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‘This is the true nature of home - it is the place of Peace; the shelter, not only from all injury,
but from all terror, doubt and division’ (John Ruskin). To what extent does Victorian literature
challenge this construction of the domestic sphere?
The yearning for the loving, idyllic, stable family was a unique construction throughout the
nineteenth century. As men went out to provide, the “perfect” wife was acting the “perfect”
mother, keeping the domestic household in order, at peace. As stated in the essay’s title, John
Ruskin notes that the home is the shelter that rids of fear and terror, but for how long were
these conformities to prevail within the domestic (feminine) sphere? As Victorian literature
suggests, these constructions were somewhat set to breakdown, making way for the rise of
the New Woman. Mary Elizabeth Braddon’s Lady Audley’s Secret (1862) and Henry Rider
Haggard’s She (1887), are two particular novels that to some extent challenge the ideological
Victorian home, and the role of the Victorian woman. There are many instances where
femininity can be questioned, but through the two novels stated, this essay will also aim to
propose whether or not women will ever wholly exist outside of the domestic sphere.
In light of Lyn Pykett’s essay The Improper Feminine (1992), this essay will continue
with the study of women of the nineteenth century as being either the proper or improper
feminine. The “proper” woman was one who ideally stayed within the home to care for the
children and keep the household in order. Not only amongst women – the idealised human,
let’s say – of the time was that of the white European with blonde hair and blue eyes, beauty
being of a significant importance. But within Victorian literature, what happens when the
woman – beautiful or not – chooses to gravitate towards the improper side of the spectrum,
and what are her reasons for doing so? Pykett notes that concealed pasts and present desires
foreground a tension between the proper and improper feminine, constant themes seen
throughout both novels. A concealed past is most prevalent in Lady Audley’s Secret however,
and there were fears that ‘the respectable, ideal, or proper feminine, may simply be a form of

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acting’ (Pykett, 1992, p. 90). Originally Helen Talboys, a poor single mother whose husband
disappeared to find fortune, Braddon’s main character transforms herself and acts as Lucy
Graham to leave the life of poverty. Victorian Literature produced and reproduced ‘anxieties
and tensions generated by… ideological contestation of the nature of woman, and of
women’s social and familial roles’ (Pykett, 1992, p. 7). As readers learn that she left her
young child in the care of her father, issues of the proper feminine are raised and one can
question whether or not her acting of the perfect wife or even of Lucy Graham will continue
to be believable when she comes to find a new family. When an old rich widow sets eyes
upon her beauty, she acts upon this to win Michael Audley as a husband, for she was ‘blessed
with that magic power of fascination by which a woman can charm’ (Braddon, 2012, p. 11). I
use the word ‘win’, to reiterate the competitiveness of femininity with masculinity during the
nineteenth century, insinuating ‘the possibility that femininity, contrary to natural law, makes
one the more fit to survive in modern society’ (David, 2001, p. 104). Winning was mainly
regarded amongst men; perhaps winning the beautiful subservient woman, but now we see
this reversed as Lucy ‘wins’ the beguiled male to escape poverty – a survival instinct. This
essence of winning the male is also prominent throughout She, as Ayesha (she-who-must-be-
obeyed), waits two thousand years to win the love of the reborn Kallikrates – Leo Vincey.
Similarly, as Michael Audley is won over by beauty, Leo also falls for the sensation that is
She herself. In the novel, Horace Holly quotes that no ordinary marriage could bring Leo
‘such awful beauty’ (Haggard, 1998, p. 215). This contradictory phrase of beauty being
“awful”, indicates that an ordinary woman can be devious, but a beautiful woman can show
both sides of the spectrum. However through her love for Leo, if one is to consider the roles
of the ideological Victorian woman, Ayesha still delineates these gender norms – there are no
particular moments in the novel where she claims to not want the normal, family life through
her marriage with Leo. Although just as beautiful, in contrast to Lady Audley, Ayesha, a

