [sic] what it was that Nature had bestowed upon him more bountifully than upon others" (190). All this rhetoric, however, does not seem suffice to acknowledge such a mind as being truly ingenious. Instead, the reader of this "Life" sees a baffled critic who even feels uneasy considering Milton's spiritual leanings, which were not Anglican. Still, Johnson appreciates the fact that Milton was, at least, not a Roman Catholic: "He was not of the Church of Rome; he was not of the Church of England" (170). However, he is surprised to find that "[i]n Milton every line breathes sanctity of thought, and purity of manners" (192). Johnson leaves no doubt that he recognises, especially in Milton's Comus and in Paradise Lost, different degrees of Milton's "genius" at work, but he finds it difficult to locate it. Despite the critic evidently grappling with the problem of defining the mental capacity of the 'great' poets, a pattern emerges that can be charted as a 'mind-map' (see figure next page): The horizontal line represents the arrow of time and, within it, what may be considered the tradition of literary criticism that defined the mainstream poetics of 'good' literature, starting with "the father of criticism" (i.e. Aristotle, in "Life of Cowley", Johnson 2010, 24) and proceeding towards the "father of English criticism [i.e. Dryden]" (436) well into his own present. Along the vertical direction resides, at the top, the "true Ge- nius", which Johnson defines inter alia, in "Cowley" as a "particular designation of mind, and propensity for some certain science or employment" (6), or in "Milton" as "original invention" (205).4 But within his scheme, Johnson does not grant any of the

4 According to Johnson, the one exception besides Milton, who is accepted as an innovator of Eng- lish poetry by means of "original invention" and who was "least indebted" to the ancients such as Homer (see Johnson 2010, 205), seems to be Shakespeare whose "genius", of course, does not feature in the Lives, but is most prominently presented in the "Preface to Shakespeare", already written in 1765. In this essay, Johnson implies Shakespeare to have depended much on the fact that the preceding ages of Humanism and of the Reformation had provided his own times with "a stock of knowledge sufficient for a mind so capable of appropriating and improving [the body of national poetry]", although he also concedes that "the greater part of [Shakespeare's] excellence was the product of his own genius". This conception again was based on his "vigilance of observation and accuracy of distinction which books and precepts cannot confer; from this all original and DR. JOHNSON'S LIVES OF THE POETS 217 recent ('modern') English poets the unreserved and uncontested title of what others referred to as 'universal genius'. Even the few actual cases who represent genius in this collection of "Lives", Milton and Pope, have their weak spots, especially in regards to their personalities: Political Milton's anti-monarchical attitude and the resulting fears of Charles II's court are marked, in Johnson's harsh verdict, by "impudence at least equal to his other [i.e. ingenious] powers" (156). Indeed, Johnson even detects 'insular' talents displayed in the works of Joseph Addison, which excelled by an ingenious, because previously unknown, "elevation of literary character [i.e. the 'character sketch'], above all Greek, above all Roman fame" (648; emphasis in the original),5 though his plays and poetry are deemed bland.

As a result of such considerations, the following conclusions can be derived from Johnson's statements: Poets are human and fallible, therefore no human work of art can be absolutely perfect (displaying the ideal of "universal genius"), although art may show intimations of original ingenuity. At this point, a second crucial element in John- son's 'critique of poetic reason' becomes visible: Poetry, although only informed by this limited (as it were: demiurgical) quality of genius, still needs to provide readers

native excellence proceeds" (all quotes Johnson 1968a, 87-88). Endowed with these heightened perceptive and rational assets ("observation" and "distinction"), Shakespeare did not rely on Homer or other ancient role models alone, but could invent his own material (see 90), which is what makes his case so outstanding in literary history, and so reminiscent of Milton's place in it. 5 This essay is not the place for a detailed discussion of the changes that the form of the Charac- ter-sketch underwent in the early 18th century, but see Brownley's genealogy of this genre from ancient (Theophrast), humanist (John Hall, Thomas Overbury, John Earle), and recent sources (e.g. La Bruyére, Addison, Steele), along with an assessment of its transformation from a typify- ing to a more individualised genre by the time Johnson used it (Brownley 1984).

218 JÜRGEN MEYER mental access to a sense of subliminal beauty and, connected to the poet's intellectual capacity, to a knowledge of spiritual rather than secular wisdom, i.e. to an ideal rather than empirical truth. Important categories in the underlying mental system can be deduced from internal evidence in Johnson's criticism, beginning with "vitality" (which enables the individual to write in the first place, leaving a 'gap' where the poet lacks it), continuing with "reason" (which integrates an author into his social environment and the literary tradition, making an individual's poetical works comparable to others), and ending with the criterion of "sensibility" (which helps the poet to formal and rhetorical consistency and includes the – again, relative rather than absolute and universal – ideal of "taste"). Accordingly, Johnson referred only to Shakespeare, who is not featured in the Lives but in much of his earlier criticism, and to Milton as the two English specimens of literary "genius": Milton in particular fitted the concept, who in spite of his blindness never lost his vitality and sociability, and received many visitors on a regular basis because of it. More importantly, his supreme fancy was of such quality as to make him comparable (though not equal) to the best poets, past and present: "His great works were performed under discountenance, and in blindness, but difficulties vanished at his touch; he was born for whatever is arduous; and his work [i.e. Paradise Lost] is not the greatest of heroick poems, only because it is not the first" (205). In summation, the chart above of the minds of the poet shows that Johnson's critique of practical genius does not insist so much on any slavish obeisance to the established Aristotelian rules, or to their neo-classical interpretation (although he invokes them where applicable), but makes allowances throughout his literary criticism for such cases as Shakespeare, Milton, Dryden, and Pope.

2.2 Lacking Vitality: "Collins" The brief "Life of Collins" (Johnson 2010, 1327-1335), which was not specially written for the London publishers' project, shows every sign of a hasty recycling, rather than a careful revision of an earlier text.6 The biographical sketch in the Lives-version preceding the "character" mainly follows Collins's education, presented with a personal touch. For instance, Johnson classifies Collins at his entering the London literary scene in 1744 as a "literary adventurer, with many projects in his head and very little money in his pocket". He determines the moment when "I fell into his company", thus stressing his personal acquaintance with the poet – but he also mentions that he heard Collins speak of a historiographical project: "But probably not a page of the history was ever written. He planned several tragedies, but he only planned them" (all quotes

6 Originally published as an obituary in the December issue of Francis Fawkes's and William Woty's Poetical Calendar (1763), it was signaled as a collation of two texts, anonymously titled "Some Account of the Life and Writings of Mr. William Collins". This twin text, composed, as we now know, by James Hampton as well as Samuel Johnson, added up to five pages altogether (Johnson 1763, 107-112). It was reprinted in the January 1764 issue of the Gentleman's Maga- zine, advertised in the Preface as "An Account of the Life of Mr William Collins, the Author of Oriental Eclogues, and other poetical Pieces universally admired". Neither of these "Accounts" bears a signature, which may explain why the text of "Collins", as it appeared in Prefaces (1779) and Lives (1781), is based on that in the second volume of the 1774 Miscellaneous and Fugitive Pieces (see Lonsdale's commentary in Johnson 2006d, 407). Although not even this edition had Johnson's authorisation, it reprints the core passage as "A Character of Mr. William Collins" (Johnson 1774, 237-239), pruning it from Hampton's bio-chronicle. DR. JOHNSON'S LIVES OF THE POETS 219

1329). Looking back on his share in the early obituary of Collins, published in the Poet- ical Calendar (1763) and the Gentleman's Magazine (1764), Johnson invokes the long temporal gap between these bio-sketches about Collins and the present "Life of Collins" for fear of his own weak memory: "Having formerly written his character, while perhaps it was yet more distinctly impressed upon my memory, I shall insert it here" (1330). In conclusion to the subsequent passage he adds: "Such was the fate of Collins, with whom I once delighted to converse, and whom I yet remember with tenderness". The following paragraphs mention a lost "ode inscribed to Mr. John Hume" and intensify the impact of the patient's fading "vital" rather than "intellectual powers" (all quotes 1333-4). Even providing a medical anamnesis, Johnson determines the beginning of Collins's long- lasting illness. The final two paragraphs of the "Life" contain, first of all, a critical judgment of his works, commenting on their poetic diction ("often harsh, unskillfully labored, and injudiciously selected"), syntax ("out of the common order"), and sound ("slow motion, clogged and impeded with clusters of consonants") (all quotes 1335). This summary of formal criticism is then followed by the unexplained quotation of an obscure juvenile poem merely attributed to Collins, rather than an uncontested example of his poetry. It is taken from Hampton's part in the Poetical Calendar, addressing "MISS AURELIA C-R, ON HER WEEPING AT HER SISTER'S WEDDING" (Johnson 1763, 108). Despite Johnson's doubts about the poem's origin, he endorses its attribution and reprints it as Collins's "first production" (Johnson 2010, 1335, see 1328n.2). Neither in the obituary nor in the "Life" does Johnson even mention the one item of the Collins canon for which he became famed in literary history: the "Ode to Evening" (1746). Nor does Johnson, despite his sympathies, indicate his expectation that Collins might be considered an important voice in the English literary canon. He refrains from locating him in a historical context and simply allots him a niche in his own lifetime – apart from the dedication to Hume, he mentions the visit in his last illness by literary historian Thomas Warton and his brother John (see 1333). Furthermore, it is telling that Johnson merely recycles his earlier "Character", instead of revising this text into a "Life" with more substantial and updated material (such as quoting, for example, the mature "Ode" instead of the obscure juvenile love poem). To summarise: Between 1763 and 1781 Johnson's "Collins" transforms, if only by appellation, from a textual module in a non-authorised, collated "Account" into the authorised "Life". More significantly, the quantitative balance between biography, character sketch, and literary criticism is very much at the expense of both criticism and literary history, in favour of a portrait of the artist as a sick man.

2.3 Lacking Reason: "Swift" A similar imbalance, with the refusal to attribute canonical significance to the described subject's work, may be found in the extensive "Life of Swift" (Johnson 2010, 969-1023). Again, Johnson is quite explicit about his main source: At the beginning of this "Life", he points out that he draws heavily on the "Account" prefixed to the first of six volumes in John Hawkesworth's edition of Swift's works (Johnson 1755, 1-40), but he also uses other biographies (see Lonsdale's commentary in Johnson 2006c, 426-9) and stories about Swift, divulged by "Lord Orrery" (see Johnson 2010, 992-3), Thomas Delaney (see 996; 1014-5), and Pope (see 1016). However, Johnson also rests his view on Swift's letters, which he uses to infer the Dean's "general habits of thinking": "He is

220 JÜRGEN MEYER querulous and fastidious, arrogant and malignant; he scarcely speaks of himself but with indignant lamentations, or of others with insolent superiority when he is gay, and with angry contempt when he is gloomy" (1019). Hawkesworth himself did not only reveal his own sources in great detail at the beginning of his "Account" (Hawkesworth 1755, 1), but, according to Johnson, he also closely followed "a scheme which I laid out before him in the intimacy of our friendship" (Johnson 2010, 972). Due to his own strained relations with Swift during the Dean's lifetime, and because of his general skepticism towards all hagiography, John- son revised Hawkesworth's sympathetic and, at times, even apologetic tone. For instance, Hawkesworth relates various cases showing Swift's relaxed attitude towards his servants, even though he briefly concedes "the apparent austerity of his temper" (Haw- kesworth 1755, 34). Johnson turns this relation upside-down, dwelling at length on Swift's poor abilities in managing his staff, whilst counter-evidence is marginalised: To his domesticks he was naturally rough; and a man of a rigorous temper, with that vigilance of minute attention which his works discover, must have been a man that few could bear. That he was disposed to do his servants good, on important occasions, is no great mitigation; bene- faction can be but rare, and tyrannick peevishness is perpetual. (Johnson 2010, 1015) An earlier statement about Swift's "incessantly attentive" mind, though all his productive "ideas, therefore, [which] being neither renovated by discourse nor increased by reading", had grown stale and "left his mind vacant" (1008-9) is likewise interpreted as a negative attitude, approaching paranoia: It is apparent that he must have had the habit of noting whatever he observed; for such a number of particulars could never have been assembled by the power of recollection. […] He grew more violent, and his mental powers declined till (1741) it was found necessary that legal guardians should be appointed of his person and fortune. (1009) Much more than his predecessor, who outlines Swift as representative of the Church of England and as acting "upon the principles, not only of general virtue, but of the noblest moral system of Christianity" (Hawkesworth 1755, 40), Johnson insists on a lifelong trajectory of Swift's moral deformities that runs through the texture of his "character": He sketches a man whose fear of hypocrisy provokes his own unreasonable self-censure (see Johnson 2010, 1014), stresses his "innate love of grossness and vul- garity" (976) and his poor performance at university (see 973). His prominent failure to treat women decently, by mentioning his secret marriage to Esther Johnson (see 979) as well as his deplorable conduct towards Esther Vanhomrigh in her later years (see 1003-4), complete the negative image. Ironically, according to Johnson's representation, Swift's innate weaknesses only furthered his own fears of hypocrisy and corruption. Still, Johnson concedes his personal resentment: "I have here given the character of Swift as he exhibits himself to my perception" (1021), and, in compensation to his subjective point of view, quotes a positive relation by the Earl of Orrery (see Lons- dale's commentary in Johnson 2006b, 426). Within the joint biography-as-criticism we find several statements about Swift's works. Johnson is very explicit in his verdict about "The Battle of the Books" (1704), accusing Swift of ignorance: The digressions relating to [William] Wotton and [Richard] Bentley must be confessed to discover want of knowledge, or want of integrity; he did not understand the two controversies [about the Ancients and the Moderns], or he willingly misrepresented them. But Wit can stand DR. JOHNSON'S LIVES OF THE POETS 221

its ground against Truth only a little while. The honours due to learning have been justly distributed by the decision of posterity. (Johnson 2010, 980) Johnson also mentions the initial reception of Gulliver's Travels (1726), pointing out not only its popularity ("it was read by the high and the low, the learned and the illiterate" [1001]) but also, more importantly, the amazement with which this work was received: "Criticism was for a while lost in wonder; no rules of judgment were applied to a book written in open defiance of truth and regularity" (1001).7 This statement invalidates the view that in focusing on Swift's "seeming novelty" it is the originality that Johnson credits with appraisal (see Jackson 2009, 13). On the contrary, the alleged focus on originality is in fact a statement about the text's lack of categorical positioning within existing critical paradigms, which leaves the work to stand by itself with no relevance to any reader, common or educated. Johnson's "Swift" concludes with three short paragraphs of poetic criticism, which are introduced by the claim that "[i]n the poetical works of Dr. Swift there is not much upon which the critick can exercise his powers" (Johnson 2010, 1022). Johnson assesses Swift's poems by the same categories as the ones given in "Collins", but with different results: "They are often humorous, almost always light, and have the qualities which recommend such compositions, easiness and gaiety. […] The diction is correct, the numbers are smooth, and the rhymes exact" (1022). But Johnson's praise is purposefully limited to these factors, because despite these formal assets, Swift is denied access to the poets' upper levels in the 'Hall of Fame'. As earlier in his Gulliver criticism, Johnson relegates the poet Swift into a solipsistic corner, pointing out that "all his verses exemplify his own definition of a good style" (1022; emphasis added). Strategically, he bars Swift's works from those of his contemporaries (except, perhaps, Pope), which neatly align with his relation of the satirist's alienation from his social environment in the preceding work-biography: Swift's unsociability is indicative of his works' general incompatibility, and incomparability with, the 'great literary tradition'. Even where Swift must be compared to such outstanding and truly ingenious writers as Pope, Johnson insists on the abundance of unfavourable personal qualities in Swift's character, ranging from mischievousness to madness. This comparison gains still more force in "Life of Pope", where Johnson suspects, discussing both their letters, "such nar- rowness of mind, as makes them insensible of any excellence that has not affinity with their own […]", but he is also quick to point out that "Swift's resentment was unreasonable, but it was sincere; Pope's was mere mimickry of his friend, a fictitious part which he began to play before it became him" (both quotes 1178). Earlier, Johnson insists on Pope's "social qualities" ("nothing but liberality, gratitude, constancy, and tenderness" [1173]), and it is only towards the end of Pope's life that (much as in "Collins") there is an allusion to the decline in his "vital powers", exemplified by the occasion a few weeks before his death in May 1744, where Pope was for the first time in his life a "delirious" author (1158) who, for the lack of mental health, found himself unable to write.

7 In these statements about Swift's prose satires we get a glimpse of Johnson's historical vision, based on the ideas of "truth and regularity". By charging Swift with "want of integrity" and a will to distort the truth, he holds the mirror up to his opponent who had intended the Tale of a Tub to be a satire against the "corruption of religion and learning", and whose Gulliver's Travels had been considered as both aesthetically and morally deficient: "But when distinction came to be made, the part which gave least pleasure was that which describes the Flying Island, and that which gave most disgust must be the history of the Houyhnhnms" (Johnson 2010, 1001).

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In effect, this "Life" presents an amalgamation of diverse textual constituents mixed together to create a most 'impure' result: It may be considered a formal anomaly with a polyphonic presentation necessitated by Johnson's own bias and the counterweight in his many sources. However, its polyphony, rather than relativising the subjective view on the poet, turns into an emblem of the corruption of Swift's mad mind: Unlike the subject in "Collins", whose distemper was, after all, not an "alienation of the mind" (1334), the ultimate fault lies hidden in the mental and moral fallibility of the historical individual, Jonathan Swift himself, who can only be represented as both a psychological and ethical impropriety. The effect of the "Life of Swift" on its recipients may have been similar to the one stated by Jane Steen in her recent discussion of the "Life of Savage": "Readers, duped by the balanced honesty of Johnson's prose into tolerating his subject, may find themselves shocked […] at the behavior described" (Steen 2012, 110). But though Savage's conduct was readily "condoned", Swift's life, following immediately upon that of Savage, was relentlessly condemned.

2.4 Violating Sensibility: "Cowley" While "Collins" emerges as a relatively sympathetic relation of a sick person, "Swift" features Johnson's rather merciless representation of a madman. In both "Lives", their mental and physiological constitutions disqualify them as lasting poets to be esteemed "for all time" (as Ben Jonson had predicted on Shakespeare's works in his commendato- ry poem, see Shakespeare 2005, lxxi). These texts are therefore, in part, a pathological diagnosis of the respective poet. With his "Life of Cowley" (Johnson 2010, 3-84), we find still another kind of life-construction – this time, finally, a happier conjunction of poeto-psychological criticism with a historiographical emplotment. Time and again, Johnson discusses Cowley's sound aesthetic and intellectual faculties that justify placing him in the larger poetic tradition. Thus, Cowley's mental "strength always appears in his agility; his volatility is not the flutter of a light, but the bound of an elastick mind. His levity never leaves his learning behind it" (51), and even though Johnson disparages aspects of Cowley's works, he considers the poet's "mind [as] capacious by nature, and replenished by study", enabling him to write "with abundant fertility, but negligent or unskillful selection; with much thought; but with little imagery", and he concludes "that he is never pathetick, and rarely sublime, but always either ingenious or learned, either acute or profound" (72-3). Commenting briefly on the essays, Johnson finds that "[h]is thoughts are natural, and his stile [sic] has a smooth and placid equability, which has never yet obtained its due commendation. Nothing is far-sought, or hard-laboured; but all is easy without feebleness, and familiar without grossness" (83). These balanced critical judgments are undoubtedly a very far cry from those in either "Collins" or "Swift", paying respect to Cowley's natural rather than deliberate affinity to truth and reason that allows him to "avoid[-] with very little care either meanness or asperity" (78). Written specifically for, and composed as the first in the London book series, Johnson situates Abraham Cowley's poetry both in the European and English literary traditions. He presents a relatively positive general verdict when he points out that Cowley "was almost the last of that race and undoubtedly the best" (48). In his biographical chronicle, Johnson relies on the prefatory account given by Thomas Sprat in the edition of The Works of Mr Abraham Cowley (1678), but, as in the case of Swift, rewrites this model because of its obvious "zeal of friendship, or ambition of eloquence", producing "a fu- DR. JOHNSON'S LIVES OF THE POETS 223 neral oration rather than a history" (5). Still, Johnson concedes at the end of this biographical chronicle: "He is represented by Dr. Sprat as the most amiable of mankind; and this posthumous praise may be safely credited, as it has never been contradicted by envy or by faction" (22). Still, as we follow Cowley to different places of his career at home (Cambridge: "master of arts", 1636-1643; Oxford: "doctor of Physick", 1657; retirement in Surrey) and abroad (French exile in the years of the Interregnum), Johnson presents his analytical statements: Cowley's juvenile comedy Love's Riddle is judged as "of the pastoral kind, which requires no acquaintance with the living world" (8), and the Latin works include plays and poems, the latter "in elegiac verse", on the "qualities of herbs" as well as the "beauties of flowers" and the "uses of trees in heroick numbers" (16). In his "examin[ing] particularly the works of Cowley" (48), Johnson establishes a sequence from the Miscellanies through to the Anacreontiques, The Chronicle, The Mis- tress collection, and the Pindarique Odes. These are followed by a lengthy discussion of the faults in the fragmentary verse epic titled The Davideis, superseded by a conclusion of Johnson's "general review of Cowley's poetry" (72) which revisits for a second time many of these poems and finally focuses on the essays (see 83-4). Cowley's poetic imagery, specifically his conceits and metaphors, are what offend Johnson the most. Thus, the Petrarchan poems in The Mistress "are all written with exuberance of wit, and with copiousness of learning", although Johnson qualifies this positive statement with the criticism "[t]hat confusion of images may entertain for a moment; but being unnatural, is soon grows wearisome" (both quotes 54-5). Likewise, Johnson criticises the Pindar- ic odes for a lack in the force of metaphors, which fail to be effective because "the mind by the mention of particulars is turned more upon the original than the secondary sense, more upon that from which the illustration is drawn than that to which it is applied" (59). But to Johnson it is, of course, the very essence of poetry that "[o]ne of the great sources of poetical delight is description, or the power of presenting pictures to the mind" (67), and in this respect, he concludes, Cowley's poetry is deficient. In contrast to either Collins or Swift, Cowley is a poet whose literary achievements are set in relation to those by other poets: "Among the English poets, Cowley, Milton, and Pope, might be said to 'lisp in numbers' […]" (7). Indeed, affixing his own attitude onto Pope's, Johnson emphasises the necessity of this critical procedure: "He that reads many books must compare one opinion or one style with another" (1047). Thus, in a brief comparative assessment with Milton's Latin works he prefers Cowley's ability to "accommodate[-] the diction of Rome to his own conceptions" (17). In the critical survey, literary points of reference include Torquato Tasso (only if to refute their comparability suggested earlier by Thomas Rymer: "I know not, indeed, why they [i.e. Tasso's Jerusalem and Cowley's Davideis] should be compared, for the resemblance of Cow- ley's work to Tasso's, is only that they both exhibit the agency of celestial and infernal spirits, in which however they differ widely" [71-2]). Most important, however, is the intermediate section of this "Life", with its 'collective Character' of the metaphysical poets of whom he was "the last […] and undoubtedly the best" (48). Johnson includes in the class ("race") of metaphysical poets John Donne and Ben Jonson and "[t]heir immediate successors, of whom any remembrance can be said to remain, were Suckling, Waller, Denham, Cowley, Cleveland, and Milton" (30). Other points of reference are the critical assessments of these poets by Dryden and Pope, and – as it were – as eternal standard gauge, Aristotle, "the father of criticism",

224 JÜRGEN MEYER against whose definition of poetry as imitative art the writers in question fall short: "[F]or they cannot be said to have imitated any thing [sic]; they neither copied nature nor life". The quality of their poetry, as Johnson puts it in his famous phrase, is intellectual rather than sentimental: "The most heterogeneous ideas are yoked by violence together; nature and art are ransacked for illustrations, comparisons, and allusions; their learning instructs, and their subtility [sic] surprises". Instead of creating the mental effect of sublimity, the metaphysical poets produced stylistically brilliant, yet largely technical hyperboles. Still, even though the "reader commonly thinks his improvement dearly bought" (all quotes 26), they also "struck out unexpected truth: if their conceits were far-fetched, they were often worth the carriage". Therefore, John- son hesitantly praises the effect of their works as cognitive "exercise[-] either by recollection or inquiry", and for the "genuine wit and useful knowledge" to be found in the "mass of materials which ingenious absurdity has thrown together" (all quotes 28-9) – but it is clear that this "ingenious absurdity" is not to be situated on the same level as the mentally impaired idiosyncrasies that he diagnosed within Swift's poetry. After this general description of what distinguishes metaphysical writing from traditional schools of poetry, Johnson adds a long chain of more or less extensive quotes from metaphysical poems, illustrating his earlier critical remarks in the form of brief comments (see 31-48). What this digression on the metaphysical poets accomplishes is quite obvious after what has been shown in the earlier discussions of "Collins" and "Swift": Cowley's individual talent can be aligned with the canon of the literary tradition, even though it is hard for Johnson to synthesise it with the neoclassical schools of poetry, based on Aristotle. Despite its suggested origins in recent continental literature, England's own generic class of poets created metaphysical poetry, Cowley included. Not only primus inter pares among his own kind, Johnson admits Cowley even into the ancestry of modern critics like himself, thus integrating him into the much younger, and more innovative tradition of professional literary criticism: His "critical abilities have not been sufficiently observed: the few decisions and remarks which his prefaces and his notes on the Davideis supply, were at that time accessions to English literature, and shew such skill as raises our wish for more examples" (51).

3. Johnson's Fictions of Enlightenment The above examples, with their different proportions of character-writing, historiography, and bio-critical evaluation, are representative of a great number of assessments in the Lives. The categories developed from them also point towards Johnson's conviction that poetry must rest on, and appeal to, a foundation in the mind that allows both rational as well as emotional dimensions. This conviction suggests an understanding of literature, in which interpersonal, i.e. social, conventions of reception will only be triggered by elementary, individually determined mental premises. Considered in this way, "genius" is much more than the highest aesthetic function seeping from a text creating the effect of the sublime, it is in fact the poet's most important cognitive, i.e. critical capacity, embodied rather by Dryden and Pope than by Addison and Cowley. Still, Johnson leaves little doubt that he regards Cowley as the most significant representative of a recent moment in literary history, and in contrast to such writers as Collins and Swift, he sees his oeuvre as one of lasting value, since it compares to others in reason, truth, and tradition. Writers with sufficient historical impact are, in Johnson's repre- DR. JOHNSON'S LIVES OF THE POETS 225 sentation, often well connected in their contemporary literary spheres and circles with figure-heads such as Milton, Addison, and Pope in particular, and they are all characterised by an education and reason that allows them to instruct and enlighten their readers: Thus, William Congreve is primarily credited with helping the nation on the basis of his "cure of our Pindarick madness. He first taught the English writers that Pindar's odes were regular; and […] he has shewn us that enthusiasm has its rules, and that in mere confusion there is neither grace nor greatness" (753). Likewise, John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester, is characterised as "an active and inquisitive mind" that was never, "except in his paroxysms of intemperance, […] negligent of study" (229). However, in contrast to public opinion, which had a largely benign attitude towards Elijah Fenton ("a man in the highest degree amiable"), Johnson discredits him first, because "Pope says, in his Letters, that 'he died of insolence'", and also because he wrote poems "of which the purpose is only to strike the fancy, without enlightening the understanding by precept, ratiocination, or narrative" (all quotes 783-4). In many cases, however, it seems, as if Johnson had presented the capability of reason in technically "excellent versifyer[s]" like Fenton and Wil- liam Broome (see 785; 1030) only as a saving stratagem by which he allowed his publishers to sell these "minor" poets – after all, he was part of a commercial enterprise. Johnson was well aware that a bio-critic's understanding of the projected author (the Other) must always remain deficient, simply for the principal lack of sufficiently comprehensive circumstantial information that might detail a "Life". As a result, there will always be a certain amount of doubt, speculation, and "imaginative inference" (Parker 2000, 327) in this genre. Taking recourse to different textual and rhetorical strategies that include devices used in many fictional works, such as allegories, analogies, sim- iles, etc. (see Backscheider 1999, 15), Johnson knew "that biography cannot reproduce a life that has been lived and is over, yet his biographies confer a fictional presence on the fragmented realities of the author's life and works" (Clingham 1997, 165). He even shaped them according to tropological principles, displaying tragic, ironic, or indeed "comic" modes of representation (see DeMaria 1993, 83). Yet in Rambler No. 176 (23 November 1751), Johnson captures the individual bio-critical activity as a flexible mind-reading, prior to any rhetorical organisation: "[T]he end of criticism is to supply [the intellect's] defects; rules are instruments of mental vision, which may indeed assist our faculties when properly used, but produce confusion and obscurity by unskilful application" (Johnson 1969c, 166-7; emphasis added).

References Primary Sources Hawkesworth, John (1755): "An Account of the Life of the Reverend Jonathan Swift, D.D., Dean of Saint Patrick's, Dublin", in: The Works of Jonathan Swift, D.D., Dean of St. Patrick's, Dublin. Accurately revised. With Some Account of the Author's Life. Ed. John Hawkesworth. 6 vols. London, 1-40 Johnson, Samuel (1763): "Some Account of the Life of Mr William Collins", Poetical Calendar. 12 vols. (Jan.-Dec.) Eds. Francis Fawkes and William Woty. London. XII, 107-112 [quoted from ECCO database] --- (1764): "Some Account of the Life of Mr William Collins", Gentleman's Magazine 34, 23-4 [quoted from ECCO database] [--- (1774)]. Miscellaneous and Fugitive Pieces. 2 vols. Dublin. [quoted from ECCO database] --- (1968a-b): Johnson on Shakespeare. 2 vols. Ed. Arthur Sherbo. Introd. Bertrand Bronson. (The Yale Edition of the Works of Samuel Johnson, VII-VIII). New Haven, NJ: Yale UP

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--- (1969a-c): The Rambler. 3 vols. Eds. W.J. Bate and Albrecht B. Strauss. (The Yale Edition of the Works of Samuel Johnson, III-V). New Haven: Yale UP --- (2006a-d): The Lives of the Most Eminent English Poets, with Critical Observations on Their Works. 4 vols. Ed., with Introd. and Notes, Roger Lonsdale. Oxford: Clarendon --- (2010): The Lives of the Poets. 3 vols. Ed. John Middendorf. (The Yale Edition of the Works of Samuel Johnson, XXI-XXIII). New Haven: Yale UP Shakespeare, William (2005): The Complete Works. 2nd ed. Eds. John Jowett, William Montgomery, Gary Taylor, and Stanley Wells. Oxford: Clarendon Press

Secondary Sources Armstrong, Paul B. (2013): How Literature Plays with the Brain: The Neuroscience of Reading and Art. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins UP Backscheider, Paula R. (1999): Reflections on Biography. Oxford: Oxford UP Bernaert, Lars et al. (eds., 2013): Stories and Minds: Cognitive Approaches to Literary Narrative. Lincoln/London: U of Nebraska P Boyle, John (1752): Remarks on the Life and Writings of Dr. Jonathan Swift. London Brownley, Martine Watson (1984): "Johnson's Lives of the Poets and Earlier Traditions of the Character Sketch in England", in: Engell, James (ed.): Johnson and His Age. Cambridge/London: Harvard UP, 29-54 Clingham, Greg (ed., 1997): "Life and Literature in Johnson's Lives of the Poets", in: Clingham, Greg (ed.): The Cambridge Companion to Samuel Johnson. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 161-191 DeMaria, Robert (1993): The Life of Samuel Johnson: A Critical Biography. Oxford: Blackwell Domsch, Sebastian (2014): The Emergence of Literary Criticism in 18th-Century Britain: Discourse Between Attacks and Authority. Berlin: De Gruyter Herman, David (2013): Storytelling and the Sciences of the Mind. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press Hogan, Patrick Colm (2001): Cognitive Science, Literature, and the Arts: A Guide for Humanists. New York/London: Routledge Jackson, H.J. (2009): "A General Theory of Fame in the Lives of the Poets", Age of Johnson: A Schol- arly Annual 19, 9-20 Nunnery, David (2012): "Informational Biography and the Lives of the Poets", Age of Johnson: A Scholarly Annual 22, 1-21 Palmer, Alan (2004): Fictional Minds. Lincoln/London: U of Nebraska P Parker, Fred (2000): "Johnson and the Lives of Poets", Cambridge Quarterly 29, 323-37 Richardson, Richard (2004): "Studies in Literature and Culture: A Field Map", in: Richardson, Alan; Spolsky, Ellen (eds.): The Work of Fiction: Cognition, Culture, and Complexity. Aldershot: Ashgate, 1-29 Steen, Jane (2012): "The Creation of Character", in: Johnston, Freya; Mugglestone, Lynda (eds.): Samuel Johnson: The Arc of the Pendulum. Oxford: Oxford UP, 109-119 Sternberg, Meir (2003a): "Universals of Narrative and their Cognitivist Future (I)", Poetics Today 24.2, 297-395 --- (2003b): "Universals of Narrative and their Cognitivist Future (II)", Poetics Today 24.3, 517-638 --- (2009): "Epilogue: How (Not) to Advance Toward the Narrative Mind", in: Brône, Geert; Van- daele, Jeroen (eds.): Cognitive Poetics: Goals, Gains and Gaps. Berlin: De Gruyter, 455-532 Stierstorfer, Klaus (2001): Konstruktion literarischer Vergangenheit: Die englische Literaturgeschich- te von Warton bis Courthope und Ward. Heidelberg: Universitätsverlag Carl Winter Turner, Mark (1991): Reading Minds: The Study of English in the Age of Cognitive Science. Princeton: Princeton UP --- (1997): Literary Minds. New York/Oxford: Oxford UP Weinbrot, Howard D. (2005): "'Obstinate Contests of Disagreeing Virtues': Johnson, Skepticism, the But Clause, and the Dialectical Imperative", in: Ibid., Aspects of Samuel Johnson: Essays on his Arts, Mind, Afterlife, and Politics. Newark: U of Delaware P, 215-238 Zunshine, Lisa (2006): Why we Read Fiction: Theory of Mind and the Novel. Columbus: Ohio State UP --- (2011): "1700-1775: Theory of Mind, Social Hierarchy, and the Emergence of Narrative Subjec- tivity", in: Herman, David (ed.): The Emergence of Mind: Representations in Narrative Discourse in English. Lincoln: Nebraska UP, 161-186 SUSANNE PETERS (MAGDEBURG)

The Dynamics of Censorship and the Female Novel of Development: Regulating the Power of Her Text

1. Introduction The long 18th century begins with a dubious attempt to abolish pre-publication state censorship: The Licensing Act, which was established during the Restoration and regulated print legislation, was not prolonged by Parliament in 1694.1 I take the lapsing of the Licensing Act as a tacit turning point in the history of print legislation and interpret it as a telling phenomenon that seems to accommodate our ideas – or, indeed, our fictions – of the Enlightenment as a period that prioritises reason, educational ideals, and the constant refinement of social conduct. However, the abolition of pre- publication state censorship was not yet purely good news for the freedom of speech, because censorship remained in effect, as the continuation of the Licensing Act that governed theatrical performances bears witness: In 1698, a royal order was given out to further extend the powers of the Master of the Revels, and from 1737 onwards, the theatre stages were controlled by the Lord Chamberlain himself. We also know the period around the turn of the century as a time when exclusive property rights were granted not only to booksellers but also to authors. Still, the regulation of ownership and the right to publish remained inadequate, making further acts necessary. Thus, a Copyright Act was passed in 1710 that granted, for a particular period, absolute ownership and the right to publish to those who were registered by the Stationers' Com- pany as copyright owners.2 Apart from the recognition of developing rights of author and publisher, the detection of libel was still regarded as necessary. It was entrusted to 'messengers of the press' and their assistants. Both Houses of Parliament also took an active part in the prohibition of obnoxious publications, carrying out examinations and committing offenders to prison. The Solicitor to the Treasury examined anything published with the alleged intent of causing a breach of the peace. Notwithstanding these rather crude official interventions, the government commissioned or subsidised pamphlets, journals, and

1 The Licensing Act covered pre-publication licensing, the registration of all printed materials, the names of author, printer, and publisher, the seizure and destruction of all offensive materials, and the arrest and imprisonment of those found to be in connection with it. 2 See Michael McKeon on this point (2005, 60). According to him, the year 1710 marks an ambiguous establishment of the absolute property of authors in their publications. The language of the act, he writes, makes no such distinction, as the exclusive right over printed material is held by those who own the right in copies. See also the ownership-dispute. A fascinating issue is indeed the question over authorship, as the case of Roger L'Estrange, surveyor of the Press to Charles II, shows: He sought to specify the author as "the first Mover" of publication by assuming that anyone found with an unlawful book was "the Author of the said Book, unless he Pro- duce the Person or Persons, from whom he receiv'd it" (McKeon 2005, 61). Thus, early references were made to mental, not financial possession. 228 SUSANNE PETERS pro-government prints which were partly distributed gratis. And this phenomenon, in addition to the refusal of Parliament to renew the Licensing Act of 1694, can indeed be associated with subtler methods of control, which may even bespeak a mere displace- ment (and perhaps also a refinement) of repressive action − not its abolition. I am particularly interested in detecting such subtle forms of the suppression of speech that I would like to ascribe to the workings of a 'censoring consciousness'3 – a kind of mind- set that seems to be responsible for a restrictive climate that infiltrates all stages of textual production and reception, not only in the emerging fields of journals, newspapers, or political pamphlets, but – more to the point that this essay will argue – also pertaining to the more individual contexts of the production, publication, and reading of fiction. These more or less official state practices were not the only signature of the dynamic phenomena of censorship in the early 18th century. They were, increasingly, one is inclined to think, complemented by sometimes substantial corrective and regulating forces in the more 'private' field of the production and reception areas of fiction, affecting all its different stages and extending from author to reader (and sometimes back). Thus, in the age of reason and sensibility, given the 18th-century prominence of educational ideas as well as the conspicuous general interest in proper social conduct, it is hardly surprising that the literary culture of the period is richly peopled with figures of authority, who refine and thus help to edit an author's text, who act as protagonists as well as narrators, correcting behaviour, honing particularly women's conduct, sound- ing notes of caution for the educational benefit of hero or heroine, not sparing the reader either. Phenomena of self-censorship can be detected among authors, characters, and narrators, there is a high rate of anonymous or pseudonymous publications; and lastly, there are cases of posthumous censorship4 that reveal the censoring mind- set at work. While official forms of the regulation of print legislation slowly dimin- ished, the 'censoring consciousness', however, seems to flourish, penetrating the emerging domestic sphere as well as attempting to govern the public literary markets of the time. Employing a feminist approach, I shall discuss how such a dynamic pervades the literary production of the female novel of development. My argument rests on the assumption that although official pre-publication censorship is no longer prevalent, its practices continue to be effective. It is intriguing to describe these as a change only of kind, not of the principle of censorship, and in this sense we might discuss a censoring power in connection with its application to two spheres: from factual and real contexts

3 The term 'censoring consciousness' – preceding the act of censorship – admittedly remains un- satisfactory here. However, I have not been able to locate an alternative that would serve to express the general motivation behind acts of the suppression of speech. What I wish to denote with the term 'consciousness' or 'agency' here is some kind of mentality or mind-set that can be examined independently of the individual level and abstracted to comprise rather firm attitudes about what can be said and what should be left unsaid. 4 Examples can be found in Chapman's 1923 edition of Jane Austen's Northanger Abbey and Persuasion, to which her brother Henry Austen contributed a "Biographical Notice" where he tells the readers that the public need not be concerned with some particular content of his sister's letters. To me, this amounts to an act of censorship in the sense that he deliberately withholds the content of the letters and thus does not give the reader the chance to decide for herself whether there is anything of interest to be found in them. THE DYNAMICS OF CENSORSHIP AND THE FEMALE NOVEL OF DEVELOPMENT 229 to the world of fiction, where the narrative voice as well as the heroine provide the object of suppression and restriction. Here, it is possible to identify censoring forces that seem to re-appear or to re-assert themselves in a range of disguises, the culmination of which seems to be every censor's dream: self-censorship. The dynamics of censorship in the 18th century thus comprise a movement from external forces to internal dialectics, a phenomenon that I believe to be rather unique in the history of censorship. In this sense, I associate this shift of the attention of a censoring mind-set to the control of voices within the storyworld of a given text with the establishment of the two spheres of the domestic/private and the public. I follow Michael McKeon (2005, 70f.), who discusses the terms in the context of Habermas' Structural Transformation,5 where the 18th century is described as a time when the notions of the private and the public began to be acknowledged, or rather, in McKeon's terms, they came to be re- constituted as something separate from each other: In 'traditional' cultures, the differential relationship between public and private modes of experience is conceived as a distinction that does not admit of separation. In 'modernity' the public and the private are separated out from each other, a condition that both sustains the sense of traditional distinction and, axiomatically, reconstitutes the public and the private as categories that are susceptible to separation. (McKeon 2005, xix) In what follows I will define my understanding of a 'censoring consciousness' and elaborate my idea to place it within a time-space continuum, discuss phenomena of censorship and the regulation of voice in terms of extra-textual or guardian censorship, and then examine intra-textual phenomena that I subsume under the heading of 'inscribing the voice of the censor in the text'.

2. 'Censoring Consciousness' in a Time-Space Continuum The term censorship is still much disputed and applied in many cultural and especially literary contexts. Looking back to its Latin origin, we note that the term registers a wide spectrum encompassing estimation, rating, assessment, and opinion-building. In the course of its long history, this wide application seems to have been narrowed down and the activity of censoring has been primarily reduced to ensuring that nothing immoral, heretical, or offensive to the king, the government, or the church corrupts the public sphere.6 Debating definitions of censorship, we may refer to two approaches that focus on external and internal forces, or variously direct and indirect, hard or soft ones: On the one hand, there is a traditional and conventional understanding of censorship that focuses on crude pre- or post-publication acts of repression. External forces directly affect the writer and the text, whereas internal or 'new' censorship emphasises censor-

5 Jürgen Habermas, The Structural Transformation of the Public Sphere: An Inquiry into a Cat- egory of Bourgeois Society (1962), trans. Thomas Burger and Frederick Lawrence, Cambridge: Cambridge UP 1982. 6 For substantial discussions of the term censorship see e.g. Assmann/Assmann 1987, Burt 1993/ 1994, Green 1990, Holquist 1994, Jones 2001, Müller 2004, Patterson 1991, and Post 1998. See also the special issue of JSBC (2008). Levine 1995 offers a psychoanalytical approach to new censorship. 230 SUSANNE PETERS ship as a concept of power that is stripped of its negative, domineering, or oppressive connotations and is instead vested with discursive and constitutive (in the sense of the construction of meaning) undertones. New censorship then relates to procedural aspects of the regulation of voice. Such a concept accommodates the poststructuralist theories of Foucault (1980, 1983), Stanley Fish (1994), and Pierre Bourdieu (1983, 1991), who view censorship as a structural necessity: an economy of choice that is governed by the principles of selection and regulation, internalised through language, and thus present in every utterance. An awareness of censorship is seen to simultaneously inhibit and provoke the writer. Through the interaction of different forces, censorship is conceived as to be in some way productive. Its procedural nature is thought to comprise all socially structured directives by systems of authority, which affect the dissemination of ideas, information, or images. However, if we understand censorship to be ubiquitous, it is also unavoidable. And if that is the case, should we oppose it? Can we oppose it? Were we to apply a time line to the evolving definitions and conceptions relating to censorship, we could possibly speak of the expiry of the Licensing Act in Great Britain at the beginning of the 18th century (or, to be more precise, at the end of the 17th century) as a turning point at which we could identify more subtle – constitutive, procedural, and productive – forms of censorship and thus speak of a censoring mind-set succeeding more drastic and direct types of intervention. Specific phenomena of censorship can be related to the two corresponding contexts of the production and reception of literary texts. Focusing on the different developmental stages of book production to the ensuing reception, we can register a 'censoring consciousness' that affects all the stages from pre- to post-publication. We can discover how a (mostly male) guardian or parent, who advises, corrects, and edits the (often female) author's text, appears to transform itself into the voice of characters or narrators. In this sense, the external regulative forces seem to acquire an alter ego within the text. Thus, non-fictional agents are comprehensively "emplotted"7 in the literary text. They address the reader. Understood in this sense, fiction also becomes a mes- senger handing over a piece of advice on proper social behaviour and reading fiction becomes commensurate with reading conduct material. Indeed, much of Richardson's Clarissa, for example, can be read as such. Michael McKeon specifies this argument when he examines the effect of print legislation at the beginning of the century: The Copyright Act of 1710 attempted to resolve the epistemo-economic problem of ownership that was aggravated by the lapsing of the 1694 act. In a parallel fashion, the Stamp Act of 1712 sought, in the wake of the 1694 expiration, a resolution to the politico-ethical problem of libel. Rather than return to the failed mechanisms of state censorship, the act of 1712 tried to shift responsibility from the state to the producing individuals by prohibiting anonymous publication. The logic of the legislation was that if the names of author or printer were required to appear on published works (with the penalty of a sizeable tax and the forfeit of copyright for noncompli- ance), their human bearers would be obliged to exercise prior self-censorship, that is, to intern- alize the negative authority of the state. (McKeon 2005, 92-93)

7 I use Hayden White's term to signify the incorporation of the non-fictional agent of a censoring force into the narrative text, where it is recognisably distinct from other agents such as characters or narrators. For the new historicist use of the term see Hayden White 2001. THE DYNAMICS OF CENSORSHIP AND THE FEMALE NOVEL OF DEVELOPMENT 231

McKeon's argument ties in with my own here: The internalisation of negative authority is indeed a complex process that seems to culminate when conduct is censored within the text by a character or the narrator. What reaches the reader is thus always already corrected while nothing offensive is countenanced. Such a dialectic understanding of how the censoring agency functions relates to the spheres of the public and the private. Censoring forces affect the private situation of manuscript production, the publication in the public sphere of the literary market, and the domestic or private sphere with each individual reader, thus closing the circular movement involving the two spheres. Thus, I suggest looking at different phenomena of censorship in a temporal perspective with regard to the stage of production at which they appear, and in a spatial perspective with regard to their occurrence either inside or outside of the material narrative text (i.e. the published book) along the axis of the domestic and the public.

3. Case Studies: Extra-Textual Pre-Publication Guardian Censorship The contexts of the 18th century female novel of development provide a rich source of examples of the workings of a censoring agency. Briefly remembering a few genre characteristics, we may note that they include the quest of a young woman for a suitable marriage-partner, and the (endangered) preservation of her reputation founded on modest and chaste behaviour. Often, the absence of a mother means there is a lack of guidance. This discovery of such a 'negative space' obviously gives ample scope for a comprehensive range of moral issues to be presented to the reader. Yet there is another argument connected to the idea of space and its female connotation, according to Paula Backscheider. She argues that [e]very text has a space within it for the Other, for opposition, for obstacle, for whatever occupies the position that is not expressive of the dominant. […] The women writers of the early eighteenth century, along with groups of playwrights and poets, transformed that space by filling it with women characters who made the texts what Mikhail Bakhtin has called dialogic and with heroines who came to represent a number of things to later novelists, including especially revisionary, even revolutionary ideas – tropes of and for change. (Backscheider 2000, 6)8 Backscheider's logic of a narrative space that is "not expressive of the dominant" and therefore needs to be filled by an Other helps create a dialogue between the various powers of the text. One could widen the scope of her argument and contend that even if that narrative space of the Other were dominant, we might still see a dialogic power structure at work: Where the voice of the censor makes itself heard, antagonistic forces must be present – no matter whether the voice of alleged moral superiority is inside or outside of the narrative.

8 Emphasising a similar logic of space, Vera Nünning discusses the often problematic aspect of filling it with female authority. She seeks to identify a way out for women writers in their employment of a collection of narrative strategies. These techniques, while highlighting female experience, also serve to subtly criticise general mores – but as far as I can see, only two of those conform in any way to my argument of the voice of external authority creeping into the text itself, the closest being her numbers 5) "presenting criticism of the heroine and pejorative opinions about women by way of unattractive, unworthy characters (the reader cannot identify with)", and 10) "the choice of focalisers and the depiction of consciousness" (see 2012, 93ff.). 232 SUSANNE PETERS

The first example to illustrate such a dialectic between inside and outside forces is a phenomenon that I term 'guardian censorship'. It refers to regulative parental editing of the female author's text. Though it means stretching the already long 18th century a little bit further, I find a good example in Maria Edgeworth's (1768-1849) moral tale Belinda (1801), which underwent several modifications both before and after publication, with substantial changes made to the second (1802) and third editions (1810). According to Edgeworth's biographer Marilyn Butler, the activity of correcting Maria's text was taken very seriously indeed in the Edgeworth household.9 Therefore, it was done primarily by her father himself, as is suggestive in this passage from a letter by Richard Edgeworth: If my daughter has obtained any literary reputation, it has not been won, by sudden fits of exer- tion, but by patient changes and corrections which have cancelled more than three-fourths of what she had written − Ennui, one of her best performances, was totally rewritten, so was Vivian; and The Absentee had been written first in a theatrical form, before it appeared as one of the Fashionable Tales. (Butler 1972, 291) Maria’s father obviously did not have a high opinion of her accuracy either: The confusion of names which is the constant fault of all you write is to be met with in these fair pages − Burdon for Barker and Oh fie! Angelina for Lady Frances. […] One sheet was turned wrong side out − fie fie fie − will you never mend. […]. (ibid., 291) Though Butler interprets this simply in terms of saving Maria's time, on a more gender-conscious note we can surely argue that it is the father who regulates, dominates, restricts – thus in fact censors – Maria's text. However, as Myers insists, the "staple of Edgeworth criticism" (Myers 2000, 105) needs to be more closely examined. Modern readers, according to Myers, need to decode the novel "for what it is: not a tame recycling of daddy's ideas, but a remarkably sophisticated takeoff and parodic revision- ing of multiple fathers (and mothers)" (ibid.). Understood in this sense, Belinda becomes a palimpsest of sorts, albeit a problematic one. Belinda went through three editions within a time span of nine years. For the novel's third edition of 1810, Maria rewrote the representation of romantic relationships formed between her white English and West Indian characters. In the first two editions, the gentlewoman Belinda became engaged to the Creole nobleman Mr Vincent, and Mr Vincent's black servant got married to a white English country girl. However, as the novel was to be included in the conservative British Novelists Series, these relationships could not be upheld. In a letter to her aunt on 9 January 1810, Maria commented on the rewritings: In the second volume there is no alteration of any consequence except that Juba the black servant is not allowed to marry the country girl Lucy; because my father has great delicacies and scruples of conscience about encouraging such marriages – Therefore one Jackson, a hard- favoured man is Lucy's bridegroom and poor Juba has only the pleasure of playing the Banjore and dancing at the wedding – all the rest is as it was nearly. The principal alterations are in the third volume which I send you – Belinda you know leaves Oakley park without getting farther than esteem with Mr Vincent – and I have now taken care

9 For a discussion of authority in the Edgeworth household, see also Kaufman/Fauske 2004, Kowaleski-Wallace 1991, and especially Myers' (2000) and Narain's (2006) gendered approaches. THE DYNAMICS OF CENSORSHIP AND THE FEMALE NOVEL OF DEVELOPMENT 233

that she never gets farther – as you will see she does now not acknowledge or feel any love for him nor does she ever consent to marry him – […]. (Edgeworth 1994, xxvii) Edgeworth was forced to make her colonial characters less admissible into English society, and "she certainly had to banish that spectre of inter-racial marriage", as Kath- ryn Kirkpatrick elaborates in her detailed introduction to the novel (1994, xxii). Ap- parently, this novel of female development was deemed too forward in its permission of forming cosmopolitan relationships.

4. Case Studies: Intra-Textual Censorship In Samuel Richardson's Clarissa, the 'censoring consciousness' materialises as a character.10 In letter 28 – Clarissa to her friend Anna Howe – Clarissa herself assumes the role of censor, chiding her friend for taking liberties in writing about the faults of her relatives: In the first place, you must allow me to say, low as I am in spirits, that I am very angry with you for your reflections on my relations, particularly on my father, and on the memory of my grandfather. Nor, my dear, does your own mamma always escape the keen edge of vivacity. One cannot one's self forbear to write or speak freely of those who we love and honour; that is to say, when grief wrings the heart. But it goes against one to hear anybody else take the same liberty. […] Let me then, as matters arise, make my complaints to you; but be it your part to soothe and soften my angry passions by such advice as nobody better knows how to give: and this the rather, as you know what an influence your advice has upon me. (Richardson 2004, 134) I interpret this example as a peculiar kind of self-censorship: If we regard Anna Howe as Clarissa's more outspoken, less restrained, more natural – if less reflexive – second self, Clarissa would censor her own natural reaction towards the injustices dealt her by her family. The somewhat natural human reaction of outrage and rejection that anybody (in real life) would be tempted to display in Clarissa's confined situation is displaced into the correspondent who voices her criticism but is then censored according to the logic of the novel's educational politics. This pattern, I believe, is also one of the reasons why Clarissa is such a painful novel to read: It involves the meticulous rendering of the breaking of a young impressive spirit, who is slowly but surely forced to comply with and assist her censors in the process of silencing her.11 Witnessing Clarissa thus internalising the principles of censorship, the reader – most naturally – takes the side of the censored Anna Howe. The attempted restriction of communication – Clarissa is forbidden to write – though leading to a plethora of words, leads to nothing else. Intra-textual censorship is also found in Frances Burney's epistolary novel Evelina (1778).12 Here, the Reverend Mr Villars, the heroine's guardian and the addressee of nearly all her correspondence, constantly evaluates her conduct and judges the suitabil-

10 For a study of Clarissa's self-command see Barker 1970. Richardson was in the habit of sending his manuscripts to friends and spending time and energy to discuss characters and plot with them, though not necessarily heeding their advice. See Coyle 2006 and Houlihan 1999 in this matter. The contradictory contexts of privacy and epistolary fiction are analysed by Gillias 1984 and (with an analysis of spatial categories) Lipsedge 2005 and Varey 1990. 11 Bobbit 1989 provides us with an analysis of internal and external editors of Clarissa. 12 Zaczek 1997 presents an excellent study of the intricacies of epistolary fiction in the context of censorship. 234 SUSANNE PETERS ity of her friends and suitors. Although physically absent from the beginning of the three-volume story to the end, he guides his ward Evelina until she arrives at the safe haven of marriage and is set up as a prime example for the benefit of her mostly female readership. Although Mr Villars does not forbid her to act in a certain way, he is always ready to advise her on the propriety of her conduct. In this sense, he functions as a regulative – again male – power that exerts control over the heroine's story and her communication: […] you must learn not only to judge but to act for yourself: if any schemes are started, any en- gagements made, which your understanding represents to you as improper, exert yourself reso- lutely in avoiding them, and do not, by a too passive facility, risk the censure of the world, or your own future regret. […] Remember, my dear Evelina, nothing is so delicate as the reputation of a woman: it is, at once, the most beautiful and most brittle of all human things. (Burney 2004, 183) In her attempts to heed her guardian's advice, Evelina frequently fails to find the appropriate words to match her feelings in oral conversation (reported in the letters). This failure is in stark contrast to her loquacity and the rhetorical command she manages to display elsewhere in her written correspondence. Of course, this inconsistency ties in with the generic logic of the double-time structure of epistolary fiction, but we can at least note this discrepancy in terms of controlling or regulating the female voice. An example of such a 'rhetorical' censoring, that reveals and plays with her two rather di- vergent female voices (one coy or mawkish, the other sophisticated and reflective) is her stammering reaction to being addressed by Lord Orville, with whom she is in love. Here, she hedges the reported dialogue between the lovers with some afterthoughts in her letter: I was extremely disconcerted at this grave, and but too just accusation, and I am sure I must look very simple; – but I made no answer. (Burney 2004, 387) In another example, Lord Orville's flowery phrasing of a simple question relating to her silence [sic] is also in stark contrast to her stammering, yet probably charmingly received, response: […] I hope you will not think me impertinent, if I still solicit, still entreat, nay implore you to tell me, to what cause your late sudden, and to me most painful, reserve was owing? 'Indeed, my Lord,' said I, stammering, 'I don't, – I can't, – indeed, my Lord, –' […]. (ibid.) Reported behaviour or conduct in the public sphere of the story world is offered to the reader complete with its corrective moral evaluation. Again, this pairing refers us to the dialectic workings of the censoring agency with which female (feminine?) shyness and even silence are endorsed via a wordy critical elaboration – and perhaps it is a little too cold a comfort that it is offered by the female author herself.

