Literature as imperative historical documents

in prominent works such as Jane Eyre, The Tenant of Wildfell Hall, Middlemarch, and Tess of the D’Urbervilles (many more could figure here). However, beginning in the 1840s, the novel also focused on more serious themes. During this decade, authors used the novel to promote political ideals and illustrate England’s unequal society. At first, the presence of stories about factory workers, slums, and poverty in libraries and bookstores was met with discontent. According to James Eli Adams, “[Dickens’] venture into politics in Oliver Twist unsettled many critics, and some readers never forgave the turn to more sombre and socially critical works” (63). Flint reveals that Charlotte Brontë’s father asked for Villette to have a happy ending because it was important to present readers with the happy endings that real life did not offer (21). As a result, rather than serving as an escape device, the novel becomes a space for debate. Thomas Carlyle later used the term

“Condition of England” to describe the eminent and rapid changes in society. Eagleton asserts that “with the advent of realism, (...) the common people make their collective entry into the literary arena, long before they make an appearance on the political stage”

(The English Novel 9).

By addressing “reality” in their writings, numerous authors contributed to the social novel or Condition of England novel. Yet, according to Caroline Levine, the realist novel is diverse and, hence, impossible to describe (“Victorian Realism” 84). Novels were not accurate descriptions of society’s situation – for that, there were reports – nor were they entirely imaginary settings. It was crucial that the story depicted history and the lives of people as accurately as possible, but it was also important to recognise that the author's intention was to tell a story – “there is no established set of realist characteristics, it would seem, and no perfect exemplary texts” (Levine 85). For instance, the narrator of George Elliot’s Adam Bede promises to deliver “a faithful account of men and things as they have mirrored themselves in my mind… I feel as much bound to tell you, as precisely as I can”

(qtd. In David 3), the same way Sybil promises to reconcile England’s two distinct nations. As Walter Houghton asserts, Victorian literature wished to fictionally respond to an amalgamation of unprecedented historical developments (David 5).

Numerous works from this period focus on the distress of the poor and the attitude of the upper classes, particularly the middle class, toward the growing consciousness of the working class as the backbone of 19th-century English society. It was necessary to educate the upper classes about the subject, hence the novel also acted as an educational instrument. Dickens’s Bleak House (1852) excels in depicting the plight of the poor, not only because of its raw narrative structure, but also because of the accompanying images.

The urban poor were also depicted graphically in magazines such as The Illustrated London News, but particularly in Punch, a more radical newspaper whose graphics spared no sentiments. “Punch cartoons were intended to appeal to the conscience of the bourgeois audience” (Cooke 4), therefore Dickens collaborated with Punch artists Phiz and Leech to strengthen his didactic message. Let us examine the scene in which the middle class visits the home of the working-class:

(...) there were in this damp, offensive room a woman with a black eye, nursing a poor little gasping baby by the fire; a man, all stained with clay and mud and looking very dissipated, lying at full length on the ground, smoking a pipe;

(...) a bold girl doing some kind of washing in very dirty water. (...) Nobody gave us any welcome. (ch. VIII)

One can tell how undesirable the family’s position is. The woman’s black eye indicates that lower-class individuals frequently engaged in violence. The father is likely filthy due to his low-paying profession or because they lack access to clean water, while the girl is washing her clothes with “extremely unclean water.” Let us now examine Phiz’s depiction of the same scene.

Dickens’s goal to startle the reader is reflected in Phiz’s interpretation of the scene. This graphic image depicts the plight of the working class accurately. There are insufficient seats, clothing is drying above their heads, the area is full, and the space shrinks as the Pardiggles arrive. Mrs. Pardiggle, seated on a stool, is apprehensive, while the young boys by the door appear attentive. The brick master’s family, however, does not attend to the visits. They continue their efforts as a kind of protest against the Pardiggles’ unasked-for act of charity.

Fig. 4. The Visit to the Brickmaker’s. Phiz (Hablot Knight Browne), 1853.

Now you're a-going to poll-pry and question according to custom—I know what you're a-going to be up to. Well! You haven't got no occasion to be up to it. I'll save you the trouble. Is my daughter a-washin? Yes, she IS a-washin.

Look at the water. Smell it! That's wot we drinks. (...) An't my place dirty?

