INTRODUCTION: ‘THE GREAT SOCIAL EVIL’ – REPRESENTING THE VICTORIAN PROSTITUTE

We have lost sight of the old-fashioned language in connexion [sic] with this matter … The term ‘Social Evil’, by a queer translation of the abstract into a concrete, has become a personality … The fact is that we have familiarized ourselves too much with the subject … We seem to have arrived at this point – that the most interesting class of womanhood is woman at her lowest degradation.1 The career of these women is a brief one; their downward path a marked and inevitable one; and they know this well. They are almost never rescued; escape themselves they cannot.2

If the prostitute had become, as the Saturday Review termed it, ‘the most interesting class of womanhood’ in Britain in the Victorian period, what did she look like? How, and by what means, did her contemporaries depict her? Such basic questions raise further issues: What was (and perhaps still is) the significance of representations of prostitution and what role did they play in the production of myths and cultural narratives, the regulation of behaviour and the shaping of social attitudes? Historians (and others) interested in Victorian social and cultural history, and in perceptions of prostitution particularly, cannot avoid such questions and they continue to invite further analysis even after decades of innovative scholarship. Studying contemporary representations provides a way of reading prostitution: the analysis and study of images and texts as discursive forms sheds light on the process of constructing social meaning. Lynda Nead has argued that studying representations involves recognizing the improbability of discovering a true reflection or an objective picture of what is ‘shown’ on the surface of a text, but such study raises the issue of how particular kinds of images are circulated, consumed and produced at any given moment.3 How historians define prostitution and how contemporaries defined it raises one such important issue. Elizabeth Clement has remarked that ‘prostitution may seem easy to define but, in reality, it is suspended in a complex web of economic, cultural, and moral systems’.4 This recognition of cultural construction is especially true of the Victorian period.
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Scholars have argued that mid- to late-Victorian definitions and characterizations of the prostitute remain indebted to a corpus of works published in the early 1840s. The myth of the prostitute’s downward progress – a narrative involving disease, destitution and early death – was, so it is claimed, crystallized in the Victorian consciousness from this period on. It was then reproduced without examination in the work of historians. Modern academic interest in the art and literature of the ‘fallen woman’ has reinforced this interpretation. In reading representational homogeneity in the nineteenth-century texts on prostitution, modern scholars have consequently limited their interpretations of contemporary attitudes to prostitution and underestimated the variety and complexity of these attitudes. This book reads a selection of post-1850 sources to assess historical claims for the resilience and codification of the myth, and to subject Victorian ideology to much-needed scrutiny. Victorians were more complex in their representation of prostitution than historians have given them credit for, and this study illustrates this complexity both by revisiting canonical texts and utilizing lesser known sources. This analysis reveals how actively some Victorians worked to challenge the myths that historians continue to attribute to them. The works of the 1840s are considered by historians as central to establishing a conventional prostitute narrative that continued to influence subsequent representations of prostitution into the 1850s and beyond.5 The plethora of 1840s works provided the discursive context for the ‘great social evil’ of the 1850s.6 These early investigations came largely from evangelical authors – including ministers, reform advocates, and physicians – and constituted a considerable body of literature that would influence, in diverse ways, later productions on the subject. Authors such as William Tait were responding to a wider contemporary anxiety over the rising visibility of prostitution, and approached their studies in structurally similar ways. Tait was a surgeon at the Edinburgh Lock Hospital, and his work was the largest and most influential of the early texts on prostitution. Tait remarked that the subject of prostitution had ‘seldom been urged upon the attention of the public’ and that it was time (his work was published in 1840) to awake society from its ‘melancholy insensibility’ and look to ridding the world of this ‘evil’.7 Tait, together with subsequent authors – Ralph Wardlaw, William Bevan, William Logan and James Talbot – outlined estimates of prostitute numbers, the nature and extent of prostitution, the organization of brothels, the causes behind women’s ‘fall’ or recourse to prostitution, and offered prospective modes of prevention. While an author’s priorities might differ – Michael Ryan (surgeon), for example, had a medical interest in venereal disease and Bevan (church minister) had an evangelical desire to eradicate sin – most of these authors shared an intertextual interest in, and commitment to, one another. The result of this relationship was the production of certain images and

