Category: 360: Victorian Sexualities

“They had passed the hill above the churchyard, when Lady Glyde insisted on turning back to look her last at her mother’s grave. Ms. Halcombe tried to shake her resolution; but, in this one instance, tried in vain. She was immovable. Her dull eyes lit with a sudden fire and flashed through the veil hungover them. Her wasted fingers strengthened, moment by moment, round the friendly arm that they had held so listlessly until this time. I believe in my soul that the Hand of God was pointing there way back to them, and that the most innocent and most afflicted of His creatures was chosen and that dread moment, to see it.” (430)

What immediately shocked me about this paragraph was that Laura has this fleeting moment of extreme determination, that we rarely see in her, especially after her encounters in the asylum and those two awful men. She was “immovable” showing strength. Her eyes “lit with a sudden fire”, flashing through her veil, breaking free of the erasure that Percival and Fosco bestowed on her, even if only for a moment. These “wasted fingers” came alive to her own disposition, breaking free of their listlessness. This is a moment where we see Laura acting on her accord which she doesn’t usually do, but she still has the aura of a daze around her.

Another note is her shocking likeness to Anne, once again. Not only is she hanging around the grave of her mother, in a misty night, but she is followed by a caretaker (Marian resembling Mrs. Clements). And there they find Walter. The last sentence of this passage also proves interesting because it seems as if the hand of god has lumped these two unfortunate souls together of Anne and Laura. Although I’m not sure who this “them” is that god is pointing too. Maybe it’s the grave? It’s also interesting to think about how Anne and Laura are seen as the most innocent, but also the most afflicted, so what does this say? Are the innocent always characterized as the most manipulated? Usually, that’s the case.

“Her fingers had a restless habit, which I remembered in her as a child, of always playing with the first thing that came to hand, whenever anyone was talking to her. On this occasion they wandered to the album, and toyed absently about the margin of the little water-colour drawing. The expression of melancholy deepened on her face,” (142).

I find it very interesting to note that as soon as we discuss Freud’s ideas about repressed trauma through repetitive actions, we get this passage with Laura’s fiddling fingers. But before I get into that, let’s just unpack this a little bit. The word choice in the first sentence proves that it’s not Laura that has a restless habit, but her fingers. In this way, although the audience knows that they are a part of her own body and actions, they are somewhat disconnected. In fact, they almost serve a purpose to distract her from what’s going on around her and more specifically the conversations that she has. Freud would highlight upon the idea that she has been doing this since childhood, and would see this repetitive action as a symptom of some repressed trauma. What that trauma could be, I don’t know, but it’s definitely something that she would have to constantly distract herself from.

However, this repetitive act is a little different because of the object she’s drawn to and what that represents. She moves to the little album of water color drawings that Mr. Hartwright had left, and implicitly we know what’s going on. She misses and loves him. And the fact that her face “deepened with melancholy” proves that. She’s not absentmindedly playing with the thing like she usually does, she’s overwhelmed with emotion.

Finally, Laura consistently gets characterized with child-like associations. Her innocence and pureness radiates throughout the novel, and then with the words in this passage like “restless”, “toyed”, and “playing” it sends the message home.

Because of Laura’s need to distract herself, and her common associations with being a child, it proves that “pure” women need both of these things: to keep themselves busy while also being protected. The Women in White does a good job at implicitly showing this sentiment throughout the novel.

The door opened; and Laura came in alone. So she had entered the breakfast-room at Limmeridge House, on the morning when we parted. Slowly and falteringly, in sorrow and in hesitation, she had once approached me. Now, she came with the haste of happiness in her feet, with the light of happiness radiant in her face. Of their own accord, those dear arms clasped themselves round me; of their own accord, the sweet lips came to mine. ‘My darling!’ she whispered, ‘we may own we love each other, now?’ Her head nestled with a tender contentedness on my bosom. ‘Oh,’ she said, innocently, ‘I am so happy at last!’ (561)