5. Summary It has been argued that even in the years following the official ending of pre-publication censorship in Britain, it still exists in many forms. Employing a wide definition of the term censorship to include regulative forces at work in 18th-century fiction, I used a two-dimensional approach comprising perspectives of time and space (encompassing both material and immaterial aspects of the term) that allows us to examine the activity of restricting or silencing the primarily female voice. Censorship is involved in THE DYNAMICS OF CENSORSHIP AND THE FEMALE NOVEL OF DEVELOPMENT 235 all stages of manuscript production and, we might add, reception, were we to extend the argument to the mind of the readers. It likewise infiltrates both the domestic and the public sphere. Perhaps my readers feel reminded of Northrop Frye's classic emphasis on the procedural aspect of the age of sensibility, and I do not offer a new definition of censorship either. Yet I was particularly interested in elaborating how, after the lapse of pre- publication censorship, it continued in more subtle forms. With respect to these forms, what we think and know today of the Enlightenment period is not fictitious. Let me end on an antagonistic note. Those, who, according to a famous remark by Johnson, would hang themselves were they to read Richardson for the story, might perhaps turn to Henry Fielding. Shamela is a catalyst to the liberty of expression with a voice that celebrates its own licentiousness and thus may serve as a welcome antidote to any 'censoring consciousness'. What a shame, then, that even Henry Fielding did not escape censorship either.

References Primary Sources Burney, Frances (2004 [1778]): Evelina. London: Penguin Edgeworth, Maria (1994 [1801]): Belinda. Ed. Kathryn Kirkpatrick. Oxford: Oxford UP Richardson, Samuel (2004 [1747-48]): Clarissa, Or, The History of a Young Lady. London: Penguin

Secondary Sources Assmann, Aleida; Assmann, Jan (1987): Kanon und Zensur: Archäologie der literarischen Kommuni- kation II. München: Wilhelm Fink Backscheider, Paula (ed., 2000): Revising Women: Eighteenth-Century 'Women's Fiction' and Social Engagement. Baltimore/London: Johns Hopkins UP Barker, Gerard A. (1970): "Clarissa's 'Command of her Passions': Self-Censorship in the Third Edi- tion", Studies in English Literature 1500-1900 10.3, 525-539 Bobbit, Curtis Wayne (1989): Internal and external editors of Samuel Richardson's Clarissa. Ann Arbor: University Mikrofilms International Bourdieu, Pierre (1991): "Censorship and the Imposition of Form", in: Thompson, John B. (ed.): Lan- guage and Symbolic Power. Trans. Gino Raymond and Matthew Adamson. Cambridge, MA.: Har- vard UP --- (1993 [11983]): "The Field of Cultural Production", in: P.B. The Field of Cultural Production. Essays on Art and Literature. Ed. Randal Johnson. Cambridge: Polity Press, 29-73 Burt, Richard (1993): Licensed by Authority: Ben Jonson and the Discourses of Censorship. Ithaca/ London: Cornell UP --- (1994): "Introduction: The 'New' Censorship", in: Burt, Richard (ed.): The Administration of Aes- thetics: Censorship, Political Criticism, and the Public Sphere. Minneapolis: U of Minnesota P Butler, Marilyn (1972): Maria Edgeworth: A Literary Biography. Oxford: Clarendon Chapman, R.W. (1975 [1923]): The Novels of Jane Austen. Vol 5: Northanger Abbey and Persuasion. The Text based on Collation of the Early Editions. London: Oxford UP. Preface by Henry Austen, "Biographical Notice of the Author". Web. [last accessed 22 February 2015] Coyle, Eugene A. (2006): "Lady Elizabeth Echlin (1702-1782): An Irish 18th century Correspondent of Samuel Richardson and author of An Alternative Ending to Richardson's Clarissa", Irish Studies Review 14.1, 107-125 236 SUSANNE PETERS

Fish, Stanley (1994): There’s no such Thing as free Speech and it’s a good Thing too. New York: Ox- ford UP Foucault, Michel (1980): Power/Knowledge: Selected Interviews and Other Writings. Ed. and trans. Colin Gordon. New York: Pantheon Books --- (1983): "The Subject and Power", in: Dreyfus, Hubert L.; Rabinow, Paul (eds.): Michel Foucault: Beyond Structuralism and Hermeneutics. 2nd ed. Chicago: U of Chicago P Gillias, Christina Marsden (1984): The Paradox of Privacy: Epistolary Form in "Clarissa", Gaines- ville: University Presses of Florida Green, Jonathan (1990): The Encyclopedia of Censorship. New York: Facts on File Habermas, Jürgen (1982 [1962]): The Structural Transformation of the Public Sphere: An Inquiry into a Category of Bourgeois Society. Trans. Thomas Burger and Frederick Lawrence. Cambridge: Cambridge UP Holquist, Michael (1994): "Corrupt Originals: The Paradox of Censorship", PMLA 1 (special issue on censorship), 14-25 Houlihan Flynn, Carol (1999): Clarissa and her Readers: New Essays for the Clarissa Project. New York: AMS Press Inc. Jones, Derek (2001): Censorship. A World Encyclopedia, 4 vols. London/Chicago: Dearborn Journal for the Study of British Cultures 15.2 (2008), special issue Censorship in Britain Kaufman, Heidi; Fauske, Christopher J. (eds., 2004): An Uncomfortable Authority: Maria Edgeworth and her Contexts. Newark: U of Delaware P Kowaleski-Wallace, E. (1991): Their Fathers' Daughters: Hannah Moore, Maria Edgeworth, and Patriarchal Complicity. Oxford: Oxford UP Levine, Michael (1995): Writing Through Repression. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins UP Lipsedge, Karen (2005): "Representations of the Domestic Parlour in Samuel Richardson's Clarissa, 1747-48", Eighteenth-Century Fiction 17.3, 391-423 McKeon, Michael (2005): The Secret History of Domesticity: Public, Private, and the Division of Knowledge. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins UP Müller, Beate (ed., 2004): Censorship ad Cultural Regulation in the Modern Age. New York: Rodopi Myers, Mitzi (2000): "My Art Belongs to Daddy? Thomas Day, Maria Edgeworth, and the Pre-Texts of Belinda: Women Writers and Patriarchal Authority", in: Backscheider, Paula (ed.): Revising Women, 104-146 Narain, Mona (2006): "Not the Angel in the House: Intersections of the Public and Private in Maria Edgeworth's Moral Tales and Practical Education", in: Nash, Julie (ed.): New Essays on Maria Edgeworth. Aldershot, 57-71 Nünning, Vera (2012): "Voicing Criticism in Eighteenth-Century Novels by Women: Narrative At- tempts at Claiming Authority", in: English Past and Present: Selected papers from the IAUPE Malta Conference in 2010. Frankfurt: Lang, 81-107 Patterson, Annabel (1991): "Censorship", in: Coyle, Martin et al. (eds.): Encyclopedia of Literature and Criticism. Detroit: Gale Research Inc., 901 Post, Robert C. (ed., 1998): Censorship and Silencing: Practices of Cultural Regulation. The Getty Research Institute for the History of Art and the Humanities: Los Angeles Varey, Simon (1990): Space and the Eighteenth-Century Novel. Cambridge: Cambridge UP White, Hayden (2001): "The Historical Text as Literary Artifact", in: Roberts, Geoffrey (ed.): The History and Narrative Reader. London: Routledge, 221-236 Zaczek, Barbara Maria (1997): Censored Sentiments: Letters and Censorship in Epistolary Novels and Conduct Material. Newark: U of Delaware P JOHN RICHETTI (NEW YORK)

Panegyric and Satire: The Hanoverians Enter English Literature

In 18th-century Anglo-American literary studies the prevailing view of the first two Georges has been guided by the powerfully negative views of the Hanoverian kings of the Tory satirists, mainly Pope and Swift, rather than by the Whig politicians with whom George I made common cause when he arrived in 1714, and of course by the writers, many employed by those politicians, who sought to exalt the new sovereign. My recent research has given me a new respect for the stability and continuity that the first two Georges actually brought to British politics. I now have a much better understanding of the first two Hanoverians and even real admiration for them and their achievements as monarchs during what were exciting and expansionary if dangerous times for Britain on the world stage. They deserve in fact a lot of credit for saving Britain from a return of violent sectarian political strife. George I, as the historian Ragnhild Hatton puts it, was not the stolid, pop-eyed philistine of Tory and Jacobite propaganda but rather "in tune with Early Enlightenment ideas both in domestic and foreign affairs", and although he ruled in Hanover as an absolute monarch he was progressive and attentive to the poor and needy. George's motto – "Never desert a friend, strive to do justice to every person, fear no one" – according to Hatton accurately sums up his achievements in the electorate (Hatton 1978, 290-91). It is also worth noting that Voltaire dedicated his Henriade (1723) to George, and in 1726 he was allowed to find refuge in England and received financial aid from the king and from the Prince of Wales. To be sure, except for music, the first George seems to have had little use for the arts, although Hatton says he read French authors and that his "general interest in philosophical exchange of ideas had given him the European reputation of a 'modern' ruler" (Hatton 1978, 291). He is reported to have said, in his limited English, that he hated "all boets and bainters". Nonetheless, the literary record of the first few years of George I's reign is full of the most extravagant panegyrical poems you can imagine, as well as a much smaller number of satirical, Jacobite-inspired verses. That the arrival of a new and foreign king was greeted by an outpouring of what has become necessarily ephemeral panegyrical verse is I think important for literary and political history. I want to begin with a selection of poetic panegyrics that greeted George when he arrived in London in 1714, and subsequently to discuss (again a small selection) the panegyrical verse that marked birthdays and other important royal events during his reign and that of his son, George II. In part, my object is to marvel at the enduring tradition of royal panegyrical verse, which survives for modern readers, when it does, only as a literary curiosity. I think you may well be amused by these samples of versi- fied flattery. Panegyrical verse was not only occasional but meant for wide public consumption, a form of advertising as it were, written to mark newsworthy events, to celebrate political and military heroes, or to praise or to mourn aristocrats and monarchs. A good deal of this verse is opportunistic as well as occasional, with two practical purposes: panegyrical, in an age when advancement depended often upon aristocratic and 238 JOHN RICHETTI political patronage, written to curry favor with the great and the powerful; satirical, written to protest what poets saw as unjust or immoral and to attack the powerful and the corrupt (and thereby to please the powerful enemies of such targets and to earn patronage). But of course latter day readers can much more easily appreciate and value satirical verse, since the political, economic, and moral corruption they attack is still very much with us. Additionally, I would venture that most of us are not monarchists and find royal panegyrics at best amusing. Poets we now consider major were hardly averse to producing panegyrical verse. There are parts of Pope's Windsor Forest that celebrate the powerful and the powers that be: In Windsor Forest "Rich Industry sits smiling on the Plains, / And Peace and Plenty tell, a STUART reigns" (ll. 41-2). That Stuart monarch is Queen Anne, who marks the end of the war with France through the Peace of Utrecht: "At length great ANNA said – Let Discord cease! / She said, the World obey'd, and all was Peace!" (ll. 327-8)1 Panegyric is by definition flattery, and almost automatically slides into the obviously exaggerated, formulaic, and predictable. But a defense of what looks like mere flattery to us is possible if we historicize the genre and try to imagine what contemporaries would have made of such verses. Here is one instance of what I would call a possible exception to those dangers of instant ephemerality, a panegyric by Matthew Prior, celebrating the coronation of James II and his queen in 1685: "On the Corona- tion of the Most August Monarch K. James II. And Queen Mary. The 23rd of April, 1685". The opening two stanzas, edited somewhat, are totally extravagant, of course, in their praise: I. No, 'tis in vain. What Limits can controul The Rovings of my active Soul? That Soul that scorns to be to Place confin'd, But leaves its dull Companion Earth behind […] II. Thus methinks I see the Barge, Pleas'd with the Sacred weight of its Majestick charge; Argo a less Glorious Freight. From impoverish'd Colchos brought; The Cretan Sea now vanquish'd must confess Its Burthen meaner, and its Tryumph less; Since richer Thames doth James and Mary bear, HE great as Jove, SHE as Europa Fair. (Wright/Spears 1959, l.1) Prior was a young man of twenty-one in 1685, not yet the distinguished diplomat and major poet he would become, so this is the effort of an aspiring and inexperienced writer. Although nowadays readers no longer tolerate panegyrical excess, the point of such poems was precisely and overtly to glorify, to invent extravagant praise, with truth or accuracy irrelevant. No one, presumably, was fooled or was meant to take this fantasy seriously or literally. Prior's poem is a deliberately artificial, almost ritualized vision, not an observation of reality, and these opening stanzas make that clear; the speaker leaves the dull earth; his imagined version of the royal couple transforms them into figures who outdo classical legend (although that last line is a bit maladroit, with James as Jove, the bull who rapes Europa, his queen, Mary!). As these things go (and

1 All quotations from Pope's poems are from Butt 1963. PANEGYRIC AND SATIRE 239 there were literally hundreds of them in the Restoration and even later in the first three or four decades of the 18th century), Prior's youthful effort is smooth, relatively controlled and elegant, not especially pompous, and with a strong sense in the opening stanza of dialogue, of something like speech rather than pure poetic rant. Among the panegyrics greeting George's arrival in Britain I found nothing quite as smoothly elegant as Prior's poem. But just about all of them have a metrical fluency and professional ease, testimony to the poetic culture of the period where occasional verse was a popular form of expression suitable for public commemorative occasions. Laurence Eusden, a fellow of Trinity College and prominent Whig poet, greeted George in 1714 with "A Letter to Mr. Addison, On the King's Accession to the Throne", which imagines all of Britain inspired to write verses on the new monarch: Old Age, transported, feels a youthful Fire, And trembling, strikes the long-neglected Lyre. Poetick Youths their Infant Pinions try, And every callow Muse attempts to fly. Ev'n those, by Nature not design'd to Sing, Who never tasted the Castalian Spring, Forgetful of their unperforming Parts, In homely Doggrel vent their honest Hearts: At the high Theme they impotently aim, And sacrifice to Loyalty their Fame. While dextrous Virgins nobler Arts pursue, And with old Glories interweave the New: Watchful the Slumbers of the Night they break, And teach the curious Needle how to speak. One such poetic effort was the dramatist Susannah Centlivre's 1715 short poem, "A Poem. Humbly Presented to His most Sacred Majesty GEORGE, King of Great Britain, France, and Ireland Upon His Accession to the Throne". Centlivre begins by admitting her lack of skill at verse: "Vouchsafe, Great Prince, to hear my humble Muse, / And let my Zeal my want of Skill excuse". Centlivre's short poem celebrates George in moderate, specifically political terms for ending faction and division by casting out Queen Anne's Tory ministers: "A wicked Race of Men, for private Ends, / Had rais'd her baffled Foes, and sunk her Friends", but Heaven has sent George and "revers'd our low'ring Fate, / And by thy destin'd ARM retriev'd the State". Centlivre's poetic modesty is rare. These poetic greetings to the new king are almost invariably extravagant if professionally competent productions. One of the best of these, fairly restrained when it comes to panegyric extravagance, is "George: A Poem Humbly Inscrib'd to the Right Honourable the Earl of Warrington. By Mr. Brereton, of Brazen-Nose College, Oxford" (1715). This poem is unique in making a point that I myself had puzzled over: Georg Ludwig, Elector of Hanover, one is surprised to find, was the first George to sit on the throne of a nation whose patron saint since the end of the 14th century had been St. George, a martyred Roman soldier converted to Christi- anity (to be sure George is also the patron saint of Aragon, Catalonia, Georgia, Lithua- nia, Palestine, Portugal, Germany, and Greece, as well as of Moscow, Istanbul, Genoa, and Venice – second to St. Mark). He is also the patron saint of soldiers, cavalry, farmers, Boy Scouts, butchers, of sufferers from leprosy, plague, and syphilis, and of archers. And of course Spenser's Red Cross Knight in The Faerie Queen is meant to 240 JOHN RICHETTI recall St. George. The roll call of male English kings includes all those Edwards, Edgars, Williams, Henrys, Richards, James, and Charles, even a John, but no monarch chose a name that would resonate with the familiar memorable lines from Shake- speare's Henry V as his troops besiege Harfleur: "I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips, / Straining upon the start. The game's afoot; / Follow your spirit, and, upon this charge / Cry God for Harry, England and St. George!" But this donnish Oxford poet catches the significance of this first King George in a political allegory: Ills which have been do oft arrive again; A George in Britain may not always Reign: Tho' sure the Omen does no Ill infold, That now We first a Royal George behold. Nor wholly Thou a Parallel disclaim With the old Saint and Champion of thy Name: Since the known Legend, whether feign'd or true, Is a clear Type of Wonders Thou should'st do: Discord, the Dragon ready to invade, And who but Liberty the rescu'd Maid? The allegory is impeccably Whiggish in that the poet celebrates George as a king chosen by the people, and the dragon he slays is political discord: O Hail, the People's Choice! the People's King! Their Choice the purest Title Thou can'st bring. Thou com'st not puff'd with an imagin'd Right, To rule a Nation in its own Despite: […] But howe'er else debar'd, Thou dost succeed By Acts of Settlement long since Decreed: The Kingdom easing her devout Desires, With all the Sanction that a Crown requires. In that regard, George is also chosen by God, like the biblical worthies he resembles. He is like Saul first and foremost the choice of the people, but also like David possessed of divine assent: Thou, like Good David, dost the Throne ascend; David himself scarce more th' Almighty's Friend. And Saul, appointed by Divine Decree, What Kindred Claim, what other Right had He? The People Chose Him first with mutual Voice, And in his Prophet God approv'd their Choice. Vox populi, vox dei! Brereton's poem is judicious, measured, analytical, and thereby fairly distinct from the many unrestrained panegyrical verses that greeted George in 1714. Here's "An Epistle to Mr. Steele, on the King's Accession to the Crown" from that year that seems at first much more typical in its exaltation of George, the warrior/ king, by the Whig poet and later Popeian dunce, Leonard Welsted: Britain, at length, asserts her ancient Name, And rises glorious with reviving Fame: A finished Prince, a Hero, fills the Throne, Graced with a Genius martial like her own; […] Proclaim, ye Muses, thro' these happy plains, Proclaim aloud, another Nassau reigns. PANEGYRIC AND SATIRE 241

Another Nassau, that is to say, a warrior like William III, Prince of Orange-Nassau and ruler of the Dutch republic before ousting James II. But there follows in Welsted's poem a commercial vision of what Britain will become with George at its head, although what is evoked is simply more of what the nation already is: I see disclos'd Augusta's future State: Lo! her proud Fleets admire their costly Freight: Her busy Mart th' adventuring World employs: Confusion greatly splendid! welcome Noise! Thames, swelled with Wealth, his envious Banks oreflows, Seeks other Shores, and a new Empire knows. Welsted concludes, moreover, with a political vision that pictures George as the perfect British constitutional monarch, a ruler of citizens not slaves: Let wanton Tyrants sport in power's abuse, And barbarous Nations to their yoke reduce; Let them their conquered Vassals proudly tame: Our Hero cherishes a nobler flame; Ore freeborn Subjects he aspires to reign, To govern Citizens, not Slaves to chain; With scorn he looks on mean Despotic arts, And seeks no Empire but in English hearts, Accepts a Kingdom with a Patriot's sense, And in the People's Father hides the Prince. In similar fashion, Edward Young, later the famous author of Night Thoughts, could in a poem mourning Queen Anne's death and welcoming George, "On the Late Queen's Death, And His Majesty's Accession to the Throne", mark the oddity of importing a German prince but also affirm that all that matters to make him a Briton is his governing well: What tho' thy Birth a distant Kingdom boast, And Seas divide Thee from the British Coast? The Crown's impatient to inclose thy Head; Why stay thy Feet? The Cloath of Gold is spread. Our strict Obedience thro' the World shall tell That King's a Briton who can govern well. Of course, George as far as we know did not or perhaps could not read these poems, although some of his courtiers and ministers certainly did, and the custom of marking royal birthdays (as well as other significant events such as the births of royal or princely offspring) continued through the reigns of the first three Georges in order to attract or insure patronage from the powerful. My impression from reading a good number of these is that they are more hyperbolically strained than the poems written to mark George I's arrival in Britain. Perhaps there was a sense of heightened relief that this imported German prince has worked out pretty well, and of course the 1715 Jacobite attempt to re-establish the Stuarts had been defeated. So one of these birthday effu- sions from 1717, "A Poem on the Birth-Day of his most Sacred Majesty King George", in its overheated enthusiasm takes a while to calm down and reach the specifically political praise that the Whiggish poems on the king's arrival all seem to include:

242 JOHN RICHETTI

Heav'n's true Vicegerent, a Terrestial God, Round where the Graces make their lov'd Abode; […] Survey the Globe, no Kingdom of the Earth Can boast a Chief of such transcendent Worth: Rome's Julius, nor Philip's famous Son, With conquering Arms have brighter Glories won, Than this wise Ruler of Britannia's State, Who without Slaughter makes Himself more great: Not but He has a Soul can Armies lead, And make the Neighb'ring Kings his Valour dread; But no Tyrannick Power His Glory stains, 'Tis only for the Common Good he reigns. The extravagance and accompanying incoherence, to say nothing of the opening blas- phemy, of this praise – that George is God's viceroy on earth and that he exceeds Cae- sar and Alexander the Great in his conquests but is, however, no tyrant, rather the guarantor of the common good at home – are typical of the political insistence of Whig panegyric, which characteristically modifies extravagant praise with political pragmat- ism, which slides from panegyric to political commentary. In the spirit of marking the Hanoverian accession, I have read a good number of panegyrics for both of the first two Georges. I will quote bits of only a few of them, partly because they are so amusingly fulsome, but also because they will lead me to several of Swift's most intense attacks both on the Hanoverians and on the tradition of poetic flattery of the great and powerful that he especially loathed, and allow me a transition from panegyric to satire. In other words, Swiftian and Popeian satire of the first two Georges is provoked and inspired by a powerful and insistent tradition of royal panegyric. Satire and panegyric are two sides of the same literary coin; they interpenetrate and fecundate each other. Without fulsome flattery, satire would have nothing specific to attack; and the ferocity of satire may be said to goad the writers of panegyric to more exalted praise. So here are two more snippets from these birthday songs: "A Poem on the Anniversary of His Majesty's Birth-Day" (1718): For ever, Albion, mark this joyful Day, That gave thee GEORGE, and GEORGE th' imperial Sway, Made thee again thy wonted Freedom know, And rescu'd Europe from impending Woe: By whose strong Influence, in distant Lands, Thy Isle the Riches of the World commands: The Ocean round her Canvas Wings are furl'd, And His blest Subjects Freemen of the World. Let ev'ry Briton then exalt his Name, Extol his Virtue and admire his Fame, Unite their Hearts in an eternal Praise, And with the King a lasting round of Days: And when in Heav'n he wears a starry Crown, May then AUGUSTUS rule with like Renown. I'm not sure George would have appreciated this anticipation of his death, although the picture of him in heaven surpassing in power none other than the emperor Augustus is quite a compliment. But even with this extravagance (and some I haven't quoted such as "Nature triumphant o'er the teeming Earth, / Exults at George's most auspicious PANEGYRIC AND SATIRE 243

Birth"), part of the Whiggish emphasis is on George as the monarch of a commercial and trading nation whose subjects are freemen, as this couplet emphasizes: "The Ocean round her Canvas Wings are furl'd, / And His blest Subjects Freemen of the World". Annual birthday panegyrics pose a challenge for poets to find something fresh or new to say. Here is a fairly original bit of flattery in my second example of a birthday poem, this time an anonymous performance from 1719: "A Poem on the Anniversary of the Birth-Day of His Majesty King George". With somewhat dubious taste, the poet traces the production by the Empress Sophia of many princes: "Hence the Rewards of conjugal Delights, / Hence num'rous Pledges of connubial Rites, / In new-born Princes almost yearly came". Only three of these princely babes survived, and the eldest was our George. Like other birthday poems, this one imagines George's eventual demise ("But oh! when late (and be the fatal Hour / Far distant hence) the grand Destroyer's Power / Shall on this best of earthly Kings be shewn, / And waft him up to a celestial Throne"), but death leads to an apotheosis as George, looking down from Heaven like Caesar before him, sees what his successor, George II, of course just like Augustus, will contemplate: So when Rome's Julius Caesar reach'd the Sky, Translated to a Heav'nly Deity, Augustus, seated in his Porphr'y Chair, Made the whole Empire of the World his Care; That in his mild Administration found Her Armies, as before, with Triumph crown'd. I want to jump now to 1728 when the young Irish clergyman and friend of Swift, Mat- thew Pilkington, produced the official royal birthday ode for Dublin Castle for George II (the first of several such poems the ambitious Pilkington would write) in the next few years. What makes this otherwise unremarkable and formulaic paean interesting is that it may have provoked Swift's 1729 satiric poem, "Directions for a Birthday Song" (which in one version has the subtitle "in a letter to the songster"), the first of a series of savage anti-Hanoverian poems from the late 1720s and early 1730s, including "On Poetry: A Rhapsody" (1733) and "To a Lady" (1733, published 1746).2 Most of Swift's verses are a challenge for normal, high-minded aesthetic criticism of poetry, since in their Hudibrastic rhythms, bouncy conversational and parodic irreverence, burlesque rhymes, and demotic or even slangy diction, as well as the uncompromising intensity of their contempt for his satiric targets, they are subversions of the solemn, the serious, and especially the decorous. Swift's art in his verses as I see it lies in his appropriation and improvement of popular verse, preserving its energy and easy accessibility without reproducing its grosser crudities and adding a ferocious intensity. For a brief comparison of how low anti-Hanoverian Jacobite satire could be and to help us appreciate what Swift's satire accomplishes, let me offer one sample, the 1722 "Rightful Monarchy or, Revolution Tyranny. A Satyr: Being a Dialogue Between High-Dutch Illustrious, and Low-Dutch Glorious", a dialogue set in a dream in the underworld where George I meets William III, who accuses George of usurpation: "'Tis an enormous Crime by Craft or Might, / To take a Crown that is another's Right". To which George counters that William was the usurper: "Of rank Hypocrisy thy

2 All quotations from Swift's verses are from Swift 1983. 244 JOHN RICHETTI

Phrases smell, / What have you learn'd to Cant and Preach in Hell? / You that gull'd Heaven and befool'd the State, / With that fair specious term of ABDICATE". William answers that they are both illegitimate and sums up in a couplet that gives you some idea of how scabrous this satire is: "In fine, so sum up all in one short Word, / Your title, BRUNSWICK, is not worth a Turd". This is pure doggerel, simple mud slinging. Swift's verses are very different; they have a calculated simple eloquence, but their invective is inventive and witty. Consider these lines about William III from "Directions for a Birthday Song": "Nassau, who got the name of glorious / Because he never was victorious, / A hanger-on has always been, / For old acquaintance bring him in" (ll. 251-54). Or from "On Poetry: A Rhapsody" some lines that skewer Walpole: Now sing the minister of state, Who shines alone, without a mate. Observe with what majestic port This Atlas stands to prop the court: Intent the public debts to pay, Like prudent Fabius by delay. (ll. 495-501) A contemporary reader would see the various jokes: Walpole was enormously fat and thus (mock-heroically) an Atlas, and his and his wife's open infidelities were notorious. Fabius alludes to Quintus Fabius Maximus, consul of Rome in the second century BC, who was styled the Cunctator or the delayer for his caution during the second Punic war. Walpole is cautious, too, refusing to the dismay of the opposition to respond with military force to Spanish privateers that were in those years harassing Brit- ish shipping. But no one could accuse either of the first two Georges of military cowardice. Like his father, George II was very much a soldier, participating gallantly in the victory against the French at Oudenaarde in 1708, and of course he was the last English monarch to command a British army in the field at the battle of Dettingen, which again featured Britain and her allies against the French in 1743. Praise of his martial success at Oudenaarde is the subject of one especially blood-soaked stanza in Pilkington's poem: See! Fir'd with Ardor to engage, The BRITISH AMMON pours along With an impetuous Torrent's Rage, And pierces thro' the thickest Throng! Slaughter wastes at his Command, And Thousands sink beneath his Hand; The Combat bleeds where-e'er he goes And wide the purple Deluge flows. Accompanying this sanguinary bellicosity, Pilkington's panegyric spends a bit of time with a few of the Whiggish political compliments we have seen lavished on George I: "[H]e abundant Wealth supplies, / And bids neglected MERIT rise". Swift's attack in his anti-Hanoverian satires on the bromides of royal panegyrics is bracing and deeply disturbing, to say nothing of dangerous: "Directions for a Birthday Song" was not published until after Swift's death, and the other two were like almost all of Swift's verses published anonymously. My object here is to think about the stark differences between his fierce attacks not simply on the Hanoverians, but on the con- PANEGYRIC AND SATIRE 245 ventional poems written to flatter them and other monarchs. In literary-historical terms, both panegyric and satire are responses to political and moral conditions, and each in its way represents a poetic fiction, since Swift's satires are as fanciful, strictly speaking, as the panegyrics. Consider these incendiary lines from Swift's "On Poetry: A Rhapsody": O, what indignity and shame To prostitute the muse's name, By flattering kings who heaven designed The plagues and scourges of mankind. Bred up in ignorance and sloth, And every vice that nurses both. […] But now go search all Europe round, Among the savage monsters crowned, With vice polluting every throne (I mean all kings except our own). (ll. 421-26; 435-38) The passage is pure, unforgiving invective, enjoyable but extreme in a negative sense the way the birthday tributes are extreme in a positive sense. But the irony of that last line leads to a long section of similar mock-praise, a parody of panegyric: Say, poet, in what other nation, Shone ever such a constellation. Attend ye Popes, and Youngs, and Gays, And tune your harps, and strow your bays. Your panegyrics here provide, You cannot err on flattery's side. Above the stars exalt your style, You still are low ten thousand mile. (ll. 519-26) Turn back to "Directions for a Birthday Song" and one finds another kind of irony that is laced with furious invective just below the placid surface of the advice offered to the panegyrist. Swift advises the would-be panegyrist that his "encomiums, to be strong, / Must be applied directly wrong" (ll. 115-16): A tyrant for his mercy praise, And crown a royal dunce with bays: A squinting monkey load with charms; And paint a coward fierce in arms. […] For all experience this evinces The only art of pleasing princes; For princes love you should descant On virtues which they know they want. (ll. 117-20; 125-28) The passage that follows is the most specific and daring in the poem, since it seeks to destroy the Whig exaltation of the deal that empowered the Hanoverian dynasty and also names names – William and George. He cautions his songster not to omit that "in him such virtues lie inherent, / To qualify him God's viceregent" (ll. 133-34). (The rhyme is brilliant and as we have seen from a couple of panegyrics an echo of some of their language.) Swift shows that he had read those Whig panegyrics; his parody of them is exact and telling:

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That with no title to inherit, He must have been a king by merit. Yet be the fancy old or new, 'Tis partly false and partly true, And take it right, it means no more Than George and William claimed before. (ll. 135-40) Heroes and Villains! The first two Georges were represented as both in the poetry of the early and mid-18th century in Britain. It may well be the case that extreme, partisan views of the first two Georges via panegyric and satire render these representations merely imaginative rather than truthful. And yet panegyrics are almost instantly and invariably ephemeral; their flattery seeks only to do the immediate job of exalting the monarch and keeping his name and glory before the public. Such verses are very much of the particular moment and monarch; they wither very quickly as monarchs come and go. For better or for worse, however, satire with Swift's ferocity and Pope's delicacy of touch endures, and the Georges truly enter and indeed enrich English literature in their satires, where the satirical meanings are generalized, with the Georges used to some extent as exemplars of perennial scandals. So, finally, I want to consider a daring but teasingly subtle anti-Hanoverian poem that avoids the extremes of panegyric and satire and is thereby more convincing and effective, Pope's "The First Epistle of the Second Book of Horace Imitated, To Augustus" (1737). Unlike the Whig panegyrics and royal birthday poems that I have sampled, Pope's poem is not occasional. As Johnson remarked in his Life of Pope, he had no need of currying favor with the great: [H]e never exchanged praise for money, nor opened a shop of condolence or congratulation. His poems […] were scarce ever temporary. He suffered coronations and royal marriages to pass without a song, and derived no opportunities from recent events, nor any popularity from the accidental disposition of his readers. He was never reduced to the necessity of soliciting the sun to shine upon a birth-day, of calling the Graces and Virtues to a wedding, or of saying what multitudes have said before him […]. (Johnson 2010, 1186) Conveniently, George II's middle name was Augustus, and thus the Horatian model creates a delicious irony for Pope, although for Matthew Pilkington in 1728 the identification of the two was instead opportunity for an easy, extravagant compliment. Pilkington began his birthday ode by addressing the sun and then enshrining George as the earthly equivalent, counting on the Roman resonances of that middle name: "Like thee AUGUSTUS reigns below […] He emulates thy Reign above". Readers of Pope's "Epistle to Augustus" would have smiled at the similarity of the names but also noted with amusement the differences between the first Roman emperor and the second Hanoverian king. George in this case had been aware of Pope's contempt, and not at all amused by some of his earlier satires, as the courtier Lord Harvey (Pope's bête noir, Sporus) informs us in his Memoirs of the king's reign that the king had grown tired of his mistress, Henrietta Howard, Countess of Suffolk. What particularly irked him in 1734 was Lady Suffolk's "intimacy with Mr. Pope, who had published several satires, with his name to them, in which the King and all his family were rather more than obliquely sneered at" (Sedgwick 1931, ll. 382). So George may actually a few years later have read the "Epistle to Augustus" or been told of it by others; he would certainly have been aware of it. PANEGYRIC AND SATIRE 247

This relationship between Pope and George's court matters since the poem is after all an epistle in which the poet addresses the king with an ironically impertinent familiarity, a mock deference as well as impertinent intimacy. In the prose "Advertisement" to the poem, Pope discusses Horace's poem and his relationship to the emperor: "Horace made his court to this great prince by writing with decent freedom toward him, with a just contempt of his low flatterers, and with a manly regard to his own character". Pope is referring to the torrent of Whig poems in extravagant praise (low flattery) of both the first two Georges. The opening six lines of the poem set the tricky tone, superficially polite but full of ironic and local disparagement, that now needs unpack- ing but would have been evident to contemporary readers: While You, great Patron of Mankind, sustain The balanc'd World, and open all the Main; Your Country, chief, in Arms abroad defend, At home, with Morals, Arts, and Laws amend; How shall the Muse, from such a Monarch steal An hour, and not defraud the Publick Weal? (ll.1-6) The "Main" conjures up the Spanish Main, the Gulf of Mexico and the Caribbean Sea abutting the Central American, Mexican, and northern South American Spanish colonies, where, as in those years many critics of the government argued, English shipping was being ravaged by Spanish privateers without any forceful response from the government. So the Main is hardly open; in fact it is effectively closed to British shipping. George is not defending his country; he was in fact in May 1736, when Pope began to compose the poem, not bearing arms but in the "Arms" abroad in Hanover of his new mistress, Madam von Walmoden, with whom he had begun a relationship in 1735. However, we know that George II spent a fair amount of time in Hanover, about one summer out of every three during his reign. But satire is never fair. The question that ends these lines gives the phrase "such a Monarch" a resoundingly negative as well as incredulous and insulting charge, evoking a George who was indifferent and even hostile to what Pope's Muse produced. So what looks without context as a respectful and even flattering address to the king is in fact a sneering and ironic attack, even a jeering one. After listing a few great British kings, Edward, Henry, and Alfred, who despite their accomplishments found "th' unwilling Gratitude of base mankind!" (l. 14), Pope advises George that he cannot escape similar treatment, which seems like a compliment. But then Pope launches into an encomium that has the deadliest of stings in its sarcastic tail: "Wonder of Kings! Like whom, to mortal eyes? / None e'er has risen, and none e'er shall rise" (ll. 29-30). Such remarks, implicit blame by excessive, panegyrical praise, give the lie to Pope's later disingenuous apologies for poets, which form part of the middle of the poem's look back at the history of English poetry and its humorous characterization of the furor poeticus seizing England in 1737 – "one Poetick itch / Has seized the Court and City, Poor and Rich: / Sons, Sires, and Grandsires, all will wear the bays, / […] To Theatres, and to Rehearsals throng, / And all our Grace at Table is a song" (ll. 169-71; 173-74). Things turn almost overtly serious some lines later in Pope's direct defense of poetry and poets: Of little use the Man you may suppose, Who says in verse what others say in prose; Yet let me show, a Poet's of some weight, And (tho' no Soldier) useful to the State. 248 JOHN RICHETTI

What will a Child learn sooner than a song? What better teach a Foreigner the tongue? What's long or short, each accent where to place, And speak in publick with some sort of grace. I scarce can think him such a worthless thing, Unless he praise some monster of a King, Or Virtue or Religion turn to sport, To please a lewd, or un-believing Court. (ll. 201-12) The indirection and insinuations in these lines are masterful. A poet who praises "some monster of a King" would be a worthless thing, but there's only one king who has been praised in George II's England. The last couplet is a hit at George's intelligent and intellectual queen Caroline, who was reputed to be a free-thinker. George II spoke Eng- lish fluently but, observers record, with an atrocious accent, so these lines despite their superficial, genial generality are meant to be specifically insulting and gossipy. And yet Pope saves his most powerful ironies for the end of the poem when he proposes to repair the mistakes George's predecessors, Charles and William, have made in their choice of poetic panegyrists: Oh! could I mount on the Maeonian wing, Your Arms, your Actions, your Repose to sing! What seas you travers'd! and what fields you fought! Your Country's Peace, how oft, how dearly bought! How barb'rous rage subsided at your word, And Nations wonder'd while they dropp'd the sword! How, when you nodded, o'er the land and deep, Peace stole her wing, and wrapt the world in sleep; Till Earth's extremes your mediation own, And Asia's Tyrants tremble at your Throne – But Verse, alas! your Majesty disdains; And I'm not us'd to Panegyric strains: The Zeal of Fools offends at any time, But most of all, the Zeal of Fools in ryme. Besides, a fate attends on all I write, That when I aim at praise, they say I bite. (ll. 394-409) And that is precisely what these lines are doing, biting with ironic praise! If only, Pope says, he had Homer's eloquence to praise George, since the list of the king's accomplishments in those first four lines in this passage is so compromised that Homeric eloquence would be required to praise them: "Actions" and "Repose" are contradictory, just as in the next line those seas George traversed are merely the short sea voyage to Hanover. Pope begins by promising panegyric, although the praise of George as a peacemaker is really criticism of his weakness, as Pope said earlier of Walpole's passive foreign policy ("Your Country's Peace, how oft, how dearly bought!" – a peace bought at great expense, the depredation of British shipping in the Americas). The following lines in which earth's extremes and Asia's tyrants tremble at George are simply not true, although they echo many of the royal panegyrics for the first two Georges, and prepare us for Pope throwing up his hands in mock despair as a royal panegyrist who can't do justice to the king's merits. The government has hired "Fools in ryme", especially noxious for an independent poet like Pope, who adds that a foolish panegyric is actually a satire: "A vile Encomium doubly ridicules: / There's nothing blackens like the ink of fools" (ll. 410-11). So bad or untruthful panegyrics are inadvertent sat- PANEGYRIC AND SATIRE 249 ires, and Pope's sly ironies undermine the literal panegyric surface of these lines. The wonderful trick that Pope's poem manages is to turn panegyric by ironic manipulation into satire. The accusation that Pope claims to deny, "[t]hat when I aim at praise, they say I bite", is in fact borne out by the whole passage. I want to offer as conclusion or better as a coda a brief look at Samuel Johnson's relationship with the third George. Boswell's Life of Johnson will show you what you might have guessed, that the Tory Johnson, a lover of monarchy as Boswell calls him, had no use for the first two Georges, especially the second. In April 1775, a conversation about recent English monarchs led Johnson to this outburst after praising Charles II and even James II: "'George the first knew nothing, and desired to know nothing; did nothing, and desired to do nothing: and the only good thing that is told of him is that he wished to restore the crown to its hereditary successor.' He roared with prodigious violence [Boswell adds] against George the Second" (Chapman 1965, 611).3 But his opinion of George III was quite another matter. Boswell recounts a meeting in Oc- tober 1767 between Johnson and the king in the great library (expanded by George III) at the Queen's house, where Johnson liked to read. Hearing of Johnson's visits, George asks to meet him and is ushered in by the librarian: "'Sir, here is the King.' Johnson started up, and stood still. His Majesty approached him, and at once was courteously easy" (380). The ensuing scene dramatizes a dignity and equality for both the king and Johnson that contrasts revealingly with the panegyrics and satires of the Hanoverians that I have been surveying. The king asks Johnson after a discussion of the libraries at Oxford and Cambridge if he "was then writing any thing". Johnson replies that he has said all he has to say, and the King replies, "I should have thought so too, if you had not written so well" (381). Boswell reports that when Johnson repeated this to a friend he was asked if he made any answer. Johnson's reply is priceless: "No, Sir. When the King had said it, it was to be so. It was not for me to bandy civilities with my Sover- eign" (381). And in the end of the conversation George expresses a "desire to have the literary biography of this country ably executed, and proposed to Dr. Johnson to un- dertake it" (383-84). And Johnson would do just that in his Lives of the Poets (1781), although it was the London booksellers who initiated that project. Boswell's summary of the scene at the end is worth quoting: "During the whole of the interview, Johnson talked to his Majesty with profound respect, but still in his firm manly manner, with a sonorous voice, and never in that subdued tone which is commonly used at the levee and in the drawing room". And to a friend later, Johnson remarked, "Sir, they may talk of the King as they will; but he is the finest gentleman I have ever seen" (384). Like his grandfather and great grandfather, George III endured his share of panegyrics and satires, attacks from opposition polemicists such as John Wilkes and Charles Churchill, and cruel caricatures by Gillray and other cartoonists. He had many political enemies. But he was by his own fervent declaration at the beginning of his reign a proud and genuine Englishman who never went to Hanover, indeed never traveled out of Britain. And of course his comments to Johnson in the library reveal him to be a thoughtful, intelligent man, unlike his predecessors interested in and respectful of British literary accomplishments, and perhaps thereby immune or indifferent to both panegyric and satire, or at the least earning Johnson's prose panegyric.

3 All further page references in the text are to this edition. 250 JOHN RICHETTI

References Primary Sources Butt, John (ed., 1963): The Poems of Alexander Pope. London: Methuen Chapman, R.W. (ed., 1965): Boswell’s Life of Johnson. New York/London: Oxford UP Johnson, Samuel (2010): The Lives of the Poets. Ed. John H. Middendorf. The Yale Edition of the Works of Samuel Johnson, vol. XXIII. New Haven/London: Yale UP Sedgwick, Romney (ed., 1931): Some Materials Towards Memoirs of the Reign of King George II By John, Lord Hervey, 3 vols. London, n.p. Swift, Jonathan (1983): The Complete Poems. Ed. Pat Rogers. London: Penguin Books Wright, Bunker H.; Spears, Monroe K. (eds., 1959): The Literary Works of Matthew Prior, 2 vols. Oxford: Clarendon Press

Secondary Sources Hatton, Ragnhild (1978): George I Elector and King. Cambridge, MA: Harvard UP

WOLFGANG FUNK (MAINZ)

From Hamelin to Hertfordshire: The Wondrous Journey of Peter the Wild Boy

In the early 18th century, an apparently uneducated yokel was dragged from the back- waters of peaceful Hanover into the limelight of London royal court life. Although he could not make himself understood in the language of his new home country, he found himself the centre of attention and the target of a number of satires. If you think this sounds like a familiar story, think again. It is not about George I, but Peter the Wild Boy, a feral child found all by himself in the wilderness of Lower Saxony. In this essay, I will retrace Peter's sentimental journey from Hamelin to Hertfordshire to ask what this strange case can tell us about significant political, literary, and philosophical issues of the day. I will first introduce the particulars of the case, before moving on to two specific areas of interest for which Peter's appearance in England proved of particular relevance. For one, he provided a perfect satirical foil to the higher echelons of society. Secondly, his case turned out to play a major part in debates on the origin of language and its role as a deciding factor in definitions of the category of the human. Both of these apparently quite dissimilar aspects revolve around one common issue, the fact that when Peter was found he did not exhibit the ability to use language for communicative purposes, and in spite of numerous attempts at education, this muteness did not significantly change up to his death nearly 60 years later. This silence of the Wild Boy made him the ideal tabula rasa, a blank page on which both socio- political issues of the day and profound philosophical questions could be projected. The significance of Peter and other famous feral children of the age, like Marie- Angélique LeBlanc, for an 18th-century scientific understanding of man and his place in nature can be measured by the fact that Linnaeus's seminal Systema Naturae, very much the quintessential attempt to introduce order into the natural world, features, from its tenth edition in 1758 onwards, the subcategory Homo Ferus, which included, among five other documented cases of feral children, a certain Juvenis Hannoveranus (see Douthwaite 1997, 178).1

1 Beginning with the 13th edition (1788), the individual representatives disappear and the genus is labelled as Homines Feri. Julia Douthwaite describes these feral humans as "an indeterminate amalgam of humanity and bestiality, [who] defied a central tenet of Enlightenment anthropol- ogy: the historical transformation of physical man and woman into moral man and woman, a narrative whose metamorphoses constitute the conjectural history of the human species" (1997, 177). Richard Nash also argues for the centrality of this topos as a contrastive foil for Enlight- enment attempts to make sense of the human condition. For him, the 'wild man' represents "a complex alter ego to the idealized abstraction of 'the Citizen of Enlightenment'" (2003, 3). For further explorations of the subject of feral children in the collective imagination of the Enlight- enment, see also Schreyer 1994, Blumenthal 2003, and Bruland 2008. For extensive analysis of the particularities of LeBlanc's case, see Douthwaite 2002, 29-53 and Newton 2004, 53-97. 252 WOLFGANG FUNK

1. From Hamelin to Hertfordshire In May 1724, a boy of about twelve years of age was discovered in a field not far from Hamelin. When he was found, he apparently moved on all fours, was very adept at climbing trees, a factor which significantly complicated his capture, lived on grass and acorns, and could not speak nor understand a single word. After a spell at various institutions in Hamelin and Celle, he was presented as a gift to Prince Georg Ludwig of Hanover, also known as George I of England, on one of his visits to his old home.2 Picture the scene that occurred at the very place that hosted the Anglistentag 2014, the King's palace at Herrenhausen, around 10 December 1725: The King and his assembled court have just sat down to dinner, when the door opens and Peter is introduced. A contemporary pamphlet describes the event: The King was pleased to have him with a Napkin pin'd before him at his Table, to see how he would eat, and behave himself, he had not Notion of Behaviour, or Manners, but greedily took with his Hands out of the Dishes, what he liked best, such as Asparagus, or other Garden-things, and after a little time, he was ordered to be taken away, by Reason of his daubing undecent Be- haviour. He readily sets himself down before any one, without Distinction of Persons, in which Posture of Sitting it was, that he was first of all seen and discovered, sitting in his Hollow of a Tree cracking Nuts and eating Acorns. (An Enquiry, 4) Peter's appetite seems not to have been restricted to garden-things, though, as another source recounts how the boy subsequently made his way into the royal scriptorium where he devoured with great enthusiasm two blocks of sealing wax (see Bruland 2008, 181). When the King returned to London two months later, he took Peter with him and the curious 'wild youth' became an instant success at court, so much so that William Kent, who was just about to finish painting the staircase at Kensington Palace, decided to add Peter as the final portrait in his assembly of courtiers and servants there. For the length of a London season, Peter was the darling of the royal court, in particular of Princess Caroline of Ansbach, according to Lucy Worsley "the cleverest queen consort ever to sit upon the throne of England" (2010, 10). It was her household, Leicester House, which Peter eventually joined. Several pamphlets – and even a premature obituary – were written on him, among them texts by such notables as Swift, Defoe, and John Arbuthnot, the latter being also charged with taking care of the boy's education, a venture which did not accomplish the desired erudition.3 After being the toast of the court in 1726, however, public and royal interest in the strange child quickly waned, in particular as it became increasingly clear that all attempts at education would be in vain, and eventually Peter was moved to a small farm in the village of Northchurch, Hertfordshire, where – on a generous pension from the royal household – he lived out the remainder of his life in relative peace and quiet. He died on 22 Febru- ary 1785. His gravestone can still be visited and was even made a grade-II listed object in 2013 (see Department for Culture, Media and Sport 2013).

2 For detailed accounts of the contemporary media echo of Peter's case, see Bruland 2008, 158- 89. 3 Wilson and Caulfield recount that "notwithstanding all the doctor's pains, he never could bring the wild youth to the use of speech, or the pronunciation of words" (1869, 134), and Worsley writes that attempts to teach Peter the rudiments of human language and culture "was like trying to dress a dog, frustrating to both parties" (2010, 98). THE WONDROUS JOURNEY OF PETER THE WILD BOY 253

In recent years, Peter's case has gained a certain amount of public attention, mainly thanks to Lucy Worsley, who revisited his story both in her 2010 book Courtiers and in her 2014 BBC documentary series The First Georgians. As part of this revived interest in the case, and as a much belated and poignant post-script to Peter's life, Worsley presented evidence that the 'Wild Boy' very likely suffered from Pitt-Hopkins syndrome, a genetic disorder that would account for Peter's symptoms of arrested development as well as his apparently rather peculiar physical appearance (see also Lane 2011, Kennedy 2011). If this were true, it would of course imply that Peter was never a 'real' feral child to begin with, but was more likely abandoned by overtaxed relatives or care-takers only shortly before he was found.4

2. Of Bears and Men: Peter and Civilised Society Let me now move on to two aspects of Peter's case that make him more than merely a curiosity at the royal court. Both of them are fundamentally concerned with his speechlessness and can be understood as processes of Othering, which reflect central tenets of early 18th-century attempts to make sense of the human condition (see New- ton 1999, 205). As a presumed wild man, Peter, in Julia Douthwaite's words, "incar- nates the challenge of human diversity for eighteenth-century thinkers" (1997, 176). I will first present examples of how Peter's incommensurable appearance at court was employed as a counter image to the degeneracy and rottenness of 'civilised' society in general and Hanoverian court life in particular. In a second step, I will then take a closer look at philosophical and scientific investigations of Peter's muteness in works by Daniel Defoe, Thomas Reid, and James Burnett, Lord Monboddo, and situate them within a larger context of the role of language in determining human origins and development. Both of these aspects are neatly illustrated in an anonymous poem entitled "The Savage", which was published not long after Peter made his court debut in 1726. The speaker in the poem exhorts the courtiers to "civilize" Peter into a human being and "with tender Care, / For Reason's Use his Mind prepare; / Shew him in Words his Thoughts to dress, / To think, and what he thinks express". If, however, language is being used frivolously merely to impart to Peter the courtly precepts of "Vice, Envy, Pride, or Avarice", so the poem argues, it would be altogether better to send him back to Hamelin and leave him in a state of innocence and freedom (305).5 This dichotomy of unspoilt nature versus debased and corrupted civilisation is also taken up in some of the satirical pamphlets published in the immediate aftermath of Peter's arrival in London.6 I want to focus on two texts in particular that stand out, both with regard to their satirical verve and also because they hint at the serious and indeed highly philosophical questions that are raised by Peter's uncanny presence. The first

4 The theory that Peter was not actually a feral child did not, however, originate in the 21st century. In the second part of his Beyträge zur Naturgeschichte (1811), the influential German naturalist Johann Friedrich Blumenbach made a strikingly unsentimental and convincing case against Peter as the quintessential child of nature: "[D]as vermeintliche Ideal des reinen Natur- menschen, wozu spätere Sophisten den wilden Peter erhoben hatten, war durchaus nichts weiter, als ein dummer, blödsinniger Tropf" (26-27). 5 For an earlier discussion of this poem, see Novak 1972, 185-86. 6 A complete list of the pamphlets that discuss Peter's appearance at court can be found in New- ton 2003, 197-212. See also Nash 2003 for a more detailed discussion of these pamphlets.

