Table of Contents

 

1.           Introduction

2.           Melodrama

2.1   Historical and Societal Background

2.2   Melodrama’s Characteristics and Characters

3.           Masculinity and the Concept of the Gentleman

3.1   The Hero and His Damsel in Distress

3.1.1 Summary and Conclusion

3.2   The Villain and His Minions

3.2.1 Summary and Conclusion

3.3   The Comic or Old Man

4.    Analysis

5.    Bibliography

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

1.     Introduction

In this article, we will be concerned with concepts of manhood in Victorian melodrama, based on Black-Ey´d Susan by Douglas Jerrold (1829), Money by Edward Bulwer-Lytton (1840), Masks and Faces by Charles Reade and Tom Taylor (1852), The Ticket-of-Leave Man by Tom Taylor (1863), Lady Audley´s Secret by Colin Henry Hazlewood (1863), and Caste by Thomas William Robertson (1867). For a comprehensive analysis of the two main characters of every play, the hero and the villain (3.1 and 3.2), the general characteristics and attendant circumstances of Victorian melodrama will be delineated (2.2 and 2.1). In chapter (3), the characteristic traits of heroes and villains will be elaborated and we shall see in which respects they differ and which traits they possibly share. The last chapter will attempt a conclusive explanation as to their differences and the origins thereof. In order to illuminate the various facets of manhood and gentlemanliness, this article will largely draw upon the ideas of John Ruskin[1] concerning the nature of man.

Some plays, however, do not have villains or heroes who conform to strict stereotypes or clearly designate pure evil or pure goodness. Some villainous characters are not innately evil and can be brought back to the good side. Conversely, a hero is not necessarily an innately good character but can fall prey to temptations. The villainous and the virtuous do not only distinguish themselves from one another by their morals but also by varying degrees of manliness or gentlemanliness respectively. The question that shall concern us here is in which way do they differ concerning masculinity in general and in gentlemanliness in particular. Is it justified to view the hero as being manlier than the villain?

 

2.     Melodrama

2.1 Historical and Societal Background

The 19^th century was an age of scientific progress, growing urbanisation, and exploding cities. An increasing number of Victorians had become salaried employees, clerks, and merchants and thus formed a growing middle class. In the early 19^th century, it is the middle class and increasingly the working class that demanded theatrical entertainment but the two legitimate theatres Covent Garden and Drury Lane could not satisfy this great demand. The Licensing Act (1737-1843) restricted the production of plays to these two patent theatres, which were meant as places for serious and cultured drama whereas illegitimate theatres evaded the restrictions and censorship of the Licensing Act by staging plays interspersed with music and dance: melodramas[2]. Before the repeal of the Licensing Act in 1843, London already counted more than 20 theatres. Between 1843 and the end of the century, however, the number of playhouses grew to 61, some of them offering more than 2000 seats (Erlebach, Reitz, Stein 346). In the wake of the industrial revolution, stage machinery became more sophisticated and powerful.

Electric bridges and hydraulic ramps made incredibly spectacular stage sets, such as earthquakes, sea battles, and other monumental scenes, possible. With the progressing industrialisation and urbanisation, the working class grew in size and importance. The theatres, being regular businesses, were dependent on paying customers. The playwrights, especially after the decline of the patronage system during the 18^th and 19^th centuries, were in turn dependent on the theatres to buy their plays. Therefore, plays were staged that mirrored the taste of the attending audience, which predominantly consisted of members of the middle class and the steadily growing working class.

“The attraction of melodrama is largely escapist; the audience is provided with a rich, full, and satisfying stage life sharply in contrast to their own. Yet, the paradox of melodrama is that this dream life is often presented – especially during the movement toward more and more realistic stage effects – as corresponding faithfully to the external details of real life” (Booth 187).

The taste of the average audience was not for artistically worthwhile pieces or for literary and sublime plays but for unpretentious and simple entertainment to make them forget their own troubles and a hard day’s work for a while.

 

2.2 Melodrama’s Characteristics and Characters

Melodrama can be considered as a rather conventionalised and conservative theatrical genre. It would hardly tackle controversial issues or raise uncomfortable questions. In general, the personnel of a melodramatic play consist mainly of stock characters and present the audience with sensational incidents and broad humour in lavishly constructed sets. The plot is mostly simple, with hardly any character development, and strongly reliant on fast-paced action. The villain poses a threat, the virtuous hero escapes the threat or rescues the equally virtuous heroine, and eventually there is a happy conclusion where vice is punished and virtue rewarded. Hence, contemporary melodrama has often been accused of shallowness, hasty construction, and little literary merit. Quite in contrast to the stage sets, the characters in melodrama are not as elaborate and colourful but they remain stereotypes (Erlebach, Reitz, Stein 355). What melodrama lacks in character development and psychological depth it makes up by exciting and spectacular action scenes such as snowstorms, horse races, or train wrecks.

Upon their first appearance on stage, the hero and the heroine can be instantly identified by their attire, good looks, demeanour, and way of speech. Generally, hero and heroine are innately good and virtuous, unwavering and steadfast in their goodness – even in times of peril and pursuit, distress and doubt. Ultimately, standing moral tests, withstanding temptations, and upholding virtue will procure the happy ending for the hero and the heroine.

Similarly easy to discern is the villain who is usually a dark-haired, sinister figure dressed in black and sporting black whiskers. Moreover, the villain is just as innately bad as the heroic couple is good, and in his wickedness, he is similarly unwavering and steadfast as hero and heroine are in their virtue. He is the driving force behind the action, his malevolent schemes, namely the lewd pursuit of the initially unprotected heroine or the greedy attempts at seizing her property or that of others, entail all ensuing action on the part of the hero.

