The Near Assassination of Jesse James by the Fantastic Electric Stage

The infamous outlaw Jesse James was killed on April 3, 1882, and he has since become a piece of American folklore. Jesse James’ name and characteristics were used in western novels during his life as his infamy grew. Shortly after his feath, he was the subject of dime store novels (which often portrayed him as a rebel against industry and Reconstruction). His death was reenacted onstage, oddly enough starring his actual assassin, Robert Ford. In the early 20th century, he became a Robin Hood-like hero to the Populist movement and Progressives. He has been the subject of many films throughout the 20th and 21st centuries. The 2007 film The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford, which was lauded for its historical accuracy, portrays Jesse James as a self-aware showman.
 
After visting James’ hometown in Missouri, Oscar Wilde observed that “Americans are certainly great hero-worshippers, and always take their heroes from the criminal class.” During the 1880s and 1890s, dime store western novels often romanticized Jesse James as a folk hero, a charming and charismatic rebel standing up to the big banks.
 
Jesse James' Long Chance (Book Cover)
(Cover of a 1901 dime novel)
 
Jack Wright and His Electric Stage is sympathetic to its “notorious bandit king” anti-hero. James is portrayed as dangerous, but charismatic, daring, clever and restless. The anonymous author does not offer any moral justification for James’ robberies. Rather, the plot is almost purely action (there are no real paragraphs, only single-line sentences interspersed with dialogue) and the thematic emphasis falls on Jesse James’ daring and adventurous nature. After escaping from Sheriff Timberlake, Jesse immediately suggests another robbery. He observes that “we all lost every dollar we had, playing faro in the city. How are we going to ride back to Missouri without a cent? It’s my opinion that we’ll have to do some work about Wrightstown to get ahead.” His works consists of forging a check, withdrawing $5000 from a wealthy inventor’s bank account, and disarming, bounding and gagging Sheriff Timberlake. The novel does not depict any of the brutal murders that contributed to James’ infamy. He is amoral and motivated by self-interest and adventure, but he isn’t exactly evil–he’s a sympathetic and charismatic ruffian, an outlaw, yes, but a daring and intriguing one. 
  
As the title suggests, this novel also addresses modern technology. Jesse James and his gang just happen to leap off of their train in the hometown of “an inventor of electric machines for flying through the air, navigating under water, and running over the land,” the titular Jack Wright. They promptly swindle the genius, using low-tech means; Jesse asks him humbly for $10 so he can pay his train fare, and Jack Wright makes out a check without hesitation. Jesse then takes the check to his hostel, makes out a blank check for $5000 in the inventor’s handwriting, and then, because he cannot forge Wright’s peculiar signature, he places the $5000 unsigned check under the original for $10 and tore them both in half to separate the dollar amount and the signature. He matched the signature to the $5000 check, and went to the bank, explaining that he had accidentally torn the check. Because the halves matched, the teller believed his story and handed him $5000. Jesse James, an uneducated man who still travels by horseback, outwits a genius.
 
I wrote earlier of the anxieties surrounding the new technology at the end of the 19th century. Even the bicycle was controversial in the 1890s, so Jack Wright’s “electric overland engine” was, at the time, fantastic and somewhat frightening. In fact, the vehicle is called the Terror; it runs on electricity, “can run at the rate of fifty miles an hour over rough ground,” and is bulletproof. Jesse James pushes against the advancements. Sheriff Timberlake credits James’ success to his wits and his horse “named Siroc which is unequaled in speed and intelligence by any horse in the world that I know of, and he can easily outfoot the fleetest animal that ever chased him.” In contrast, Jack Wright’s power lies entirely in his ability to harness and control electricity. He brings the sheriff to his workshop, and dazzles the lawman with “scores of incandescent electric lamps,” which “illuminat[ed] the room as if by day.” In 1893, electricity was a modern marvel and the focus of hopes for American greatness. A few years after Jack Wright and His Electric Stage was published, Buffalo, NY hosted the Pan-American Exposition, which boasted the Electric Tower as the greatest attraction and remarkable technological achievement of the time.
 