254 WOLFGANG FUNK one is titled It cannot rain but it pours and has variously been attributed to Swift, Ar- buthnot, or Defoe.7 It starts out by using the extraordinary events of the wild boy's appearance to highlight the unseemly behaviour of the supposedly more civilised members of society. In this case, the target of the satire is first the fake modesty and chastity of the ladies-in-waiting, who, so it would seem, had already aligned the wild man who was coming to town with images of raw, unrestrained, and therefore shockingly exciting sexuality: His being so young was the Occasion of the great Disappointment of the Ladies, who came to the Drawing-Room in full Expectation of some Attempt upon their Chastity: So far is true, that he endeavour'd to Kiss the young Lady W—le, who for that reason is become the Envy of the Circle; this being a Declaration of Nature, in favour of her superior Beauty. (It cannot rain, 5)8 This association of the male exotic with the, usually, female erotic is, of course, a recurring myth, which would later resurface in the figures of Tarzan or King Kong. It is usually employed to reveal the secret desires and lustful longings that are covered by multiple layers of propriety, decorum, and in this specific case the strict protocol of the Hanoverian court. In passing, the pamphleteer also uses Peter's lack of pedigree for a snide comment on the maladroit behaviour of those recalcitrant Catholic troublemakers, the Spanish and the Irish, when he remarks how at his first Appearance [Peter] seiz'd on the Lord Chamberlain's Staff, put on his Hat before the King; from whence some have conjectur'd, that he is either descended from a Grandee of Spain, or the Earls of Kinsale in Ireland. (5-6)9 Apart from these rather cheap jibes at sexist and nationalist stereotypes, it is specifically Peter's lack of language which serves as a more serious vehicle for holding the mirror of nature up to civilisation. Devoid of a refined system of reference with which to make sense of what he encounters, he associates the appearances and conduct of those around him with his own animal world, thereby calling the bluff of their ostensibly polite and well-mannered behaviour: Though he is ignorant both of ancient and modern Languages, (that Care being left to the ingenious Physician, who is entrusted with his Education) yet he distinguishes Objects by certain Sounds fram'd to himself […]. Beholding one Day the Shambles with great Fear and Astonish- ment, ever since he calls Man by the same Sound which expresseth Wolf. A young Lady is a Peacock, old Women Magpyes and Owls; a Beau with a Toupee, a Monkey; Glass, Ice; Blue, Red, and Green Ribbons, he calls Rainbows; an Heap of Gold a Turd. (6-7) For Peter, it seems, homo is indeed hominem lupus and a heap of gold no more than a pile of excrement. The strategy employed here of course echoes Rousseauian notions

7 For a detailed discussion of the question of the pamphlet's authorship, see Nash 2003, 48-49 and Bruland 2008, 223-24. 8 As Richard Nash informs us, the lady mentioned would have easily been recognisable by contemporaries as Margaret Rolle, the young wife of Robert Walpole, son of the eponymous proto- Prime Minister (see 2003, 61). 9 History, in this specific case, would later catch up with the satire, as several sources report how Peter was repeatedly portrayed as a secret Catholic agent supposedly intent on overthrowing the Hanoverian dynasty. Roger Moorhouse recounts in this context how "in 1745, the year of the Jacobite Rebellion, he was arrested as a suspected Highlander and, six years later, he wandered as far as Norwich, where he was thought to be a Spanish subversive" (2010, 18). THE WONDROUS JOURNEY OF PETER THE WILD BOY 255 of the presumed truthfulness and nobility of the natural state of man, which is subsequently corrupted by civilisation; Michael Newton even calls Peter "the quintessence of the natural" (1999, 198).10 In the pamphlet, this pre-Romantic notion culminates in the claim that Peter is able to communicate with the animals in a kind of natural language, which – unlike the Babylonian confusion extant in the world of man – even transcends the boundaries of the species: He understands perfectly the Language of all Beasts and Birds, and is not, like them, confin'd to that of one Species. He can bring any Beast what he calls for, and no doubt is much miss'd now in his Native Woods, where he us'd to do good Offices among his Fellow Citizens, and serv'd as a Mediator to reconcile their Differences. (7) This very idea, that Peter's speechlessness renders him essentially a part of nature and therefore to an extent morally superior to the debased society of man, is the main focus of the second pamphlet I want to focus on. Titled The Most Wonderful Wonder that ever Appear'd to the Wonder of the British Nation, the piece, which is signed 'The Copper-Farthing Dean', has rather unequivo- cally been attributed to Jonathan Swift, an ascription I want to follow in this essay. The text is premised on the idea that Peter only survived in the wilderness on account of being suckled and reared by a she-bear, as many sources indeed claimed. The survival of abandoned children in the wild thanks to maternally inclined mammals is, of course, a long-standing cultural topos, which includes mythological figures like Orson or Romulus and Remus as well as literary classics such as Mowgli and, again, Tarzan. This particular bear now, so the pamphlet purports, is captured and also brought over to Britain. It should be mentioned at this point that, as Hansjörg Bruland notes, a bear running wild in the woods of Lower Saxony would probably have caused quite the same uproar in 1724 as it would do today (see 2008, 210). Be that as it may, after a tearful and retrogressive reunion in England,11 Peter and his ursine foster-mother exchange their views on Peter's new way of life. Mother bear first blurs species boundaries by identifying man as "this beast which goes erect on two legs" and then goes on to question the right of man to "deprive us of our native Liberty", a very resounding phrase in the age of Enlightenment (Swift 1726, 7). Peter's explanation as to the justification of human pre-eminence dismisses any enlightened notion of mankind as the apogee of reason and education, as, so he says, man's dominance is neither morally nor intellectually tenable but derives from a decidedly instinctual and unenlightened lex talionis: The same they have to tyrannize over one another, the Power to do so. The Beast call'd Man has the Vanity to imagine himself the Head of the Creation; that every other Creature is subservient to him, and made by the Sun for his Use; and that he alone has the Benefit of Reason and Ex- pression. (7-8) Like the author of It never rains, Swift here also uses Peter's alleged appeal to the female of the species to satirically corroborate this transvaluation of species hierarchies:

10 For comprehensive studies on the concept and figure of the 'noble savage', see Ellingson 2001 and LeBlanc 2003. 11 "The Lad no sooner saw her, but, with Tears of Joy, he embraced his dear Nurse; who on her Part gave as great Demonstration of Fondness, hugging him, throwing herself on her Back, and opening her Legs offered him her Tet, which he suck'd as heartily as if he had never been weaned." (6)

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Peter explains to his mother how "[t]hey take me to be something above their own Species, for the finest of the she Men will caress me" (11). On a more serious note, it is again language that serves as a focal point upon which the issue of humanness and humanity seems to hinge. In a clever reversal of his own assumed inability to express ideas in words, Peter himself declares human discourse to be deficient of any connection between what would later be called the signifier and the signified, with words such as 'justice', 'friendship', or 'charity' evidently lacking any meaningful extralinguistic equivalent in the society he has encountered so far: They use many Words to which they join no Idea. These are I fancy imaginary Deities, as Jus- tice, Honour, Religion, Truth, Friendship, Loyalty, Piety, Charity, Mercy, Publick Good, and many others which commonly fill their Discourse. (10-11)

3. Peter and the Philosophy of Language Peter's lack of speech is not only employed to reflect satirically on the presumed inadequacies of his age. On the contrary, he comes to play a significant role in a number of inquiries into the origin and development of human language. This question is pivotal for two related philological and philosophical issues, which not only occupy the 'scientific community' of the early 18th century, but which still resonate today to different degrees. The first one is the notion that language is the one and only defining feature that separates man from beast, a notion that will flare up again in the wake of Darwin's evolutionary theory, and particularly in the work of Friedrich Max Müller, who famously declared that "the one great barrier between the brute and man is Lan- guage. Man speaks, and no brute has ever uttered a word. Language is our Rubicon, and no brute will dare to cross it" (1862, 354; emphasis in the original).12 Closely related to this sentiment is the question of whether the ability to use language is innate or acquired or, in more modern parlance, whether nature or nurture is primarily responsible for human language acquisition. This issue has persisted in one form or the other and is still with us today in the debate between the Chomskian notion of an innate Language Acquisition Device and numerous rival schools that argue for the construc- tivist origin of human language, such as Social Interaction Theory or Behaviourism. In spite of numerous academic volumes on the subject, not much significant progress towards a satisfying answer to this question seems to have been made since the Linguis- tic Society of Paris formally prohibited any discussion of the matter in 1866. In his article on Monboddo's position on the subject, Philip P. Marzluf neatly summarises this paradox, when he contemplates how "that which is least natural for human beings to acquire, fully articulated language, is also that which marks their perfectibility and their ability to reason" (393). In the remainder of this paper, I will now take a closer look at sources that directly establish a link between Peter the Wild Boy and this fundamental issue of what it means to be human. The most significant contemporary text in this regard is Daniel Defoe's treatise Mere Nature Delineated, published in the very year of Peter's arrival in London. As the title suggests and in line with the pamphlets just discussed, Defoe emphasises that Peter represents pure, "uninformed" nature (Defoe 1726, 5), a human being, as it were, pre-

12 For a more extensive investigation of Müller's contribution to late-Victorian debates on evolution and the development of human language, see Schrempp 1983 and Knoll 1986. THE WONDROUS JOURNEY OF PETER THE WILD BOY 257 served in a state before any civilising influence. From this rather universal observation, Defoe infers that a study of Peter's linguistic development would necessarily provide an insight into the development of human language in general (see 17), or to use a more recent terminological framework developed by Ernst Haeckel and known today as 'recapitulation theory', that Peter's ontogeny must recapitulate the phylogeny of the species (see Bruland 2008, 224). For the time being, however, Peter's speechlessness symbolises for Defoe not only a glimpse at an original state of nature but also an alternative, and strikingly modern, economy of thought and discourse. 'Normal' human development forces the individual to perceive the world through – and only through – language: "Words are to us, the Medium of Thought; we cannot conceive of Things, but by their Names, and in the very Use of their Names" (38). Peter, on the other hand, lacks this initiation into what Lacan would later call the 'order of the symbolic', "he is but the Appearance or Shadow of a rational Creature" (28). For Defoe this lack means first and foremost that Peter is not able to realise his inherent potential to develop as a human being; he is, in Defoe's words, "a Ship without a Rudder, not steer'd or managed, or directed by any Pilot, no, hardly by that faithful Pilot called Sense, the Guide of Beasts" (24). Peter's "soul is naked" (ibid.) and "un- happily useless to itself" (59), whereby the term 'soul' does not merely signify an immortal and transcendental essence in a Christian sense but can also indicate the immaterial and non-physical properties of a human being, what we today would perhaps refer to as 'consciousness' or 'subjectivity'. Newton emphasises in this context that his "silence limits Peter to existence at the surface of the body; this surface itself therefore comes to signify the idea of pure materiality and appearance" (1999, 198). The stated aim of Defoe's text is to extol the virtues of education in order to eventually render the soul useful and happy; he is after all about to become father-in-law to Henry Baker, one of the most renowned teachers of sign language in his day. Richard Nash notes in this regard that since "it was the logos that distinguishes humans from the rest of the brute creation, not only spiritual salvation of the deaf but even their salvation as human beings depended on their being capable of being brought to language" (2003, 75). Furthermore, however, Defoe offers a serious reflection on the relationship between man's soul and his language, or, to again use more contemporary jargon, between his mindfulness and his capacity for symbolic abstraction. In a prominent position at the very heart of the text, Defoe inserts a poem with the title "On the Deaf and Dumb being Taught to Speak" (46-53), which gives voice to the sentiment that the ability to transcend language, to "form the Images without the Names", represents "A Flight so high, and so above our Speech / As all the babbling World can never reach" (53). As a means of direct rapport with the spiritual side of human existence, Peter's pre-symbolic condition of muteness seems to surpass the intricate gibbering of cultivated man, as "He that without the Help of Speech can pray, / Must talk to Heaven by some superior Way" (ibid.). Once again echoing Rousseauian notions of man's innate, primordial nobility and innocence, the pamphlet ponders that to have no Pride, no Ambition, no Avarice, no Rancour or Malice, no ungovern'd Passions, no unbounded Desires, how infinitely more happy is he than Thousands of his more inform'd and better-taught Fellow Brutes in human Shape, who are every Day raging with Envy, gnawing their own Flesh, that they are not rich, great, and cloath'd with Honours and Places as such-and- such, studying to supplant, suppress, remove, and displace those above them, and even to slander, accuse, murder, and destroy them to get into their Places? (43)

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As it happened, Peter's life story would not prove any of Defoe's theories or speculations. The wild boy would remain to all intents and purposes speechless, thus rendering null and void any attempt to monitor his linguistic progress. Nevertheless, with Mere Nature Delineated, Defoe was the first to use Peter's condition as a serious starting point to meditate on the origin and development of mankind. In 1726, such medita- tions were not at all common, with proto-evolutionary insights by the likes of La- marck, Buffon, Linnaeus, or indeed Monboddo not appearing for at least another generation. Thanks in part to Defoe, whenever questions about the descent of man were posed from this time forward, the issue of language would always take centre stage, be it as a marker to distinguish man from beast (as for Max Müller) or to introduce hierarchies into different manifestations of homo sapiens (as for Monboddo). During the 18th century, the issue of human language acquisition was profoundly influenced by debates about a potential natural state of mankind, as instigated by Rous- seau. The Scottish philosopher Thomas Reid is a representative case in point. He set up a distinction between what he calls 'natural' and 'artificial' forms of language in his Inquiry into the Human Mind (1764). In natural language, signs still exhibit a direct connection to the objects or ideas they represent, while artificial language substitutes this direct link with abstract, arbitrary associations. "[A]ll artificial language", Reid writes, supposes some compact or agreement to affix a certain meaning to certain signs; therefore there must be compacts or agreements before the use of artificial signs; but there can be no compact or agreement without signs, nor without language; and therefore there must be a natural language before any artificial language can be invented. (ibid.) In keeping with the general assumption underlying his treatise of an innate moral sense common to all human beings, Reid argues that the development of ever more artificial language, which he describes as "dull and lifeless articulations of unmeaning sounds", should not be seen as progress, but instead as alienating human society from any original state of nature and rendering human language as such "less expressive and persuasive" (52). James Burnett, Lord Monboddo, is certainly the most colourful of the natural philosophers of language in the 18th century. There is literally no book or article about him that would not invoke the epithet 'eccentric' to describe his life and opinions. His particular significance for the topic of this essay derives from the fact that he visited and interviewed Peter the Wild Boy in 1782, three years before Peter's death. Even before this visit, Monboddo had devoted much of his publishing career to completing The Origin and Progress of Language, published in six volumes between 1773 and 1792. In its first volume, Monboddo cites Peter as a case in point to illustrate the central tenet of his work, to wit that human language is acquired and not a gift of nature, as traditional Christian accounts would have it (see 1773, 173-74). In a clever move aimed at pre-empting any potential reproach at this slight against mankind's inherent superiority and predominance in the natural world, he professes that "it is no degradation to human nature to maintain, that this faculty is acquired, […] on the contrary, it seems to be our praise, that we owe to our own industry and sagacity, not to nature, our chief excellence" (125; emphases in the original). From this basic assumption, that human language is essentially changeable and subject to development, Monboddo not only construes a highly complex and detailed genealogy of the world's languages but THE WONDROUS JOURNEY OF PETER THE WILD BOY 259 also extrapolates his very own theory of human evolution.13 Although this theory is not entirely free of idiosyncrasies – Monboddo insists that there are human beings with tails on the Nicobar Islands (see 238) and that beavers exhibit a natural sagacity which should render them capable of inventing speech (see 303) – it also includes a number of strikingly prescient assertions, all of which foreshadow core assumptions of mid- Victorian evolutionary theory and are diametrically opposed to conventional ideas of his time about the creation of the world and mankind's place within it. Since human language is acquired and not given, Monboddo argues, one must study the historical development and global distribution of languages so as to establish when and for what reasons humanity has attained this capacity:14 Whoever, therefore, would trace human nature up to its source, must study very diligently the manners of barbarous nations, instead of forming theories of man from what he observes among civilised nations. (133) As he was convinced that the development of language presented the blueprint for the development of humanity as a whole, these investigations led Monboddo to claim that "it seems to be a law in nature, that no species of thing is formed at once, but by steps and progression from one stage to another" (161), with the source of this gradual development to be found in "that common nature which connects us with the rest of the animal creation" (134). The blurring of species boundaries envisioned by Peter's alleged bear mother in The Most Wonderful Wonder comes to pass in Monboddo's philosophy of human origins, and Monboddo in essence envisions core notions of Darwin- ian evolution such as the common ancestry of all species and their gradual development into one another. What is more, he even anticipates the Social Darwinist turn that – largely thanks to Charles Spencer and Thomas Huxley – came to dominate late 19th- century debates on the ethical implications and real-life implementations of evolutionary theory. Just as Darwin's thinking was triggered by Malthus's dire forecasts about the earth's population outgrowing its natural resources, Monboddo likewise argues that a shortage of food, shelter, and women would produce strife and contention; of which the consequence would often be wounds and death, and in which the stronger would always have the better, as we observe in the herds of other animals, where there is no other law but that of the strongest. In this way there would be great violence, oppression, and destruction of the species; to prevent which, so sagacious an animal as man would be naturally led to form a kind of public, by the strength of which the weaker might be made more powerful than the stronger, and the whole society benefited in every respect. (266; emphases added)15

13 Monboddo's contribution in the field of philology is largely unacknowledged. See Lovejoy 1933, Cloyd 1972, Jocken 1994, and Marzluf 2008 for notable exceptions. 14 According to Rüdiger Schreyer, by the time Monboddo devised his theory of languages, the "voyages and travels of two centuries had impressed on the European mind a consciousness of the cultural, social and linguistic diversity of mankind" (1994, 70). 15 In another striking parallel to Darwin, Monboddo asserts the evolutionary precedence of music before speech. "[H]is progress in music would appear to me very wonderful", he claims, "if I did not know that music was much more natural to Man than articulation" (1773, 374). In The Descent of Man, Darwin similarly claims that "we shall see that primeval man, or rather some early progenitor of man, probably first used his voice in producing true musical cadences, that is in singing" (2004, 109).

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Monboddo's second noteworthy publication, Antient Metaphysics, also published in six volumes between 1779 and 1799, returns to these proto-evolutionary concepts and fleshes them out with ample references to Peter the Wild Boy, whom Monboddo had visited and interviewed in the meantime. Monboddo first highlights the scientific significance of Peter's case, which to him seems "more extraordinary […] than the new planet, or than if we were to discover 30,000 more fixed stars" (1784, 62), before providing a rather vivid and touching image of the former wild youth, who is by now rapidly approaching his seventh decade: He is but of low stature, not exceeding five feet three inches; and, though he must be now about 70 years of age, has a fresh, healthy look. He wears his beard; his face is not at all ugly or dis- agreeable; and he has a look that may be called sensible and sagacious for a savage. (63) Monboddo then goes on to use Peter as an example of what he calls the 'State of Na- ture', a primal condition of existence "upon which we may safely found our philosophy of Man" (68). This state, so Monboddo argues very much in the manner of Defoe and Reid, characterises every nation on earth and as such represents the point of departure for the development of human society and language, leaving little room for notions of spontaneous creation: In this state I think every nation in the world must have been at some time or another, unless we suppose a revelation, to some particular nation, of a language, and, at the same time, of other arts of life, immediately on its existence. (ibid.) Taking up Defoe's proto-recapitulation theory and applying it to the development of human social units, Monboddo asserts that "what the birth is to an individual, the formation into civil society is to a nation" (69). He also elaborates on his own earlier evolutionary theory and claims "that Man is in this life in a state of progression, from the mere Animal to the Intellectual Creature, of greater or less perfection" and that changes to both the individual and the species "should not happen at once, but should come on by degrees, and, consequently, that the Species should decline, degenerate, and become old, as we see the Individual ages, before its extinction" (69-70). Again, the notion that humankind might fall prey to annihilation through natural – as opposed to eschatological – causes must have been baffling for most contemporary readers and predates George Cuvier's Essay on the Theory of the Earth (1813), his treatise on the possible extinction of species, by nearly 30 years. With this essay I do not intend to argue that Monboddo had put forward a consistent theory of evolution almost a century before Charles Darwin and therefore needs to be instated into the pantheon of pre-eminent evolutionists. I would suggest, however, that his work both as a philologist and as a natural scientist deserves more serious attention than it has generally been accorded. He has been underestimated due to his indisput- able eccentricity, and also because Darwin does not refer to him in any of his works. One of the few who already in the time of Darwin remembered and recognised Mon- boddo's work on language and evolution was Charles Neaves, who published a poem "To the Memory of Monboddo" in 1861. In this poem he succinctly, if not very artisti- cally, summarises the significance and bemoans the neglect of his fellow Scotsman:16

16 Among the contemporaries of Neaves who also recognised Monboddo's contribution to the debates on language and evolution, albeit primarily under the premise of the latter's eccentricity, are Wilson and Caulfield, who in their collection The Book of Wonderful Characters (1869) ac- THE WONDROUS JOURNEY OF PETER THE WILD BOY 261

The rise of Man he loved to trace Up to the very pod, O! And in Baboons our parent race Was found by old Monboddo. Their A,B,C he made them speak, And learn their Qui, qua, quod, O! Till Hebrew, Latin, Welsh and Greek They knew as well's Monboddo. The thought that men had once had tails Caused many a grin full broad, O! And why in us that feature fails. Was asked of old Monboddo. He showed that sitting on the rump, While at our work we plod, O! Would wear th' appendage to the stump As close as in Monboddo. Alas! The good lord little knew, As this strange ground he trod, O! That others would his path pursue, And never name Monboddo! Such folks should have their tails restored And thereon feel the rod, O! For having thus the fame ignored That's due to old Monboddo. Though Darwin now proclaim the law, And spread it far abroad, O! The man that first the secret saw Was honest old Monboddo. The Architect precedence takes Of him that bears the hod, O! So up and at them, Land of Cakes, We'll vindicate Monboddo. (1879, 5-6) Instead of concluding this essay with restating any grand claim as to the many scientific and philosophical insights that can be derived from Defoe's and Monboddo's speculations about the silence of Peter, the feral boy, I will grant the last word to an unknown parishioner of St Mary's church at Northchurch, who penned this tribute to Peter the Wild Boy after his death in 1782: Peter, commonly known by the name of Peter the Wild Boy, lies buried in this church-yard, opposite to the porch. In the year 1725, he was found in the woods near Hamelin […]. He was supposed to be then about twelve years of age, and had subsisted in those woods upon the bark of trees, leaves, berries, &c. for some considerable length of time. How long he had continued in that wild state is altogether uncertain […]. Peter was well made, and of the middle size. His countenance had not the appearance of an idiot, nor was there any thing particular in his form, except that two of the fingers of his left hand were united by a web up to the middle joint. He

knowledge that Monboddo "carried his researches to a period far beyond the records of history, when men might be supposed to possess no means of vocal communication of their thoughts but natural and inarticulate sounds. Abstracting, in imagination, from the rational superiority of man, whatever seems to depend on his use of language, as a sign of thought, he represents the earlier generation of the human race as having been little, if at all exalted in intelligence above the ape and the orang-outang, whose form bears a resemblance to the human" (134).

262 WOLFGANG FUNK

had a natural ear for music and was so delighted with it, that, if he heard any musical instrument played upon, he would immediately dance and caper about till he was almost quite exhausted with fatigue: and though he could never be taught the distinct utterance of any word yet he could easily learn to hum a tune. […] Notwithstanding the extraordinary and savage state in which Peter was first found greatly excited the attention and curiosity of the public, yet, after all that has been said of him, he was certainly nothing more than a common idiot, without the appearance of one. But men of some prominence in the literary world have in their works published strange opinions and ill-founded conjectures about him so as to stamp a credit upon what they have advanced. That posterity may not through their authority be hereafter misled upon the subject, this short and true account of Peter is recorded on the parish register by one who constantly resided above thirty years in his neighbourhood and had daily opportunities of seeing and observing him. (Walker 1811, 584-86)

References Primary Sources Anon. (1726): An Enquiry how the Wild Youth, Lately taken in the Woods near Hanover, (and now brought over to England) could be there left, and by what Creature he could be suckled, nursed, and brought up. London: H. Parker Anon. (1726): It cannot Rain but it Pours: or, London strow'd with Rarities. London: J. Roberts Anon. (1726): "The Savage", in: Lewis, David (ed): Miscellaneous Poetry by Several Hands. London: J. Watts, 305 Blumenbach, Johann Friedrich (1811): Beyträge zur Naturgeschichte. Zweyter Theil. Göttingen: Hein- rich Dieterich Darwin, Charles (2004 [1879, 2nd ed.]): The Descent of Man, and Selection in Relation to Sex. Lon- don: Penguin Defoe, Daniel (1726): Mere Nature Delineated: or, A Body without a Soul. Being Observations Upon the Young Forester Lately Brought to Town from Germany. With Suitable Applications. Also, A Brief Dissertation upon the Usefulness and Necessity of Fools, whether Political or Natural. Lon- don: Warner Monboddo, James Burnett, Lord (1773): Of the Origin and Progress of Language. Vol I. Edinburgh: Kincaid & Creech --- (1784): Antient Metaphysics. Vol III. London: Cadell Müller, Friedrich Max (1862): Lectures on the Science of Language. New York: Scribner Reid, Thomas (1997): An Inquiry into the Human Mind: On the Principles of Common Sense. Ed. Derek R. Brookes. Edinburgh: Edinburgh UP Swift, Jonathan (1726): The Most Wonderful Wonder that ever Appear'd to the Wonder of the British Nation. London: A. More Walker, John (1811): A Selection of Curious Articles from the Gentleman's Magazine. Vol IV. Lon- don: Longman, Hurst, Rees, Orme and Brown Wilson, Henry; Caulfield, James (1869): The Book of Wonderful Characters: Memoirs and Anecdotes of Remarkable and Eccentric Persons in all Ages and Countries. London: J.C. Hotten

Secondary Sources Blumenthal, P.J. (2003): Kaspar Hausers Geschwister. Wien/Frankfurt am Main: Deuticke Bruland, Hansjörg (2008): Wilde Kinder in der frühen Neuzeit: Geschichten von der Natur des Men- schen. Stuttgart: Steiner Cloyd, E.L. (1972): James Burnett Lord Monboddo. Oxford: Clarendon Press Department for Culture, Media and Sport (2013): "Peter the Wild Boy's grave in Hertfordshire is 'listed' by Heritage Minister Ed Vaizey". Web. THE WONDROUS JOURNEY OF PETER THE WILD BOY 263

Douthwaite, Julia (1997): "Homo Ferus: Between Monster and Model", Eighteenth-Century Life 21.2, 176-202 --- (2002): The Wild Girl, Natural Man and the Monster. Chicago/London: U of Chicago P Ellingson, Ter (2001): The Myth of the Noble Savage. Berkeley, CA: U of California P Jocken, Lieve (1994): "Lord Monboddo and Adam Smith on the Origin and Development of Lan- guage", in: De Clercq, Jan (ed.): Florilegium Historiographiae Linguisticae. Louvain-La-Neuve: Peeters, 263-76 Kennedy, Maev (2011): "Peter the Wild Boy's condition revealed 200 years after his death", The Guardian. Web. Knoll, Elizabeth (1986): "The Science of Language and the Evolution of the Mind: Max Müller's Quarrel with Darwin", Journal of the History of the Behavioral Sciences 26, 3-22 Lane, Megan (2011): "Who was Peter the Wild Boy", BBC News Magazine. Web. LeBlanc, Steven A. (2003): Constant Battles: The Myth of the Peaceful, Noble Savage. New York: St Martin's Press Lovejoy, Arthur O. (1933): "Monboddo and Rousseau", Modern Philology 30, 275-96 Marzluf, Phillip P. (2008): "Originating Difference in Rhetorical Theory: Lord Monboddo's Obsession with Language Origins Theory", Rhetoric Society Quarterly 38.4, 385-407 Moorhouse, Roger (2010): "Peter the Wild Boy", History Today 60.4, 17-19. Web. Nash, Richard (2003): Wild Enlightenment: The Borders of Human Identity in the Eighteenth Century. Charlottesville, VI/London: U of Virginia P Neaves, Charles (1879 [1861]): "To the Memory of Monboddo", in: Songs and Verses, Social and Scientific. Edinburgh/London: Blackwood and Sons, 5-7 Newton, Michael (1999): "Bodies without Souls: The Case of Peter the Wild Boy", in: Fudge, Erica; Gilbert, Ruth; Wiseman, Susan (eds.): At the Borders of the Human: Beasts, Bodies and Natural Philosophy in the Early Modern Period. Houndmills/London: Macmillan, 196-214 --- (2004): Savage Girls and Wild Boys: A History of Feral Children. London: Picador Schrempp, Gregory (1983): "The Re-Education of Friedrich Max Müller: Intellectual Appropriation and Epistemological Antinomy in Mid-Victorian Evolutionary Thought", Man 18.1, 90-110 Schreyer, Rüdiger (1994): "Deaf-Mutes, Feral Children and Savages: Of Analogical Evidence in 18th- Century Theoretical History of Language", in: Blaicher, Günther; Glaser, Brigitte (eds.): Anglisten- tag 1993 Eichstätt Proceedings. Tübingen: Max Niemeyer, 70-86 Worsley, Lucy (2010): Courtiers: The Secret History of Kensington Palace. London: Faber and Faber

MICHAEL SZCZEKALLA (GREIFSWALD)

The Radical Enlightenment in Contemporary Fiction – Malcolm Bradbury, To the Hermitage and Jennie Erdal, The Missing Shade of Blue

British writers of historical fiction have frequently been drawn to the 18th century.1 Though 18th-century philosophy has rarely been a major preoccupation for them, there are at least two remarkable attempts at engaging with the legacy of the Enlightenment by turning some of its leading representatives into figures of contemporary relevance. At first sight, Malcolm Bradbury's To the Hermitage (2000) and Jennie Erdal's The Missing Shade of Blue (2012) could hardly be more different in general outlook, narrative scope, or tone. Whereas Bradbury tried to revive the reputation of Denis Diderot by imagining the aging philosophe's encounter with Catherine II of Russia after a long and arduous journey from Paris to St. Petersburg, Erdal explores the interior landscape of the human psyche with the moral philosophy of David Hume as a source of inspiration. We may, however, plausibly assume that both Bradbury and Erdal must have believed in the present-day relevance of the 18th-century thinker they chose for their philosophical fiction. Either they were in search of some philosophia perennis or they tried to elucidate the conditions of modernity by having recourse to 18th-century philosophy. If we disregard the extended musings of the narrator on his childhood and adolescence, The Missing Shade of Blue is completely set in the present. To the Hermitage boasts two stories told in alternating chapters called "Now" and "Then" – that of an entirely fictitious voyage from Stockholm to St. Petersburg advertised as "The Diderot Pro- ject", a kind of "Enlightenment Pilgrimage" organised by a Swedish professor, and that of Diderot's own journey to the court of the tsarina more than two hundred years earlier. Bradbury and Erdal must have supposed that the thinker who had inspired their fiction was a modern. This makes it tempting to compare their views, not only with each other, but also to recent conceptualisations of the Enlightenment, for instance Jonathan Israel's vast project on the "Radical Enlightenment", which found completion with the publication of the third volume of his Enlightenment trilogy (Democratic Enlightenment) in 2011. Such a comparison, however, can only be a starting point, and Israel certainly holds no monopoly on the interpretation of the Radical Enlightenment. Though highly erudite, his trilogy offers a surprisingly partisan account of the Enlightenment by dividing its major and minor representatives into two large groups, with the "radicals", whom he sees as the true heralds of modernity, on the one side of an almost unbridgeable divide, and, on the other, the "moderates", whom he regards as compromisers, in every sense

1 For a far from exhaustive list of English novels set in the 18th century, see , last accessed 21 February 2015.

266 MICHAEL SZCZEKALLA of the term, whose thought was destined to become obsolete with the demise of the old regimes and the advent of modernity. According to Israel, Diderot was a "radical" and Hume a "moderate" (Israel 2001, 709ff.; see also Israel 2010, 16 et passim). If he were right, Bradbury's not only much longer but also, in some ways, more ambitious novel might offer a richer, more meaningful elucidation of the conditions of modernity than Erdal's. I want to show that this is not the case. In their fiction, Bradbury and Erdal show themselves committed to a philosophical programme or stance, which they privilege by narrative and argument. This stance ultimately derives from the 18th-century project of a 'science of man' that anticipated modernity by providing us with an autonomous ethics2 and cosmopolitanism but- tressed by an empirico-rational discourse that led to a critique of teleological reasoning, religion, and monarchical government. Hume, to be sure, is no republican and he acquiesces in the existence of established churches. When it comes to final causes, however, both Hume and Diderot disagree fundamentally and irreconcilably with Adam Smith, for whom "the very suspicion of a fatherless world" is the most depress- ing thought he can imagine (Smith 2000, 345), a sentiment Smith shares with the overwhelming majority of 18th-century thinkers.3 Final causes, therefore, are the true litmus test for philosophical radicalism.4 In the case of Diderot, 'the science of man' was not only much more loosely defined but also historical or sociological in orientation rather than epistemological as with the younger Hume, who had coined the term,5 whereas the older Hume moved towards history proper, not the 'conjectural history' of which Diderot was so fond and Hume had also practised in his Natural History of Religion.6 Though I think the view untenable that Hume began to write history because he had become disaffected with philosophy (see White 1990, 55), it is important to understand that both thinkers are fundamentally concerned with a critique of philosophy. To the Hermitage and The Missing Shade of Blue admirably lend themselves not only to such

2 In the attempt to vindicate the autonomy of ethics from religion, Hume was preceded by Shaftes- bury (see Szczekalla 2007). 3 Ian Ross surmises that Smith saw his concept of "universal benevolence", on which his theory of moral sentiments is predicated, as "painfully undermined" by Hume's Dialogues (Ross 2010, 359). Anthony Pagden is certainly right when he says that, in the 18th century, very few could "contemplate Smith's 'fatherless world' entirely without flinching" (Pagden 2013, 104). He might have added that, at least among the representatives of the Scottish Enlightenment, Hume may well have been the only one. On Hume's critique of final causes in the Dialogues, see Szczekalla 1998, 81-86. 4 It seems to me that Israel's view is too monolithic. Hume's radicalism is philosophical rather than political. See Szczekalla 2012 and 2003, 171ff. 5 In the introduction to the Treatise, Hume sketches his program with ambition and panache: "Even Mathematics, Natural Philosophy, and Natural Religion, are in some measure dependent on the science of MAN, since they lie under the cognizance of men, and are judged of by their powers and faculties" (Hume 1978, XV). 6 The Natural History gives a speculative account of the "origin" of religion "in human nature" (Hume 1956, 21) as it partially relies on the observation of contemporary behaviour extrapo- lated into a distant past for which written sources are scarce or non-existent. On Diderot's revision of Raynal's History of the Two Indies, see Pagden 2010, 168ff.

THE RADICAL ENLIGHTENMENT IN CONTEMPORARY FICTION 267 a critique, which after all forms a constitutive part of the Enlightenment legacy, but also to an illumination of the consequences which may follow from it. Thus it may not be much of an exaggeration if I maintain that both Bradbury and Erdal owe their ironic attitude towards philosophy, and, by implication, their liberal humanism to Hume and Diderot, at least to the extent it has found expression in these two works of fiction.

1. To the Hermitage Malcolm Bradbury was more experimental than his writer-friend David Lodge and, in his novels, he tended to avoid closure. The two stories of To the Hermitage can hardly be called well-rounded narratives, a deficiency for which they make up by abounding in interesting parallels, which seem to multiply on a second reading. On that ground alone, the novel makes some demands on the reader. There are discussions of or at least references to other works of fiction, notably Tristram Shandy, Jacques le Fatal- iste, Le Neveu de Rameau, all of them novels that somehow seem to transcend the 18th century and, by providing paradigms for Bradbury's own fiction, contribute to the deeply ironic cast of the double narrative. Strategies for loosening the rules of plot construction, for subverting social hierarchies, and for making 'immoralism' appear an attractive option have never quite lost their appeal. Then as much as now "every café has to have a nephew" (Bradbury 2010, 359), the narrator of To the Hermitage tells us, and, perhaps, one does not have to look far to find such an angry 'parasite' we may be eager to talk to if he happens to be knowledgeable about art or otherwise entertaining.7 Lionel Trilling once called Le Neveu de Rameau "modern literature's original sin" (Kirsch 2010) and it may prove a sadly impoverished understanding of the Radical Enlightenment that not only Jonathan Israel but also Anthony Pagden, whose The Enlightenment and Why It Still Matters came out in 2013, have chosen not to discuss it.8 Auberon Waugh hyperbolically dubbed To the Hermitage "the funniest book ever written" (Merritt 2001). As a British campus novel, however, it offers the usual fare that can also be found in Lodge – stories revealing professorial hubris and unworldliness interlaced with occasional sexual escapades, whose protagonists are exposed to gentle mockery. Its narrator is a liberal humanist, who is, perhaps a bit too easily, recognisable as the author's alter ego. Like Bradbury, he combines the professions of teaching and writing. His antagonist, an American scholar called Jack Paul Verso, is not only constantly lusting after the service personnel on board of the ship that takes them to St. Petersburg, but he is also, and with a similar ruthlessness, thriving on the latest academic fashions. While still aboard, these two conference participants give extemporised papers on their approach to Diderot's oeuvre. The American poses as a deconstructionist enthralled to postmodernism (Bradbury 2010, 188-197), the narrator argues for something he calls

7 Wittgenstein had a nephew, too, as we can learn from Thomas Bernhard. The Cambridge philosopher will be the subject of next year's conference, the Swedish convener tells the narrator before their final leave-taking (see Bradbury 2010, 462). 8 As a kind of afterthought, the final volume of the Enlightenment Trilogy contains a very brief discussion of Le Neveu de Rameau that entirely fails to do justice to the aporetic nature of this dialogic novel (see Israel 2011, 88f.).

268 MICHAEL SZCZEKALLA

"postmortemism", which rests on the belief that Roland Barthes' message of 'the death of the author' is somewhat exaggerated. And yet "postmortemism" is but a semi-concept, something inchoate that would be incomprehensible but for its implicit critique of postmodernism (ibid., 149-163). Both speakers defy the conventions of academic discourse, but our humanist appears to be the more conscientious scholar. He is also the only one of the entire group who will later go to the library of the Hermitage and actually have a look at the books that were once owned by Diderot and Voltaire. The others act more like tourists. When the ship is about to return to Stockholm, Verso, the "funky professor", an epithet that is repeated so often that it needs must stick (ibid., 89; 107; 263), fails to show up. He may have decamped with a woman called Tatjana he had met on the voyage out. Apart from such 'inappropriate' behaviour, Verso seems guilty of sensationalism combined with shoddy scholarship. Nothing means more to him than the acquisition of a celebrity status. Though, as a salaried professor, he does not have to sponge on anyone, we are encouraged to think of him as a latter-day version of Rameau's nephew. Thus it is Verso himself who observes that "every Moi needs to have a little Lui" (ibid., 201). His honesty, a character trait which he shares with Diderot's anti-hero, may be his most conspicuous redeeming quality. Comparing the two narratives of To the Hermitage, one gets the impression that, apart from the material conditions of life, not so many things have changed since the 18th century. The two narratives are also clearly meant to reflect on each other when it comes to an evaluation of Diderot's achievement. However, rather than telling us what to think of the philosophe's gigantic oeuvre, the narrative exuberance of his fiction no less than the courage, tenacity, and entrepreneurial genius without which the Encyclo- pédie could never have succeeded, Bradbury tries to show how we can arrive at our own judgment. The result may be as exhilarating or disturbing as the experience of reading Le Neveu de Rameau can still be, or, for that matter, as the writing of it had once been for its author. The responsible, ethically-minded philosophe might easily have become a rogue had he not been rescued by Catherine, who bought his library and appointed him as her librarian. Has Diderot then compromised himself by accepting the invitation of the tsarina? Catherine, one might argue, has been generous to him and rewarded the thinker most handsomely, but she never acted on his advice, something he might actually have fore- seen. "You're a philosopher and work on paper", she tells him, whereas she, as "a poor empress, must work on human skin" (ibid., 420). The mocking self-deprecation the monarch indulges in here can hardly make us ignore the ominous undertone. Whatever her Grand Instruction of 1767 may have promised, liberating the serfs, abolishing censorship and torture seem to have been out of the question.9 Years later the French Revolution turned her into a rigid conservative who would not even have listened to a philosophe had there still been one around at her court. Yet whether the revolutionary cataclysm really changed her mind may be doubtful. Some of the things she says to Diderot would have been worthy of the author of Les Soirées de Saint-Pétersbourg: "I am all that exists between the hangman's knout and a river of

9 Diderot wrote a critique of the Nakaz during his visit.

THE RADICAL ENLIGHTENMENT IN CONTEMPORARY FICTION 269 blood", which elicits the weak reply: "Yes, I can imagine it's so" (ibid., 301).10 The En- lightenment's belief in educational meliorism meets with her derision: "I can show you the vilest thugs with doctorates from Tübingen" (ibid., 176). Was Diderot the equivalent of a Renaissance court jester rather than a modern policy adviser and did Catherine primarily want him for purposes of imperial ostentation? In the autocratic atmosphere then prevailing, his reformist agenda could never have been taken seriously. And, one may add in the spirit of the novel, the present struggles on behalf of Russian civil society could still be a measure of the frustrations Diderot must have felt more than two hundred years ago. As if such a sombre conclusion were not enough, there is an even more vexing question: Is Catherine right when, as the vast- ness of Diderot's ambition to reform the whole of Russia is beginning to dawn upon her, she observes that she can see "the imperial nature of [his] mind"? "You're the new Gustav Adolf. You seem to want to occupy my entire nation" (ibid., 205). Of course, she means Charles XII. We may disregard the deliberate solecism11 and acknowledge that her criticism amounts to a full-scale attack on the universalism of the Enlighten- ment. Though Diderot stands a fair chance of exoneration, some of the other philosophes may hardly hope for a reprieve. Was it not Voltaire who not only defended the murder of Catherine's husband Peter III, but also advised her to invade the Ottoman Empire? It is probably no exaggeration to say that such unsolicited complicity amounts to a verit- able trahison de clerc foreshadowing all the acts of treason committed by public intellectuals in the name of progress for two centuries to come. However, in Bradbury's literary imagination, Diderot is no courtly sycophant and, though he is not always brilliant and sometimes gets cowed into silence, he, on the whole, faces boldly the moral outrage of autocracy. Yet, in the end, the only hope To the Hermitage gives rise to rests on the narrator's "postmortemism", which is based on the assumption or, better, well-grounded observation that books breed books and that Diderot has been immortalised, not by having fulfilled a political mission, but by his oeuvre. It certainly boasts an impressive genealogy. Inspired by Tristram Shandy, Diderot wrote Jacques le Fataliste et son Maître, whereby he, in turn, became the literary progenitor of Beaumarchais and many, many others. Moreover, the "transverse zig-zaggery" (Bradbury 2010, 158; Sterne 1980, 114) exhibited by the plot of Sterne's great novel can be transformed into a paradigm for both life and literature, as both may have their beginnings in "botched conceptions" (ibid.). Even "postmortemism" itself owes its existence to such a "botched conception". At the end of his visit, the narrator is given a copy of volumes 5 and 6 of Tris-

10 The difference between the Russian monarch and the Savoyard diplomat is of course that Brad- bury's Catherine comes across as a Machiavellian pragmatist, whereas de Maistre's praise of the hangman is embedded in a discourse of (false) sublimity: "Et cependant toute grandeur, toute puissance, toute subordination repose sur l'exécuteur: il est l'horreur et le lien de l'association humaine. Otez du monde cet agent incompréhensible: dans l'instant même l'ordre fait place au chaos, les trônes s'abîment et la société disparaît." (de Maistre 1862, 1,41) 11 Deliberate on the part of the author, as Bradbury has duly forewarned us in the Preface: "This is (I suppose) a story. It draws a great deal on history; but as history is the lies the present tells in order to make sense of the past I have improved it where necessary. I have altered the places where facts, data, info, seem dull or inaccurate" (Bradbury 2010, XXI).

270 MICHAEL SZCZEKALLA tram Shandy that may have belonged to Diderot's library, stolen by the librarian herself in an act of desperation as "[t]here will never be a library of reason" (Bradbury 2010, 396), and surreptitiously got out of the country by the narrator. Books have their own destinies. And so do the dead bodies of authors. Having arrived at Stockholm, the narrator vainly searches for the grave of Descartes. Aboard ship, he delivers what is admittedly a bogus version of the story of Sterne's burial and reburial. A similar story, though incidentally a true one, can be told about Diderot, who was denied the pantheonisation granted to Voltaire and Rousseau. "Diderot le philosophe? Disparu", the sacristan at the Church of Saint-Roch will tell the inquisitive modern tourist (ibid., 496).12 Op- posed to the 'death of the author', liberal humanists have a fondness for graveyards. The immortality they still believe in must be vicarious. A "whiff of fatalism" – a phrase that may be borrowed from The Missing Shade of Blue (Erdal 2012, 65) – surrounds all their endeavours.

2. The Missing Shade of Blue The narrator called Edgar Logan, a translator of Hume's Essays Moral, Political, and Literary, has left Paris for Edinburgh to check up on the extant manuscripts in the Na- tional Library of Scotland and make daily visits to the Calton Hill cemetery where Hume lies buried in an incongruously pompous sepulchre reminiscent of Theoderic's at Ravenna, while his antagonist, a philosopher named Harry Sanderson, whose marriage is in tatters and who is later dismissed by the university, has just finished a book on happiness, about which he is unremittingly sarcastic. The book is part of a series and the subject was more or less thrust upon him: "I tried to get Lust or Truth, of course, but some other buggers got there first, and I was stuck with Happiness" (Erdal 2012, 24). It is by this man that Edgar gets invited to a number of fishing excursions. Catching a trout with a mind completely focussed on the art of dry-fly fishing is "the nearest thing to transcendence" (ibid., 109), Sanderson tells him. This anecdote should prepare us for the novel's oblique approach to philosophy, the way in which it links the metaphysical to the mundane. The "missing shade of blue" is Hume's example of genuine knowledge produced by the imagination alone without any prior sensory input, in fact, the only counterexample to the 'empiricist hypothesis' the Scottish thinker claims to know of, and "so singular" that he ultimately dismisses it as irrelevant to his "general maxim" about the origin of our ideas (Hume 1975, 20f.). In Erdal's novel, however, the missing shade of blue becomes something quite different, which can only be explained by telling the story. Edgar is of Anglo-French parentage. Before the war, his father had been a student of Wittgenstein's and a budding philosopher. When, as a British soldier in France, he had to go into hiding, he was saved by a French family whose daughter he later married. This being his second marriage, he not only antagonised his British father-in-law, which spelt the ruin of his academic career, but also his French wife's parents. True to his intellectual heritage, he opened a bookshop in Paris called 'Le Bon David', which

12 Philipp Blom reports the same anecdote to make the point that the fame of the Radical Enlight- enment has been unjustly eclipsed by Voltaire and Rousseau (see Blom 2011, 13f.).

THE RADICAL ENLIGHTENMENT IN CONTEMPORARY FICTION 271 later became a café rivalling 'Les Deux Magots'. No wonder Edgar was initiated into Hume's philosophy at a very early age. One day the thought experiment of the missing shade of blue was used for a goodnight tale that turned out to have a lasting effect on the young hero, as it raised the spectre of failure in a way that may appear somewhat disproportionate to the situation: In so far as a young boy can feel he has failed, I felt it then. And ever since, at odd times throughout my life, there had been the same sense followed by the same doubt: would I recog- nize the missing shade of blue? Would I ever be able to know something if I hadn't first experienced it? (Erdal 2012, 169) Erdal has transformed an epistemological argument into one that seems vaguely exist- entialist. There is not only little warrant for this revision in Hume.13 Such 'fuzziness' also seems to contradict her double ambition to stand up for British philosophy, with its empiricist and analytic orientation, and for the traditional British novel, with its propensity to "introspection", its "whiff of fatalism", and its characters that feel at home "in the emotional landscape of the British middle class" (ibid., 65). Though all this may sound woefully conventional, it is, unsurprisingly, a fairly accurate description of what Erdal has attempted to do. According to her, Rousseau and Sartre betrayed the Enlightenment, whereas Hume was a benign humanist and one of its principal advocates. Yet, even Humeans may suffer the occasional breakdown, conveniently diagnosed as "the disease of the learnèd" (ibid., 81), as it happened not only to the young Hume himself but also to the narrator of Erdal's novel when he was a student at the Sorbonne. The breakdown occurred while he was attending a lecture on syllogism, a coincidence that is probably meant to be symbolic. Sanderson's case happens to be much more severe. In the end, he can no longer cope with the disintegration of his life and commits suicide while the narrator remains the same shy and unassuming character he appears to be from page one onwards, much better at controlling his emotions than Sanderson, too good, in fact, because it has made him a loner. He accompanies Sanderson's widow and her son on an excursion to one of the Hebrides and almost falls in love. Has he found the missing shade of blue? According to the reviewer of the TLS, he has finally overcome his "self-imposed solitude" by learning "to embrace empirical, rather than vicarious, knowledge" (Lawrie 2012) – surely a Humean lesson, but what is its precise content? That he has met a real man of flesh and blood and in serious trouble, though he would perhaps have preferred to watch Sanderson "come undone from a safe distance" (Erdal 2012, 150) by encountering him in a novel that he had to translate? "Sanderson definitely counted as the real thing" (ibid.), he ventures to tell us. But why? Because he is a man in crisis or because

13 This is not to say that there are no traces of (what may retrospectively be called) 'existentialism' in Hume. On the final pages of Book I of the Treatise, epistemological despair, i.e. the discovery that "the human understanding, when it acts alone and according to its most general principles, entirely subverts itself" (Hume 1978, 267), leads to an analysis of human existence, which is then cut short by the observation that a "true sceptic will be diffident of his philosophical doubts, as well as of his philosophical convictions" (ibid.), thus foreshadowing the 'mitigated scepticism' of the 1st Enquiry.

272 MICHAEL SZCZEKALLA of what he knows? Does Sanderson, before he chooses to end his life, pass on a philosophical insight to the timid translator? For instance, that it is a modern delusion to think of eudaimonia as a subjective state? The Greek term means "living a life in accordance with reason, with virtue, with duty". Though the word is commonly used in translations, it should not be rendered as "happiness" (ibid., 242).14 Eudaimonia requires a telos. That is why neo-Aristotelians like Alasdair MacIntyre talk about 'practices', which usually affords them the opportunity to wax sentimental about the world of arts and crafts (MacIntyre 2007, 181ff.). When the failed philosopher patiently teaches "fly-tying skills" to a novice in the art of fishing he shows an "exquisite integrity" (Erdal 2012, 179) that contrasts sharply with his usual abrasive- ness and cynicism. Thus, in The Missing Shade of Blue, the art of dry-fly fishing may suggest itself as a paradigm for Aristotelian virtue ethics. We should not forget, however, that thinkers who are severely critical of post-Humean 'emotivist' moral philosophy are committed to the view that the individual's conception of the 'good life' cannot be self-chosen (MacIntyre 2007, 195). As Erdal is far from endorsing it, neo-Aristotel- ianism appears to be a loose thread in her novel, which may be an aesthetic blemish, but one that should not make us unhappy.15 It could also be said – and this assertion might prove more troublesome – that Erdal takes Hume's importance too readily for granted. According to a guest lecturer invited to the University of Edinburgh's David Hume Tower, the epitome of concrete hideous- ness, Hume has shown that religious arguments are "inherently risible" (Erdal 2012, 10). Perhaps Erdal accepts this dictum too unreservedly. To make it plausible requires facing the challenge of Hume's "mitigated scepticism" (Hume 1975, 161), which she is, admittedly, quite prepared to do. Her entire novel is, after all, dedicated to the task of exploring its present-day relevance. However, Hume's philosophy, in particular his plea for metaphysics (i.e. epistemology) made at the beginning of the first Enquiry, appears far less amenable to fictionalisation than Diderot's, who was himself a writer of novels,16 whereas Hume wrote dialogues in which the narrative elements are subservient to the argument. Still smarting under the less than favourable reception of the Treatise, the older Hume concedes that metaphysical inquiries can easily overtax our capacities. Yet he insists that "[w]e must submit to this fatigue, in order to live at ease ever after" (ibid., 12). Thus his analysis of causation not only involves a critique of traditional metaphysics. It is also foundationalist in character as it rests on the assumption that we can justify our causal beliefs by explaining how we have arrived at them (ibid., 40ff.). According

14 In The Nichomachean Ethics, Aristotle defines eudaimonia as "an activity of the soul in accordance with virtue" – "in a complete lifetime" (Aristotle 2004, 16 [1098a]). Hence a child cannot be happy (ibid., 21 [1100a]). 15 It could be argued that Sanderson is too exhausted to reinvent himself as a pupil of MacIntyre's and become an Aristotelian or a Thomist. With his rather unappealing vices plus the challenge he represents to a moral philosophy that is grounded on the passions, the frequently drunk Sanderson faintly resembles the 'dipsomaniacs' of the 20th-century Catholic novel. 16 It would, however, be a mistake to assume that Diderot's philosophical novels take up an easily identifiable metaphysical stance. It is far from clear whether Jacques le Fataliste corroborates the deterministic creed of its eponymous hero. Diderot would not have told the story of a master and his servant to expatiate on a fine point of metaphysics. His 'science of man' prioritises other forms of knowledge.

THE RADICAL ENLIGHTENMENT IN CONTEMPORARY FICTION 273 to him, the same holds true "in all moral disquisitions" where we must equally follow the "experimental method" (ibid., 174f.). It seems to be Hume's critique rather than his foundationalism most readers would nowadays identify as a project of modernity. But his 'mitigated' or 'academic' scepticism requires both. Otherwise there could neither be a 'science of man' nor an autonomous ethics based on it. We may assume Erdal to be in sympathy with this view. For all her emphasis on Hume's scepticism, she is not afraid of using the language of epistemic privilege. There is nothing her narrator desires so much as "to feel part of the world" and discover "the missing shade of blue" (Erdal 2012, 308). "[M]etaphysical reflection", as Hume understood it, aims at "a conception of what the world is like" (Stroud 2011, 8). Since, arguably, every reflective person wants to have such a conception of the world, the "metaphysical urge" seems irrepressible, though a sceptical philosophy may tell us that it can never be satisfied (ibid., 159). In an act of creative Bloomian 'misprision', Erdal extends this 'realist approach' to interpersonal relations and to what may be called the 'ontology of love', only to conclude sceptically: As her narrator "had been waiting for love all [his] life", "love" becomes the ultimate point of reference or "the missing shade of blue", which, for Edgar Logan, is nothing but "an idea stretched beyond its limits" (Erdal 2012, 308). Whether this reflects on the limitations of philosophy or an individual's malaise must remain an open question. There might be an epistemological argument of which story tellers could make more direct use. According to Hume, it is "sympathy" that transforms pale ideas into lively impressions (Hume 1978, 316f.). However, this is a rather technical use of the term. Moreover, we should not forget that Hume thought fiction inferior to history because historical narratives, being grounded in truth, are more vivid than imagined ones.

3. The Radical Enlightenment Privileging fiction over history or philosophy, students of literature may argue, requires a post-romantic consciousness, though Diderot could prove an exception to this rule. As a materialist and a sensualist, he writes, in his Lettre sur les Aveugles, about visual impairment as if such a defect may lead to feats of cognition unattainable to those who can see. Because a blind person is not led into error by eyesight, she can, for instance, effectively challenge teleological reasoning. Thus Diderot tells the story of an accidental (near) namesake of Erdal's anti-hero, Nicholas Saunderson, Lucasian Pro- fessor of Mathematics at Cambridge, who, in a deathbed conversation with a clergyman, reveals himself to be a sceptic as to the argument from design. In a strange inver- sion in which the effects of visual impairment become a cognitive strength, the blind man even argues as an evolutionist avant la lettre who maintains that what strikes the seeing as premeditated design may in fact be nothing but a "transitory symmetry" and a "momentary appearance of order" (Diderot 1916, 114). Thus, if Erdal had wanted to argue for the superiority of fiction over philosophy, she could probably have harnessed the support of Diderot, who felt comfortable in both disciplines, perhaps even more so in the realm of fiction, as he was not a philosopher in the more technical sense of the term, but a philosophe, though some of the discussions contained in the Lettre are also quite technical, and in the challenge to teleological thinking they invite a comparison with Hume's Dialogues.