Yes, it is dirty—it's nat'rally dirty, and it's nat'rally onwholesome; and we've had five dirty and onwholesome children, as is all dead infants, and so much the better for them, and for us besides. (ch.VIII)

The brick master’s speech emphasises the miserable living conditions they endure, yet he refuses assistance from people further up the social scale because he thinks they are not sincere. “This scene also satirises the attitude of the middle class for whom the poor can only be an impersonal interest,” writes Cooke (9). It symbolises the necessity for compassion towards the lower classes who are not a part of an upper class by virtue of circumstance, which makes this scene particularly noteworthy since it illustrates Dickens's contention that diverse strata of society must come together instead of viewing each other as “other” (Cooke 7).

Alton Locke, Tailor and Poet by Charles Kingsley also features images of the slums of London (1850). The necessity for social reform is exacerbated by Kingsley’s London, where “Blood and sewer-water crept from under doors and out of spouts, and reeked down the gutters among offal, animal and vegetable, in every degree of putrefaction” (ch. VIII). Consider the following excerpt, from Alton and Mr Mackaeye’s encounter with a sick girl: “The sick girl tried to raise herself up and speak, but was stopped by a frightful fit of coughing and expectoration, as painful, apparently, to the sufferer as it was, I confess, disgusting even to me” (ch. VIII). This encourages one to question the causes of a child’s decline to such a condition. Child labour, which Engels thought to be excessive, combined with subpar living conditions were most likely to

blame. It echoes the lines from “The Cry of the Children,” a poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning, which go as follows:

“True,” say the children, “it may happen That we die before our time!

Little Alice died last year her grave is shapen Like a snowball, in the rime. (...)

Crying, ‘Get up, little Alice ! it is day.’

If you listen by that grave, in sun and shower,

With your ear down, little Alice never cries ; (ll. 37-40; 44-46)

The rawness of Browning’s lines leaves a lasting impression. The poetic subject, the collective “we” that is the children, describes how they are pushed to their limits and are aware that their job will eventually be the cause of their demise, similar to little Alice.

Even though it controlled child labour, the Factory Act of 1833 did not outlaw it. With this law, children under the age of nine were prohibited from working. Children were prohibited from working at night and required to attend school for two hours every day.

Even if the issue was somewhat resolved, unfair treatment and lengthy hours persisted.

The poem goes on to say

Still, all day, the iron wheels go onward, As if Fate in each were stark ;

And the children's souls, which God is calling sunward, Spin on blindly in the dark. (...)

When we sob aloud, the human creatures near us

Pass by, hearing not, or answer not a word ! (ll. 97-100; 107-108)

With women and children in mind, several factory Acts in the following years were successful in establishing new rights for the working class, including defined working hours, rest days, and extended school hours.

The Condition of England debate involved several important works, but Benjamin Disraeli continues to be at the forefront. As a politician and author who went on to become Prime Minister, he earned popularity with three works: Coningsby, or the New Generation, Sybil, or the Two Nations, and Tancred, or the New Crusade, which comprise the “Young England Trilogy.” The collection of books draws inspiration from the political movement of which Disraeli was a part and which he reflected in his writing.

This movement argued for a return to historic systems of government, such as absolute monarchy, feudalism, and a unified church. Coningsby fictionalises the passage of the Reform Bill of 1832 while emphasising the needs of the industrial poor; Sybil builds its plot on Coningsby, but its sole focus is on the poor against the backdrop of Chartism;

Tancred is the least associated with the beliefs of Young England because it does not focus exclusively on politics (indeed, it does not deal heavily with it), but rather on religion and the origins of Christianity. In this last novel, scholars have seen connections between the crusade in the east promoted by the protagonist and British colonial rule in India.

Certainly, among the three, Sybil is the most researched for a variety of reasons.

First, it is a political manifesto disguised as a love story. According to Diniejko and Landow, “the novel’s romantic plot is secondary to the political message” (“Benjamin Disraeli’s Sybil” 1). It is influenced by Sir Walter Scott's Waverly Novels in the sense that it calls for a more socially responsible society similar to mediaeval times. In Book IV, Chapter XIV, it is said that “Toryism will yet (...) announce that power has only one duty:

to secure the social welfare of the PEOPLE” (“Introduction” xiii). Nicholas Shrimpton

considers this to be an evocation of social cohesion that once existed and could exist again. Diniejko and Landow concur that “pre-reformation Church and the old Saxon aristocracy cared for the welfare of common people, whereas the ‘new’ (...) aristocracy (...) [and] the middle-class industrialists [are] indifferent to the plight of the labouring poor” (4). This is true of several of the novel’s characters, such as Egremont’s acquaintances at the derby in Book I, Chapter I, or his brother Lord Marney, who is described as “cynical, emotionless, haughty, literal, and stern” (Sybil 41). Likewise, Louis Cazamian argues that “in the Middle Ages the Church accepted this role and carried it out. By renouncing it, the Church has contributed to the ills of society” (The Social Novel in England 195).