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white African Goddess, is the prevailing character of the novel, another way in which
Victorian Literature challenges the construction of the domestic sphere, as it is the female
that holds the majority of the power. But, to what extent can a female’s power continue to
prevail within the social (masculine) sphere?
Compared to the social sphere, the domestic sphere was a cultural expression of the female
world. Pykett states that ‘the domestic setting of the… novel is an extremely important part of
its message and its pleasures’ (Pykett, 1992, p. 111). In both novels we are presented with
two alluring homes; Audley Court and the Caves of Kôr, where both female characters reign
some kind of supreme. As women predominate the usually masculine edifice, nineteenth
century literature aims to foreground the anxieties of the patriarchal system being overthrown
that were present at the time. Looking first at Lady Audley’s Secret, one can study the
subversion of the patriarchal system through that of domestic crime. A ‘beautiful devil’
(Braddon, 2012, p. 332), Lucy attempts to resolve her problems (men) through the art of
murder; first of her former husband George Talboys and secondly of her nephew Robert
Audley. It is suggested that the ‘criminal exterior beats the eternal heart of domestic, maternal
women’ (Pykett, 1992, p. 90), ultimately branding Lucy Audley a criminal. This notion of
violence itself portrays Lucy as the improper feminine – she is subjecting the men to injury,
disabling the true nature of the home – and as Robert comments, women were supposedly
invented for the ‘destruction of their superiors’ (Braddon, 2012, p. 178). It almost seems odd
that Robert, a somewhat powerful figure himself, would yield to the overpowering of the
male, further emphasizing the anxieties present throughout this era, and the problematic
relationship between the domestic and social sphere. She however, aims to subvert the
patriarchal system at a more politicised level. As we are told that ‘women among the
Amahagger are… of perfect equality with the men’ (Haggard, 1998, p. 164), Ayesha and her

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band of free African women threaten the men and their “perfect” empire. Gender and
imperialism are wound together in this novel, further signified through the genderization of
Africa as female. Anxieties that colonization would be reversed throughout Europe are
unveiled throughout this novel, and with a powerful female figure ruling over the country,
Africa in this sense appears to be more of a threat. Robert Lange also stated that ‘the
sentimental story, eroticized by the anatomical landscape of Africa, seems to elevate women’
(Lange, 1998, p. 104). This idea of woman’s elevation within the novel, shapes and to some
extent foreshadows the way and rise of the New Woman, but the fact that they are elevated
through Africa, also creates the impression that a hostile place inevitably makes hostile
women. However the author isn’t necessarily saying that women can’t rule – England was
after all under the reign of Queen Victoria at the time of the writing – what’s interesting is the
way in which Holly remarks that a woman like Ayesha would bring a ‘terrible sacrifice of
life’ (Haggard, 1998, p. 226), particularly to England where she aspires to overthrow the
British monarchy. In contrast, a short quote within this novel appears to undermine female
power. Haggard remarks on the ‘man and the woman, the prince and the slave’ (Haggard,
1998, p. 164): man = prince, woman = slave. Although the women within this novel are
deemed free, the ideological construction of the domestic sphere – women as “slaves” to the
home and man – is still somewhat present. But what is it that enables these women to sustain
any kind of power? Is it that the rise of the New Woman in the nineteenth century was a truly
influential movement, or is it quite simply madness, a woman’s personal enactment of power
to feel free? In regards to the latter quote, whether or not this power and freedom resides is
the bigger question.
Madness or insanity was a highly detrimental factor during the nineteenth century for
many women, and is a key element throughout both novels. Deidre David notes that ‘the

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Victorian novel never gives female desire a fully human form’ (David, 2001, p. 119). This
unhuman like form is present throughout both novels, as both women are presented as
demons or wild animals. However to categorise female desire as a mental illness and
inhuman, raises the notion of whether or not women exist out of the domestic sphere even
today – like Lucy and Ayesha, the twenty-first century woman also remains to hold desires.
In the nineteenth century, any woman who ‘resisted the dominant definitions was held to be
‘unwomanly’, ill’ (Pykett, 1992, p. 14), and with our two central characters resisting these
dominant definitions, they themselves can be classed as “ill”, improper, but what is it that
makes them insane? Philip Martin noted that ‘woman’s madness… and abnormality are the
result of the deprivation of male company’ (Martin, 1987, p. 16). It can be said that Lucy
Audley’s madness was triggered when she was alone and a single mother, something that
progressed into something deeper. But in Lucy’s case, her madness also continues to progress
at the return of men, a madness perhaps somewhat generated through being away from the
domestic sphere and in the social sphere, Victorian literature highlighting the unnaturalness
of the woman outside of the home – it appears to make her insane, “abnormal”. Again
thinking about the anxieties of the woman overthrowing the patriarchal system present
throughout the nineteenth century, Doctor Mosgrave notes that Lucy is simply dangerous.
This danger she presents forthwith however, is immediately supressed as he aids in her
confinement to a mental asylum, the ‘act of social excommunication that speaks of deep
anxiety and fear’ (Martin, 1987, p. 15). On the other hand, for Ayesha the absence of male
company seems to be the domineering factor of her “madness”. When she first lost
Kallikrates to another woman, she struck a spear through his heart and killed him – again the
violence presenting us with the improper feminine – and she was forced to wait another two
thousand years for the rebirth of her lost love. For David Hartley ‘passion is itself a kind of
madness’ (Martin, 1987, p. 15) and this novel highlights a woman’s passion for love at its

