The last three chapters of Harvey's book – 'Space,' 'Movement' and 'Pleasure' – make interesting points about the cultural environment of erotica. Eighteenth-century modernity reorganised work, domestic spaces and gender relations. Like many recent critics, Harvey rethinks the 'separate spheres' theory as an adequate way to read changing representations of British domestic identity. Erotic literature's conception of space, she claims, is too slippery for the theory of separate spheres that gendered public spaces as masculine and gendered private spaces as feminine.(6) Harvey not only identifies commonly eroticised spaces, such as religious and pastoral spaces, but she complicates familiar dichotomies that are used to talk about morality and geography, like the association of the urban with license and luxury, and rural landscapes with civic and sexual virtues. For instance, gardens have been long associated with sexuality and transgression. But by looking at shade, privacy, opacity, and softness, for example, Harvey extends our understanding of the relation between pleasure and space. But she also points out the predictable dichotomies at work in erotica: pleasure can be safely staged in traditionally private, feminine spaces, like kitchens or laundry rooms. Harvey distinguishes such pleasures from more opprobrious public luxuries like chocolate consumption or gambling. But sex, Harvey says, 'is a place for men to visit' (p. 173), and erotica made it safe; erotica offered men a sanctioned space to experience reason's feminised nemesis: passion. This is where Harvey illustrates the mutual entanglement of public and private spaces.
The remaining chapters deal with men. If Pamela suggested a third way of thinking about the female servant’s sexuality, cross-class eroticism had rather different implications for the male domestic: homosociality, not homosexuality, emerges as key to this aspect of the servant problem. In chapter five Straub moves up the social scale and returns to a subject she has investigated before, the theatre. Chapter four featured the economically vulnerable households of the lower middle classes; chapter five is the domain of liveried servants in the larger, differentiated establishments of the metropolis in the early to mid century. Straub juxtaposes the disruptive presence of footmen in the London theatre against representations of servants on stage. At the same time that their rights to a place in the audience were curtailed, she argues, dramatists dealt with the sexuality of their fictional counterparts. The theatre presented new forms of lower- class masculinity – an ideal of conjugal heterosexuality that all Englishmen, even servants, could enjoy or a homosocial bond between master and man; it also depicted a very different version of degraded, vicious life below stairs. As footmen rioted in the gallery, a culture war erupted over rights both to public space and to control the story about domestic service. These developments were not restricted to Drury Lane, but encapsulated broader struggles over aristocratic privilege, labour and loyalty, which were evident in a contemporaneous campaign against ‘vails’, or the practice of tipping servants. A prerequisite that many domestics regarded as a customary right, opponents took as evidence of male servants’ insolence and greed. According to Straub, in exchange for conflict, economic agency and self-assertion, servants were offered a naturalised form of manliness which they could perform through affectionate, loyal – and deferential – service: Jonas Hanway was unsubtle in naming his ideal servant Thomas Trueman. The footman was to be domesticated through sharing the cultural values of the middle-class family. But in common with other resolutions of the servant problem, it generated loose ends: was the servant’s emotional allegiance to his own family or his employer’s; was affection or heterosex the male domestic’s dominant passion; how was marriage to be accommodated within a lifetime of service?
fit with a turned down collar and originally meant for everyday casual wear, became more fashionable among English men. In the years just before the American Revolutionary War, the male silhouette finally lost its full shape and adopted a long and slim look. This look would remain popular throughout the rest of the century with both American and English men (Baumgarten, 2002). Standing band collars became the fashion for formal coats and waistcoats, and coat sleeves became very narrow with small cuffs during the last quarter of the eighteenth-century. The coat was cut in a curve away from the front and waistcoats ended at the waist, requiring breeches that previously sat low on the hips to rise to the waist. The pleats of the coat’s skirt were moved from the sides to the back (Bradfield, 1958; Warwick, Pitz, and Wyckoff, 1965). Breeches also became longer and daytime suits became more practical, although the rise of the Macaronis, with their exaggerated styles and loud outfits, also occurred during this time (Baumgarten, 2002). At the end of the eighteenthcentury, prominent chests were fashionable and coats were sometimes cut straight across at the front, with high collars almost to the ears and again, a slim silhouette. Breeches were also longer and tighter and increasingly made out of knitted fabric for stretch (Baumgarten, 2002). Popular colors included crimson, blue, brown, grey, green, and black by the end of the eighteenthcentury. White and light colored embroidered waistcoats were popular, and coats and breeches were often made with striped fabric. Embroidered velvet, silk, and satin,