Although the number of characters in melodrama is limited in order to keep the actions of the protagonist couple in focus, there are still some minor figures such as the comic man or woman and the old man or woman who support them and who provide for comic relief in times when the action becomes too gruesome and distressing. They share the heroes’ goodness but lack their efficacy and thus mostly serve to heighten pathetic effects. Moreover, the comic character, usually a member of the working class and thus closely identified with his audience, is a friend or servant of the hero or heroine and sometimes carries on the battle against villainy (though by comic means) in the absence or incapacity of his superiors (Booth 33).

As Booth states, “characters act according and corresponding to their outward appearance” (Booth 13). This allows only for little deviation from the rigid moral concept underlying Victorian melodrama. In this world of black and white, of pure good and pure evil, there is no possibility of reform or redemption for the villain. Instead, he will meet his untimely demise by an act of divine justice mostly brought about by the hero appearing as a deus ex machina figure, the comic man, or fortunate coincidence. However, the dichotomous world of melodrama is not ideal but it can be mended by the extinction of evil, embodied by the villain, and by adherence to a mutually agreed set of values and virtues (Erlebach, Reitz, Stein 356).

 

 

3.     Masculinity and the Concept of the Gentleman

Apart from merely biological preconditions, there are still some other prerequisites which need to be met before a male human will have attained real manliness – or rather will have reached the lofty heights of a gentlemanly existence. Once, having come of age or being born into a certain class a certain responsibility, maturity, and conduct are expected. Various ways of becoming ‘a real man’ and earning the respect of others presented themselves to Victorian males and formed a catalogue of virtues, merits, and traits ultimately culminating in the concept of the gentleman. The gentleman could hence be envisioned as the ‘perfect’ man.

What then makes a man a real man? According to John Ruskin,

“man’s power is active, progressive, defensive. He is eminently the doer, the creator, the discoverer, the defender. His intellect is for speculation and invention; his energy for adventure, for war, and for conquest […]” (Ruskin 121f).

Ruskin’s notion of masculinity ties in nicely with ideas of chivalry, which evoke images of valiant knights, imperative kings, marvellous mansions, and castles. Being born noble goes a long way in Victorian Britain and is the source of considerable pride. In the hierarchical structures of society at the time, a noble name commanded respect and by implication, the person bearing the name came to be respected as well. It was a nobleman’s duty to take care of wards (children, servants, women, the lower classes) and in return, he could demand obedience (Nünning 19). Therefore, it would seem natural to assume that the hero is a member of the upper class or nobility. Then again, the esteem for the aristocracy was still wearing off ever since the second half of the 18^th century; its lifestyle of luxury and leisure was eyed with suspicion and disapproval by the ‘middling’ classes, which were of the opinion that the nobility’s privileges were undeserved. The items on Ruskin’s list, however, only constitute a brief and incomplete outline of the male character in general and form a small fraction of a long list of virtues, traits, and accomplishments. In order to give shape to the image of the perfect gentleman some more items need to be added to the list. Members of the British aristocracy for instance were gentlemen by right of birth (although, paradoxically enough, birth alone could not make a man a gentleman). The OED defines a gentleman primarily as a “man of gentle birth, or having the same heraldic status as those of gentle birth; properly, one who is entitled to bear arms, though not ranking among the nobility, but also applied to a person of distinction without precise definition of rank”. Furthermore, a gentleman is denoted as a “man of chivalrous instincts and fine feelings” and as a person “of superior position in society, or having the habits of life indicative of this; often, one whose means enable him to live in easy circumstances without engaging in trade, a man of money and leisure.” Accordingly, the new middle class traders and merchants, attempted to be recognised as gentlemen as a natural consequence of their growing wealth and influence. Other Victorians, like military officers or members of Parliament, were recognized as gentlemen simply by virtue of their occupations. But the concept of the gentleman was not merely a social or class designation. There was also a moral component attached to it, which found expression in the extensive catalogue of virtues, merits, and traits. Despite the large number of items, some even in contradiction to others, in the catalogue, the image of the gentleman was not unambiguously clear and therefore it developed into an unattainable ideal. Ultimately, “a man can be no more than a gentleman” (Robertson 350).

On the one hand, a man and even more so the gentleman was – according to Ruskin – considered to be an energetic, courageous, and assertive person whose ambition, sense of duty, and guardianship would require determination, vigour, and strength. On the other hand, a gentleman was generally not obliged to engage in strenuous manual labour for his livelihood.

“A gentleman’s income, then, could be derived from several possible sources: official positions, management of businesses and estates, inheritance or marriage, professions or investments. Such lucrative pursuits did not require one’s constant attention, so the gentleman was a man of leisure” (Waters 16).

Moreover, politeness, propriety, and piety demanded a set of characteristics that stand in opposition to the action-oriented ones of Ruskin. In order to behave with the appropriate propriety and temperance a gentleman was expected to stoically restrain himself and to refrain from open outbursts of feelings, such as anger, grief or joy and he should be capable of suppressing all his sexual impulses. Courteous comportment also required that a gentleman was well educated and that he presented himself as considerate, deferential, sympathetic, inoffensive, unassuming, and understanding. These wide-ranging and varied demands on a man in general or a gentleman in particular concerning his qualities and comportment posed problems: depending on the environs, circumstances, and society it was necessary to behave differently or rather to assume a role that fitted best into a given situation.

“The growing perception that man’s self was made up of a series of roles which he performed in response to society’s demands was problematic for the Victorians, for this theatricality was the antithesis of sincerity […]” (Waters 100f).

Hence, men at the time were trapped in the paradoxical situation to peacefully reconcile and to deftly unite masculinity and feminity, sincerity and theatricality but to avoid hypocrisy at the same time.

Also for some members of the aristocracy, represented by the Marquise de St. Maur in Caste for instance, the claim to leadership, respect and allegiance simply derived from their birth and did not require any achievement or effort whatsoever on their part. In the same play, however, we see that merit may present a valid alternative to gentle birth and may justify social ascent. A meritocracy should take the place of an aristocracy, which is solely relying on its birthright (Erlebach, Reitz, Stein 361). Later we shall see in which respect the characters of the melodramas in question correspond to the roles of hero or villain and which ways of asserting their manhood they advocate or embody and whether they live up to the expectations pertaining to the class from whence they come.