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narratives of the prostitute, and the reproduction of a stereotype which would allegedly prove resilient in later decades. These early authors varied in their ability (or desire) to define their subject matter. Talbot avoided delineating a working definition of prostitution. Bevan merely described prostitution (rather than prostitutes) as ‘a system of unmitigated pollution and woe’.8 However, Tait and Wardlaw made a point of defining the ‘prostitute’ and, interestingly, distinguished between the act of prostitution and the ‘character’ or ‘individual’ that performed it. Regardless of the possible causes for a woman’s recourse to acts of prostitution, Tait argued that ‘the prostitute is generally a person who openly delivers herself up to a life of impurity and licentiousness, who is indiscriminate in the selection of her lovers, and who depends for her livelihood upon the proceeds arising from a life of prostitution’.9 Wardlaw claimed that while he considered fornication, ‘whoredom’ and prostitution as entailing a woman’s surrendering of her virtue, it was ‘the voluntary repetition of the act’ that made a woman a prostitute.10 Moreover, Wardlaw added, the term ‘prostitute’ was a ‘designation of character’.11 Despite the apparent clarity and distinction in terms of the act of prostitution and the identity of the prostitute in these statements, most of these texts referred to a variety of women of different ages and occupations, who became prostitutes from a variety of causes, and who challenged this apparent ease of definition. Most of the authors of these early texts on prostitution attempted to classify prostitutes, most often by their type of residence, but their admission of the extent of clandestine prostitution often undermined such classifications. Ryan claimed that there were three divisions of prostitutes: women who worked from private residences or ‘bad houses’; streetwalkers who used ‘places of accommodation’; and soldiers and sailors’ women.12 But Ryan also included needleworkers, women who supplemented their regular wages, ‘kept mistresses’, servants, married women and widows in his second ‘streetwalking’ category. Tait referred to these latter examples as ‘sly prostitutes’, and different from ‘kept mistresses’ and the ‘inmates of brothels’.13 Talbot’s classification of prostitutes also depended on types of residence – regular brothels, dress houses and accommodation houses – but noted that public houses, saloons and ships could also be used for prostitution.14 Like Ryan and Tait before him, Talbot also remarked on the many other women who could be added to the class of prostitute: servants, milliners and even some middle and upper-class ladies.15 Attempts at estimating the numbers in this prostitute class varied but most authors referred to the same statistical estimates and the number of 80,000 (for London) as the highest approximation.16 Another common feature in the works of Tait, Talbot and their fellow observers was their discussion of the various causes attributed to prostitution. Some authors picked out certain causes for special attention, but the list of possible factors was long. Wardlaw, for example, noted that the causes authors

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assigned as ‘conducing to the melancholy aggregate of wickedness and misery, are numerous’, but chose to select ‘the strength of the sexual propensity, and the comparative weakness of the moral principle which ought to hold it in restraint’ as one primary cause.17 Unfortunately, Wardlaw avoided elaborating on this ‘sexual propensity’ because he claimed it was an unsavoury subject, but he did note that perhaps it was this cause that ‘cloak[s] itself under the allegation of others, which can be pleaded in extenuation with less of shame’.18 The long list of possible causes was outlined the most comprehensively in Tait’s Magdalenism, and most subsequent authors chose to reproduce the twenty-one causes listed by Tait or refer to them in part.19 Talbot said he would ‘simply quote the opinions of Mr. Tait and Mr. Logan’ on the causes of prostitution, and added that ‘ParentDuchatelet of Paris, Dr. Ryan of London, and Dr. Wardlaw of Glasgow, assign similar causes for this evil’.20 These causes ranged from seduction, intemperance and poverty, to the influence of obscene publications and theatre-going, and constituted another common strand among this collection of texts.21 However despite an array of different causes of prostitution, these authors identified certain common components in the prostitute’s character. One such defining trait was venereal disease and its personification in the prostitute. The ‘general health’ of the prostitute was ‘usually very bad’, Ryan remarked, and her ‘peculiar excesses’ and ‘intemperate habits induce disease, and consequently ill health’.22 As early as 1839, Ryan employed the dramatic language which would become a staple in descriptions of prostitution, describing the deaths of prostitutes due to disease as ‘a holocaust of human victims … yearly sacrificed at the shrine of sensuality’.23 Bevan argued that ‘the prevalence of disease among this class of females is impossible to overrate’ and that prostitution fixed ‘the death spot’ on all those it touched.24 Talbot concluded similarly that ‘a great number of diseases are engendered by a life of prostitution, and the concurrent opinion of those who have directed their attention to the subject is, that the average of [sic] life is very short amongst prostitutes’.25 This ‘concurrent opinion’ had become a defining feature in itself in the early literature on prostitution, with the numerous intertextual references working to construct and reproduce particular stereotypical images.26 The ‘truth’ on which these authors embellished was not, of course, based on reality, but a set of textual representations. It was, nonetheless, powerful imagery. What can be garnered from nearly all of these early works is the construction and presentation of a familiar ‘cultural narrative’ around the characterization and fate of the common Victorian prostitute. Although the authors often expressed sympathy for a woman’s fall into prostitution and acknowledged the variety of possible causes behind this fall, they presented the reader with a composite picture. While they acknowledged that working-class poverty and poor occupational options played a part in women’s recourse to prostitution, and that

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many women resorted to prostitution only temporarily or opportunistically, these authors preferred to construct and stress more dramatic images.27 The physical stereotype of the Victorian prostitute, produced and reproduced in both literature and art, was the street-walker dressed in gaudy finery, sepulchral make-up, often drunk, sometimes diseased, always pitiful, and expecting imminent death. Her appearance was less severe at the start of her career than at the end, but it was the brevity of this career that was the point: the prostitute’s time in the trade was short, intemperate, degraded and diseased. Her life would terminate early, most likely by suicide. Tait described such decline in vivid detail:
Their bodies are so constituted, that every infringement of the natural or organic laws soon begins to manifest itself in them; and the greater their disrespect for these laws, the more obvious and striking do the effects become. The plump rosy cheek soon assumes a pale and sickly aspect. The eyes, once so bright and sparkling, look dim and languid, and seem as if sunk in their sockets. Their skin every where [sic] exhibits a sallow, withered appearance, but rapidly disappears, leaving behind it a death-like paleness.28