The novel is apprehensive and ambivalent over scientific knowledge and power, however. The story downplays new technology’s inaccessibility to the masses and its association with the educated elite. Even though Jack Wright’s invention is more advanced than any existing vehicle, he emphasizes its simplicity:

“It don’t require a skilled electrician to see how the Terror operates.” said Jack, as he showed the sheriff the interior, “for I have based her construction upon the simplest known principles.”

Jack Wright’s sudden departure from proper grammar at the beginning of this sentence signals a change in the novel’s sympathies. Jack Wright may be a genius, but he operates under the principle of simplicity and approachability, synonymous with democratic ideals.  He claims that he invented the stage “just for fun” because he has “plenty of money and leisure,” but now he can put it to a purpose–revenge on Jesse James, not to recover his money (he has plenty, after all) but to defend his pride and avenge a crime. Jack Wright has principles, unlike Jesse James. However, he only becomes the hero of the novel when he also steps outside the law; he insists on vigilante justice when Sheriff Timberlake tries to persuade him to “league [himself] with the State government against the outlaws.” Jack, too, is an adventurer; he tells Sheriff Timberlake,  “I rather like the wild, exciting adventures in view if I run after those outlaws” (ibid). This appeal to adventure and excitement cause Sheriff Timberlake to abandon the regulated channels of the State and join in the chase of Jesse James and his gang. Jack proves to be more in-line with the rugged masculine ideal of the time than a typical scientist; in fact, after the initial explanation of the engine, Jack’s scientific knowledge is not mentioned and has nothing to do with his success against the James Boys. Instead, he relies on his “iron grip” and steely will, and the Terror is only a fantastic tool and convenient plot device. The heroes have to become more like the charismatic outlaw to appeal to the reader’s sympathies, which still partially lie with Jesse James. The novel continues to aggrandize him, even as it describes him as evil and detestable, and emphasizes the virtues of Jack Wright. 

The Terror ultimately defeats Jesse James. The James Boys push an enormous bolder onto the Terror’s roof, crushing its body, though somehow leaving the engine undamaged. The chase continues, with Jack eventually intercepting Jesse, desperately driving his horse to his limit. Jack shoots Jesse James in the head, and though it’s “only a scalp wound,” the blow is enough to allow for his arrest. The horse, Siroc, escapes, to Jack’s chagrin, and after Jack leaves town, Jesse and Frank escape as well; the victory was short-lived. The wild power of the horse and Jesse James are beyond the reach of technology, requiring Jack to get started on a new “mavelous invention.”    

Works Cited

Noname. Jack Wright and His Electric Stage, or Leagued Against the James Boys. New York: The Boys Star Library, 1893.

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19th and 21st Centuries Collide!

I joined Pinterest recently (I know, I know, I’m behind the times. But hey, I write an antiquarian blog so that’s my excuse) and I just realized that many of the “some e-cards” use a Gibson girl as a picture.

One of Charles Gibson’s sketches

Funny Confession Ecard: You incomplete me.

 

Funny Flirting Ecard: You make me not want to kill myself.

It’s really funny to me how the images have resurfaced in the deliberately rude and harsh, “you can’t say that out-loud” humor of some e-cards. The Gibson Girl challenged earlier 19th century notions of femininity and propriety, and now the same images are put to use to lampoon the schmaltzy sentimentalism of Hallmark greetings. The Gibson Girl was a bit shocking for her day, but of course these captions would never have been published in the 19th and early 20th century fashion magazines that prominently featured Gibson Girls. An old fashion sensation, repurposed for 21st century humor.

Beauty and the Beastly

I’ve mentioned Thorstein Veblen’s book The Theory of the Leisure Class in a few previous posts; this book was very popular at the time and many applauded Veblen for his wit, though modern readers would likely find his style dense, dull, and extremely grating (or maybe that was just me…). Anyway, I’m returning to The Theory of The Leisure Class after seeing a few brief references to the major dog shows in the last several weeks. Crufts, the world’s largest dog show, took place earlier this month and the Westminster Dog Show was held last month. These exhibitions cater more toward a niche market now, and are the subject of quirky comedies like the 2000 film Best in Show, but in the late 19th century, dog shows were enormously popular. Veblen noted this in his book and related the popularity of and fascination with purebred animals to displays of conspicuous consumption. One had to be very wealthy to own the obviously genetically manipulated breeds that could serve no practical purpose in the home. (An interesting side note that perhaps undermines or at least complicates Veblen’s argument, dogs from the toy group very rarely win Best in Show. The most successful group has been the terrier, followed by the sporting group.)