 

3.1 The Hero and His Damsel in Distress

In this chapter, we will have a closer look at the heroes in Victorian melodrama and identify possible repercussions of the societal changes in the public mind. Interestingly enough, the heroes in our melodramas are predominantly members of the ‘middling’ classes and are often stricken with financial difficulties. Besides Robert Audley in Lady Audley’s Secret and George D’Alroy in Caste, all male heroes are of humble origin and far from being rich.

The first of the various heroes to be examined is William in Douglas Jerrold’s Black Ey’d Susan. Then we will turn to Alfred Evelyn, Robert Brierly and detective Hawkshaw, followed by the aristocratic heroes Robert Audley and George D’Alroy. William is a common sailor in His Majesty’s navy being at sea when the play starts, thus leaving his beautiful wife Susan vulnerable, unprotected, and destitute at home. William perfectly embodies the stereotypical hero as Booth describes him:

“The hero is a handsome young man of action and courage, eternally devoted to sweetheart or wife, with a physical prowess frequently demonstrated in a series of desperate encounters with the villain and his allies, usually in defence of the heroine” (Booth 16).

During William’s long absence from home, he remains true to his wife. All his waking thoughts and even his dreams are turning around his beloved Susan who gives him strength and courage (Douglas 19f). Although he courageously confronts the villain and his associates point blank – by means of either words or weapons – he lacks the efficacy to thwart their wicked plans. Only by holding fast to virtuousness can victory over the forces of evil be achieved. All, friend and foe alike, are loud in his praise and William himself gives evidence of his courage, of his true love to Susan, his sense of duty and his piety. In the course of William’s court martial, all his shipmates questioned attest to his extraordinary goodness and impeccable dutiful behaviour. They can tell “nothing but good” (Jerrold 35) and describe him to the judges as the “trimmest sailor as ever handled rope; the first on his watch, the last to leave the deck; one as ever belonged to the after-guard – he has the cleanest top, and the whitest hammock” (Jerrold 35). Even the villain’s accomplices have to admit, “there’s not so fine, so noble, so taut-rigged a fellow in His Majesty’s navy” (Jerrold 7) as William. His (seemingly) last actions provide for the ultimate proof of his manly heroism when, in the face of imminent death, William kneels down in prayer, embraces the union jack, and shakes the hand of the admiral who has just sentenced him to death (Jerrold 42) and thus remains a true Christian and a loyal patriot until the very end. Though being at odds with the law which he names “the devil’s craft” (Jerrold 18) and lamenting its amoral nature, William accepts its authority and acquiesces into his death sentence without flinching.[3] Overall, he is not a gentleman, because he lacks the required refinement but still, William is a hero with the archaic manly qualities and characteristics named by Ruskin and Booth.

In Edward Bulwer-Lytton’s satirical comedy Money the protagonist of the play, Alfred Evelyn, also comes from narrow circumstances but quite in contrast to Black Ey’d Susan the hero is not driven into physical confrontation with the villain to prove his manliness but rather engaged in a competition of wit and intelligence. Despite his cynicism, embitterment, and his contemptuous comments on society, Evelyn has preserved his innate goodness, his sincerity, and the ability to love. Proposing to his long adored Clara, he names some of his qualities himself: “[…] I have a heart of iron! I have knowledge – patience – health, - and my love for you gives me at last ambition” (Bulwer-Lytton 56). His good education – Evelyn knows his classics and Latin[4] – and his charity, which he actively practises by sending “£100 to […] [a] poor bricklayer whose house was burnt down” (Bulwer-Lytton 66) qualify him as a gentleman at heart who only lacks the title. Clara, his beloved and future wife, praises Evelyn’s inner nobility and gentlemanliness when she says:

Unfortunately however, his qualities and skills do not command respect for the man, Evelyn has been looked down upon as some poor and strange relative (Bulwer-Lytton 51) until the day he inherits Mordaunt’s immense fortune. All of a sudden Evelyn has become a “great man” (Bulwer-Lytton 62), an “excellent judge of paintings” (Bulwer-Lytton 63) and of course he is universally addressed as gentleman. Hence, it is very difficult or well nigh impossible for Evelyn to be respected in his manhood solely by virtue of his qualities and qualifications. In a society of fawning hypocrites, money is a source of power; it provides for an excellent reputation and serves as a substitute for all sorts of qualities and merits. Therefore, Evelyn is not respected for what he is or what he does but for what he possesses.

Robert Brierly in Tom Taylor’s Ticket-of-Leave Man is the one character who has to overcome the most difficulties, who shows real character development in his arduous struggle against the forces of evil and who ultimately attains to his manliness and to a good place in life by means of relentless effort and determination. Early on, he is characterised by his own actions and also by the villains’ words as an innately good and virtuous person, an indispensable trait in the hero of melodrama. James ‘Tiger’ Dalton informs the audience that Brierly has “no vice” (Taylor 274) and upon his first appearance Brierly complains to Dalton and Moss of the distress and sleepless nights he has to endure after embarking on his new exciting life of gambling and drinking (Taylor 275). A guilty conscience needs no accuser; as a consequence, Brierly’s qualms condemn him to sleeplessness. A few moments later in the scene he nearly gets involved in a fight with another guest on account of his fiery temper when he tries to help the fainting May to some sherry (Taylor 279). He truly feels compassion for May who cannot get an engagement as a singer, who gets insulted by the teagarden’s manager. Before leaving, he gives May two Sovereigns so that she may recover at home from her recent illness (Taylor 283). At this early stage, the first signs of gentlemanliness can be detected.