Since Walter’s first departure, Laura has been through hell, to say the least. Following her marriage to the lying and self-righteous Sir Percival Glyde, Laura’s quality of life steadily declines. A quick recap: after leaving Limmeridge House and coming back from Italy, she complies with her abusive husband (who has taken her fortune) only to be kicked out of Blackwater Park. On her way back, she is drugged and abducted by the Count and put into a mental institution. Her identity is given to Anne Catherick, who is then announced dead. Laura escapes from the mental institution with Marian’s help, but then lives a life on the run. She develops PTSD (post-traumatic stress disorder) from her time in the mental institution and spends months recovering from it. Gradually she returns to her old self, and then, in the passage above, she gets engaged to Walter. Now, after everything she’s been through, she’s finally happy.

When she first said goodbye to Walter, she had everything an upperclass Victorian woman should have. She lived in a large house with servants, she had a suitor, she had an inheritance, and she was talented and beautiful. Why wasn’t she happy before, then? And now that she’s living in poverty and has been through absolute hell, she’s happy?

Her statement to Walter when she first said goodbye to him closely resembles what she says to Walter above: “‘Oh!’ she said, innocently, ‘how could I let you go, after we have passed so many happy days together!'” (126). Collins uses the word ‘innocently’ in both passages, despite everything that Laura has now been through. When Laura was once “strangely pale and strangely quiet,” her face now radiates with happiness (125).

I think this passage ties back to the Victorian views on class and social constructs. When she was wealthy, Laura was expected to marry someone of a high stature, like Sir Percival. It was impractical for her to be in love with a lowly drawing-master such as Walter, because a woman of her status would never marry anyone so beneath her. However, she never wanted to marry Percival, and she was never happy when she was married to him. Now that her fortune is lost, she is free to marry whoever she pleases, regardless of societal status. Thus, in this regard, the lack of social constructs upon the lower class allows Laura more freedom, which is all she ever really wanted. In turn, she’s happier than she was at the beginning of the novel, despite the hell she’s been through.

“If we had loved her less dearly, if the instinct implanted in us by that love had not been far more certain than any exercise of reasoning, far keener than any process of observation, even we might have hesitated, on first seeing her” (Collins 433). The main functions of the similarities in the looks of Anne Catherick and Laura Fairlie have finally been revealed for the most part through this passage. Anne and Laura share similar features because they are likely related, and this feature functions in the plot as both a target for deception by Sir Glyde and Count Fosco, and as an opportunity for love and heroism by Walter Hartright.

The similarities between Anne and Laura allow for Anne to die and to be “mistaken” as Laura, so that Laura is declared dead and the real Laura is believed to be Anne. Walter refers to the similarities between Anne and Laura as the “fatal resemblance” (433). He views the mistake of Laura’s identity as a figurative death of the Laura that he knew. Lady Glyde is gone, and life in an asylum has changed Laura. Laura is no longer herself, she in some ways has taken on both the literal and figurative identity of Anne. She is believed to be Anne, and for that reason, she begins to fulfill Anne’s role as primarily a weak, seemingly child-like patient.

The fatal resemblance that has led to Laura’s dark new fate also allows for Walter to truly profess his love for her as he and Marian are the only ones who recognize Laura, and the only ones who want to reveal her true identity and discover the truth behind the mistake. This is the opportunity for Walter Hartright to be a hero of sorts and to attempt to get his lady-love back instead of being perpetually stuck in a pseudo family created by himself, Marian, and the newly child-like Laura.

Hartright’s account of Sir Percival Glyde’s death appeals to the visual and aural senses to subliminally accentuate a happiness that would be inappropriate, by Victorian standards, to express in correlation to Glyde’s passing. The juxtaposition of the “dazzling brightness of the fire” to the “murky, starless sky” during the burning vestry scene symbolizes a satisfying shift from darkness to illumination; this shift implies that Glyde’s death will eradicate the obscurities that conceal the secrets within The Woman in White (Collins, 463). Since illumination is typically linked to the acquisition of knowledge, a fire is the perfect plot device to signify new opportunities.

