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Ah, Heaven help a strong man’s tender weakness for the woman he loves! Heaven pity him when the guilty creature has deceived him and comes with her tears and lamentations to throw herself at his feet in self-abandonment and remorse; torturing him with the sight of her agony; rending his heart with her sobs, lacerating his breast with her groans—multiplying her sufferings into a great anguish for him to bear! multiplying them by twenty-fold; multiplying them in a ratio of a brave man’s capacity for endurance. Heaven forgive him, if maddened by that cruel agony, the balance wavers for a moment, and he is ready to forgive anything; ready to take this wretched one to the shelter of his breast, and to pardon that which the stern voice of manly honor urges must not be pardoned. Pity him, pity him! (Chapter XXX online) (vol II chapter 11?)

 

This passage occurs right after Lady Audley is caught with smiling a triumphant wicked smile. Knowing that she has the confidence to manipulate things to her favor, this passage is the aftermath of what happens when a man believes the woman he loves.

This passage, at first glance, describes a man in absolute pain from the deceit his woman has fed him. It describes a man who has the capacity to feel more than what his woman could feel, absolutely destroying his whole heart with the amount of suffering he is managing when seeing his woman cry. Could it be that love makes man empathetic? Or what about the pity aspect? What is exactly so pitiful in this situation?

This passage reminds me of Adam and Eve. To the narrator, Lady Audley probably appears as a tempting seductive snake… or maybe even Eve herself. With the premise that George could be the narrator of this novel, this passage would make sense if Lady Audley were to be represented as Eve. It was previously mentioned how Robert hates women (chapter 24 online). I think that him hating Eve as well is a safe assumption. Throughout this novel, he has mourned the disappearance of his friend George. He is distraught that such an event could have happened to him. Just like how many blame Eve for the fall of all mankind, he blames Lady Audley for the “fall” of George. He pities Sir Audley for being such a fool for being tempted and taking a bite of Lady Audley’s “truth”.

Dear Reader,

I have chosen the first passage of chapter four to focus on. “Robert Audley was supposed…himself a barrister” (Chapter 4). What really boils my blood about this statement is how it is still an excellent summation of the patriarchy almost one hundred years later. The word that does so much heavy lifting here is the word “unblushingly.” The fact that Robert can look someone dead in the eye and say, with a straight face that he deserves to be a barrister when he only landed there because he’s a straight white cis-man who has so many connections that it was easier for him to take this high profile job with pretty good pay than to not take it. “His father had…the latter course” (Chapter 4). If this doesn’t scream nepo baby then I do not know what does. Additionally, if Robert was a competent detective he would’ve been able to connect the dots that he mapped out at the end of chapter thirteen and detained Lady Audley. What this passage is really saying is the fact that men aren’t always deserving of their position and money. The idea that men use their, usually unearned, wealth and power to take things that shouldn’t belong to them is central to this story. Even Lady Audley herself is taken in, not by any virtue of Micheal Audley, but by his wealth. “He walked straight…and his position.” (Chapter 1) Elizabeth Braddon has done a great job of telling us from the first chapter what this book is about. It’s about incompetent and stupid men who haven’t earned what they have. Is that a bold take? I don’t think so. The sensation novel allowed the author to say what she thought under the guise of fiction.

Yours Truly and Dearly,

Carmine “Red” Zuigiber

 

There was not much in it; neither gold nor gems; only a baby’s little worsted shoe rolled up in a piece of paper, and a tiny lock of pale and silky yellow hair, evidently taken from a baby’s head. Phoebe’s eyes dilated as she examined the little packet. (Braddon, Project Gutenberg Online)

I noticed that this is our first encounter with what could be considered Lady Audley’s secret. Phoebe and Luke went snooping, and while Luke does not pay much attention to their findings other than what’s worth monetary value, Phoebe recognizes the significance of the little items hidden away in this little box.  The descriptiveness of the items she found seems to be significant, as the shoe is described as “worsted”, which I can infer means it has been worn and is no longer usable, and the hair lock is described as pale and silky. As Lady Audley is originally decribed as unbelievably beautiful, it can not come as such a surprise that the hair that is found is silky and blonde, which were both beauty standards for this time.  Another thing I noticed is that this little packet of emotionally important items was hidden away under gold and jewels, in a box that would be considered “important”.  The shoe was also rolled up in paper, meant to be hidden even more than normally.  There is repetition in the words little and tiny, giving significance to the magnitude of the items, as while they may be small physically, they mean a lot emotionally. Finding this box so early on in the novel can be seen as significant, as it may be foreshadowing to this secret eventually getting out or Lady Audley being questioned about a former life in which she was a part of.  What I’m really trying to say here is that I think these lines will end up being extremely significant in the overall plot of this novel (which spoiler alert; they are!).  A hidden secret found at the end of a chapter in a manner where someone was doing what they were not supposed to be is the definition of a set up for a larger plot in this story. These lines will prove to be either the downfall of Lady Audley and her new husband, a shameful moment in Lady Audley’s past, or a past life in which things were better for Lady Audley, something she keeps locked away in order to reminisce on (we all do this, think old birthday cards or letters from a former significant other).