Then again, Dalton and Moss tempt him with an easy and carefree lifestyle and Robert is too gullible and naïve to detect their criminal schemes which directly lands him in prison. Up to this moment and later still, Robert Brierly lacks experience and manly determination. He finds himself transplanted from the protection of his parental Lancashire home to the big foreign city full of new tempting attractions where it is expected of him that he find his way in the world as a man. After much despair and many obstacles put in his way by his own past and the villains, Brierly will eventually accept his role as a man, husband, and citizen. In the first scene he is referred to as “a Lancashire lad” (Taylor 273) and later, when working in Mr. Gibson’s office, he is still a “well-behaved lad” (Taylor 311). Nevertheless, by the end of the play his evolution from lad to man is complete and Hawkshaw respectfully remarks, “Men don’t die so easily. He’s [Brierly] worth a dozen dead men” (Taylor 342). However, between Act I and Act IV Brierly suffers from a strong feeling of insufficiency and self-doubt and even questions his own manhood when he despairingly sighs, “How I wish I was a lass” (Taylor 293). Every difficulty and every obstacle bring out more and more masculine qualities in him: first, he realises that he has to “begin lower down” (Taylor 294) in order to be able to “creep back little by little to the level of honest men” (Taylor 294). Later he begins to understand the importance of sincerity and that he must rid himself of all anxiety. By the end, Brierly has cast aside his cowardly fear that has lost him his job as Mr. Gibson’s messenger; he accepts the responsibility of a man and husband and he embarks on a new virtuous path with vigorous determination. Finally, he makes the correct decision between what is easy and what is right thus gaining self-esteem and the respect of society.

The detective Hawkshaw is not, in contrast to Robert Brierly, as complex a character. He serves as a model for vigorously assertive manliness: he hunts down his archenemy with patient perseverance and relentless determination and shows that “there’s the satisfaction of doing one’s duty” (Taylor 316). Despite his daily work with criminals, Hawkshaw still believes that man is fundamentally good. Therefore, he does not want to spoil Brierly’s chance with Mr. Gibson and denies that he has ever seen Robert before (Taylor 312).

The next two protagonists to be examined will be members of the nobility, namely Robert Audley of Colin Henry Hazlewood’s Lady Audley’s Secret and George D’Alroy of Thomas William Robertson’s Caste. In Caste, we find a comparatively realistic depiction of society encompassing working class, middle class, and aristocracy inasmuch as each member of one class will have a foil in the same class. Eccles, the lazy drunkard, is contrasted with the industrious and ambitious Sam Gerridge[5] and the staunchly traditional Marquise de St. Maur finds her counterpart in her open and enlightened son George D’Alroy. As a gentleman and hero of this play, he peaceably unites the actually antagonistic views of working class and upper class in a well-balanced compromise. By the end of the play, he states

“Oh, Caste’s all right. Caste is a good thing, if it’s not carried too far. It shuts the door on the pretentious and the vulgar; but it should open the door very wide for exceptional merit. Let brains break through its barriers, and what brains can break through, love may leap over” (Robertson 405).

This statement is the verbalised expression of an equilibrium of essentially contradictory characteristics attributed to and demanded of the perfect gentleman. George D’Alroy combines pride and respect for traditions and conventions with ‘democratic’ circumspection; he carefully balances a sense of duty vis-à-vis his country and private responsibility. A man is bound by his honour to follow the call of duty, irrespective of feelings or other obligations of a personal nature. Thus, Ruskin’s description of a man’s duties has been put into the mouth of George D’Alroy who is about to fulfil his duty for Queen and country in spite of his devoted love for his wife Esther. Personal feelings or ambitions come second to the duties imposed by one’s station. Quite in contrast to his mother, D’Alroy does not take nobility and the respect connected with it for granted but he sees that a long line of noble ancestors alone is not a guarantee for being a noble man. He feels the need to fulfil the duties of his station – not for superficial or conventional reasons but to prove by thoughts, words, and deeds that he is truly a person of noble blood. His endeavour then is not geared towards attaining a certain status but maintaining and cultivating it and thereby fortifying the societal status quo. D’Alroy proves that he has not arrogated the title of gentleman but that he really lives up to the expectations connected with his social station as a nobleman.

Robert Audley in Lady Audley’s Secret is the only character in this selection of plays whose role as a hero has been split in two. The determined investigator Audley is complemented by the deceived but forgiving ‘widower’ George Talboys. The first is straining his intellectual powers whereas the latter, being presumed dead and therefore absent from the course of action most of the time, shows a rather emotional response to incidents in the play. Both are very well aware of their social responsibilities and the obligations pertaining to them. Robert Audley is “too much a man of honour” (Hazlewood 249) to let the disappearance of his friend rest. As George Talboys points out to Lady Audley shortly before the attack on his life: “[He] is devoted to me and to serve me would sacrifice himself” (Hazlewood 247). Lady Audley sees “honesty and frankness apparent in every feature of [his] manly countenance” (Hazlewood 245) thus linking preferable qualities with manliness. His single-mindedness in bringing the culprit for his friend’s murder to justice underscores the correlation between his purpose in the play and his function as a stage character; it is his sole aim to straighten the otherwise well-ordered picture of society and justice that has been made askew through the murder of his friend. Private matters, such as the impending marriage to Alicia Audley, have to take a backseat to the higher purpose. As a man, he must do the more “incumbent work” (Ruskin 137), which is restoring the order of society instead of devoting himself to private matters.

George Talboys shows other features of manly (and gentlemanly) behaviour in a hero of melodrama. On the one hand, he bitterly mourns the early loss of “that wife so loved – so cherished” (Hazlewood 242) who was his life, his soul, his joy (Hazlewood 243). On the other hand, Talboys reluctantly ignored the promptings of his heart and left his beloved wife at home whilst he sailed for India to perform the duties of his office (Hazlewood 242). A husband’s devotion to his wife must cede to the duty of serving one’s country. Again, we are presented with a common contemporary view that has thus been expressed by John Ruskin:

“What the man is at his own gate, defending it, if need be, against insult and spoil, that also, not in a less, but in a more devoted measure, he is to be at the gate of his country, leaving his home, if need be, even to the spoiler, to do his more incumbent work there” (Ruskin 136f).

