The History of Gothic Publishing, 1800-1835: Exhuming the Trade

The History of Gothic Publishing, 1800–1835 Exhuming the Trade Franz J. Potter The History of Gothic Publishing, 1800...

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The History of Gothic Publishing, 1800–1835 Exhuming the Trade

Franz J. Potter

The History of Gothic Publishing, 1800–1835

Other publications by the same author THE MONSTER MADE BY MAN: A Compendium of Gothic Adaptations

The History of Gothic Publishing, 1800–1835 Exhuming the Trade Franz J. Potter

© Franz J. Potter 2005 All rights reserved. No reproduction, copy or transmission of this publication may be made without written permission. No paragraph of this publication may be reproduced, copied or transmitted save with written permission or in accordance with the provisions of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, or under the terms of any licence permitting limited copying issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency, 90 Tottenham Court Road, London W1T 4LP. Any person who does any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages. The author has asserted his right to be identified as the author of this work in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. First published 2005 by PALGRAVE MACMILLAN Houndmills, Basingstoke, Hampshire RG21 6XS and 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010 Companies and representatives throughout the world PALGRAVE MACMILLAN is the global academic imprint of the Palgrave Macmillan division of St. Martin’s Press, LLC and of Palgrave Macmillan Ltd. Macmillan® is a registered trademark in the United States, United Kingdom and other countries. Palgrave is a registered trademark in the European Union and other countries. ISBN-13: 978–1–4039–9582–7 hardback ISBN-10: 1–4039–9582–6 hardback This book is printed on paper suitable for recycling and made from fully managed and sustained forest sources. A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Potter, Franz J., 1969– The history of Gothic publishing, 1800–1835 : exhuming the trade / Franz J. Potter. p. cm. Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 1–4039–9582–6 1. English fiction—19th century—History and criticism. 2. Horror tales—Publishing—Great Britain—History—19th century. 3. Literature publishing—Great Britain—History—19th century. 4. Authors and readers—Great Britain—History—19th century. 5. Books and reading— Great Britain—History—19th century. 6. Horror tales, English— History and criticism. 7. Gothic revival (Literature)—Great Britain. I. Title. PR868.T3P68 2005 823′.087290908—dc22 2005045416 10 14

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Printed and bound in Great Britain by Antony Rowe Ltd, Chippenham and Eastbourne

For Serena, MaCall and Eloise

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Contents

List of Tables and Figures

ix

Acknowledgements

x

Preface

xi

1 Literary Rubbish The critical divide Commercial readers The subliterary industry Periodicals and terror The business of morality: Authors and money

1 1 9 10 11 11

2 The Circulating Library The circulating library Gothic fiction in the circulating library The readers

14 15 21 31

3 Literary Mushrooms: The Gothic Bluebook A disreputable literary history Assessing the evidence The ‘disposable rubbish’ trade The fetishisation and moralisation of the formulaic Perverted tastes and vulgar readers

37 38 41 42 53 70

4 Ghosts, Spectres and Phantoms: Recycling the Gothic in Periodicals and Anthologies Definitions and boundaries: A compendium of prodigies The incubi of a morbid imagination: Morality and the periodical Gothic Plundering the Germans The appetite for tales of terror 5 Morality and Blood: William Child Green 6 The Romance of Real Life: Sarah Wilkinson vii

77 79 81 88 95 97 109

viii Contents

7 The Business of Morality: Francis Lathom

131

8 The Monster of Morality: Mary Shelley

145

Appendix 1 Gothic Novels, 1800–1834

152

Appendix 2 Gothic Bluebooks, 1799–1835

166

Appendix 3 Gothic Tales, 1800–1834

179

Notes

190

Bibliography

202

Index

208

List of Tables and Figures Tables 2.1 Total fiction and Gothic novels holdings in circulating libraries 2.2 Amount of post-1800 Gothic novels in circulating libraries 2.3 Productivity of Gothic authors, 1800–1834 2.4 Most popular Gothic authors in circulating libraries, 1800–1834

24 26 26 27

Figures 2.1 3.1 3.2 3.3 3.4 4.1 4.2 4.3

Overall Gothic novel production Output of Gothic novels, 1800–1835 Output of Gothic bluebooks and novels Total output of bluebooks and novels Authorship of Gothic bluebooks Gothic fiction in periodicals 1814–1834 A comparison of the Gothic in periodicals and bluebooks Total output of Gothic fiction, 1800–1834

ix

23 43 47 49 53 81 83 96

Acknowledgements

There are innumerable people I would like to thank for their unremitting support of this book. First, Professor Vic Sage for his constructive comments and suggestions and encouragement when it all seemed too difficult. Thanks are due to Dr Tim Marshal, Dr Cath Sharrock, Professor Lorna Sage at UEA and Dr Judy Hayden. The staff at the British Library, Norwich Public Library, the Public Record Office in Norwich, Kew and Westminster were helpful in locating rare novels and documents to unravel the bibliographical and biographical mysteries of the trade Gothic. My parents and family, Martin and Lori Franke, Sharon Shirley, Clancy Potter and James Pitton, for without their encouragement and support, I could not have done this. I would also like to thank the numerous forgotten authors of the trade Gothic, particularly Sarah Wilkinson and Francis Lathom for enriching my life and igniting a passion. Most importantly, I would like to acknowledge my wife, Serena, for her unfailing support, patience and willingness to let me pursue my Gothic aspirations, as well as her comments, insights and critiques; nothing here would have been accomplished if not for her. My beautiful daughters, MaCall and Eloise, have likewise supported and encouraged me; not only do they tolerate their dad’s Gothic predilections, they inspire me to succeed at them. Chapter 6, ‘The Romance of Real Life: Sarah Wilkinson’ is reprinted with permission from Cardiff Corvey: Reading the Romantic Text, No. 11 (December 2003) where it first appeared as Writing for the Spectre of Poverty: Exhuming Sarah Wilkinson’s Bluebooks and Novels.