274 MICHAEL SZCZEKALLA

"Philosophy", Sanderson muses at the end of the last of the fishing tours he has under- taken with Edgar, "is good at asking questions", whereas literature "gets us closer to the answers" (Erdal 2012, 258). Both Hume and Diderot would certainly have agreed with the first part of this statement, Diderot perhaps also with the latter half. Yet we should not forget how critical both of them were of a particular strand within the philosophical tradition – the speculation into final causes. In "The Sceptic", Hume argues, albeit through a persona, that philosophy should no longer assume the pose of a magistra vitae; for it cannot teach us "ends" (Hume 1985, 159ff.). Having arrived at such a bleak – or should we say liberating? – conclusion is of course no mean achievement. And yet it might instil a sense of modesty in philosophers. Having had to discard the belief in final causes, which can work as a powerful anti-depressant, as Adam Smith had known and as can be shown ex negativo in the deformation professionelle that becomes a deadly affliction for Harry Sanderson, the task of philosophers has become an essentially negative one. They can offer nothing but criticism. No wonder that there is or used to be a consensus in some quarters – and Erdal seems to share it – that modesty is a virtue that first and foremost characterises British philosophy. At least such a conviction seems to underpin the invidious comparison between British and French thinkers she indulges in. To get a better grasp of her position, it might help to remind ourselves of the beginning of Camus' Le Mythe de Sisyphe. There is only one question of importance in philosophy, the author tells us on the very first page, and that is whether to commit suicide or not (Camus 1990, 17). Is there a British equivalent to such philosophising that, at least among the epigones, could easily deteriorate into the post-adolescent posturing that was to become the hallmark of existentialism? I think there is, though one might say, if there ever was an example of cognitive dissonance created by two philosophical works, this is it. In his Language, Truth, and Logic, written when the author was even younger than Camus had been in 1942, Alfred Jules Ayer begins by observing that all meaningful propositions are either hypothetical or tautological. As metaphysical assertions fail to meet either requirement, they must be nonsensical (Ayer 1990, 24). This essay became a manifesto of logical positivism, which, according to Bertrand Russell, is nothing but "Hume plus modern logic" (1985, 493).17 Erdal seems convinced that both her hero and his antagonist have been raised in the better tradition, the one represented by Russell and Ayer, though it could not afford them any protection against the 'disease of the learnèd'. The insight that philosophy cannot teach us 'ends' is somehow dearly bought. But such are the conditions of modernity as they have been anticipated by both Hume and Diderot. She might have been more generous to the latter and his radical coterie, perhaps following the example of Bradbury. Neither does she appear to have considered that the intellectual modesty of someone like Ayer may be a carefully devised myth, as has recently been suggested by Stefan Collini. If it is illegitimate to teach authoritatively how human beings should live, the denial of such an option must come across as no less authoritative (see Collini 2006, 393ff.). Thus Ayer's ethical 'emotivism' is not en-

17 Though Russell and Ayer are certainly indebted to Hume, as there could not have been an analytic movement without classical empiricism, this equation is, perhaps, a bit too simple. Hume nowhere contends that theology and traditional metaphysics are 'meaningless'.

THE RADICAL ENLIGHTENMENT IN CONTEMPORARY FICTION 275 tirely dissimilar from Camus' existentialism. Both assume an unbridgeable hiatus between what we can know and what we should do. If Hume seems less worried by this hiatus than Diderot, this is largely because of the geneticist accounts he manages to give of what we hold to be true. Unlike modern philosophers, he seems more or less satisfied with our metaphysical beliefs about causation, necessity, and value once he has managed to explain how we have come by them.18 This satisfaction, I think, sufficiently explains the optimism of the two En- quiries, but perhaps also of the Essays Moral, Political, and Literary. It helps us to understand the equanimity of an 18th-century thinker who finds himself in a 'fatherless world', in which it is impossible to attain reliable knowledge unless it is based on a 'science of man'. But it could also explain the attraction felt for Hume by modern readers like the narrator in the Missing Shade of Blue, since Hume's 'mitigated scepticism' can still be a viable alternative to postmodern varieties of relativism and anti- humanism, which not only tend to "rot" our "critical faculties" but would also destroy the "moral basis of life" if wholeheartedly adopted (Hargreaves 2002). Thus Bradbury and Erdal have made creative use of the insight that modern philosophy would be unthinkable without a critique of its foundations. Whether this critique, if pursued further, also provides an argument for the superiority of literature over moral philosophy remains a moot point, though not for Hume, who, unlike Diderot, did not feel the temptation of antinomianism. Yet both Bradbury and Erdal have been right in choosing either Diderot or Hume as a philosophical hero for a work of fiction that, for all its scepticism, still refuses to accept the death of the Cartesian subject and total randomness. Hence they show little inclination to envisage thinking man or woman as "a human face drawn in the sand on the very edge of the waves" (Bradbury 2010, 118; see 131).19

References Aristotle (2004): The Nichomachean Ethics. Eds. H. Tredennick and J. Barnes. Trans. J.A.K. Thom- son. London: Penguin Ayer, A.J. (1990, 11936): Language, Truth, and Logic. Harmondsworth: Penguin Blom, Philipp (2011): Böse Philosophen. Munich: Hanser Bloom, Harold (1973): The Anxiety of Influence: A Theory of Poetry. New York: Oxford UP Bradbury, Malcolm (2012, 12000): To the Hermitage. London: Picador Camus, Albert (1990, 11942): Le Mythe de Sisyphe. Paris: Gallimard Collini, Stefan (2006): Absent Minds. Oxford: Oxford UP De Maistre, Joseph (81862): Les Soirées de Saint-Pétersbourg. 2 vols. Lyon/Paris: J.B. Pélagaud Diderot, Denis (1986): Jacques the Fatalist. Trans. Michael Henry. London: Penguin --- (1916): Letter on the Blind for the Use of Those Who See, in: Diderot's Early Philosophical Works. Ed. and trans. Margaret Jourdain. Chicago/London: Open Court --- (1966): Rameau's Nephew. Trans. L. Tancock. London: Penguin

18 In his Engagement and Metaphysical Dissatisfaction, Barry Stroud, following both Hume and Kant, but rejecting the former's geneticist account of our beliefs as well as the latter's transcendental idealism, argues that "metaphysical dissatisfaction" is part of the human condition (Stroud 2011, 160). 19 I therefore disagree with Klaus Stierstorfer who holds the view that To the Hermitage only superficially endorses 'affirmative humanism' (see Stierstorfer 2010).

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Erdal, Jennie (2012): The Missing Shade of Blue. London: Little, Brown Hargreaves, John (2002): "Michel Foucault and his Defenders", The Times Literary Supplement, 25 January. Web. [last accessed 1 December 2014] Hume, David (1956): The Natural History of Religion. Ed. H.E. Root. Stanford: Stanford UP --- (1975): Enquiries Concerning Human Understanding and Concerning the Principles of Morals. Ed. P.H. Nidditch. Oxford: Oxford UP --- (1978): A Treatise of Human Nature. Ed. P.H. Nidditch. Oxford: Oxford UP --- (1985): Essay Moral, Political, and Literary. Ed. Eugene F. Miller. Indianapolis: Liberty Fun Israel, Jonathan (2001): Radical Enlightenment: Philosophy and the Making of Modernity 1650-1750. Oxford: Oxford UP --- (2006): Enlightenment Contested: Philosophy, Modernity, and the Emancipation of Man 1670- 1752. Oxford: UP --- (2010): A Revolution of the Mind: Radical Enlightenment and the Intellectual Origins of Modern Democracy. Princeton: Princeton UP --- (2011): Democratic Enlightenment: Philosophy, Revolution, and Human Rights 1750-1790. Ox- ford: Oxford UP Kirsch, Adam (2010): "The Letters of Saul Bellow", The Times Literary Supplement, 29 December. Web. [last accessed 1 December 2014] Lawrie, Alexandra (2012): "Stuck with Happiness", The Times Literary Supplement, 18 May. Web. [last accessed 1 De- cember 2014] MacIntyre, Alasdair (32007): After Virtue. Notre Dame, IN: U of Notre Dame P Merritt, Stephanie (2001): Review of the paperback edition of To the Hermitage, The Observer, 11 March. Web. [last accessed 1 December 2014] Pagden, Anthony (2013): The Enlightenment and Why It Still Matters. Oxford: Oxford UP Ross, Ian (²2010): The Life of Adam Smith. Oxford: Oxford UP Russell, Bertrand (1985): Autobiography. London/Boston/Sydney: Unwin Smith, Adam (2000): The Theory of Moral Sentiments. Amherst, NY: Prometheus Books Sterne, Laurence (1980): Tristram Shandy. Ed. Howard Anderson. London/New York: Norton Stierstorfer, Klaus (2005): "'Postmortemism': Malcolm Bradbury's Legacy in To the Hermitage", Études anglaises 58.2, 154-165 Stroud, Barry (2011): Engagement and Metaphysical Dissatisfaction: Modality and Value. Oxford: Oxford UP Szczekalla, Michael (1998): "Philo's Feigned Fideism in Hume's Dialogues concerning Natural Reli- gion", Archiv für Geschichte der Philosophie 80.1, 75-87 --- (2003): David Hume – der Aufklärer als konservativer Ironiker: Dialogische Religionskritik und philosophische Geschichtsschreibung im 'Athen des Nordens'. Heidelberg: C.H. Winter --- (2007): "Pleading for the Autonomy of Ethics: A Fresh Look at Freethinking in the Essays and Dialogues of Shaftesbury and Hume", Proceedings Anglistentag 2006 Halle. Eds. Sabine Volk- Birke and Julia Lippert. Trier: WVT, 75-84 --- (2012): "Historiography and the Critique or Radicalism: Hume and Gibbon", 2000, The European Journal 13.1, 1-5 White, Hayden (1990): Metahistory: The Historical Imagination in Nineteenth-Century Europe. Balti- more/London: Johns Hopkins UP

Section 4

Narrative, Identity Formation, and the Bildungsroman

Chairs:

Georgia Christinidis and Christian Schmitt-Kilb

GEORGIA CHRISTINIDIS AND CHRISTIAN SCHMITT-KILB (ROSTOCK)

Narrative, Identity Formation, and the Bildungsroman: Introduction

1. The Bildungsroman as Spectre A spectre is haunting literary studies ‒ the spectre of the Bildungsroman. Since the 1970s, the genre has garnered ever-increasing critical attention, yet it is often relegated to the past. Thus, David Miles, in 1974, invokes Günter Grass's Die Blechtrommel (1959) as a blow that "touches the very heart of the Bildungsroman tradition, and would seem to signal some sort of absolute end to the genre, even within the realm of parody" (990). Miles attributes the demise of the genre to alienation, caused by urban- isation on the one hand and excessive self-consciousness on the other. In The Way of the World (1987), one of the most influential monographs on the genre in an anglophone context, Franco Moretti argues that modernism put paid to the Bildungsroman. Uncertainty about the exact point in time when the Bildungsroman ceased to be a viable or 'live' genre thus abounds, but the conviction that the genre's present condition is critical seems widespread: In a postmodern age of fragmented subjectivity, the Bil- dungsroman can be no more than a ghost of its former self. In the Routledge Diction- ary of Literary Terms, for instance, Daniel Lea concludes that "[p]ostmodernism's cynicism towards fixed and stable subjectivity constitutes a serious ideological blow to the relevance of the Bildungsroman" (2005, 20). Yet even as the death of the Bildungsroman in its previously hegemonic form, with its white, middle-class, and typically male protagonist, is proclaimed, the genre rises again: Feminist and postcolonial critics seize the concept for their own purposes. In 1983, Elizabeth Abel's, Marianne Hirsch's, and Elizabeth Langland's preface to The Voyage In – the first collection of essays on the female Bildungsroman – boldly re- frames the condition of the genre: Far from being dead, it has merely changed beyond some critics' recognition: "While the Bildungsroman has played out its possibilities for males, female versions of the genre still offer a vital form" (13). Four years later, in 1987, Esther Kleinbord Labovitz asserts that [w]ith the male Bildungsroman thought to be disappearing in contemporary society, and no longer a viable genre for a pluralistic and fragmented society, where the concept of Bildung is being undermined and cannot be upheld in its former cultural context, the belated arrival of the female Bildungsroman invites comparison and contrast. (8) No source is cited to substantiate the contention that the male Bildungsroman is "thought to be disappearing," and it has proven impossible, despite extensive research, to identify any such source among the texts cited in Labovitz's bibliography. The bibliography does, however, make reference to one text that claims the death of the entire genre – namely, the article by Miles, quoted above. It is likely that Labovitz's claim is based on a reframing of Miles's argument, especially as Miles is also cited by Abel, Hirsch, and Langland to support their statement that "the Bildungsroman has played out its possibilities for males". Miles's essay is, in fact, exclusively concerned with the male Bildungsroman, but the exclusiveness of his approach is constructed as 'unmarked' – to Miles, 'Bildungs- roman' and 'male Bildungsroman' simply appear to be synonymous. The claims made by 280 GEORGIA CHRISTINIDIS AND CHRISTIAN SCHMITT-KILB

Labovitz as well as by Abel, Hirsch, and Langland can then be read as creatively reframing the blind spot at the heart of Miles's text: By rethinking the hegemonic form of the genre as marked with regard to gender, they transform Miles's pessimistic assertion that Bildung and the Bildungsroman have become impossible due to alienation – a narrative of cultural decline typical of reactionary Kulturkritik – into an obituary for the male Bildungsroman. The Bildungsroman is dead, long live the Bildungsroman. The contemporary Bildungsroman therefore resembles a revenant, a Derridean spectre; it is an absent presence that is persistently invoked by critics, even as they doubt its (continued) existence. From the 1970s onward, this spectre haunts feminist and, later, postcolonial criticism. By invoking the classical Bildungsroman, contemporary feminist and postcolonial novels as well as their critics lay claim to some of the prestige traditionally accorded to the form: Treating contemporary novels as Bildungsromane entails their comparability with texts whose canonical status has already been secured and confirms their own value. In that sense, the valorisation of the Bildungsroman indirectly empowers texts that are subversive of the canon and emancipatory in their implications. Yet it is the purported death of the classical Bildungsroman that facilitates this manoeuvre and opens up space centre-stage for the identity formation of non- white and non-male protagonists. The blossoming of the feminist and postcolonial Bildungsroman in the second half of the 20th century and their relationship with the classical form is frequently interpreted in terms of 'belatedness'. It is taken for granted that postmodern subjectivity presents a serious threat to the Bildungsroman; the genre is held to be "no longer […] viable […] for a pluralistic and fragmented society", as Labovitz puts it, yet it survives because it "fulfils a legitimate need to assert a coherent identity as a necessary cultural strategy for a marginalised and oppositional group" (Felski 1986, 146). Felski refers to women, but the same argument can be extended to ethnic minorities. This account sounds plausible; it ascribes the rise of the female and postcolonial Bildungsromane to the liberal- isation of Western societies and the aftermath of colonialism. But does it equally satis- factorily account for the comparative decline of the classical form? Many reports of the death of the Bildungsroman predate the hegemony of postmodernism, while far from all critics concur that the genre is dead even now; also, given that autobiography, another genre predicated upon an understanding of the subject as unified, is experiencing a renaissance, something more than the mere existence of postmodernism is required to account for the purported demise of the classical Bildungsroman and the con- sequent de-centring of the genre. That 'something more' is the political character both of the Bildungsroman – a genre centrally concerned with the relationship between the individual and society – and of Bildungsroman-criticism, even before their appropriation for a feminist or postcolonial agenda in the late 20th century.

2. Bildung and Humanity: The Politics of Bildungsroman-Criticism While the development of the protagonist in the classical Bildungsroman is claimed to culminate in the full realisation of his (and typically, it is his rather than her) humanity, Eduard Spranger, one of the most important philosophers of Bildung in the early 20th century (and a former pupil of Wilhelm Dilthey, who first popularised the term Bil- dungsroman), pointed out that "Humanität ist eigentlich nur ein formaler Begriff, dem jede Epoche ihren eigenen lebendigen Gehalt gibt" (Kerschensteiner/Spranger 1966,

NARRATIVE, IDENTITY FORMATION, AND THE BILDUNGSROMAN: INTRODUCTION 281

63). This historical mutability of humanity is reflected, in the Bildungsroman, in the social identity of the protagonist – is it a white, middle-class man or a black woman who represents humanity? – as well as in the goal ascribed to the process of Bildung, in which historically specific social ideals manifest themselves. It is the historical specificity of 'humanity' that endows the term Bildungsroman with much of its heuristic value. As an inherently comparative category, genre facilitates the investigation of historical transformations of literary forms that mediate social changes. In the case of the Bildungsroman, a genre-critical approach permits an analysis of constructions of subjectivity as well as social ideals from a perspective that is always, at least implicitly, comparative. On the other hand, reading, for instance, feminist and postcolonial novels as Bildungsromane highlights differences between the developmental trajectories undergone by individuals with different social identities, thus highlighting the continued existence of inequality and discrimination. Both the Bildungsroman and Bil- dungsroman-criticism are, therefore, fundamentally political. Even before it was claimed as an emancipatory genre by late-20th-century feminist and postcolonial critics, the Bildungsroman was of central interest to critics who considered literature as a social and political as much as an aesthetic phenomenon, particularly in the 1930s and early 1940s. For instance, in 1941, the association of German- ists published Von deutscher Art in Sprache und Dichtung, a multi-volume work explicitly intended to further the German war effort on the cultural front. In his contribution to the collection, the well-known Germanist Hans Heinrich Borcherdt combines a discussion of historical Bildungsromane of the 19th century with a brief assessment of the contemporary Bildungsroman of the time, "in denen das Menschentum aus den überpersönlichen Mächten von Volkstum und Gemeinschaft heraus gedeutet wird und sich damit ein ganz neues Verhältnis von Bildungsroman und Selbstdarstellung ergibt" (52). The ideal embodiment of this variant of the genre is, to Borcherdt, the novel Volk ohne Raum by the national socialist author Hans Grimm. Even Karl Morgenstern, Pro- fessor of Eloquence at the University of Dorpat, who originally coined the term Bil- dungsroman in 1817, sees the genre as a medium ideally suited to representing and inculcating ideals of courage and manliness urgently required in Europe: He praised Klinger's novels, in particular, for their power of awakening "männliche Denkart und Charakterstärke" (Morgenstern 1986, 53) in their readers, something he regarded as particularly important "in einer Zeit, wo Europa der Männer bedarf" (ibid., 54). Morgenstern and Borcherdt were by no means alone in valorising the Bildungsroman for its didactic and political implications: Until the end of World War II, literary critics of different political persuasions, in particular critics as well as supporters of the national socialist regime, took for granted the applicability of the term Bildungsroman to novels of their own time and to use genre criticism as a forum for the discussion of social ideals. Postwar Germanists, however, in an attempt to distance themselves from the instrumentalisation of literary studies for the cause of the Nazis, seem to have largely ignored this epoch of Bildungsroman-criticism. At the same time, it gradually came to be taken for granted that the Bildungsroman as a generic term was primarily applicable to the literary production of Weimar classicism and that it had entirely ceased to exist at roughly the time of World War I. Other critics were influenced by Germanists like Miles, and for some time, Bildungsroman-criticism was hampered by the assumption that real Bildungsromane formed a highly specific category inextricably intertwined with the German philosophy of Bildung – a form that, despite this as-

282 GEORGIA CHRISTINIDIS AND CHRISTIAN SCHMITT-KILB sumed specificity, lacked an unambiguous definition beyond its link with the term Bil- dung, itself not easily defined. The redefinition of the Bildungsroman as a historical – and a uniquely German – genre fulfilled the dual functions of valorising its most pres- tigious representatives – among them Goethe's Wilhelm Meister – while repressing the memory of its national socialist appropriation as well as of the links between the discipline of Germanistics and the national socialist regime. Nevertheless, it resulted in a situation where many critics were hard-pressed to identify more than three or four novels as Bildungsromane, while some denied there were any Bildungsromane at all. By the 1970s, it had largely been forgotten that the Bildungsroman had previously been thought a genre that extended beyond Germany and germanophone countries geographically (Morgenstern mentions Samuel Richardson as an author of Bildungs- romane), and beyond the 19th century temporally. The repressed has a tendency to return, however, and precisely in consequence of the denial of the politically problematic past of the Bildungsroman, the specifically and uniquely German character of the Bildungsroman and of Bildung came once again to be emphasised with some pride, without any awareness of the rather unsavoury history of these claims. Due to the nationalist overtones of many invocations of Bildung, the Ger- manist Georg Bollenbeck rejected the continued relevance of the term in the post-war period (1996), while Heinrich August Winkler suggests that it has experienced a renaissance in the context of "pseudophilosophischer Deutschtümelei" (1994) in the aftermath of the reunification. The claim that Bildung is uniquely German is, at any rate, untenable without significant qualifications: No nation is an island where ideas are concerned, and German philosophers of Bildung were profoundly influenced by Shaftesbury (see Bru- ford 1962, 30-34 et passim), while they influenced the English romantics in their turn. Matthew Arnold as well as the entire Culture and Society-tradition described by Ray- mond Williams (1958) engage with ideas that are no further removed from the concept of Bildung than different conceptions of Bildung are from each other – as the existence of one coherent philosophy of Bildung in Germany is also a fiction. Nevertheless, the question presents itself why we should continue to conjure up the spectre of Bildung and of the Bildungsroman, given their instrumentalisation for nationalist purposes both in the past and, in a milder form, in the present. The answer is two-fold: Firstly, because in invoking the ideals of self-realisation and of a universal humanity – though this humanity in practice always finds a historically specific expression – the idea of Bildung and the Bildungsroman as a genre contain fundamentally egalitarian elements that we cannot afford to dispense with. Education, like literature, has long taken this ideal as an important point of reference, but has recently moved away from it at its own peril. The continued possibility of Bildung is denied by those who would disavow that the 'masses' have the capability for it. At the same time, it is the gap between Bildung as an ideal of comprehensive self-realisation, and the possibility of achieving it – at present, minuscule for the majority of the world's population – which potentially allows the Bildungsroman to function as a vehicle of social critique. A democratised idea of Bildung, not as a luxury for the wealthy, but as a basic human necessity, challenges the logic of the market; this seems to be particularly necessary at a time when higher education policy is dominated by the rhetoric of employability and when, in those parts of the world that had committed themselves to welfare and the expansion of free education for all, the idea of Bildung seems to be further away from being realised than at any other time since 1945.

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3. Higher Education: Between Bildung and Employability 2010 marked a kind of watershed in the recent history of higher education in Eng- land. A system was introduced that largely replaced state funding for universities as teaching institutions with tuition fees.1 This change was effectively implemented in the context of a political agenda wishing (and, wherever possible, forcing) institutions of higher education to conform to market ideologies. Universities were and are urged to market themselves as businesses selling products to consumers. This is not an entirely new phenomenon, though. In 1956, Christopher Isherwood noted in his diary: "Yesterday I got a letter from a professor at the University of Mississippi […]. On the envelope was stamped with a rubber stamp, in red ink, 'With a tradition of Quality, Integrity and Progress' – as though this were a meat-packing firm" (quoted in Griggs 2013). But the (perceived) need to aggressively advertise individual universities and to define unique selling points for marketing education has radicalised in recent years. Nevertheless, the activities of thinking, understanding, and transforming oneself into a responsible member of society are inherently resistant to the logic of measurable performance. This problem is particularly pertinent in the so- called Band C and D subjects (the arts, the humanities, and the social sciences), as they do not directly lead to employment in lucrative sectors of the economy. State funding for research continues to exist, but is awarded based on a set of criteria among which impact is both the most contested and the most difficult to determine, especially where the arts and humanities are concerned. The result is a drastic under- funding of the humanities, the increasing privatisation of higher education, and a changed outlook on the role of the humanities as such. Far off as a literary topic such as the Bildungsroman may seem from the harsh realities of educational realpolitik, the shifts, redefinitions, and re-evaluations that take place in higher education policy and higher education funding have their bearings, directly or indirectly, on what society thinks about Bildung and, ultimately, about what a "desirable", "successful" fashioning of the subject in contemporary society looks like. The origins of the developments delineated above can be traced back to before 2010. From the 1970s onwards and with a view to guiding investments towards sectors with a favourable cost-benefit factor, school and university curricula were gradually reformed in ways that were largely determined by economic constraints and necessities. It is claimed that between 2001 and 2007, recruits to the then "Department for Educa- tion and Skills" were instructed to assume that 1988, the year when the Conservatives' Education Reform Act was passed, was 'year zero', the beginning of history. The previous history of education was to be considered a record of failure (Jones 2010, 51). In 2004, Prime Minister Tony Blair testified to the fundamental agreement between La- bour and the Conservatives on the primarily economic function of education, stating that "for years, education was a social cause; today, it is an economic imperative" (quoted in Jones 2010, 51). While the expansion of the education sector is considered an important goal, Bildung, as such, is no longer held to contribute to economic growth or to automatically produce benefits for society at large.

1 Tuition fees were first introduced in 1998 and subsequently raised several times. Since 2012, universities have been able to charge students up to £9000 a year.

284 GEORGIA CHRISTINIDIS AND CHRISTIAN SCHMITT-KILB

4. Bildung, the Bildungsroman, and Cultural Critique The traditional Bildungsroman and the humanities emerged under historical conditions dramatically different from those of the present. Educational institutions, especially the universities, and first and foremost the disciplines that came to constitute the humanities, were the places to preserve and critically think about a set of values under siege, to challenge the status quo in the name of justice, tradition, imagination, human welfare, and alternative visions of the future. This occurred in opposition to an emerging industrial capitalism. Today, these institutions fulfil some of the same functions, but they do so in opposition to a neoliberal advanced capitalism that would like to re- fashion universities as service providers. The first reason, therefore, why we should not abandon either Bildung or the Bildungs- roman is precisely the extent to which both are at odds with the contemporary realities of education and social life; they open up a space for critique and a horizon of possibility. Bildung invokes potentially emancipatory and utopian ideals of equality and self-realisation, on which a social critique of the status quo can be based; furthermore, any generic category, like the Bildungsroman, is inherently comparative and facilitates the comprehension not only of individual literary texts, but of the specificity of the historical moment from which they emerge. This heuristic value of Bildung and the Bildungsroman constitutes the second reason why the concepts should not be given up. The Bildungsroman allows us to raise questions about the historically specific conditions that shape the construction of subjectivity, about the significance of both related- ness and autonomy for identity formation, about the meaning of liberty, as well as about the possibility of individual and collective agency in a national or global context, and the impact of the environmental crisis upon the possibility of self-realisation. It highlights the general clash between 'how we live' and 'how we might live'. The contributors to the section on "Narrative, Identity Formation, and the Bildungsroman" at the Anglistentag 2014 mobilise the critical functions of the genre in a variety of ways; their papers interrogate the use of generic categories to establish authority in the literary field, the relationship between torture, agency, and modernity, the possibility of Bildung in the contemporary world, the impact of the environmental crisis, the valorisation of intimacy and the significance of relationality in constituting subjectivity, and the function of the Bildungsroman-genre in envisaging an alternative to capitalism. In her paper on "Discursive Entanglements of the Bildungsroman: Victorian Literary Criticism and Dif- ferent Kinds of Bildung in Realism and Sensation Fiction", Nadine Böhm-Schnitker examines a series of interlinked oppositions: The Bildungsroman is contrasted with sensation fiction. The former is valorised by the hegemonic paradigm of Victorian literary criticism, represented by the writings of James Sully, while the latter is marginalised, along with the criticism of E.S. Dallas, which was much more sympathetic towards non- realist forms than Sully's work. Lastly, the realist mode of the Bildungsroman is linked to an idealisation of the masculine subject which is challenged in the sensation novel. Böhm-Schnitkers' paper represents an incisive interrogation of the assumptions enshrined by the classical Bildungsroman; it also makes evident the fact that in the 19th century, as in the 20th, generic categories formed part of the struggle for cultural authority. Anton Kirchhofer's contribution on "The Modern Self and the Re-Invention of Torture: Narration at the Limits of the Bildungsroman" uses Bildung and the Bildungsroman to interrogate the relationship between torture and modernity. Torture is a discourse in

NARRATIVE, IDENTITY FORMATION, AND THE BILDUNGSROMAN: INTRODUCTION 285 which language seems to fail; therefore, the experience of torture "is permanently removed from the reflexivity that corresponds to the formation of an identity which can discursively represent its genesis to itself and others". Kirchhofer considers an early modern torture account along with a 20th-century text by Jean Améry in order to show how, in the case of the older text, the regulation of the practice makes it possible for the victim to retain a sense of agency and subjectivity, while Améry lets the torturing agent take centre stage. Readings of Poe's "The Pit and the Pendulum" and of Coetzee's Wait- ing for the Barbarians demonstrate that modern societies condemn torture as morally wrong, yet lack the means to adequately deal with its actual occurrence. Under these circumstances, self-realisation is inevitably constrained: The Bildung of Coetzee's protagonist consists of the recognition that he is "the lie that Empire tells itself". While Böhm-Schnitker and Kirchhofer re-read the Bildungsroman against the grain, thereby revealing its historical complicity with regimes of power, Felix Sprang and Ursula Kluwick understand it as a paradigm that is becoming obsolete as a result of social, historical, and environmental changes. Both therefore use the genre as a heuristic device that highlights the extent of these changes and serves to interrogate the impact of altered conditions upon literary representation. Sprang's critique of "Identity Deformation and the Anti-Anti-Bildungsroman" traces the path from the original late- 17th- and early-18th-century Bildungsroman through the modernist Anti-Bildungs- roman to what he calls the Anti-Anti-Bildungsroman of the near past and the present. Sprang investigates the sub-genre of the "misery memoir" and finds it wanting: Even innovative examples of this kind of prose cannot obscure the fact that prose as a medium may no longer be ideally suited to representing identity (de)formation in the information age. We need to look towards other media as the places where the concept formerly known as individual self-fashioning might currently be negotiated in an aesthetically progressive way. For instance, the play Void Story (2009) by the Sheffield theatre group Forced Entertainment mimics narrative, but ultimately frustrates it by promising a story and failing to deliver one. What remains is the reluctant hope that meaning may have found its (unsafe) haven in the conversation between individuals. Under the title "Climate Change, the Novel, and the Bildungsroman: The Relation of Things in an Emergent World", Ursula Kluwick investigates the potential of the Bil- dungsroman at a time of environmental crisis. The time scale as well as the global dimension of the phenomenon offer fundamentally new conditions for the novel in general, and the Bildungsroman in particular. An analysis of Kim Stanley Robinson's representation of science in the Capital-trilogy (2004-2007) and Maggie Gee's novel The Flood (2005) reveals the environmental crisis as simultaneously a crisis of the imagination and representation. Building her argument around the claim that "self-creation out of nature" (Helena Feder) is the raison d'être of the Bildungsroman, Kluwick asks whether it is possible at all to conceive of novels which place the interrelation of humanity and the planet (rather than of the individual and society) at the centre of interest. Lastly, the contributions by Stella Butter and Benjamin Kohlmann focus on recent or emergent ways of re-thinking the relationship between individual and society in the Bildungsroman. In her paper on "Paradigms of Intimacy and the Formation of Selfhood in the Contemporary Female Bildungsroman", Butter argues that contemporary female Bildungsromane construct selfhood in a way that focuses attention upon the relational nature of subjectivity rather than upon the autonomous self of the classical Bildungsro- man. Intimacy is increasingly understood as a pre-condition of self-actualisation. The

286 GEORGIA CHRISTINIDIS AND CHRISTIAN SCHMITT-KILB novels Butter analyses respond to the valorisation of intimacy in different ways; Xiaolu Guo's A Concise Chinese-English Dictionary for Lovers (2007) equates intimacy with self-disclosure, Hiromi Goto's Chorus of Mushrooms (1994) conceives of intimacy as a process of creation rather than of discovery. "[P]ractices of intimacy are a motor for creatively refashioning stories of the self and stories of national belonging", Butter concludes. Benjamin Kohlmann, in an analysis of "'Possible Failures': Doris Lessing and Individ- ual Formation in a Tragic Key", examines the socialist Bildungsroman. He argues that the subgenre needs to acknowledge the shortcomings of actually existing socialism without therefore dismissing the socialist ideal out of hand. He reads Lessing's novels The Golden Notebook (1962) and The Good Terrorist (1985) as Bildungsromane that capture the inherent difficulty of realising socialism through their "focus on moments of uneven, impeded, or premature growth". Despite its insistence upon the socialist Bildungsroman as an inevitably tragic genre, he comes to the rather more optimistic conclusion that "[t]he tragedy of the socialist struggle, its sequence of "possible failures", is inseparable from its utopian promise – a promise that continues to exist as a hypothesis about a changed social order that will be more responsive to human needs". While some of our contributors are sceptical concerning the continued viability of the Bildungsroman as a genre, the continued vitality of the concept as a heuristic device is amply proved by their contributions.

References Abel, Elizabeth et al. (1983): "Introduction," in: Abel, Elizabeth et al. (eds.): The Voyage In: Fictions of Female Development. Hanover, NH: Dartmouth, 3-19 Bollenbeck, Georg (1996): Bildung und Kultur: Glanz und Elend eines deutschen Deutungsmusters. Frankfurt: Suhrkamp Borchert, Hans Heinrich (1941): "Der deutsche Bildungsroman," in: Franz Koch (ed.): Von deutscher Art in Sprache und Dichtung, Vol. 5: "Die Dichtungsformen". Stuttgart: W. Kohlhammer, 3-55 Bruford, Walter Horace (1962): Culture and Society in Classical Weimar, 1775-1806. Cambridge: Cambridge UP Felski, Rita (1986): "The Novel of Self-Discovery – A Necessary Fiction?" Southern Review 19.2, 131-148 Griggs, Brendan (2013): "Letter", London Review of Books 35.21. Web. [last accessed 30 April 2015] Jones, Ken (2010): "Schooling and Culture", in: Higgins, Michael et al. (eds.): The Cambridge Com- panion to Modern British Culture. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 42-61 Kerschensteiner, Georg; Spranger, Eduard (1966): Briefwechsel 1912-1931. Ed. Ludwig Englert. München: Oldenbourg Labovitz, Esther Kleinbord (1987): The Myth of the Heroine: The Female Bildungsroman in the Twen- tieth Century, 2nd rev. ed. New York: Peter Lang Lea, Daniel (2005): "Bildungsroman", in: Childs, Peter; Fowler, Roger (eds.): The Routledge Dic- tionary of Literary Terms. London: Routledge, 18-20 Miles, David H. (1974): "The Picaro's Journey to the Confessional: The Changing Image of the Hero in the German Bildungsroman", PMLA 89.5, 980–992 Moretti, Franco (2000 [1987]): The Way of the World. London: Verso Morgenstern, Karl (1988): "Über den Geist und Zusammenhang einer Reihe philosophischer Roma- ne", in: Selbmann, Rolf (ed.): Zur Geschichte des deutschen Bildungsromans. Darmstadt: Wissen- schaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 45-54 Williams, Raymond (1958): Culture and Society, 1780-1950. London: Chatto & Windus Winkler, Heinrich August. "Eine fatale Geschichte: Eine sozialhistorische Analyse lotet die Tiefen des deutschen Bildungsbürgertums aus", Spiegel Special, 01.10.1994. Web. [last accessed 30 April 2015]

NADINE BÖHM-SCHNITKER (ERLANGEN-NÜRNBERG)

Discursive Entanglements of the Bildungsroman: Victorian Literary Criticism and Different Kinds of Bildung in Realism and Sensation Fiction

1. Introduction With genre being an intertextual phenomenon designating groups of texts with similar features, sets of genre conventions are hybrids from the very beginning. The Bildungs- roman in particular is considered to be "colonizing" other genres, and, with "its central concern […] about the individual's situation in each coming generation", it is possibly even addressing "the normal concerns of the novel itself" (Maynard 2005, 281). Grant- ing an insight into culturally negotiated processes of subject formation, the Bildungs- roman can, however, rather be understood as normalising the novel's concerns rather than merely representing them. I suggest to analyse the Bildungsroman as interdepend- ent with British literary criticism in order to reveal the intricate discursive entanglements they are embedded in by comparing the generic variations of the Bildungsroman in realism and sensation fiction. I use the discourse of criticism as an indicator of changes regarding the ways in which subject formation is represented and performed. Whenever the arguably formless form (see Moretti 5) of the Bildungsroman indicates emerging changes in processes of subject formation, criticism is a central discourse to reveal what is at stake in these changes, especially during a time of its increasing institutionalisation after mid-century (see Fryckstedt 1986, 14). This is also why I think it is worthwhile to look at the construction and negotiation of the boundary between realism as the Bildungsroman's traditional 'home' and sensation fiction, which is said to make "mincemeat of the Bildungsroman form" (Armstrong 2012, 141). At this junc- ture, criticism is a discourse that not only indicates vital cultural issues, but also increasingly shapes emergent structures of feeling and plausibilises mainstream public opinion. I put forward the thesis that there are two strands in Victorian criticism which attempt to corroborate different interpretations of the Bildungsroman and its concomitant notions of subjectivity, one tying in with a cultural cluster connecting character psychology with liberal notions of individuality together with self-help ideology and utilitarian ethics, and another one exploring the effects of the unconscious outside of this framework, thus challenging the ideals of a fully conscious, fully individualised self. The first is represented by James Sully (1842-1923), a psychologist and critic, the second by the journalist and critic Eneas Sweetland Dallas (1828-1879). Only one of these strands is culturally authorised and institutionalised, while the other is marginalised even though it may actually be the more 'modern' approach. While both strands of criticism simultaneously depend on and valorise different kinds of subjectivity, the prevailing one succeeds in naturalising a conglomerate of liberal discourses and a notion of literature conductive to individual property rights and a capitalist market system. 288 NADINE BÖHM-SCHNITKER

To illustrate this interaction I will focus on the critical interventions corroborating the strategies of subject formation in George Eliot's Adam Bede (1859) and Wilkie Collins's The Woman in White (1859-60). I will also take into account aspects of gender as the masculine subject is generally considered the 'norm' of the Bildungsroman, while the 'crisis' of masculine subjectivity is showcased in sensation fiction. In my reading of Eliot's Adam Bede, I will highlight the exclusions along the lines of gender and class the novel performs in order to construct its eponymous character as the paragon of middle-class identity. James Sully, a great admirer of Eliot, provides the concomitant literary criticism that normalises the discursive intersection of liberalism, psychology, and evolutionary theory, which underscores the middle-class individualism celebrated in the novel. Sensation fiction, in its turn, arguably 'wreaks havoc' on the tale of individual development considered so paradigmatic of 'the' Vic- torian novel in general and the Bildungsroman in particular. This is represented in the debate on the novel of character vs. the novel of plot and their respective cultural evaluations in Victorian critical discourse. Within the ideology of Eliot's moral realism, the "self-consciously political and ethical" project "to draw sympathy" also for poor and marginalised characters (Levine 2012, 90), is counteracted by its structurally fostering an exemplarily successful, masculine individual (see 89). With its emphasis on sensation instead of sympathy, The Woman in White emphasises the role of the body as well as of the unconscious to construct a less self-determined, sensational subject, and reveals the liberal individual as an idealisation. E.S. Dallas's criticism, with its focus on the "hidden pleasure" (1999 II, 109) and the "hidden soul" (I, 194) in the sense of the unconscious as encoded in literature, critically articulates the changes sensation fiction brings about and presents a widely democratic view of literature, which, however, was not institutionalised, among other things because Dallas failed to secure a professorship as Sully did. Dallas's take on literature, I argue, would have altered the emergence of the literary field as we still know it today.1

2. Adam Bede and the Idealisation of the Masculine Subject As regards constructions of Victorian masculinities, Ralf Schneider has shown that, despite the fact that "masculinity in the Victorian age was the hegemonic norm […] in correlation to which femininity was formulated, the representation of essential masculinity works mainly in absentia" (2011, 148). Adam Bede may be one of the few fully spelt out exceptions representing an ideal of Victorian middle-class masculinity, who is almost "too good to be true" (151). The "tallest of the five workmen" in the workshop (Eliot 2008, 5), Adam is described as the paragon of Britishness, combining Anglo-Saxon and "Celtic blood" (6). Embodying this ideal, Adam is offered up for a feminine fetishist gaze, as the heterodiegetic narrator unfolds his outward appearance by describing bodily fragments, piece by piece. The narrator provides the reader with the source of Adam's entrancing barytone voice, which could only come from a broad chest, and the broad chest belongs to a large-boned muscular man nearly six feet high, with a back so flat and a head so well poised that when he drew himself up to take a more distant survey of his work, he had the air of a soldier standing at ease. The

1 This article is inspired by and partly based on a larger project bearing the working title of "Senses and Sensations: Calibrations of Perception in the Victorian Novel".

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sleeve rolled up above the ellbow showed an arm that was likely to win the prize for feats of strength; yet the long supple hand, with its broad finger-tips, looked ready for works of skill. (6) Apart from his introduction as the first man of a new time reckoning as instituted by the Venerable Bede, Adam presents the new man at the turn of the 19th century. As Bildungsroman protagonist, Adam decidedly has to overcome the restrictions of his social background and leave behind both the sordid life of his parents as well as the weaknesses revealed in their conduct. Sympathy may be extended even to these characters, but self-help prevails. The novel traces Adam's development from a simple but industrious carpenter to a moderately wealthy owner. In the first chapter entitled "The Workshop", Adam is introduced singing a morning hymn by Thomas Ken (1637- 1711), the first line reading "Awake my soul, and with the sun/Thy daily stage of duty run" (5). This hymn associates Adam with central tenets of self-help ideology and liberal ideals of individuality, throwing into relief his assent to a life of duty and a daily working routine. This connection is already well-established, but I would like to illustrate it by a few references. In his "On Liberty", published in the same year as Adam Bede, John Stuart Mill argues that: In proportion to the development of his individuality, each person becomes more valuable to himself, and is therefore capable of being more valuable to others. There is a greater fullness of life about his own existence, and when there is more life in the units, there is more in the mass which is composed of them. (63) Not unlike capitalist notions of added value, Mill aligns increased individuality with increased social value, which allows for a functionalisation of novels as training grounds in individuality. If it is to live up to liberal convictions, the novel must be teleologically oriented and represent individuals in statu nascendi, which, by the very same token, amounts to an ethical contribution to society. In other words, the liberal ideal transposes social intervention onto the consumption of (novelistic) representation, thus bolstering the notion of Bildung and cultivating a form of sympathy as it is negotiated in moral realism. The structure of Adam Bede lives up to such a teleology and presents a socially fully integrated male character as it closes. The liberal notion that the self-culture of individuality can likewise be considered a contribution to society corresponds to the logic of utilitarian ethics, as the 'happiness of the greater number' can be achieved by self-perfection, a process, which, in its turn, ties in with self- help strategies, most famously spelt out by Samuel Smiles. Samuel Smiles's Self-Help corroborates and popularises the liberal notion of the individual, with the opening lines reading: 'Heaven helps those who help themselves' is a well-tried maxim, embodying in a small compass the results of vast human experience. The spirit of self-help is the root of all genuine growth in the individual; and, exhibited in the lives of many, it constitutes the true source of national vig- our and strength. Help from without is often enfeebling in its effects, but help from within invariably invigorates. Whatever is done for men or classes, to a certain extent takes away the stimulus and necessity of doing for themselves; and where men are subjected to over-guidance and over-government, the inevitable tendency is to render them comparatively helpless. (17) Self-perfection is hence not hubris, but well-justified by Old-Testament religious discourses, and can be functionalised for the ideology of a 'healthy nation'. The notion of self-help thus legitimises cultural practices which provide the solution to one of the

290 NADINE BÖHM-SCHNITKER conundrums of realism: Self-help sutures liberal ideals of individuality with ethics and sociality, and can thus redeem realism's very mediality and its corresponding mediation of sympathy via representation. While it theorises actual social intervention out of the ethical equation, it connects individual improvement with social obligation, thus justifying novel reading as a way of individual improvement, which, in its turn, and along the convictions of liberalism, becomes an ethical act in itself; it fosters Smiles's "help from within", which is instrumental for the improvement of the individual who is, according to Mill's liberalism, the relevant instance for ethical behaviour in a society. For Eliot's novelistic project, Smiles's self-help provides a programme for self-instantiation, a creation from scratch, and a creation inculcating particular idealised character types, such as the 'gentleman'. In his corresponding chapter entitled "The Gentle- man", Smiles idealises character irrespective of their social, cultural, and economic affiliations, and simultaneously the behavioural codes which may justify social ascent. Character, Smiles claims, is simultaneously a moral as well as a socio-political agent, equally improving oneself, society, and the nation state. In further detail, Smiles argues that [t]he crown and glory of life is Character. It is the noblest possession of a man, constituting a rank in itself, and an estate in the general good-will; dignifying every station, and exalting every position in society. It exercises a greater power than wealth, and secures all the honour without the jealousies of fame. It carries with it an influence which always tells; for it is the result of proved honour, rectitude, and consistency—qualities which, perhaps more than any other, command the general confidence and respect of mankind. (Smiles 1859, 314) The rhetoric of this passage represents character in economic terms and substitutes wealth and class rank with the gentlemanly moral ideal, thus constructing social equality and homogeneity by rules of conduct. Eliot's novel consequently pits Adam's ideal moral power against his social superiors, who are disqualified as heroes due to their moral insufficiencies. "Proved honour, rectitude, and consistency" are qualities that define Adam and are instrumental not only for his professional career and increasing wealth, but also for his marital choice. Typically of the marriage plot, Adam first chooses wrongly, a mistake necessary to create the narrative space for the novel. The plot entails a learning process intended to make Adam abstract from Hetty Sorrel's superficial beauty and learn to cherish the Methodist preacher's Dinah Morris's 'deeper' character traits: Tender and deep as his love for Hetty had been – so deep that the roots of it would never be torn away – his love for Dinah was better and more precious to him; for it was the outgrowth of that fuller life which had come which had come to him from his acquaintance with deep sorrow. […] '[S]he's better than I am – there's less o' self in her, and pride.2 (Eliot 2008, 473). In women, that is, goodness is constructed as a function of repression and self-denial. Adam's eventual economic as well as marital success and the process of self-culture culminating in an idealised masculinity are enabled by the enfeebling of both his possible love objects, a characteristic frequently associated with the male Bildungsroman. Richard Salmon claims that this is

2 The words 'I do' are not actually spoken, the marriage is conducted by way of Adam saying: "'Then we'll never part anymore, Dinah, till death part us'" (475); the narrative instance resumes after this.

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a genre that inherently excludes or marginalizes women. In many respects the very premise of the form – the formation of an autonomous self through engagement with the public sphere – works against the dominant assumptions concerning women's social and economic status during the period. (2012, 100) In Adam Bede, Dinah and Hetty are foils against which male individuality is carved out. Dinah is reduced to a housewife who gives up her vocation as a preacher, and Hetty, as the female character who has class aspirations of her own, is totally dimin- ished and subjected to the novel's logic of pastoral power, which simultaneously articulates the violence entailed in constructing the ideal middle-class subject. Hetty, who bears a child from the squire Arthur Donnithorne, abandons it and, after its death, can only escape the gallows by Arthur's intervention. Her ordeal ruptures the story in two ways. Firstly, it is written in a melodramatic mode puncturing the realism as put forward in the chapter "In Which the Story Pauses a Little" (Eliot 2008, 159); secondly, it jeopardises the novel's closure in the happy marriage of Adam and Dinah. Consequently, Hetty is deported for her crime and dies shortly before her return to Hayslope, so that the, albeit slightly incestuous, family idyll comprising Adam, Dinah, their children, and Adam's brother Seth, is not endangered. Eliot's moral realism relies on the construction of a supposedly universal feeling of sympathy; this universal feeling, however, proves to be restricted to the 'respectable' middle classes. While Hetty's soul may have been redeemed through the confession of her crime under the pastoral guidance of Dinah, her bodily presence is an impossibility at the novel's closure. Jill Matus further highlights the logic of such exclusions and sheds light on the ways in which the eligibility of women is negotiated along the lines of emotional dispositions which, in analogy to the gentlemanly ideal, abstract from class-based and economic equalities: "The discourse of maternal instinct and its perversions serves to inscribe class differences as differences among women, and to naturalise the distinctions between middle-class mothers and deviant others" (157). Hetty can thus be excised from the plot, well justified by differences in feeling between her and the new kernel family. The novel's "Epilogue" summarises the development that was thus enabled in the masculine Bildungsroman, and encapsulates it in a tableau which again appeals to the female gaze, now concretely Dinah's, who is waiting impatiently for her husband to return from his workshop. The narrator introduces the scene as follows: It is near the end of June, in 1807. The workshops have been shut up half an hour or more in Adam Bede's timber-yard, which used to be Jonathan Burge's, and the mellow evening light is falling on the pleasant house with the buff walls and the soft grey thatch, very much as it did when we saw Adam bringing the keys on that June evening nine years ago. (479) The novel concludes with Adam being the successful proprietor of Jonathan Burge's workshop and culminates with Dinah saying: "Come in, Adam, and rest; it has been a hard day for thee" (482), a sentence with which the successful development from poor carpenter to successful married owner finds closure. Dinah's imperative encapsulating the ideal of middle-class domesticity is based on separate spheres. In Adam Bede, class differences and desire are domesticated; the novel idealises character and with it both a Protestant work ethic as well as domestic femininity.

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3. James Sully and George Eliot The novel's affirmation of middle-class masculinity in the formative fiction of the Bildungsroman is celebrated and corroborated by James Sully, who knew George Eliot personally and wrote an article on "George Eliot's Art" in the scientific journal Mind in 1881 as her professional obituary. He first of all confesses that [i]n the eyes of the psychologist the works of George Eliot must always possess a high value by reason of their large scientific insight into character and life, and one who has derived so many suggestive observations from her writings will naturally be disposed to rank these highly in all respects. (378; emphasis added) Sully thus explicitly states his indebtedness to Eliot's writing and admits that her strong influence on him may correlate with his favourable evaluation of her art. De- cidedly from a psychologist's point of view, he outlines Eliot's merits pertaining to the art of novel writing. He frequently focuses on her strategies of character formation, which are of particular psychological relevance for him and which reveal the ways in which Eliot's character constructions can be understood to tie in with dominant psychological insights. Sully argues that Eliot exhibits [characters] to us in the making. We see by a reference to their remote beginnings in early life, when impressions are most powerful and enduring and habit takes its shape for life, to inherited and traditional influence, and to the intricate play of circumstance, how they have come to be. And in seeing this we cannot help reflecting that they are but our common human metal poured into life-moulds of particular shapes, and so wrought into the variety of forms which we see; while to reflect thus, is at least dimly to recognise the fact that we ourselves, thus acted on and conditioned, should have taken some such shape as theirs. (1881, 384) Interestingly, Sully highlights the process of character formation, which lives up not only to the conventions of the Bildungsroman but also to the way he conceives of the shaping of subjectivity more widely. It is, one could say, a moulding of character that takes place in both the novel and real life, a proximity which is also due to the novel's formlessness, as he emphasises: [F]iction, employing the homely vehicle of prose, has to keep specially close to the realities of things; and that, wanting the charm of a beautiful sensuous form, it is compelled to seek the richest and most varied interest in its subject-matter: an end which is only secured when there is a truthful presentment, when the pleasure comes less by way of surprise than of clear understanding of relations, and when the deeper moral issues of our experience are to some extent, at least, opened up to view. I am not raising the question what is the relative value of George Eliot's style of fiction. I am only trying to make out that it has its rightful place high up among the developments of the art. (393-94; emphasis added) The psychologist thus claims a close relation of prose to "the realities of things" because of the lack of form, and he positively evaluates novels which aim at "truthful presentment" and a representation of moral issues through a web of relations. Regard- ing the function of critical discourse and the fact that Sully's criticism gained increasing authority, particularly after he obtained the Grote Chair of the Philosophy of Mind and Logic, one can clearly see that a particular take on processes of subject formation is charged with further cultural and scientific value.

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Sully knew John Stuart Mill personally and ties in with many liberal convictions, sub- scribes to utilitarian ethics, and celebrates the concomitant notion of individuality.3 Eliot's art and Sully's psychology thus mutually ratify one another. Sully is also very outspoken as to the ideal addressee of such a psychological concept of character and the novel more generally: He argues that [a] little common sense reflection will convince anybody that art must be conceived not as an abstraction, but as constituted by its relations to human susceptibilities, and when this is seen the only question which can arise is: Whose feelings in particular are we to set up as determining art? To this question the best answer I know is a double one: The feelings of the many-sided catholic man; and as they present themselves in the most highly developed man. (392) The ideal recipient is the general man, and, since Eliot's writing can be considered intellectual, it is also, in evolutionary parlance, "the most highly developed man". This reveals the interpellation of the reader as a model man comparable to the one shown in the making in Eliot's Bildungsroman. So the tendency to universalise and normalise the ideal liberal subject, both in the novel and in psychological criticism, can be seen as a culturally operative discursive convergence corroborating the dominance of this social stratum and its preferred literary forms. With this notion of the realist idealised character as the unmarked norm, I will now have a look at Wilkie Collins's The Woman in White and criticism mainly represented by E.S. Dallas. In contrast to Eliot and Sully, both Dallas and Collins use the unconscious as a more unsettling force pertaining to subject formation and the creation of fiction. This, I suggest, is one of the reasons for sensation fiction's denigration in criticism. It is also a reason for Dallas to become marginalised in cultural memory. Dal- las's marginalisation can be understood as a sign of the attempts to secure particular forms of character formation and to exclude others by means of the very production of cultural value in an increasingly professionalised critical discourse. The construction of the middle-class gentleman in Collins's The Woman in White, in its turn, is revealed to be a fabrication, reflected by the novel's narratological set-up. The story is presented by Walter Hartright as first-person narrator, a narrative situation centred on his own self-fashioning. This narrative situation can be seen to self-reflexively showcase the processes of identity constructions characterising the Bildungsroman as a genre (see Maynard 2005, 287).

4. Sensation Fiction in Criticism In an 1860 review of The Woman in White, published in the Saturday Review, the anonymous author states that "[i]t is the duty of those who wish to criticize honestly and fairly to state explicitly the position which a book in their opinion occupies, weighed in the balance with what is first rate" (Page 1974, 85-86). The writer articulates quite an Arnoldian function of criticism which situates a particular novel in the tradition of "the best that has been thought and known in the world" (Arnold 1864, 283), thus salvaging 'culture'. In this discourse, the critic is bolstered as the cultural

3 For a succinct biography, see Groth 2014, 107. Also see Sully's autobiography, e.g. for the description of his more general success from his attaining the Grote Chair of the Philosophy of Mind and Logic onwards (1918, 228-236). He held this chair at the University College in Lon- don from 1892-1903 and accessibly describes the ways in which this granted him some "wider recognition" as well as "honours" (236). He also describes his close links to Mill (e.g. 72, 136).