His deep love and his heartache are quickly put aside when he learns that his wife has deceived him by feigning her own death and assuming a new identity with the aim to escape her modest circumstances by means of a new marriage to a rich nobleman. A few moments before, the bereft George is heart-broken and mournful but after the unexpected discovery of the truth, he casts aside his feelings for his beloved and invokes justice. Upholding and adhering to social norms of conduct, justice and morality supersede any personal motive. Offended by Lady Audley’s offer of some gold in return for his silence, he assures her that he “seek[s] not a bribe, but for justice” (Hazlewood 246). As a true gentleman, he has to prove his integrity, moral conduct, and righteousness. No personal gain or emotional involvement can tempt him to forget justice, law, and propriety. However, in the end Talboys has the magnanimity to forgive Lady Audley the adultery and the attempted murder.

 

3.1.1        Summary and Conclusion

In the melodramas under investigation, there are two kinds of heroes: heroes who are ready-made and heroes who are incomplete. Under the first category, we can subsume William of Black Ey’d Susan, George D’Alroy of Caste, detective Hawkshaw of The Ticket-of-Leave Man, and Alfred Evelyn of Money. In the second category, there are Robert Brierly of The Ticket-of-Leave Man, Robert Audley and George Talboys of Lady Audley’s Secret. What they all have in common right from the start is an innate goodness and a devoted love for their sweethearts or wives.

The members of the first category of heroes present the full range of their virtues, only limited by the confines of the drama’s plot. Patriotic William is a courageous sailor who would unhesitatingly plunge into a confrontation with anyone who threatens his Susan[6]. However, the drama’s plot does not provide for any occasion for William to prove his sense of propriety or his intelligence. The opportunities to prove his manly qualities are limited to displays of physical prowess, valour, and personal integrity. By contrast, Alfred Evelyn has no opportunity whatsoever to engage in any sort of physical confrontation but is confined to an exchange of blows of the verbal and intellectual kind. His wealth raises him to the status of a gentleman. In Evelyn’s case, Sir John is right in saying that “worth makes the man” (Bulwer-Lytton 107). George D’Alroy on the other hand shows an extraordinary completeness. He is both a loving husband and a dutiful subject of his queen. At home, he may prove his sincere devotion to his wife and his temperate views on society and abroad he may prove his patriotism and valour in war. As a true gentleman, in the understanding of late Victorianism, D’Alroy embodies the perfect amalgam of qualities typically seen as belonging exclusively to either a man or a woman. Detective Hawkshaw is a character of similar kind: on the outside, he is the hard-boiled famous police officer who relentlessly and resourcefully hunts down criminals but sometimes a softer inner side is hinted at. On the one hand, he has “taken his oath on the Bow Street Office testament to be square” (Taylor 273) with his archenemy James Dalton for taking away his partner but on the other hand he spares Brierly the embarrassing disclosure of his disreputable past to his employer (Taylor 312) because Hawkshaw does not want to spoil Brierly’s chances for a new and honest life. He mainly asserts his manliness through determination and his criminological zest for action.

Brierly, as belonging to the second category of heroes, is initially far from being a complete or well-rounded character. In the beginning, he is a naïve, inconsiderate, and easygoing fellow. As the play progresses Brierly’s transition from carefree lad to responsible man comes about slowly and requires much effort on his part. At first, he has a quick temper instead of temperance and instead of showing resilience to his unfavourable lot, he gives in to resignation. At this stage, he does not appear very manly at all. He only gradually realises that he is a man now and that he has to act like one. In the same way that he has to work himself up in society, he needs to make progress with his manly qualities.

In Lady Audley’s Secret Hazlewood refrains from presenting one well-rounded hero but presents us with two characters who complement each other and thus form a complete man and hero. Robert Audley, the determined and intelligent investigator finds his counterpart in the emotional and forgiving George Talboys. Together they form the perfect gentleman who unites intellect, emotion, responsibility, and vigour.

 

3.2             The Villain and His Minions

The first villains to be examined will be Doggrass and Captain Crosstree of Douglas Jerrold’s nautical melodrama Black Ey’d Susan. Master Doggrass clearly states greed as his prime motive when telling Susan: “Susan, you know my business – I say, you know my business. I come for money” (Jerrold 9). As a landlord, innkeeper and head of a gang of smugglers he could thus be considered a rich country squire. His ill-deserved income enables him to live a life of leisure; all the dirty work is left to his gang of smugglers. For Doggrass’ lack of virtues such as charity or righteousness, there are numerous instances where he proves to be completely cold-hearted and selfish. He has absolutely no qualms for trying to evict Susan and the sick and elderly Dame Hatley out of their lowly cottage. His conscience “sleeps well enough” (Jerrold 5) and his sleep is only troubled when Doggrass fears that his plans might be frustrated (Jerrold 32). Frequent appeals to his conscience by Gnatbrain or Susan and the good examples of former associates cannot stir any willingness for reform or repentance in him. Gnatbrain asks of him an act of responsibility and charity but Doggrass simply retorts that he fulfils is social duty by paying rates and taxes (Jerrold 10). However, this only serves him as an excuse. Doggrass does not have a sense of duty or patriotism. Even the smugglers themselves do not think it altogether right that he wants them to aid in the escape of a French soldier, an enemy of the English crown (Jerrold 16). The bailiff Jacob Twig, formerly in the service of Doggrass is stricken with a bad conscience and wants to return the money he has earned from Doggrass. The latter, though always greedy for profit, refuses the considerable sum and would rather have it at the bottom of the sea than taking it. By taking the money, Doggrass would not only admit that Jacob Twig has returned to the right path but also that he, Doggrass, is on the wrong one. He would rather forfeit the chance for a quick and easy profit than trouble his mind with remorse or admit a fault. When directly confronted by William, Doggrass assumes “a fawning tone” (Jerrold 23) and cowardly tries to dampen William’s anger by evasive talk. Moreover, he apparently does not mind the various insults like “griffin”, “damned rascal”, and “gorgon” (Jerrold 23f) heaped on him. William, neither showing respect nor fear, demands that Doggrass speak out what he has to say “like a man” (Jerrold 24). Even though his character does not command respect or strike fear into the hero’s heart, he is still respected and feared by his accomplices, and women (and also by the audience) on the strength of his money, power over property, his scheming intellect, and his determination.