x

Preface

The History of Gothic Publishing focuses on the explicit conflict between the Gothic canon and the trade, in order to understand the changing form of the Gothic in the early nineteenth century. It is divided into two parts. The first part is an empirical and statistical analysis of the trade context focusing simultaneously on the development of trade Gothic and the shifting interests of the readers, including the combining of the historical novel with Gothic fiction. The second part presents four case studies of trade novelists whose works were prominent in the ‘twilight’ of the genre during the 1820s and 1830s, and who exemplified the ability to diversify while apparently maintaining the readers’ interest. To organise the numerous novels, bluebooks and Gothic tales I have compiled three appendices which are designed as a guide to the trade in the twilight of the Gothic. To broaden our understanding of the twilight, the appendices concentrate on the years 1800–1835, as opposed to the early phase (1764–1799) which is well documented.1 Appendix 1 consists of three hundred and forty-two Gothic novels included in Maurice Lévy’s ‘Bibliographie Chronologique du Roman “Gothique,” 1764–1824’ (1968) and Frederick Frank’s The First Gothics: A Critical Guide to the English Gothic Novel (1987) bibliographies and integrated with the recent bibliographical study The English Novel 1770–1829: A Bibliographical Survey of Prose Fiction Published in the British Isles (2000) to give a fuller account of Gothic novel production. Appendix 2 has similarly drawn on larger Gothic bibliographies as well as extensive searches of rare book collections and contains three hundred and fifty Gothic bluebooks. Appendix 3 contains three hundred Gothic tales gathered from sixteen periodicals including The Ladies’ Pocket Magazine, Endless Entertainment and The Literary Magnet, five annuals such as Forget Me Not and Literary Souvenir and five collections of short stories including Legends of Terror! (1826 and 1830) and Popular Tales and Romances of the Northern Nations (1823), along with information on reprints or alterations. I have also relied heavily on the Corvey project located at both Sheffield Hallam University and Cardiff University. This vast collection of Gothic, Romantic, domestic and didactic novels from the early nineteenth century has for the first time allowed us a glimpse of the actual nature of the xi

xii Preface

London Book Trade and provides access to hitherto rare and inaccessible Gothic novels. Titles of specific works are numbered according to appendix (1, 2 or 3), and the entry number is given to provide complete publishing information and in some cases availability. If the title is not included in any appendix, the date of publication is then provided. Franz J. Potter

1 Literary Rubbish

In the 1834 preface to Rookwood, William Harrison Ainsworth resolved to do a ‘story in the by-gone style of Mrs. Radcliffe’, for ‘Romance,’ he wrote— if I am not mistaken, is destined shortly to undergo an important change . . . the structure, commenced in our own land by Horace Walpole, Monk Lewis, Mrs. Ann Radcliffe, and Maturin, but left imperfect and inharmonious, requires, now that the rubbish, which choked up its approach, is removed, only the hand of the skilful architect to its entire renovation and perfection.1 Ainsworth’s preface suggests that by 1834 the Gothic landscape was cluttered and choked with an abundance of literary rubbish such as imitations, adaptations, plagiarisms, but one in which the taste for the Gothic still survived. The literary landscape during the 1820s and 1830s was indeed busy, peopled with Gothic novels, bluebooks, tales in periodicals and short story collections, all still available to readers in circulating libraries. Ainsworth’s literary ‘rubbish’ or trade Gothic was soon marginalised, giving way to the canon of Gothic fiction and consigning forever some of the genre’s most important contributions. To better understand and contextualise the history of the trade Gothic we must challenge certain assumptions about the canon-making process in order to take a look at what went on in the twilight of the genre, below and after the canonical Gothic: the trade Gothic.

The critical divide For critics of Gothic fiction, in a literary context, the genre was a historically circumscribed phenomenon (1764–1820) that began to lose reader 1

2 The History of Gothic Publishing, 1800–1835

appeal somewhere between Walter Scott’s Waverley; or, ’Tis Sixty Years since (1814) and Charles Maturin’s Melmoth the Wanderer: A Tale (1820). What is interesting here is that there are two prominent assumptions: first that the Gothic had such confining parameters; and second that those readers’ interest so abruptly failed. Edith Birkhead, for instance, declares in The Tale of Terror (1921) that the Gothic novel after Ann Radcliffe’s The Italian; or, The Confessional of the Black Penitents in 1797 ‘maintained a disreputable existence in the hands of those who looked upon fiction as a lucrative trade, not as an art’.2 Birkhead noted that after the Gothic romances of Ann Radcliffe and Matthew Lewis in the 1790s, Gothic fiction, here defined as ‘art’, suffered from verbal exhaustion, seeing only momentarily the artistic brilliance (i.e. in the case of Maturin) that the genre had enjoyed before. Coral Ann Howells in Love, Mystery, and Misery (1978) suggests that the appeal of the Gothic novel was flagging by 1810, and readers enthusiastically welcomed new writers like Scott and Lord Byron, but by 1820 the genre had become ‘a laughing-stock’.3 However, Birkhead and Howells are not particularly concerned with the problematic question of the actual popularity or reader interest; instead they equate surreptitiously, in an extra or hidden assumption, the popular success of the genre with artistic quality, this being somehow the true measure of popular taste. What this suggests is that for critics there were ‘art’ books and there were ‘trade’ books, and both of these categories were Gothic, but it was merely the trade Gothic that continued after 1820. There is then a clear-cut critical division that exists between art and trade Gothic – the first being an indicator of the genre’s critical reception, the other dismissed as not really belonging to the genre by an act of assessment which assimilates the popular to the literary and finds it disreputable. Yet the modern critical view of the Gothic limits it to a set of high-reaching artistic achievements: Horace Walpole’s The Castle of Otranto (1764), Ann Radcliffe’s The Italian; or, The Confessional of the Black Penitents (1797), Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus (1818) and Charles Maturin’s Melmoth the Wanderer (1820) are constantly cited as defining the genre. But this view largely excludes the question of whether those novels unashamedly produced as part of a lucrative business, or trade Gothic can be admitted either as a legitimate literary category or even as a contribution to the life of the genre. However, it is clear that many of the most fashionable, popular and prolific of Gothic writers were considered trade authors who turned out works as part of a profitable business. Best-selling authors such as Sarah Wilkinson, Francis Lathom, William Ireland, William Child Green and Louisa Stanhope are now largely forgotten.