Although Hartright’s actions display that he is working diligently to save Glyde from the rising flames, his melodramatic inclusion of details suggests that his actions betray his intentions. Hartright attempts to prove that “All remembrance of the heartless injury the man’s crimes had inflicted; of the love, the innocence, the happiness he had pitilessly laid waste; of the oath [he] had sworn in [his] own heart to summon him to the terrible reckoning that he deserved- passed from [his} memory like a dream (Collins, 463- 464.)” However, Walter’s overcompensation to assure the readers of his noble empathy in which he “felt nothing but the natural human impulse to save him from a frightful death” is something that I cannot buy.

During his description of Glyde’s escape attempts, Walter claims to “hear the key worked violently in the lock” from the other side of the door (Collins, 463). The violent imagery of this sexual euphemism, regardless of whether it represents a literal occurrence, suggests that Hartright is thinking about Laura Fairlie and her function within her marriage as a reluctant lock that refuses to yield to her husband’s overbearing demands. Congruently, I believe that as the light from the fire becomes “brighter and brighter,” Walter becomes increasingly more exuberant.

When one really thinks about it, Mrs. Catherick falls no short of qualifying as the protagonist of this book. She is involved with two of the most evident scandals, two of the most important marriage plots in this book–one having to do with bringing about “the woman in white” and the other, the mystery to bring forth the downfall of Sir Percival Glyde.

Yet, she is nothing. She sits with her hands crossed on her lap, in her little house in the town where the clergyman bows to her. She sends Haltright away the first time he comes–although he wasn’t much better at dealing with her than she was with him–and the second time, sends him a letter in a pretense handwriting to show her “gratitude.” The text goes to much extent, indeed, to make Mrs. Catherick an unlikeable character–and this would be an understatement.

She is extremely vain. She was so when she was young, years ago with Sir Percival, and although she calls herself foolish, she never changed–“the allowance was a handsome one” (534), and she lived on the money from her so-called “enemy” for as along as before Sir Percival died, and her savings from that after. She supports a better house, better carpets, and better dresses–silk–with the money from the man she wished dead than anything else. She enjoyed her “comfortable income, in return, paid quarterly” (534). She was unjustly used by Sir Percival, thus justifying her hatred towards him. Yet it was a bargain and she enjoyed it–how to call that unjust at all? To her, the foolishness was not in vanity, but in not checking if it was safe to do so. Despite of everything that happened due to her longing for it, despite the fact that it directly ruined her life, she still cherishes the watch–“I have got them still – the watch goes beautifully” (532).

Would she ever look back to herself, and consider even remotely the fact that she might, at times, not be in the most correct position? Highly unlikely. She considers herself to “have written in the friendliest possible spirit,” and if Hartright “see[s] the necessity of writing me[her] an apology,” she would be willing to accept it (539). Friendly she may indeed have been, as she is at least being honest with her opinions. She shows without holding back how she hasn’t moved an inch from where she had been years ago, when she couldn’t resist helping a stranger for a golden watch. One might even say she was a better person than she is now, at the time–when she was young and perhaps, less caught in her own shallow pride.

This makes her, despite of everything she knows, despite of the keys she holds to so many of the mysteries throughout this novel, an insignificant character. Could she really have done so little to get revenge on Sir Percival Glyde had she not been caught up in the handsome payment she received four times a year? Had she possessed half the character of Marian Halcombe, would she have been limited her life to the sad person she had become? Yes, indeed, this novel may have never existed, this story and mystery all never created, had this one woman not labled her voluntary, self-imposed inaction as pride.

While the term psychopath was not used to describe the charismatic, non-empathetic monsters we know today (ie- Bundy, Manson) at the time Woman in White was written, when reading the character of Count Fosco from the present, there is no doubt he meets several if not most characteristics of how one would define a psychopath today. The OED describes a psychopath as “a mentally ill person who is highly irresponsible and antisocial and also violent or aggressive”. This more modern meaning of the word was first used in 1885. Using the revised Hare Psychopathy Checklist, I will now provide traits of a psychopath backed by textual evidence to show how Fosco meets a myriad of them.

