The Romantic movement arose in late 18th century England and is largely regarded as a time of revolutionary and almost ‘modern’ views on religion. Due to the prioritisation of emotional expression within Romanticism, it was seen to revolve largely around the notion of individual religious freedom, signalling a move away from the widespread commodification of religion occurring within the institution of the Church at the time. Yet despite these more positive aspects of the Romantic preoccupation with religion, there simultaneously existed a perhaps ‘darker’ side to the movement, that contradicts its previously established relationship with religious power. This is most certainly the case when one considers the Romantic relationship to ‘girlhood’. Women were largely championed as highly spiritual and almost fantastical beings in the work of Wordsworth and Blake, but the line between appreciation and fetishisation was one often crossed by such authors. This essay will therefore explore the concept of ‘The Romantic Girl’, and – in the case that power seems inextricably intertwined with such a term – whether or not this power could be deemed a positive or negative force.
Romantic authors commonly represented women in a way that heavily intersected with religion, namely, where the author’s female subject became elevated to a near ‘God-like’ status. A prime example of this sort of portrayal can be found in the works of Wordsworth – specifically his infamous collection of poems centring around the character ‘Lucy’. Lucy comes to occupy an almost ethereal position in the eye of the speaker, particularly in terms of her incomparable beauty – indeed, ‘a lovelier flower on earth was never sown’ (Wordsworth, 2004). Lucy’s beauty is a large focus of many of the poems and could be labelled the root of her enchanting effect on the speaker – rendering him powerless to ‘strange fits of passion’ (Wordsworth, 2004). There is undoubtedly a power dynamic prevalent within this relationship, one that seems to subvert the patriarchal mould due to Lucy’s apparent control over the speaker’s emotions. But whilst this appears an empowering example of ‘positive power’ – power redistributed to an otherwise marginalised group – upon further examination, the question of Lucy’s perceived agency becomes far bleaker. Throughout the poems there is little evidence of Lucy’s voice, and a concerning emphasis on her virginity and appearance. A stark example of this focus is exhibited in poem II. Lucy is first deemed ‘A Maid’ (Wordsworth, 2004), before she is given a name – ‘maid’ meaning ‘An unmarried woman; a virgin’ (Johnson, 1755). Wordsworth’s portrayal seems not dissimilar from the idea explored by Woolf, that ‘imaginatively [a woman] is of the highest importance; practically she is completely insignificant’ (Woolf, 2004). Lucy is important or seemingly powerful only for the exclusivity she holds as an object ‘half-hidden from the eye’ (Wordsworth, 2004) shrouded in mystery and hence, sexually intriguing to the speaker. This desire stems from no real love or admiration, rather the speaker’s wish to claim ownership of Lucy as he repeatedly mentions that ‘she lived unknown’ (Wordsworth, 2004) – implying he derives joy from the fact she was appreciated solely by him. It seems this ‘positive power’ that first empowers Lucy to a position of control, is rather a negative force – one that can be taken away as easily as it was granted. This sort of pattern is one that seems heavily connected to the mainstream cultural attitude towards women. To be considered ‘acceptable’ and gain respect from men, women had to embody the stereotype of ‘the perfect woman’ – which, in this period of time, meant resembling ‘The Angel in the House’ (Patmore, 1858) archetype – a mother and a wife first and foremost. Wordsworth’s representation therefore suggests that women must not only be chaste, but also must fulfil their God given role as ‘a comforter’ (R, n.d.) to men, in order to be considered ‘worthy’ of male attention. This is a perspective which contributes to the impression that there exists a potential ‘backwardness’ to the Romantic movement, specifically in terms of attitudes towards power and religion.
Wordworth’s portrayal also presents similar ideas to those of novels that themselves convey stereotypical ideas of femininity. Collins’s The Woman in White was a popular sensation novel and is relevant to the work of Wordsworth due to the character Laura Fairlie. Collins, in some ways, does seem to take an explicitly critical stance on many presumptions surrounding gender, with his antagonists expressing the majority of the sexist views within the novel – such as the claim that ‘Quiet resolution is the one thing the animals, the children and the women all fail in’ (Collins, 2012). Yet it is equally true that his portrayal of Laura Fairlie is seen to suggest otherwise. Her ghost-like double Anne and her other-worldly beauty create a mystery about her identity not dissimilar to that of Lucy. But, as with Lucy, in the midst of Laura’s ‘prized’ femininity there remain multiple references to sexuality. She is described as ‘a fair, delicate girl, in a pretty light dress’ (Collins, 2012) – a dress which is later exchanged for one of ‘plain white muslin. It was spotlessly pure: it was beautifully put on’ (Collins, 2012). Both of these ideas – ‘purity’ and ‘whiteness’ – have historical associations of holiness and virginity, which coalesce to create a character defined largely by her virginity and consequential ‘goodness’. This intersection found within the characters Laura and Wordsworth’s Lucy appears to prove the theory that the Romantics were perhaps not as ’subversive’ as widely considered. The Woman in White was ‘a huge success, and the publication of the novel in 1860 made Collins an independently wealthy man’ (Luckhurst, 2014). One is able to infer that views expressed in Collins’s novel are hence somewhat reflective of mainstream culture, due to this positive response that its publication evoked – a culture which has already proved to harbour misogynistic expectations of women. For Wordsworth’s Lucy poems to fall in line with such prejudiced concepts, it can be subsequently suggested that Romanticism – or at least, aspects of the movement – therefore use references to religious roles and idolisation to exacerbate power imbalances, rather than discourage them.