Literary Rubbish 3

In fact, it is argued, these creatures of the lower depths are partly responsible for killing off the Gothic genre. Previous critics of the Gothic have almost always explicitly or implicitly distinguished between the two types of Gothic. Devendra Varma in The Gothic Flame (1966) categorises most Gothic authors in the first quarter of the nineteenth century (with the exception of Maturin) as ‘minor “gothic” writers whose works were animated by the last flicker of enthusiasm for Gothic fiction’.4 Louis James in Fiction for the Working Man: 1830–1850 (1963) considers such Gothic authors ‘hack writers’ and as ‘lower-class writers . . . [who] had not enough skill to create through atmosphere a suspension of disbelief’.5 And David Punter in The Literature of Terror (1996) declares that popular writers in the genre appear to have become increasingly able to turn out a formulaic product in a matter of weeks, and the eventual decline in Gothic’s popularity was clearly at least partially to do with a flooding of the market, and also with the way in which the hold of the early Gothic masters tended to stultify originality.6 These critics have two things in common: the first is the same underlying value judgement that elevates the artistic integrity of a novelist above the popular taste of readers; and second, the idea that novels primarily produced for monetary gain eventually exceeded their reader’s tolerance. This raises several issues; the most salient is the overly simplistic social devaluation of the reader. Punter’s suggestion that the popularity of Gothic fiction was limited to a highly specific type, the ‘new reading public’, reduces the reader’s perception of quality to trade, and the critic’s perception of ‘art’ is left superior (p. 17). Nevertheless, it is a fact that the sum of the two types constitutes the whole literary context of Gothic fiction because both readers and critics need to be included in the field of popular taste. We need to lower our sights. It has proved more important for critics to account for the rise of Gothic as a genre than to study its eventual decline, if there was such an event. As I have pointed out above, earlier critics such as Edith Birkhead, Michael Sadleir, J. M. S. Tompkins, Montague Summers and Devendra Varma restricted themselves to the consideration of Gothic fiction as a historically limited occurrence, confining themselves to a group of novels written between Horace Walpole’s The Castle of Otranto (1764), Walter Scott’s Waverley (1814) (depending on the critic) and Charles Maturin’s Melmoth the Wanderer (1820). The conventional Gothic narrative framework is based on a familiar set of themes, motifs and characterisations: the use of geographically and temporally displaced


settings, the emphasis on terror or horror, the exploitation of the supernatural and, most importantly, techniques of literary suspense. More recent criticism of the rise of the Gothic has taken a different tack. Contemporary criticism by Robert Miles and Emma Clery, in describing the rise of the Gothic, recognises the same narrative framework, but dismisses such stringent genre parameters because they obscure the historical, political, social and cultural discourses that converge in Gothic fiction. Many issues are raised here, but before we can proceed one obvious problem is whether, in order to identify and classify Gothic fiction, we need to treat it as a historically enclosed genre or as a more comprehensive and continual diffusion of discourses into what has been largely described as the Gothic as a whole. If we were to assume the former, we might be more likely to find that Gothic fiction disappeared between Waverley in 1814 and Melmoth the Wanderer in 1820. If we assume the latter, Gothic fiction consists of social, historical and cultural discourses which form an observable connection amongst themselves from the eighteenth century to the present day. This problem of which model to use clearly needs investigating. Traditional literary history has predominately classified the Gothic as a genre with clear form, function, parameters and readership. In The Progress of Romance: Literary Historiography and the Gothic Novel (1996), for example, David Richter argues that ‘[a]s an episode in literary history, the vogue of the Gothic from its beginnings in Horace Walpole’s Castle of Otranto to its demise in the early 1820s is indeed a story with closure, since, as a genre, the Gothic is to all intents and purposes dead by 1822’.7 This postulation is by no means isolated; Richter’s assessment is predicated on the conventional critical work of early literary historians such as Montague Summers, Edith Birkhead, Robert Mayo and Devendra Varma who first defined and set the literary-historical limits for the genre. The stringent temporal confinement of Walpole (1764) to Maturin (1820), which set the official parameters of Gothic fiction’s production and popularity, has become a truism of literary history; and yet rarely are these parameters disputed or critically examined. We have become habitualised: there is little room to examine the proposition of a sudden rise and equally sudden fall. Robert Mayo’s ‘How Long Was Gothic Fiction in Vogue?’ (1943), for instance, was an attempt to determine the exact years that the Gothic novel interested the reading public. Mayo was working around two seemingly solid assumptions: first, similar to Birkhead’s assertion, the general interest in the Gothic fell away, for want of artistic excellence,