Captain Crosstree, in principle an honourable man, constitutes the second part of the villain when he is intoxicated. Accosting Susan in a state of drunkenness, he disqualifies himself as a gentleman and as Susan says: “If you are a gentleman, if you are a sailor, you will not insult a defenceless woman.” (Jerrold 30). When struck down by William he immediately repents his deed and admits that he deserves his punishment (Jerrold 30). Before the end, Crosstree saves William’s life. Only in a state of intoxication did he show villainous behaviour. Drunkenly accosting a defenceless woman is by no means a manly behaviour but admitting and paying for one’s mistake is. As one of His Majesty’s officers, as a soldier and true patriot he cannot be a bad person after all.

In Bulwer-Lytton’s Money, a very different kind of villain is presented: Sir John Vesey is not an altogether evil person but rather a social schemer, bigot and, hypocrite who lives of other people’s toil. He leads his life according to two guidelines with which he enlightens his daughter at the beginning of the play: “First, men are valued not for what they are, but for what they seem to be. Secondly, if you have no money or merit of your own, you must trade on the merits and money of other people” (Bulwer-Lytton 49). In order to secure his leisurely lifestyle, he is even planning to literally sell his daughter to Alfred Evelyn musing on the prospect of becoming a man of “prodigious importance” and of laying his hands on Evelyn’s fortune (Bulwer-Lytton 79). Sir John sees marriage just as another social and financial scheme to his benefit. Although Sir John has a noble name, he is deficient in ever so many ways that constitute a true nobleman. Quite in opposition to the Victorian notion that it was indecent to live on the toil of others, Sir John exploits a poor relative and makes Evelyn prepare all of his speeches, write his pamphlets, and look up his calculations (Jerrold 51). Just like Lord Glossmore, he knows that it is seen as the duty of the privileged class to practise charity but both are unwilling to part with the slightest fraction of their money. Vesey’s idea of charity is to take advantage of Evelyn’s talents and to present it as an act of charity because “kindness to a poor relation always tells well in the world; and benevolence is a useful virtue, particularly when you can have it for nothing” (Bulwer-Lytton 51). During the reading of Mr. Mordaunt’s will Sir John constantly admonishes all other prospective heirs to behave decently. However, he is ultimately the one who behaves most indecently and abuses the deceased once his hopes for the inheritance are crushed. Thus, Sir John exposes himself as a hypocrite without any sense of propriety and decency, and as a person without conscience. Vesey’s credo in life is to “show oneself thoroughly respectable is to make a thoroughly respectable show” (Bulwer-Lytton 103), so all his efforts are directed towards putting up a believable masquerade instead of straining to cultivate any good qualities or virtues in himself.

In Masks and Faces of Taylor and Reade, the role of the villain is again given to a nobleman. The conceited “town rake” (Taylor, Reade 169) Sir Charles Pomander is a man of education, charming manners, and wealth. In his wooing for the heroine Peg Woffington, he is convinced that when his charm should fail, his money will conquer the beautiful and allegedly easygoing and permissive woman[7]. Pomander tells his friend Vane that he “gave La Woffington a proof of […] devotion […] by offering her three hundred a year – house – coach – pin money – [his] heart – and the et ceteras” (Taylor, Reade 127). The actress Woffington quickly sees through his masquerade of faked affections and faked gentlemanliness. She rejects his advances by saying “to be your mistress could be but a temporary disgrace; to be your wife might be a lasting discredit” (Taylor, Reade 132). Even Pomander’s servants are aware of his true nature and dare to insult him fair in the face (Taylor, Reade 135). Taylor and Reade make theatricality – the masks and what is really behind them – the main subject matter of their play. On the occasion of a party at her husband’s house Mabel Vane is very impressed by the presence of such a great number of “persons of quality” (Taylor, Reade 147) by which she means persons of noble birth. However, hardly anyone of those present is really of noble birth, let alone noble comportment. The only quality they all possess is a talent for acting because they are actors. Conversely, those who are indeed of noble birth, persons of quality, are merely actors on the stage of real life who feign truthful and morally upright behaviour to unsuspecting spectators. In the character of Pomander we find again Ruskin’s thoughts concerning the nature of men but only in a somewhat diluted form: the foppish Sir Charles does use his energy for adventure and for conquest[8] but only with regard to the other sex. His mask is that of a man of nobility, a gentleman who is rich, educated, well mannered, and capable of suppressing his emotions. However, his true face is that of a disloyal friend, scheming hypocrite, and rake who tries to escape his ennui by womanising.

James ‘Tiger’ Dalton and Melter Moss in Taylor’s Ticket-of-Leave Man are a villainous pair of criminals who belong to the lower class. They pursue their secret dream of “a gentlemanly livelihood” and of “turning respectable” (Taylor 273) with ingenious inventiveness and reckless determination. In their endeavour to reach a better position in life and to be respected persons, they serve as a foil for Brierly’s efforts to a similar goal. However, their method is crime whereas Brierly’s is honest work. They resent that he has the chance to a decent position in life and enviously sabotage his efforts at an honest life whenever they can. They are “putting him up to a thing or two – cards, skittles, billiards, sporting houses, sparring houses, night houses, casinos – every short cut to the devil and the bottom of a flat’s purse” (Taylor 274). Villains such as Moss and Dalton and other idle folk are often shown in connection with alcohol. The Victorians generally perceived luxuries, alcohol, and gambling as the first steps towards personal decline or as revealing tokens of it. In the context of our topic, it must then be seen as a token of missing gentlemanliness.