The end result, of course, was ‘premature old age and early death’.29 As Tait claimed, ‘three or four years is supposed to be the general term of a prostitute’s life’.30 The imagery of the walking cadaver recurred in other texts too, and the general consensus regarding the life and career of the prostitute was, as Wardlaw remarked, ‘down-down-rapidly down; down from stage to stage, till it terminates in some scene of squalid wretchedness’.31 Talbot echoed this narrative in 1844, declaring that ‘their course is invariably downwards; all their practices have a tendency to degradation, disease, and death’.32 Although these writers acknowledged that men played a part in women’s fall, once women had fallen ‘from the pedestal of virtuous innocence’ they seemed to enter a new system of representation.33 As Bevan remarked, ‘the die is cast … the line overstepped … Horror at the prospect of the future mingles with despairing shame at the past. They plunge into the abyss. The shades of dishonour close over them, to be exchanged only for the thicker shades of a dreaded, and yet courted death.’34 It is no surprise that historians have been seduced by the potency of this representation. One possible reason for the historiographical adherence to the power of these particular representations is that the prostitute became a cultural symbol in wider Victorian culture, and was often referred to as contributing to broader social problems. Prostitution was not only a topic of investigation in its own right but intersected with other anxieties. As Jeffrey Weeks claimed, the prostitute was symbolically important to the Victorians, and terms such as ‘social evil’ and ‘social diseases’ suggest a widespread fear of the social implications of prostitution.35 The most obvious of these fears was the concern over increasing levels of venereal disease in the armed forces and the heralding of systems of state-sanctioned regulation. Other contemporaries were more concerned with middle-class mar-

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riage trends. It was feared that the obsession by mothers for the upward social mobility of their daughters was causing middle-class men to postpone marriage and the high costs involved, and to consort with prostitutes.36 This latter issue became intimately associated with anxiety regarding women’s obsession with fashion and their copying of higher-class prostitutes, who were seen as fashion trend-setters. This raised something of a quandary for middle-class observers: socalled ‘respectable’ women were aping the fashions of ‘immoral’ courtesans and becoming indistinguishable from them in public. The lines between the visible and illicit prostitute and the invisible respectable woman were being breached.37 At the other end of the social scale, public displays of drunkenness and disorder by lower-class prostitutes, especially around the Haymarket, garnered constant attention in the daily press.38 The very fascination with the subject of prostitution caused its own anxiety. In October 1860 the Saturday Review accused prostitution of being a topic ‘too popular by half ’.39 The literature of the 1840s had evidently contributed, if not actually generated, interest and anxiety regarding prostitution into the 1850s and beyond. The problem, as the Review saw it, was that this popularity resulted in sentimentalism and a loss of severity in the representation of its threat to society. The use of euphemism, or, ‘refined coarseness’ and ‘sentimental sympathies’, meant a focus on the reform of ‘fallen sisters’ had replaced a true appreciation of the ‘social wrong’ of ‘unchastity’ and the ‘social evils’ that prostitution constituted.40 The Saturday Review complained that much of the literature – especially that promoting prostitution reform – bemoaned labelling women as victims and ignoring the seducers (an element of the conventional narrative). The Saturday Review declared, rather, that ‘so she must be’ [the victim], for ‘there is just as much seduction on the one side as on the other’ and that sad but true, the social consequences for women ‘are, and ought to be, unequal’.41 This article, in particular, engaged with components of the conventional representation of prostitution, reinforcing some elements (the shame and ostracism), but also challenging others (the passivity of their ‘fall’). By 1850, therefore, Victorians routinely depicted prostitution as the ‘great social evil’. Prostitutes were a form of female sexual transgression that endangered the respectable women in her vicinity; that threatened the health and strength of the nation’s armed services; that influenced young, impressionable women similarly interested in keeping up with modern fashions; and threatened to become too popular and unsavoury a topic for public discussion. Works such as Tait’s and Talbot’s had outlined these threats and the women at its centre, and more popular publications engaged with the subject from a number of perspectives. But these authors’ contemporaries were not unreflective in their absorption of this material. The Saturday Review commented that the elements and narratives produced in these early and influential works had ‘become a personality’, but

