Criminal Acts Against Women in the Eighteenth Century

In the ninth installment of Mr. B Speaks! Mr. B must address the notorious bedroom scene at the center of Pamela, namely the scene where he attempts--or tries to attempt--to rape Pamela.

Rape in the eighteenth century was, from a criminalistic viewpoint, practically non-existent.* For instance, there was no such thing, legalistically-speaking, as rape within marriage. Popular crimes of the era included everything from murder to theft to sheep-stealing to failure to support one's family. But not rape.

This does not mean rape didn't occur. And there were multiple social practices aimed at protecting women, specifically young, unmarried women, from the possibility (though until the end of the eighteenth century, female servants were usually left off the list of protectees). In Pride & Prejudice, Darcy shows a remarkable lack of responsibility when he fails to inform his neighbors of Wickham's true character. From a modern point of view, Darcy just seems to be exercising his privacy. From an eighteenth/nineteenth century point-of-view, word-of-mouth warnings were the best defense parents had against untrustworthy/dangerous men. In general, young women were warned to stay away from cads and bounders, and some social pressure would be exerted to prevent compromised young women from being abandoned.

The Rape of the Lock (1712) by Alexander Pope

is a satire whose focus is the capture (cutting)

of a woman's lock of hair; this, naturally,

represents an ambush of the woman's virtue.

Ostensibly, these defenses were to prevent young women being seduced (and once seduced, from further social stigma). However, the correlation of seduction with rape was much closer in Richardson's world than in contemporary culture (in which rape is correctly perceived more as an exercise of power than of charm). "Seduction," in the eighteenth/nineteenth centuries had a far more rapacious, negative connotation. And the word "rape" carried far less political baggage. (When I was an undergrad, our English Department put on a spoof of the spoof The Rape of the Lock. An on-campus women's group complained about the use of the word "rape" in our posters. Hey, it's Alexander Pope--take it up with him!)

Without justifying Mr. B, it is useful to remember that he would have no training in the concept that one stops seducing when a woman balks, not even one just going on sixteen. It is also useful to remember that Mr. B, in keeping with every other male of his class, would consider female servants willing sexual partners ipso facto they were servants; Pamela's objections in Bedfordshire would appear like empty protestations, attempts to "increase the price" (as double proof, this is exactly how writers like Fielding interpreted Pamela's actions). With Pamela's forced remove to Lincolnshire, Richardson created the equivalent of a locked-door mystery for his characters since they are both locked into social roles that seem completely incompatible.

Before I analyze Richardson's solution to this "locked door mystery," I should note that despite the lack of legal protections for woman, the eighteenth century produced good marriages with as much variety as any you will find today. Marriages of affection, marriages between friends, marriages where the wife calls the shots are not exclusive to the twentieth/twenty-first centuries! Check out Antonia Fraser's excellent The Weaker Vessel for an exploration of the variety and strength of many seventeenth-century English marriages. (Among other claims, Fraser maintains that people of the past loved their children as much as we do now, despite the number of infant mortalities.)

As to Richardson's solution:

From a literary point of view, the near-rape scene is enormously important in re-establishing Pamela and Mr. B's relationship. It is not until this crisis has been passed that Mr. B begins to believe Pamela's words, culminating in his reading--and appreciating--her letters. At the risk of overreaching, Pamela's death-swoon is also necessary to her advancement as a heroine: all good mythic heroes and heroines must descend into death/hell/cross-the-threshold before their lives can truly change.

And yes, Richardson's probably intended the symbolism, but it is unlikely he intended much more than that, so that's as far as I'm going to take that literary analysis! (Except to say that I prefer Richardson giving his heroine a death-swoon BEFORE she is raped--and subsequently keeping her alive--than killing off his heroine AFTER she is raped, i.e. Clarissa. Working through the problem is so much more interesting than collapsing beneath it!)

*London saw six rape trials in 1730 (one guilty verdict). This is in a city whose population had reached 630,000 with a high-risk female population (poor women and prostitutes unprotected by family and social standing) in the area of 50,000 (see Dan Cruickshank's London's Sinful Secret: The Bawdy Histoy and Very Public Passions of London's Georgian Age).

Latest Publication!

I was pleasantly surprised this afternoon to receive my latest publication in the mail!

My short story "Tested" was recently published in a Special Fantasy Issue of Tales of the Talisman.

This story is actually the second short story of a series (once the third one gets written, that is; it's all in my head!) about the marriages of a royal family from the Kingdom of Wallaiston. The first focuses on the youngest brother's courtship of an unexpected participant in a local quest. The second short story focuses on the middle brother's quest for a princess he doesn't want to marry.

The first story "Masquerade" appeared in the science-fiction/fantasy magazine Leading Edge (April 2004 issue). You may still be able to obtain this issue through Leading Edge, but the story also appears on my fiction page.

Read All About It! The News in the Eighteenth Century

In the eighth installment of Mr. B Speaks!, Mr. B dismisses newspapers as "scandal sheets."

This is a tad extreme. Although the celebrated Times would not make its appearance in London until the late 1700's, the eighteenth century was awash with newspapers of all sorts, including a stunning number of local/county newspapers.

These papers were read by people from a wide range of economic/social backgrounds for a wide range of purposes. As depicted in the below picture, even if only a few people in a community could read, others would supply the lack; even as late as 1870, Dickens would go hoarse reciting his celebrated A Christmas Carol to spellbound audiences (as Dr. Who lovingly and chillingly depicts in the episode "The Unquiet Dead"). Despite the occasional die-hard academic who insists that reading has always been an aspect of upper-class/intelligentsia behavior (whilst carefully and condescendingly shunting verbal storytelling into the so-called pure bubble of "folk culture"), the printed word has always impacted all classes, and all classes--since the beginning of time--have willingly spent a disproportionate amount of money on the pursuit of "media-sponsored" entertainment. (Using economic standard-of-living models to determine out how much people in the past spent on theater or concert tickets is an exercise in futility.)

