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outlined in his Utopian polemic 'The soul of a man under socialism', also
published in 1891. In the novel, however, Wilde explores the complexities
of such a vision in an unreformed and class-bound culture, and, in conse-
quence, the possibilities of the city are also tainted by a fear of scandal.
Dorian is ultimately afraid to leave London in case the mutating portrait is
discovered, and the city which enables his exploration of his 'myriad lives'
and 'myriad sensations' also traps him. London is conceived as a place
where individualism both flourishes and founders, and when Dorian
plunges the knife into the painting in the final passage of the novel a
personal transgressive odyssey is brought abruptly to an end: the formal
divisions between inside and out, the public and the private are re-
established, and the policeman makes his entrance. Given this orderly
ending it is telling that The Picture of Dorian Gray was still perceived by
Lord Queensberry's defence to be 'calculated to subvert morality and
encourage unnatural vice'.33Wilde explored and represented the complex-
ity of the city in the novel and it came to implicate unruly and ineffable
identities and desires. London destroyed and debilitated perhaps, but it also
permitted an elaborate and secretive negotiation of subjectivity. This
constituted part of the novel's threat and, for some, its promise.
Symonds
Symonds wrote in a different vein in his Memoirs, though they also moved
against the grain of nineteenth-century autobiography. They were, as Trev
Lynn Broughton points out,
sharply different from the Life writing with which the Victorian literary
world was familiar: not only as a moving and detailed study of homo-
sexual subjectivity ... but, with [their] emphasis on dreams, fantasies and
formative sexual experiences, as a moving and detailed study of
consciousness at a time when histories of conscience were the bio-
graphical order of the day.34
From his deathbed in Rome in 1893, Symonds wrote to his wife Catherine
of his hope that the Memoirs would be 'useful to society', but also advised
her that he had given his literary executor Horatio Brown control of them
after his death because 'I have written things you could not like to read'.35
Although Catherine Symonds knew about - and (Symonds claimed)
accepted - her husband's desires it is likely that Brown vetoed publication
out of sensitivity for her feelings and those of the couple's daughters. Phyllis
Grosskurth also suggests that Symonds may have indicated to Brown that
the time was not 'propitious' for publication.36 Brown had the manuscript
placed with the London Library on his death in 1926 and barred publication
for a further fifty years. Despite the long road to publication Symonds
clearly had an eye on a future reader and on the solace the Memoirs might
At nightI creep down and lie close in the greatcity - there I am at home
- hoursand hoursI lie stretchedthere;the feet go to and fro, to and fro,
beside and over me . . . You, soaring yearning face of youth threading
the noisy crowd,though you soar to the stars you cannot escape me. I
remainwhere I am. I make no effort. Whereveryou go it is the same to
me: I am there already.6'
The passage echoes the imagery associated with the urban predator:
Democracycreeps throughthe streets,lies in wait, is inescapable.He also
picks out - it is temptingto say cruises- the 'soaringface of youth' in the
urban crowd. However, this 'predator'is transformedinto a redemptive
force and is envisagedrepresentinga positiveratherthan degenerateset of
desires.The destructiveand pervertedforces of the city are transfiguredby
the incorruptibleforce of democracy;the dangerousstreets harbournot a
sexual monster but an omnipresentguardianangel. The 'noisy crowd',
meanwhile,potentiallyyields connection,and sustainsratherthandissolves
identity.It is a vision that recursforciblyelsewherein the poem:
waves, white faces from afar bearing down nearer nearer, almost
touching,and glancesunforgottenand meant to be unforgotten.62
These vignettes often have the ring of anecdotes about them, of tales told
about experiences in the city, of lovers and comrades found there. Unusu-
ally these stories sometimes recreate the perspectives of working-class men,
who become subjects rather than simply objects of desire. Of the 'poor lad
born in the slums', for example, we are told that 'many spoke to him, asked
him to come and have a drink, and so forth; but still it was no satisfaction
to him; for they did not give him what he needed'.69 In another case a sick
man working twelve-hour shifts in a 'wretched tailor's den' in the city meets
a man 'of athletic strength and beauty' at the 'casual little club he was in
the habit of attending'. This man 'came and championed and nursed him,
and stayed whole nights and days with him and loved him'.70 Whilst
Symonds focused on his own 'sophisticated' passion for guardsmen and
'roughs', Carpenter in these episodes represented working-class men
actively seeking similar comradely bonds through various locales: London
pubs, working men's clubs, university settlements. It is a representation of
the East End and of London more broadly which differs markedly from
those discussed earlier. Like Whitman, Carpenter saw the city as a place
which might facilitate and sustain homosocial bonds. He reinflected visions
of the urban labyrinth in The Picture of Dorian Gray and Symonds's
Memoirs, and eschewed both Dorian's trenchant individualism and
Symonds's dismay and frequent feelings of isolation. Instead Carpenter
found a potent force of human connection in the diverse spaces and distinc-
tive experiences of the metropolis, seeking to override the impulse to
secrecy and shame which its pleasure inspired.