One of Veblen’s more intriguing sections concerns the treatment and perception of animals among the leisure class, especially his characterization of the “standards of beauty” for dogs as degrees of grotesqueness and deformity. This association of beauty with physical deformity recalls Veblen’s earlier discussion of feminine standards of beauty. For dogs, their economic value “rests on their high cost of production, and their value to their owners lies chiefly in their utility as items of conspicuous consumption,” strikingly similar to his descriptions of the house wife (Veblen 142). Veblen never directly addresses sexuality, his discussions of gender differences and the pervasive language of breeding necessitate considering sexual exchange, especially in this intersection between feminine and canine beauty. Veblen views the attractiveness of deformity and monstrosity in female and canine forms only as evidence of conspicuous leisure, but the issue presents itself as much more complicated than that in The Theory of the Leisure Class.

Because of his Darwinian perspective, Veblen views humans as animals, but he also views the “progress” of society as a reversion to a subhuman state. His narrative indicates a desire to uncover the animal in the human, especially with regard to sexuality. The term “breeding” suggests controlled sexuality; dog breeds were developed by restricting and manipulating animal sexuality, only allowing certain dogs to mate. The language of dog breeding is also tied to that of eugenics (Veblen’s use of the cranial index to differentiate between human ethnicities is also used to differentiate types of dog breeds), but Veblen observes that the fittest for survival were not the most venerated with respect to women and dogs. Rather, an aesthetic of weakness (e.g., the extremely small size of toy breeds, dogs with thin and silky coats that would provide poor protection against harsh weather conditions) and unnatural proportions (extremely short snouts with large eyes) signaled beauty in lap dogs.

For feminine beauty, Veblen suggests that the deformation of corseting and other cosmetic alterations place woman somewhere between human and animal. Veblen claims that this visual indication of costliness and conspicuous leisure becomes conflated with attractiveness; thus, male sexuality is also controlled by leisure class standards, to such an extent that men genuinely find the corseted form attractive, because their sexuality is entirely enclosed in pecuniary standards. Costliness comes to stand for sexual attractiveness, and there is a continual displacement of sexuality; this is crucial in Veblen, and I think this is why he never directly addresses sexuality, despite the obvious ties between sex and commerce in prostitution, sexualized performances (e.g., burlesques). Male sexuality is also contained by standards of aggressive masculinity, sublimated in sporting activities. Sports are also closely tied to animals, in the “wildness” of aggression and competition, and the use of animal mascots to symbolize the team. But, men are rarely described as “creatures” the way 19th century romance writing often characterizes female characters. The animal serves as a symbol of male aggression and virility in the sublimated sexuality of contact sports, but it takes on a different power dynamic than the association between feminine sexuality and animality that Veblen posits. One is a wild animal completely under his own power; the other is a weak, domesticated animal dependent on another for survival.

Although Veblen reads the corset as strictly evidence of a lady’s incapacity for physical labor, it also effaces female fertility by compressing the abdomen, indicating the woman’s incapacity for the physical labor of childbirth. This is controlled sexuality to the extreme. Veblen does not address the sexual freedom associated with the New Woman, but the looser clothing associated with “bloomers” and women bicyclists were inextricable from notions of looser morals, a freer sexuality. As mentioned in an earlier post on the New Woman and the Gibson Girl, the corset was not obsolete in the 1890s; the skirts of women’s garments became less voluminous, but the ideal of an extremely slender waist held for much of the decade.

For Veblen, the New Woman is situated between human and animal: “It is a type of human nature which… belongs to a cultural stage that may be classed as possibly sub-human” (Veblen 361). This subhuman cultural stage he describes earlier in the book is also prior to the institution of marriage (derived from the violent practice of wife capture), without regulated sexual competition, and, perhaps, without regulated, constrained female sexuality. So, the fear persists that the New Woman embodies a more masculine type of animality; she is not a creature of beauty, but a wild animal that resists control.