“In spite of Miss Alicia’s undisguised contempt for her step-mother’s childishness and frivolity, Lucy was better loved and more admired than the baronet’s daughter. That very childishness had a charm which few could resist. The innocence and candor of an infant beamed in Lady Audley’s fair face, and shone out of her large and liquid blue eyes. The rosy lips, the delicate nose, the profusion of fair ringlets, all contributed to preserve to her a beauty the character of extreme youth and freshness. She owned to twenty years of age, but it was hard to believe her more than seventeen…. her fragile figure… was as girlish as if she had but just left the nursery” (Chapter 7 of Volume One, page 55). 

Lucy Audley is time and time again through the novel described as beautiful, beguiling, and charming. And the way in which she is described as beautiful is always in terms of fragility and extreme youth. The two are so interconnected to each other in the text that one comes to the realization that is not just that Lucy Audley is a beautiful woman who looks like a child– she is beautiful because she looks like a child. 

This turns her marriage to Sir Michael into an equal partnership where both gain benefits (Michael gets to marry the woman he loves, and Lucy gets to be financially supported beyond her wildest dreams) into something more sickening. Michael is a man wrapped completely around his wife’s finger, catering to her every whim no matter how bizarre or how quickly she changes her mind. One only needs to look at how she switches between kicking Robert out of the house and begging to have him visit again to see that she is a mercurial woman: another aspect associated with childhood. But what concerns me about the relationship Michael and Lucy have is that Michael’s behavior completely supports her leaning into this childlike mindset, and he seems to find it attractive. All of these traits which are so connected to childhood– the indecisive nature, the fragility, the youthful glowing face– are precisely what draws him to her and results in him falling in love with her. I frankly find it disturbing. Lucy might be a legal adult and not actually a child, but Michael is still a complete creep about it. 

It could be said that part of why Alicia has lost such favor with her father after he marries Lucy is that Lucy is not just taking the place of a wife but also supplanting Alicia’s role as Michael’s daughter. Michael is shown in the chapter where he proposes to Lucy that he is a very lonely man– he has been a widower for over fifteen years, and his daughter is now a grown woman, with all the independence that entails. Furthermore someday Alicia will depart from Michael’s household when she marries. She doesn’t need him anymore. And Lucy does. 

I’m not able to find page numbers (pdf websites are allergic to them apparently) so in their place I’m using the format of (author, chapter number)

 

In chapter 15 of Lady Audrey’s Secret when Lady Audrey is attempting to make Sir Michael believe Robert Audrey has gone mad, she spends a decent chunk of text going on about how many people may know they are mad and hide it or keep it under control, but they also might go on to snap and kill someone. She goes into quite a bit of detail to saying things like “the frightful, passionate, hungry craving for violence and horror” and other oddly specific and disturbing details (Braddon, ch 15).

It is even called out earlier with “She spoke as if she had been discussing a subject that she had often heard discussed before”  that she might be discussing madness beyond just Robert Audrey (Braddon, ch 15). Just maybe, she is referring to herself. Her past with others who believed her mad or overhearing others talk about madness around her and Lady Audrey picking up on similarities to her mental state. This could be Lady Audrey getting caught up in using an excuse so close to her own heart, or perhaps even a warning for Sir Michael.

Either way the detail she goes into and the specific example of murder are far to close to previous implications in the book that Lady Audrey may have murdered some people for mere coincidence. Even in the extremely unlikely event this is all a red herring and Lady Audrey is completely innocent, her fascination with madness and apparent research on the topic are worrying signs for her mental state.

“‘Dear me!’ she said, ‘this is very strange. I did not think men were capable of these deep and lasting affections. I thought that one pretty face was as good as another pretty face to them, and that when number one with blue eyes and fair hair died, they had only to look out for number two with black eyes and hair, by way of variety,’” (Braddon 88).