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even more definable was the narrative and fate of the prostitute herself. As W. R. Greg, editor of the Westminster Review remarked in the opening quotation from 1850, the prostitute’s career was portrayed as brief and degraded, her life terminated prematurely, if not by the ravages of venereal disease then by suicide. This myth of downward trajectory became a stock element in the representation of prostitution for Victorian contemporaries, and modern scholars have continued to argue for the resilience of this narrative as the accepted or official ideology on prostitution.42 Whether they have focused on reform efforts, debate over regulation, or the rhetoric of fallenness in art and literature, scholars have continued to give currency to this mode of representing prostitution.43 That it was a powerful stereotype cannot be denied. In fact, Greg’s comment in 1850 was not an expression of personal opinion or ideology, but an observation on the entrenchment of this myth in his cultural milieu, which is precisely why his Westminster Review article is significant. Rather than merely replicating standard imagery, Greg was taking stock of the development of the issue. He claimed that it was not a natural inevitability but rather the myth itself, and society’s continued perpetuation of it, that refused to give prostitutes a second chance and ensured their ultimate ‘fall’. Greg argued that ‘the influences of the surrounding world’ were ‘resistless’, and that regardless of any steps a prostitute may make to try to redeem herself these forces would ‘close around her to hunt her back into perdition’.44 Although Greg did not offer an alternative representation of the prostitute narrative, he offers historians evidence that this myth was not static or inflexible, and that some contemporaries approached it critically. It is no small matter that Greg should remark that there is ‘much misrepresentation from those who recklessly echo any popular cry’.45 However, such dissonant voices or alternative renderings are largely absent in historical accounts of Victorian prostitution. Scholars may have problematized the social reality of the prostitute in the face of this ideology – variously representing her as passive victim, social threat or autonomous agent – but they have left the ‘official’ ideology largely untouched. Historians have interpreted this mythology and the prostitution texts of the 1840s as influential enough on the thinking of later decades as to hinder further ideological development or change. This line of thinking imbues the conventional, mythological stereotype of the prostitute with a stability and homogeneity that, even in the eyes of contemporaries, it did not possess. The Westminster Review article was not alone in showing the flexibility of authors’ perspectives on prostitution, and provides an early example of the potential for identifying counter discourses in the Victorian period. My focus on post-1850 texts counters the alleged codification and historical resilience of the stereotypes generated in the texts of the 1840s. Victorians actively engaged with the mythological narrative, sometimes reproducing, but also altering or challenging it. The resulting picture was a colourful

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and varied one. Scrutinizing some of the most influential texts on prostitution and employing less well known or alternative sources reveals this ideological flexibility and complexity. There is counter discourse in Victorian representations of prostitution that challenges the interpretative constraints of its historiography. Prostitution held great symbolic importance for the Victorians. This broader interest in the issue of prostitution and the use of its tropes to represent other attitudes – female sexual transgression, for example – has contributed to a great academic, and not exclusively historical, interest in Victorian prostitution.46 Prostitution has been considered variously as an example of subterranean sexuality in a Victorian world of sexual repression, one component of a variety of sexualities which challenged this ‘repressive hypothesis’, a subject of inquiry in itself (as it was for many Victorians), a theme in the decoding of Victorian art, and also a theme in the study of the literature of the ‘fallen woman’. A brief and selective overview of important works of scholarship on prostitution highlights both the multi-disciplinary interest in the subject, and the original contribution of what follows. The academic study of prostitution in Victorian Britain has undergone significant methodological developments over the last thirty years. As Timothy Gilfoyle has claimed, social history and the study of representation have become the two broad paradigms with which scholars have addressed prostitution.47 Under the first paradigm, which has dominated international scholarship on prostitution, research used the methods of social and women’s history to focus on the social structure and organization of commercial sex. Under the second paradigm, historians and literary scholars have engaged with the more symbolic meanings of prostitution. There are, therefore, both chronological and thematic dimensions to the treatment of prostitution as an academic subject. Academic interest has progressed from treating prostitution marginally as part of the Victorian period’s seedy or hypocritical underbelly, through works which have dealt with prostitution within the wider frameworks of Victorian social reform, ‘medico-moral politics’, and sexuality, to studies which have focused solely on prostitution as their subject.48 While Steven Marcus claimed in the 1960s that ‘the English habit of dealing with prostitution had been … to ignore its existence’, scholars such as Frank Mort and Judith Walkowitz in the 1980s provided in-depth analyses of the social and ideological interactions between physicians, politicians, feminists and prostitutes in the mid-Victorian period.49 As well as these works of social history, art historians, literary scholars and feminist theorists have more recently studied representations of prostitution and the role they played in the production of cultural narratives and in shaping attitudes to male and female sexuality.50 Representations of British prostitution are often mined for their production of the ‘fallen woman’ narrative, and authors studying prostitution in nineteenthcentury France – such as Alain Corbin and Charles Bernheimer – have identified