Literary Rubbish 5

the day Ann Radcliffe ‘laid down her pen in 1797’; and secondly, the idea that interest in the Gothic failed during the second decade of the nineteenth century with the publication of Gothic satire such as Eaton Stannard Barrett’s The Heroine; or, The Adventures of a Fair Romance Reader (1813), and Jane Austen’s Northanger Abbey in 1818.8 Mayo insisted that it was ‘equally erroneous to assert that Waverley (1814) either “ousted” Gothic romance from public favour or “rendered it obsolete” ’ (pp. 58–64). Instead, he asserted that ‘twenty years of unimaginative repetition had already broken the hold of the tale of terror on the general reading public beyond Scott’s power to weaken it further’ (p. 63). To ascertain the actual interest of the reading public, Mayo selected a fixed reference point, the Lady’s Magazine, which was published continuously from the 1770s to the 1820s and examined the percentage of Gothic fiction in each issue. The result of his survey substantiates Birkhead’s hypothesis that Gothic fiction ‘maintained a disreputable existence’ after Mrs Radcliffe’s The Italian (1797) in the form of serialised fiction and provided evidence for his own assertion that it did in fact fail after 1814. However, Mayo still maintained his view that Scott’s historical novel did not ‘oust’ Gothic fiction; he insists that it was indeed over-production which extinguished the genre. Mayo noted that from 1799 to 1809 Gothic fiction dominated the serials, but that its popularity drastically diminished after 1812. He concludes rather strangely: ‘the popular vogue for romances of terror was over in 1814, but their appeal was still fresh in the minds of readers’ (p. 64). This suggests a kind of ‘half-life’, or lingering readiness on the part of readers to receive something else. It is precisely that ambiguity regarding Gothic fiction’s ‘half-life’ even, I think, after 1820 that suggests that this episode of literary history is not so unequivocally enclosed. The closing stages of a genre, however, are never precise, and critics such as Devendra Varma and Louis James have had to account for the continuing, if intermittent, evidence of the Gothic genre’s presence beyond its supposed demise.9 For example, Varma argued that ‘the potent spell of Gothic romance had been losing its force and vigour for some years before 1820, yet in a new guise it continued to appeal to a minority audience down to the middle of the nineteenth century and beyond’ (p. 186). Louis James, in Fiction for the Working Class: 1830–1850, likewise suggests that Gothic fiction was a ‘wide-ranging’ and ‘persistent’ tendency that continued well into the 1830s and 1840s, but that reissues of ‘classic’ Minerva Press fiction and the issue of ‘penny dreadfuls’ were ‘indicative that this genre was no longer a living one, but one the several traditions of storytelling the


hack writers were using as they thought fit’ (p. 77). Recent surveys of the Gothic, such as Victor Sage’s ‘Gothic Novel’ in The Handbook to Gothic Literature, suggest that after 1820, The Gothic novel breaks up and becomes a more scattered but now permanent and widely influential aspect of literary sensibility rather than a concerted genre or movement as such: a polarisation occurs between popular forms—the ‘penny dreadfuls’ of Reynolds and of writers like Ainsworth and the popular melodrama, on the one hand; and, on the other, the literary tradition dominated by Scott.10 For Varma, James and Sage, the decline of the Gothic novel occurs due to a split between the ‘popular’ and the ‘canon’, or the Gothic tradition as founded by Walpole, Radcliffe and Lewis, and the historical romance as established by Sir Walter Scott, the former acquiring a working-class readership and the latter maintaining a middle-class readership. On the other hand, critics such as Robert Miles and Emma Clery (when discussing the rise of a genre) view the Gothic phenomenon in a larger context consisting of different discourses that converge and give rise to a literary tradition. For instance, during the 1760s the critical discourse was working to construct ‘the taste and demand for literary antiquities among the reading public’.11 The result was twofold: an historical identity traceable from Spenser and Shakespeare to Ossian; and the prevailing acceptance of representations of the marvellous in literature, both of which are profoundly integral to the Gothic tradition. But historical, cultural, political and social discourses are ever adapting with time. While they evidently converge in the conventional Gothic framework at the end of the eighteenth century, they are also not limited to definite parameters, for they continue to exist in various forms. No lateral limits or boundaries can be drawn about them, it seems, according to this view: only indications that, during the 1820s, social and political discourses hybridised with Scott’s historical discourse, weakening Gothic fiction’s ability to attract a large readership. But even this is open to question. We simply do not have enough information about Gothic fiction in the 1820s and 1830s to demonstrate this. One reasonable way of addressing this problem of genre versus discourse is to confront the disreputable; to re-examine Gothic fiction between 1800 and 1835. This enables us to trace trade Gothic through its final literary developments, as well as to go some way towards tracing the impact of the historical romance on the Gothic and discover if the changing shape of Gothic fiction in the 1820s and 1830s diverged from

Literary Rubbish 7

or reflected the actual reader’s shifting interests. To be more precise, it expands critical awareness of trade authors and their works, establishing more empirically if the genre indeed did in some sense end between 1814 and 1820 or if it continued to function in various forms of discourse, in a twilight or afterlife. It is important, therefore, to focus our attention on the explicit conflict between the canon and the trade Gothic in order to understand the changing forms of the Gothic in the early nineteenth century. Traditionally, four issues are raised to circumscribe and limit the genre: the question of imitation; the recycling or reuse of familiar motifs and conventions; the problematic status of those trade authors who wrote for monetary gain, not artistic integrity; and the readers’ shifting interest away from the Gothic. In challenging these four arguments through an examination of the trade Gothic, it becomes clear that previous estimations of Gothic’s significant decline after 1820, based merely on novel production levels, have not adequately registered the continued readers’ interest in the Gothic, indicative of a diversifying literary marketplace. In addition, there has been little interest or information on the production and consumption of the Gothic in a provincial context, looking specifically at Norwich as well as metropolitan London. Norwich is important for several reasons: its size is comparable to other provincial centres such as Bath, York and Bristol; it had an active literary culture which included Francis Lathom, Amelia Opie, William Taylor, William Enfield, the Martineau family and Rachel Hunter; and it had a number of circulating libraries, whose catalogues are still available. The dates 1800 and 1835 represent the problematic twilight of Gothic fiction: Walter Scott’s Waverley in 1814, as has been pointed out, has been marked as the first challenge to Gothic fiction readership, and I have taken William Harrison Ainsworth’s Rookwood in 1834 as a final point to represent the sensational novel of the 1830s. As I have already pointed out, the problem of evaluating Gothic fiction during the disreputable years is the perception that the majority of trade Gothic written by minor authors was merely formulaic and of little value. For instance, David Punter asserts, ‘popular writers in the genre appear to have become increasingly able to turn out a formulaic product in a matter of weeks’ (p. 114). Likewise, Frederick Frank suggests that a trade author such as Mary Meeke, who built a successful career as a bestselling writer, ‘was a formulaic novelist who knew how to appeal to the sentiments of the reader without demanding the slightest intellectual exertion’.12 By dismissing the trade Gothic on the grounds that its plot is formulaic, the critic removes the reader and the culture from the discourse.