Weddings and Spectacle

In the early and mid 19th century, wedding guests used to shower the newlywed couple with rice and shoes as they departed on their honeymoon, or as it was often called at the time, wedding journey. That’s right, shoes.

This practice fell out of popularity in the late 19th century, partially due to restrictions from railways. An article in the September 1897 issue of The Ladies’ Home Journal praised a New York City railroad company for banning the throwing of rice and shoes at its terminal. One would assume the reason for the ban was the mess of rice littered all over the platform, but the author focused on the disturbing undercurrent of overwrought emotions and threat of violence as a reason to restrict the practice. The author laments the devolution of what was once a sweet, sentimental and elegant practice:

We have not been able to keep these graceful customs within their bounds. The little papers of rice have become large handfuls… hurled with force into the faces of the bride and groom… The sentiment of the customs has been lost. (“Rice and Shoes at Weddings,” 14)

The author continues on about the dangers of this excessive fervor, recalling one incident in which a bride suffered permanent damage to her eyes as the result of overly rambunctious rice-throwing. This article is just one of many from the time expressing disapproval of the presence of spectacle in weddings, which threatens to lure out malicious, invidious emotions among the guests. The wedding ceremony is supposed to be a celebration of unity and community, but the “Rice and Shoes at Weddings” article suggests that the modern guest has introduced discord and violence, resulting in a rupture with tradition.

Similar arguments were used in the early 19th century against public executions; many feared that overwrought emotions would override the rational thinking individual and transform the gathered spectators into a passionately violent mob. The presence of strangers in the gatherings that formed around railroad platforms, spectators hoping to get a glimpse of the bride in her travelling costume, also added to the anxiety. In William Dean Howells’ first novel Their Wedding Journey, the newlywed couple discusses their embarrassment at being recognized as “bridal,” and they create a sort of game in which they try to act like a long-married couple on an anniversary trip, rather than their wedding journey. Howells deliberately avoids any discussion of the wedding in order to focus on the marriage; the novel ends with the couple’s happiness to return home and settle into the normalcy of marriage, free of the excessive sentiment and spectacle of the wedding.

In the early 19th century, the wedding was a fairly low-key, community-based event, but around the 1870s, more elements of the wedding were on public display; the bride’s trousseau was often available for semi-public viewing, the rising standard of formality required a special white wedding dress, and rings were a newly incorporated tradition. All of these symbolical elements were also objects of public attention and fascination. These elements also introduced the market, and the accompanying skepticism of capitalism as irrational, into the wedding. Pecuniary display is part of the aesthetic of the wedding, and cause for moral discomfort. Other articles attempt to conceal the monetary aspect of weddings by overcompensating with the sentimental components; the anxiety of “Rice and Shoes at Weddings,” then, is that, if sentiment is
lost, the commercial aspect will dominate the wedding and threaten marriage and the family-based society. The conspicuous, glamorous bride threatens to supplant the wife, and the ephemeral, picturesque ideal of the wedding displaces the stability of marriage.

In another article, published in 1895 in The Ladies’ Home Journal, Reverend Charles H. Parkhurst insists that “the meaning and sanctity of marriage is badly enfeebled by being brought into the market and made a matter of trade and dicker” (Parkhurst 15). Thorstein Veblen describes marriage as a financial transaction in The Theory of the Leisure Class. For Veblen, the wife herself is a symbol of conspicuous consumption; women are, traditionally, charged with displaying the economic prosperity of their husbands by refraining from labor. The bride is even more impractical and a sign of conspicuous consumption, in her white dress, her jewels, her flowers.

The public and domestic spheres blur in the commodification and spectacle of weddings, which recall other points of contact more overtly threatening such as women’s entry into the public sphere as voters. Blaming the wedding ceremony for the failures of marriage is a way to avoid the very real Marriage Question of the 1890s, which, as Sarah Grand explains in “The New Aspect of the Woman Question,” was inextricably bound to the Woman Question. Women’s possible rejection of wifehood and motherhood as oppressive and unsatisfying threatens the core of the social structure; resultantly, the wedding ceremony grows increasingly sentimentalized, elaborate, and extravagant to reinforce the centrality of marriage and the family. These changes in the wedding ceremony, however, make marriage’s contamination by the market even more overt, thus provoking further anxiety over the survival of marriage and the effectiveness of weddings as community events.