294 NADINE BÖHM-SCHNITKER entity required to select and promote those cultural products conductive to cultural 'refinement'. Correspondingly, the respective reviewer classified The Woman in White, compared to the 'best', as "an inferior metal altogether, though good and valuable of its kind" (Page 1974, 86). This allows for an appraisal of the novel on the basis that it belongs to a clearly demarcated 'kind' or genre, so that groups of texts introducing a new take on subject formation can be marginalised by way of their generic definition and containment. In the exacerbated debate on literary value pertaining to sensation fiction, evaluative statements performatively produce sensation fiction as the 'other' of realism. As Wini- fred Hughes argues, if sensation fiction "had not been disturbing, if it had not undermined the most cherished of values, it would not have provoked such visceral outrage" (1980, 65). In other words, the acrid reactions can be read symptomatically and reveal more than 'just' a debate about literary value. I suggest that the critical outrage directed against the sensational on the side of proponents of realism indicates a more far- reaching paradigm shift regarding the conception of the subject and its options of agency. The criticism of sensation fiction, that is, can be understood as symptomatic of a larger debate about the aesthetic status of the novel and, with it, its economic potential, the role and professionalisation of criticism as well as the definition of character and the plausibility of liberal tenets (see Armstrong 2012, 138). The argument that sensation fiction is not aesthetically valuable can hence be understood as an attempt to curb its cultural impact as well as the social insights it articulates. Besides, the role of criticism as a profession was at stake when a genre arguably requiring no conscious processing whatsoever should gain cultural dominance. Gary Day summarises this aspect when he argues, not unlike Henry Mansel, that: The sensation novel […] aims at electrifying the readers' nerves, not exercising their judgement. Literature has become a distraction, a relief from tedium, not a means of learning how to live. Since only the reader knows how well he or she is entertained by a particular novel, the need for criticism has practically ceased. (2010, 235) From this perspective, sensation fiction and criticism seem a contradiction in terms. However, as soon as physiological psychology begins to take hold as authoritative scientific discourse informing aesthetic theories during the heyday of the sensation novel in the 1860s (see Ryan 2012, 53), sensation fiction could equally well be understood as indicative of aesthetics precisely because of its "preaching to the nerves" (Mansel 1863, 495). I venture that this positive evaluation did not materialise because it could not be authorised and institutionalised to the same extent as the discourse represented by Sully was.

5. E.S. Dallas and Wilkie Collins Eneas Sweetland Dallas actually occupies a remarkable position in the context of mid- Victorian literary criticism. "[A] Prince among journalists", as his friend George Au- gustus Sala wrote in an obituary in the Illustrated London News (quoted in Hudson 1967, 96), or, more recently, described as "the Marshall McLuhan of the mid-nineteenth century" (Law 2012, 537), he is considered to have "wield[ed] very considerable influence in his anonymous reviews for The Times" (Hughes 1985, 3). His monographs, in contrast, Poetics, published in 1852, and The Gay Science, published in 1866, received comparatively little attention. As Wendell Harris comments, Dallas's

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"work on aesthetics seems to be perennially 'discovered' but never placed securely amidst the classics of nineteenth-century thought" (Harris 1981, 294). Having been "a major metropolitan cultural figure – a friend of Dickens, Collins, Ruskin, Rossetti, and Eliot", his cultural influence waned as he could not obtain a professorship or institutional affiliation. Consequently, his approaches did not gain the stamp of discursive approval "as various forces of institutionalization gained ground in the later decades of the century" (Dames 2007, 41). Dallas can be considered "the first to link Romantic theories of imagination to nascent Victorian theories of the unconscious", as Nicholas Dames argues (2007, 186). The unconscious, in its turn, proves a decisive pillar for approaches to sensation fiction, which, arguably, draws its aesthetic effects from that which cannot be consciously and cognitively processed (see e.g. Dames 2011, 218). Furthermore, Dallas is a very perceptive judge of the construction of 'high' and 'low' culture as well as of the close encounters between 'Literature' with a capital L and other forms of writing, for example journalism, which, at least in its more sensational manifestations, is said to have informed and shaped sensation fiction (see Daly 2009, 16). Commenting on Dallas's claim that "art in its highest manifestations […] is intended for the many" (27 Decem- ber 1866, 5), Dallas's contemporary Arthur Locker points out that "[i]f pleasure be the end of art", as Dallas argues in The Gay Science, "a common street tune, which affords pleasure to hundreds of thousands of persons, is a more artistic production than a far more ambitious composition which fails to satisfy competent judges" (5). Thus, Locker highlights the fact that Dallas's focus on pleasure as a phenomenon of reception paves the way for a descriptive aesthetics including popular culture and provides a non-elitist scheme of artistic evaluation. Hence, it does not seem far-fetched to argue that Dallas was marginalised down to the very fact that his approach threatens to level discursive differentiations between high and low culture and that it emphasises unconscious processes too strongly. As Jenny Taylor argues: The ideological position and the theoretical arguments to be found in The Gay Science, and its subsequent relative neglect by conservative and radical critics alike, opens up a fascinating dimension within the process of the formation of a hegemonic literary culture and the development of criticism in the second half of the nineteenth century. (1984, 189) The Gay Science can hence be seen as an important text in a reconsideration of the debate on the ideology of aesthetics. Its re-reading in the context of current Victorian studies may contribute to alternative understandings of aesthetics by way of an extension of our cultural memory. Safeguarding art itself as the unfathomable "know-not-what" (Dallas 1999 I, 315, 324; II, 134, 139),4 Dallas defines scientific criticism, quite pragmatically, as an approach which concentrates on the observable conditions, the precedents and effects, of aesthetic experience. His combination of psychology and physiology becomes particularly clear when he claims that the unconscious processes described by the 'hidden soul' are decisively embodied processes: "There is a hidden energy of the brain work-

4 Dallas consistently uses 'art' as umbrella term for the cultural field his criticism is able to address. Even though the term remains largely unspecified, I will nevertheless use this wide notion, even though my general concern is the novel.

296 NADINE BÖHM-SCHNITKER ing day and night in every province of the body – controlling every motion of every limb, and directing like any musical conductor the movement of the vital forces" (I, 245); conclusively, "there is an embodied activity [in all art]" (II, 61). This emphasis on embodiment and the unconscious force, which not only accompanies every living action but also interweaves art, ties in with sensation fiction's concern with physiological and unconscious processes. Furthermore, Dallas makes it quite clear that the analysis of pleasure is an ex-post operation as the experience of pleasure cannot be observed directly while it is taking place (see II, 112), because the attempt to cognitively grasp it renders the process conscious and thus terminates the unconscious operation of pleasure. This view is particularly apt to explain the effects of sensation fiction, as they can well be understood as ex-post realisations of effects on the body or, for that matter, a bodily effect, in the first place: A sensation is the retrospective realisation of an unconsciously operating affect. Regarding aspects of subject formation, Dallas perceptively observes that realist fiction bolsters "the private individual" and goes on to point out subgenres in which the individual no longer features as "exceptional hero" (II, 287). Dallas mainly focuses on the debate between the novel of character and the novel of plot to elucidate the development regarding novelistic character construction. In the so called "sensation school", he argues, "the first consideration is given to the plot; and the characters must suc- cumb to the exigencies of the plot" (II, 292): [T]his species of novel is very much sneered at by persons of supposed enlightenment, and certainly it is more satisfactory to the pride of human nature to write and to read a novel of character. But I am not sure that, viewed in the abstract, such a work is either more true or more philosophical than the species of fiction in which the plot is most important. […] Both profess to give us pictures of life, and both have to do with certain characters going through certain actions. […] In the novel of character man appears moulding circumstances to his will, directing the action for himself, supreme over incident and plot. In the opposite class of novel man is represented as made and ruled by circumstance; he is the victim of change and the puppet of intrigue. (II, 293) The basic difference is hence the different emphasis which falls on the agency of a character, or, in other words, whether the respective genres modulate character as subject over or object of circumstance. Wilkie Collins's The Woman in White is frequently classified as a paradigmatic example of a novel of plot. However, the validity of this categorisation was hotly debated. In the novel's foreword, Collins argues that "it is not possible to tell a story successfully without presenting characters" (2008, 4). In the 1880s, Anthony Trollope, as a major representative of realism, considers the differentiation between the novel of plot and the novel of character to be "a mistake" (1883, 164). This conciliatory stance may well be taken with a grain of salt as Trollope generally sets out to defend realism in his critical writings. Nevertheless, it illustrates that this distinction has already become a truism by the 1880s and articulates the fact that the generic separation is analytical from its inception. 'Sensation fiction' should hence be understood as a discursive effect of the professionalisation of criticism, as Trollope's confession to generic overlaps amounts to the explicit articulation of the fact that realism has always already incorporated narrative strategies associated with the sensational, the melodramatic, and the gothic.

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Sensation fiction, as a matter of fact, is hard to pin down in any clear-cut generic terms or content components. "The bastard child of realism" (Harrison and Fantina 2006, x), it can be understood as a hybrid genre (see xi) bringing together realism, melodrama, the gothic, Newgate fiction, and detective fiction, and, I would add, at times even the Bildungsroman. Wilkie Collins's The Woman in White is a generic borderline case, situating, as it does, the sensational in conventions generally associated with the Bil- dungsroman or domestic fiction. As Margaret Oliphant has remarked in her 1862 review of The Woman in White: "[T]here is almost as little that is objectionable in this highly-wrought sensation-novel as if it had been a domestic history of the most gentle and unexciting kind" (566). The Woman in White situates the sensational within conventions generally associated with the realist Bildungsroman and thus challenges them.

6. The Woman in White and Reflexions on the Construction of Ideal Masculinities Like Adam Bede, Collins's novel deals with the development of a male character so that The Woman in White, despite its title, negotiates constructions of masculinity and presents the development of Walter Hartright from poor drawing master to fully integrated, wealthy pater familas. As in Adam Bede, this development is achieved at the price of diminishing the female characters. Anne Catherick, the woman in white, Laura Fairlie, Anne's wealthy look-alike, and Marian Halcombe, Laura's half-sister, are, by the end of the novel, either dead or incapable of managing their own affairs without male guidance. The novel reveals the ways in which the Bildungsroman-ideal is achieved through Walter's own self-fashioning. His narrative allows an insight into the artificiality of the very masculinity he tries to achieve as a character. The Woman in White presents the gentlemanly ideal as mainstream model of a viable subjectivity which excludes a variety of other subject positions. This ideal is offered up for deconstruction. Famously, the novel's sensation plot is triggered by the sudden appearance of the woman in white, who touches Walter from behind as he is on his way home (see Miller 1986, 117). Walter responds to her touch as if to a tactile de-interpellation which dissolves his identity. He feels compelled to ask: "Was I Walter Hartright?" (Collins 2008, 23). The narrative which follows tells the story how Walter can 'piece himself together again', how he can become a 'man' after the shock of the feminine touch from behind – the character construction is thus showcased as a combination or suture of fragments as the story itself is. Walter's journey to becoming a 'man' makes relevant progress after his sojourn in Cen- tral America and the corresponding rites of passage. Ironically, however, this important journey takes place 'off-stage'. After his return, Walter lays open his motivations as well as his success: In the waters of a new life I had tempered my nature afresh. In the stern school of extremity and danger my will had learnt to be strong, my heart to be resolute, my mind to rely on itself. I had gone out to fly from my future. I came back to face it, as a man should. To face it with the inevitable suppression of myself, which I knew it would demand of me. (415; emphasis added)

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Enabled to perform a masculinity defined by self-reliance, will power, emotional self- control, and self-suppression, Walter comes nearer to liberal character ideals. At the close of the novel, Walter ponders the whole development and considers what he lacked at the beginning: "It was strange to look back and to see, now, that the poverty which had denied us all hope of assistance, had been the indirect means of our success, by forcing me to act for myself" (Collins 2008, 636; emphasis added). In retrospect (and in actuality by his marriage), Walter nobilitates his poverty and reveals that, what he lacked apart from money, was agency. For Walter, the sensation novel is a Bil- dungsroman, whose mechanisms Walter simultaneously accepts and disavows by fashioning himself as independent agent. Moreover, he draws on self-help character ideals to hide his self-interest and his social ambitions. In the novel's very narratological set-up, presenting a large gap between the narrating and the experiencing I, Walter presents his sensational, nervous self retrospectively after having successfully gained a subject position as a gentleman by marrying up. His (unconscious?) desires are hidden in this retrospective narrative stance and glossed over where possible. The end of the novel presents the domestication of the sensational man, and, through rendering that very process conspicuous, the novel presents the very seams at which such an identity can be deconstructed. It illustrates that the ideal middle-class gentleman is a constructive effort amounting to a "monomania" (Collins 2008, 80) on Walter's side. The Woman in White reveals that the ideal depends on the domestication of the unconscious and the sensational self.

7. Conclusion What I have tried to show in this article is that the allegedly first sensation novel widely partakes of realist structures and emulates conventions of the Bildungsroman. However, by the very narratological innovations it introduces, it renders the artificiality of that very construction conspicuous and thus reveals changes regarding forms of subject constitution more widely. I argued that the intersection of the Bildungsroman, notions of subject formation, and criticism reveals a discursive entanglement illustrating that, in the course of the professionalisation of criticism, those critical approaches have been authorised which favour particular ideals of subjectification while others have been marginalised. I used the exacerbated battle between supporters of the novel of character and the novel of plot as an indicator of what is at stake when new forms of subject constitution come to be negotiated, particularly when this subject constitution entails a new stance towards the unconscious. I have shown that while James Sully's approach was highly esteemed and awarded with institutional authority, E.S. Dallas was largely forgotten. What this goes to show beyond the analyses at hand is that this evaluation of the different approaches is still culturally operative in English Studies today, in the discipline's debates, its forms of education, its strategies of canonisation, its very professions and curricula. Cultural studies in its revolutionary form as a 'non- discipline' might have arisen much earlier, if E.S. Dallas had prevailed. In the emerging cultural studies movement, left-wing critics such as Terry Eagleton or Raymond Williams, in search for forebears in literary history, may have neglected Dallas due to the fact that their antagonists, F.R. and Q.D. Leavis in particular, did so, too (see Tay- lor 1984, 190-1). This neglect can hence be read as symptomatic for literary discourse more widely: I venture to propose that the neglect of a critic such as Dallas, who paves

DISCURSIVE ENTANGLEMENTS OF THE BILDUNGSROMAN 299 the way for a more 'democratic' notion of literature in the sense that he claims that "the enjoyment of art is for all" (1999 I, 127), thus levelling high and low, is part and parcel of discursive marginalisations of sensation fiction, which, tellingly, was only seriously and more widely re-evaluated in criticism in the 1980s (see esp. Hughes 1980, Taylor 1988), that is a good twenty years after the formal institution of cultural studies through the 1964 foundation of the Centre for Contemporary Cultural Studies in Bir- mingham. The conglomerate of particular notions of the subject and the professionalisation and institutionalisation of criticism proves pervasive to the present day in the frequent re-emergence of debates on cultural value.

References Armstrong, Nancy (2012): "The Sensation Novel", in: Kucich, John; Bourne Taylor, Jenny (eds.): The Nineteenth-Century Novel 1820-1880. Ed. The Oxford History of the Novel in English. Oxford: Ox- ford UP, 137-153 Collins, Wilkie (2008): The Woman in White. Oxford: Oxford UP Dallas, E.S. (1999 [1866]): The Gay Science. 2 vols. Bristol: Thoemmes Dames, Nicholas (2011): "The Network of the Nerves, 1825-1880", in: Herman, David (ed.): The Emergence of Mind: Representations of Consciousness in Narrative Discourse in English. Lincoln: U of Nebraska P, 215-242 Eliot, George (2008): Adam Bede. Oxford: Oxford UP Fryckstedt, Monica Correa (1986): Geraldine Jewsbury's Athenaeum Reviews: A Mirror of Mid-Vic- torian Attitudes to Fiction. Uppsala: Acta Universitatis Upsalensis Groth, Helen (2014): "The Mind as Palimpsest: Art, Dreaming and James Sully's Aesthetics of La- tency", in: Danta, Chris; Groth, Helen (eds.): Mindful Aesthetics: Literature and the Science of the Mind. New York: Bloomsbury, 107-22 Harrison, Kimberly; Fantina, Richard (eds., 2006): Victorian Sensations: Essays on a Scandalous Genre. Columbus: Ohio State UP Hughes, Winifred (1980): The Maniac in the Cellar: Sensation Novels of the 1860s. Princeton, NJ: Princeton UP Levine, Caroline (22012): "Victorian Realism", in: David, Deidre (ed.): The Cambridge Companion to the Victorian Novel. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 84-106 Locker, Arthur (December 27, 1866): "The Gay Science", The Times, 5 Mansel, Henry L. (1863): "Sensation Novels", Quarterly Review, NS 113, 482-514 Maynard, John R. (22005): "The Bildungsroman", in: Brantlinger, Patrick; Thesing, William B. (eds.): A Companion to the Victorian Novel. Malden: Blackwell, 279-301 Mill, John Stuart (1991 [1859]): On Liberty and Other Writings. Ed. Stefan Collini. Cambridge: Cam- bridge UP Miller, D.A. (1986): "'Cage aux folles': Sensation and Gender in Wilkie Collins's The Woman in White", Representations, NS 14, 107-36 Oliphant, Margaret (May 1862): "Sensation Novels", Blackwood's Magazine, NS 54.5, 564-84 Ortiz Robles, Mario (2010): The Novel as Event. Ann Arbor: The University of Michigan Press Page, Norman (ed., 1974): Wilkie Collins: The Critical Heritage. London/Boston: Routledge Ryan, Vanessa (2009): "Reading the Mind: From George Eliot's Fiction to James Sully's Psychology", Journal of the History of Ideas, NS 70.4, 615-635 --- (2012): Thinking Without Thinking in the Victorian Novel. Baltimore: John Hopkins UP Salmon, Richard (2012): "The English Bildungsroman", in: Kucich, John; Bourne Taylor, Jenny (eds.): The Oxford History of the Novel in English. Vol 3. The Nineteenth-Century Novel, 1820- 1880. Oxford: Oxford UP, 90-105 Schneider, Ralf (2011): "The Invisible Center: Conceptions of Masculinity in Victorian Fiction: Real- ist, Crime, Detective, and Gothic", in: Horlacher, Stefan (ed.): Constructions of Masculinity in Brit- ish Literature from the Middle Ages to the Present. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 147-168

300 NADINE BÖHM-SCHNITKER

Smiles, Samuel (2002 [1859]): Self-Help: With Illustrations of Character, Conduct, and Perseverance. Ed., with an Introduction and Notes, Peter W. Sinnema. Oxford: Oxford UP Sully, James (1881): "George Eliot's Art", Mind, NS 6, 379-94 Taylor, Jenny (1984): "The Gay Science: The 'Hidden Soul' of Victorian Criticism", Literature and History, NS 10.2, 189-202 Williams, Raymond (1977): Marxism and Literature. Oxford: Oxford UP

ANTON KIRCHHOFER (OLDENBURG)

The Modern Self and the Re-Invention of Torture: Narration at the Limits of the Bildungsroman

Why should the topic of torture be relevant in the context of the Bildungsroman? My proposition in this paper will be that these two phenomena, antagonistic as they may be, can shed light on each other. An exemplary analysis of the role and the representation of torture in relation to narratives of identity formation can, in general, contribute to a greater insight into the nature and the history of each, as well as into the connection in which they both stand to the normative structure of modern societies. More specifically, I will suggest that the enormous difficulty of narrating experiences of torture, which is characteristic of modern fictional as well as non-fictional discourses, is inseparable from the specifically modern form of narrative identity formation, whose paradigmatic form is the Bildungsroman. By extension, the close connection between the Bildungsroman and the normative structure of modern societies (described by Joseph R. Slaughter as "mutually enabling fictions" [2006, 1407]) forms the basis also for the characteristic existence of modern torture as a simultaneously illegitimate and inexplicable, arbitrarily and erratically practised phenomenon. As an introduction to my analysis of torture representation and of its potential relationship to narrative identity formation in two of the outstanding fictions about torture in modern literature – E.A. Poe's short story "The Pit and the Pendulum" (1842), and J.M. Coetzee's Waiting for the Barbarians (1980) – I will offer a set of systematic as well as historical considerations.

1. Identity Formation vs. Torture: Narration, Formation, and Destruction of the Self If Bildung can be seen as the paradigmatic, the established and euphoric form of identity formation in modern societies, torture is its antagonist. Torture produces a permanent deformation of an individual's personality, it is an event and an experience which destroys precisely that identity, that sense of self whose formation is the theme (as well as the structural pattern) of the narrative of Bildung. For an analysis of this experience and its effects, we can turn to Jean Améry's account in At the Mind's Limits, where torture is described as "the most horrible event a human being can retain within himself" (Améry 1980, 22). The experience of torture causes a violent and permanent transformation of the self: "[T]orture has an indelible character. Whoever was tortured, stays tortured" (ibid., 34). In addition, torture and Bildung are opposed in the way they affect the relationship between the individual and the society in which he or she lives. The classic Bildungs- roman is the narrative of a "problematic individual" (Lukács 1971, 78) reaching a sense of his or her identity as well as renegotiating their initially problematic place in the world (Hirsch 1979, Moretti 2000). Torture, in our cultural understanding (see Scarry 1985), is the destruction of this sense of identity and this sense of one's place in 302 ANTON KIRCHHOFER the world beyond the possibility of recovery. To quote Améry once more: "Whoever has succumbed to torture can no longer feel at home in the world. […] Trust in the world […] will not be regained" (Améry 1980, 40). There is a further respect in which torture is destructive of any narrative of identity formation – torture destroys not only identity, but also the possibility of narrative. It may be possible to describe the damage that is done to the self by torture, but the experience of torture cannot be adequately narrated. In the classical Bildungsroman (in addition to Goethe's Wilhelm Meister one may refer to Jane Austen's Emma or Charles Dickens's Great Expectations), it is one of the goals of this process of formation that it should become reflexive. In other words, the subjects whose formation has been re- counted will become able to look back and reflect on the process of formation they have undergone. They will have come to understand the mistakes they may have made on the way and to accept these mistakes as steps contributing to the trajectory that produced the identity they now accept as their own. Regardless of the narrative structure of the story of formation, becoming conscious of this fact and being able to convert it into self-analytical and self-descriptive language is a sign that the character's identity has achieved a certain stability of formation. As Joseph R. Slaughter puts it, the Bil- dungsroman "plot[s] the acquisition of self-narrative agency in stories that circle back to where they began after bringing the past into conjunction with the present […], producing [an] ostensibly self-substantiating, […] self-determinative literary agent" (Slaughter 2007, 214-215). The experience of torture, by contrast, is permanently removed from the reflexivity that corresponds to the formation of an identity which can discursively represent its genesis to itself and others. Jean Améry stresses this aspect when he insists that the experience of torture is incommunicable. Language cannot represent the experience of torture: It would be totally senseless to try and describe here the pain that was inflicted on me. […] One comparison would only stand for the other, and in the end we would be hoaxed by turn on the hopeless merry-go-round of figurative speech. The pain was what it was. Beyond that there is nothing to say. Qualities of feeling are as incomparable as they are indescribable. They mark the limit of the capacity of language to communicate. If someone wanted to impart his physical pain, he would be forced to inflict it and thereby become a torturer himself. (Améry 1980, 33) Not only does the experience of torture destroy the person for good, but at the same time the capability of revisiting this deforming experience in narrative is destroyed – it is destroyed by the fact that to represent torture effectively is the equivalent of practis- ing torture. It is in this sense – that torture is not only the opposite of a process of identity formation, but also that it can never be represented adequately and that it consequently im- poses a limit on what can be narrated – that I speak of "narration at the limits of the Bildungsroman" in the title of my paper. In other words, the idea of a torture narrative opposes itself to the narrative of formation not only in relation to its subject matter (namely the process of the formation of a personality), but also in relation to the process of narration (torture as the un-narratable experience, as the end of representability through language). From the antagonistic relation which exists between torture and identity – and by extension between the narrative of identity formation and the impossibility of giving an THE MODERN SELF AND THE RE-INVENTION OF TORTURE 303 adequate narrative representation of the experience of torture – arises the problematic that has induced me to propose analysing some of the comparatively rare representations of torture in modern fiction. If I also seek to historicise this problematic, propos- ing a similar historicity for our conceptions of torture as for our conceptions of Bil- dung and the Bildungsroman, I wish to stress that my goal is not to be relativistic or dismissive concerning the enormity of torture and the scandal of its practice; my goal is simply to contribute to our understanding of the historical coordinates that mark our own cultural position. What will emerge from my analysis, I hope, is a deeper insight into the characteristics and the complexities that mark the narration of torture experiences in modern fiction, as well as a clearer sense of the respects in which these accounts may or may not be understood as narratives of identity formation. In order to be able to do so, I need to speak, as a next step, of the terms in the title: 'modern self' and 're-invention of torture'.

2. Historicising Torture?: Modern Torture and Modern Subjectivity The historical coordinates of the Bildungsroman, when they are seen in conjunction with the close antagonistic relationship between Bildung and torture, lead to the question about the existence of corresponding historical coordinates for the conception of torture. It is well known that the Bildungsroman emerged in the late 18th century – displacing and delegitimising older narrative genres of identity formation such as the spiritual autobiography –, that it came to prominence and dominance in the 19th century, and has maintained its significance ever since. It is the paradigmatic genre of modernity or, in the words of Franco Moretti, the "symbolic form of modernity" (Mo- retti 2000, 3). Joseph R. Slaughter has added to this the proposition of a corresponding connection at the level of the normative foundation of society, arguing that the Bildungsroman and the modern discourse of human rights are mutually "enabling fictions": "The Bildungsroman is not the only cultural form that cooperates with human rights", Slaughter suggests, "but it is exemplary in the degree to which its conventions overlap with the image of human personality development projected by the law" (Slaughter 2006, 1407). The point where human rights discourse and the Bildungsroman coincide, Slaughter goes on to argue, is the fundamental notion of subjectivity which they presuppose: The assumptions about th[e] subject shared by normative human rights law and the idealist Bildungsroman manifest themselves in a common conceptual vocabulary, humanist social vision, and narrative grammar of free and full human personality development. Human rights and the Bildungsroman are mutually enabling fictions: each projects an image of the human personality that ratifies the other's vision of the ideal relations between individual and society (ibid.). If it is thus possible to give substance to the historical contemporaneity of the emergence of the Bildungsroman and human rights discourse, does this also imply that we should go beyond noting the additional contemporaneity of the 'abolition of torture' in Western Europe in the course of the later 18th and earlier 19th centuries, and speak of the emergence of a new and specifically modern conception of torture in the same context? To pose the question like this is to invite an analysis of the specific features of the literary representation not only of the processes of formation that we usually associate with the Bildungsroman, but also with the literary representation of the phenomenon of torture. 304 ANTON KIRCHHOFER

The idea that the abolition of torture is a characteristic of modern societies has come under criticism from various angles. Michel Foucault (1995) has suggested that the establishment of regimes of disciplinary power in modern societies has displaced the older uses of torture as a prerogative of state power, implying that the shift has a functional rather than a normative character – that the soft and subtle techniques of disciplinary power may be no more and no less than the functional equivalents of the older gruesome practices of torture. Darius Rejali (1994, 2007) has proposed that the very idea that torture is no longer practised in modern societies is mistaken; that the actual realities of modern societies show that, whatever their normative assumptions, the debate on torture needs to face up to the fact that torture continues to exist in modernity. Talal Asad (1996, 2003) has questioned the idea of a transhistorical conception of torture, arguing against Rejali's assumption of a continuity of conceptions and practices of torture and, insisting on the cultural specificity of conceptions of pain as well as of its effects. This debate shows that the universality of the subjective experience of torture is under debate as much as the universality of the ideal of subject formation which is fundamental to the Bildungsroman. Could it be that torture as we understand it is as much a modern invention as is the subjectivity typical of the Bildungsroman? And that, by extension, both the identity destroying as well as the narrative and communicative impossibilities associated with the representation of torture are specifically problematic for a modern society? I turn, quite at random,1 to a description of a prolonged torture experience in the account of an English traveller in the Mediterranean area, who was subjected to torture in Naples where he was arrested and accused of being an "English spie": Thrice had I the strappado, hoysted up backwards with my hands bound behind me, which stroke all iointes in my armes out of ioint, where a Phisition was readie to set my armes in ioynt againe presently, I was also constrained to drinke salt water and quicklyme, and then a fine lawne or callico thrust down my throat and pluckt up againe, readie to pluck my hart out of my belly, all to make me confesse that I was an English spye. After this there were foure barde horses prepared to quarter me, and I was still threatned to dye, except I would confesse some thing to my harme. Thus seven monethes I endured in this misery, and yet they could finde no cause against me […] (Webbe 1590, D1r). What is remarkable in this account is that we are faced with a cruel but regulated practice – a practice in whose description the victim employs the technical vocabulary (e.g. "strappado"), a practice in which there is also a physician present to attend to the victim after the technique prescribed by the judge has been performed, a practice in which both the state officials and the torture victim have a certain amount of discretion. The employment of the tortures for the purpose of obtaining a confession implies that there is a legal framework for this practice which requires, among other things, that evi-

1 The choice of this text was made from a large selection of Early Modern torture accounts collected by Daniel Šíp from the full-text databases Early English Books Online (EEBO) and Eighteenth-Century Collections Online (ECCO) as part of our joint research into the history of torture. THE MODERN SELF AND THE RE-INVENTION OF TORTURE 305 dence should be produced, and that a certain form should be observed, and finally that the absence of evidence or confession prevents a conviction.2 Moreover there is a remarkable degree of agency available to the victim, as we find out when the account continues thus: […] then I wrote to the Vice-Roy to do me iustice, he did write to the K. of Spaine to know what should be done with me: whereupon the king of Spaine wrote that I should be employed in a gunners roome: then was I entertained, and had 35. crownes a moneth (ibid.). The victim goes on to become an employee of the state which had previously tortured him. Nor does this experience stand in the way of his returning to resume his place in the society of his native England, or indeed of his recounting the full story of his travels: […] understanding that three ships were comming towards England, I departed and fled from thence with them to my native countrie, in the grace of London by the helpe of one Nicholas Nottingham maister thereof. Thus came I into England with ioy and harts delight, both to my selfe and all my acquaintance (ibid.). Webbe does not refer to the incommunicability of the pain he endured (indeed he hardly refers to his pain at all). He retains agency, and he retains his human self, at least to the degree of being able to live happily ever after with his friends and relatives. I do not wish to underplay the differences in text type, in intratextual and extratextual context, and in purpose by which this account is distinguished from Améry's. I do not wish to insist on the 'veracity' of Webbe's account either. The focus of my interest lies in the difference between the representation of torture given in these two accounts. What is missing in Webbe's, and what is foregrounded in Améry's, is the damaged subjectivity of the torture victim. This becomes especially visible in comparison to the passage where Améry describes his being subjected to a similar procedure: The hook gripped into the shackle that held my hands together behind my back. Then I was raised with the chain until I hung about a meter over the Floor. In such a position, or rather, when hanging this way, with your hands behind your back, for a short time you can hold at a half-oblique through muscular force. During these few minutes, when you are already expend- ing your utmost strength, when sweat has already appeared on your forehead and lips, and you are breathing in gasps, you will not answer any questions. Accomplices? Addresses? Meeting places? You hardly hear it. All your life is gathered in a single, limited area of the body, the shoulder joints, and it does not react; for it exhausts itself completely in the expenditure of energy. But this cannot last long, even with people who have a strong physical constitution. As for me, I had to give up rather quickly. And now there was a crackling and splintering in my shoulders that my body has not forgotten until this hour. The balls sprang from their sockets. My own body weight caused luxation; I fell into a void and now hung by my dislocated arms, which had been torn high from behind and were now, twisted over my head. (Améry 1980, 32) The abolition of the legal framework for torture in the course of the 18th century is not the same thing, then, as the abolition of torture itself. It does lead to the disappearance of torture as a legally instituted and regulated practice, and of the tortured person as a legal subject. But it coincides with the emergence of a tortured subjectivity, which cor-

2 For a recent summary of research into Early Modern torture as a practice evolving dynamically within a legal framework capable of a range of local and historical variations, see Oestmann 2010. 306 ANTON KIRCHHOFER responds to the emergence of torture as an illegitimate and sadistic practice. This illegitimate practice is in fact crucially correlated with two corresponding and unrepresentable subjectivities: the damaged subjectivity of the victim of torture – and the incomprehensible inhuman subjectivity of the torturing agent. In Webbe's account the subjectivity of the torturer is never referred to. In Améry's account the enigmatic and sadistic subjectivity of the torturer is the corresponding focus of the subjective experience of the victim: "[T]he torturer and murderer realizes his own destructive being, without having to lose himself in it entirely, like his martyred victim" (ibid., 35). Along with the emergence of the tortured and irrevocably damaged subject in discourse, a corresponding and – in its own way – equally problematic type of subjectivity emerges: the elusive warped, opaque, enigmatic, contorted subjectivity of the torturer. It is these two subjectivities which we will encounter in the literary torture representations to which I will now turn.

3. Torture and Subjectivity in Poe's "The Pit and the Pendulum": Articulating the Modern Conception of Torture In E.A. Poe's familiar story we can recognise what I have described as the characteristic features of a modern representation of torture, as well as the characteristic historical mis-conceptions which have been part of this modern conception of torture. Poe's story is written from the point of view of an unnamed victim of the Spanish Inquisition. Drawing its materials selectively from a series of early 19th-century sources (see Ballengee 2008), the story claims to be a victim's record of his experiences from the moment when he hears his death sentence, through the various torments devised in order to put him to a gruesome death (by way of a sequence of sadistic contrivances whose purpose he only very gradually realises) until his dramatic rescue through the arrival of the French Imperial Army, at the last possible moment: "[T]he agony of my soul found vent in one loud, long, and final scream", the narrator records, "I tottered upon the brink – I averted my eyes – […] An outstretched arm caught my own as I fell, fainting, into the abyss. It was that of General Lasalle. The French army had entered Toledo. The Inquisition was in the hands of its enemies" (Poe 2004, 316). Although the narrative voice narrates in retrospect, no connection is established between this miraculous last-minute rescue and any subsequent developments, and no information is given on the state or situation of the narrator-protagonist at the time of narration – with the exception of the obvious fact, which is manifested in the existence of the narrative that the narrator is capable of reconstructing at some detail the successive states of consciousness associated with his experience. Consequently, readers share the narrator's experience of being unable to fully understand, let alone control one's situation. We share the losses of consciousness, the sensual and cognitive deprivation of the victim, as well as the gradual and partial insights into the full extent of the torments to which he is subjected. One quotation may serve to illustrate this pervasive narrative focusing on the subjectivity of the victim of torture: A fearful idea now suddenly drove the blood in torrents upon my heart, and for a brief period, I once more relapsed into insensibility. Upon recovering, I at once started to my feet, trembling convulsively in every fibre. I thrust my arms wildly above and around me in all directions. I felt nothing; yet dreaded to move a step, lest I should be impeded by the walls of a tomb (ibid., 308). THE MODERN SELF AND THE RE-INVENTION OF TORTURE 307

In the course of the story, the warped subjectivity of the torturer is referred to at several points (see e.g. "I could no longer doubt the doom prepared for me by monkish ingenuity in torture" [ibid., 311], or "There could be no doubt of the design of my tor- mentors – oh! most unrelenting! Oh! most demoniac of men" [ibid., 315]). The fact that human beings could invent and inflict such tortures on a fellow human being is key to the effect of this representation: He posits this fact as unaccountable, a symp- tom of an evil and enigmatic subjectivity that remains opaque. If this aspect is less immediately visible, it is nevertheless not only inseparable from this focus on the tortured subjectivity, but forms a significant component of the experience of being tortured. As Améry has recorded, the self undergoes the experience of being completely in the power of an omnipotent, sadistic other. If the subjectivity of this other cannot be interpreted by relating it to a normative horizon of human behaviour, that does not make it less relevant. On the contrary, the enigmatic subjectivity of the torturer is the inevitable counterpart of the violated subjectivity of the torture victim. "The Pit and the Pendulum" unfolds this twofold subjectivisation of torture against the background of an optimistic and unproblematic – or rather unproblematised – historical perspective on the phenomenon of torture with equally unproblematised normative implications. Poe's narrative is clearly predicated on a historical trajectory which opposes a pre-modern past – lasting well into the 18th century, and well beyond it in certain insufficiently modernised contexts – in which torture appears to have been widespread, to a modernity in which the practice of torture will be abandoned or abolished because it is morally wrong, inhuman. This last point links the historical to a normative perspective. Because torture is regarded as morally wrong and inhuman, the normative basis on which the pre-modern society rests is conceived as lacking moral legitimacy. Correspondingly, the legitimacy of modern societies is associated with their commitment to not practicing torture, and with their no longer making legal provisions for a legitimate practice of torture. This normative and historical perspective remains largely implicit in "The Pit and the Pendulum", but the twofold subjectivisation of torture in the story is possible only against such a background. At the same time, while we do not need to fault a text for adopting a perspective that allows it to be effective as a story, we should nevertheless record that this normative and historical perspective is bought at the price of ignoring two corresponding historical facts: On the one hand, as Michel Foucault has suggested and as current research supports, torture in the early modern period functioned primarily as a regulated and institutionalised practice3 rather than as an illegitimate, evil, and sadistic practice of unaccountably warped minds. A second point for which this perspective does not provide any room is the fact of the ongoing existence of torture in modern societies. Far from being the barbarous characteristic of outmoded social systems, torture exists within modern societies – as Poe's contemporaries might read in a large number of contemporary accounts of slavery as well as abolitionist writings (see American Anti-Slavery Society 1839, Sorisio 2000). Poe's story can be taken as symptomatic for a normative cultural and historical perspective on torture which remains

3 See Foucault 1995 as well as, e.g., Oestmann: "Die ausführlichsten und minutiösesten Regelun- gen über die Anwendbarkeit und Durchführung der Folter erscheinen aus dieser Perspektive nur auf den ersten Blick grausam. Tatsächlich bieten sie dem von Folter betroffenen Inquisiten den höchstmöglichen Rechtsschutz" (2010, 90). 308 ANTON KIRCHHOFER unequipped to conceptually deal with the characteristic occurrence of torture in modern society.

4. Torture and Subjectivity in J.M. Coetzee's Waiting for the Barbarians: Articulating the Tensions of the Modern Conception of Torture J.M. Coetzee's Waiting for the Barbarians features a similar twofold subjectivisation of torture that I have proposed as characteristic of modern representations of torture. But while Poe's story largely bypasses the tensions and contradictions of the conception of torture it articulates, Waiting for the Barbarians foregrounds precisely these tensions and contradictions. Emerging out of Apartheid South Africa, from an atmosphere where torture by state organs was an oppressive reality, and written by a novelist who had demonstrated a keen awareness of the difficulties associated with the representation of torture in fiction (Coetzee 1986, see also Gallagher 1988) as well as of the difficulties of writing under conditions of state censorship (McDonald 2004), Waiting for the Barbarians offers a first-person narrative which takes its narrator-protagonist through several phases of close encounters with the effects and practices of torture. The novel describes the arrival of a military force led by Colonel Joll from the "Third Bureau" and assisted by Warrant Officer Mandel whose mission it is to gather intelligence along the border settlements of an unspecified Empire, about an impending attack on the Empire by the so called and equally unspecified nomadic "barbarians" – they gather intelligence by way of indiscriminately arresting people who appear suspi- cious and by extorting (false) "confessions" about the plans of the barbarians. The information thus gained turns out to be unreliable, and the expeditionary force led by Colonel Joll against the elusive barbarian threat comes to grief in the vast desert without ever encountering, let alone battling a barbarian army. The (continually self-prob- lematising) moral centre of the novel, however, is the aging, pleasure-loving, self-indulgent magistrate, who has been in charge of the settlement for a long time, and who upholds ideas of civilisation and human dignity which the Empire also appears to stand for. This leads him to offer an increasingly open resistance to Colonel Joll, and to befriend an abandoned torture victim – the "barbarian girl". He takes her in and later returns her to the barbarians. It is for this "futile gesture of good will" that the magistrate himself is arrested and tortured as a traitor in league with the insurgents. He remains in prison until, during the general disintegration which accompanies the futile military campaign, he is released without a record of ever having been arrested. Even- tually, when the army has left in disarray, he resumes his position, his apartment, and his office in the diminishing settlement. The phenomenon of torture is present from the first pages of the novel and so is a concern with the problematic subject positions it produces. In the earlier passages, the magistrate's preoccupation with the opaque subjectivity of the torturer is even more dominant than his actions for mitigating the sufferings of the victims. Early on in the novel, as soon as the first prisoners have been subjected to an interrogation by Joll, the magistrate muses: Looking at [Colonel Joll] I wonder how he felt the very first time: did he, invited as an apprentice to twist the pincers or turn the screw or whatever it is they do, shudder even a little to know that at that instant he was trespassing into the forbidden? I find myself wondering too whether he has a private ritual of purification […]. Does he wash his hands very carefully, perhaps, or THE MODERN SELF AND THE RE-INVENTION OF TORTURE 309

change all his clothes; or has the Bureau created new men who can pass without disquiet between the unclean and the clean? (Coetzee 2000, 13) What is it like to be a torturer? How does one become a torturer? How does one reconcile this identity with the rest of one's human existence? These questions recur as insis- tently, and as irresolvably, as the references to the unaccountable "monkish ingenuity in torture" in Poe's story. The magistrate's concern with the opaque subjectivity of the torture victim is equally pervasive in the earlier half of the novel. He questions the servants and soldiers who performed services to the torturer (see ibid., 37-40) and visits the rooms which have been used as torture chambers trying, unsuccessfully, to sense the traces left in the atmosphere by the atrocities committed (see ibid., 38). His interest in "the barbarian girl" who has survived torture and was left behind by her people to beg in the streets, because she was incapacitated by her injuries is, in his own eyes, an ill-defined mixture of partly humane, partly reparative and partly erotic motivation; but the desire to find out about the torture practised on her is a chief component in this interest. "[U]ntil the marks on this girl's body are deciphered and understood I cannot let go of her" (ibid., 33), he realises, and repeatedly questions her: 'What did they do to you? I murmur. […] 'Why don't you want to tell me?' She shakes her head. […] 'Tell me', I want to say, 'don't make a mystery of it, pain is only pain'; but words elude me (ibid., 34). Even when he elicits a response, the magistrate is hardly enlightened by the results. After refusing to answer him several times, the "barbarian girl" agrees to give him an account of how she was all but blinded (ibid., 44). The magistrate's central question: "What do you feel towards the men who did this?" remains, however, unanswered: "She lies thinking a long while. Then she says, 'I am tired of talking'" (ibid.). The subjectivity of the victim remains elusive until the magistrate falls victim to torture himself – and the very concern with this problematic subjectivity remains exclusive, within the novel, to the character of the magistrate. Once this is the case, he records and analyses his own experience of torture in detail, and finds it radically different from the expectations he had entertained. Remarkably, this is one of the very few passages where the narrative present is abandoned in favour of a retrospective representation: In my suffering there is nothing ennobling. Little of what I call suffering is even pain. What I am made to undergo is subjection to the most rudimentary needs of my body: to drink, to relieve itself, to find the posture in which it is least sore. […] my torturers were not interested in degrees of pain. They were interested only in demonstrating to me what it meant to live in a body, as a body, a body which can entertain notions of justice only as long as it is whole and well, which very soon forgets them when its head is gripped and a pipe pushed down its gullet and pints of salt water are poured into it till it coughs and retches and flails and voids itself (ibid., 126). What the magistrate experiences as he is subjected to practices of torture which are not dissimilar to those recorded by Webbe, is the destruction of his sense of identity – a subjectivity which is tied to the possession of an unviolated body. And what he records, as the narrator, is the character's understanding of human subjectivity through the process of having it destroyed: "[My torturers] came to my cell to show me the meaning of humanity, and in the space of an hour they showed me a great deal" (ibid.). 310 ANTON KIRCHHOFER

While the novel thus enables its narrator-protagonist to understand the subject-destroying workings of torture, it refuses to resolve the issue of the enigmatic subjectivity of the torturer, while maintaining the virulence of the question. "'I am trying very hard to understand your feelings towards me'" (ibid., 132), he tells Warrant Officer Mandel during a respite. A little later, as he is about to be turned out of his prison without a record of his having been held, he still tries to address Mandel: I am only trying to understand. I am trying to understand the zone in which you live. I am trying to imagine how you breathe and eat and live from day to day. But I cannot. That's what troubles me. If I were he, I say to myself, my hands would feel so dirty that it would choke me (ibid., 138). The question, however, remains as irresolvable as it remains insistent. "'You bastard, […] you fucking old lunatic, get out. Go and die somewhere!'" (ibid.) is all the response the magistrate is ultimately able to provoke. In some respects, this rejection of the magistrate's perspective, his views and his interests, is not a singular occurrence in the novel – it is rather the typical condition. As for the agents of the "Third Bureau", they consider the practice of torture as normal or desirable. The victims suffer the torture inflicted on them and then remove themselves from the settlement as best they can. The soldiers and servants who are employed by the agents of the Third Bureau perform what is expected of them without questions or objections. Nor does the novel show any of the other inhabitants of the settlement pro- testing or resisting the practice of torture. I have suggested that Waiting for the Barbarians is a novel which articulates the characteristics of modern conceptions of torture along with their tensions and contradictions, and this isolation of the magistrate's normative perspective within the novel supports this reading. In spite of the fact that it is not the most advanced society as far as its technical progress is concerned (they have no electricity, for example, the border region is largely agrarian, and the privileged in this society use horses and coaches to travel), the society of the Empire is structurally a modern one: It does not use torture as part of the legitimate legal practice (of which the magistrate is the representative), but has to grant exceptional powers to a specially constituted "Third Bureau" which is exempt from the general jurisdiction (in fact, to which the regular jurisdiction is tem- porarily subordinate) in order to practise torture. The novel clearly represents the practice of torture as a deviation from the established legal procedure, and that torture is not regularly compatible with the idea of civilisation which the Empire claims for itself. The factors that contribute to making this a text which engages with the unsolved di- lemmas of the modern conception of torture, include the fact that the course of events in the novel transforms this normative perspective into "a plump comfortable old man['s] […] eccentric notions of how the Empire should conduct itself" (ibid., 126). Similarly, quite unlike in "The Pit and the Pendulum", it is the arrival of the imperial army which institutes systematic and arbitrary torture where no such torture had been practised before. The "barbarians", by contrast, appear to have not even a notion of torture, of its practices, its normative dimensions, or the warped subjectivities it produces. The barbarians do not practise torture, and when they are subjected to torture, they suffer but do not respond in any manner like the magistrate. THE MODERN SELF AND THE RE-INVENTION OF TORTURE 311

As we have seen in the example of the "barbarian girl", even the victims of torture do not share the magistrate's sense of torture as an outrage on humanity. (Her subjectivity, after all, is constructed as perfectly opaque; her fatalism, acceptance of whatever happens, and preference for returning to live among the nomads are among the few things we know about her.) Nor do they share his interest in the subjectivities of the torturer or the tortured, or his mixture of fascination and repulsion when faced with the practice. Finally, the novel also makes clear that the ordinary citizens of the Empire do not share the magistrate's perspective. The scene when the magistrate is subjected to torture in public is the moment when the account of his torture experience most closely resembles that given by Améry: [Mandel knots] the noose […] round the cord that binds my wrists. 'Pull him up.' If I can hold my arms stiff, if I am acrobat enough to swing a foot up and hook it around the rope, I will be able to hang upside down and not be hurt: that is my last thought before they begin to hoist me. But I am as weak as a baby, my arms come up behind my back, and as my feet leave the ground I feel a terrible tearing in my shoulders as though whole sheets of muscles are giving way. […] I bellow again and again, there is nothing I can do to stop it, the noise comes out of a body that knows itself damaged perhaps beyond repair and roars its fright (ibid., 132- 33). There is no solidarity, no sense of outrage among the citizens whose community the magistrate used to govern. Instead the sufferings of the tortured individual provide entertainment and amusement: "'He is calling his barbarian friends', someone observes. 'That is barbarian language you hear.' There is laughter." (ibid., 133) To sum up: The novel shows a modern imperial society in which torture is an exceptional event beyond the limits of legality, and the magistrate as the representative of imperial power also represents the ethical conviction that torture is not legitimate under any circumstances. Its underlying normative framework thus coincides with the assumptions on which Poe's "The Pit and the Pendulum" was based. But while in the eyes of the magistrate this perspective is of universal validity and fundamental importance, he remains the only character within the fictional world who represents this conviction – confronting the reader with the uncomfortable fact that it is the "Empire" and not the "barbarians" who practise torture, and that one of the central normative positions of modern societies is granted only a very limited degree of universality in practice.

5. Torture and the Impossibility of Narrative Identity Formation As I have sought to demonstrate, Waiting for the Barbarians locates both the enigmatic secret practice of torture as well as its moral condemnation, in a society which is characterised as both imperial and modern, while "The Pit and the Pendulum" attributes the practice of torture to a pre-modern setting and reserves its moral condemnation as well as its abolition, if necessary by way of military intervention, as the prerogative of modernity. Despite of these differences, both stories share an insistent concern with two extreme forms of subjectivity – the subjectivities of the victim and of the torturer, each in a very different way damaged and ultimately unrepresentable – which I have sought to identify as characteristically modern, too. 312 ANTON KIRCHHOFER

Against this background, it is possible to return to the question of the disjunctive relationship between the practice of torture and the narrative of identity formation. In both stories, the victims survive the torture, but what effect does the experience of torture have on their identity? My concluding proposition on this central question will be that in respect of narrative identity formation, both texts conceptualise torture around a central contradiction: On the one hand, the representation of torture is characterised by an intense and pervasive focus on the subjectivities of all individuals involved. On the other hand, the texts offer no options for integrating the phenomenon of torture into a sequence of identity forming events, factors or encounters, or for integrating these in turn into a narrative of the formation (or even into a narrative of the destruction) of identity. In "The Pit and the Pendulum" we find a climactic happy ending in which the details are clearly indebted to a striving for literary effect. By contrast, the story tells us next to nothing about the subsequent effects which the experience of torture has on the victim, and none of his subsequent experiences are disclosed. Similarly, practically all of the narrator's previous existence has vanished from his consciousness and bears no relevance to the experience. Nor is there any indication of his actual situation in the act of narration. The focus is confined to the perception of the horrors of the victim's situation, complemented by the focus on the elusive subjectivity of the torturer, which remains an entity impossible to conceive or reconstruct, although there is a sense that such a reconstruction could provide the missing key to the situation – that the experience would be less traumatising if it were possible to understand (and this appears to mean in our context: to narrate) through what steps and experiences the torturers have become capable of inflicting these tortures. The magistrate's torture experience in Waiting for the Barbarians is integrated into a progressive development, but this is a cognitive development rather than a development of his personality, making the magistrate an ultimately allegorical character. We can read the novel as the story of an official who moves from being a willing tool of the Empire via a phase of inner resistance and silent disapproval to a point of open resistance to an unjust regime. His initial ambition is to stay out of any trouble: I did not mean to get embroiled in this. I am a country magistrate, a responsible official in the service of the Empire, serving out my days on the frontier, waiting to retire. […] I have not asked for more than a quiet life in quiet times. (Coetzee 2000, 8) At the same time, he finds he cannot ignore the crimes of his fellow officials and feels a strong inner need to dissociate himself from them: "There is nothing to link me to torturers, people who sit waiting like beetles in dark cellars. […] I must assert my distance from Colonel Joll! I will not suffer for his crimes!" (ibid., 48) When Colonel Joll interrogates him, he does assert his distance passionately: "You are the enemy, you have made the war […] starting […] a year ago when you committed your first filthy barbarities here!" (ibid., 125) The torture to which the magistrate is subjected in consequence does not initiate a process of identity development, but it leads towards a cognitive change. In relation to the subjectivity of the torture victim, as I have sought to demonstrate above, the magistrate arrives at an experiential insight – torture demonstrates to the victim what it means to "live in a body", and demonstrates to the victim "the meaning of humanity" THE MODERN SELF AND THE RE-INVENTION OF TORTURE 313

(ibid., 126).4 The novel does not explicitly say if the insight this suggests is the same that the magistrate would have wanted the "barbarian girl" to accept: "[D]on't make a mystery of it, pain is only pain", he would have said, had not the "words elude[d]" him (ibid., 34). In relation to the subjectivity of the torturer, the magistrate chiefly finds out that any preconceived notions fail to be borne out by the actual situation: I used to think to myself, 'They are sitting in another room discussing me. They are saying to each other, 'How much longer before he grovels? In an hour we will go back and see.' But it is not like that. They have no elaborated system of pain and deprivation to which they subject me. For two days I go without food and water. On the third day I am fed. 'I am sorry', says the man who brings my food. 'We forgot.' It is not malice that makes them forget. My torturers have their own lives to lead. I am not the centre of their universe (ibid., 126). The questions about the subjectivity of the torturer remain unanswered. What this scene suggests, however, is that there may be no particular and specific subjectivity of the torturer – no peculiar identity typically or exclusively characteristic of those who inflict torture on another person. Neither of these insights – the insight into the tortured subject, poised between the possibilities that "pain is only pain" and that torture might be deeply linked to "the meaning of humanity”, or the corresponding insight that the distinctive subjectivity of the torturer might be opaque and inaccessible because it might not in fact exist – represent the central recognition towards which the text is moving its protagonist. No doubt, Waiting for the Barbarians closes as the story of a thoroughly damaged survivor re- suming the fragments of his life and position in a thoroughly damaged community. Yet the novel's climactic moment of truth is arguably not that of the experience of torture inflicted on a person who has been offering a morally justified resistance to an unjust regime. There is a later and more fundamental moment of recognition on the part of the magistrate which comes at a time when the military has left and the settlement has started to disintegrate, a recognition which links rather than dissociates the positions of Joll and the magistrate: I was not, as I liked to think, the indulgent, pleasure-loving opposite of the cold rigid Colonel. I was the lie that Empire tells itself when times are easy, he the truth that Empire tells when harsh winds blow. Two sides of Imperial Rule, no more, no less (ibid., 148-9). The magistrate's story is thus not a narrative of the gradual development of his identity but rather of his – and the reader's – gradual confrontation with a more accurate and comprehensive view of the relationship between torture and modernity: The modern conception of torture links, rather than dissociates, the conviction of the inhumanity and unacceptability of torture on the one hand, and the arbitrary and uncontrollable use of torture with the effect of the arbitrary destruction of the victim's subjectivities on the other. Waiting for the Barbarians thus foregrounds the protagonist's cognitive development: The magistrate comes to a better understanding of his own position in the imperial society – a progress from ignorance towards partial recognition and disillusionment. It is also a progress which we are invited to read allegorically: the magistrate as the image of the liberal representatives of the modern society, its enlightened decision-makers who enjoy their benefits and privileges, and who sympathise with

4 On the historicity of this notion of humanity, see Lindemann 2009. 314 ANTON KIRCHHOFER those who are in no position to enjoy these, while they deplore the various forms of oppressiveness which the same system appears invariably to produce as well. Waiting for the Barbarians invites us to ponder the connection between these several points: between the conceptions of torture as normative transgression on the one hand, and as an incomprehensible, yet apparently ineradicable phenomenon on the other. It is impossible within the conceptual framework of a society which defines itself as modern, to give an acceptable conceptual articulation of the motives on which the practice of torture might be reasonably based, or indeed of the manner in which torture might be reasonably practiced. While I will stress once more that I am not suggesting this should be otherwise, I wish to point out that this situation forms the basis for what I have described as a modern re-invention of torture as an illegitimate, sadistic, and identity-destroying practice. If the practice of torture in modern states occurs with ill- defined, undisclosed, or untenable rationales, and with disastrous effects on the victims, it is because it is incompatible, as Joseph Slaughter has suggested, both with the institution of human rights and with the literary and cultural paradigm of the narrative of identity formation. In both of the stories analysed in this paper, the question of the twofold subjectivities of the torturer and of the tortured was (1) given central importance, while clearly (2) neither of these subjectivities was compatible with a notion of identity understood as the (dynamic) result of a process of formation which can be narrated. In the context of an analysis of narratives of identity formation, perhaps it will be more appropriate to put it the other way round: If the identities associated with the practice of torture remain opaque, this may be closely related to the fact that these identities cannot be plausibly converted into the form of an ongoing and dynamic narrative of identity formation. There is no narrative into which the identity of the tortured subject can be integrated in such a way as to satisfy the conditions of plausibility required by the Bildungsroman. Nor is there a corresponding narrative that can capture the formation of the subjectivity of the torturer. We may recognise the historicity as well as the modernity of our conceptions of the human (Foucault 2005, Lindemann 2009) also in this fact: that we express the very real forms of dehumanisation which we perceive in the torturer as well as in the victim in the form of their incompatibility with the distinctly modern literary and cultural paradigm of the narrative of identity formation.