In contrast, Blake provides quite a different perspective of both religion and sex within his Songs of Innocence, but specifically Lyca in The Little Girl Lost and The Little Girl Found. His poetry, in general, suggests that the question of power is unavoidable in terms of religion – yet this does not prevent him from providing a far more ‘utopian’ presentation of religion in Songs of Innocence, speaking instead of liberation from such constraints. This idea of freedom from religious or spiritual oppression is explored within The Little Girl Lost and The Little Girl Found, as Lyca makes her own journey to a greater understanding of her faith, through a sexual experience. At the time the poem was written this would’ve been incredibly subversive, with women being deemed to ‘not [be] very much troubled with sexual feeling of any kind’ (Acton, 1865). Even this appearance of ‘sexlessness’ was not sufficient, with a woman having to actively prove her lack of desire, as ‘being ‘forward’ in the company of men suggested a worrying sexual appetite’ (Hughes, 2014). We see this concern personified in Lyca’s parents, as Blake asks ‘how can Lyca sleep. If her mother weep’ (Blake, 2005) – noticeably, Lyca’s anxieties about her journey are based on the feelings of her mother, and do not stem from her own judgement. It is her mother who harbours feelings of animosity towards sex – not Lyca. In fact. one could argue that ‘Lyca has never been lost. It is only in the fear-distorted and guilt-ridded minds of her parents that she is ‘lost’’ (Connolly, 1989). In this way, the ‘Lovely Lyca’ (Blake, 2005) becomes – in modern terms – a figurehead of ‘sex-positivity’, acting as a ‘model to rid [her parents] of their sexual guilt, and to introduce them to a state of innocence that they had never before experienced’ (Connolly, 1989). Some critics argue the validity of such a claim, by asserting that Lyca’s age removes any basis for a sexual interpretation. Yet ‘‘seven’ is often used by Blake as a kind of shorthand for any length of time that approaches the completion of some phase of growth’ (Lindop, 1973), and as ‘the question is no longer whether Blake’s poetry and painting have anything to do with one another, but how their relationship may best be understood’ (Mitchell, 1970), one can use the accompanying art to infer the ‘girl’ is in fact a mature woman. Hence, Blake’s stance on sexuality could be interpreted as an example of ‘positive power’, where ‘[he reworks] Milton’s depiction of the Fall to his own unorthodox ends, even to the point of making weak and sinning woman the instrument of salvation and of innocence regained’ (Ackland, 1980). By implying that sex is an act of innocence or ‘pure’ religion, and conveying such a message through a woman, Blake reverses the assumptions produced and promoted by patriarchy – pointing to a dismantling of its systemic power, both in terms of religion and gender.
It seems, from the arguments explored above, that Blake and Wordsworth therefore promote almost totally contrasting ideals on this topic, despite them both writing within the same movement. However, it is equally important to note that, on a broader scale, both also tended towards perspectives other than those expressed in these specific poems. For instance, though Blake’s ideas, are proven to be – in many ways – ahead of his time, they are not wholly radical, and ‘we cannot ignore certain other aspects of Blake’s treatment of women: the fact that women, as emanations, are subservient to men since they have no true existence except in the state of the division of men’s psyche; and the cruel and sinister forces women often represent’ (Storch, 1981). From Storch’s explanation it becomes clear that Blake has neither a conclusively positive nor conclusively negative way of representing women in relation to religion – even if many of his famous works like The Little Girl Lost tend towards positive portrayals, and one can only assume the same applies to the likes of Wordsworth. Though the relative contrast explored above is vital in understanding the sorts of conflicting ideals held by different Romantics. In order to garner a broader, and deeper understanding of the movement, it appears beneficial to shift focus outwards from a case-by-case analysis, to one perhaps more thematic.
Undoubtedly, there are many recurrent themes that could be considered ‘characteristic’ of a Romantic understanding of religion. Nature plays a large role in the movement, and, in keeping with the idea of the ‘Romantic girl’, was a traditionally feminised space within this time. In terms of the religious subtext behind such a comparison, it is Eve who is recognised for having succumbed to the temptations of the Garden and mirrors the God-given feminine quality of ‘life giving’. Yet despite this more divine influence, there is perhaps a more problematic reasoning that underpins the connection. It is argued that ‘nature is feminised because it is seen as possessing the same qualities as women at the time when most of the romantic writing was produced’ (Anon., 2005) – these ‘qualities’ being ‘domestic, pious, moral, pure, gentle, kind, graceful, simple and beautiful’ (Anon., 2005). This is a restrictive view of women, that consequently entraps them outside of the ‘man-made’, industrial society they live within, exiles them to the fantasy of a ‘rural idyll’, and so negatively reinstates systemic power. Additionally, the Romantic notion of the sublime – a ‘sense of unease… awe, grandeur… as well as of something more intangible, majestic, even ethereal’ (Lyles, 2013), often connected with religion – is a mode of appreciation for the natural world. But even this seemingly positive praise of the female domain harbours more negative undertones, as ‘the sublime is specifically a male achievement gained through women as female objects or through female Nature, and so is closed off to women writers’ (Fay, 1998). If the sublime is not accessible to women, yet involves artistic inspiration from a female space, the concept becomes purely an example of chronic exploitation. Women are just spiritual objects, from which male artists can reap personal ‘epiphanies’. In light of which, even the ‘great affection for his natural surroundings’ (Artst, n.d.) expressed in Constable’s Romantic landscapes seems redundant, and by no means a strong enough force to combat the harmful power dynamic the works ultimately support, despite their ‘holy’ beginnings.