Similar anxieties over excess in weddings (both material and emotional) persist today, especially the undertones of materialism and spectacle. The wedding industry has exploded and the average cost of a wedding has grown exponentially (and so have divorce rates). TV shows like Bridezillas, Four Weddings, and Who’s Wedding is it Anyway? inundate the wedding with drama, material expectation, performance and competition. I think that the concerns and criticisms surrounding weddings in the late 19th century and those surrounding weddings today reflect a general anxiety about the state of marriage at both points in history. In the late 19th century, it was the Woman Question and fears over an emasculated, effete western culture. Now, the high rate of divorce, the fact that fewer Americans are choosing to marry, and the push for gay marriage rights have raised anxieties over the relevance of marriage as an institution and departure from established traditions. As a result, the wedding ceremony is again saturated with spectacle to allay those fears and instead fixate on creating an image of perfection.

Works Cited:

Parkhurst, Rev. Charles H. “Marriage and its Safeguards.” The Ladies’ Home Journal 12.8 (July 1895).

“Rice and Shoes at Weddings.” The Ladies’ Home Journal 14.10 (September 1897).

Biker Chicks

Bicycles are a 19th century invention, and “bicycle crazes” surfaced periodically, beginning in 1819, then again in1868 (in England and France), but the bicycle craze hit the United States in the last two decades of the century. Bicycles were everywhere in late 19th century American cities; cycling clubs were formed in major cities and small towns alike. An 1895 article in the New York Tribue even made the hyperbolic declaration that the bicycle was “of more importance to mankind than all the victories and defeats of Napoleon, with the First and Second Punic Wars” (quoted in Spreng 269). Bicycling was a regular topic in newspapers, even in relatively sparsely-populated areas like Minnesota and North Dakota. However, there was a lot of controversy about bicycles in the 1880s and 1890s; many of the articles were letters to the editor, complaining about bicyclists riding on sidewalks or riding too fast, but the most scandalous of all bicycle-related news was women cyclists.

Biker chick

Part of the controversy was the bicycling costume, pictured above, especially women wearing bloomers. Several letters in daily newspapers from the Fergus Falls Daily Journal, for instance, express horror at the immodesty of female bicyclists. Bloomers first appeared in the 1850s, but had always had a bad reputation due to their drastic departure from the socially accepted and extremely cumbersome women’s fashions of the time. The short, baggy trousers revealed women’s legs, which was very taboo and was considered by many to be outright risque and indecent. The cycling costume also blurred gender lines, allowing women to wear traditionally masculine clothing. Bloomers and bicycles were very closely related to the New Woman and her defiance of traditional gender roles, to the point that cycling and cycling costume were symbols of late 19th century feminism. For instance, the Grand Forks Herald described “bloomers,” a nickname for female bicyclists, as “women who stood on their rights” (quoted in Spreng 272). And when Cambridge University first granted full admission to women in 1897, male undergraduates protested by hanging an effigy of a woman on a bicycle.

Cycling was also a sort of literary hallmark for a New Woman character. In Grant Allen’s novel The Type-Writer Girl, the main character Juliet is a prototypical New Woman figure; she is educated, employed, she rides a bicycle and has a keen sense of adventure. She opens the narrative musing on the theory that the Odyssey was written by a woman, and she declares, “I will go forth into the world in search of adventures” (Allen 11, 12). For Juliet, exploration, mobility, and employment are essential components of freedom, although, predictably, she longs for romance as well. She observes that “the nineteenth century has a chivalry all its own, which I scruple to depreciate. If it speaks of us as females, it has given us the bicycle, and it almost admits that we are as fit for the franchise as the forty-shilling lodger… That I call magnanimity” (Allen 16). The 19th century has given women the somewhat cold and clinical label “female,” thus erasing the romantic “lady,” but in return it has given these females greater freedom, epitomized by the bicycle. Juliet later describes her love of bicycling:

How light and free I felt! When man first set woman on two wheels with a set of pedals, did he know, I wonder, that he had rent the veil of the harem in twain? … A woman on a bicycle has all the world before her where to choose; she can go where she will, no man hindering (Allen 43-44).