References Primary Sources [American Anti-Slavery Society] (1839): American Slavery As It Is: Testimony of a Thousand Wit- nesses. New York: American Anti-Slavery Society Coetzee, J.M. (2000 [1980]): Waiting for the Barbarians. London: Vintage Poe, Edgar Allen (2004 [1842]): "The Pit and the Pendulum", in: Thompson, G.R. (ed.): The Selected Writings of Edgar Allen Poe. New York: Norton, 305-316 [Webbe, Edw.] (1590): The Rare and most wonderful things which Edw. Webbe an Englishman borne, hath seene and passed in his troublesome trauailes … Newly enlarged and corrected by the Author. London: William Wright

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Secondary Sources Améry, Jean (1980 [1966]): "Torture", in: At the Mind's Limits. Indianapolis: Indianapolis UP, 21-40 Asad, Talal (1996): "On Torture, or Cruel, Inhuman, and Degrading Treatment", Social Research 63.4, 1081-1109 --- (2003): "Reflections on Cruelty and Torture", in: Formations of the Secular: Christianity, Islam, Modernity. Stanford: Stanford UP, 100-124 Ballengee, Jennifer R. (2008): "Torture, Modern Experience, and Beauty in Poe's 'The Pit and the Pen- dulum'", Modern Language Studies 38.1, 26-43 Coetzee, J.M. (1986): "Into the Dark Chamber: The Novelist and South Africa", New York Times, January 12 Foucault, Michel (1995 [1975]): Discipline and Punish: The Birth of the Prison. Trans. Alan Sheridan. New York: Vintage --- (2005 [1966]): The Order of Things: Archaeology of the Human Sciences. London: Routledge Gallagher, Susan Van Zanten (1988): "Torture and the Novel: J.M. Coetzee's Waiting for the Barbar- ians", Contemporary Literature 29.2, 277-285 Hirsch, Marianne (1979): "The Novel of Formation as Genre: Between Great Expectations and Lost Illusions", Genre, 12.3 293-311 Lindemann, Gesa (2009): "Gesellschaftliche Grenzregime und Soziale Differenzierung", Zeitschrift für Soziologie 38.2, 94-112 Lukács, Georg (1971 [1920]): The Theory of the Novel. A Historico-Philosophical Essay on the Forms of Great Epic Literature. Trans. Anna Bostock. Cambridge, MA: MIT McDonald, Peter D. (2004): "The Writer, the Critic, and the Censor: J.M. Coetzee and the Question of Literature", Book History 7, 285-302 Moretti, Franco (2000): "The Bildungsroman as Symbolic Form", in: The Way of the World: The Bil- dungsroman in European Culture. London: Verso, 3-13 Oestmann, Peter (2010): "Rechtmäßige und rechtswidrige Folter im gemeinen Strafprozess", in: Wei- tin, Thomas (ed.): Wahrheit und Gewalt. Der Diskurs der Folter in Europa und den USA. Biele- feld: Transcript, 87-110 Rejali, Darius (2007): Torture and Democracy. Princeton: Princeton UP --- (1994): Torture and Modernity: Self, Society and State in Modern Iran. Boulder: Westview Press Scarry, Elaine (1985): "The Structure of Torture: The Conversion of Real Pain into the Fiction of Power", in: The Body in Pain: The Making and Unmaking of the World. New York: Oxford UP, 27-59 Slaughter, Joseph R. (2006): "Enabling Fictions and Novel Subjects", PMLA 121, 1405-1423 --- (2007): Human Rights Inc.: The World Novel, Narrative Form and International Law. New York: Fordham UP Sorisio, Carolyn (2000): "The Spectacle of the Body: Torture in the Antislavery Writing of Lydia Maria Child and Frances E.W. Harper", Modern Language Studies 30.1, 45-66

FELIX C. H. SPRANG (BERLIN)

Identity Deformation and the Anti-Anti-Bildungsroman

For the sake of my argument I will follow the rather simplistic trajectory that the Bil- dungsroman took shape in the 18th century, was replaced by the anti-Bildungsroman at the beginning of the 19th century, remained dominant in that form throughout the 20th century, and that we are now witnessing the formation of a genre that could be called the anti-anti-Bildungsroman.1 In assuming that the anti-Bildungsroman replaced the Bildungsroman as early as the 1820s I am following Michael Bell who has argued that "the whole ideal of Bildung is perhaps unsustainable in the conditions of modernity", pointing to Wilhelm Meisters Wanderjahre (1829) in which, Bell claims, both Goethe and the hero "overtly reject the whole conception" (2007, 11). According to Bell, novels of formation in the 19th century have contributed to a rejection of Bildung as a positive influence, and with these novels of formation "Bildung is once again dissolved back into historical process but within a paralysing, rather than a progressive, model of the historical condition" (ibid., 142). For Bell it is in particular Nietzsche's critique of Bildung that "does not so much end the tradition [of the genre] but turns its whole cloth inside out to reveal the other side of the pattern" (ibid., 139). That other side of the pattern is the destructive nature of conformist Bildung. With the anti-Bil- dungsroman, then, Bildung is pushed off from its pedestal and is thought to have a paralysing rather than progressive effect – both on the level of individuals and on society as a whole.2 Bell is adamant that [i]n so far as the Bildungsroman survives into modernity […], it is largely by reflecting on the paradox of its own combined impossibility and necessity, a consciousness which was always at the heart of the genre. In literature, such aporetic self-reflection has dwindled to a postmodern cliché but it is nonetheless a significant emblem, and practical exemplar, of the internal paradox of humanistic education (ibid., 11). With respect to English literature, one could argue, of course, that Sterne's Tristram Shandy already fully exposed the "paradox of humanistic education": While Walter Shandy endlessly cites from obscure, mostly Patristic or pseudo-Aristotelian sources, his Uncle Toby falls asleep; and while Walter is busy writing the educational treatise Tristapaedia, Tristram's education is neglected. Possibly not Dickens' David Copper- field but most certainly Salinger's Catcher in the Rye is thus, in the tradition of the anti-Bildungsroman, a rewriting of Sterne's Tristram Shandy. Both Holden and Tris-

1 Marc Redfield has argued that the "genre does not properly exist", and that the "Bildungsroman exemplifies the ideological construction of literature by criticism" (1996, vii). In this paper, I trace the ideological construction and appropriation of the genre, arguing that the Bildungs- roman and its progeny do exist and are an integral part of a system of relational genres as described by John Frow (see 2006, 124-125). 2 There are few case studies that attempt to carve out generic differences between the Bildungs- roman and the anti-Bildungsroman, among them Peter Arnd's comparative study of Raabe's Prinzessin Fisch and Hardy's Jude the Obscure as Bildungsroman and anti-Bildungsroman respectively (1998). 318 FELIX C. H. SPRANG tram are trapped in their "self-conscious preoccupation with discourse over story" (Keymer 2006, 55). The survival of the Western Bildungsroman into modernity is largely due to the new momentum the genre gained as a result of Russian influences. As Lina Steiner explains in her monograph For Humanity's Sake. The Bildungsroman in Russian Culture (2011), Tolstoy's and Dostojevsky's novels, set in a "large and uneven Russia", were crucial for the self-reflective stance and the notion that there can be "multiple conceptions of happiness within a country" (12). We are all familiar with the anti-Bildungsroman, be it Goethe's Wilhelm Meisters Wanderjahre, Salinger's Catcher in the Rye, or Joyce's Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man. What these novels share is a critique not only of the telos of Bildung but more fundamentally of Bildung as such. Shaftesbury, Blumenbach, and Wilhelm von Humboldt all employed botanical analogies of growth assuming that people are cultivated in a reciprocal process between inner forces and society. For them Bildung operated on two levels: It transformed the individual to become a full and active member of society, and, at the same time, it propelled societies, indeed humanity, towards perfection: "[W]hen Herder and Lessing wrote their treatises on the 'education of mankind' they were concerned in the first instance not with individual pedagogic formation but with the collective evolution of human culture which it also served" (Bell 2007, 141). The anti-Bildungsroman no longer shared these beliefs: Is "the collective evolution of human culture" feasible? Why should the individual be transformed? Shouldn't the protagonist rather aim at expressing his or her individuality? And why should we, as readers, think that humanity's destiny is tied to conventional notions of Bildung? Shouldn't we aim at building a better society not paralysed by conventions and traditions? Viewed as part of a larger critique of modern societies, we do not have any problems with conceptualising the anti-Bildungsroman. But is the anti-Bildungsroman still state of the art? I should like to follow David H. Miles in his assessment that, if the progression of all art forms is indeed dialectical, then future novels of education – anti- anti-Bildungsromane, as it were – must also turn in part to the past for their materials, and yet must transform and transcend these: the new forms, in other words, will bear as little resemblance to the novels of Kafka and Grass as these in turn do to those of Goethe and Novalis. Per- haps they will not even be novels at all (1973, 348). That conjecture is just over forty years old, but studies into the anti-anti-Bildungs- roman are still few and far between. Miles, however, has pointed at the direction that the field of study should take: We must consider art that transcends the traditional novel form if we wish to understand present and potential future relationships between identity formation and narrative. As much as I like Miles' idea that the anti-anti- Bildungsroman may "not even be a novel at all", I suggest looking closer to home first in order to explore these new forms, and I would like to begin with discussing a form of life writing that emerged at the end of the 20th century: the misery memoir.

1. The Misery Memoir – A Prototypical Anti-Anti-Bildungsroman? Whatever we make of this phenomenon, we have to accept that 'mis lit' or 'misery memoirs' are popular with the reading public. As early as 2007 Brendan O'Neill ob- IDENTITY DEFORMATION AND THE ANTI-ANTI-BILDUNGSROMAN 319 served in an article for the BBC News online platform: "[B]estseller lists are full of memoirs about miserable childhoods and anguished families, and bookstores like Waterstones even have a 'Painful Lives' or 'Tragic Life Stories' shelf" (2007, n.p.). In my humble opinion reading misery memoirs is an acquired taste, but I think that a closer look at this genre can shed some light on what the anti-anti-Bildungsroman could be. In a sense, misery memoirs seem to revive the old Bildungsroman project. They often toy with the idea of Bildung as an escape route even if they are – unlike the 18th-century template – concerned in the first instance with individual failures or trauma rather than intellectual and emotional formation as a collective endeavour that aims at the improvement of modern societies. With a focus on individual hardship and individual recovery, misery memoirs have been defined as "autobiographical works in which the author recounts personal experiences of abuse or other trauma, typically suffered during childhood, and their eventual recovery from such experiences" (OED, s.v. 'misery memoir'). That recovery, interestingly, is usually predicated on a process of formation and self-awareness which is centred on notions of Bildung. I could stop here and argue that misery memoirs do not even transcend the Bildungs- roman, let alone the anti-Bildungsroman. Their narratives are simplistic in assuming that Bildung is non-controversial, and they are positivistic in suggesting that society on the whole is on the right track. This is a point made convincingly by Barbara Korte and Georg Zipp in their recent book Poverty in Contemporary Literature: Themes and Figurations on the British Book Market. Korte and Zipp argue that "[t]he misery memoir could be accused of "authenticating" poverty as cultural otherness because it often recurs to representational patterns that confirm associations of poverty with brutality, crime, alcoholism, neglect and a lack of hygiene" (2014, 28). With its simplistic and positivistic perspective the misery memoir is – in terms of genre – a dead end. It too easily falls into the fairy tale or quest narrative of an obstacle overcome, and the happy ending in particular does not address the "internal paradox of humanistic education" that Bell has identified at the heart of the genre. There are some, or perhaps better: few, exceptions, of course. These more ambitious misery memoirs fall neither for the simplistic nor the positivistic narrative, and they certainly stretch the conventions of the genre. Consider, for example, John Burnside's semi-autobiographical fictional writing in A Lie About My Father (2006) and Waking Up In Toytown (2010) which traces the story of a young man growing up in the industrial town of Corby and escaping that milieu with the help of scholarships and academic aspirations while, at the same time, looking back with a sense of nostalgia at the poverty and brutality of his childhood and adolescence years. In Burnside's most recent novel I Put a Spell on You (2014), partly written in that semi-autobiographical vein, nostalgia for working-class communities of the past is tied to a fundamental critique of a pervasive culture of consumption and distraction. Milieus of poverty, the narrative voice explains, allowed for heightened emotional experiences that can no longer exist in the comfort zones of shopping and entertainment provided for by global economies: In an era of more or less manufactured bedazzlement – the shorthand for which is celebrity – that sounds foolish; we are now almost obliged to forget, or to mock, the old glamourings, the variants of beauty and mania that could once bewhape. [FN: Verb (transitive archaic). To be- wilder; amaze; confuse; utterly confound. If any word deserves to be brought back into common parlance, it is this one.] 320 FELIX C. H. SPRANG

With his trilogy, Burnside addresses the dialectics of Bildung. His narrative prompts us to consider the kind of empowerment that comes with institutionalised education, and it demonstrates that Bildung, however crucial for self-determination, inevitably com- promises the individual and makes him or her accept a dominant culture centred on self-interest. That culture, as Gilles Deleuze, among others, has pointed out is prone to turn individuals into 'dividuals', into fragmented data that can be harvested to form data sets such as consumer profiles: "We no longer find ourselves dealing with the mass/individual pair. Individuals have become 'dividuals', and masses, samples, data, markets, or 'banks'" (1992, 5). Sarah Hall's short story collection The Beautiful Indifference (2011), which won the Portico Prize for Fiction and the Edge Hill short story prize in 2012, can be read as a misery memoir that explores Deleuze's idea of 'dividuals'. The focus here is not primarily on consumer culture, and yet the absence of a framework that could facilitate the sense of individuality is acutely felt in the collection. Hall's characters are fragmentary characters clearly attracted to violence and abuse, and her fictional worlds are defined by a kind of raw wilderness rather than an orderly society. Most importantly, though, at least from the vantage point of Bildung, Hall's characters are no social animals, they are animals with no intentions to play the game of formation – neither on a personal level nor on a political level. According to Justine Jordan in the Guardian Review, Hall "ushers wildness back into the domestic arena […]. The erotic charge of Hall's writing, its fierce physical power coexists with her characters' sense of separation: each [character] is a world entire, and they retain their depth, their mystery" (2011, 14). With characters created as "world[s] entire", characters that remain wild, uncivilised in a sense, formation as a collective or individual endeavour is no longer feasible. And it is thus possible to read Hall's short stories as forays into the death of the anti-Bildungsroman. I hope to have shown that novels like Burnside's I Put a Spell on You or short story collections like Hall's The Beautiful Indifference could arguably be seen as departures from the anti-Bildungsroman template. Neither is Bildung here seen as a stifling tradition nor is it glorified as a means to escape miserable lives. While Burnside explores the dialectics of education and formation in a society that creates politically dis- enfranchised 'dividuals' rather than empowered 'individuals', Hall points to – arguably dystopic – communities that can no longer serve as communities at all, with separated 'dividuals' turning to their animal side for orientation. Unlike the anti-Bildungsroman, then, these texts do not simply disqualify Bildung as a negative force; they rather in- sinuate Bildung as a meretricious promise (Burnside) or as an absent reference point (Hall). With that shift of perspective, these fictional creations can be read as explorations of a new genre: the anti-anti-Bildungsroman. The more conventional renditions of the 'misery memoir' genre, however, certainly revert to the 'original' Bildungsroman type. Much more could be said about explorations of the limitations and constraints of the Bildungsroman genre in the domain of prose fiction. With Miles' notion in mind that new forms of the genre may not be novels at all, though, I should like to address the question of mediality along with genre as a more promising exploration of the anti- anti-Bildungsroman template. According to Michael Bell, "with the Bildungsroman, the educative beneficiary is ultimately less the Socratic interlocutor than the Platonic IDENTITY DEFORMATION AND THE ANTI-ANTI-BILDUNGSROMAN 321 reader: the meaning lies a little beyond and above the action that is narrated" (2007, 241). Bell reminds us that from its beginnings the focus of the Bildungsroman is not primarily on the protagonist's trajectory but the reader's educative formation during his or her act of reading: At the heart of the genre is the reader's intellectual and emotional involvement regardless, perhaps, of whether the protagonist's quest for self-realisation is rendered successful. In other words, it is not so much the kind of stories told but rather the mode of discourse and the aesthetic effect that we should look at when identifying old and new types of the Bildungsroman.

2. Narration, Mediality, and the Bildungsroman My main point is that we should not look at the novel form, or at least not exclusively at the novel form, when we think about the current state of the Bildungsroman. The novel form is essentially a literary form that gravitates towards its ending, as Georg Lukács has pointed out in his essay on Richard Beer-Hofmann (entitled "The Moment and Form" in the English translation): Every written work is constructed round a question and progresses in such a way that it can suddenly stop at the edge of an abyss – suddenly, unexpectedly, yet with compelling force. And even if it leads us past luxuriant palm groves or fields of glowing white lilies, it will always lead to the edge of the great abyss, and can never stop anywhere else before it reaches the edge (1974 [1908], 113-114). That sense of an ending as stopping at the edge of an abyss is particularly suited to the anti-Bildungsroman. Here the protagonist is confronted – in the end – with the futility of his quest for self-determination. Arguably, then, the many creative turns that authors invented to explore possible endings is essentially a negotiation of the anti- Bildungsroman's closed form. At the same time, as Marianna Torgovnick has pointed out, the ending of a novel exerts a particular influence on readers because of its apparent fictionality: Closure "defamiliarizes and makes us feel anew the artfulness of a fictional structure, the essence of some human experience or both" (1981, 209). The anti- Bildungsroman is no exception here; in fact, closure in the form of the protagonist accepting that self-realisation and self-actualisation must remain an unattainable telos is a feasible way of conceptualising the genre. In search of the anti-anti-Bildungsroman, which would have to once again appropriate the closed form and its expedient ending, one obvious place to look is, of course, the World Wide Web. Blogs and online writing projects, co-authored by many users, can subvert the notion of closure. There are many blogs devoted to producing co-authored and open-ended coming-of-age narratives or stories of formation. One of the more conventional projects in the digital humanities is, for example, the online "Bildungs- roman Project" run by Katherine Carlson at the University of North Carolina. She asks students to contribute short stories that discuss coming-of-age phenomena. What could be a playing ground of different voices and perspectives, however, turns out to be a platform for highly conventional autobiographical and fictional writing that often falls into the traditional pattern of the coming-of-age novel. Undoubtedly, more exciting narratives in the vein of the Bildungsroman can be found in all corners of the Internet. One example is the "Bildungsroman Blog" by the web persona Little Willow. She describes herself as a book lover who is "among other things, a bookseller and freelance book reviewer and journalist" ( , last accessed 24 February 2015). With her blog, Little Willow shares her reading experiences and her experiences as a book seller, and the web community can share in the process of creating a persona on the grounds of her self-reflective communication with books and readers: One afternoon in the bookstore, a young woman in her late teens approached me and said, 'Ex- cuse me. Can you help me? I want some books like […]' She named a few teen fiction titles that dealt with drug abuse and anorexia. […] We had a great discussion. I was happy on any levels: happy that she felt comfortable enough to come to me, happy that she was open-minded, happy that I got some realistic, well-written books in her hand. This urged me to make a list of books dealing with tough issues – eating disorders, loss and grieving, addiction, abuse, and so forth. As much as I find these projects intriguing, I suggest taking a different course. Too little attention, in my mind, has been paid to the fact that the Bildungsroman was conceived exactly at the time when Restauration stage conventions with their aristocratic fops were called into question. This transition is certainly tied to broader social change, in particular the rise of the middling sort and the valorisation of a bourgeois way of life. With that transition, however, new modes of acting and presenting characters took hold of the stage, and it is arguably no coincidence that the rise of the Bil- dungsroman as a genre coincides with the re-evaluation of drama in Britain, France, and Germany. As part of a concerted effort to conceptualise a new kind of domestic hero for the stage, Lisa A. Freeman has shown, Horace Walpole, for example, supported the view that while the man of humour resisted and indeed was constitutionally (in every sense of that word) incapable of conforming his behaviour to the conventions and demands of a social culture, the man of sentiment and good breeding, by definition, took his cues from that social culture and adapted his behaviour to its normative codes (2002, 211). French drama, foremost Diderot's sentimental comedies and farce tragedies which explore the dilemma of negotiating ethical principles and personal obligations, can be viewed as a nurturing ground from which the Bildungsroman evolved, as can German plays, in particular Lessing's, which probed into a bourgeois moral and its hypocrisy.3 Hence, I would like to stress the theatricality of the Bildungsroman as a genre. Aca- demics have been focusing on novels, following in the footsteps of Karl von Morgen- stern who – when coining the term 'Bildungsroman' in his lectures on aesthetics in 1819 – exclusively discussed novels. But for Morgenstern, the performative and affective nature of the reading process was crucial. In Morgenstern's view, as pointed out by Tobias Boes recently, the "Bildungsroman gazes not inward, at the development of its fictional protagonist, but outward, into the real world and toward the development of its audience" (2009, 648). In Morgenstern's period reading was still very much a social affair, reading out loud and in company was the norm. However, as reading practices became more private, the aesthetic and moral qualities of the Bildungsroman that Morgenstern had in mind are probably better served in the theatre. In fact, plays in the mode of the Bildungsroman have continuously been staged in Europe since the beginning of the 18th century, the most prominent among them Gay's Beggar's Opera

3 Looking at the theatre can also help explain the absence of female protagonist in the early Bil- dungsroman. Not only was self-determination gendered as male. Throughout the 18th century "[w]omen and female passions would continue to be cast as dangerous forces, indeed as the very causes of tragic errors" (Freeman 2002, 144). IDENTITY DEFORMATION AND THE ANTI-ANTI-BILDUNGSROMAN 323

(1728) or Lessing's Emilia Galotti (1772). Then, 19th-century melodrama such as von Kotzebue's Spanier in Peru (1796) [which was adapted by the English playwright Richard Brinsley Sheridan as Pizarro (1799)] and 19th-century problem plays like Ibsen's Peer Gynt (1876) happily embraced the new paradigm of the anti-Bildungs- roman. The 20th-century stage continued to portray the inherent paradox of Bildung as an integral part of a character's development. However, post-war theatre found it more difficult to accommodate the model of a character breaking free from the constraints of society and embracing happily – in the process of grappling with his or her Bildung – his or her individuality. There is a long list of plays that challenge the very place of Bildung as a meaningful concept: Borchert's Draußen vor der Tür, Beckett's Waiting for Godot, Churchill's Top Girls, Cartwright's Road, or Marber's Closer all explore worlds or communities that have no place for Bildung. Now, are there currently attempts in the theatre to bring to life the anti-anti-Bildungs- roman? Instead of presenting a survey of theatre projects that seem to tackle the genre, among them Jon Provan's Coming of Age and Falk Richter's Small Town Boy, which premiered at the Ford Foundation Studio Theatre, New York, and the Gorki Theatre, Berlin, respectively in 2014, I would like to discuss an ongoing project by the Shef- field-based theatre group Forced Entertainment.

3. Void Story Forced Entertainment, described by The Guardian as "Britain's most brilliant experimental theatre company", has been working creatively over the course of 30 years to explore unconventional ways of telling stories and modelling characters on stage (Saunders 2015, 191). The production that lends itself in particular to help explore the potential of performance art for the anti-anti-Bildungsroman is a project entitled "Void Story".4 According to the director Tim Etchells, the show – which premiered at the Soho Theatre as part of the 2009 SPILL Festival – is a bleak but comic fable that follows its protagonists from post-apocalyptic housing estates to subterranean tunnels, psychotic funfairs and haunted hotels. The performance lies somewhere between live radio play and film dubbing, in which hundreds of roughly assembled and heavily pixelated still images are projected on to a large screen, while the actors provide live voices and sound effects to move the action forward (2011, n.p.). Typical for Forced Entertainment's projects, the audience senses that what they see is an unfinished product.5 The black and white images on the screen look like cardboard cuttings that have been arranged and filmed in a haphazard fashion. The actors/performers, who speak the lines of the main characters (Richard Lowdon and Cathy Naden) and the supporting roles (Robin Arthur and Terry O'Connor), sit behind desks and seem to improvise the stories as they watch the images flicker on the screen. The makeshift aesthetics are at odds with the hyperbolic narrative that includes episodes of being tortured, attacked by giant insects, and shot. And the absurdity of it all is heightened by the performers sitting calmly at their desks when reporting these events that allegedly happened to them in a past that they are (re-)constructing in the present.

4 A trailer for the production can be viewed on Forced Entertainment's website: . 5 For a discussion of Forced Entertainment's toying with incompleteness see Etchells 1999, esp. 78; 95-97, and Bailes 2010, 63-65. 324 FELIX C. H. SPRANG

Copyright: Tim Etchells/Vlatka Horvat (above); Hugo Glendinning (below) "Void Story is an unusual work even by Forced Entertainment's standards […]", Tim Etchells explains: Perhaps what really makes the piece work is how it affects and involves the audience. Watching the performers add dialogue, cue sound effects and operate the digital controls produces something unexpectedly involving – a movie where there is no movie, only a succession of stills; a show in which paradoxically there is little show. It's the gaps that make it, hopefully – gaps between images, or in the images themselves, gaps between the performers and the text. They are voids that the spectators fill for themselves from the clues that flash by (2011, n.p.). IDENTITY DEFORMATION AND THE ANTI-ANTI-BILDUNGSROMAN 325

"Void Story" beautifully brings to the fore what I would call identity deformation in our present times. The two protagonists, Kim and Justin, move through hybrid environments that are both digital and corporeal. In a world of infotainment on a global scale we are constantly bombarded with the most extreme images and stories – from supernatural documentary television series to the daily news real that will include a shooting spree in Arkansas, a flood catastrophe in the Ganges-Brahmaputra Delta, a multiple pile up on a motorway in the south, and a rotten meat scandal at the local slaughterhouse. How are we affected by these 'news'? Are they part of our 'Bildungs- landschaft'? What are our resources – based on our Bildung – to make sense of that information overload? And is Bildung still a helpful resource for grappling with that overload? More importantly still, perhaps, the 'void' in "Void Story" points at the vac- uum at the very heart of the formation process. What are our reference points – if Bil- dung is a cluster of shared reference points – that enable us to construe the story of our formation? While information overload is an integral part of modern societies – it is a sentiment shared by contemporaries of Shakespeare, for example – it is only in recent years, arguably since the end of the Cold War, that there are no reliable narratives, no shared reference points, to make sense of the endless stream of information (see Rosenberg 2003). The Bildungsroman as well as the anti-Bildungsroman as genres are both predicated on the belief that narratives of formation and reference points for Bil- dung are recognisable and identifiable by readers who either embrace them or reject them. The anti-anti-Bildungsroman, on the other hand, addresses the 'void' at the centre, the rhizomic nature of contemporary societies. "Void Story", at least in my attempt to identify a coherent theme in a production that constantly undermines the very notion of coherence, addresses that void and invites audiences to search their souls for strategies to carve out biographies as lives lived meaningfully.

4. Summary By way of conclusion, then, I would like to revisit Miles' contention that the anti-anti- Bildungsroman may "not even be [a] novel[…] at all" and reflect on how "Void Story" "turn[s] in part to the past for [its] material[…], and yet […] transform[s] and transcend[s]" that material (1973, 348). "Void Story" acknowledges a central feature of the anti-Bildungsroman narrative: As the telos of the formation process is called into question, neither the protagonist nor the audience can make sense of the events that unfold.6 But "Void Story" also poses the more fundamental question whether the dichotomy of a successful formation here and failed or abortive attempts at formation there, a dichotomy premised by the Bildungsroman and challenged by the anti-Bildungs- roman, still serves a useful purpose. That question, I think, is prompted by the aesthetics of the performance but ultimately hinges on the audience's involvement. While the anti-Bildungsroman is built around an affirmative core – with the protagonist asserting his or her individuality against society, "Void Story" leaves audiences at a loss as to

6 I am following Gerhart Mayer here, who has argued – with respect to the German anti-Bil- dungsroman – that mysterious events, among other features, constitute the genre: "Infolge der fehlenden Finalität des Bildungsprozesses vermißt der Leser die Zielgerichtetheit des Erzählens. […] Der Autor verunsichert ihn durch eine verworren-skurrile Komposition, durch merkwürdi- ge Kapitelüberschriften oder Untertitel, ferner durch rätselhafte Vorgänge, die bis zuletzt nicht aufgeklärt werden" (Mayer 1974, 61). 326 FELIX C. H. SPRANG whether the two characters are individuals in the first place and whether such a core exists in the dystopian world they inhabit. As the two characters construct narratives haphazardly when images from memory flash up, we as the audience begin to suspect that at least some of the images are fantasies prompted by media use. At the same time the actors' repeated insistence on hope and optimism only brings to the fore that the lives they construct have no telos. While the anti-Bildungsroman explored the ongoing tensions between the protagonist and society, "Void Story" presents a bleak picture of a world in which protagonists have no sense of direction. And while the anti-Bildungs- roman was built around a critique of society and its notion of Bildung, no society takes shape in "Void Story". In fact, the cardboard aesthetics make us wonder how "real" these characters and the world they live in are: The two "real" actors seem strangely removed from the characters to which they lend their voices, and they don't seem to share the same world that their characters inhabit. Most of all, though, performances like "Void Story" do not raise expectations about closure or character development. Audiences enter a realm of associations and contingencies, and there is no time – and no authority – to make sense of those associations. Performance art can thus expose the feigned integrity and the careful construction of fictional worlds that we as readers are used to. As much as I like David Miles' suggestion that the anti-anti-Bildungsroman may not be a novel at all, and as much as I would like to read "Void Story" as an example of an aesthetic form that transcends the conventional model, the question must be asked: whether we are not construing a place for Bildung when there is none? Can we really subsume "Void Story" under the genre anti-anti-Bildungsroman? Is Bildung an issue at all? I would like to end on something like a conjecture, a conjecture that places the dialogic nature of "Void Story" with its two protagonists as well as the aesthetics of an unfinished project at the centre: Bildung in the era of the anti-anti-Bildungsroman is decisively discursive but it no longer references a nucleus of shared beliefs, it emerges at the moment when two or more individuals defy their diminishment as 'dividuals' and embrace notions of humanity that do not automatically acknowledge Humboldt's ideals or Enlightenment values as universals. To put it more bluntly, "Void Story" invites us to see Bildung taking shape in the conversation between the two performers/ characters on stage – and, more importantly, in the conversations the production prompts in the audience. After all, the litmus test for Bildung in our time is no longer whether we can agree to share the same beliefs; the litmus test is one of social practice: Can we engage in meaningful conversations that empower rather than disenfranchise us, conversations that turn 'dividuals' into cosmopolitans who recognise and embrace their attachments to their fellow human beings?

References Primary Sources Bildungsroman Blog. Web. [last accessed 24 February 2015] Bildungsroman Project. Web. [last accessed 24 February 2015] Burnside, John (2014): I Put a Spell on You. London: Jonathan Cape IDENTITY DEFORMATION AND THE ANTI-ANTI-BILDUNGSROMAN 327

Forced Entertainment (2011): Void Story. Dir. Tim Etchells (World Premiere: 21 April 2009, Soho Theatre, London) Hall, Sarah (2011): The Beautiful Indifference. London: Harper Collins

Secondary Sources Arnds, Peter (1998): "The Boy with the Old Face: Thomas Hardy's Antibildungsroman 'Jude the Ob- scure' and Wilhelm Raabe's Bildungsroman 'Prinzessin Fisch'", German Studies Review 21.2, 221- 240 Bailes, Sarah Jane (2011): Performance Theatre and the Poetics of Failure: Forced Entertainment, Goat Island, Elevator Repair Service. London: Routledge Bell, Michael (2007): Open Secrets: Literature, Education, and Authority from J-J. Rousseau to J.M. Coetzee. Oxford: Oxford UP Boes, Tobias (2009): "Critical Introduction to 'On the Nature of the Bildungsroman' ('Über das Wesen des Bildungsromans') [1819] by Karl Morgenstern", PMLA 124.2, 647-649 Brendan O'Neill: Web. , Tuesday, 17 April 2007 Deleuze, Gilles (1992): "Postscript on the Societies of Control", October 59, 2-7 Etchells, Tim (1999): Certain Fragments. Contemporary Performance and Forced Entertainment. London: Routledge --- (2011): "Tim Etchells on performance: how we made Void Story", The Guardian, 20 October 2011. Web. [last accessed 24 February 2015] Freeman, Lisa A. (2002): Character's Theater: Genre and Identity on the Eighteenth-Century English Stage. Pennsylvania: U of Pennsylvania P Frow, John (2006): Genre. Abingdon: Routledge Jordan, Justine (2011): "The Beautiful Indifference by Sarah Hall – Review", The Guardian Review, 26 November 2011, 14 Keymer, Tom (2006): Laurence Sterne's Tristram Shandy: A Casebook. Oxford: Oxford UP Korte, Barbara; Zipp, Georg (2014): Poverty in Contemporary Literature: Themes and Figurations on the British Book Market. Basingstoke: Palgrave Lukács, Georg (1974 [1908]): "The Moment and Form", in: Lukács, Georg: Soul and Form. London: Merlin Press, 106-123 Mayer, Gerhart (1974): "Zum deutschen Antibildungsroman", Jahrbuch der Raabe-Gesellschaft 15, 41-64 Miles, David H. (1973): "Kafka's Hapless Pilgrims and Grass's Scurrilous Dwarf: Notes on Represen- tative Figures in the Anti-Bildungsroman", Monatshefte 65.4, 341-350 Redfield, Marc (1996): Phantom Formations: Aesthetic Ideology and the Bildungsroman. Ithaca: Cor- nell UP Rosenberg, Daniel (2003): "Early Modern Information Overload", Journal of the History of Ideas 64.1, 1-9 Saunders, Graham (2015): British Theatre Companies: 1980-1994. London: Bloomsbury Methuen Drama Steiner, Lina (2011): For Humanity's Sake. The Bildungsroman in Russian Culture. Torgovnick, Marianna (1981): Closure in the Novel. Princeton: Princeton UP

URSULA KLUWICK (BERNE)

Climate Change, the Novel, and the Bildungsroman: The Relation of Things in an Emergent World

Over the past few decades, climate change has come to dominate environmentalist discourse, and it has turned into one of the central paradigms of environmental thinking. At the same time, it has also entered the broader public arena and is becoming ever more visible in the media, in political party programmes, in the arts, and in public life in general: It appears to have been singled out as the great challenge facing today's world. As such, it also has a unitary force. In the past, issues such as overpopulation, the hole in the ozone layer, atomic hazards, and species extinction seemed to draw attention as more or less separate issues; now, they are much more likely to be viewed as deeply connected with each other, because of their relation to climate change. In its ability to bring into actual and conceptual contiguity such diverse elements and events, climate change is directly affecting our perception of the world, and forcing us to reconsider our own position on this planet and in relation to the things and beings with which we interact, not only on a direct and tangible basis, but also in much more indirect, subtle, and complex ways. Hence climate change is much more than a physical and scientific fact. The environmental crisis, Richard Kerridge observed in 1998, "is also a cultural crisis, a crisis of representation" (4). It is also, I want to add, a crisis of the imagination, and it is in these two related senses, as a challenge to the imagination and to representation, that climate change is relevant to this essay. Let me briefly sketch the problem. More than other, more localised or tangible environmental hazards, climate change is fraught with fundamental conceptual difficulties. "Imagining climate change is an enormously difficult task", as Adam Trexler contends, largely because "it is impossible to have a direct experience of climate" (2014, 205). Most of us experience the weather on a daily sensuous basis, but climate "is a pattern of weather demonstrated over time, so no single storm or heat wave can be ascribed to climate change" (ibid.). The fact that individual weather events have nevertheless become firmly associated with a changing climate in much public discourse points to our need for concrete material signs onto which our imagination can fasten in the effort to understand climate change.1 Yet this effort is easily frustrated by some of the freak characteristics of climate change, such as its fuzzy timescale. Though climate change is an ongoing process which is already happening, climate change scenarios are most frequently presented as future events. The temporal anchorage of climate change, and in particular the role of human agency in relation to the time factor, are thus experienced as fundamentally unclear. In the same vein, climate change appears to condense time (scientists and lobbyists for more ambitious mitigation efforts argue that the next few years will be decisive), at the same time that it expands it (the same argument foregrounds the longevity of our actions now, since they

1 In some parts of the world, of course, the consequences of climate change are already far too readily perceptible, as in the case of coastlines threatened by rising sea levels. 330 URSULA KLUWICK will affect the life on earth for anything between the entire 22nd century and "thou- 2 sands of years"). Climate change, poststructuralist ecocritic Timothy Morton contends, is an example of what he calls hyperobjects, "massively distributed entities that can be thought and computed, but not directly touched or seen" (2013, 37). They "last forever", he says, and they "outlast us all" (2010, 130). The complex temporal nature of climate change is also mirrored in its repercussions on space. Not only is it altering the correlation of specific geographical and climatological regions, but it also exposes the spatial reach of apparently localised lives and actions in general. Behaviours in one place have far-reaching consequences in others: Rob Nixon has theorised this through the notion of slow violence, "a violence of delayed destruction that is dispersed across time and space" (2011, 2). In this essay, I examine the manner in which the novel engages with climate change. Many ecocritics in fact doubt whether the novel can do this in any productive way. As Astrid Bracke deplores, "self-referentiality, anthropocentrism, and urban audience […] seem to have put many ecocritics off the contemporary English novel altogether" (2014, 434). Its scale is considered too limited and its function "as a social medium" (Head 1998, 37) renders its role for the representation of climate change a vexed question. With its focus on "character and interiority" (Bracke 2014, 425), the plot of the novel tends to lead "towards a climactic confrontation" (Kerridge 2014, 364), and as Kerridge reminds us, such a "concentrated revelatory moment" might well remain "split off from practical everyday life" (ibid., 364-365). In short, the trajectory of the novel itself might run counter to the ethical impetus which Kerridge, at least, demands from "environmentally inflected" (Bracke 2014, 423) literature. Nevertheless, the novel is currently our most popular narrative form, and as such ecocritics would ignore it at their peril. Nor should its role as a "social medium" be an obstacle to ecocritical analysis, for environmental phenomena such as climate change are also social issues, fundamentally entangled with human social behaviour. As Ker- ridge argues despite his own scepticism regarding the novel as an environmental form, "ecocritics will not […] search for a small number of new forms or genres specially adapted to environmental priorities. Rather, they will want to address […] various needs and audiences" (2014, 369-70). In the following, while fully aware of the intrinsically anthropocentric tendencies of the novel, I want to identify some of the narrative strategies through which climate change novels can render climate change conceptually tangible and through which they conceptualise the multiply connected universe which climate change foregrounds. For the purposes of this essay, I juxtapose two different types of climate change novels: Kim Stanley Robinson's Science in the Capital trilogy (Forty Signs of Rain, 2004; Fifty Degrees Rising, 2005; and Sixty Days and Counting, 2007),3 which chooses the arguably more conservative mode of depicting climate change as a challenge, and Maggie Gee's The Flood (2004), which exhibits a more experimental engagement with the perception of the world as entangled characteristic of conceptual-

2 These different estimates come from Trexler 2014, 205 and Morton 2010, 131, respectively. 3 For the purposes of this essay, I will basically treat these texts as a single work. As Johns-Putra also notes, "the three novels are ideally discussed together, as they form not so much a trilogy but a single text in the style of a Victorian triple-decker, as Robinson has himself indicated" (2010, 751-752). CLIMATE CHANGE, THE NOVEL, AND THE BILDUNGSROMAN 331 isations of climate change. I argue that climate change novels often incorporate a classic Bildungsroman scenario: the growth of human characters in interaction with the surrounding world.4 Before I turn to my two sets of novels in more detail, therefore, I want to consider the significance of the Bildungsroman for climate change fiction in order to explore whether it can provide a useful analytical tool for the literary representation of climate change.

1. Climate Change Fiction and the Bildungsroman Since the 1970s, climate change fiction has undergone a prolific development, and it is, of course, difficult to make generalisations about the large corpus of novels that by now deal with climate change. In their overview of climate change fiction, Adam Trexler and Adeline Johns-Putra list a great variety of texts with widely diverging generic alliances: science fiction, (eco-)thrillers, dystopian and utopian fiction, political satire, fantasy, comic, and serious literature – the spectrum of climate change fiction is extremely wide (2011, 187-188). For this essay, I draw on near-future science fiction (Robinson's trilogy)5 and a dystopian novel with a near-utopian frame (Gee). Of these four novels, none are occupied explicitly with youth or the development from youth to maturity, nor are they primarily concerned with the dynamics between individuality, autonomy, and socialisation, the productive tension from which the Bildungsroman takes its impetus in Moretti's definition of the genre. Does this mean that these novels are not Bildungsromane at all? Naturally, I want to argue that they are, albeit in the more "free-floating" manner in which Tobias Boes contends the term is employed in Anglo-American literary criticism, as opposed to its "much more restrictive usage" in Germanic studies (2006, 232). As Helena Feder argues in her ecocritical study on the Bildungsroman, biology, and the idea of culture, the term Bildungsroman can be understood to relate to "the formation of the human itself" (2014, 19). For her, the "Bildungsroman is humanism's story of becoming human as becoming part of culture, the humanist origin story of culture itself, of its self-creation out of nature" (ibid.). In the context of the literary representation of ecological crisis this means that if the classic Bildungsroman focuses on the socialisation of the individual as an articulation of the formation of culture, climate change fiction can take the form of a more explicitly communal Bildungsroman, in which not only an individual but the entire human species are required to develop in ways which call for a radical reconsideration of the interaction between the individual and its environment, a reformulation of the interrelation between humanity and the planet, with all its different forms of life and things. In this respect, many climate change novels are novels of formation in the broadest sense, since they deal with the re-formation of the organisation of life on the planet. If the Bildungsroman, in Moret-

4 Climate change novels tend to focus less on the individual than on groups of characters, though a concentration on the human species per se seems to lie beyond the aesthetic possibilities of the novel. 5 See Johns-Putra 2010, 754) for how this near-future setting complicates the genre of the Science in the Capital trilogy, leading some critics to doubt whether it can really be counted as science fiction. Markley, for instance, contends that the trilogy is "less a future history or (from the vantage point of 2012) an alternative history than a visionary reassessment of the assumptions and values that define contemporary science and politics" (2012, 8). 332 URSULA KLUWICK ti's classic formulation, is "the symbolic form that more than any other has portrayed and promoted modern socialization" (1987, 10), climate change novels give socialisation a new twist as the reconfiguration of society in terms of a broader community of shared material existence. The story which the climate change Bildungsroman tells is not only "always the story of culture" but also "the story of 'nature', of our knowledge of human animality and nonhuman agency or subjectivity" (Feder 2014, 19). Michail Bakhtin's definition of the Bildungsroman as a narrative in which "man's individual emergence is inseparably linked to historical emergence" (23) is helpful here. Bakhtin analyses the Bildungsroman as a genre which shows that "the very foundations of the world are changing, and man must change along with them" (1986, 23-24). This idea of a tandem change is, of course, extraordinarily apt in relation to climate change, and so the Bildungsroman, loosely defined along Bakhtinian terms, potentially fosters the creative imagination of climate change as a genre able to express such a shared change.

2. Science in the Capital: The Challenge of Climate Change Kim Stanley Robinson's Science in the Capital trilogy follows the generic pattern of the classic (Morettian) Bildungsroman much more closely than The Flood, the more 'literary' novel which I discuss below. The trilogy constructs a classic climate-change- as-challenge scenario in which humanity is faced with the task of averting the worst consequences of abrupt climate change. It revolves around a group of scientists at the National Science Foundation (NSF) in Washington, D.C., who notice the event that triggers abrupt climate change and later launch a large-scale scientific programme in order to battle its consequences. What is immediately apparent from this very brief synopsis is the explicit anthropocentrism of the Science in the Capital trilogy. The focus lies with a group of scientists and policy makers who set out to tackle climate change. Even though the trilogy is critical of current lifestyles and suggests a number of alternatives to, for instance, consumerism,6 generically, the trilogy is a very traditional example of science fiction in which, even though human behaviour might pose a problem for the world, humans themselves are eventually able to provide at least a partial answer and solution through their technological inventiveness.7 Technology seems to offer a way forward and even though the last part of Sixty Days and Counting also addresses scientific hubris, the trilogy is not formally inventive in that it supports rather than challenges anthropocentric paradigms through its focus on human characters. This is apparent in its stress on the individual lives and developments of a small cast of characters: the Quibler family, Frank Vanderval, a bio-mathematician at UCSD who works for NSF, future president Phil Chase, and a group of Khembalis, representatives of a fictional Buddhist island nation, whose homeland is threatened by rising sea levels. The most important protagonist is Frank, whose personal development the novel follows most closely and in a near classical, if condensed, Bildungsroman scenario. Initially withdrawn and reticent

6 For instance, in the freegan mode of life with which the protagonist Frank experiments. 7 In this, Robinson's trilogy is disturbingly similar to what I have termed "climate change manuals" and their representation of climate change as manageable through human technological advancement. See Kluwick 2014, 503 and 512-13. CLIMATE CHANGE, THE NOVEL, AND THE BILDUNGSROMAN 333 almost to the point of emotional and social handicap, over the course of the trilogy Frank is effectively socialised, becoming an important member of U.S. scientific policy leadership with friendship networks that stretch across the social spectrum, and, at the very end of the novel, finding personal fulfilment with a new partner and a baby on the way. Like his colleagues at NSF and, eventually and very optimistically, the U.S. government, Frank actively attempts to build a world that can survive in a changed climate: an endeavour that involves hard science just as much as it presupposes a change in mentality. Crucial to this project is the return of the group, or, perhaps, the pack, as the most significant social unit. It is through this focus on the pack that Robinson's trilogy, despite its undeniably persistent anthropocentrism and despite its equally undeniable concentration on the personal life stories of a small group of (human) characters, attempts to explore the idea of communality which is central to conceptualisations of a climate changed word. In order to explore this further, I want to consider Frank's role as hero. For reasons of conciseness, I have singled out Frank as the protagonist of the Science of the Capital trilogy, but as Johns-Putra asserts, this is not quite accurate: […] [T]he trilogy presents us with no obvious hero. Although it is possible to identify Frank as the central character, as do Luckhurst and Prettyman, it is significant that Frank's experiences do not come to the fore until the second novel, and that the first novel opens with Anna and ex- pends much narrative energy on the Quiblers. […] It would seem, then, that the inclusive nature of Robinson's utopian vision requires a corporate or, more accurately, communal hero. (Johns- Putra 2010, 757) Drawing on Robinson's essay Imagining Abrupt Climate Change: Terraforming Earth (2005), Johns-Putra concludes that "the Science in the Capital trilogy presents us with the NSF, or indeed, science itself as hero" (ibid.). This conclusion, of course, is appropriately in tune with the manner in which the trilogy clings to a narrative of science as progress. However, I want to draw attention to yet another possible hero for Robin- son's text, and highlight the role of the group, community, or pack, for the trilogy and its Bildungsroman denouement. In Imagining Abrupt Climate Change, written before the final novel in the trilogy, Robinson identifies his trilogy as a "domestic comedy about global catastrophe" (2005, 17), and, as such, sets it in relation with the communal genre par excellence. One of the elements comedy shares with the Bildungsroman in terms of structure, is, of course, precisely its movement towards socialisation and (re-)integration, towards the community. Joseph Meeker, in his classic analysis of comedy as an intrinsically ecological genre, links this pattern to the representation of humanity's "capacity for survival": comedy celebrates "the continuity of life itself" in a "ritual renewal of biological welfare as it persists in spite of any reasons there may be for feeling metaphysical despair" (1996, 159). The existence of a community, of a group, then, is life-affirming, and forms a basic prerequisite for comedy, just as much as for the Bildungsroman, which explores the way in which the individual evolves through interaction with its environment. Robinson's choice of comedy and Bildungs- roman as narrative patterns for his tentatively utopian near-future science fiction novel, then, also allows him to highlight the importance of community for the achievement of adaptation which his trilogy presents as the most feasible path towards survival, if by that we understand the 'altruistic' project of survival for the greatest pos- 334 URSULA KLUWICK sible number of people with the smallest possible loss of living standard. The communal nature of this adaptive effort is expressed through the importance of the group, partly figured as pack in the trilogy. From the beginning of Forty Signs of Rain, groups emerge as significant entities. Anna Quibler, the first centre of focalisation in the novel, is part of a family group – she is first presented to us as a wife and working mother as she leaves her house for work. She is also part of a specific professional group, but before we see her as a member of the scientific community, she meets the representatives of the Khembali embassy, who are just moving into the NSF building in an effort to gain visibility in their political group-identity as an island nation threatened by global warming. Thus the connection between the nuclear family unit of the Quiblers and the radically different culture of the Khembalis is established through a chance encounter in the first pages of the novel, one in a series of events which will foster the development of a network of groups which links the Quiblers, the Khembalis, Phil Chase and his administration, the NSF, and Frank. Frank has a strong evolutionary interest in group behaviour and sees the new mode of living which he develops in the second novel in the trilogy as a "project in paleolithic living" (Robinson 2004, 57) which combines a new engagement with his surroundings with a re-definition of his identity according to current group alliance. Indeed, it is only the fact that his existence is strategically "split out into different groups that never met" (ibid.) that allows him to conduct his paleolithic experiment, since it enables him to elude surveillance and become invisible as soon as he leaves work. Paradoxically, it is the moment in which he realises the anonymous potential of such an essentially "parcellated" (ibid.) group existence that initiates a chain of events that will eventually counteract such parcellation by turning him into a self-aware rather than accidental member of many groups (the "Bros" in the park, the frisbee players whom he regularly joins for runs, the refugees in the Khembali embassy, the freegans). That Frank's integration into a wider social network and his achievement of a social rather than solitary identity are enabled by his discovery of groups of affiliation corresponds with the novel's general investment in the promotion of the group, since, as I have already suggested, one of its most insistent arguments concerns the need for a common effort in the face of climate change. It is only through cooperation between various countries and interest groups, and, above all, through sustained collaboration between politics and science, that climate change can be prevented from becoming a total extinction event. As Johns-Putra observes, this "concord" is symbolised in the marriage between Phil Chase, the president, and Diane Chang, his presidential science advisor and former head of NSF (2010, 752). Mitigation, terraforming, and the ultimately utopian scenario which the Science in the Capital trilogy imagines can only be achieved through a common vision and a common effort. That the Quiblers, at the end of the novel, consider moving in with the Khembalis into the massive treehouse they have built on a farm in order to reduce their carbon footprint through a shared mode of living is, therefore, indicative of the importance of the community as the unit through which the challenge of climate change can be met.8 Group existence is not a

8 Collaboration and community are crucial for much ideologically inflected fiction such as working-class, feminist or postcolonial fiction. What makes the Science in the Capital trilogy a slightly special case, perhaps, is the manner in which group alliance is at once voluntary and privileged (Frank is a top-notch scientist who can choose his group affiliations) and, simultan- CLIMATE CHANGE, THE NOVEL, AND THE BILDUNGSROMAN 335 temporary phenomenon, but a necessary goal. If, as Feder contends, "the story of individual acculturation is always the story of culture" (2014, 19), Robinson's climate change trilogy channels the notion of the individual towards and into the group and identifies the formation of group identity as a crucial step towards the recognition of how culture is entangled with nature (in this case, through the multifarious impacts of the weather and changed climate on human and animal life). The knowledge of this entanglement is always there, of course, but Robinson's trilogy uncovers it and turns it into open awareness.