In the same way, critics consider the recycling of Gothic’s familiar set of themes, motifs and characterisations as symptomatic not only of the lower depths of the trade, but of its decline after 1820. Varma argues that it was the trade authors, those imitators of Radcliffe and Lewis, who ‘popularly misused the limited range of properties until familiarity turned into monotony’ (p. 176). Birkhead similarly claims that trade authors such as Sarah Wilkinson and Eliza Parsons ‘deliberately concocted an unappetising gallimaufry of earlier stories and practised the harmless deception of serving their insipid dishes under new and imposing names’ (p. 73). Both these arguments point to the incessant recycling of Gothic’s ‘limited’ properties, as a destructive force, which through the ‘continued and repeated feelings of suspense and awe quickly made the satiated public indifferent to the strongest stimuli of that kind’ (Varma, p. 176). As a result, recycling has emerged as a symptom of decay, indicative of the increasing decadence in the genre after Maturin. Recycling, therefore, is seen as specifically problematic only in terms of the trade Gothic. But as I have already suggested, the Gothic tradition (seemingly confined to art or the canon) was built upon a framework of familiar set themes, motifs and characterisations, borrowed, manipulated and restructured into interesting novels. For instance, Clara Reeve’s The Old English Baron (1777) borrowed Walpole’s framework, without the supernatural apparatus in The Castle of Otranto; and Ann Radcliffe drew heavily upon Sophia Lee’s The Recess—itself an imitation of Abbè Prévost’s Cleveland (1734). It is then perhaps appropriate to explain at the outset the way in which we define and consider recycling. Recycling is seen as essential to the life of the genre; it is a sign of activity rather than stagnation, decay and decadence. The recycling of the Gothic, whether specific motifs and characterisations or stories themselves, indicates a continual interaction between the author and the reader. This distinction is important not only because it allows recycling to be seen as essential to the growth and sustainability of both art and trade Gothic, but also because it allows the Gothic tradition to continue to be viewed in the larger context of evolving discourses. As I have already pointed out, some critics such as Robert Miles and Emma Clery have attempted to reinstate the historical, political, social and cultural discourses that converge in Gothic fiction. This restoration then allows the entire structure, story and discourse to be examined as a whole narrative. Consequently, we will examine the story as well as the discourses of an assortment of disreputable texts in order to approach the question of the reading public. In order to gain a better insight into

Literary Rubbish 9

the history of Gothic publishing we must specifically consider four neglected aspects of the industry which were instrumental in the dissemination and consumption of the Gothic.

Commercial readers With a view to challenging the critical assumptions which have marginalised the disreputable works and writers of the trade Gothic, in the sense that we are now left with, apparently, nothing to say about them, we must revisit the Gothic landscape between 1800 and 1835. Initially, this involves ascertaining the readers’ attitude towards the Gothic after 1800 in its primary location: the commercial circulating library. The circulating library (a reader-driven business) is essential in re-assessing the Gothic in the twilight, as it directly challenges the temporal limits of the canon. For the 35 years (1800–1835), an average 18 per cent of a typical circulating library’s stock, for example, of representative provincial communities like Norwich consisted of Gothic fiction. Although production levels of new Gothic novels decreased significantly to an average of five or six a year after 1820, older Gothic novels remained in constant circulation, some like Walpole’s The Castle of Otranto for over 66 years (1764–1831). The Gothic novel had not died, what it had done was to survive the influx of Sir Walter Scott’s rationalised ‘historical romance’. Ainsworth, like Sarah Wilkinson and Francis Lathom, understood that, after 1820, there were still readers of the Gothic. The circulating library offers direct access to the titles of the fiction available, broadly indicate readers’ interest, and provide a relatively fixed frame of reference. Circulating libraries are fundamentally important; the prohibitive price of books meant that the reading public was more likely to be made up of book-borrowers rather than book-buyers. Book-borrowers were further distinguished between subscribers and day-borrowers, the latter category may well include the falling middle-class borrowers and ‘the new reading public’ of rising working-class borrowers. Libraries provided the reader with the books most likely to be read and therefore indicate significant shifts in readers’ interests. Moreover, circulating library records allow us to analyse some of the assumptions about the Gothic that have become entangled in literary history. For instance, How Long Was Gothic Fiction in Vogue? Were the critically successful novels as successful with readers as those of the disreputable twilight hacks? Did circulating libraries primarily stock Gothic and sensational fiction, and how much access did the reader have to Gothic fiction after Scott’s Waverley in 1814 or Maturin’s Melmoth the Wanderer in 1820


as compared to the 1830s? To ascertain the importance circulating libraries had in disseminating Gothic fiction I have examined the catalogues of ten libraries which operated between 1790 and 1831; eight circulating libraries and two Public Libraries are included in this study.13 Not only do libraries provide critical insights into the trends of Gothic publishing, they allow us to glimpse the actual readers, providing, not only lists of books they read, but some biographical information, which throws light on reading habits, book selection, and ultimately, provincial readers’ interest.

The subliterary industry The conflict between ‘art’ and trade, the canon and the twilight, is fought on the boundaries: how far ‘below’ we look and how far ‘after’ we see the Gothic. The boundaries of the genre are continually reinforced by an unwillingness to lower our expectations. An aggressive of policing the established canon continues to limit our view of the whole Gothic story. Viewing trade novels as merely disreputable, corrupt and horrific (i.e. cheap), or worse, imitations limits the genre to only a small representation; and, I would suggest, greatly over-simplifies a trade whose appeal to middle-class readers was based, in part, on the consistent moralistic discourse of trade texts, as well as the familiarity of Gothic conventions, which lasted well into the 1830s. The question of imitation in trade Gothic is undoubtedly centred in the problematic subliterary industry of the chapbook or bluebook and its subsequent role in the breakdown of the Gothic. The image of the amateurish abridgement of legitimate Gothic novels which are supposed to appeal only to low working-class readers distorts a unique secondary market for Gothic material which often specialised in both moralised adaptations and original works. Cheaply printed, bluebooks were often, but not invariably, 36- or 72-page redactions or abridgements of full-length Gothic novels illustrated with crude woodcuts. Sold for sixpence or a shilling, these books found a ‘new reading public’ that could not afford the high subscription rates at circulating libraries (though some libraries such as W. Fish’s library in Norwich (1817) stocked these alongside novels and bound magazines). Notwithstanding the critical assumptions which have marginalised the bluebook, new evidence suggests that the Gothic bluebook industry was itself a large secondary market for the Gothic, and not merely a passive inheritor of Gothic subjects and styles from legitimate novels, but instead was a developer and producer of Gothic material that had particular patterns of inflection.