By the second half of the eighteenthcentury, however, employment oppor- tunities for professional cricketers had begun to expand. The game’s growing popularity led to an increase in demand for major matches, and a form of independent professionalism was developed that saw players receive payment for the individual contests in which they took part. The introduction of match payments saw a subtle but signifi cant shift in the economic background of pro- fessional players, which became even more prevalent during the next century. Although they were still members of the lower classes, the players who were engaged to play cricket through this system commonly enjoyed a relatively independent economic status. Many were tradesmen or farmers who were clearly not willing to give up their occupation for more menial work on the aristocratic estates. So, for example, when Lord John Sackville’s Kent XI faced an All England XI at the Artillery Ground in 1744, his team included Mills of Bromley, who was a bookmaker, and Hodswell of Dartford, a tanner. 29
As the century progressed there was a demarcation, with novelists either striving to remove as much evidence of authorship from their pages as possible, or indulging in the sort of self-conscious awareness of their own presence behind the text so beloved of Swift. It will be recalled that Addison and Steele, when taking philosophy into clubs and coffee houses, left Mr Spectator himself curiously negated of many of the traits of authorship; if his personality intrudes into the work, it is an accident, given that he is always trying not to be noticed: ‘Thus I live in the World, rather as a Spectator of Mankind, than as one of the Species’ he proclaims in the very first number. Even more intriguingly, there is a reason why he is so reticent about his biography: ‘I have given the Reader just so much of my History and Character, as to let him see I am not altogether unqualified for the Business I have undertaken.’ 23
There is much in Lukowski’s assessment that convinces, and his sober realism is a bracing antidote to more optimistic portrayals of these developments: he is clearly sceptical of the revisionist scholarship that in recent years has attempted to rehabilitate the Saxon monarchs, and he politely points out that much of the data presented by the late Józef Gierowski, the distinguished historian of the Saxon period, in his English- language The Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth in the EighteenthCentury. From Anarchy to the Well- Ordered State contradicts the book’s subtitle. Yet for all the cogency of Lukowski’s arguments and the impressive depth of evidence he adduces in support of them, his account is perhaps a little too negative and ungenerous, not so much to the political writers who advocated reform and the politicians who finally
Malleable Anatomies is precisely researched, and full of rich detail about the lives and times of anatomical models and their makers. It is also beautifully illustrated, featuring some 54 high quality colour plates of surviving wax and fabric anatomical models, including images of models of ‘nerves’ and ‘muscle’ men, dissected kidneys and eyes, and interactive midwifery models. The images also show contemporary anatomical displays and their architecture, and other visual and material evidence associated with 18th- century Italian anatomical modelling. There is also a further set of black and white images showing
Different theoretical standards of proof existed in English and Scottish law. Persuasive evidence of guilt was required from at least two witnesses in Scotland, whilst a single testimony could condemn English prisoners."*® In practice, the prisoner’s mental state was rarely authenticated by the bare minimum of witnesses in either country. Multiple lay testimonies, which converged upon a communal identification of a person’s mental condition, persisted to carry great authority during legal hearings."** Jurors found such consensus of evidence hard to ignore. In 1776, for instance, five neighbours and character-witnesses testified to John Sutcliffe’s altered mental state. They converged upon John Sutcliffe’s spiritual enthusiasm as both a cause and effect of his mental imbalance."*^ Sutcliffe had claimed to have spoken with both God and the Devil, whilst he had also described the murder of his wife and child as a “sacrifice to God, in return of a blessing”. Sutcliffe had also woken his neighbours on the Sabbath, wearing “nothing on him but his shirt”, proclaiming “I have found Jesus this morning”. Testifiers noted that this religiosity marked a change in Sutcliffe’s “behaviour and words”. The onset of his insanity was connected to his recent attendance of the “methodist-meeting”. Sutcliffe thereby conformed to stereotypical images that correlated evangelism (and paiticularly Methodism) with both public and mental disorder."*^ Such communal evidences were persuasive, for the jury acquitted Sutcliffe of murder on account of
But how do we know he is a beggar? The Latin does not use an obvious word like mendicus or mendicans. One of the features of eighteenth-century Latin verse composition was that it both allowed and expected the suggestive possibilities of classical allusion. This was, of course, also true of much that was written in English in the period. When the character is given the name Irus, Bourne’s readers would immediately identify him as a beggar, and have recognised that the name had negative connotations. Irus is the Latinised form of the Greek ’I ρ o ς , who appears at the beginning of Book XVIII of Homer’s Odyssey as ‘a public beggar, who used to go begging / Through the town of Ithaka, known to fame for his ravenous belly’. When he encounters Odysseus, who has entered his own house disguised as a beggar so as to remain unknown to the suitors, Irus is annoyed that Odysseus is encroaching on his territory and insults him. The suitors encourage them to fight, and Odysseus beats Irus severely, breaking his jaw and driving him away, with the result that the suitors praise Odysseus ‘for having stopped the wandering of this greedy creature in our neighbourhood’. 19
advanced to support it’, Henry William speculated on the ‘probable profits of those Offices’, taking a loan from the merchant house of Turnbull, Forbes & Co. of London. But the gamble did not go well as the failure of Turnbull, Forbes & Co. in August 1802 led him to declare ‘a loss exceeding his whole private fortune’. 72 It is likely that his relationship with the Anglo- Dutch merchant, Daniel Willink (1780-1859) (see below), then of London, began in the wake of this failure. Henry William was thus one of the British settlers who were undermined by the decline of profitability in Caribbean cotton planting in the early nineteenth century due in part to increased competition from cheaper cotton supplies from the United States. 73