Ives
Carpenter positioned homosexuality and city life within his broad socialist
and democratic agenda. The 'stories' of homosexuality embedded in
Towards Democracy are narrated alongside others of heterosexual
comradeship, showing the power of desire and interpersonal relations to
effect change across the board and around the globe. George Ives held
Carpenter and his values in high esteem and forged a close friendship with
him. However, whilst Carpenter's conceptualization of an 'intermediate sex'
was essentially conciliatory and part of a wider schema, Ives developed a
more combative stance in his evolving politics and in the language he used.
He envisaged a dichotomy between 'them' and 'Us' - the latter always capi-
talized - and referred to 'the battle', the 'fight', to 'traitors', 'martyrs', and
to 'the faith' and 'the cause' (echoing, it should be noted, the rhetoric of
contemporary socialism).71 In his diary, which covers the period from 1886
to 1950 and runs to a mammoth 122 volumes, Ives communicated a keen
sense of personal injustice and of his own exclusion, which related to his
homosexuality and also to his illegitimacy. Ives had been brought up by his
maternal grandmother, Emma Ives, and was the illegitimate son of Gordon
Maynard Ives and the Baroness de Molarti of Spain. He experienced the
privileges associated with his family's wealth - the London home near
Regent'sPark,the countryhouse in Bentworth,Hampshire,the villain Nice
- but also felt stigmatized.He took an interestin the workof the Legitima-
tion Leaguein the 1890s,and,in termsof his sexuality,had greathopes that
sexologywould bringabout a changein both in social attitudeand the law.
He learnt Germanto keep abreastof the more wide-rangingcontinental
sexologicaldebate and was, along with Carpenter,an activememberof the
BritishSocietyfor the Studyof Sex Psychology,foundedin 1913.
Ives had a more singular focus on homosexual 'emancipation'than
Carpenter,who turneddown an invitationto join the exclusiveand issue-
specificOrderof the Chaeronashortlyafter it was formedaround1892.It
is temptingto conjecturethat this arose out of Ives'sproximityto an urban
subculture,to the blackmailers,police, and the courtswhichmade the need
for self-protection seem acute and the battle for legitimacy especially
urgent. He was keenly aware of the pressureson men who had sex and
relationshipswith other men in London, and the ways in which they were
depicted in the press. Ives's Order,his writing,and his sense of self were
shapedin specificrelationto a felt marginalizationwithinthe city. Carpen-
ter felt this marginalizationtoo, and apartfromthe idealshe communicated
throughhis writing,he took an activepartin protestsagainstspecificinjus-
tices, especiallywhen they involvedcensorship.72 Carpenterwas, however,
one step removedfrom the city in Millthorpe,and this distanceis perhaps
reflectedin the way homosexualityis figuredas partof a broaderlandscape
in his writingand politics.Ives meanwhileimagineda stridentpoliticalfight
for legitimacy,and he connected this explicitlywith London. It was there
that he felt the greatestsense of common cause and the closest comrade-
ship, as well as the greatest threat to his friends and relationships.The
Service of Initiation for the Order appropriatelyincluded Whitman's
eulogy to democracyand fraternityin 'a city invincible','a new city of
friends'.73
The Orderwas namedafter the finalbattle of the ThebanBands.These
bandswere composedof men fightingalongsidetheirmale lovers and they
were reveredfor their bravery,standingundefeateduntil the battle of the
Chaerona of 338 BC. Ives's obsessive secrecy means that the precise
membershipof the Orderremainsobscurebut his accountsof chance and