Luke Marks in Hazlewood’s Lady Audley’s Secret completes the play’s female villain. He is not the fearsome stereotypical villain who plans elaborate intrigues or robs and kills but a lazy and passive crook whose crime consists of wilful default and cowardly blackmailing. Instead of fulfilling his duty as a man to provide for his and Phoebe’s livelihood, he asks Phoebe for money and tries to make her steal her master’s jewellery. Not only that he is a work-shy shirker, he is also a hopeless drunkard to boot who is “skulking about from one public house to another all day long” (Hazlewood 237). In the course of the play, Luke is frequently described in such a way that the audience clearly sees that he is a person lacking all qualities of a ‘real’ man. Moreover, his use of base and ungrammatical language demonstrates that he is uneducated and impolite. Lady Audley, however, goes even farther in likening him to an animal. Although she is – like him – a villainous person, she is disgusted and complains that she is “obliged to wait on this drunken animal, and endure his brutal taunts and insolent threats” (Hazlewood 259).

 

3.2.1        Summary and Conclusion

In the dramas under discussion, no correlation between social affiliation and the role of a character can be established. We find the same social heterogeneity of the heroes again in the villains. The fact that a villain is generally bent on financial gain does not justify the conclusion that he is poor or of the working class because there are villains of the working class and a number of noble villains as well. Rather, his greed for wealth and – at times – a bodily craving for the heroine are the result of his innate evilness and malevolence. Moreover, the villain essentially lacks the qualities expected of a gentleman; consequentially the question is then how does the villain assert his manliness? Of course, there have to be manly traits in the villain; otherwise, he would not be a worthy antagonist for the hero. Again, Ruskin’s definition of a man is also applicable to the villain. He is much more the doer and creator than the hero is. The villain indeed uses his intellect for invention and directs his energy towards conquest.[9] His inventiveness is limited to devising new schemes to reach the satisfaction of his desires, to lay hands on the money of others or to escape premature capture. “The moving force of melodrama is not the hero, as a rule a passive creature, but the villain. The villain thinks, chooses, initiates action, alters his plans, makes new ones […]” (Booth 18). Just like the heroes, the villains can also operate as a pair and they prove that evil knows no boundaries of class or sex – as is the case in Lady Audley’s Secret.

 

 

3.3             The Comic or Old Man

For completeness’ sake, some words have to be devoted to the comic man but a detailed analysis is not within the scope of this paper and might be elaborated at another time. As the comic man at times serves as a placeholder for the temporarily absent hero and generally possess the same virtues – though to a lesser extent – the issue of his manliness must be subordinate to that of the hero simply on account of the constraints of his role. The comic man is neither necessarily a member of the working class nor closely associated to the hero but he may also be a member of the nobility and not associated to the hero at all. In Bulwer-Lytton’s Money for instance, Sir Frederick Blount is the target of much ridicule. He is definitely a person of high birth and good name but of little recognition and respect and thus serves as a good example that noble birth per se is by no means sufficient to bring a man to be held in high esteem. His pretentious swagger, his speech impediment, his cowardly nature and his effeminate fancy for the fine arts often make him an object of ridicule for men, women, rich, and poor alike. He lacks Sir John’s single-mindedness, the adroitness in social and political scheming or Glossmore’s purposefulness or the sharp wits and intelligence of Alfred Evelyn. Then again, Gnatbrain corresponds clearly to the description offered by Booth as he continually confronts the villain Doggrass, though only verbally, trying to convince the latter to abandon his evil and cold-hearted ways to the effect that Doggrass is more afraid that Gnatbrain might thwart his plans than he is afraid of the hero. The function of other comic characters, such as Green Jones and Emily St. Evremond in The Ticket-of-Leave Man is limited to providing comments on society’s problems.

 

 

4.     Analysis

The protagonists of our plays assert their manliness by varying means. It is indispensable for the plot of the dramas that both, hero and villain be men who can be taken seriously. However, there need to be differences in their design but simultaneously there need to exist some similarities between them. In order to pose a believable threat to the heroic couple and to society, the villain has to possess sufficient manliness to excite fear and respect. The hero on the other hand has to be man enough to stand as a credible adversary who has the ability to ward off the villain’s attacks. Both do assert their manliness, the one to inspire fear, the other to inspire awe. Accordingly, the question is not whether the villain is less of a man than the hero is, because he is not, but rather which pieces in the puzzle of masculinity are missing in the villain that are in place in the hero. The solution then lies in the differences between the two antagonists.

The villain covets for reasons of personal gain what is not his, be it material goods or a woman belonging to an other. Either way, he threatens and disturbs the peace and well-regulated order of society, whereas the hero struggles to uphold and reinstate it for the common benefit. Black Ey’d Susan nicely illustrates this conflict: Doggrass wants to rob Susan of her home (of course, it is actually his) and Captain Crosstree tries to rob William of his wife. Both villainous figures are motivated by their drives and desires and turn a blind eye to possible consequences or to the mutually agreed values, rules, and conventions of society. William on the other hand, fights for others. As a husband and patriot, he is in perfect accordance with Ruskin’s view that the man’s work is to secure the maintenance and defence of his home and on a wider scale that a man, as a member of the commonwealth, has to assist in the maintenance and defence of the state (Ruskin 136). The concept implicit in this idea is that of responsibility and social as well as moral obligation. William readily accepts these obligations but the unpatriotic criminal Doggrass is both irresponsible to and outside of society. Captain Crosstree, as one of the lesser villains, has the chance to return to the path of righteousness and to make up for his misconduct. Dalton and Moss are well aware that they too are outside of regular society and make use of their intelligence and energy to achieve their dream of being respectable members of the very same society from which they have deliberately excluded themselves but they will ultimately fail because they pursue this aim only by criminal means instead of honest work. Luke also shies away from working for his vision of a good and happy future. Obviously, dreams and visions do not suffice and are doomed to failure when not accompanied by the proper attitude and appropriate human qualities. Robert Brierly and Sam Gerridge serve as examples for a middle class work ethic inspired by the believe in the equivalence between individual effort and individual reward. In that respect, this concept of meritocracy comes close to social Darwinism[10]. Those who are superior in virtue and industry will be rewarded whereas those who are too lazy to apply themselves will be left empty-handed or meet a fate that is worse. In the race for happiness and success, the villain and the hero depart with the same preconditions but from opposite starting points. They are both men but in the course of their competition the hero plays out additional qualities, elaborates his virtues, and eventually wins. The villain and the hero largely correspond to Ruskin’s view about the nature of man but to the items listed by Ruskin, many more have to be added in order to arrive at the concept of the gentleman. The villain has reached the first stage of manliness but he fails subsequently to refine himself and thus become a gentleman. The hero’s superiority then lies in his proximity to the ideal of the gentleman.