Chapter 11 opens with a conversation between Robert, Michael, and Lady Audley regarding the fate of George Talboys. During this exchange, when Lady Audley questions Robert’s concern for George, she learns of the grief Helen’s death has caused him and speaks the aforementioned passage.

The way Lady Audley approaches this topic is notably very straightforward despite the previous awkward silence (stemming from Robert’s implication that George has potentially committed suicide). Though she is revealing a great deal about her own approach to relationships and cynicism, she does so with a very matter-of-fact tone. The lack of emotive punctuation (question marks, exclamation points, etc.) indicates her cadence to be rather stable, and her speech is unmarked by any indication of true distress. Despite this tone, such a comment seems deeply out of character for the agreeable persona of Lady Audley. As she has shown herself to be capable of maintaining a composed appearance before, this is not surprising but contributes to her character as someone suspiciously put-together and perfect.

Returning to the text, we see this attitude has persisted since before the story takes place, and Lady Audley’s past has left a lasting impact. She feels undeserving of the affection Michael showed her; clearly, she has had negative experiences that color her current understanding of relationships. But what? Her disbelief in the affections being “deep and lasting” (Braddon 88) seems to imply that she does not think of love as a constant, but rather as fleeting. She also refers to the women in her example as “number one” and “number two” (88), like objects or cattle more than humans with appropriate worth. Her prior beliefs that she is unlucky supplement this idea of instability in love. She herself is very conscious of the many factors that influence a relationship other than pure love, and the idea that George’s love was so great he would end his life in the absence of Helen is something she cannot fathom. This passage prompts the reader to delve further into Lady Audley’s true personality past the impression the narrator gives of her.

“She looked a childish, helpless, babyfied creature; and Robert watched her with some torch of pity in his eyes, as she came up to the hearth by which he was standing, and warmed her tiny gloved hand at the blaze.” (Braddon 141)


In this passage, Robert encounters Lady Audley unexpectedly on a cold September morning. There is a lot of attention brought to how childish and babyish she is. This fragility brings out an emotional response in Robert, he feels pity for her. Lady Audley, as previously seen in a position of divine feminine power, is now described as this young and fragile thing that would shatter if anyone so much as touched her. There is a lot of repetition of the idea of her being small, helpless, and young. The reason the author is hyper-focused on making Lady Audley sweet and innocent is to distract from her hidden monstrous tendencies. If we refer to the passage, we see Robert pitying her. However, when Braddon decided to use the word “creature,” it alluded to the fact that she has a capacity for evil. That Lady Audley in a sense could be considered a monster, or a creature of the night. Later in the passage, the narrator talks about Lady Audley warming her tiny, gloved hand at the blaze. What stuck out to me here was the word choice for the fireplace. Blaze is very harsh and destructive, not a word typically used to discuss a fire in a fireplace. Going along with the theme of destructive fire, we also witness Robert with “…a torch of pity in his eyes….” Torches are historically associated with mobs and witch hunts, implicating Lady Audley. The theme of monstrosity is most powerful when Lady Audley is referred to as a “creature.” Even though the context surrounding the word is her innocence, the word creature makes her inhuman. I think the reason this passage is chock-full of evil and innocent comparisons is because Braddon wants the reader to start unpacking the paradox that is Lady Audley.

I wanted to focus on a pretty early part of the book because of what I think the passage really represents. In chapter nine of Lady Audley’s Secret, during the storm Robert is unfazed and spends his time leisurely, while George on the other hand is very agitated. After seeing Lady Audley’s portrait, he struggles processing what he saw. George is feeling uneasy after seeing the portrait of Lady Audley, in which her true identity is revealed. The portrait triggers George emotionally because of the resemblance it had to his past wife who passed away. Digging more into the symbolism interpreted in this passage, Lady Audley has a “monstrous” secret that she is desperate to keep concealed. She has strange behavior during the storm claiming she is afraid of the lightening, but I think she is using her “fear” of lightning to conceal her inner turmoil, and her guilt of hidden secrets. Her guilt and anxiety from her secret/past could also be represented by the storm and maybe even potential consequences that could come in the near future. I think the storm represents the internal/external conflicts that the characters face along with a bit of foreshadowing of what is to come that might be significant to the plot. For readers the storm adds dramatic tension to the story, especially between George and Lady Audley. Lady Audley is (obviously) worried that George might find out her terrible, dark secret that she has been hiding, and George himself is processing all of his emotions after being exposed to Lady Audley’s portrait. The storm consistently serves as a powerful element by representing symbolism in the story.