1. Glib and superficial charm- This trait can also be described as charisma. Marian admits “I am almost afraid to confess it, even to these secret pages. The man has interested me, has attracted me, has forced me to like him…and how he has worked the miracle, is more than I can tell” (217).  Marian realizes something is off about him but cannot help her attraction to him.
2. Criminal Versatility- This includes taking great pride in getting away with crimes. This is evident when the Count and Glyde are discussing wise and foolish criminals. “There are foolish criminals who are discovered, and wise criminals who escape…A trial of skill between the police on one side, and the individual on the other…But I don’t see why Count Fosco should celebrate the victory of the criminal over society with so much exultation” (233).
3. Promiscuous Sexual Behavior- I see Fosco as being very much like Christian Grey in his mannerisms of control. He is described as resembling “Henry the Eighth himself” (218) which hints that he is marred by infidelity. Fosco is also said to control the Countess with “rod of iron with which he rules her never appears in company- it is a private rod, and is always kept up-stairs” (222) which seems indicative of bondage and/or sexual abuse. He is also known to have a taste for sweets “‘A taste for sweets’ he said in his softest tones…’is the innocent taste of women and children. I love to share it with them'” (289). This description seems to hold undertones of cannibalism as well as pedophilia.
4. Cunning and Manipulativeness- Fosco even describes himself in this way “I, Fosco, cunning as the devil himself, as you have told me a hundred times” (324). This trait also ties in with the trait of parasitic lifestyle in terms of financial exploitation. Glyde realizes this in Fosco when he states “Some of the money I want has been borrow for you. And if you come to gain, my wife’s death would be ten thousand pounds in your wife’s pocket” (327).  Fosco also uses his wife to carry out his cunning acts, like when the Countess reports that Laura called Fosco a spy, and the Countess drugged Fanny and replaced the letters Marian had written.

Reading Fosco as a psychopath from the modern definition is enlightening in understanding the text as a whole because we can recognize this period as being one rich in the study of psychological disorders, their definitions, and treatments. It is evident that people exhibiting modernly defined psychopathic traits did exist although the term for them had not been coined. The earliest definition of psychopath comes from 1864, 4 years after WIW is published. This definition is probably even more interesting when studying WIW because up until 1885, psychopath was actually used to describe “a doctor or other practitioner specializing in the treatment (or claiming to treat) disorders of the mind”. In this way Fosco meets the definition of a psychopath on a dual level as Mr. Dawson claims Fosco is a “Quack…dying to try his quack remedies” (364-365) when Marian is in poor health. Fosco claims to be a man with medical talent and the image of him at Blackwater with Marian, Laura, and his wife, takes on the dynamic of Fosco as the psychopath or asylum leader, with the women as his patients forced to conform to his will. The Countess provides proof of his “success” at healing feminine mental malady, as the once self-proclaimed feminist is now his loyal servant. In his role as psychopath-doctor he still maintains a trait of psychopath-modern: endless obsession with control- as if the women were his pure, white mice.

During the scene in which Walter observes Count Fosco from above during the opera, he describes him in such a way that reveals both the artifice and the reality of the man’s public persona, going so far as to say that “the man’s voracious vanity devoured this implied tribute to his local and critical supremacy.” (Collins 569). This sentence is significant for its connections with consumption from both “voracious” and “devoured,” as well as the implied power structures from “tribute” and “supremacy.”

In this section of the text, Walter reveals that Count Fosco delights in his ability to walk about in public as the figure of the respectable gentleman, fooling everyone around him into believing that he is a considerate citizen, no more devious than anyone else. He feeds off of people’s impressions of him and the power they give him because of his vanity, even as he relies on the vanity’s of his victims to convince them of the mask he wears in general society. His is the mask of restraint and carefully calculated moves, always within the civil and socially acceptable as long as he is in the public eye. This mask is also a part of his vanity; he dresses in a distinguished manner, and never appears undignified, even when he is tittering at his little birds, thus preserving the illusion and demonstrating his tight control over his emotions, contrasting starkly with Sir Percival, who essentially dies because of his inability to separate desperation from his decisions.