The narrative depicts Egremont’s conscious awakening in the aftermath of observing how the nobility and middle class, including his brother, interact with the impoverished. This sharp distinction between Egremont and his brother alludes to various divisions in England, and it provides evidence that divisions in England were caused not just by industrialization, but also by upperclassmen’s individualist and uneducated attitudes. When he goes to see his brother at Marney Abbey, he meets two mysterious individuals who are later identified as Walter Gerald and his companion, Stephen Morley, both chartists. The reader realises from the start of the story that the Marneys are aristocratic because they stole money from the monks at the abbey. When speaking with the men about the monks who lived there before Lord Marney, Egremont comes to the conclusion that the terrible poverty of the working classes was further exacerbated by the

“thievery of families like the Marneys, who took their existing wealth” (Diniejko and Landow 4). It is worth noting that Lord Marney’s home, now a palace of riches, was once a shelter for the generosity he does not practise. The famous statement about the two nations also comes in the novel during this scene. According to Stephen Morley, as a

result of the conversation, there are “two nations; between whom there is no intercourse and no sympathy; who are as ignorant of each other's habits, thoughts, and feelings, as if they were dwellers in different zones (...) ordered by different manners, and not governed by the same laws” (Sybil 60).

Therefore, the novel investigates the concepts from which society could draw inspiration to repair this division. This reunification of nations is accomplished by Sybil, the daughter of Gerard and the protagonist’s love interest. According to Cousins and Napton, Sybil approves of dialogues between Egremont and her father so that Egremont may “benefit from her father’s insight into England past and present” (“Refiguring the Donna Angelica in Benjamin Disraeli’s SYBIL” 177). Disraeli incorporates Young England’s suggestions into the narrative through these discussions, primarily through an appreciation of the past, in order to save his country’s society. Cousins and Napton assert that Sybil’s influence throughout the novel qualifies her as a “donna angelica” (177), a knowledgeable muse who enlightens England on multiple fronts towards reunion.

Sybil’s popularity may derive from Disraeli’s ability to represent realistic settings.

The novel depicts the chartist riots of the 1840s crises in a manner that reflects the author’s on-site observations. However, Disraeli depicts more than just the riots of the period. The small town of Marney and its terrible disparity are highlighted. While Lord Marney resides in the large abbey, many labourers reside in “wretched tenements [that] seldom consisted of more than two rooms, in one of which the whole family, however numerous, were obliged to sleep” (Sybil 48). The plight of the impoverished is also written in the first person:

Then why am I here? Why am I, and six hundred thousand subjects of the Queen, honest, loyal, and industrious, why are we, after manfully struggling for years, and each year sinking lower in the scale (...); first the ordinary

conveniences of life, then raiment, and, at length, food, vanishing from us.

(Sybil 101).

A hand loom weaver, this man complains about the poor living conditions and how the workers that keep England running are placed at the mercy of their masters. He disputes the discrepancy between classes using the example of wages: “The capitalist flourishes, he amasses immense wealth; we sink, lower and lower; (...) for they are fed better than we are, cared for more. (...) for according to the present system they are more precious”

(Sybil 101). The reader is presented with a description of a supervisor’s wrongdoing toward an employee. When Morley visits the factory owned by the cruellest man in Wodgate, he is startled by what Tummas, a factory boy, asks him: “‘Do you see this here?’ (...) he pointed to a deep scar that crossed his forehead, ‘he did that.’ ‘An accident?’

‘Very like. An accident that often happened. I should like to have a crown for every time he has cut my head open (...)’” (Sybil 143). Disraeli criticises the attitudes of middle-class businessmen toward their workers, who are mere beings like themselves. In addition, this passage emphasises the need for supervision that would be mandated by Factory Acts in subsequent years.

The chartist riots of 1842 are the focus of the novel’s plot development. Egremont has returned to Parliament as a defender of the cause of the chartists. The novel’s tension resides in the closing chapters, which describe additional riots. Sybil is attacked after her father and Stephen are killed attempting to defend a benevolent industrialist's factory. She responds “never” to Egremont’s statement that they will never part again (Sybil 357). This vow to each other leads to their marriage. Marriage serves as an allegory for the reuniting of the nations in Sybil. In addition, it signifies the union of the church, given that Egremont was a protestant and Sybil practised the “old faith,” as well as the reconciliation of the classes, given that they are marrying outside of their social group. This union, write Cousins and Napton, “emblematizes the possibility of a fresh direction in English

socio-political life” (179). Disraeli uses the deaths of the chartists to argue that individuals cannot act independently, a notion that contradicts his mediaeval conception of a new society in which class cooperation is crucial to the country’s running. Despite this, Sybil is regarded as one of the best Condition of England books of the 19^th-century, as it impacted several readers.