Grant Allen’s protagonist is not alone in this association between bicycling and women’s freedom. Susan B. Anthony praised the bicylce as a vehicle of feminism: “Let me tell you what I think of bicycling. I think it has done more to emancipate women than anything else in the world. It gives women a feeling of freedom and self-reliance. I stand and rejoice every time I see a woman ride by on a wheel…the picture of free, untrammeled womanhood.” The bicycle itself and the less-restrictive clothing worn to operate it were symbols of women casting off patriarchal constraints; freed from the heavy skirts and layers of structured underclothing, “bloomers” could go where they pleased. As The Type-Writer Girl demonstrates, the bicycle was closely related to women’s freedom through independent employment; these New Women often used their bicycles for recreation and transportation to and from their places of employment. The bicycle is a liminal vehicle, allowing a woman to traverse the landscape between the domestic and public spheres, using her own will and physical power.

Works Cited

Allen, Grant. The Type-Writer Girl. Broadview Press, 1897.

Spreng, Ron. “The 1890s Bicycling Craze in the Red River Valley.” Minnesota History, summer 1995.

Image source: http://www.vintag.es/2013/02/a-woman-on-bike-circa-1890s.html

The Gibson Girl

Fashion was a preoccupation of American women throughout the 19th century, especially after the availability of mass-produced textiles; newspaper ads and popular publications include fashion segments detailing the latest trends from Europe. The Gibson Girl, named after artist Charles Dana Gibson’s  fashion illustrations, was the first nationwide standard of beauty and an unprecedented sensation. The Gibson Girl embodied a set of ideals and a “new” feminine standard of beauty.

I place “new” in quotations because, physically, the Gibson girl is not drastically different from earlier fashions, with her hourglass figure, tall and slender form, and elaborately coiffed hair. Corsetting was still standard in the 1890s and a more cinched silhouette was preferred, especially in comparison to the early 19th century. The exaggerated figure of the Gibson girl required a swan-bill corset, which forced the bust forward and the hips backward. The Gibson girl’s large bust and hips indicate a vast change in ideal feminine figures over the course of the 19th century. Compare these two dresses, one from 1900 and the other from 1820:

Dinner dress

Ball gown

The columnar silhouette and empire waistlines were popular until around the late 1820s, when the waistlines began to drop and cinch inward. In the 1860s, bell and hoop skirts were in fashion, creating a more exaggerated difference between the constrained, corsetted waist and the wide skirt. These cumbersome skirts fell out of favor in the 1870s and were replaced by bustles, maintaining a great difference between waist and hip ratio. By the late 1880s, the bustle moved completely to the back of the dress, so that it projected at nearly a 90-degree angle. The emphasis on the hips and breasts in the late 19th century, with lower necklines and the swan-bill corset-induced “S-curve,” suggests a more sexualized feminine ideal than the passionless purity of Victorian era femininity.

What was “new” about the Gibson girl was the set of ideals that she epitomized. The Gibson girl’s behavior is a departure from Victorian standards of femininity that focused on a woman’s submissiveness, timidity, purity, and suitability to the role of wife and mother. In contrast, the Gibson girl is educated and independent, and more daringly assertive, and even flirtacious, in her interactions with men. She is the glamorized and romanticized icon of the literary figure of the New Woman, depicted in novels like Henry James’ Daisy Miller and Grant Allen’s The Type-Writer Girl. The New Woman was unwilling to sacrifice herself and her pleasures, unlike her Victorian predecessor. The New Woman often had a job outside the home and was physically active (in some cases, engaging in the controversial pastime of bicycling–I will write a more detailed post on bicycles later on, but conservative society considered it an improper and dangerous sport for young women, and criticized bicycles as a public nuissance). She was quite different from the delicate woman prone to fainting and nervous fits so common in novels from earlier decades. However, the New Woman and the Gibson Girl are not interchangeable, despite their similarities. The New Woman was typically more politically active and more rebellious, while the Gibson Girl was more frivolous and less of a threat to the institution of marriage. Her boldness is attractive, but ultimately not as threatening as that of the New Woman.  The Gibson girl is also part of the apotheosis of youth, which the New Woman does not always represent (the terms “girl” and “woman” imply this subtle difference). They offer different commentaries on an emerging concept of American womanhood, one that pushed against the cult of domesticity.