The concept of giving tribute has colonial interpretations, reminiscent of indigenous peoples forced to give food, goods, and riches to their conquerors as a sign of submission and to allow them to amass their desired wealth. According to Walter’s descriptions of Count Fosco, the man believes that everyone around him is his inferior and therefore honors him by submitting to his influence. In fact, the only character who Count Fosco has not viewed as inferior is Marian. This power structure in which he holds complete supremacy over the other characters controls the entire plot of the novel, which rests on the loss of identity to those members of society (women) who are given no legal agency over their own lives and therefore do depend entirely on their male counterparts. Taking advantage of this unequal structure allows Count Fosco to feed his vanity by testing his own skills at pulling strings, gaining eventual control over nearly every event that occurs.

John Ruskin, who was read about in Richard Altich’s “Victorian People and Ideas: A Companion for the Modern Reader of Victorian Literature” is an English art critic. He believes that ‘the quality of man’s inner life was determined by the presence or absence of beauty in his everyday surroundings” (281). By examining Ruskin’s conviction in relation to the language that Collins uses to describe certain environments, and people in his story, readers are exposed to what men, (and in this post, specifically what Walter’s) ‘inner life’ may be like.

Walter’s love interest, Miss Laura Fairlie, is a character who is most evidently seen as beautiful. Collins writes in the beginning of the story about Laura’s appearances saying that she is, “ the woman who first gives life, light, and form to our shadowy conceptions of beauty. […] Take her as the visionary nursling of your own fancy” (52). Using this lense, and assuming that Collins agrees with Ruskin’s opinion (which I don’t totally think he does, but that isn’t exactly important right now), the reader can see that when Walter is with Laura, because she is the one who, ‘first gives life’ and is so visually pleasing, he is most content; he finds her the most beautiful. Though this quote is so early in the story, it is important as it shows that there is attraction between Walter and Laura.

Because we know that the state of a man is based on the presence and absence of beauty in his life, when Laura seemingly passes, the reader can conclude that Walter is not quite at peace inside. Her death brings him into hysterics. When Walter’s mother approaches him to bring him the news of Laura’s death Collins writes, “I saw something in my mother’s face which told me that a secret oppression lay heavy on her heart. […] You have something to tell me” (407). At this point in the story, because of knowing the great significance of the visual appearances of Collins’ characters, one realizes that Walter’s ‘inner life’ is disturbed immediately when he sees his mother’s contorted face. Walter’s newly conflicted state of mind, is a result of Laura, the most beautiful, her death. Supposing man’s inner well-being is mostly dictated by visual cues, Walter’s internal, rapidly growing, feeling of strife is more directly a result of his mother’s reaction. His strife just gets worse after actually hearing the news.

This conflict that Walter is experiencing leads him to dramatics. Shown as Walter’s inner dialogue and as his actions, Collins writes, “Oh death, thou hast thy sting! […] I laid my head, on the broad white stone, and closed my weary eyes on the earth around […] Oh, my love! my love! my heart may speak to you now!” (409). These extreme internal declarations of exasperation make me ask that, had Walter been a woman, would he have been subjected to an asylum due to his extreme emotions, and seemingly hysterical character? At this point in the story, his emotions and actions do not seem all that different than those of Anne Catherick’s. The difference between the two is that Walter does not externally express his thoughts and feelings whereas Anne, many times, seemingly cannot help but wear her heart on her sleeve.

There are many ways to apply Ruskin’s idea of beauty dictating man’s emotional state to The Woman in White. This examination of Walter’s inner self does not even begin to scratch the surface of all that could potentially be uncovered using this lense. But even these small insights learned from applying Ruskin’s belief help to develop a better understanding of the male characters in this story, and how their minds may work.