The North-south division also features in literature, like it has been mentioned above, not only geographically, but also culturally. Gaskell's seminal North and South (1854) gives the reader a glimpse into Margaret Hale’s life in the northern town of Milton (a fictionalised Manchester) and uses heavy and vivid descriptions, both of the landscape and of the way of life, to perpetuate the “northernness” imagery that is still prevalent in society today. Consider Margaret Hale’s preconceived notions of the North, for instance.

Margaret has “almost a detestation for all she had ever heard of the North of England, the manufacturers, the people, the wild and bleak country (...)” (42). How accurate are Margaret's assumptions about the actual north? How were these ideas created? This was Margaret’s first visit to the north; she had always lived in the south. One could say that she received these views from southerners. This idea is backed by Helen Jewell’s study on the divide, in which she concludes that the South established the perception of the North as a cultural zone through a process of otherness (The North–South Divide 45).

Later in the novel, a more comprehensive contrast between the locations is provided. Consider the following conversation between the main character and Mr.

Thornton. Mr. Hale recalls the “Ballad of Chevy Chase,” to which Mr. Thorton responds, I won’t deny that I am proud of belonging to a town (...) the necessities of which give birth to such grandeur of conception. I would rather be a man toiling, suffering—nay, failing and successless—here, than lead a dull prosperous life in the old worn grooves of what you call more aristocratic

society down in the South, with their slow days of careless ease. One may be clogged with honey and unable to rise and fly (94).

Referring back to Helen Jewell’s argument presented above, one may say that, despite the possibility that the conception of the north originated in the south, the northerner subverts the text to criticise the south, as if defending himself from harmful critique. This paragraph criticises the aristocracy-associated idea of southern apathy. Mr. Thornton contrasts the hard-working north with the lazy south and attributes the latter’s lack of advancement to their superior passivity – “unable to rise and fly”. Margaret believes that Mr. Thorton is unfamiliar with the south since his allegations lack substance. Margaret views southerners to be happier than northerners and boasts about the significance of trade over mechanisation:

You are mistaken (...). You do not know anything about the South. If there is less adventure or less progress—I suppose I must not say less excitement—

from the gambling spirit of trade, which seems requisite to force out these wonderful inventions, there is less suffering also. I see men here going about in the streets who look ground down by some pinching sorrow or care—who are not only sufferers but haters. Now, in the South we have our poor, but there is not that terrible expression in their countenances of a sullen sense of injustice which I see here (95).

Mr. Thornton responds, “and may I say you are unfamiliar with the North?” (95). This causes the reader to assume that neither northerners nor southerners actually know one another and that the cultural split is a result of different advancements, mentality, and physical location.

The theme of empire is also evident in Victorian literature, whether in novels, essays, short stories, or novellas. As stated previously, the empire was ingrained in British society, and it was the focus of numerous stories that encouraged support for the Empire and helped strengthen a sense of national identity. Gayatri Spivak agrees with this view and argues, in the preface of an edition of Charlotte Brontë’s Jane Eyre, that “imperialism, understood as England’s social mission, was a crucial part of the cultural representation of England to the English” (qtd. In Greenblatt and Robson 685). Although many accounts of the empire were made available via fiction, many stories were told via non-fiction writing like the essay. This section of this literary study will focus on Alfred, Lord Tennyson’s poem “Opening of the Indian and Colonial Exhibition by the Queen” (1886), William Howard Russell’s “My Diary in India” (1860), Froude’s “The English in the West Indies” (1888) and T. N. Mukharji’s “A Visit to Europe” (1889).

Let us start by analysing Tennyson's poem about the 1886 Indian and Colonial Exhibition. The purpose of the Kew Gardens exhibition was to strengthen the bond between the coloniser and the colonised. The show comprises rooms from all parties of Fig. 5. Robert Taylor Pritchett. Colonial and Indian Exhibition: foreign visitors offering

gifts to the Queen, 1886.

the empire, but India occupied almost one-third of the space. In addition, “this Exhibition also provided the opportunity to sell and propagate the image of a vast and bountiful Empire, ‘Greater Britain’ (...)” (Albuquerque 2). The poet begins by evoking “one voice”

for all Britons (l. 1). Already it is common knowledge that all British territories are ruled by the same monarch and are, thus, one despite their geographical separation - “Gifts from every British zone;” (l. 9). The poem’s third stanza remembers the conflicts fought by the American colonies against them that resulted in the country’s independence. The poet contrasts “the young eagle of the West” (line 28) who chooses to leave the nest and fly alone with others who remain under their mother's rule to boast about an unbreakable bond. In the same space, the poem concludes with an ode to togetherness and an acknowledgement of difference.