Literary Rubbish 11

Periodicals and terror While one aspect of the trade Gothic existed as a subliterary industry, another existed in the manifold periodicals and collections of tales popular in the early nineteenth century. In the pages of some of the most popular Gentlemen’s and Lady’s periodicals of the period the Gothic continued to be recycled and recovered. Gothic short stories, or tales, often characterised as overwhelmingly substandard and labelled as merely imitations and mediocre, regularly appeared in periodicals such as The New Gleaner; or, Entertainment for the Fire-Side and Lady’s Pocket Magazine and were recycled into collections of tales such as Popular Tales and Romances of the Northern Nations (1823) and Legends of Terror! (1826). If we pay particular attention to the standard literary (mis)representation of the trade Gothic industry, the polite moralised Gothic tale located in periodicals such as Miss M. L. Beevor’s The Old Sign Board; or, House in the Wilderness (1832) stand in stark contrast. Likewise, when we as well examine the editorial and framing strategies prevalent in collections of tales, particularly Legends of Terror!, it draws attention to how recycling (as an indicator of reader/author interaction) crosses the neat division between ‘art’ and ‘trade’ or ‘genre’ and ‘trash’.

The business of morality: Authors and money It is likewise important to implicitly illustrate the mechanism of trade Gothic by focusing on those authors who profoundly influenced and developed the Gothic, but remained committed to the readers’ interest. Most Gothic authors remain relatively unknown, most in fact are viewed critically as minor or inferior to such writers as Ann Radcliffe and Matthew Lewis. However, a large number of trade novelists achieved literary success (i.e. critical, economic and popular success) during their lifetimes. Such forgotten authors exhibited the ability to diversify their craft creating a range of novels that reflect the development of the genre and readers’ interest in the genre. Perhaps the most problematic and marginalising aspect of trade authors are those who wrote principally for monetary gain, not artistic integrity, an argument which underlines this conflict between the canon and the trade. In the case of Sarah Wilkinson, for example, it is her awareness of herself as a woman author with women readers that reinforces her position as merely a trade author. In the preface of The Spectre of Lanmere Abbey; or, The Mystery of the Blue and Silver Bag: A Romance (1.296), she outlined her reasons for writing the romance as well as her commercial expectations.


Authors are, proverbially, poor; and therefore under the necessity of racking their wits for a bare subsistence. Perhaps, this is my case; and knowing how eager the fair sex are for something new and romantic, I determined on an attempt to please my fair sisterhood, hoping to profit myself thereby. If the following volumes tend to that effect, I shall be gratified; but if they meet with a rapid sale, and fill my pockets, I shall be elated.14 While such literary confessions were not new, but an established method of deflecting overtly critical reviews and eliciting sympathy from readers, Wilkinson’s not so subtle appeal for readers to buy her book underlines the Gothic’s commercial value.15 Consequently, Wilkinson’s preface reinforces the critical representation of the trade Gothic; as a bluebook author, she was aware of the marketability of recycling ‘art’ into trade. It would appear that balancing the commercial awareness of the Gothic trade, the readers and a declining industry was the hack’s greatest challenge. Wilkinson, often considered one of most productive manufacturers of terror, would be expected to knowingly exploit the simple formulaic/ commercial nature of the Gothic. This commercial awareness has persuaded some commentators to regard her last novel as essentially anti-Gothic. Frederick Frank, for instance, suggests that The Spectre of Lanmere Abbey brought her ‘close to a possible self-parody in this amusing revival of Radcliffean Gothicism’ (Frank, First Gothics, p. 419). Similarly, Edith Birkhead in Tales of Terror argues that Miss Wilkinson, who, for twenty years, had conscientiously striven to chill her readers’ blood, should be compelled at last to turn around and gibe at her own spectres, reveals into what a piteous plight the novel of terror had fallen. When even the enchantress disavowed her belief in them, the ghost must surely have fled shrieking and affrighted and though never more to raise their diminished heads. (pp. 79–80) For both critics, the seriousness of the novel is subverted by the ‘jocular vein of the preface [which] sets the tone’ of the novel (Frank, First Gothics, p. 419). These critiques have two things in common. The first is a shared confidence that by 1820 Wilkinson (as well as her readership) was tired of the Gothic and ‘learnt to despise the spectres in whom she had gloried during her amazing career’ (Birkhead, p. 79), consequently, resorting to ‘self-parody’. Second, that Wilkinson used her final novel to deprecate

Literary Rubbish 13

the Gothic. Birkhead’s argument here is important and points to one reason for the persistent division between ‘art’ and ‘trade’. For Birkhead, Wilkinson’s preface is merely cynical and aesthetically corrupt. She has discarded the mask of fiction and presumptuously addressed the reader as consumer, and this shows the plight into which the author has fallen. The preface demonstrates and reinforces the desperate, economic uncertainty of a hack; all moral pretences including those of fiction are abandoned owing to harsh economic reality: writing is a business in which one merely recycles hackneyed motifs and conventions for money, and consumers are expected to understand this. Undoubtedly, Wilkinson regards the Gothic in commercial terms as something that is of particular interest to a specific readership, my fair sisterhood. Birkhead, though, clearly sees this as ineptitude on Wilkinson’s part, as a cynical gesture indicative of the corruption and decadence inherent in the Gothic of the 1820s and 1830s. The end result of examining these neglected areas of the trade Gothic is a re-alignment of some of the implicit critical value judgements which tend to confuse the description of the twilight or afterlife of the Gothic novel. To understand the Gothic we have to view the good novels with the awful, the ‘art’ and the trade. We need to lower our sights.