The Gibson Girl is a representative of high society, so some discussion of social class is essential in interpreting her role in the public imagination. In The Theory of the Leisure Class, Thorstein Veblen explains the changing gender roles in great detail, and in reference to economic status. Veblen posits that women’s exemption from labor is a form of conspicuous consumption; woman’s “work” is to display the economic prosperity of men, most often through their bodies. Earlier cultures, like the ancient Greeks, preferred “a robust, large-limbed woman” capable of physical labor because, while prosperous women were exempt from certain forms of labor, they still needed to perform the tasks of household drudgery (Veblen chapter 6). Slightly more advanced (but still pre-modern) societies idealized an “infirmly delicate, translucent, and hazardously slender” female form, which is achieved through devices like corsets and foot-binding (ibid.). Veblen summarizes that “In the course of economic development the ideal of beauty among the peoples of the Western culture has shifted from the woman of physical presence to the lady, and it is beginning to shift back again to the woman” (ibid). This is because “under the higher efficiency of modern industry, leisure in women is possible so far down the scale of reputability that it will no longer serve as a definitive mark of the highest pecuniary grade” (ibid). Later on, Veblen specifically addresses the New Woman, and like many male writers of the time, he is very critical:

In this “New-Woman” movement—as these blind and incoherent efforts to rehabilitate the woman’s pre-glacial standing have been named—there are at least two elements discernible, both of which are of an economic character. These two elements or motives are expressed by the double watchword, “Emancipation” and “Work.” (Veblen chapter 13)

He elaborates, “there is a demand, more or less serious, for emancipation from all relation of status, tutelage, or vicarious life” from upper-class women; they seek emancipation from uselessness, emancipation through work (ibid). Veblen claims that modern upper-class women’s purely vicarious lives are repulsive to the natural instincts toward work, and the New Woman is a reversion to a primitive form of human; she “belongs to a cultural stage that may be classed as possibly sub-human” (ibid). Veblen suggests that women’s return to work is evidence of social regression, even as it is a sign of economic progress. He also implies that women’s generally more “masculine” character in the present age is due to the effeteness of men, that is, the New Woman emerged in order to compensate for the effeminate character of the dandy. This was a common criticism against the New Woman; she was “an avant garde attacking marriage and reproduction,” associating with decadent dandies rather than austere and rugged men, and often rejecting the idea of marriage in favor of her own career and education (Showalter, “Introduction,” ix). New Woman fiction addressed women’s marital discontent and feelings of oppression in patriarchal society. The Gibson girl softens this threat to the institution of marriage in her constant reference to men as a romantic interest and her conformity to most standards of decency. Although she wears low-cut necklines and exhibits flirtacious behavior, she is not shocking or scandalous. Even though she challenges men intellectually, she is always in a socially acceptable situation– she certainly not experimenting with drugs like the narrator of Kate Chopin’s “The Egyptian Cigarette,” she is not overtly involved in the suffragette movement or rejecting marriage outright.  However, the popularity of the Gibson girl and her challenges to patriarchal constraints on women’s behavior in society are important indicators of the changing concepts of femininity and gender roles in the United States through the 19th century.

Works cited:

Glasscock, Jessica. “Nineteenth-Century Silhouette and Support.” Heilbrunn Timeline of Art History. New York: The Metropolitan Museum of
Art, 2000

Showalter, Elaine (ed). Daughters of Decadence: Women Writers of the Fin-De-Siecle. Rutgers, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 1993.

Veblen, Thorstein. The Theory of the Leisure Class. Accessed through Project Gutenberg.