3. The Flood: The Emergence of Material Entanglements In the Science of the Capital trilogy, climate change is effectively tackled through a combined effort. Even though Frank is disturbed by the display of excessive scientific self-confidence at a conference he attends in London in the second half of Sixty Days and Counting, the trilogy nevertheless suggests that climate stabilisation is achievable. In this sense, and through the Bildungsroman structure of Frank's successful socialisation, as well as through the effective formation and consolidation of groups and community, both as units of practical action and of moral value, the Science in the Capital trilogy forms a closed narrative. We have here the "particularly marked ending" which for Moretti is typical of the Bildungsroman (1987, 7). The challenge of climate change has been met and efficient mitigation strategies have been evolved; politics and science have closed ranks; the protagonists have settled down. There are no longer any crucial open questions, no dangling narrative threads. If the Science in the Capital trilogy, therefore, is indebted to the "teleological rhetoric" characteristic of the classic Bildungsroman, whose strongest momentum is towards "finality" (ibid.), Maggie Gee's The Flood has quite a different narrative structure: Its ending is in its frame, on the very first page of the novel: Before I am going to tell you how it happened. How I came to be here, with so many others, in this strange place I often dreamed of, or glimpsed in the distance, across the river – the lit meadows, the warm roof-tops, caught in those narrow shafts of sunlight, in this moment that lasts for ever. A city hovering over the darkness. Above the waters that have covered the earth, stained waters, rusty waters, pulling down papers, pictures, peoples; a patch of red satin, a starving crow, the last flash of a fox's brush. A place which holds all times and places. And we are here. We are all still here. (2005, 7) This is the post-apocalyptic scenario which follows the tsunami that wipes out the setting of the novel at the end of its story. Yet discursively, this ending precedes the story: It is the first thing we read. Finality is thus immediately present in The Flood, but in the wrong chronological position: It is here even before the story has had a chance to begin. At the same time, however, finality is also forestalled, for the very end of the epilogue part of the frame, the "After" section which closes the novel (ibid., 321-325), repeats the "Before" section, mostly verbatim. In this way, the end of the novel points finality back to its beginning, and turns it into an arbitrary point on a large loop.

eously, absolutely necessary (in the trilogy, none of the mitigation projects put in action would be possible without broad global collaborations). 336 URSULA KLUWICK

Clearly, The Flood eschews the "teleological rhetoric" of which Moretti speaks. In- stead, its governing image is the loop, which Gee employs as an expression of synchronicity. Through one of its characters, the novel puts forward a specific theory of time: Time is a string of loops, "a garland" of synchronous moments: "at any one point of time, the thousand flowerings of event" (ibid., 205), note the singular, which suggests the manifestation of a single event in synchronous momentary eruptions). Single moments "go on for ever" (ibid., 141) – "the eternal return, the eternal moment" (ibid., 142). The structure of the novel realises this theory of time and it is through this structure that The Flood meets one of the main challenges that critics sceptical of the novel's ability to represent climate change have identified: the limited timescale which makes novels rely on "forms of solution and closure that seem absurdly evasive when applied to ecological questions with their extremes of timescales and complexities of interdependency" (Kerridge; quoted in Bracke 2014, 430). The timescale of The Flood is emphatically open. Its theory of time effects more than the structure of Gee's novel; it permeates everything, influencing, specifically, its representation of character and of natural disaster. While Robinson's trilogy formulates a clear challenge for its characters, in The Flood, several environmental crises vie for attention as possible doomsday scenarios: a line- up of the planets, the constant rains that have caused the floods, a dam that might cause ecological disaster, and a super-tsunami. But in contrast to the Science in the Capital trilogy, these various disasters are not linked back to a single cause. The Flood has repeatedly been listed as a climate change novel (see, for instance, Trexler/Johns- Putra 2011, 188; Kiliç 2013, 116), but climate change remains an underlying, and never becomes an overt concern in the novel. As a result, rather than concentrating on the cause, effect, and possible solution to environmental crisis, Gee's text explores how the perception of the world is changed by the experience of a changing environment. The Flood depicts the gradual submergence of a city that is not quite London, and it traces the various ways in which constant rainfall and inundation affect the daily lives of the city dwellers. In doing so it focuses on essentially mundane things: on the gradual disappearance of normality, and on the rare moments in which a return to normality (a sudden gap in the clouds; a glimpse of a snowbell) appears within reach. Above all, it sketches an emergent world through its foregrounding of synchronicity and environmental agency. Synchronicity is expressed in the novel through the manner in which various settings are visited, again and again, by various different or else by the same characters; by the repetition of events, such as the burglary of Lottie's house, and of actions which echo through the lives of different characters and across the city; through the characters' constant movement through the text, and in and out of the background; and through our shifting understanding of relations as they move through the labyrinthine urban space of Gee's novel. And these "characters", it is important to note, are by no means only human. As is clear right from the initial words of the "Before" section quoted above, The Flood makes visible the presence of bacteria, crows, drugs, urban foxes, rust, water, and other animals and things in the human characters' lives, highlighting the shared nature of space. As a result, in the world of Gee's novel, humanity indeed changes "along with the world" (Bakhtin 1986, 23-24). Formation here happens less on an individual level than CLIMATE CHANGE, THE NOVEL, AND THE BILDUNGSROMAN 337 through a broader exploration of the Bakhtinian tandem change. While the Science in the Capital trilogy focuses on the big changes which climate change brings, and while it also casts the establishment of collaboration as a big global change, The Flood foregrounds the already ubiquitous connections between the human characters and the nonhuman world of the city, incorporating myriads of subtle references to material agency and to the manner in which it impacts on human lives. In the gradually drowning city, Gee's characters are forced into the realisation of how intricately their lives are entangled with the lives of the human and nonhuman agents inhabiting this space with – along- and inside – them. Neither the rain nor the flood sickness virus can be ignored, and both have to be recognised as important agents in the novel which are crucial for the formation of the socio-environmental fabric of Gee's urban space. The Flood, therefore, takes Bakhtin's notion of formation as tandem change one step further. When Bakhtin describes the emergence of the Bildungsroman hero "along with the world", the fundamental conceptual boundary between humanity and the rest of the world is still visible. Climate change novels such as Gee's, by contrast, depict the emergence of their protagonists as part of the changing world in an assemblage, a material continuity of world, body, being. In this sense, The Flood drafts its urban social space in terms of what Haraway (2003) has named "naturecultures".9 What is 'formed' here is an awareness of the manner in which "human agency itself is always an assemblage of microbes, animals, plants, metals, chemicals, word-sounds, and the like" (Bennet 2010, 120-21). In terms of climate change and its (among other aspects) spatial and temporal complexity, this is a crucial realisation. The Flood, I believe, can be read as a novel of formation, but formation in this novel is neither progressive nor teleological but lateral. Neither individual nor group identity develops along a trajectory towards a 'final' socialisation. Instead, the novel establishes ever more interconnections as it proceeds, gradually building a dense fabric of echoes that reverberate across the text. This effect derives from the intensely polyphonic structure of Gee's novel. The Flood consists of eighteen chapters organised into short sections, few of them longer than two pages and some as short as a few lines. Because focalisation constantly shifts between these sections, single events are diffracted, presented by many different voices; there is hardly a situation in the novel which we see from just one perspective. As a result, the novel is highly revisionist. Meaning is multifarious, created and shared by a large cast of human and nonhuman characters. An extra twist derives from the fact that most of the protagonists of The Flood are resurrections from earlier novels by Gee. As such, they have different – and frequently contradictory – existences in other texts circling through Gee's textual universe: Some of them died in earlier novels, while some have since re-appeared in new novels.10 Their stories are unmoored from their anchorage in earlier as well as subsequent texts, emphasising again the broadly lateral rather than teleological trajectory of The Flood. Gee's characters are perplex- ingly fuzzy: not only do their actions reverberate through various environments and scenarios across the multifaceted span of this one novel, but they themselves are also

9 Naturecultures expresses the entanglement of nature and culture, the body and its surroundings. 10 To bring just one example, Angela, an important character in The Flood, previously appeared in The Burning Book (1994), and has since been resurrected in Gee's latest novel, Virginia Woolf in Manhattan (2014). 338 URSULA KLUWICK the versatile echoes of previous and future characters and texts. Thus meaning, in The Flood, is highly interactional: characters make sense (of their lives, of their surroundings, for the reader) in individual encounters, and then float on. The world they inhabit is a changing, an emergent place, and they emerge in provisional formations along with and as part of its changing foundations. By way of conclusion, I want to examine a symbolic encounter in the novel, which sketches the growing connectedness of its characters and things. In this scene, TV as- trologer Davey comes across what he initially thinks of as a (human) burglar on the way home at night, after a session at the observatory. The supposed criminal, however, turns out to be an urban fox. In the light of Davey's torch, the animal is "magnificent, original, every hair clear in the arcing beam" (Gee 2005, 94). But what is most start- ling about the sudden appearance of this urban predator is its unexpected physicalness. For Davey, in this sudden encounter, the urban fox is no longer an idea, a theoretically known but rarely actually seen inhabitant of the city, but a sensual presence: "He could smell it too, he realized, suddenly, feeling a visceral excitement. Near enough for us to smell each other. […] In that instant, they were linked" (ibid.). Fox and man here confront each other as two bodies, sharing a reciprocal awareness of each other's vicinity as two components of a common environment. The city is not merely a human space, the fox is not an intruder; rather, through the fox, the man learns something about himself, becomes newly aware of his animal sense of smell. Through this encounter, Davey and the fox are "linked" in the emergent synchronous geography of their city: "The man and the animal crouched in the moment" (ibid.). This scene is symptomatic for the manner in which Gee's novel brings together people, animals, and things, highlighting their interaction and stressing their connectedness while respecting their difference. Patrick D. Murphy has introduced the term "anotherness" to delineate such a "relational character of individual existence" (1998, 40). An- otherness invites a "relational model" (ibid.) that eschews the hierarchies implied by otherness, or the relation between self and other. It "presupposes a relationship of difference, a recognition of reciprocity across contradictions and dissimilarities" (ibid., 41). In The Flood, Gee uses changing weather patterns to sketch a world in which relations become increasingly visible, and the position of humans more fluid. Viruses, rats, foxes, and humans – they are all affected by the floods, and their difference emerges as relational rather than absolute. In addition, almost all of the nonhuman agents in the novel are better adapted to the emergency of the floods than the human inhabitants of the city, thus causing the hierarchy between humans and animals, humans and things, to shift towards something more akin to a sense of balance: "And rats, and mice, and bright mats of microbes. They liked the floods" (Gee 2005, 165). This enumeration continues a list that also includes "the old, the mad, the poor, newcomers, and people like Faith, who cleaned the city" (ibid.). In The Flood, all of these are important agents in the emergent world of the flooded city, together with the fanatics, the politicians, the workers, the powerful, and the rich. As suggested at the outset of this essay, climate change is all about relations, relations so widespread and intricate that they are difficult to fathom. Both of the works discussed here focus on this aspect of climate change, and both draw on the Bildungs- roman in order to explore the relational character and implications of a world of climate change. While the Science in the Capital trilogy focuses on the socialisation of its CLIMATE CHANGE, THE NOVEL, AND THE BILDUNGSROMAN 339 protagonist(s) through a formation of groups and the establishment of group identity, and while it highlights the importance of agential networks and collaboration as part of the battle against climate change, The Flood explores the emergent world of climate change through a model of anotherness. In Gee's novel, the "along with" of Bakhtin's formulation is inevitable. The floods change the city, its humans, animals, and objects alike. At the end, a tsunami covers Gee's not-quite London, and appears to wipe out all human life. But the "After" section resurrects the characters – and the foxes – in a sur- real version of Kew Gardens, also the location of the world's largest ex-situ seed bank. As such, Kew Gardens is, truly, a "place which holds," perhaps not "all," but certainly many "times and places" (Gee 2005, 7) in the seeds of the plants it is trying to preserve.11 It is a fitting place in which to end The Flood, that polyphonic loop of a novel, in which the foundations of the world have irrevocably changed.

References Primary Sources Gee, Maggie (2005): The Flood. London: Saqi Robinson, Kim Stanley (2004): Forty Signs of Rain. New York: Bantam Dell --- (2005): Fifty Degrees Below. New York: Bantam Dell --- (2007): Sixty Days and Counting. New York: Bantam Dell

Secondary Sources Bakhtin, Michail (1986): Speech Genres and Other Late Essays. Ed. Caryl Emerson and Michael Hol- quist. Trans. Vern W. McGee. Austin: U of Texas P Bennet, Jane (2010): Vibrant Matter: A Political Ecology of Things. Durham: Duke UP Boes, Tobias (2006): "Modernist Studies and the Bildungsroman: A Historical Survey of Critical Trends", Literature Compass 3.2, 230-243 Bracke, Astrid (2014): "The Contemporary English Novel and Its Challenges to Ecocriticism", in: Garrad, Greg (ed.): The Oxford Handbook of Ecocriticism. Oxford: Oxford UP, 423-439 Feder, Helena (2014): Ecocriticism and the Idea of Culture: Biology and the Bildungsroman. Farn- ham/Burlington: Ashgate Haraway, Donna (2003): The Companion Species Manifesto. Chicago: Prickly Paradigm Press Head, Dominic (1998): "The (im)possibility of ecocriticism", in: Kerridge, Richard; Sammells, Neil (eds): Writing the Environment: Ecocriticism and Literature. London/New York: Zed Books, 27- 39 Johns-Putra, Adeline (2010): "Ecocriticism, Genre, and Climate Change: Reading the Utopian Vision of Kim Stanley Robinson's Science in the Capital Trilogy", English Studies 91.7, 744-760 Kerridge, Richard (1998): "Introduction", in: Kerridge, Richard; Sammells, Neil (eds.): Writing the Environment: Ecocriticism and Literature. London/New York: Zed Books, 1-9 --- (2014): "Ecocritical Approaches to Literary Form and Genre: Urgency, Depth, Provisionality, Tem- porality", in: Garrad, Greg (ed.): The Oxford Handbook of Ecocriticism. Oxford: Oxford UP, 361- 376 Kiliç, Mine Özyurt (2013): Maggie Gee: Writing the Condition of England Novel. London/New York: Bloomsbury Academic Kluwick, Ursula (2014): "Talking About Climate Change: The Ecological Crisis and Narrative Form", in: Garrad, Greg (ed.): The Oxford Handbook of Ecocriticism. Oxford: Oxford UP, 502-516

11 Unfortunately, the highly problematic (post)colonial significance of Kew Gardens is beyond the scope of this essay. 340 URSULA KLUWICK

Markley, Robert (2012): "'How to go forward': Catastrophe and Comedy in Kim Stanley Robinson's Science in the Capital Trilogy", Configurations 20.1-2, 7-27 Meeker, Joseph W. (1996): "The Comic Mode", in: Glotfelty, Cheryll; Fromm, Harold (eds.): The Ecocriticism Reader: Landmarks in Literary Ecology. Athens, GA: U of Georgia P, 155-169 Moretti, Franco (1987): The Way of the World: The Bildungsroman in European Culture. London: Verso Morton, Timothy (2010): The Ecological Thought. Cambridge, MA/London: Harvard UP --- (2013): "Poisoned Ground: Art and Philosophy in the Time of Hyperobjects", symploke 21.1-2, 37- 50 Murphy, Patrick D. (1998): "Anotherness and Inhabitation in Recent Multicultural American Litera- ture", in: Kerridge, Richard; Sammells, Neil (eds.): Writing the Environment: Ecocriticism and Lit- erature. London/New York: Zed Books, 40-52 Nixon, Ro (2011): Slow Violence and the Environmentalism of the Poor. Cambridge, MA: Harvard UP Robinson, Kim Stanley (2005): Imagining Abrupt Climate Change: Terraforming Earth. Seattle, WA: Amazon Shorts. Web. Trexler, Adam (2014): "Mediating Climate Change; Ecocriticism, Science Studies, and The Hungry Tide", in: Garrad, Greg (ed.): The Oxford Handbook of Ecocriticism. Oxford: Oxford UP, 205-224 ---; Johns-Putra, Adeline (2011): "Climate Change in Literature and Literary Criticism", Wiley Inter- disciplinary Reviews: Climate Change 2.2, 185-200 STELLA BUTTER (MANNHEIM)

Paradigms of Intimacy and the Formation of Selfhood in the Contemporary Female Bildungsroman

Don't you know that all I want is to be intimate with you? – Guo (2007, 259) Intimacy is the key to the successful formation of selfhood and a yardstick for measuring happiness in personal life. Precisely this assumption has gained strong currency in contemporary Western society. Representations of personal relations in popular culture, bestselling self-help books such as David Schnarch's Passionate Marriage: Keep- ing Love and Intimacy Alive in Emotionally Committed Relationships (1997), as well as discourses in therapeutic literature (see Wynne/Wynne 1986, 392) or the social sciences (e.g. Giddens 1992) contribute to the "enshrinement of 'intimacy'" (Wynne/ Wynne 1986, 392) as a core value.1 Guiding for these discourses on intimacy is the idea that intimacy is "at the centre of meaningful personal life in contemporary societies" (Jamieson 2005, 1). This ascendancy of intimacy is tied to the popularisation of specific assumptions regarding subjectivity, namely the notion that every subject has an innate potential for self-actualisation and that the capacity to give expression to one's inner life is key to self-growth.2 The kind of intimacy that is valorised in popular discourses pertains to this capacity of self-expression: The disclosing of one's innermost feelings and thoughts in an atmosphere of trust is frequently offered as a formula for an intimate relationship. Fostering self-actualisation by "[e]xplor[ing] the potential of ourselves and others" (O'Neill/O'Neill 1984, 26) is apparently what an intimate relationship is all about. While these "utopian, optimism-sustaining" (Berlant 1998, 282) conceptualisations of intimacy resonate with cherished fantasies of the good life, they are also haunted, Lauren Berlant emphasises, by the fragility of intimacy and its failure to fulfil expectations regarding the experience of closeness and happiness in everyday life (see ibid.). As a genre concerned with identity formation and self-development, the contemporary Bildungsroman appears as especially well-suited to respond to these prevalent discourses on intimacy. How it responds can be seen by the example of the female Bil- dungsroman. Paradigms of intimacy shape how authors appropriate the genre of the Bildungsroman in order to explore the multiple marginalisation women struggle with on their journeys to selfhood. Two case studies serve to substantiate this claim: A Con- cise Chinese-English Dictionary for Lovers (2007), written in English by the Chinese author Xiaolu Guo, and Chorus of Mushrooms (1994) by the Japanese-Canadian author Hiromi Goto. My discussion of these novels connects with existing research on

1 On the privileged status granted to intimacy in Western culture, see Langan/Davidson 2011; Weingarten 1991, 285; and Berlant 1998, 281-283. 2 For a full discussion of how the popularisation of self growth psychology since the late 1960s contributed to the rise of a subject culture obsessed with self-actualisation through expressivity in intimate relationships, see Reckwitz 2006, 529-535. 342 STELLA BUTTER the female Bildungsroman, which explores the replacement of the patriarchal heterosexual romance plot through intimacy between women, i.e. a female community (see Felski 1989, 138). Such a configuration is staged in Goto's novel. Numerous connections can also be drawn to studies on the ethnic Bildungsroman with its critique of racism in contemporary Western society as both novels use the development plot to chart the impact of ethnicity on the identity formation of their female protagonists, who are of Asian origin (see below). The aim of my paper is to gauge how a focus on paradigms of intimacy may enrich existing research on the Bildungsroman. In the case of Guo's and Goto's novels, such a focus enables a precise conceptualisation of the interrelationship between contents, form, and reader response. While A Concise Chin- ese-English Dictionary for Lovers privileges intimacy through self-disclosure and thereby echoes the aforementioned popular discourses on intimacy, Goto's novel favours intimacy through co-creation of meaning. These different paradigms translate into different aesthetics and a different positioning of the reader.

1. Xiaolu Guo's A Concise Chinese-English Dictionary for Lovers: Intimacy through Self-Disclosure The story arc of Guo's A Concise Chinese-English Dictionary for Lovers3 evokes the Bildungsroman tradition with its linear chronology and depiction of how its protagonist and narrator, a young girl in her early twenties from China, embarks on a journey of self-discovery. Zhuang Xiao Quiao is sent on a one-year stay in London by her parents so that she may become fluent in English. She calls herself Z because the English cannot pronounce her name. As her English improves, her love relationship to an older Englishman, whose name we never learn because she always refers to him as "you", deteriorates until they finally separate. The narrative is divided into sections for every month, each of which comprises an array of dictionary entries that set the theme for Z's depiction of her life in England. These dictionary entries are not structured alpha- betically. However, given that the first entry starts with the letter "a" for "alien", the dictionary format suggests a teleological structure geared to discovering the meaning of Z. Whereas the dictionary entries offer a 'concise' definition of the meanings of words such as 'intimacy' or 'freedom', Z's ensuing narration complicates these definitions by highlighting differences in cultural associations and individual experien- tiality. This draws attention to the complexities of translation processes – a key topic of the novel that scholars have extensively analysed (see e.g. Doloughan 2009, Hwang 2012). Crucial for Z's identity formation is her understanding and experience of intimacy as it plays out in her cross-cultural love relationship. The dictionary definition Z provides indicates the multi-dimensionality of 'intimacy': intimate adj having a close personal relationship; personal or private; (of knowledge) extensive and detailed; […] euphemistic having a sexual relationship (with); having a friendly quiet atmosphere n close friend […] (Guo 2007, 109) This definition captures the basic sense of 'intimacy' in terms of a close relationship between people. Such closeness can take different forms, ranging from physical close-

3 I will use an abbreviated title for subsequent references to Guo's book, namely A Dictionary for Lovers. INTIMACY IN THE CONTEMPORARY FEMALE BILDUNGSROMAN 343 ness ("sexual relationship") or emotional closeness to "detailed" knowledge of each other. Acts of practical love and care can also be perceived as fostering intimacy (see Jamison 2011). In the contemporary West, discourses on intimacy emphasise what Lynn Jamieson calls 'disclosing intimacy' as the key to successful personal relationships, namely "sustaining deep knowing and understanding" (Jamieson 2005, 158) through sharing innermost thoughts and feelings. Z's ideal of a perfect love relationship hinges on the paradigm of disclosing intimacy. This is already indicated by the epigraph to the novel that presents a typical conversation between Z and her lover, revolving around Z's insistent question "What are you thinking?" Z's focus on "deep knowing and understanding" is borne out by numerous passages in the novel: From first day we being together, […] our skins being non stop together, not separating even a hour. You talk to me about everything. But I not understand completely. (Guo 2007, 72) Every sentence you said, I put into my own dictionary. Next day I look at and think every single word. I am entering into your brain. Although my world so far away from your, I think I able understand you. (ibid., 73) Z's efforts to access her lover's mind point to empathy as a key component in her understanding of intimacy. Within the model of disclosing intimacy, self-disclosure is only seen as creating intimacy if there is "empathetic feedback" (Wynne/Wynne 1986, 384) signalling that the revealed will be "emotionally comprehended" (ibid.) and that the shown act of trust will not be betrayed (see ibid.). Z perceives the naked body as a means for transcending the barriers of language and culture (see Poon 2013), but she yearns for more. Her quest for an intimate knowledge of the English language is a quest for a comprehensive understanding of her lover. This ties in with Z's use of the dictionary format for her journal because a dictionary promises to clarify the meaning of words. However, the novel shows that Z's ideal of transparency or intimate knowledge of the other is unobtainable by highlighting the "instabilities of translation" (Poon 2013) and by staging the troubling "'somatic effects and affects' […] [that] […] learning and speaking English" (ibid.) or rather bilingual- ism has on Z.4 Notions of intimacy are tied to specific models of subjectivity and forms of life. This becomes especially clear in the conflict that Z and her lover have regarding privacy. When her English lover is aghast to find out that Z has read his diary and private letters, she defends herself by insisting: "No privacy if we are lovers" (Guo 2007, 106). Z's rejection of secrets is in keeping with a form of subjectivity that is bent on excluding uncertainty. Z explains their different attitudes through cultural differences: Her lover, who refuses to enter any kind of long-term commitment, is steeped in a Western individualism that contrasts to her "Chinese love" (ibid., 109) whose focus is on the family and not on the autonomous self. Z's love relationship fails, the scholar Hwang (see 2012, 92) notes, not because of linguistic barriers but because both Z and her lover prove unable to change their habitus (see also Poon 2013). Z's understanding of intimacy is a handicap in her attempts to create and sustain intimate relations. It is telling that Z chooses the adjective 'intimate' and not the noun 'in-

4 For an in-depth discussion of how Z experiences language in bodily terms, see Poon 2013. 344 STELLA BUTTER timacy' for her dictionary entry. Z dislikes English nouns or verbs and only likes Eng- lish adjectives and adverbs because they do not change their form (see Guo 2007, 98). Defining intimacy in terms of an adjective hence underscores that Z considers intimacy to be a quality of a relationship: either the relationship is intimate or not. This is in keeping with Z's thinking in stark binary oppositions. Such clear-cut categorisations suggest "that a 'relationship' is a static entity, rather than a series of processual interactions" (Langan/Davidson 2011, 39), some of which are assessed as intimate and some of which are not. Z's obsession with symbiotic closeness as a primary goal of the relationship together with her understanding of intimacy as a static phenomenon contribute to the discord with her lover, especially regarding the issue of privacy. The gendered, racial, and political power hierarchies that traverse the relationship between Z and her lover showcase that the ideal of what Anthony Giddens has described as "the pure relationship" remains elusive. In such a relationship, "external criteria have become dissolved: the [intimate] relationship exists solely for whatever rewards the relationship as such can deliver. In the context of the pure relationship, trust can be mobilised only by a process of mutual disclosure" (Giddens 1991, 6). Giddens claims that this type of personal relationship ascended in modern Western societies in the wake of processes of modernisation, especially individualisation and female emancipation.5 While Z aspires to such an egalitarian ideal, her reflections on the uneven processes of globalisation highlight that external criteria do not just dissolve as popular versions of intimacy would have it. Z's extreme neediness for her English lover, whom she perceives as her saviour, is fuelled by her feelings of inferiority. While this notion of inferiority was first instilled by her mother, this feeling is now aggravated by living in a foreign country where Asian residents count as alien. Z's perception of her love relationship foregrounds how the fabric of intimacy is shot through with power dynamics: "My whole body is your colony" (Guo 2007, 132). While Z revels in the way her white English lover sensuously "possess[es]" (ibid.) her body, her choice of words point to how intimacy may easily shift into an appropriation of the other. Her colonial imagery takes on added meaning against the backdrop of the depicted neo-colonial power relations in a globalised world. When she receives a dildo as a birthday present from her female friends, the fact that it was "Made in China" causes Z to reflect on the stark disparity between its targeted affluent female consumers, who are invited to explore "a whole new world of personal relaxation" (ibid., 162), to quote the instructions for the dildo, and the exploited Chinese female workers, whose existence, as Z imagines it, is reduced to the struggle for bare economic survival far removed from spaces of 'personal relaxation'. Female sexuality as a potential realm of "greater self-awareness and exploration for women" (ibid.), to cite the dildo instructions again, is hence entangled with unequal processes of globalisation (see also Poon 2013). Z is a typical Bildungsroman protagonist insofar as she is on a quest to find her place in society. In Z's view, intimate relations promise to end this quest by offering the experience of belonging to a community – to a warm circle of the inside: "The fear of without home. Maybe that why I love you? […] I am building the Great Wall around

5 See Jamieson 1999 for a critical engagement with Giddens's description of the transformation of intimacy in modern Western societies. INTIMACY IN THE CONTEMPORARY FEMALE BILDUNGSROMAN 345 you and me because I am too scared to lose the home" (Guo 2007, 126f.). Due to her feelings of insecurity, Z is striving to achieve closure through disclosure. On the one hand, Z's wish for community and family opens up a critical perspective on the classic Bildungsroman subject with its emphasis on individuality and autonomy. Z explicitly challenges this Western subject-ideal by setting the valorisation of family bonds over and above self-autonomy (see ibid., 109). Her intense desire for intimate sharing highlights the relational dimension of the subject. On the other hand, Z severely curtails the communal dimension by trying to ensure that she is the only significant person in her lover's life, hence endowing her ideal of intimacy with a claustrophobic hue: "I want cut off your extension to the world and your extension to the others" (ibid., 325). The intimacy Z aspires to ultimately is not conducive to her quest of finding a place in society because it hinges on shutting society out. Moreover, her intimate relation with an Englishman aggravates her deep-seated insecurities. In response to Z's fixation on him, her lover tries to show her how to embrace an autonomous form of life and concomitantly an understanding of intimacy that grants each person areas of inner and outer life they do not share with each other. Z perceives her English lover as her "academy" (ibid., 189): He not only teaches her the English language and culture, but also initiates her into sexuality so that she learns to explore female sexual pleasure. He finally sends Z on a trip through Europe in the hope that being alone will help her develop a sense of autonomy. In typical Bildungs- roman fashion, this spatial journey does indeed go hand in hand with self-discovery. When she finds that she is perfectly capable of sexually pleasuring herself this intimacy translates into what Susie Thomas (2007) has described as a "feminist epiphany": "I can be on my own. I can. I can rely on myself, without depending on a man" (Guo 2007, 245). Self-intimacy is hence presented as pivotal for female emancipation. The plot structure of A Dictionary for Lovers is problematic because it echoes, Angelia Poon rightly notes, a "Eurocentric historical narrative" (2013): The West leads China into maturity. While Guo's novel "deliberately troubles this linear reading of progressive development" (ibid.), Z's defence of Chinese cultural achievements, her brief references to colonial history, and the novel's sketch of power patterns in a globalised world do not fully counterbalance this Eurocentric emplotment. The ideological configuration takes on further problematic hues due to dubious gender politics in the novel, which is why I would hesitate to describe the text as a feminist Bildungsroman as Susie Thomas does. One the one hand, Z does seem to achieve greater autonomy. She starts considering the journal she keeps as the creation of her "own 'Nushu'" (Guo 2007, 122). Nushu refers to a "four-hundred-year-old secret language being used by Chinese womans to express theys innermost feeling" (ibid., 121-122). She thus distances herself from the heterosexual romance paradigm in favour of a female community. She also emanci- pates herself from her parents and develops a critical stance towards the Chinese state. Z's development, however, is a far cry from female empowerment. Her life appears lonely and empty once she is back in China. When she receives a letter from her former lover, describing how he has found contentment in living a solitary life in Wales, this evokes a fond memory of the intimacy and "brief happiness" (ibid., 353) she had shared with her lover there during a trip. As there are no textual signals rupturing the 346 STELLA BUTTER unabashed nostalgia of the ending, the novel implies that the female subject may only find happiness through an intimate relationship with a man. Other potential sources for experiencing happiness, such as intimate relations beyond the heterosexual romance paradigm, a fulfilling professional life or – following the example set by Z's lover – the creation of art, are not introduced as promising alternatives for Z or any other female character. Z's love story is "a space of disappointment, but not disenchantment" (Berlant 2008, 2) with the heterosexual romance plot. The lyrical quality of Z's last words is an expression of how she continues to be held in thrall by the memory of her past happiness with "you": "I remember how it rained [in west Wales]. The rain was ceaseless, covering the whole forest, the whole mountain, and the whole land" (Guo 2007, 354). I therefore agree with Angelia Poon's (2013) observation that the novel "ends on a melancholic note of loss and mourning – of the impossibility of a recovery of intimacy – instead of the successful attainment of global selfhood". I would, however, qualify Poon's comment on "the impossibility of a recovery of intimacy". Z's narrative can be seen as an attempt to imaginatively create intimacy with her lost lover through the act of narration. A number of textual signals suggest that – despite appearances – we actually have retrospective narration. A case in point is the prologue. Here, Z describes her arrival in London and states: "I not met you yet. You in future" (Guo 2007, 3). Her statement implies that she must be looking back on her stay in England. The use of "you" indicates that Z's narration is directed towards her lover. Z is hence sharing her Nushu or privacy with "you". Z's sharing of her privacy is a way of imaginatively building intimacy with "you", who is at this point already lost to her because they broke up. The reader partakes of this intimacy created by Z's self- disclosure because he or she also has access to Z's Nushu. There is an ironic twist to how Z's narrative is set up. On the level of contents, Z conflates intimacy with the ideal of absolute transparency. However, her own narration makes evident that privacy or secrets are a pre-condition for creating intimacy through disclosure (see also Bieri 2013, 212). While A Dictionary for Lovers undermines the notion that absolute transparency can be achieved, its narrative form reinforces the high value placed on intimacy as self-disclosure. The privileged status granted to self- disclosure as constitutive of intimacy contrasts to the paradigm of intimacy cham- pioned in Chorus of Mushrooms, as discussed in the next section.

2. Hiromi Goto's Chorus of Mushrooms: Intimacy through Co-Creation of Meaning Chorus of Mushrooms is a multi-generational narrative about a Japanese-Canadian family living in Alberta. The novel explores the impact that dislocation and war-time trauma has had on the development of female subjectivity within the Tonkatsu family and their sense of home. Each generation displays a different attitude towards Canada. The grandmother Naoe and her daughter Keiko adopt what Wolfgang Welsch (1999) labels an intercultural approach to culture: They consider Japanese and Canadian culture to be distinct entities just like islands. While Naoe for a long time clings on to her Japanese past and rejects what she perceives to be a hostile Canadian environment, Keiko strives to assimilate to white Canadian society. In contrast, Murasaki embraces a transcultural stance by forging dialogic connections between different cultural elements in fashioning her identity. INTIMACY IN THE CONTEMPORARY FEMALE BILDUNGSROMAN 347

Chorus of Mushrooms traces how storytelling transforms Murasaki and her grandmother, enabling them to develop strong female agency, to fashion an empowering form of transcultural identity, and to move from experiencing Canada as an alienating environment to a homely environment.6 The depiction of female development gains added complexity through the novel's narrative structure. At first glance, three different first-person narrators can be distinguished: a grown-up Murasaki, her younger self, and her grandmother Naoe. However, it gradually transpires that the older Murasaki imagines and narrates the other two perspectives.7 The multi-perspective structure stages both Murasaki's internal multiplicity and what Jodie Salter calls "a continuum of familial consciousness" (2012, 117). By conceptualising "the individualism of the protagonist […] as a collective identity that belongs to a long legacy of women storytellers" (ibid., 118), Goto's novel reinvigorates and transforms the genre of the Bil- dungsroman. Practices of intimacy loom large in this reconfiguration of the traditional Bildungsroman subject in terms of merging selves. Chorus of Mushrooms depicts reciprocal storytelling as an act that requires and fosters intimacy (see Salter 2012, 86; 111). The model of intimate storytelling that Naoe practises with young Murasaki is duplicated on the level of the frame narrative, which features the adult Murasaki together with her male lover. The reader's entry into the story world is on the level of the present or the frame narrative: We lie in bed, listen to the click of blinds, watch a thin thread of dusty cobweb weave back and forth […]. [W]e are warm only where skin is touching skin. […] 'Will you tell me a true story?' you ask, with unconscious longing. […] 'Sure, but bear with my language, won't you? My Japanese isn't as good as my English, and you might not get everything I say. But that doesn't mean the story's not there to understand. Wakatte kureru kashira? Can you listen before you hear?' 'Trust me,' you say. I […] spiral into sound. (Goto 1994, 1-2) There are conspicuous similarities between this scene in Goto's novel and the previously quoted passage from A Dictionary for Lovers, in which Z describes how her lover talks to her about everything while they lie naked together. In both scenes of intimacy, autobiographical disclosure is combined with the symbolism of naked bodies touching each other. However, the understanding of how intimacy is created and sustained vastly differs between these novels. Chorus of Mushrooms stages intimacy as resulting from the "co-creation of meaning" (Weingarten 1991, 287) through verbal and non-verbal acts. Such an emphasis on reciprocal meaning-making informs the practices of storytelling that Naoe teaches her granddaughter: "[T]here is a partnership in the telling and listening, that is of equal importance" so that "[l]istening becomes telling, telling listening" (Goto 1994, 172). This partnership between teller and listener is foregrounded in the opening of Goto's novel because Murasaki can only "spiral into sound" if her lover is prepared to listen before he hears. The story is woven "back and

6 For a detailed discussion of Murasaki's and Naoe's development and attitude towards Canada, see Salter 2012, 82-121; Colavincenzo 2005; Condé 2001; and Müller 2010. 7 The strong emphasis on the communal or relational dimension of selfhood in Goto's novel arguably serves as a strategy to forestall a negative reading of Murasaki's empathetic narration, i.e. a reading that understands her adoption of Naoe's perspective as a problematic act of appropriation. See Salter 2012, 85-86 for a further discussion of how the novel encourages a positive interpretation of Murasaki's acts of narrative empathy. 348 STELLA BUTTER forth" between teller and listener, thereby creating an intimate web that is supportive, not entrapping, and that allows for the inclusion of further voices into the dialogic texture. The story Murasaki tells clearly rests on the presence of intimacy as a pre-condition. At the same time, this act of storytelling intensifies the intimacy between teller and listener. As the partnership between teller and listener shapes the relationship between Murasaki and her male lover as well as that between her and Naoe, this model of intimacy equally applies to female and heterosexual relations. A Dictionary for Lovers presents a stark contrast to this type of intimate storytelling practised in Chorus of Mushrooms. It is precisely because there is no co-creation of meaning between Z and her lover that Z feels she is 'stealing' her lover's words (see Guo 2007, 293). This lack of reciprocity is arguably also the reason why he is finally left 'silenced' in their relationship (see ibid.). In Chorus of Mushrooms, intimacy is granted transformative power. It enables the "working through repression to achieve selfhood" (Feng 1997, 22) – a frequent motif in the ethnic Bildungsroman. The intimate storytelling Murasaki practises with her grandmother enables what Alison Weir has called a "reinterpretive preservation" (2008, 18) of family history, whereby a fossilisation of the past is eschewed in favour of its creative appropriation so that every generation is endowed "with living meanings of past history" (ibid., 17). The family story that Murasaki recreates with Naoe's help addresses the racism she experiences in Canadian society, it integrates Naoe's traumatic wartime memories of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, and it is future-orientated because it allows Murasaki and Naoe to cultivate a sense of belonging to Canada. The transformative power of practices of intimacy is literalised when Naoe morphs into a young woman. Through her intimate storytelling with Murasaki, Naoe is able to engage with her traumatic past and to acknowledge mistakes she regrets having made. These intense self-reflections enable her to enter an intimate relation with herself, a vivid expression of which is her autoeroticism. As a result of transformative storytelling, Naoe leaves the family home where she had been sitting for years like a "mummy carcass" (Goto 1994, 3). She enters the Tonkatsu's nearby mushroom farm, whose moisture enfolds her, thereby transforming her back into a young woman while she explores her own body, reaching sexual climax. The leitmotif of mushrooms is a prominent reference to the atomic bomb and hence points to Naoe's wartime trauma (see Radia 2009, 185; 190). The chorus of mushrooms Naoe hears whispering highlights the collective and dialogic dimension of self. The combination of Naoe's autoeroticism and the presence of the chorus of mushrooms indicates that Naoe's intimacy with herself is only possible because the storytelling with Murasaki ("chorus") enabled her to acknowledge painful aspects of her past ("mushrooms") and to engage in a therapeutic reinterpretation of her memories or life story. All in all, Naoe's self-intimacy expresses her (re-)connection with different facets of herself, including her own previously repressed sensuality and her conflicted past. Similar to A Dictionary for Lovers, female autoeroticism is coded as a liberating act in Murasaki's narrative. In contrast to Guo's novel, however, Chorus of Mushrooms does not subordinate female emancipation to a heterosexual romance plot. On the level of the frame narrative, Murasaki declines to marry her lover in preference for embarking INTIMACY IN THE CONTEMPORARY FEMALE BILDUNGSROMAN 349 on a trip to discover things she has been missing. After the magical metamorphosis, Naoe breaks out of the domestic sphere, becomes a famous bullrider, and stakes her claim in Canada by scraping her name into the landscape. Chorus of Mushrooms hence corresponds with what Mark Stein has called a "novel of transformation" (2004, xiii) insofar as it is not only about the identity formation of its female protagonist but also about the transformation of Canadian society. As my brief analysis of Chorus of Mushrooms shows, Goto's novel contributes to the enshrinement of intimacy, albeit in a different fashion to that of Dictionary for Lovers. In Chorus of Mushrooms practices of intimacy are a motor for creatively refashioning stories of the self and stories of national belonging. In contrast to Z, who is left feeling adrift, Murasaki's practices of intimacy help her to achieve a durable sense of belonging. Read side by side, these two novels suggest that the specific conceptualisation of intimacy ultimately either impedes or contributes to a better life. Paradigms of intimacy influence how the Bildungsroman hails its readers. Murasaki addresses the reader in the last sentence of her narrative by saying: "You know you can change the story" (Goto 1994, 220). Her comment highlights that the goal of intimate relationships is "the ability to re-story one's life by co-creating meanings with others without constraint or limit, rather than the ability to bring to a relationship a clear story about one's self" (Weingarten 1991, 288), as required by the model of self-disclosure. This focus on mutability explains the prominent blurring of fact and fiction that runs through Goto's novel. Moreover, such a stance embraces instabilities resulting from language switching. As Murasaki states right at the beginning, the story is there even if you do not understand every single word. Although her switch into Japanese shifts the position of readers who do not speak the language to that of an outsider, Murasaki suggests that they still participate in the negotiation of meaning through storytelling and hence remain within the permeable sphere of intimacy. This sphere of 'inside' is highlighted by the first and last word of Murasaki's narrative: "We", the first word of the book, and "story", the last word, constitute the frame for the story we are reading. This striking framing of Murasaki's tale once again emphasises that the communal sphere of a "we" can only be generated via an open-ended reciprocal storytelling that invites further voices into its sphere. In comparison to Goto's novel, the effects of language switching on the reader are very different in A Dictionary for Lovers. Z's shift into Chinese features under the dictionary entry "nonsense", indicating that readers who do not speak Chinese are at this moment firmly situated outside the realm of intimacy created through Z's self-dis- closures. If intimacy is conceived as resulting from autobiographical disclosure (and an empathetic reaction), then the listener is beyond the sphere of intimacy at times when he or she literally cannot understand the self-disclosure of Z.

3. Conclusion The contemporary female Bildungsroman contributes to the enshrinement of intimacy by stressing the crucial role that practices of intimacy play in the formation of selfhood, in achieving a sense of belonging, and in finding one's place in society. Intimacy with others but also with oneself is depicted as vital for achieving the good life. In this context, it is surely no coincidence that both novels feature scenes of autoeroticism as 350 STELLA BUTTER crucial for the development of the ethnic female subject. Self-intimacy points to the protagonist's ability to feel at home in her body. In a society that marks the non-white body as alien, this is no mean feat. The comparative analysis of A Dictionary for Lovers and Chorus of Mushrooms has shown how the preferred paradigm of intimacy is decisive for whether the individual succeeds in the art of living well. Chorus of Mushrooms reconfigures individualism in terms of merging selves and suggests that the support structure provided by this dialogic intimacy or meaning-making is "of particular importance to ethnic women in their struggles against the joined fire of racism, sexism, and classism" (Feng 1997, 12). It is through this emphasis on the communal dimension of selfhood that the traditional Bildungsroman is transformed. A Dictionary for Lovers also questions the autonomous, individual self as an unmarked norm through its worried insistence on "an emotional and embodied vocabulary about absence, isolation, withdrawal and loss of intimacy" (Poon 2013). In both A Dictionary for Lovers and Chorus of Mushrooms, the aesthetic structure and the positioning of the reader is influenced by the model of intimacy favoured on the level of contents. The concentration on disclosing intimacy and the concomitant ideal of transparency feed into Z's choice of the dictionary format for her journal. In Goto's book, the emphasis on co-creation of meaning translates into fluid shifts between different narrative voices and perspectives. The hailing of the reader to pick up on and change the story that has been told, hence contributing to the co-creation of meaning, strengthens the "process-oriented pattern" (Feng 1997, 41) that Chorus of Mushrooms invests in. Bildung in Goto's novel entails "an endless process of negotiating different personal, cultural, and social experiences" (ibid.). Such a pattern departs from the formula of the traditional Bildungsroman, "which, according to Wilhelm Dilthey, emphasizes the final maturity, harmony, and unification after various stages of apprentice- ship" (ibid.). In this paper, I have discussed two paradigms of intimacy in the female Bildungs- roman, but one could easily expand this list to include further variants of the Bildungs- roman and, most likely, also other paradigms of intimacy. In a time saturated by "pedagogies that encourage people to identify having a life with having an intimate life" (Berlant 1998, 282), it is well worth taking a closer look at what kind of intimacy is propagated. The contemporary Bildungsroman shapes cultural landscapes of the intimate by promoting specific paradigms of intimacy and interpellating the reader as an embodied subject attuned to affective relations.

References Berlant, Lauren (1998): "Intimacy: A Special Issue", Critical Inquiry 24.4, 281-288 --- (2008): The Female Complaint: The Unfinished Business of Sentimentality in American Culture. Durham/London: Duke UP Bieri, Peter (2013): Eine Art zu leben. Über die Vielfalt menschlicher Würde. München: Hanser Colavincenzo, Marc (2005): "'Fables of the Reconstruction of the Fables'. Multiculturalism, Postmod- ernism, and the Possibilities of Myth in Hiromi Goto's Chorus of Mushrooms", in: Marsden, Peter H. et al. (eds.): Towards a Transcultural Future: Literature and Society in a 'Post'-Colonial World. New York, NY: Rodopi, 223-230 INTIMACY IN THE CONTEMPORARY FEMALE BILDUNGSROMAN 351

Condé, Mary (2001): "Japanese Generations in Hiromi Goto's Novel Chorus of Mushrooms", Etudes Canadiennes/Canadian Studies 51, 131-143 Doloughan, Fiona J. (2009): "Text design and acts of translation: The art of remaking and generic transformation", Translation and Interpreting Studies 4.1, 101-115 Felski, Rita (1989): Beyond Feminist Aesthetics: Feminist Literature and Social Change. Cambridge, MA: Harvard UP Feng, Pin-chia (1997): The Female Bildungsroman by Toni Morrison and Maxine Hong Kingston: A Postmodern Reading. New York: Peter Lang Giddens, Anthony (1991): Modernity and Self-Identity: Self and Society in the late Modern Age. Stan- ford, CA: Stanford UP --- (1992): The Transformation of Intimacy: Sexuality, Love and Eroticism in Modern Societies. Cam- bridge/Oxford: Polity Goto, Hiromi (1994): Chorus of Mushrooms. Edmonton/Alberta: NeWest Guo, Xiaolu (2007): A Concise Chinese-English Dictionary for Lovers. London: Chatto & Windus Hwang, Eunju (2012): "Love and Shame: Transcultural Communication and Its Failure in Xiaolu Guo's A Concise Chinese-English Dictionary for Lovers", ARIEL: A Review of International Eng- lish Literature 43.4, 69-95 Jamieson, Lynn (1999): "Intimacy Transformed? A Critical Look at the 'Pure Relationship'", Soci- ology 33.3, 477-494 --- (2005 [1988]): Intimacy: Personal Relationships in Modern Societies. Cambridge/Malden, MA: Polity --- (2011): "Intimacy as a Concept: Explaining Social Change in the Context of Globalisation or An- other Form of Ethnocentrism?" Sociological Research Online, 16.4 (n.p.). Web. [last accessed 15 September 2014] Langan, Debra; Davidson, Deborah (2011 [2005]): "Rethinking Intimate Questions: Intimacy as Dis- course", in: Mandell, Nancy; Duffy, Ann (eds.): Canadian Families: Diversity, Conflict and Change. Toronto, ON: Nelson, 33-60 Müller, Markus M. (2010): "Back to the Body: 'Fantastic' Old Women and Pleasure Regained in Hiromi Goto's Chorus of Mushrooms and Suzette May'rs The Widows", in: Ramos, Nela Bureau (ed.): Flaming Embers: Literary Testimonies on Ageing and Desire. Bern et al.: Lang, 39-65 O'Neill, Nena; O'Neill, George (1984): Open Marriage: A New Life Style for Couples. Lanham: M. Evans & Company Poon, Angelia (2013): "Becoming a Global Subject: Language and the Body in Xiaolu Guo's A Con- cise Chinese-English Dictionary for Lovers," Transnational Literature, 6.1 (n.p.). Web. [last accessed 15 September 2014] Radia, Pavlina (2009): "'The Missing Part' of the Immigrant Story: The Phantom Haunting of Cultural Mourning in Hiromi Goto's Chorus of Mushrooms", Essays on Canadian Writing 84, 182-199 Reckwitz, Andreas (2006): Das hybride Subjekt: Eine Theorie der Subjektkulturen von der bürger- lichen Moderne zur Postmoderne. Weilerswist: Velbrück Wissenschaft Salter, Jodie Lynne (2012): Intergenerational Storytelling and Transhistorical Trauma: Old Women in Contemporary Canadian Fiction. PhD thesis, University of Guelph, Ontario, Canada. Web. [last accessed 15 September 2014] Stein, Mark (2004): Black British Literature: Novels of Transformation. Columbus: Ohio State UP Thomas, Susie (2007): "'With your tongue down my throat': Hanan al-Shaykh's Only in London and Xiaolu Guo's A Concise Chinese-English Dictionary for Lovers", Literary London: Interdiscip- linary Studies in the Representation of London, 5.2 (n.p.). Web. [last accessed 15 September 2014] Weingarten, Kathy (1991): "The Discourse of Intimacy: Adding a Social Constructionist and Feminist View", Family Process 30.3, 285-305 Weir, Allison (2008): "Home and Identity: In Memory of Marion Iris Young", Hypatia 23.3, 4-21 Welsch, Wolfgang (1999): "Transculturality – The Puzzling Form of Cultures Today". Web. [last accessed 15 September 2014] Wynne, Lyman C.; Wynne, Adele (1986): "The Quest for Intimacy", Journal of Marital and Family Therapy 12.4, 383-394

BENJAMIN KOHLMANN (FREIBURG)

"Possible Failures": Doris Lessing and Individual Formation in a Tragic Key

It has become a critical commonplace to observe that the Bildungsroman often deploys techniques of narrative closure resembling those of the 'happy ending'. According to this widely held view, the typical Bildungsroman plot centres on an individual who breaks away from society, experiences a formative process of maturation, and is finally reunited – in a happy resolution of the narrative's twists and turns – with the community. This, broadly, is the account of the Bildungsroman presented in Franco Moretti's influential 1987 study of the genre, The Way of the World. The Bildungs- roman, Moretti notes, creates an almost implausibly smooth narrative of individual or- ganic growth which reins in the logic of unregulated development by providing a reas- suring vision of closure: "The Bildungsroman", Moretti writes, "is a constant elusion of historical turning points and breaks: an elusion of tragedy" (Moretti 2000, 12).1 In what follows, I will qualify Moretti's observations by arguing that there is a subgenre of the Bildungsroman – the socialist Bildungsroman – which relies centrally on narrative forms more typically associated with tragedy. In the socialist Bildungsroman, I argue, tragedy is associated with the shortcomings of actually existing socialism as they lead to an indefinite deferral of the individual's integration with a truly socialist community. The observation that the narrative arc of the Bildungsroman mirrors the happy resolutions of comedy also informs Lukács's later fragmentary theorisation of the "socialist Bildungsroman" in his 1956 essay "Critical Realism and Socialist Realism". In this essay Lukács struggles to differentiate the "socialist Bildungsroman" from its bourgeois precursor on the grounds that the Bildungsroman's socialist version relies on "the distinction between a justified historical optimism […] and that schematic optimism [of the bourgeois Bildungsroman] which gives rise to the 'happy ending'" (Lukács 1963, 123). Whereas in the bourgeois Bildungsroman "society emerges triumphant, in spite of the hero's struggles", Lukács claims that in its socialist counterpart "the process [of formation] begins with resignation and leads on to active participation in the life of the community" (ibid., 113). Despite the whiff of Soviet-style dogmatism in these sentences, Lukács is hard put to articulate how the endings of the socialist Bil- dungsroman differ from those of the bourgeois novel of formation. Lukács identifies a few additional genre features, including the socialist Bildungsroman's focus on a second, corrective Bildung, on the 'undoing' of an earlier bourgeois Bildung – yet his remarks on the socialist Bildungsroman's "justified historical optimism" are complicated

1 Moretti's remarks resonate with many other canonical treatments of the genre, beginning with Georg Lukács's The Theory of the Novel, originally published in 1920. Lukács notes that the re- integration of the Bildungsroman's protagonist with the community satisfies his or her "longing for an earthly home" (Lukács 1999, 132). 354 BENJAMIN KOHLMANN by the fact that many left-wing theorists habitually invoked the happy endings of 'bourgeois' literature as a model for socialist realist writing.2 In what follows, I will take Lukács's tentative theorisation of the socialist Bildungs- roman as a starting point to think about one of the generic properties of the form.3 As I want to suggest, the "historical optimism" articulated in socialist Bildungsromane does not cancel out the possibility of tragedy: On the contrary, the possibility of tragedy, associated with the horrible historical shortcomings of actually existing socialism, is integral to the narratives of the socialist novel of formation. As such, the question of the socialist Bildungsroman's proper narrative form is closely imbricated with another question: Which literary mode – comedy's happy endings or the sobering pessimism of tragedy – is more adequate to the task of representing the nature of the socialist struggle? Lukács observes that by virtue of its focus on a single protagonist the socialist Bil- dungsroman presents the socialist struggle "from the inside" (ibid., 93; emphasis in the original). By adopting this "inside" view, the socialist Bildungsroman discloses the potential for tragedy that tends to be eclipsed in the more robust declarations of Soviet- style aesthetics. I will focus on exemplary passages drawn from two novels by Doris Lessing, The Golden Notebook (1962) and The Good Terrorist (1985). Both of these texts describe the development of a female communist sympathiser, and both works adopt this "inside" view of the socialist struggle in order to throw into sharp relief the potential shortcomings and blind spots of revolutionary socialist practice. The socialist Bildungsroman, in the reading presented here, is a mixed mode that combines revolutionary optimism with a tragic recognition of socialism's propensity for historical failure. However, I wish to resist the common tendency – recently identified in an important essay by Alberto Toscano – to "dismiss" tragedy out of hand for its alleged "denial of an insurgent social creativity, or, obversely, [to] affirm [it] as an antidote to utopian aspirations" (Toscano 2013, 25). Instead, The Golden Notebook and The Good Terror- ist suggest that we "should think politics in a tragic key, refusing the immunity of political ideas from the contradictory vicissitudes of their actualization" (ibid., 26; emphasis in the original).

1. The Golden Notebook and the Communist Hypothesis In Lessing's The Golden Notebook, the personal and the political are inextricably intertwined, both because the novel centres on individuals who seek identification with the belief system of communism, and because, as the novel progresses, the private sphere is shown to be a potential space for political action. The opening pages of Lessing's book, ostensibly taken from the debut novel of Lessing's protagonist, Anna Wulf, describe the blossoming love affair between Molly Jacobs and Richard Portmain: "They had met in 1935" when both were "deeply involved with the cause of Republican

2 Examples of this tendency include the works of such diverse figures as the Russian dissident critic Abram Tertz (who insisted that socialist novels were "assured of a happy ending" [Tertz 1982, 168]), the British communist author Edward Upward (who claimed that his trilogy The Spiral Ascent was essentially a "non-tragic poem" [Upward 1977, 743]), and the German playwright Bertolt Brecht (see Brecht 1988-2000, 485). 3 I have argued elsewhere that the socialist Bildungsroman can be treated as a discrete genre (see Kohlmann, forthc. 2015).