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disease and male fantasy as the most striking dimensions of French representations.51 Prostitution has also proven to be a window on Victorian sexual and gender relations, anxieties about metropolitan urban development, medical theories of sexual difference, and to the construction of ideologies.52 Just as the Victorians engaged with prostitution from a broad array of perspectives, so too have scholars used the subject to explore wider themes. Despite the value of the current inter-disciplinary scholarship on prostitution, Judith Walkowitz’s Prostitution and Victorian Society (1980) remains the central work for historians of Victorian prostitution, most notably for the scope and challenges it posed to the representation of the prostitute. Walkowitz used the Contagious Diseases Acts (CD Acts) of the 1860s as the framework for her study and by focusing on the relationships between ideology, public policy and social change, aimed to reconstruct the social profile of the Victorian prostitute. Although Walkowitz claimed that the contemporary definition of the common prostitute was vague, she argued that it was possible to construct a profile of the prostitute’s age, social background, residential patterns, clientele and average stay on the streets. Walkowitz’s representation of the prostitute was more dynamic than previous historiographical constructions. Contrary to what historians argued was the prevailing Victorian image of prostitutes as drunken, destitute, diseased and destined for a short and miserable life, Walkowitz argued for a greater degree of self determination and agency in working-class women’s recourse to prostitution, and the use of this ‘trade’ as a temporary but necessary survival strategy given the fragile economic reality of working-class life. In her work on prostitution in nineteenth-century Glasgow (1990), Linda Mahood credited Walkowitz with challenging the prior academic portrayal of prostitutes as silent victims. Rather than dealing with prostitution within such paradigms as the double standard model or the oppression model as earlier works had done, Walkowitz’s work showed prostitutes to be important historical actors.53 Although Walkowitz would focus more critically on ideology in a later study, this was not a feature of her earlier groundbreaking work.54 Where Walkowitz intended her study to counter the predominant imagery of the prostitute and the inevitability of her downward trajectory with the social reality, mine looks to this imagery, to representation, for the processes of its construction and the multiple meanings it projected. The current book builds on previous studies in the social history of prostitution and also on important inroads made in the field of cultural history where studies into cultural narratives and representation have revealed the symbolic potential of the prostitute. Lynda Nead’s work on the representation of sexual myths in the Victorian period is one such influential contribution to the scholarship on Victorian prostitution. Nead focused primarily on the adulteress and the prostitute as the antitheses of respectable femininity. Her central concern was the relationship

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between visual culture (high art in particular) and wider discourses on the adulteress and prostitute, and the way these figures were used to shape definitions of normality and deviancy. Nead asserted that when prostitution was at the centre of a debate on public morality, art was fully implicated in the production and circulation of images and meanings.55 Despite initially claiming that the prostitute was ‘the broadest and most complex term within the categorization of female behaviour during the nineteenth century’ and that ‘definitions of the prostitute and attitudes towards prostitution were multiple, fragmented and frequently contradictory’, Nead’s overall conclusions largely implied the continued dominance of the mythology.56 Nead argued that the representation of the prostitute in paintings intended for public exhibition ‘was highly conventionalised; for the prostitute to be “visible” within high art, she had to be seen to be suffering “the wages of sin”’.57 One powerful example of this was women shown on the parapets of bridges: ‘this single image is sufficient to reactivate a powerful and firmly established mythology of the life and death of the fallen woman; it dominated bourgeois representations of female deviancy’.58 Nead argued that the fate of the fallen woman was a ‘coded myth’ and although her analysis revealed the role ‘high’ art played in the perpetuation of certain stereotypes and conventional morality, this also worked to reinforce (perhaps unintentionally) the notion of homogeneity for the ideology of prostitution.59 Nead concluded that ‘it is difficult to over-emphasize the potency of the mythology within cultural discourse; it permeated all forms of cultural representation from high art to the more popular forms of culture’.60 Nead’s interest in theories of disease and miasma, and her construction of the prostitute as either social threat or social victim, worked to reinforce the interpretative potency of the myth of the prostitute’s downward trajectory, and to further marginalise the possibility of a Victorian counter discourse on prostitution. Another influential but much later study by Amanda Anderson (1993) has analysed the rhetoric of fallenness in poetry and literature between 1840 and 1860, and contextualized this rhetoric against the discourse of Victorian social science. Anderson claimed that the mid-Victorian period simultaneously witnessed ‘the elaboration of scientific approaches to morality, society and character, the proliferation of discourses on prostitution, and a burgeoning literary interest in narratives of the fall’.61 I agree with Anderson that given this cultural context, the complexities of the Victorian concept of fallenness (represented predominantly by the figures of the fallen woman and the prostitute), require recognition and analysis. But Anderson also insisted upon the cultural centrality of fallenness. She acknowledged her debt to Walkowitz for reappraising the agency and victimhood of the Victorian prostitute and engaging in important feminist debates, but argued, that the system of representation around the ‘fallen woman’ was powerful and worked to ‘shape cultural forms of self-understanding’.62 Although