Image sources:

1900 dinner dress: http://www.metmuseum.org/Collections/search-the-collections/80096050

1820 ball gown: http://www.metmuseum.org/Collections/search-the-collections/80096826

Manly Men

I mentioned in my last post that the rise of boxing indicated changes in concepts of masculinity, and I’d like to go more in-depth about those late 19th century shifts in ideals. After the Civil War, the American ideal of masculinity became less intellectual, less focused on manners and grace, and more on raw physical power. Theodore Roosevelt and the Rough Riders, John L. Sullivan, cowboys, and other “tough guys” were icons of masculinity at the turn of the century. These men were connected with nature, a sense of belonging in the wilderness and ability to dominate the landscape. Roosevelt played a large role in the contemporary focus on health and physical activity. As I mentioned in the previous post, a robust and brawny body became an important part of the masculine ideal in the late 19th century. Roosevelt was a sickly child, but his father encouraged him to participate in vigorous exercise and sports, even boxing, which TR credited for his recovery and robust physical constitution in adulthood. Roosevelt studied natural history in his youth, which also contributed to his image as an independent outdoorsman and his devotion to conservation of the wilderness.

 

Ironically, this nature-based notion of masculinity came at a time when the wilderness was disappearing and urban areas began expanding. In 1880, New York City became the first city to have a population of over 1 million people, indicating the massive population shift that concentrated more Americans in urban centers. The 1890 census declared that the frontier region no longer existed; all territories in the United States were settled. This caused an identity crisis at the turn of the century, exemplified in Frederick Jackson Turner’s frontier thesis. The figure of the lone pioneer, setting out in the wilderness with only himself to depend on, pushed back against the fact of urban expansion and the “official” loss of the frontier. The late-century masculine ideal supposedly harkened back to an earlier, more authentic and self-possessed type of American man, but the standards of masculinity in the early American period were very different and certainly did not exhibit the hyper-masculinity and anti-intellectualism that characterized late-19th century notions of manhood.

In the early 19th century, the masculine ideal was much more domestic compared to the brawny, often lone, outdoorsman of the late 19th century. Washington Irving was an early defender of the masculinity of bachelors and writers, because they did not conform to the masculine ideal. In the early American period, masculinity was determined more by possessions and mastery of skill. By age 30, a man was expected to have a wife, children, property, secure employment within his social class, and all of the social graces that were necessary for the heavily verbal parlor society. Less emphasis was placed on the body; the ideal man would be physically capable, lean and balanced, but above all, graceful. This is evident in portraits from the period.

Portrait of the Artist

Compare Thomas Sully’s self-portrait from 1821 with the photograph of Teddy Roosevelt above. The Sully portrait highlights more delicate features, a soft and rosy complexion, graceful hands, a thoughtful look. TR riding a moose is, well, self-explanatory.  

The early American standards of masculinity were also less exaggerated, partly because the late 19th century challenges to traditional gender roles were less of a concern several decades earlier. While late 19th century men feared that women were becomign too masculine and abandoning their feminine duties, early American educators sought to reduce the “natural,” feminine lack of reason and excess passion. Republican motherhood was an ideal meant to make women more rational and more fit to raise informed and intelligent citizens. That’s not to say that 18th and early 19th century gender roles were egalitarian; women were still assumed to need strict external control and molding from men, and were considered incapable of complete rationality or full citizenship. Women were still largely contained to the domestic sphere, of course, but the spheres were not so separate in the early American period. As mentioned in the post on theater, early American culture valued rhetoric, and women were expected to be able to speak in semi-public arenas like school assemblies and social gatherings in private homes. Men in the 18th and early19th century were much more involved in the day-to-day activities of domestic life, and the work and home spheres mingled, especially before the establishment of a rigid work day. Bankers, shop-keepers and other urban professionals often spent periods of their work-day at home. Technological developments and changes in the workforce during the Industrial Revolution contributed to the separate spheres ideology that emphasized vast differences between the sexes and ideals of masculine and feminine behavior. Further technolgical changes in the late 19th century, like the invention of telephones, typewriters, and other mechanical devices, created jobs outside the home for unmarried women and more sedentary labor for men. Along with the loss of the frontier, these technological advances caused many to fear that American culture was becoming effete, that women were becoming too manly and men were becoming too weak and effeminate, and so the new masculine ideal emerged to reassure that the sexes were indeed extremely different and that men were in control of their destiny and environment. Domination-based sports like boxing and football exemplify this masculine ideal, which (at least partially) explains their massive popularity in the late 19th century.

Image sources

Thomas Sully Portrait: http://www.metmuseum.org/collections/search-the-collections/20013073

TR riding a moose: http://museummonger.files.wordpress.com/2011/02/tr-riding-moose-1900.jpg