planned meetings suggest it involved a fairly large numberof men. Indi-
viduals were consideredfor membershipon account of their position or
expertise.Ives commentedon one unnamedman: 'Being a learned figure
we had thought he might have been of use to the order, but so far as I
know, he was never in it'.74(Ives would not necessarilyhave known since
it only took two existing membersto induct a third.) In 1893 he wrote: 'I
am hopeful [of the characterof several London workers]but they are so
far as I know untriedand some are too apatheticfor Us at present'.75He
observed on another occasion the necessity of teaching 'workers' 'the
faith'.76The context of both commentssuggeststhe potential recruitment
spent the night with Lord Alfred Douglas, though he refused to allow a
thirdpartyto join them becausehe 'thoughtit wouldn'tdo in the Albany'89
- an episode whichreveals Ives's enduringsense of proprietyand reserva-
tion for all his avowed radicalism.He could not embraceDouglas'smore
abandoned lifestyle and worried about the consequences of the young
lord'sindiscretions.'I warnedLordA more thanonce thathe was indulging
in homosexualityto a recklessand highlydangerousdegree.For tho' I had
no objectionto the thingitself we were all afraidhe would get arrestedany
day'.90Thisconcernevaporatedwhen Douglasturnedon Wilde:Ives added
the words 'traitor'to any mention of him in the diary.
During this period Ives read Carpenter's Civilisation: its Cause and Cure
and made extensive notes on the section discussingthe Theban Bands of
male lovers.Ives also now visitedpoorerpartsof the city,making'acquaint-
ance amongthe youthfuldenizensof the Borough'.91His dailylife now took
him frequentlybetween the west and east ends, incorporating,for example,
the swimmingbathsin Whitechapeland a visit to Wildein St James'on one
day in the summerof 1892.92Like Carpenterand Symondshe developed a
keen interest in the potential of homoeroticbonds to foster a new social
and moralorder,andwhen he overheardtwo working-classmen havingsex
in a changingcubicleat the Polytechnicbathsin Regent'sStreetin 1893he
concludedthat, removed from 'mercantilesurroundings',a new potential
had been unleashed by these men, who were apparentlyable to flout
conventionand the commonconflationof monetaryexchangewith homo-
sexual sex. 'How much', he wrote, 'mightthis be but a type of the rising
generation,may these two but be specimensand samples of the millions
and we shall do well'.93Influencedby Carpenter'sinsights and his own
experiencesin the East End Ives put a Utopian and reformistgloss on the
swimming-poolencounter.
His interestin the West End waned aroundthe mid 1890s.He chose to
visit the romanticsocialist and architectCharlesAshbee at the Guild of
Handicraftsin Mile End Road ratherthan attenda dinnerwith Wilde after
the premiere of The Importance of Being Earnest, for example,94 and
claimedto like the mainstreetsof the East End betterthan'the horridWest
Centraldistrict'.After a trip to a pantomimeand dinner at the Savoy in
1906Ives proclaimedirritably,'I can't standsociety and its amusements'.95
Rather than seeing the West End as a permissivespace for homosexual
experimentationand expression he felt it detracted from the serious
business of reform.96For him it representeda version of homosexuality
whichwas alliedtoo closelyto the prevailingsocialandculturalorder.From
the mid 1890she became more activelyinvolvedin the Rugby House and
Magdaleneuniversitysettlements,in Notting Hill and Camberwellrespec-
tively, and this expandedtopographicalframe of referenceboth indicated
and fostered a strong commitmentto ideas of homosocialand cross-class
comradeship,a greatersympathyfor socialism,and an interestin anarchy.