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Anderson’s analysis provided valuable insight into the literary construction of particular Victorian sexual attitudes, in concentrating on the centrality of fallenness in shaping ‘cultural forms’, it ignored any counter discourse. Corbin and Bernheimer argued for a similar potency of representation in the various literatures of nineteenth-century France. Bernheimer (1989) argued that there was a strong fantasmatic dimension to the social, political, medical, artistic and literary constructions of the French prostitute.63 He encountered powerful expressions of disgust for female sexuality in the texts he analyzed, manifested for the most part by images of infectious disease, biological rot, animality, carnality, regression and castration. All of these tropes, Bernheimer argued, represented men’s fears of women’s sexual function.64 After identifying the repetition of these tropes across his range of sources, Bernheimer concluded that ‘that the elements of many of these analyses could be integrated into a kind of dialectical masterplot’.65 Although Bernheimer’s and Anderson’s literary analyses are highly sophisticated and reveal the intricacies of cultural and ideological construction, they continue to endorse the potency and immutability of the mythological stereotype of the prostitute in the Victorian consciousness, both in Britain and France. The notion of a ‘masterplot’ of disease and contamination, and the insistence on the cultural centrality of ‘fallenness’, are precisely where I suggest scholarship needs to change direction. Finally, Shannon Bell’s (1994) interdisciplinary approach to studying the construction of the prostitute body has provided some relevant critical insights into the larger mechanics of representation.66 Bell does not limit her focus to Victorian prostitution, but rather traces the cultural construction of the prostitute body from the ancient Greek stories of Aspasia and Diotima through to the prostitute performance art of the post-modern era. The nineteenth century represents a low point in Bell’s narrative, epitomizing the newfound fascination with social science, the identification of deviant sexualities, and the marginalization of these sexualities by the state and its agencies. The fact that Bell chose to begin her narrative in the ancient period, rather than the nineteenth century, for example, was admittedly an intentional ‘textual-political act’, and one which proves problematic for the historian.67 Bell’s goal was to ‘displace the more traditional linkage of the contemporary prostitute to the profane, diseased, excluded female body of the nineteenth century, foregrounding instead its lineage to the ancient sexual, sacred, healing female body’.68 Amanda Anderson has commented on certain trends in the feminist cultural history of the Victorian period which have constructed portraits of what she terms ‘aggrandized agency’ – imbuing historical subjects with exaggerated agency, reflexivity, and calculation – and which actually reveal a lack of critical detachment on the part of the academic.69 What Bell runs the risk of in her analysis is not ‘aggrandizing’ the Victorian prostitute, but overstating the agency of the ancient hetaerae and postmodern

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prostitute performance artists. This aggrandizement of prostitute subject voices then works to adversely affect Bell’s representation of Victorian prostitutes – figures which can only look powerless and profane by comparison. Bell illustrated the ambiguities and internal contradictions present in all her texts, and especially in the nineteenth-century texts she selected for analysis; however, she concluded that the nineteenth-century prostitute body was represented clearly by ‘medico-moral-legal discourses’ as ‘the profane body’.70 This interpretation had a clear function in Bell’s larger enterprise, working to highlight the agency of the post-modern prostitute, but its effect minimizes the ideological complexity of Victorian attitudes toward prostitution. Rather than seeking to place my texts within a pre-determined meta-narrative, I want to read them for the ways they problematize or complicate such larger unitary coherence. Authors such as Anderson and Nead have offered new ways of studying the meaning of prostitution in the Victorian context, while Bell has offered a different perspective. These authors have all subjected the narratives of prostitution to close analytical scrutiny and deconstruction and have contributed important analyses of the prostitute’s symbolic relationship to her social, political and urban environment, and also to the cultural productions generated by those environments. Anderson and Nead, in particular, have highlighted the validity and utility of using ‘cultural narratives’ as an entry point into historical study.71 But in centralizing the elaboration of the conventional prostitute narrative, scholars continue to constrain their interpretations. My approach is influenced by post-modernism’s emphasis on the multiplicity of representation and the instability of texts. This, it should be stressed, is a study of representations of prostitution in written accounts. It does not deal with visual representations. It is not a general history of Victorian prostitution. Nor does it attempt to construct or evaluate a history of prostitutes’ agency. While recognizing that the texts dealt with here take different forms and were intended for different audiences, this is also not a study of audience response. It is a study which raises questions about the implications of the dissonant possibilities in an otherwise shared schema of representations, an issue that previous academic accounts of prostitution have not acknowledged. This book contributes to the new multidisciplinary approach to studying prostitution and yet also seeks to address the representation of Victorian attitudes that recent studies have produced. It attempts this by the critical analysis of one ‘cultural narrative’ in particular: the ‘myth’ of the prostitute’s downward progress. This myth has remained a powerful narrative in the hands of scholars. Walkowitz illuminated the interplay between prostitutes and the forces that produced this mythology, but did not directly confront the stereotype in terms of its discursive coherence. Anderson and Nead reinforced the potency and currency of the mythology, even as they attempted to problematize certain aspects