Britain’s myriad voices call,

‘Sons, be welded each and all Into one imperial whole,

One with Britain, heart and soul!

One life, one flag, one fleet, one throne!’

Britons, hold your own! (ll. 31-40).

Tennyson’s call for harmony and the cohabitation of several civilizations in the same area was heartfelt, yet acts of discrimination were nevertheless common. Malafaia argues that

“Empire building and modernity were, in fact, founded on notions of east and west as two opposed entities” (“Ways of Reading Victoria’s Empire” 61). Furthermore, colonial narratives show that the British did not see the colonised as equals, but as “the other” who needed to be saved. This is demonstrated by Mukharji’s description of his visit to the exhibition. He describes how the British speculated on the number of women an Indian man had: “sometimes astute guesses were made on this subject, with 250 being a popular number” (702). This fascinating report subverts the concept of the other by placing the

traditional western “other” in the foreground of the story describing the new “other”. The author describes how nicely he was treated in London – “Their conduct towards us was always polite and respectful” (704) – and how interested the British were in their culture – “A dense crowd always stood there (...). They were as much astonished to see the Indians produce works of art” (702). However, despite the British people’s warm reception, the author remembers small moments of discomfort that suggested they never quite belonged. This occurs, for example, in linguistic matters: “Would they discuss us so freely if they knew that we understood their language? It was very amusing to hear what they said about us. (...) I wish I had the ability to do justice to the discussing power of these ladies and gentlemen exercised in their kind notice of us (...)” (703-4).

Russell’s story of his time in India gives insight on the difficulty of colonised people belonging to the same nation as the colonisers, as the colonised had to desire the same thing. His descriptions of the “Indian Mutiny” (1857-1859) in Cawnpore illustrate the challenge of governing a population that does not wish to be governed by others. In Russell’s account, the “Mutiny” spared no British subjects; “men, women, and children have been savagely slaughtered by their foes” (689). The British were shocked and outraged by the uprising because they sincerely believed that they and their nation were executing a great act of duty (Greenblatt and Robson 684). Stopping certain rituals, such as widow-burning, and constructing beautiful locations such as Cawnpore were, for the British, acts of “charity” and development for the people. Russell contemplates the state of affairs and the use of force in India, since he observes that it is the only feasible method of rule at the moment. He contemplates the efforts made to ameliorate the situation of the locals and questions the notion that England's rule of India is only economically advantageous - “The action of the Government in matters of improvement is only excited by considerations of revenue” (691). This is accurate in the sense that the East India

Company, which was formerly responsible for the governance of India, was now closely affiliated with the Government in an effort to quell the insurrection in India. The deployment of the EIC from a position of authority indicated that India was part of a larger nation and not merely an economic interest. Although the former EIC executives held new posts under the Queen’s administration, it is unclear how the promised change would have been carried out differently.

Other sections of the Empire, particularly the West Indies, witnessed the forced improvement that the British led as their social mission. James Froude’s “The English in the West Indies” (1888) explains the submissiveness of the colonised and the moral superiority of the white: “(...) seeing always (...) the boundless happiness of the black race. Under the rule of England in these islands the two million of these poor brothers-in-law of ours are the most perfectly content (...)” (697). When Froude refers to the natives as “brothers-in-law,” it alludes to the lines from Tennyson above and shows a closeness and familiarity between the English and the locals. Certainly, English thought may consider this to be true, but depictions of the era demonstrate how unequal this connection was. In these lands, the English likewise considered themselves as godsent; “were they independent, they might quarrel among themselves (...)” (697). Froude describes how Trinidadian locals view clothing as “superfluous for decency” (697) and how, in their state of contentment, they have no idea of shame. The author informs readers about the tranquillity of life in the West Indies, where the inhabitants are appreciative and pleased.

It is noteworthy to notice, however, that the native never speaks in the first person, so the reader must rely on the voice of the white character. This poses concerns of authority and freedom, as the author asserts that the locals are free, but only in the capacity of the subjugated. They are free and enlightened only so long as “the authority of the English Crown” is maintained (698). Even still, despite their differences, the English and the