His attachment to the city was increasinglyrelated to the streets, the
SECRETTOPOGRAPHIES
Ives describedhimself as 'the SherlockHomes of a 1000 little peculiari-
ties',103and, in the mannerof the sexologists and in line with the broader
Victorianempiricaltradition,he carefullyrecordedwhat he saw and heard
as he wandered around the streets of London, often late at night. He
relishedthe frissonof exchangedglances(thoughhis fear of arrestor black-
mail meant that he rarely acted on them) and wrote of seeing inverts,
membersof the Order,andplain-clothespolicemenaroundthe city.He also
monitoredopinion about homosexualityin the gentlemen'sclubsand from
men he met in the streets, on a train,and at the Serpentine.In his scrap-
book he indicated sites in the city which were important to him, and
compiledimages of boys and men swimmingin the Thames and the pond
at VictoriaPark, and places and monumentswhich had particularhomo-
sexual resonances.These includedthe statue of educationalistand pioneer
of the polytechnicmovementQuintinHogg, whichwas unveiledin Portland
Place in 1906.104In a parallelentry in his diaryhe noted the inspirational
impact of Hogg's 'homogenic spirit'.105Ives was clearly keen to figure
homosexualitywithinLondon'smonumentaltopographyand in the main-
stream of the city's social, culturaland sportinglife. And yet his engage-
ment with the city was individualisticand he conceived of a distinctive,
secretive and in some ways insular homosexual identity there. This
resonated in some ways with Wilde and Symonds'sconceptualizationsof
London discussedearlier.Ives exploredby bike and on foot ratherthanby
publictransport,and relishedsecretsignsand hiddenmeanings.He wanted
Hyde Park to be publiclyredesignateda spoonitorium- for it to be open
to lovers at all times and for the authoritiesto ensure the gates remained
unlocked- but also imaginedit cloaked in darknessso that the configur-
ation of those lovers, what they did, and precisely where they went,
remained a secret. This drive to secrecy was a means of resistingdomi-
neeringinterpretationsof and reactionsto homosexualactivity.But it also
maintaineda space for self-determinationand for developingpatternsof
behaviourwhichwere distinctand exclusive.For the same reason,and in a
reflection of this approach to the city, Ives's engagement with public
discourse on homosexuality - except for one outspoken piece of 1894106-
largelytook place at closely-guardedmeetingsof the Orderandin a private
diary with codes designed to confuse 'pryingeyes'. Ives's fight for public
space and recognitionfor the invertwas thusparadoxicallymarkedby what
Wilde called his 'sillymaniafor secrecy'.107
Despite its rhetoricalstridency,
his conception of homosexuality and reform was more covert than Carpen-
ter's. H. G. Cocks convincingly argues that the unspeakable nature of
homosexuality at this time 'produced paradoxical opportunities for self-
making', and this relates closely to the impulse we see with Ives to inscribe
a personal and secretive mapping of the city in the quest for a distinctive
sense of self and a mode of resistance.108Ives felt compelled to secrecy
because of the dangers associated with homosexuality in the metropolis, but
he also seemed to find the exclusivity such secrecy brought appealing since
it related closely to his conception of an enlightened and heroic elite in
London, akin to the Theban bands and Athenian citizenry.