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Spain" (Lessing 1999, 15), and the early years of their marriage were dominated by their involvement in the anti-fascist struggle – a shared experience of socialist commitment that also helped to sustain their marriage. The opening pages of The Golden Notebook describe Molly's and Richard's participation in the fight against fascism as an initiation rite which gives new meaning to their lives. Echoing the narrative trajectory of the socialist Bildungsroman as outlined in Lukács's 1956 essay, Molly's and Richard's support for the anti-fascist cause helps them to grow up, "convert[ing]" these "bourgeois individualist[s] into social being[s]" by leading them "on to active participation in the life of the community" (Lukács 1963, 112-113). However, this seemingly smooth development from bourgeois individualism towards social integration is up- ended when Molly's friend Anna – another ex-communist and Anna Wulf's fictional doppelgänger – contrasts the period of the anti-fascist Popular Front in the 1930s with socialism's defeats after the war. She notes that in the early and mid-1950s, "I and similar types were spending a lot of time fighting inside the [Communist] Party – a naïve lot we were, trying to persuade people that it was much better to admit that things stank in Russia than to deny it" (Lessing 1999, 47). Anna's comment references the aggressive expansionist policy of the Soviet Union in the new Eastern Bloc and the violent suppression of the Hungarian Revolution in 1956 – a historical conjuncture that was widely seen to symbolise the Soviet Union's totalitarian betrayal of socialism's earlier utopian aspirations.4 Lessing's novel indicates that these tragic failures of Soviet-style socialism should not give way to a wholesale pessimism regarding the realisability, or the desirability, of socialism. But The Golden Notebook also resists the idea that socialism needs to 'toughen up' in response to a historical environment that is increasingly hostile to the movement's utopian ideals. In Lessing's novel, the latter claim is usually advanced by Anna Wulf's male interlocutors: "'Well, what did you expect?'", one of these men declares in the aftermath of 1956, defending the Soviet Union's brutal intervention in Hungary by speaking "in his role of East European exile, ex-revolutionary, toughened by real political experience, to me [Anna Wulf] in my role as 'political innocent'" (ibid., 149). Arguing against such bigmouthed male hectoring and faced with the terrible aberrations of Stalinism, Lessing suggests that Anna needs to arrive at a mature understanding of revolutionary action that continues to defend socialism's utopian hopes while recognising the near-universal failure of these aspirations to materialise. It is only with the benefit of hindsight, as she reflects on her participation in a communist commune in Southern Rhodesia in the 1940s, that Anna recognises the inadequacies of socialism's historical actualisations: "Inside a year our group was split, equipped with subgroups, traitors, and a loyal hard core whose personnel, save for one or two men, kept changing […]. [T]he process of self-destruction began almost at birth" (ibid., 65). On Lessing's (and Anna's) account, the fracturing of this communist group in the 1940s is in large part due to the Old Left's lack of attention to questions of race and gender. For example, seeds of internecine strife are sown when the British upper-class airman Paul Blackenhurst starts an affair with the wife of the black cook who prepares dinner at the hotel where the group are staying. When the cook is fired

4 For a particularly influential account of Western Marxism's response to the shortcomings of Soviet-style communism, see Anderson 1976. Anderson argues that these mid-century crises drove home to Western intellectuals socialism's "[l]ack of universality" (94).

356 BENJAMIN KOHLMANN by the enraged (white) hotelkeeper, his family is effectively dispersed – including the mixed-race child born of his wife's affair with Paul. The episode suggests the uneven development of socialism as an egalitarian movement by pointing out that even the (supposedly progressive) proponents of communism in 1930s and 1940s Rhodesia continue to perpetuate the white colonisers' exploitative attitude towards the black population.5 Anna's retrospective account of her communisant phase in the 1930s and 1940s thus indicates that the ideals of socialism are liable to fracture once they enter into contact with the intractable historical contradictions of race, gender, and class. Looking back on the Stalinist Purges in one of her notebooks from the 1950s, Anna finds that the history of socialism presents itself as an almost unmitigated series of missed opportunities and historical failures: "The real crime of the Communist Party", she comments, "is the number of marvellous people it has either broken, or turned into dry-as-dust hair-splitting office men, living in a closed group with other communists" (ibid., 328-9). In The Golden Notebook the growth of this recognition is presented as a process of personal maturation. Like most of her former comrades, the young Anna mistook socialism for a form of idealism, for a youthful historical optimism. As her lover Saul Green observes in conversation with Anna towards the end of the novel: "I've never lived with my eye on becoming what is known as mature. I've spent all my life, until recently, preparing myself for the moment when someone says: 'Pick up that rifle'; or, 'run that collective farm'; or 'organise that picket line.' I always believed I'd be dead by the time I was thirty" (ibid., 595). Coming face to face with the terrors of Stalinism in the 1950s, Anna discovers the inadequacy of her idealist belief in the historical realisability of socialism. Significantly, however, this recognition is not presented – as most accounts of post-World War II literature would have it – as a move from ideological innocence towards a recognition of socialism's impossibility or as a sobering demise of socialist optimism tout court. Instead, Anna moves towards a more mature knowledge of socialism's imperfect historical actualisation that does not result (to invoke Toscano's phrase once more) in the wholesale "denial of an insurgent social creativity". Such a sweeping dismissal would amount to what Alain Badiou has called the "propagandist use of the notion of failure" – the reactionary attempt to discredit socialism as such by pointing to its historical crises (Badiou 2010, 8). Rather than presenting the self-destruction of Anna's communist cell, the Stalinist show trials, and the events of 1956 as evidence for the comprehensive failure of socialism, Lessing's novel intimates that these crises should be understood – with Toscano and Badiou – as so many stages in socialism's tragic actualisation. Following her recognition of socialism's disappointing historical record, Anna does not simply renounce the realm of socialist politics. Instead, her departure from "youthful certainties and slogans and battle-cries" and her arrival at "middle-age" (Lessing

5 The uneasy cohabitation of these antagonistic temporalities – progressive-utopian and racist- reactionary – bears out Lukács's claim that "countries which became socialist later than the So- viet Union cannot simply adopt a formula of agreement reached after long and bitter ideological struggle" (Lukács 1963, 106). Revolutionary theory, Lukács suggests, needs to be adjusted in response to differing historical contexts and social antagonisms. Lukács's remark also goes some way towards rectifying Jed Esty's recent claim that Lukács's writings fail to grasp the uneven dynamic of historical, social, and economic processes as they unfold globally (Esty 2009).

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1999, 215) bring her to a new understanding of revolutionary politics in terms of generational change and periodic renewal: A well of faith fills up, and there's an enormous heave forward in one country or another, and that's a forward movement for the whole world. Because it's an act of imagination – of what is possible for the whole world. In our century it was 1917 in Russia. And in China. Then the well runs dry, because, as you say, the cruelty and ugliness are too strong. Then the well slowly fills again. And then there's another painful lurch forward.' 'A lurch forward?' [Tommy, Anna's son] said. […] 'In spite of everything, a lurch forward?' (ibid., 263) The passage reaches beyond the stark binary of (youthful) ideological enchantment and (middle-aged) disillusionment by describing the violent fits and starts of socialism's historical realisation. This understanding of the socialist struggle as a series of historical failures, as a recurring deferral of 'true' socialism, resonates with Badiou's recent response to the question "What Is Called Failure?": [T]he difficulties of a politics are never universal, as enemy propaganda – along the lines of 'your communist hypothesis is nothing more than a chimera that cannot be put into practice, a utopia that has nothing to do with the real world' – would always have us believe in order to dis- courage us once and for all. Its difficulties are caught up in a network in which it is possible, although often difficult, to know their place, what surrounds them, and how to approach them. We can therefore speak of a space of possible failures. (Badiou 2010, 39-40; emphasis in the original) The tragedy of the socialist struggle, its sequence of "possible failures", is inseparable from its utopian promise – a promise that continues to exist as a hypothesis about a changed social order that will be more responsive to human needs. Following Badiou, it is possible to say that the socialist Bildungsroman negotiates two kinds of truth: on the one hand, an idealistic belief in the transhistorical truth of socialism; on the other, the Marxist belief that any actualisation of that truth will necessarily be limited and historically contingent.6

2. "Shitty Childhoods": The Good Terrorist While The Golden Notebook upends the developmental narrative of the Bildungs- roman by insisting on the simultaneity of youthful optimism and the sobered recognition of historical failure, the opening pages of The Good Terrorist present stymied growth and premature middle-age as the result of the stunting forces of patriarchal society: Sometimes a girl of twelve, even thirteen, before she is lit by pubescence, is as she will be in middle age. A group of women are standing on a platform in the Underground. Middle-aged women, with carrier bags, gossiping. Very short women, surely? No, they are girls, of twelve or

6 Badiou's choice of the phrase "communist hypothesis" signals that socialism cuts across the Pla- tonic dualism between a pure Idea devoid of historical content and its actualisation. Instead, Badiou suggests, socialism only ever exists as a hypothesis about a historically contingent and changeable social order. To regard socialism merely as an abstract "idea", Bruno Bosteels has recently reminded us by invoking Daniel Bensaïd, would "reduce" it "to its atemporal 'invari- ants', making it synonymous with indeterminate ideas of justice or emancipation, and not with the specific form of emancipation in the age of capitalist domination. The word then loses in political precision what it gains in ethical or philosophical extension" (Bosteels 2011, 7-8). I am grateful to Georgia Christinidis for discussing this and related issues with me.

358 BENJAMIN KOHLMANN

so. Forty years of being women will boil through them, and leave them as they are now, heavy and cautious, and anxious to please. (Lessing 2013, 12) The girls' growth in the next "[f]orty years" will be slowed down by a society that bars them from positions of genuine social responsibility, forcing them instead into positions of familial subordination. By contrast, the novel's protagonist – the well-inten- tioned but naïve communist sympathiser Alice – desires maturity more than anything else. Acting the role of guardian to a group of squatters occupying a derelict house in London, Alice, who is in her mid-thirties, is constantly "look[ing] after" her comrades who have come to be "dependent on her" (ibid., 62). The squat consists of members of the fictional "Communist Centre Union" (CCU), all of whom rely fundamentally on Alice's skills to make ends meet and to avert the constant threat of eviction posed by the municipal authorities. Yet Lessing's novel points out that Alice's chosen role is itself only a reiteration of the conventional caretaker role available to women under patriarchy. As Alice's mother reminds her: "[Y]ou spend your life exactly as I did. Cooking and nannying for other people. An all-purpose female drudge" (ibid., 228). While Alice desires to inhabit a state of maturity, her performance of the maternal role also ironically reveals her naivety vis-à-vis gender stereotypes. In a narrative trajectory that vaguely resembles Maxim Gorki's socialist Bildungsroman, Mother (1905), Alice needs to 'unlearn' her acquired role in order to overcome "patriarchal misogyny" (Yelin 1998, 96). However, this process of Bildung is only haltingly and imperfectly accomplished in Lessing's novel. For example, Alice begins to recognise her own dependency on the institutions of care that are provided by the British welfare state. Over the course of the novel, Lessing describes Alice's encounters with female council workers who are tasked with determining the CCU's monthly entitlements and with ordering the condemnation of abandoned houses. It becomes clear that Alice, who likes to think of herself as a grown-up woman, as a surro- gate mother to the CCU, depends entirely on the goodwill of female welfare workers who are in their turn described as "motherly lad[ies] who, Alice knew, several times a day stretched things a little because [they were] sorry for people" (Lessing 2013, 62). Alice's stewardship of the CCU and the existence of the group as a whole are thus shown to be derivative, depending entirely on the structures of the welfare state to sustain them. Alice herself recognises this state of childlike dependency when, in a fit of fury, she shouts at the other members of the CCU that "[i]f you don't care that's what [communes] become – people sitting around discussing their shitty childhoods": "I’ve had all the unhappy childhoods I can listen to. People go on and on […] As far as I am concerned, unhappy childhoods are the great con, the great alibi [for people who fail to grow up]" (ibid., 130). The squatters in The Good Terrorist are accordingly depicted as adults who fail to outgrow their childhoods. In a particularly striking passage, one member of the group, Philip, is described by Alice as the image of puerile innocence: "a slight, rather stooping boy – only he was a man – with his hollowed, pale cheeks, his wide blue eyes full of light" (ibid., 57). The commune's state of childlike dependency also extends to its eclectic ideological positions. For instance, the members of the group frequently seek to align themselves with that Marxist meta-subject, the working-class. Echoing E.P. Thompson's account of the formation of the proletarian subject-of-history "as a biography of the English working class from adolescence until its early manhood", the group tries to think of its

POSSIBLE FAILURES 359 own growth – its development from politically ineffective revolt to mature political action – as a rearticulation of the historical coming-to-consciousness of the working class:7 [Bert] nodded briefly at the applause, and went on to say that the CCU proposed to be a non- sectarian party, taking the best from the existing socialist parties, learning from their mistakes and failures. It was determined to base itself on the great traditions of the British working class, working for radical social change towards a revolution. […] A revolution that would learn from the experience of the Russian Revolution, the Chinese Revolution and, if necessary, the French Revolution, for it was not too much to say that the lessons of the French Revolution had by no means been exhausted. […] And now he, Bert Barnes, would stand down and let a much more accomplished and developed revolutionary, Comrade Willis, take the floor. (ibid., 235) By building on the energies of the working-class movement as well as on the experience of past revolutions, the CCU presents its own activities as a continuation of the growth of the socialist international. While this continuity with socialist traditions is intended to illustrate the CCU's ideological maturity, Lessing also hints that such second-hand socialism can easily devolve into a form of conservatism, into a melancholic yearning for socialism's past triumphs. The group's desire for political maturity notwithstanding, the speeches of many CCU members, including Alice's lover "Comrade [Jasper] Willis", betray a notable lack of intellectual and ideological development. Jasper delivers his speeches in "platform style", "his eyes fixed on the portrait of Lenin" and using "the familiar phrases of the socialist lexicon" (ibid., 235-236) in a manner that indicates the CCU's ideological conservatism. The reference to Lenin is particularly stinging, as it signals the CCU's adherence to the doctrinal rigidities of the Old Left and its inability to engage with the forms of cultural critique associated with the rejuvenation of socialism under the aegis of the New Left movements of the 1960s and 1970s. In The Good Terrorist, the generational "heave forward" envisioned in The Golden Notebook does not generate a dialectical forward movement but a temporary stagnation of revolutionary energies. Alice herself is not free from Leninist idolatry. When she meets the group's new next- door neighbour, who sports an American accent even though Alice thinks that he looks "Russian" (ibid., 123), she is thrilled to find that "[h]e was like Lenin!" (124) The encounter also initiates the novel's central plotline: The neighbour claims to have links to the KGB and the Soviet Union, and Alice readily complies with his request that the CCU's squat be used as a covert relay station for "matériel", including weaponry. In Alice's eyes the group's affiliation with the mysterious neighbour affords the CCU with a shortcut that will instantly transport them from political inconsequentiality to meaningful revolutionary action.8 It soon becomes clear, however, that the Soviet

7 For Thompson's description of his historiographical undertaking in The Making of the English Working Class, see Thompson 1966, 11. As Michael Denning has noted with a view to Thomp- son's work, the Hegelian tradition within Marxism – and Thompson's now-classical account of the emergence of the English working class in particular – tends to mediate the rise of the proletarian 'subject of history' through the comic form of the Bildungsroman: "a biography of a class imagined as a coherent subject, with all the metaphoric armature of a masculine biography or Bildungsroman – birth, formation, coming to consciousness, setbacks, maturity" (Denning 2004, 40). 8 In another attempt to boost the commune's credentials as a revolutionary cell, Bert and Jasper travel to Ireland to convince the IRA to let the CCU join them. Their request is rejected by their IRA liaison officer because the CCU is not deemed a reliable partner.

360 BENJAMIN KOHLMANN string-pullers behind the secret operations begin to distrust Alice's pell-mell group of squatters and social outcasts. Meeting with such rejection, the CCU decides to break with established socialist organisations by setting up the league of "Freeborn British communists" (ibid., 376). The members of this newly established league soon decide to carry out acts of terror, and they hatch plans to plant a bomb in a hotel in Knights- bridge. The Good Terrorist makes the inherently tragic dimension of the socialist struggle – the terribly flawed historical actualisation of the "communist hypothesis" – even more explicit than The Golden Notebook.9 In a sequence of graphic scenes, Lessing describes the botched terrorist attack that kills one of the members of the group, Faye, as well as a number of passers-by. Although the police initially fail to track down the per- petrators, the attack leads to the unravelling of the commune as the members cannot agree on the right way forward. Yet while many CCU members decide to break with socialism after that terrorist act, Alice finds herself defending the group's actions. Her sentiments are echoed by Bert, one of Alice's closest CCU comrades, who notes in his parting speech: 'The law should not abolish terror; to promise that would be self-delusion or deception; it should be substantiated and legalized in principle, clearly without evasion or embellishment. The paragraph on terror should be formulated as widely as possible, since only revolutionary consciousness of justice and revolutionary conscience can determine the conditions of its application in practice.' (Lessing 2013, 388) Bert's speech inverts the relationship between socialist theory and insurgent practice that underpinned the group's previous ineffectual attempts at revolutionary action. Rather than presenting (Leninist) theory as the solid basis for such action, Bert insists that practice is constantly running ahead of theory as it rearticulates the communist hypothesis in a historical "space of possible failures". By emphasising the primacy of revolutionary practice over abstract law, and of historical actualisation over theory, he refuses to see the shortcomings of socialist practice as conclusive evidence for the failure of socialism as such. Of course, all of this is not to claim that Lessing endorses terrorist acts of any kind. However, Bert's comments can prompt us to think of revolutionary action not as the straightforward implementation of (socialist) theory, but as a procedure that is governed by the demands and the contradictions of a particular historical moment. Iron- ically, Alice's decision to become involved in acts of terror does not bring her closer to the longed-for stage of ideological maturity. Instead it appears to catapult her back into a state of preadolescence as the novel's concluding paragraph shows her sitting alone in the attic of the abandoned house: "Smiling gently, a mug of very strong sweet tea in her hand, looking this morning like a nine-year-old girl who has had, perhaps, a bad dream, the poor baby [i.e. Alice] sat waiting" (ibid., 397). Alice's development into a committed terrorist is presented as a form of stunted growth. Yet her espousal of ter- rorism, however extreme and wrong-headed, can also be read as a further instantiation of the 'tragic' realisation of socialism's utopian promise. On this reading, the blatant inadequacy of socialism's historical actualisations does not invalidate the communist hypothesis. Instead it draws attention once more to what Badiou has called the histori-

9 For Badiou's delineation of the "communist hypothesis", see Badiou 2008, 34-36.

POSSIBLE FAILURES 361 cally variable "modes of existence of the hypothesis" (Badiou 2009, 87). When it is seen from this perspective, the 'tragedy' of Alice's frozen development – her failure to outgrow the role of a child dependent on others (the welfare state, the KGB, the IRA) – implies that socialism's actualisation is inconceivable outside the vast field of historical contradictions and antagonisms. The art of socialism – including the focus on moments of uneven, impeded, or premature growth in Lessing's Bildungsromane – is therefore best understood as an art and form of crisis, a dramatization of the social and subjective experience of a time […] when the balance between emergent, residual and dominant forces is uncertain, when antagonistic times and customs overlap, when, among a welter of moving contradictions and realign- ments, the consequences of actions become more difficult to calculate, and neither an ethics of conviction nor an ethics of responsibility can hold us in good stead (Toscano 2013, 28). To believe in socialism therefore involves a recognition of history as that paradoxical site which makes socialism possible by allowing it to fail.

References Primary Sources Brecht, Bertolt (1988-2000): Der Dreigroschenprozess: Ein soziologisches Experiment, in: Hecht, Werner et al. (eds.): Werke: Große kommentierte Berliner und Frankfurter Ausgabe. 31 vols. Frankfurt/M.: Suhrkamp, 21: 448-514 Lessing, Doris (1999): The Golden Notebook. New York: Vintage --- (2013): The Good Terrorist. London: Fourth Estate Upward, Edward (1977): The Spiral Ascent: A Trilogy. London: Heinemann

Secondary Sources Anderson, Perry (1976): Considerations on Western Marxism. London: New Left Books Badiou, Alain (2008): "The Communist Hypothesis", New Left Review 49, 29-42 --- (2009): "Must the Communist Hypothesis Be Abandoned?", The Yearbook of Comparative Litera- ture 55, 79-88 --- (2010): The Communist Hypothesis. Trans. David Macey and Steve Corcoran. London: Verso Bosteels, Bruno (2014): The Actuality of Communism. London: Verso Denning, Michael (2004): Culture in the Age of Three Worlds. London: Verso Esty, Jed (2009): "Global Lukács", NOVEL: A Forum on Fiction 42/3, 366-372 Kohlmann, Benjamin (forthc. 2015): "Towards a History and Theory of the Socialist Bildungsroman", NOVEL: A Forum on Fiction 48/2 Lukács, Georg (1963): "Critical Realism and Socialist Realism", in: The Meaning of Contemporary Realism. Trans. John and Necke Mander. London: Mellon, 93-135 --- (1999): The Theory of the Novel: A Historico-Philosophical Essay on the Forms of Great Epic Lit- erature. Trans. Anna Bostock. Cambridge: MIT Press Moretti, Franco (2000): The Way of the World: The Bildungsroman in European Culture. London: Verso Tertz, Abram (1982): The Trial Begins; On Socialist Realism. Trans. George Denis. Berkeley: UC Press Thompson, E.P. (1966): The Making of the English Working Class. New York: Vintage Toscano, Alberto (2013): "Politics in a Tragic Key", Radical Philosophy 180, 25-45 Yelin, Louise (1998): From the Margins of Empire: Christina Stead, Doris Lessing, Nadine Gordimer. Ithaca: Cornell UP

Notes on Contributors

Jan Alber is Associate Professor at the Aarhus Institute of Advanced Studies, Aarhus University, Denmark, and the University of Freiburg, Germany. His research interests encompass narratology and intermediality as well as questions of laws and norms. He is currently working on a project entitled "Ideology and Form: The Experimentalism of Recent Australian and Indian-English Prose Narratives". His publications include the monograph Narrating the Prison: Role and Representation in Charles Dickens' Novels, Twentieth-Century Fiction, and Film (2007) and the forthcoming 'Unnatural Narrative: Impossible Worlds in Fiction and Drama': Frontiers of Narrative as well as the edited collections Beyond Classical Narration: Unnatural and Transmedial Narrative and Narratology (with Per Krogh Hansen, 2014), A Poetics of Unnatural Narrative (with Henrik Skov Nielsen and Brian Richardson, 2013), Why Study Literature? (with Stefan Iversen et al., 2011), Unnatural Narratives, Unnatural Narratology (with Rüdiger Heinze, 2011), Postclassical Narratology: Approaches and Analyses (with Monika Fludernik, 2010), Stones of Law – Bricks of Shame: Narrating Imprisonment in the Vic- torian Age (with Frank Lauterbach, 2009), and Moderne – Postmoderne (with Monika Fludernik, 2003). Lieselotte Anderwald is Professor of English Linguistics at Christian Albrechts Uni- versity in Kiel, Germany. Her research interests include grammar studies, the grammar of dialects and Sociolinguistics. She is currently researching the impact of prescriptive 19th-century grammars on the English language. Her publications include the forthcoming monograph Language between Description and Prescription: Verb Categories in Nineteenth-Century Grammars of English, The Morphology of English Dialects: Verb-Formation in Non-Standard English (2009), and Negation in Non-Standard Brit- ish English: Gaps, Regularizations, Asymmetries (2002), and the edited collection Sprachmythen – Fiktion oder Wirklichkeit? (2012). Katrin Berndt is Reader in English Literature at the University of Bremen, Germany. Her research interests encompass friendship, African Literature, 18th-Century Litera- ture, the English Novel, Canadian Literature, the intellectual history of the Enlighten- ment, Romanticism, literature and science, Gender Studies, the Jacobin Novel, and Scottish Literature. Her publications include the monographs Heroism in the Harry Potter Series (with Lena Steveker, 2011) and Female Identity In Contemporary Zim- babwean Fiction (2005) and the edited collection Words and Worlds: African Writing, Theater, and Society: a Commemorative Publication In Honour of Eckhard Breitinger (with Susan Arndt, 2007). Katharina Böhm is Senior Lecturer in English Literature at the University of Regens- burg in Germany. She is currently working on a project on antiquarianism and literature in the 18th and early 19th centuries. Since 2014 she has been an elected member of the Junges Kolleg of the Bavarian Academy for Sciences and Humanities (Bayerische Akademie der Wissenschaften). Her research interests are British literature of the 18th and 19th centuries and the history of science. Her publications include the monograph Charles Dickens and the Sciences of Childhood: Popular Medicine, Child Health and 364 NOTES ON CONTRIBUTORS

Victorian Culture (2013) and the edited collections Interdisciplinary Perspectives on Aging in Nineteenth-Century Culture (with Anne-Julia Zwierlein and Anna Farkas, 2013), Bodies and Things in Nineteenth-Century Literature and Culture (2012), and Urban Mobility: New Maps of Victorian London. 'New Agenda' Issue of the Journal of Victorian Culture (with Josephine McDonagh, 2010). She is founding co-editor of the online journal Victorian Network. Nadine Böhm-Schnitker is Lecturer in English Literature at the University of Erlan- gen-Nürnberg in Germany. Her research focuses on the intersections of religion and culture, discourses of difference, contemporary British literature, Neo-Victorianism and Victorian Literature and Culture as well as biopolitics. Her publications include the monograph Sakrales Sehen: Strategien der Sakralisierung im Kino der Jahr- tausendwende (2009), the edited collection Neo-Victorian Literature and Culture: Im- mersions and Revisitations (with Susanne Gruß, 2014) and the Special Issue of the online journal neovictorianstudies.com, Spectacles and Things: Visual and Material Culture and/in Neo-Victorianism (with Susanne Gruß, 2011). Birte Bös is Professor of English Linguistics at the University of Duisburg-Essen, Germany. Her research interests include synchronic and diachronic pragmatics, discourse analysis and media linguistics. Working in particular with the Rostock News- paper Corpus (RNC), she has investigated the communicative practices of historical and modern news discourse. She is the author of News as Changing Texts: Corpora, Methodologies and Analysis (with Roberta Facchinetti et al., 2012) and editor of the forthcoming Changing Genre Conventions in Historical News Discourse (with Lucia Kornexl). She is Board Member of the CHINED series of conferences. Ulrich Busse is Professor of English Linguistics at Martin Luther University in Halle- Wittenberg, Germany. His main research interests are descriptive synchronic English Linguistics (especially lexicography, lexicology, morphology and semantics), the history of English, and English as a world language. His publications include Linguistic Variation in the Shakespeare Corpus: Morpho-syntactic Variability of Second Person Pronouns (2002), Anglizismen-Wörterbuch – Der Einfluß des Englischen auf den deutschen Wortschatz nach 1945 (1993 ff.), and Anglizismen im Duden – Eine Untersu- chung zur Darstellung englischen Wortguts in den Ausgaben des Rechtschreibdudens von 1880-1986 (1993). Stella Butter is Reader in English Literature and Culture at the University of Mannheim in Germany. Her research interests are literature and processes of modernisation from the 19th to the 21st century, cultural functions of literature and film, cultures of subjectivity, idea(l)s of home, Reader-Response Theory, and Gender Studies. Her publications include the monographs Kontingenz und Literatur im Prozess der Modernisierung: Di- agnosen und Umgangsstrategien im britischen Roman des 19.-21. Jahrhunderts (2013) and Literatur als Medium kultureller Selbstreflexion: Literarische Transversalität und Vernunftkritik in englischen und amerikanischen Gegenwartsromanen aus funktionsge- schichtlicher Perspektive (2007) as well as the edited collection Realisms in Contempo- rary Culture: Theories, Politics and Medial Configurations (with Dorothee Birke, 2013) and the Special Issue of Anglistik: International Journal of English Studies, "Communi- ty in Contemporary Cultural Production" (with Sarah Heinz, 2015). NOTES ON CONTRIBUTORS 365

Georgia Christinidis is Lecturer in English Literature and Culture at the University of Rostock in Germany. Her research interests include conceptions of cultural agency and cultural value, identity formation and the Bildungsroman, and the changing role of universities and intellectuals. Among her publications are the Special Issue of the Journal of the Knowledge Economy, "Beyond the Knowledge Economy? The Chang- ing Role of the University" (with Heather Ellis, 2013) and essays and book chapters on Raymond Williams, Angela Carter, James Bond, and Slumdog Millionaire. Claudia Claridge is Professor of English Linguistics at the University of Duisburg- Essen in Germany. Her main research interests are Corpus Linguistics, the history of English, with particular emphasis on the period from 1600 onwards, Pragmatics / Figu- rative Language, and Text and Discourse Studies. She is currently pursuing a project entitled "The Development of History Writing from Old English to Late Modern Eng- lish". Among her publications are the monographs Multi-word Verbs in Early Modern English: A Corpus-based Study (2000) and Hyperbole in English: A Corpus-based Study of Exaggeration (2010) and the edited section articles "'Spoken' English through the Centuries" in Anglistentag 2009 Klagenfurt: Proceedings (with Ilka Mindt, 2010) and "Language, Literature and Culture in the 17th Century: New Perspectives on an Under-Rated Period" in Anglistentag 2010: Proceedings (with Jens Gurr and Dirk Vanderbeke, 2011). Rainer Emig is Chair of English Literature and Culture at Johannes Gutenberg Uni- versity in Mainz, Germany. He is especially interested in the link between literature and the media and in Literary, Critical, and Cultural Theory, especially theories of identity, power, gender and sexuality. His publications include the monographs Mod- ernism in Poetry (1995), W.H. Auden (1999) and Krieg als Metapher im zwanzigsten Jahrhundert (2001) as well as edited collections on Stereotypes in Contemporary An- glo-German Relations (2000), Ulysses (2004), Gender ↔ Religion (with Sabine De- mel, 2008), Hybrid Humour (with Graeme Dunphy, 2010), Performing Masculinity (with Antony Rowland, 2010), Commodifying (Post-) Colonialism (with Oliver Lind- ner, 2010), and Treasure in Literature and Culture (2013). He is one of the editors of the Journal for the Study of British Cultures. Kerstin Frank is Lecturer in English Literature and Culture at Ruprecht Karls Univer- sity in Heidelberg, Germany. Her research interests range from contemporary fiction to English literature and culture in the 18th century, especially the Gothic tradition. Her publications include the monograph Die Erneuerung des Romans im Zeichen postmo- derner Realitätsauffassung: Sinnstiftung und Sinnzerstörung in Christine Brooke- Roses Werk (2008). Wolfgang Funk is Lecturer in English Literature and Culture at Johannes Gutenberg University in Mainz, Germany. His research interests are contemporary fiction and drama, literature and science, Gender Studies, Victorian poetry, and Victorian women writers. His publications include the monograph The Literature of Reconstruction: Au- thentic Fiction in the New Millennium (2015) and the edited collections Fiktionen von Wirklichkeit: Authentizität zwischen Materialität und Konstruktion (with Lucia Krämer, 2011) and The Aesthetics of Authenticity: Medial Constructions of the Real (with Irmtraud Huber and Florian Groß, 2012). 366 NOTES ON CONTRIBUTORS

Jana Gohrisch is Professor of English at Leibniz University in Hanover, Germany, where she teaches British Studies with a broad focus on literature and culture from the 16th to the 21st century. She also has a special interest in the New Literatures in Eng- lish. She has written two monographs: (Un)Belonging? Geschlecht, Klasse, Rasse und Ethnizität in der britischen Gegenwartsliteratur: Joan Rileys Romane (1994) and Bür- gerliche Gefühlsdispositionen in der englischen Prosa des 19. Jahrhunderts (2005). As well as co-editing two volumes with Ellen Grünkemeier: Listening to Africa. An- glophone Literatures and Cultures (2012) and Postcolonial Studies Across the Disci- plines (2013), she has published essays on Black British, Caribbean and African literatures, on various aspects and periods of British literature, on popular culture and cultural exchange, and on German higher education policy. Mascha Hansen is Lecturer in Anglophone Cultures at Ernst Moritz Arndt University in Greifswald, Germany. Her research interests include English Literature from Shake- speare to the present, women and literature in the 18th century, life writing, Frances Burney, Elizabeth Carter, and Queen Charlotte. Among her publications are the monograph Frances Burney and the Female Bildungsroman: An Interpretation of The Wan- derer: or, Female Difficulties (2004) and the edited collections Great Expectations: Futurity in the Long Eighteenth Century (with Jürgen Klein, 2012) and "The First Wit of the Age": Essays on Swift and His Contemporaries in Honour of Hermann J. Real (with Kirsten Juhas and Patrick Müller, 2013). Anton Kirchhofer is Professor of English Literature at Carl von Ossietzky University in Oldenburg, Germany, and one of the founding directors of Fiction Meets Science (FMS). His research interests include the media and the cultural settings and discursive environment of literature, literary theory and its relation with literary production, and the connections between modernity, literature and secularity, and between literature and science. His publications include the monograph Strategie und Wahrheit: Zum Einsatz von Wissen über Leidenschaften und Geschlecht im Roman der englischen Empfindsamkeit (1995), the edited collections Religion, Secularity and Cultural Agency (with Richard Stinshoff, 2010), Internet Fictions (with Ingrid Hotz-Davies and Sirpa Leppänen, 2009), The Workings of the Anglosphere: Contributions to the Study of British and US-American Cultures (with Jutta Schwarzkopf, 2009), Psychoanalytic- ism: Uses of Psychoanalysis in Novels, Poems, Plays and Films (with Ingrid Hotz- Davies, 2000) , and the Special Issue of the Journal for the Study of British Cultures, "Postsecular Britain" (2009). Benjamin Kohlmann is Assistant Professor of English Literature at Albert Ludwigs University in Freiburg, Germany. His research interests are culture and politics of Modernism, especially the politicization of Modernist writing in the late 1920s and 1930s and the transition from (late) Victorianism to Modernism, the connections between literature and economics (especially the emerging concepts of 'welfare') in the long 19th century, the utopian imaginary of late Victorian writing and representations of working-class idleness in Victorian fiction and poetry. His publications include the monograph Committed Styles: Modernism, Politics, and Left-Wing Literature in the 1930s (2014) and the edited collections Edward Upward and Left-Wing Literary Cul- ture in Britain (2013), Utopian Spaces of Modernism: British Literature and Culture 1885-1945 (with R. Gregory, 2012), and the Special Issue of the journal Literature and History, "Literatures of Anti-Communism" (with M. Taunton, 2015). NOTES ON CONTRIBUTORS 367

Thomas Kohnen is Chair of English Linguistics at the University of Cologne in Ger- many. Among his research interests are Historical Pragmatics and Historical Text Lin- guistics, Corpus Linguistics in a synchronic and diachronic perspective, Historical Syntax, Speech Act Theory, writing and orality, and the history of English grammar. His publications include the monographs Zurückweisungen in Diskussionen: Die Kon- zeption einer Sprechhandlungstheorie als Basis einer empirisch orientierten Konver- sationsanalyse (1987), Text – Textsorte – Sprachgeschichte: Englische Partizipial- und Gerundialkonstruktionen 1100-1700 (2004), and Introduction to the History of English (2014). Together with Joybrato Mukherjee he is in charge of the publication series English Corpus Linguistics. Ursula Kluwick is Lecturer in Modern English Literature at the University of Berne in Switzerland. Her research interests are Victorian literature and culture, contemporary literature (especially fiction), representations of nature (especially water and climate change), Ecocriticism, Postcolonial Literatures and Cultures, non-realist forms of writing (especially Magic Realism and the Fantastic), and Shakespeare Studies. Her publications include the monograph Exploring Magic Realism in Salman Rushdie's Fiction (2011) and the edited collection The Beach in Anglophone Literatures and Cultures: Reading Littoral Space (with Virginia Richter, 2015). Oliver Lindner is Professor of British Cultural Studies at Leipzig University, Ger- many. His research interests encompass popular culture, British youth cultures, the history of the British Empire, London as a 'global city', late 19th- and 20th-century Sci- ence Fiction, contemporary dystopian films and novels, teaching English Literature and Culture, the representation of violence, and Daniel Defoe. His publications include the monographs 'Matters of Blood': Defoe and the Cultures of Violence (2010) and 'Solitary on a Continent': Raumentwürfe in der spätviktorianischen Science Fiction (2005) as well as the edited collections Adaptation and Cultural Appropriation: Lit- erature, Film, and the Arts (with Pascal Nicklas, 2012), Commodifying (Post-) Colo- nialism: Othering, Reification, Commodification and the New Literatures and Cultures in English (with Rainer Emig, 2010), and Teaching India (2008). Kai Merten is Professor of English Literature at the University of Erfurt in Germany. His research interests include British Romanticism, Contemporary Poetry in English, Literature and Media History, Postcolonial Media Culture, theatre and theatricality, and Literary, Media and Cultural Theory. Among his publications are the monographs In- termediales Text-Theater: Die Bühne des Politischen und des Wissens vom Menschen bei Wordsworth und Scott (2014), Antike Mythen – Mythos Antike: Posthumanistische Antikerezeption in der englischsprachigen Lyrik der Gegenwart (2004) as well as the edited collections Postcolonial Media Cultures: Selected Key Concepts (with Lucia Krämer, forthcoming) and Die Ordnung der Kulturen: Zur Konstruktion ethnischer, nationaler und zivilisatorischer Differenzen 1750-1850 (with Hansjörg Bay, 2006). Jürgen Meyer is Adjunct Professor of English Literature at Martin Luther University in Halle-Wittenberg, Germany. His main research interests are Early Modern English fiction, texts and media, orality and writing, philological and editorial criticism, the history of science and the Humanities, and "Science in Fiction". His publications include the monographs Textvarianz und Schriftkritik: Dialogische Schreib- und Lese- kultur bei Thomas More, George Gascoigne und John Lyly (2010) and Allegorien des 368 NOTES ON CONTRIBUTORS

Wissens: Flann O'Briens "The Third Policeman" und Friedrich Dürrenmatts "Durcheinandertal" als ironische Kosmographien (2001). John Richetti is A.M. Rosenthal Professor of English Emeritus at the University of Pennsylvania in the United States of America and now lives in New York. He received his graduate degrees from Columbia University, where he specialized in 18th-century English literature, and wrote his dissertation at University College, London as a Ful- bright and a Danforth Fellow. He has taught at Columbia, at Stanford, at New York University, and for many years at Rutgers, where he received the Lindback Award for distinguished teaching. His monographs include Popular Fiction before Richardson: Narrative Patterns 1700-1739 (1969), Defoe's Narratives: Situations and Structures (1975), Philosophical Writing: Locke, Berkeley, Hume (1983), The English Novel in History, 1700-1780 (1999), and The Life of Daniel Defoe (2005). He has edited The Cambridge Companion to the Eighteenth-Century Novel (1996), The Columbia History of the British Novel (1994), and (with Paula Backscheider) Popular Fiction by Women: 1660-1740 (1996). He is the editor of the Restoration and 18th-century volume of The New Cambridge History of English Literature (2005). In 2006 he was awarded the Ira Abrams Award for Distinguished Teaching in SAS. Susanne Peters is Chair of English Literature and Culture at Otto von Guericke Univer- sity in Magdeburg, Germany. Her research interests include the literatures of Britain, Ireland, Canada, and India, censorship, image-text relations in the context of globalisation as well as 'evil children' in the literature and culture of the 19th century to the present. Her publications include the monographs Wahrnehmung als Gestaltungsprinzip im Werk von James Joyce (1995) and Briefe im Theater: Erscheinungsformen und Funkti- onswandel schriftlicher Kommunikation im englischen Drama von der Shakespeare-Zeit bis zur Gegenwart (2003) and the edited collections The Humanities in the New Millen- nium (with Michael Biddiss und Ian F. Roe, 2000) and Perception and the Senses: Sin- neswahrnehmung (with Therese Fischer-Seidel und Alex Potts, 2004). She is one of the editors of the book series "Teaching Contemporary Literature and Culture". Kirsten Sandrock is Assistant Professor of English Literature and Cultural Studies at the Georg August University of Göttingen, Germany. Her research interests include Canadian Literature, Cultural Studies, the Early Modern period, Scottish Studies, Post- colonial Studies, and travel writing. She has published the monograph Gender and Region: Maritime Fiction in English by Canadian Women, 1976-2005 (2009) and the edited collections Locating Italy: East and West in British-Italian Transactions (with Owain Wright, 2013), Transnational Approaches to North American Regionalism, Special Issue of European Journal of American Studies (with Florian Freitag, 2014), Celebrating Shakespeare: Shakespeare's Festivities, Special Issue of Shakespeare Seminar Online (with Lukas Lammers, 2014), Scottish Renaissances, Special Issue of European Journal of English Studies (with Wolfram R. Keller and J. Derrick McClure, 2014), and Crimelights: Scottish Crime Writing – Then and Now (with Frauke Reite- meier, 2015). Barbara Schaff is Chair of British Literature and Culture at Georg August University Göttingen, Germany. Her research interests include authorship, literary forgeries, travel writing, tourist guidebooks, literary tourism, Scottish Literature, Gender Studies, and transnational histories of the book. Among her publications are the monograph NOTES ON CONTRIBUTORS 369

Das zeitgenössische britische Künstlerdrama (1992) and the edited collections Reflect- ing on Darwin (with Eckart Voigts and Monika Pietrzak-Franger, 2014), Kafkas Gabel: Überlegungen zum Ausstellen von Literatur (with Katerina Kroucheva, 2013), Exiles, Emigrés and Go-Betweens: Anglo-Italian Cultural Transformations (2010), Bi- Textualität: Inszenierungen des Paares (with Annegret Heitmann, Sigrid Nieberle, and Sabine Schülting (2000), Venetian Views, Venetian Blinds: English Fantasies of Ven- ice (with Manfred Pfister, 1999), and Autorschaft: Genus und Genie um 1800 (with Ina Schabert, 1994). Christian Schmitt-Kilb is Professor of British Literature at the University of Rostock in Germany. His research interests include literature and sport, literature and ecology, contemporary British poetry, drama and fiction, Early Modern English literature and culture, and Literary and Cultural Theory (with a special emphasis on New Histori- cism und Cultural Materialism). Among his publications are the monograph "Never was the Albion Nation without Poetrie": Poetik, Rhetorik und Nation im England der Frühen Neuzeit (2004) and the Special Issues of the Journal for the Study of British Cultures, "Britain at War" (with H. G. Klaus, 2007), "Sports" (with Beate Rudlof, 2011), and "Ecology" (with Sebastian Berg, forthcoming). Martin Spies is Research Assistant at the English Department of Justus Liebig Uni- versity in Gießen, Germany. He received his PhD from the University of Ghent (Bel- gium) with a dissertation on "Victorian Visions of Lady Jane Grey" in 2009. He works on Early Modern and Victorian literature and culture and is currently editing the early 17th-century German sonnets of Francis Segar, an Englishman living at the court of Landgrave Maurice of Hesse-Kassel. Felix C. H. Sprang is Senior Lecturer in English Literature at Humboldt University, Berlin, Germany. His main research interests are science and literature, Early Modern culture, Anglo-German intellectual history, and aesthetics and symbolic form. His publications include the monograph Londons Fountaine of Arts and Sciences: Bild- liche und theatrale Vermittlungsinstanzen naturwissenschaftlichen Denkens im früh- neuzeitlichen London (2008) and the edited collections Wer lacht, zeigt Zähne: Spie- larten des Komischen (with Johann N. Schmidt and Roland Weidle, 2014) and Le- sarten des Terrorismus (with Norbert Greiner, 2011). Michael Szczekalla is Adjunct Professor of English Literature and Culture at Ernst Moritz Arndt University in Greifswald, Germany. His research interests include Shakespeare, 18th-century literature and culture as well as contemporary British authors and the didactics of English Literature. Among his publications are the monographs Francis Bacon und der Bakonismus: Aufklärung, Romantik, 19. Jahrhundert (1990), David Hume – der Aufklärer als konservativer Ironiker: Dialogische Religi- onskritik und philosophische Geschichtsschreibung im 'Athen des Nordens' (2003) and the edited collection Britannien und Europa: Studien zur Literatur-, Geistes- und Kul- turgeschichte – Festschrift für Jürgen Klein (2010). Ingrid Tieken-Boon van Ostade is Chair of English Sociohistorical Linguistics at the University of Leiden in the Netherlands. Her research interests include Historical So- cial Network Analysis and the standardisation process (codification and prescription) and the language of 18th-century letters. She publishes the internet journal Historical 370 NOTES ON CONTRIBUTORS

Sociolinguistics and Sociohistorical Linguistics, and is director of the research project "The Codifiers and the English Language". Her publications include the monographs An Introduction to Late Modern English (2009), The Two Versions of Malory's Morte Darthur: Multiple Negation and the Editing of the Text (1995), and The Auxiliary Do in Eighteenth-Century English: A Sociohistorical Linguistic Approach (1987) as well as the edited collections Language, Usage and Description: Studies Presented to N.E. Osselton on the Occasion of his Retirement (with John Frankis, 1991), Social Network Analysis and the History of English, special issue of the European Journal of English Studies (with Terttu Nevalainen and Luisella Caon, 2000), Negation in the History of English (with Gunnel Tottie and Wim van der Wurff, 1999), A Reader in Early Mod- ern English (with Mats Rydén, and Merja Kytö, 1998), Do in English, Dutch and German: History and Present-Day Variation (with Marijke van der Wal and Arjan van Leuvensteijn, 1998), Two Hundred Years of Lindley Murray (1996), and Towards a Standard Language 1600–1800 (with Dieter Stein, 1994). Sabine Volk-Birke is Professor of English Literature at Martin Luther University in Halle-Wittenberg, Germany. Her research interests encompass Medieval Literature, contemporary poetry, writing and orality, and national identity. Her publications include the monographs Grenzpfähle der Wirklichkeit: Approaches to the Poetry of R. S. Thomas (1985) and Chaucer and Medieval Preaching: Rhetoric for Listeners in Ser- mons and Poetry (1991) and the edited collections Anglistentag 2006 – Proceedings (with Julia Lippert, 2007), Konstruktionen nationaler und individueller Identität in Großbritannien und Amerika (with Hans-Jürgen Grabbe, 2003), and Mündlichkeit und Schriftlichkeit im englischen Mittelalter (with Willi Erzgräber, 1988). Ilse Wischer is Adjunct Professor of English Linguistics at the University of Potsdam in Germany. Her main research areas are mechanism of language change, especially in grammar, verbal categories of English in diachronic perspective, language contact in the history of English, and grammatical and philological studies in the 18th and 19th centuries. Her current project is entitled "A parallel annotated diachronic corpus of Old High German and Old English texts for studies in grammaticalization and construction grammar". Her publications include the monograph Elemente und Relationen im modi- fizierten Nominalverband – untersucht am Beispiel der englischen Sprache (1997) and the edited collections New Reflections on Grammaticalization (with Gabriele Diewald, 2002) and Historisch Vergleichende Sprachwissenschaft und Germanische Sprachen (with Matthias Fritz, 2004). Göran Wolf is Lecturer in English Linguistics at the Technical University of Dresden, Germany. His research interests include the history of English grammar, especially between 1600 and 1900, and its effect on the history of English Linguistics, but also German grammars of English in the 18th century, dialects and varieties of English (especially in Ireland and Scotland), and their translation. He has published the monograph Englische Grammatikschreibung 1600-1900 – der Wandel einer Diskurstradi- tion (2011) and the edited collections Communicative Spaces: Variation, Contact, and Change – Papers in Honour of Ursula Schaefer (with Claudia Lange and Beatrix We- ber, 2012) and Linguistics, Ideology and the Discourse of Linguistic Nationalism (with Claudia Lange and Ursula Schaefer, 2010).

WVT Handbücher zum literaturwissen schaftlichen Studium Herausgegeben von Ansgar Nünning und Vera Nünning

17 Dystopia, Science Fiction, Post-Apocalypse: Classics – New Tendencies – Model Interpretations Ed. by Eckart Voigts and Alessandra Boller Dystopian and post-apocalyptic narratives, often within the generic framework of science fiction, are currently enjoying a remarkable popularity. This collection of essays presents an introduction to the field, providing model analyses of key texts, and taking a look at these visions of crisis and collapse not only in prose fiction, but also in films, graphic novels and computer games. Structured according to the main thematic and conceptual clusters (totalitarian, biopolitical, mechanistic, ambiguous, religious, eugenic dystopia etc.), this handbook offers fresh readings of the classics of dystopian literature (Wells, Orwell, Huxley, Forster, Golding, and others). It also focuses on the defining current fictions that resonate with readers and viewers around the globe, from Margaret Atwood’s eco-dystopias and the gendered science fiction of Ursula K. Le Guin or Octavia Butler to post-colonial (J. M. Coetzee), post-nuclear and postmodern dystopias (Blade Runner, The Matrix, Cloud Atlas), and from cyberpunk and post-apocalyptic narratives such as Cormac McCarthy’s The Road to young adult dystopias such as Suzanne Collins’ The Hunger Games. ISBN 978-3-86821-565-6, 436 S., kt., € 37,50 (2015)

18 A History of British Poetry. Genres – Developments – Interpretations Ed. by Sibylle Baumbach, Birgit Neumann and Ansgar Nünning This handbook provides an overview of the developments of British poetry from the Anglo- Saxon period to the present day. It brings together experts in the field and offers a series of introductions to key poetic genres, poetic conventions and recent debates. The 31 chapters trace major developments in the history of British poetry, featuring poets such as Geoffrey Chaucer, William Shakespeare, Alexander Pope, William Wordsworth, Philip Larkin, Seamus Heaney, Carol Ann Duffy, David Dabydeen, and many more. Instead of presenting a ‘comprehensive’ survey of British poetry, this History provides in-depth analyses of selected poems, linking them to the multiple cultural, social and aesthetic contexts of their time. In addition to presenting an array of theoretical and methodological approaches to the study of poetry, each chapter assesses crucial generic changes and aesthetic concerns that had an impact on processes of production, distribution, and reception of poetry. As such, the handbook offers an essential guide to both teachers and students, to specialists and non- specialists of poetry alike. ISBN 978-3-86821-578-6, 432 S., kt., € 37,50 (2015)

19 A History of American Poetry. Contexts – Developments – Readings Ed. by Oliver Scheiding, René Dietrich and Clemens Spahr Answering the need for fresh and informative readings of canonical and non-canonical poems, the 31 chapters of this handbook engage revisionary trends in poetry scholarship. Each chapter focuses on two poets set into dialogue with each other, presenting paired readings of one representative text from each author. In addition to a number of familiar texts and names that are necessary for students to understand basic developments in American poetry, the handbook offers chapters on multilingual colonial poetry, 19th-century Native American poetry, and contemporary experimental poetry. Being both a manual in terms of current theoretical directions in literary studies and a guide to practical criticism, this book helps students to further explore the diversity and multiple poetic traditions that make up American poetry in its intersections with historical contexts and other literatures. ISBN 978-3-86821-610-3, 492 S., kt., € 39,50 (2015)

Wissenschaftlicher Verlag Trier · Bergstr. 27 · 54295 Trier Tel.: 0651/41503 · Fax: 0651/41504 · www.wvttrier.de · [email protected] · www.facebook.com/wvttrier • Studies in English Literary and Cultural History ELCH Herausgegeben von Ansgar Nünning und Vera Nünning

66 Michael Basseler, Daniel Hartley, Ansgar Nünning (Eds.): Emergent Forms of Life in Anglophone Literature. Conceptual Frameworks and Critical Analyses Selected Articles: M. Basseler, D. Hartley, A. Nünning: 'Forms of Life' as a Travelling Concept in Literary and Cultural Studies · M. Gaffal: Form of Life as a Philosophical Con- cept · A. Locatelli: Constructing and Deconstructing 'Forms of Life': Life in Literature and the Life of Literature · A. Nünning: Experiments in Life: Literary and Cultural Studies as a Form of Life Science · S. Butter: Contingency, Forms of Life, and Fiction: The Role(s) of Literature in the Process of Modernization · D. Hartley: Style as Structure of Feeling: Emergent Forms of Life in the Theory of Raymond Williams and George Saunders' Tenth of December · E. Kovach: (Im)passive Forms of Globalized Labor, Life, and Literature: Dave Eggers' A Hologram for the King · A. Rüggemeier: J. M. Coetzee's Summertime – Breaking the Rules of a Genre to Create a Space for Broken Narratives · J. Michael: Cul- turally Specific Forms of Life in Canadian Mennonite Writing ISBN 978-3-86821-620-2, 322 S., kt., € 36,50 (2015)

65 Manja Kürschner: Zur Fiktionalisierung von Geschichtsschreibung in postkonstruktivistischer metahistoriografischer Literatur Die konstruktivistische Wende der 1960er Jahre hat immense Auswirkungen auf die Art und Weise, wie Geschichte geschrieben wird und wie postmoderne historische Romane mit metahistoriografischen Fragestellungen umgehen. Die inhaltlichen Implikationen und formalen Experimente dieser metahistoriografischen Romane standen und stehen im stän- digen Fokus der Literaturwissenschaft. Bislang haben sich literaturwissenschaftliche Un- tersuchungen jedoch darauf konzentriert, erzählerische Formen zu beschreiben, die den Zweifel an der Möglichkeit betonen, Geschichte überhaupt noch schreiben zu können. Ver- nachlässigt wird dabei, dass neben allem Skeptizismus spätestens seit der Jahrtausend- wende auch ein postkonstruktivistischer Umgang mit Geschichte und Vergangenheit er- probt wird. Die in dieser Studie erstmals analysierten postkonstruktivistischen metahistoriografischen Fiktionen inszenieren die Möglichkeit, historisches Wissen zu generieren und legitimieren Geschichtsschreibung als intersubjektiv gültige Setzung, die als historisches Wissen anerkannt werden kann. ISBN 978-3-86821-600-4, 254 S., kt., € 29,50 (2015)

64 Katalin Schober: Räume des antiken Griechenland in britischen Reiseberichten des 18. Jahrhunderts. Wahrnehmung und Imagination Diese Studie widmet sich den großen Reisebewegungen des 18. Jahrhunderts zu den Stät- ten des antiken Griechenland und den in diesem Zusammenhang entstandenen altertums- kundlichen Reiseberichten aus der Feder britischer Reisender. Sie bietet damit erstmals eine literaturwissenschaftliche Auswertung höchst einflussreicher Zeugnisse, die diverse künstle- rische Spielarten der Greekomania des frühen 19. Jahrhunderts befruchteten. Sie lenkt den Blick auf kanonische Antikenpublikationen, die schließlich dem Greek Revival in der britischen Architektur den Weg ebneten. ISBN 978-3-86821-595-3, 196 S., kt., € 26,00 (2015)

63 Claudia Falk: Zwischen Tradition und Subversion: Männlichkeitsmodelle im englischen Roman von den 1950er bis 1990er Jahren ISBN 978-3-86821-587-8, 254 S., kt., € 29,50 (2015)

62 Johannes Wally: Secular Falls from Grace. Religion and (New) Atheism in the Implied Worldview of Ian McEwan’s Fiction ISBN 978-3-86821-560-1, 214 S., kt., € 26,50 (2015)

Wissenschaftlicher Verlag Trier · Bergstr. 27 · 54295 Trier Tel.: 0651/41503 · Fax: 0651/41504 · www.wvttrier.de · [email protected] · www.facebook.com/wvttrier