The formidable qualities of the gentleman or the predisposition towards them are mostly immanent but there need to be factors that promote their use and development. Challenges in the life of the hero bring out the best in him but there is still another striking factor of great relevance: women. Some of the minor villains who are not beyond the possibility of reform, such as Jacob Twig or Captain Crosstree, are brought to repentance and subsequently to reform by the imminence of death and the prospect of God’s eternal punishment for their sins. Others however, are made to abandon their wicked ways through the love of a woman[11]. Ernest Vane’s delusion and passionate infatuation with Peg Woffington is not ended by his rival Pomander but by his own wife Mabel. Set in the lustre of her love, Vane’s heart may become a priceless jewel (Taylor, Reade 164). Ruskin explains the role of woman thus:

“It is the type of an eternal truth – that the soul's armour is never well set to the heart unless a woman's hand has braced it; and it is only when she braces it loosely that the honour of manhood fails” (Ruskin 120).

Throughout the melodramas under discussion, there are a number of instances that attest to the powerful and beneficial effects of a woman’s love on men. Susan’s love provides William with strength and solace during the long months at sea. She is to him a “main-stay in all weathers”; when he walks the planks of the ship, Susan is “at his side” and when there is impenetrable darkness around him, Susan’s eyes are on him and there is light (Jerrold 19f). Alfred Evelyn already possesses a “heart of iron”, “knowledge”, “patience”, and “health” but the love between him and Clara gives him “at last ambition” (Bulwer-Lytton 56). Whenever Brierly is disheartened and depressed by the crisis of his life, it is his loving May who gives him “comfort, and love, and hope” (Taylor 328) and who gives him the strength and endurance to continue his struggle. Even the otherwise almost perfect George D’Alroy is stricken with “bad health and self-contempt, a sick head and a sore heart” (Robertson 348) when is separated from his Esther. For her love, he is willing to put off and aggrieve his mother; for her he is willing to deliberately violate the “inexorable law of caste” (Robertson 349).

Then again, the innately evil villain has no woman to love and no woman who loves him in return. He has no woman who braces his soul’s armour, who admires, comforts, and supports him. His pursuit of the heroine or other female character can therefore be interpreted as subconscious attempts at completing his self and to fill the void in his life. Without the regulating and reassuring influence of a woman, he simply follows his drives with the only aim to satisfy his selfish desires and he pursues it unhindered by conscience or social constraints. Therefore, all his malevolent endeavours are doomed to failure; all his conflicts with the hero ultimately end in defeat, not because the villain is deficient in manliness but because he is deficient in morals and morale and without love.

 

 

5.                Bibliography

Primary Literature

Bulwer-Lytton, Edward. “Money.” Nineteenth Century Plays. Ed. George Rowell. Oxford: Oxford UP, 1996. 47-120.

 

Jerrold, Douglas. “Black-Ey´d Susan, or All in the Downs.” Nineteenth Century Plays. Ed. George Rowell. Oxford: Oxford UP, 1996. 3- 43.

 

Hazlewood, Colin Henry. “Lady Audley´s Secret.” Nineteenth Century Plays. Ed. George Rowell. Oxford: Oxford UP, 1996. 235-266.

 

Reade, Charles and Tom Taylor. “Masks and Faces.” Nineteenth Century Plays. Ed. George Rowell. Oxford: Oxford UP, 1996. 120-172.

 

Robertson, Thomas William. “Caste.” Nineteenth Century Plays. Ed. George Rowell. Oxford: Oxford UP, 1996, 343-406.

 

Taylor, Tom. “The Ticket-of-Leave Man.” Nineteenth Century Plays. Ed. George Rowell. Oxford: Oxford UP, 1996. 269-342.

 

Waters, Karen Volland. “The Perfect Gentleman: Masculine Control in Victorian Men's Fiction, 1870 – 1901”. Studies in Nineteenth Century British Literature; Vol. 3. New York: Lang, 1999.

 

Secondary Literature

Booth, Michael R. English Melodrama. London: Herbert Jenkins, 1965.

 

Erlebach, Peter, Bernhard Reitz and Thomas Michael Stein. Geschichte der englischen Literatur. Stuttgart: Reclam, 2004.

Ingham, Patricia. The Language of Gender and Class – Transformation in the Victorian Novel. London: Routledge, 1996.

Jenkins, Anthony. The Making of Victorian Drama. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1991.

Nünning, Vera. Der englische Roman des 19. Jahrhunderts. Stuttgart: Klett, 2004.

Oxford English Dictionary on CD-ROM, 2^nd Ed. Oxford: Oxford UP, 1992.

 

Reynolds, Ernest. Early Victorian Drama (1830 – 1870). Cambridge: W. Heffer & Sons Ltd, 1936.

 

Rowell, George. Nineteenth Century Plays. Ed. George Rowell. Oxford: Oxford UP, 1996.