2 The Circulating Library

Sarah Wilkinson’s 1803 production The Subterraneous Passage: or Gothic Cell; A Romance (2.307) is a nineteenth-century Gothic text whose action begins in a library. The reading scene is converted to the Radcliffean action of the Gothic complete with concealed compartments, rings in the floor and hidden staircases: the books were covered with dust, and the whole apartment appeared in a state of desolation. On examining the shelves, a volume of natural history caught her attention: she raised her hand to remove it; but it was wedged so tight between the other books, that it required her whole force to effect her purpose. With a sudden violence she pulled the volume from the shelf, and several of the books fell at her feet. In the vacancy appeared a light glimmering through a small crevice. Emily drew near, and peeping through the aperture, perceived a large apartment, with several windows of Gothic structure ... She minutely examined the library, and to her great surprise, perceived at last, the bookshelf from which she had removed the volume concealed a door.1 Wilkinson’s text acts as a metaphor of the adventures of a reader. The account suggests that the primary role of the library, both private and commercial, in the early nineteenth century was that of dispensing information; Emily’s attention is first attracted to a volume of natural history. More importantly, it underlines the fundamental danger that is traditionally associated with the library, that unregulated access to libraries ultimately leads to improper behaviour. Emily is forced to visit the library in secret at night and in doing so finds herself in the role of a heroine of romance. For Wilkinson the library is unmistakably a contested 14

The Circulating Library 15

space where one can obtain both valuable knowledge (i.e. non-fiction) and pernicious ‘instruction’ traditionally associated with the Gothic romances. The romance also suggests that readers, particularly, female readers, are naive. Libraries, and predominantly commercial libraries, were, after all, ‘teeming’ with the Gothic romance, and their readers were supposedly primarily gullible females and servants.2 But were they ‘filled with books, under the title of romances and novels, which are entirely made up of stories of ghosts and spectres’?3 Are libraries as dangerous as Mrs Wilkinson implies? What do the books they contained and their readers tell us about Gothic fiction in the early nineteenth century?

The circulating library The circulating library uniquely offers a record of the shifting tastes of the reading audience from the 1770s onwards. Library catalogues offer direct access to the works of fiction in circulation, definite dates of publication, and provide a fixed frame of reference. Libraries, on the whole, illustrate the rise of fiction and the tremendous growth of the reading public. The most notorious—and therefore successful—publisher who specialised in Gothic fiction was, undoubtedly, William Lane’s Minerva Press. Lane’s Library, therefore, might be considered a measurement by which to judge the demand for the genre; and when considering that between 1795 and 1810 more than a third of the books published by Lane had Gothic titles, one can recognise the value of the demand he encouraged and supplied. The importance of the Minerva Press and Library cannot be underestimated, for Lane had a profound impact on the development, popularity and decline of Gothic fiction with the reading public. Significantly, the era of the great circulating libraries—Bell’s, Lackington’s, and Lane’s— coincided with the rise and development of Gothic fiction. Publishers were quick to recognise the potential value of Gothic’s terrifying possibilities. The commercial circulating library had the greatest influence on the popularity of Gothic fiction, both in London and in the provinces. The prohibitive price of books, in spite of the growing reading public and its increasing demand for Gothic fiction, forced publishers and booksellers to find new outlets for their books. Commercial libraries had begun to appear in London in the 1720s and quickly spread to the popular resorts. By the 1770s the circulating library was a fundamental aspect of the literary economy. The circulating library’s primary role was to provide fashionable novels at affordable prices. The expansion of commercial libraries, however, did not make novel-reading affordable


for the general masses, since the high cost of subscriptions (generally ten shillings or one pound a year) was too much for most working-class families; as novels became easier to acquire, nevertheless, novel-reading was still small and confined to the middle classes. A cursory examination of the catalogues themselves provides a fascinating insight into the commercial business surrounding the reading of the Gothic. The catalogue A catalogue of books belonging to a circulating library might cost from sixpence to two shillings and sixpence, and other libraries offered it free to the subscribers or refunded the amount to members after they subscribed. Generally catalogues were sixpence, but often large libraries that stocked English and foreign books charged more. For example, Pannier’s Foreign and English Circulating Library (1812) in London charged two shillings and sixpence. Large catalogues were arranged according to book format, and then arranged alphabetically by title or author, under wide subject headings within each group; and smaller catalogues were arranged alphabetically by title. The printed catalogue was never an exhaustive record of the stock of any library; therefore, there was always a need for supplements. Most libraries produced these yearly, though larger libraries produced them more often. Smaller libraries often copied titles directly into the back of catalogues by hand. The catalogues reveal that more than three quarters of the average library’s stock was non-fiction, yet an interesting pamphlet, The Use of Circulating Libraries Considered (1797), suggests that a library would consist of say 1500 volumes in the following proportions: 60 volumes of History 60 of Divinity 30 of Lives 20 of Voyages 20 of Travels 30 of Poetry 20 of Plays 1050 of Novels 130 of Romance 10 of Anecdotes 40 of Tales 30 of Arts and Sciences 1500.4


In this instance, it is suggested that about 80 per cent of the entire stock is fiction under the heading of ‘Novels’ and ‘Romances’. Romances under this heading were more often disguised novels. Real romances (i.e. poems or narratives with a romance language source) such as Cervantes’s Don Quixote, were not stocked in the smaller libraries. The titles of books, like the catalogue, were set out to both record and titillate the reader’s interest, thus appealing to new subscribers. One unmistakable clue to the reading taste of the period was specific works of authors mentioned in advertisements. A catalogue may sum up the contents of a library, but an advertisement places emphasis upon its general and specific attractions. Epsom’s library of London (1823), for example, advertised the following: A Catalogue of a collection of Books containing the 3500 Volumes of Novels, Tales, and Romances, By Burney, Edgeworth, Godwin, Hawkins, Holford, Inchbald, Lewis, Lady Morgan, Opie, Porter, Radcliffe, Robinson, Shelley, Charlotte Smith, Walker, the Author of Waverley, and other popular novelists.5 William Lane is another example of a library exploiting readers’ tastes, and advertising novels that were in vogue. Lane’s A Tale Addressed to the Novel Readers of the Present Times (1795) creates a romance narrative out of titles that were tremendously popular: In a sequestered and romantic part of an interior county resided ELLEN, COUNTESS OF CASTLE HOWARD; a Lady united an excellent mind to an elegant person. She was reared, and had received instruction from her conduct through life from the protectress of ANNA, or the WELCH HEIRESS: and though she had a few JUVENILE INDISCRETIONS, yet her guardian angel, hovering around her, prevented her sharing the fate of the innocent AGNES DE COURCY.6 The library organisation The library itself was an organisation strictly structured and streamlined into a competitive and profitable business. The larger and more prosperous libraries often employed a number of assistants to assist subscribers in locating the books of their choice. The standard procedure was for the subscriber to ask for the book required, and the librarian or assistant to locate that particular request. To prevent long lines and confusion, subscribers were advised to send in a choice list of 5–20 books in order to avoid disappointment. Records indicate that Minerva Library in 1796