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finest. If ‘woman’s madness… is a means of defining the woman’ (Martin, 1987, p. 92), and
is initiated through the deprivation of male company, Victorian literature suggests that
through passion and desire, women will always remain “naturally insane”. However with a
wider understanding of mental illness today, we can therefore see that to a modern reader, or
even at first sight to Doctor Mosgrave, these women are not in fact entirely mad, they merely
desire love and/ or survival. ‘Madness is immediately perceived as difference’ (Martin, 1987,
p. 42), so to nineteenth century men, once mad, they were always mad, and to blame hysteria
for the eminence of the improper feminine, was primarily a man’s way of avoiding disgrace
upon his name, to banish her from any kind of social sphere.
It is with no doubt that nineteenth century women were always subjugated back to the
domestic sphere, whether it be to a dominant male, into asylums or through her banishment
from the text, and as Gail Cunningham remarks ‘New Woman’s ideas are repeatedly brought
by the end of the novel to confess their own femininity and to settle down with a man
sufficiently strong enough to dominate even them’ (Cunningham, 1978, p. 154). As
previously mentioned Lucy is incarcerated in an asylum, but the novel also ends with her
death, resolving the problems of economic inequity in the female body and society. ‘The new
type of heroine was… sexually aware but domestically inclined’ (Cunningham, 1978, p. 155)
and as Ayesha reached out her hand, ‘she held it over [Holly’s] head… something flowed
from it that chilled [him] back to common sense, and a knowledge of propriety and the
domestic virtues’ (Haggard, 1998, p. 173). This image of the hand over his head, is somewhat
contradictory. At one level, Ayesha still portrays her sexual awareness and royal virtues – we
are almost presented with a knighthood or blessing of some sort – but then to another degree,
her domestic virtues are also felt through her hands, ideologically being the hands of
needlework and domestic labour. Not only is she subjugated by the author and the ideologies

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of the time, Ayesha also subjugates herself when she expresses to Holly that ‘thou seest after
all [she is] very woman’ (Haggard, 1998, p. 180). As I previously mentioned in this essay,
there are no moments in this novel where she doesn’t refrain from wanting the ideal, stable
family, and this quote reiterates that the construction of the domestic sphere was still, and to
some extent always will be preserved in the ideology of women. Like Lucy, Ayesha is also
banished from the text, consumed by the pillar of fire that represents manhood. Her death
enables Holly and Leo to escape their incarceration in Africa that they would have previously
been subjected to – a males escape from the domestic sphere. Towards the end of the novel
we are also bought back to the notion of natural selection, reversing it from a survival instinct
for women to their “proper” place on the evolution ladder, as Job exclaims – ‘look! – look! –
look! she’s shrivelling up! she’s turning into a monkey’ (Haggard, 1998, p. 257). This sense
of degeneration forces a constant shift ‘from being active agents to passive sufferers, from
transgressors to victims’ (Pykett, 1992, p. 102). Inevitably, Ayesha is a victim in the
evolution of man, as is Lucy, as was the nineteenth century woman and the woman of today.
Writers of the nineteenth century either implicitly questioned or directly challenged the
“naturalness” of the idealised woman. We are repeatedly forced to notice the two central
female characters, forcibly recognising the unnaturalness that Victorian literature conveys of
women being outside of the domestic sphere. Concealed pasts, present desires and madness
seem to be only a few of the principal elements of the improper feminine. Although these
women in Victorian literature display these differences to the proper feminine, they are
always subjected back to the domestic sphere with the ideological Victorian woman. That
being said, although they display these diverse behaviours, in reality, there couldn’t possibly
be such a thing as the improper feminine – how could there be when she is still subjugated to
the proper feminine space? Nevertheless, the impression of the improper feminine was still

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present throughout the nineteenth century, and there are still occasions even today where the
working woman is seen as improper and a disturbance to the social sphere. To conclude
therefore, although the rights for women within the social sphere were immensely improved,
Victorian literature highlights that one will never be able to assert that the woman can wholly
exist outside of the ideological domestic sphere without being deemed as improper.
Word Count: 2532

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Bibliography
Braddon, M. E. (2012). Lady Audley’s Secret. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Cunningham, G. (1978). The New Woman and the Victorian Novel. London: Macmillan
Press.
David, D. (2001). The Cambridge companion to the Victorian novel. Cambridge, UK:
Cambridge University Press.
Haggard, H. R. (1998). She. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Lange, R. J. G. (1998). Gender Identity and Madness in the Nineteenth-Century Novel.
Lewiston, NY: Edwin Mellan Press.
Martin, P. W. (1987). Mad Women in Romantic Writing. Sussex: Harvester Press.
Pykett, L. (1992). The ‘Improper’ Feminine. London: Routledge.