This dynamic between public spaces with their domineering associations
on the one hand, and personal mappings and meanings on the other, was
certainly not particular to Ives or the homosexual 'condition'.109However,
to inscribe an independent mapping of, and presence within, the city was
especially pressing for those whose lives and relationships were censured
and who were seeking, partly in reaction, to outline and legitimize a sustain-
ing sense of identity, history and culture. The link between homosexuality
and the city had already been made in many minds, both through the
generalized conception of urban debauchery and through the various
homosexual scandals during this period and before. Wilde, Symonds,
Carpenter and Ives were, however, negotiating the relationship on different
terms and conceiving of somewhat different intersections of the city and the
'homosexual' subject. They highlighted particular places within London
which held a range of social, sexual and political possibilities for 'homo-
sexual' men, from the theatres and Piccadilly Circus, to Hyde Park, the
British Museum and the university settlements. These places were concep-
tualized and experienced differently, and the writings examined here show
that no two mappings or impressions were quite the same, despite frequent
connections and overlaps. Hyde Park, for example, prompted Wilde's
fictional Dorian in his quest for new sensation; for Symonds it was a place
of comfort where he could fantasize about Hellenic and pastoral muscular-
ity; Carpenter conceived of it as a key site in the evolution of democratic
bonds fuelled by desire; some guardsmen saw it as a venue for both sexual
and economic transaction; Ives yearned for its re-creation as a spooni-
torium. Newspaper pronouncements about homosexual activity in the park
did not - and could not - wholly account for these other understandings,
associations and experiences. Clearly a range of ways of comprehending
homosexuality and its place in London were circulating during this period
and men found different means of negotiating them and operating within
the metropolis.
The complex intersection of ideas about identity, desire and the city ulti-
mately prevents us from discerning either a unitary urban type or a
coherent culture of homosexuality in London, even though there were
established networks, sustaining groupings and recognizable types. In living
and describing a homosexual life in the city it was as important to chart (or,
NOTESAND REFERENCES
1 Walt Whitman, 'City of Orgies', in Walt Whitman: the Complete Poems, ed. Francis
Murphy,London,1996,p. 158.
2 On this intensificationof interestsee David Greenberg,The Constructionof Homo-
sexuality, Chicago, 1988; Richard Davenport-Hines, Sex, Death and Punishment: Attitudes to
Sex and Sexuality in Britain since the Renaissance, London, 1990; Leslie Moran, The Homo-
sexual(ity) of Law, London, 1996; Ed Cohen, Talk on the Wilde Side: Towards a Genealogy of
a Discourse on Male Sexualities, London, 1993; Harry Oosterhuis, Stepchildren of Nature:
Kraffi-Ebing, Psychiatry and the Making of Sexual Identity, Chicago, 2000; Linda Dowling,
Hellenism and Homosexuality in Victorian Oxford, New York, 1994; Alan Sinfield, The Wilde
Century: Effeminacy, Oscar Wilde and the Queer Moment, London, 1992; Regenia Gagnier,
Idylls of the Marketplace: Oscar Wilde and the Victorian Public, Aldershot, 1997; Eve Kosofsky
Sedgwick, The Epistemology of the Closet, and Between Men: English Literature and Male
Homosocial Desire, New York, 1985; and Elaine Showalter, Sexual Anarchy: Gender and
Cultureat the Fin de Siecle,London,1990.Manyof these writershave taken their cue from
Michel Foucault'sHistory of Sexuality,and also from Jeffrey Weeks's more specific and
detailed examinationof late nineteenth-centurygay history:Michel Foucault,History of
Sexuality,vol. 1, An Introduction,transl.RobertHurley(firstpublished1976),London,1990;
JeffreyWeeks,ComingOut,London,1979.
3 See Matt Cook, London and the Culture of Homosexuality, c.1885-1914, Cambridge,
2003; Neil Bartlett, Who Was That Man?: a Present for Mr Oscar Wilde, London, 1988;
MorrisB. Kaplan,'Who'sAfraid of JackSaul? Urban Cultureand the Politicsof Desire in
late-VictorianLondon', GLQ 5:3, 1999, pp. 267-314; Morris B. Kaplan, 'Did my Lord
GomorrahSmile? Social Class,Prostitution,and Sexualityin the ClevelandStreet Affair',
in Disorder in the Court: Trials and Sexual Conflict at the turn of the century, ed. Nancy Erber
and George Robb, New York,1999;MorrisB. Kaplan,"'Menin Petticoats":the QueerCase
of Mr Boulton and Mr Park',in ImaginedLondons, ed. Pamela Gilbert,New York, 2002;
Morris B. Kaplan, Sodom by the Thames: Love, Lust and Scandal in Wilde Times, Ithaca,