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of it. Bell epitomized the belief in the Victorian period as a historical moment which codified definitions of deviancy and marginalized deviant groups using the symbolism of ‘otherness’. It is clear that the different agendas of these authors have affected the resulting representation of the prostitute. Although literary analysts like Anderson and Bernheimer used traditional historical sources (medical journals, works by social commentators, newspapers) as a framework for their specific textual analyses, their focus on the image of the ‘fallen woman’ and the trope of disease resulted in interpretations lacking in nuance and breadth. Even when the simplicity of the whore/angel, public/private dichotomy was challenged by Nead, the premise of the prostitute’s downward trajectory and the choice of source material with fallen women at the centre, including paintings of near-dead or drowned prostitutes, resulted in the iteration of the myth. Where the world of prostitution and the notion of sexual immorality have been shown by scholars to be multifaceted and variously experienced, contemporaries’ beliefs on these notions have not undergone the same scrutiny. This study subjects five important nineteenth-century sources to close textual analysis in an effort to more fully understand the construction and representation of Victorian ideologies (I am using ‘ideology’ in the most basic sense to denote a shared body of images, ideas, attitudes and stereotypes). The case studies are: William Acton’s Prostitution Considered (1870); The Report of the Royal Commission into the Contagious Diseases Acts (1871); Josephine Butler’s early repeal campaign literature; Wilkie Collins’s novel The New Magdalen (1873); and the pornographic ‘memoir’ My Secret Life (c. 1890). As Jann Matlock has argued, the prostitute was a textual product ‘elaborated into case studies, codified into narratives, emplotted into fantasies’.72 These five case studies represent examples of the broad discursive interest in the theme of prostitution in the Victorian period and cover medicine, politics, feminism, fiction and pornography. My intention is not to claim that these five sources are exhaustive or the most representative of Victorian attitudes to prostitution. What is of most interest is the breadth of ways in which they show contemporaries reassessing and challenging the myth. The value of these case studies is in their range and diversity, and the evidence of reflexivity which my analyses reveal can reasonably be assumed to be a wider aspect of Victorian discourse on prostitution. I have chosen to revisit particular canonical texts and have read difference where others have read coherence. I have also selected lesser known sources to illuminate their particular representations of prostitution, and their participation in the larger representational schema. These texts offer representations of prostitution that are far more complex and heterogeneous than conceded by current historiography. I am particularly interested in the ways in which Victorians attempted to articulate definitions of prostitution. The case studies show a variety of views and reveal that it was never as simple as distinguishing between full-time, part-

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time, barter or tradition. Any loveless or extramarital sexual activity could be deemed illicit, immoral, ‘fallen’ or as prostitution. The word ‘prostitution’ was used variously in the nineteenth-century context. Most often it denoted a politico-medical category in official discourse rather than being used by women to describe themselves. Indeed women rarely used the term ‘prostitute’ to identify themselves – raising the possibility that they either did not define their activities as prostitution or that their activity did not define them. I am similarly interested, therefore, in how the Victorian authors of these case studies characterized and constructed the prostitute and employed tropes such as disease, agency and victimhood in these constructions. I am working on the premise that all texts are amenable to multiple readings and that some of these readings will challenge ‘majority’ interpretations. Chapter 1 examines the work of William Acton, a surgeon and venereologist, and the author of one of the Victorian period’s largest and most influential texts on prostitution.73 Acton reiterated elements from the canon of extant literature (estimates of prostitute numbers, brothel organization, and the variety of accepted causes of prostitution), but also departed from the canon in his advocacy of state-sponsored medical intervention. Although most historians agree on Acton’s influence on the campaign to promote the CD Acts, they do not regard Prostitution Considered as an ideologically complex text. Although Acton clearly challenged elements of the existing stereotype of the prostitute, his particular representation has been deemed a thinly veiled vehicle to garner support for the official regulation of prostitution, rather than any significant departure from tradition. Chapter 1 argues that Acton offered particular challenges to the conventional stereotype of prostitution (including his own moments of ambivalence and contradiction), and did much to contest the myth of downward trajectory. That Acton worked with the traditional literature, while simultaneously challenging aspects of it, demonstrates an authorial flexibility that historians have largely overlooked. Similarly, I challenge the notion that the medical profession was monolithic in its adherence to the stereotype of the prostitute. Although it appeared (and scholarship concludes) that the medical establishment was constructing a morbid stereotype of the prostitute, and that part of this process was about forging and authenticating a medical professional identity by exploiting ‘otherness’, on closer examination opinions varied and voices of opposition made themselves heard.74 That this variety of opinion can be discerned within a single text further highlights the utility of subjecting other texts on prostitution to similar analysis. Chapter 2 scrutinizes the ‘Report of the Royal Commission upon the Administration and Operation of the Contagious Diseases Acts’, published in 1871, and focuses on the representation of prostitution within parliamentary discourse. This official nineteenth-century parliamentary text has become a stock resource for historians of Victorian prostitution. But a close analysis of the

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report problematizes received opinion. The construction of the report reveals something of a paradox. In synthesizing several hundred pages of variegated witness testimonies into a final report thirty pages in length, the commission produced a document which appeared to represent a cohesive treatment of the issue and which reproduced particular stereotypes of the prostitute. Yet any codification of the mythological stereotype was challenged by the multi-vocal nature of the larger collection of testimonies. The witness testimonies provided to the commission were characterized by variety, opposition, dissonance, contradiction and heterogeneity, and yet this incoherence was consciously dovetailed into a narrower interpretative framework for the purposes of final evaluation and summary. The final report chose to emphasize certain dynamics and obscure others. For the historian interested in contemporary attitudes and the literature which embodied them, this process is illustrative more of the potency of a particular system of representation than its currency. This text has traditionally been interpreted as the codification of a mythology which represented prostitutes – largely through the matrix of venereal disease – as both social threats and victims. However the dissonances and disagreements that are revealed in the witness testimonies – both between and within different professions – demonstrate the instability of this ‘code’ and a variety of attitudes toward prostitution. Chapter 3 focuses on a selection of shorter texts which constitute a phase in the ‘feminist’ campaign to repeal the CD Acts. Written predominantly, but not exclusively, by Josephine Butler, the charismatic leader of the Ladies National Association (LNA), these texts delineate the attitudes of this association toward prostitution and prostitutes. The LNA’s founders believed that women had a particular connection to the larger issues of the sexual double standard and constitutional inequity of the CD Acts. Butler and the LNA printed and published numerous addresses, articles and pamphlets in this period, but the chapter focuses on the early years of the repeal movement and the association (1869–72), when their ideology was being delineated and made public. Most scholarly work on Butler and the LNA has dwelt on critical assessment of its feminist qualities, its role in women’s movements, and its contribution to the larger repeal campaign. This study instead scrutinizes Butler’s particular characterization of prostitution and her contribution to the discourse surrounding the prostitute. This body of work raises themes similar to the first two chapters: the language and definition of prostitution, the relationship of representation to authorial agenda, and also the implementation of certain ‘traditional’ tropes. Butler and her colleagues also employed specifically ‘feminist’ themes. Closer analysis again reveals internal contradictions, inconsistencies and a degree of ambivalence towards its subject matter, but also represents another important dimension amid the wider discursive interest in prostitution.