“Upon a lowering afternoon in November, with the yellow fog low upon the flat meadows, and the blinded cattle groping their way through the dim obscurity, and blundering stupidly against black and leafless hedges, or stumbling into ditches, undistinguishable in the hazy atmosphere,” (Braddon 114).

This passage contains more highly evocative landscape description, which is prevalent throughout the novel. The specific feeling being evoked here is a deep dread and uncertainty, with repeat references to fog and obscurity and unseen ditches. There is something wrong in the air here, Braddon is saying, who knows where danger may lie. This uncertainty is combined with recurring features of the British countryside, with flat meadows and cows and hedges, which Braddon’s primary audience would generally see as bucolic and peaceful. This seemingly peaceful setting enhances the sense of unease, continuing the theme of dark secrets and hidden dangers being present in a familiar environments that runs so strongly throughout this book and sensation novels as whole. The placement of this section passage is important, starting chapter fifteen. In chapter fifteen, two notable events occur: Phoebe and Luke get married, and Robert returns to Audley Court to fully begin his investigation. This opening passage strengthens both by priming the reader for hidden threats. The Marks’ marriage only occurs because of the threat of physical violence, and the evocation of unease in the opening passages helps to highlight that despite victorian ideals of marriage, this is a very dangerous situation for Phoebe to be in and it is unlikely to stop being so at any time. For Robert’s section of this chapter, the feeling set up in the reader by the opening passage underlines the fact that he is investigating a dangerous matter that has likely already resulted in one man’s death and could easily lead to his. The passage at the start of chapter fifteen may be seen as just environmental description, but it has a definite role in supporting the main events of the chapter.

“Yes, the painter must have been a pre-Raphaelite. No one but a pre-Raphaelite would have painted, hair by hair, those feathery masses of ringlets, with every glimmer of gold, and every shadow of pale brown. No one but a pre-Raphaelite would have so exaggerated every attribute of that delicate face as to give a lurid brightness to the blonde complexion, and a strange, sinister light to the deep blue eyes. No one but a pre-Raphaelite could have given to that pretty pouting mouth the hard and almost wicked look it had in the portrait. It was so like, and yet so unlike. It was as if you had burned strange-colored fires before my lady’s face, and by their influence brought out new lines and new expressions never seen in it before. The perfection of feature, the brilliancy of coloring, were there; but I suppose the painter had copied quaint mediaeval monstrosities until his brain had grown bewildered, for my lady, in his portrait of her, had something of the aspect of a beautiful fiend. Her crimson dress, exaggerated like all the rest in this strange picture, hung about her in folds that looked like flames, her fair head peeping out of the lurid mass of color as if out of a raging furnace. Indeed the crimson dress, the sunshine on the face, the red gold gleaming in the yellow hair, the ripe scarlet of the pouting lips, the glowing colors of each accessory of the minutely painted background, all combined to render the first effect of the painting by no means an agreeable one.” (Chapter 8)

In this excerpt from chapter eight George Talboys is examining the portrait of Lady Audley, analyzing in detail the features and feeling that the image provokes from him. In the first sentence George notes that the painter must have been a pre- Raphaelite. A pre- Raphaelite, were a group of painters who returned to renaissance style painting which focused on detail and the utilization of bright, vibrant colors. One of the main reoccurring themes in this excerpt was the way Talboy’s speaks about how the color and detail in the portrait evokes a sense of uneasiness. This starts when he speaks about the contrast in color of the hair in the Portrait. He compares the gold to the shadow of the pale brown. Talboys continues with this theme when he describes her eyes in the portrait, the dark deep blue eyes although beautiful in art come across as sinister and wicked due to the combination of different colors in the portrait. Another theme that I noticed was the repeating mention of red in the description. In the second half of the excerpt the color red or images that you associate with the color is brought up numerous times. The crimson dress that looked like flames, the red gold gleam, and the ripe scarlet lip all remind me of a dark red color. Traditionally I associate the color red with evil and darkness, by constantly using this color I believe the author was trying to foreshadow the wickedness of Lady Audley as well as to reinforce the uneasiness that many characters feel when being around her.

Although the portrait was beautifully constructed in an artistic sense, Talboys can’t help but feel thrown off by the image. The use of these colors in the portrait creates an uncomfortable aura around Lady Audley that sets the tone for her character as the novel moves forward. Despite the natural beauty of Lady Audley this portrait and its utilization of color make it clear that something sinister lurks behind her beauty.