Mr. B is correct, however, in that many eighteenth century newspapers, or scandal sheets, printed scurrilous, salacious, scandalous news based on rumor, innuendo, and raunchy details.

Yes, People magazine has always been with us.

Seriously, if you think political ads and editorials are bad now-a-days, take a look at the press, on both sides of the Atlantic, in the 1700s. Wow! Talk about libelous!!

To Be a Mistress or Not to Be a Mistress in the 18th Century

The 7th installment of Mr. B Speaks! refers to Mr. B's proposal that Pamela become his mistress.

The outspoken and clever Catherine Sedley,

mistress to James II, survived Queenly jealousy

& courtly intrigues with her wits and spirit intact.

If a woman could get a good deal (namely a wealthy and generous patron), becoming a mistress in the 17th and 18th centuries offered almost as much (temporary) financial security as becoming a wife and, in the case of royal mistresses, a rise in status.

The children would be illegitimate (although some noble personages had their bastards declared legitimate--or their legitimate children declared illegitimate if you count Henry VIII). Plus the mistress would not have the support of established society. A mistress who incurred the wrath of court officials would have no protection from their maneuverings.

As Mr. B's mistress, Pamela would have suffered far more than a royal mistress. Her status would have risen, but she would never have been accepted by Mr. B's peers, and he would never have acknowledge their children as legitimate. Moreover, his "contract" with her would have no legal status; unless she could establish  a group of (male) followers who might act on her behalf, she would not be able to pressure Mr. B to honor his agreement.

However, if she were shrewd and saved her pennies, she could enjoy a lifestyle unencumbered by want until she died--even if (when) Mr. B left her. Unfortunately, many mistresses spent money commensurate with their patrons' lifestyles; when discarded, they had to move on to another patron or settle into destitution.

Nevertheless, survival and even success were possible for a mistress as Catherine Sedley's life indicates (keeping in mind that she was already an aristocrat and an heiress when she took on the job).

It all still makes one grateful for Women's Rights.

Getting a Job as a Priest: Richardson and Austen's Clergymen

The office of clergyman rears its head in the sixth installment of Mr. B Speaks!

Reverend William Holwell Carr paid a curate

to handle duties in his parish.

He was unusually generous,

paying almost triple the usual wage,

though the usual wage wasn't much to begin with.

To summarize a huge topic very briefly: in the 18th and 19th centuries, some wealthy and noble patrons had authority to grant "livings" to clergymen. These clergymen would usually come from the gentry or upper middle-class, and their livings would enable them to exist quite comfortably--so much so that such a clergyman, known as a parish priest or rector, would often hire a curate to do part of his job.

As may be obvious, an Anglican rector with such a living could lead a godly, charitable life in tune with his parishioners; he could also lead an exceedingly indolent life, having almost no contact with the people he supposedly served.

Jane Austen tackled the full range of English clergymen from the saintly Edmund to the deplorable Wickham (who does not become a clergyman only due to Darcy's good sense). Between these two extremes lies Mr. Collins, who--as he unceasingly reminds people--owes his living to Lady Catherine De Bourgh. I think it is safe to say that although Mr. Collins does not appear to have many charitable impulses, he does have to work for a living (ha ha).

Pamela's Mr. B also controls a specific living which Mr. Williams angles for throughout the book. (Mr. Williams spends an enormous amount of time hovering around the Lincolnshire estate, waiting for the living to become available.) Although an initial reading of Pamela paints Williams in a chivalric light (he does try to help Pamela), closer readings bring this portrayal into question. Richardson, like Mr. B, seems to believe that Williams overstepped his bounds by biting the hand that (wants to) feed him. Mr. Collins may be obsequious, but at least he knows which side his bread is buttered on.

However, Richardson later redeems Williams by making him, like Pamela, an agent of reform.

Pamela's religious convictions are linked to her continual resistance of Mr. B. She does not resist him because she is revolted by sex or afraid of disobeying her parish priest. She resists him because she believes that her status before God is not contingent on her status as a servant. Her master may appoint clergymen; that doesn't give him rights to her soul.

When, towards the end of Pamela, Mr. B defends this perspective, his sister retorts by calling him a "Puritan." For those of us (me) who associate Puritanism with (1) the Salem Witch Trials and (2) Oliver Cromwell, this may seem an odd accusation. The issue, however, is evangelicalism, not a supposed obsession with prudery (the Puritans were not as prudish as they are often portrayed in any case). Only a few decades later, Lady Davers would have accused her brother of going "Methodist."

Like John Wesley and his followers, Williams (naively) and Pamela (much more strategically) wish to counter (reform) the more egregious hypocrisies of Anglican clergymen by emphasizing personal conversion and charity for the poor. Pamela holds personal worship services at home (she also goes to church; Richardson was not advocating full-fledged dissent). She establishes a school for the poor and becomes the equivalent of the parish's local free clinic. Williams ultimately takes a less prestigious position than the one offered him by Mr. B in order to serve where he can do the most good. Mr. B then agrees to supplement his income. Mr. B later undergoes his own personal conversion.

It should be noted that Pamela--like Jane Austen--does not perceive religion as an ethereal calling. Austen's characters rarely advocate eschewing the world; rather, they propose adapting the world to one's religious impulses. Consequently, Pamela has no trouble marrying a man who is not, ostensibly, as religious as she. After all, she can do more good as a wealthy woman than as a poor one; sack-cloth and ashes never got a person very far.