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The Prostitute’s Body

Chapter 4 moves into the realm of fiction and explores Wilkie Collins’s The New Magdalen. Nineteenth-century fiction is obviously served by its own disciplines of critical inquiry, but it also provides rich resources for the historian. One reason for this is the strong nineteenth-century literary interest in exploring and reflecting the processes of rapid industrialization and expansion that Britain was experiencing during this period. The ‘condition of England’, as this subject of inquiry became known, provided a number of literary treatments, including the famous voices of Charles Dickens (1812–70) and Elizabeth Gaskell (1810–65).75 A number of works dealt with the subject of the ‘fallen woman’, and thus involved the themes of seduction, desertion, illegitimacy and prostitution. Although novels rarely dealt directly with prostitution, the spectre of the prostitute loomed large in many works if only through allusions to fallen women.76 Rarer were those novels that took prostitution or a prostitute as their central focus. One novelist, Wilkie Collins, did just that when he places Mercy Merrick in the central role of his sensation novel The New Magdalen, published in 1873. The selection of this text as a case study of nineteenth-century fictional discourse on prostitution is significant for several reasons. First, the rarity of the subject matter – its ‘indelicacy’ – was widely declared, so it is not surprising that it proved unusual for authors, ‘sensational’ or otherwise, to choose this subject. Second, to have a prostitute as the central character and thus – in fictional terms – speaking for herself and representing prostitute subjectivity, is so rare it is surprising that it has not invited closer academic study. Third, the characterization of Mercy is fundamentally different to any previous developments of prostitute character. However, most important is the representation of the final phases of the prostitute narrative in this novel. Collins engaged directly with the potency of the traditional mythology of the prostitute and re-wrote it. The New Magdalen functions as an important alternative text in the larger history of the fictional representation of prostitution. Chapter 5 deals with the most ‘illicit’ of my chosen discourses: pornography. Academic interest in pornography has increased in recent years, but this genre has not traditionally been taken seriously as historical source material by social or cultural historians not focusing on pornography itself. The case study for Chapter 5 is My Secret Life, an erotic memoir of anonymous authorship – its gentleman narrator is known only as ‘Walter’ – published c. 1890. The variety of instances in this text in which sexual services were traded for money, and Walter’s attitude to the commodification of female sexuality generally, proves this source to be invaluable for historians of prostitution and sexuality alike. My Secret Life, like the other case studies, highlights the complexity of contemporary definitions of ‘prostitution’ as well as providing valuable information on its typology, organization, initiation, geography and economics. Walter’s particular, subjec-

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tive perspective – anonymous though it remains – is a valuable contemporary Victorian perception that has much to offer the cultural historian. In focusing on the representation of ideology, this study challenges the way academics have inadvertently continued to perpetuate certain assumptions about Victorian attitudes to prostitution. Although historians have mined primary sources for their repetition of certain motifs (disease and contagion) and their production of familiar narratives (the prostitute’s inevitable downward progress), it is necessary to re-read the primary sources on prostitution and ‘go beyond’ the accepted canon. The representational schema from which representations of prostitution were constructed in the Victorian period was multi-faceted and many layered – a complex mosaic rather than a pre-determined narrative. Contemporary authors actively grappled with this repertoire to construct their representations, and rather than passively reproducing homogenized images They created new tropes and narratives that reformulated and often directly challenged those ‘myths’ historians would later impose upon them. Gilfoyle has remarked on the difficulties in reconstructing accurate accounts of prostitution ‘due to the added layers of myth and fabrication’.77 He noted further that because the ‘whore’ was also a metaphor, commercial sex ‘was transformed into a vehicle by which elites and middle classes articulated their social boundaries, problems, fears, agendas, and visions’. As a result, ‘most sources are so embedded in discourses of pleasure, reform, and regulation that any effort to reconstruct the lived experiences of these women is nearly impossible’.78 This book traverses these discourses of ‘pleasure, reform, and regulation,’ in an attempt to reconstruct the complexity and sophistication of Victorian representations of prostitution.

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