Brooks’s research has provided the most comprehensive analysis to date of patterns of civil litigation in England from the medieval era to the present. The limitations of the available source material preclude a deﬁnitive numerical assessment of these trends, but the ﬁve secular waves of increasing litigation identiﬁed by Brooks provide an essential backdrop for historical analysis of English social and economic development. The ﬁrst phase of growth, from c. 1250 to 1330, coincided with the early professionalization of English justice, and saw litigation in the Common Pleas rise by a factor of perhaps thirty in the thirteenth century as a whole. Arrested by the impact of the Black Death, litigation levels enjoyed a renewed resurgence from the later fourteenth century until the 1440s, and then declined to a low point in the 1520s. The Elizabethan era witnessed the onset of a dramatic increase in litigation that was to continue, with some brief setbacks, until the early eighteenthcentury and which marked the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries as ‘ the most litigious periods in English history ’ (p. 12). A sharp contraction of recourse to the law reversed this upward trend until the onset of a fourth phase of growth in the later eighteenthcentury, a trend that owed much of its force to the creation of local small claims courts known as courts of requests. Bolstered by the creation of the Victorian county court system and continuing through the 1880s, this period of expansion was followed by a trough that reached its nadir in the 1950s. The institution of a comprehensive system of legal aid and the increasing resort of married couples to civil divorce brought this period of decline to an end, marking the later twentieth century as an increasingly litigious period of English history.
A useful model of the way in which overcrowded, slum, housing developed during this period is represented by the upstanding remains of 69-77 Lever Street in the Northern Quarter (Fig. 4). These began as a speculative development of five-, four- storey, workshop-dwellings built progressively over a decade by a plasterer, William Bradley (Taylor and Holder 2008, p. 24). The first phase spanned the period 1780-8 when a row of five houses was built. These had attic-floor workshops but the basements, ground and first floors appear to have been divided for tenement housing in all but one case. Each house had its own rear yard with an outside privy. The second phase saw two-storeyed extensions, lit separately, built into the rear yard areas by around 1790 and a third phase by 1794 saw one-up-one-down cottages added to the rear of these in turn, facing Bradley Street. Later in the early nineteenth century, by 1831 a five bay, three-storey, warehouse was built across two back yards. Access to the phase two and phase three housing was only from the Bradley Street side of the properties (Taylor and Holder 2008, p. 25). These properties encapsulate many of the features of later slum housing; small domestic unit size, poor lighting, restricted access through narrow alleyways and a lack of sanitation.
Women are perceived to be naturally lascivious but because o f society’s restrictions on behaviour, have become devious from the necessity to conceal their activities. Humorous jibes are directed at women on account o f their sexual natures, the narrator suggesting an altered state o f affairs regarding female sexual licence. He proposes that, once parthenogenesis is understood, women will be able to sexually indulge themselves without fear o f tarnishing their good names, and ‘...it will be easy for a young Lady to lose her Maidenhead without losing her Character’."*^ Although this was a comic piece rather than a call for sexual liberation. Hill was drawing attention (whether intentional or not) to the problems women faced for their sexual activities. Unwanted pregnancies and a doomed reputation were highlighted as the result o f women’s amorous dalliances. By the end o f the century, Joseph Banks would castigate the rigidity o f the sexual double standard and furthermore blame women themselves for their strict adherence o f the rules. In a letter to Mary Ann Radcliffe, he declared ‘the greater part o f the Evils to which your sex are liable under our present Customs o f Society originate in the decisions o f Women’. He blamed women for the ostracising o f their own sex for sexual misdemeanours stating, ‘The Penalty by which women uniformly permit the smallest deviation o f a Female character from the Rigid Paths o f virtue is more severe than Death and more afflicting than the Tortures o f the Dungeons.
particularly Ireland, with just 31 cases during the years 1763 to 1842 (p. 154), about half of these between 1795 to 1815, a time of unprecedented military mobilization and intense public anxiety. Duelling was connected with ideas of honour and status, which were lodged in older notions of chivalry, and the author gives some fascinating accounts of men who found themselves in formal duels, which generally took place following a public insult and were reported in court cases and newspapers. The largest group of participants were soldiers – mainly young and with easy access to pistols. The relative absence of duelling speaks volumes of a society where a sense of personal public insult was mostly resolved through other means – the courts being one recourse commonly employed in a highly litigious age and social exclusion another. Sobriety in the cold light of day was probably the main reason why most men policed themselves. Non- violent dispute resolution was essential to social harmony in expanding towns and cities. Indeed, the history of inter-personal violence from the 17th century to the present is one of increasingly effective externally applied social control that is unconnected with the Enlightenment or any other coherent intellectual discourse.