There do, however, exist more positive relationships between the natural and the Romantic – an infamous example of which would be Frankenstein by Mary Shelley. Frankenstein is used by Shelley to ‘explore man’s capacity for reason and his attempts to use science as a means to control the natural world’ (Cluley, 2009). Yet there exists a second interpretation to Victor’s character, one that seems to criticise the very movement that the work falls into. Frankenstein is arguably somewhat of a Byronic hero – the trademark of Romanticism – but Shelley controversially suggests that this is no positive feature of his character. Like the Romantic ideal, he ‘embodies the Romantic rebelliousness towards accepted modes of thought in his pursuit of forbidden knowledge, and this sets him apart from other men. Thus he is also a Romantic figure in his isolation’ (Cluley, 2009). It is, however, obvious that Frankenstein does not wish to merely reject traditional society, but rather to overpower the natural world also. This is evidenced throughout the novel, as ‘Frankenstein’s pursuit of knowledge is depicted in sexually loaded terms. He is a ‘slave of passion’ attempting to ‘penetrate the secrets of nature’. The moment of melodramatic climax, in which the monster is created, occurs in a phallic tower.’ (Sims, 2006). There is a sense that Frankenstein wishes almost to ‘rape’ this feminine world and appropriate its powers for his own use, therefore becoming an advocate of negative power, even despite his position as a ‘rebellious’ or ‘revolutionary’ figure. Shelley does not, however, leave the morality of his actions up to the reader – instead making explicitly clear her lack of support for this relationship with the natural world. Frankenstein does not go unpunished for his ‘criminal’ behaviour, and he is presented as deserving of such a fate, due to the monstrous figure he is seen to become. Victor states that ‘when [he] thought of [the monster he] gnashed [his] teeth, [his] eyes become inflamed, and [he] ardently wished to extinguish that life which [he] has so thoughtlessly bestowed’ (Shelley, 1992). Here he displays an almost animalistic reaction to his creation, and becomes excessively violent – a quality typically associated with the inhuman. Even more notably, the novel ends with Frankenstein’s death during his long quest to kill the monster. It is not clear whether the monster is actually dead, and so the question therefore becomes whether Frankenstein truly was successful – maybe he was the real monster, destined to die in suffering to compensate for the suffering he caused. In either case, it is clear that Frankenstein has little moral integrity, and his relative excess of narcissism and greed lead him to both his death, and the unjust deaths of others. In this way, Shelley not only criticises the traditionally accepted view of nature, but also that of the Romantics. She suggests that Romantic authors tend to utilise that which is holy – and specifically that which is also female – for purely selfish indulgence, and, like Frankenstein, do not spare a thought for the potential harm they could cause until after any destructive actions are completed. There is undoubtedly a sense of irony that springs from such a message, considering that Shelley herself writes within the same genre and style. However, it seems just as valid to suggest that this only speaks to a more progressive idea of ‘reclamation’, rather than Shelley coming to exemplify the folly she seeks to prevent. Shelley is contributing to a movement that has been proven to subjugate women, as a woman herself, and so is capable of engaging with it in a way that subverts the ‘mould’ created by her male contemporaries. She can criticise, whilst also returning to the idea that ultimately, nature will prevail. Hence, her engagement with this spiritual connection between femininity and nature is an example of positive power.
Shelley, as a woman writing about a feminised space, proves the existence of progressive ideals even within this more conservative society and, arguably, the conservatism of the Romantic movement. Her work, when compared to that of her masculine counterparts, demonstrates how men are able to appreciate women so far as there arises some personal benefit from doing so – even Blake’s Lyca revolves around the more metaphorical relationship between religion and society, rather than the fight for female sexual expression. This allows us to return to the idea of religion and power as viewed through the lens of gender. There seems to be no ambiguity around the notion that power and religion cannot be separated, as religion is used as both a means to entrap and liberate women in Romantic works. Yet even the most progressive poems written by men are by no means capable of reaching a similar extent of positive power as those of women. Religion is therefore a force that, inherently, seems to carry no conclusive moral standpoint on the notion of control. Rather, it is those who seek to use it, whose nature is reflected within the subsequent works they produce – particularly the extent to which they themselves desire to reinforce or destroy systems of power.
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