employed four assistants and a librarian, while in small libraries the proprietor was the sole employee.7 The Librarian and assistants were also responsible for maintaining concise records of subscribers and of payment, essential to ensuring the financial success of the library. As libraries competed for new subscribers, one attraction was the length of the subscription. Because subscriptions ranged from monthly, quarterly, half-yearly and yearly, and non-subscribers could hire by the day, or the volume, the clerical work would have been enormous. The accounts must have been most complicated. There were, of course, economic pitfalls and difficulties for smaller libraries. The Use of Circulating Libraries Considered (1797) adds this (un)helpful caution: I am perfectly satisfied that not one Circulating Library in twenty, is, by its profits, enabled to give support to a family, or even pay for the trouble and expense attending it; therefore the bookselling and stationary business should always be annexed, and in country towns, some other may be added, the following in particular, are suitable for this purpose. Haberdashery, Hosiery, Hats, Tea, Tobacco and Snuffs; or Perfumery, and the sale of Patent Medicines. One or more of the above trades, (according to situation and circumstances) may, with propriety, and ought always to be followed, by the person keeping a library in the country. (p. 199) Circulating libraries themselves varied enormously in size. The largest claimed to be comprised of the most esteemed works in the English Language. Minerva’s prospectus in 1798 advertised that its library contained all the Works of Genius and Taste, both ancient and modern, whether History, Biography, Philosophy, Voyages, Travels, Poetry, &c . ..Also, for pleasure and Amusement, every Novel, Romance, Tale, and Adventure in the English Language, together with all Dramatic Publications.8 In 1802, Minerva Library in London advertised some 17000 volumes; William Booth’s circulating library in Norwich advertised some 4000 volumes; however, in terms of quantity, Lackington, Allen & Co., the supplier of ready-made circulating libraries and books, were in quite another league, advertising some 850,000 volumes.9 The smallest libraries, however, such as William Harrod’s in Stamford in 1790 advertised a


collection of 700 novels and 300 plays, but his catalogue lists only 265 titles.10 It was common practice to exaggerate the size of stock, mostly in anticipation of future business. Price The expansion of circulating libraries, however, did not make novelreading affordable for the general masses, as I have already suggested, since the high cost of subscriptions was often too much for working-class families. In 1803, the average earnings of an agricultural labourer was £42 and the skilled labourers £55; while in the middling class, a shopkeeper’s average earnings were £150, the clergy £120 and the lawyers £350.11 As the author of The Use of Circulating Libraries Considered suggested, in 1797: The rich may subscribe for a year, and the subscription will not exceed one guinea, in many instances less.—The middling class, or where the residence is temporary, may subscribe for three months, at the expense of four shillings; and those whose means are not so good, but have leisure time, may indulge in the luxury of reading for a month, at the trifling expense of eighteen pence or two shillings, which probably will be more than doubly saved by thus employing it. (p. 196) The price of a subscription, though, like the price of novels, rose steadily from 1790 to the 1830s. In 1790, subscribers to William Phorson’s Circulating Library in Berwick paid ten shillings a year and were entitled to one new book or two volumes;12 at R. Fisher’s Circulating Library in Newcastle in 1794, two books in the city and three in the country cost three shillings a year; and at W. Fish’s Circulating Library in Norwich in 1817, eighteen shillings entitled a subscriber to two sets of books in the city and three sets in the country.13 In London, subscriptions were even more expensive: in 1798, subscribers to Minerva Library paid a guinea a year and were permitted access to new publications; in 1809, four pounds, four shillings entitled a subscriber 12 sets of books in the city and 24 in the country at Ebers’s New Circulating Library;14 and in 1812, two guineas entitled the subscriber to 10 sets of books in the city and 15 in the country at Pannier’s Foreign and English Circulating Library. Subscriptions for small libraries lying outside London were more reasonably priced: in 1801, five shillings entitled a subscriber to one new book from Hargrove’s Circulating Library in York;15 at Turner’s Circulating Library in Beverley twelve shillings entitled the subscriber to two sets in the city and three in the country;16 and sixteen shillings entitled subscribers of


J. Cupper’s Circulating Library in Norwich in 1831 to two sets in the city and three in the country.17 Readers who could not afford a yearly subscription could still patronise circulating libraries. Non-subscribers were often obligated to deposit the value of the books they borrowed, and to pay additional fees which were fixed in various ways. At Turner’s Circulating Library in Beverley, non-subscribers paid twopence for reading all books under the value of five shillings; for books five shillings to seven and sixpence in value, threepence; for books above seven and sixpence, and under ten shillings, fourpence; and for all books above ten shillings, sixpence. In 1798 at the Minerva Library, individual books valued over a guinea cost a shilling; duodecimos, threepence. In 1828, M. & A. Church’s Circulating Library in Norwich was charging one penny per night for Novels and Plays, while ‘History, Poetry, Magazines, and New Plays’ were ‘Two-pence per Night’.18 Rules and regulations There were considerable numbers of regulations controlling circulating libraries in the eighteenth and nineteenth century from within the industry; and the general rules for the lending of books were substantially the same as those laid down in other catalogues of the time and were listed in the front of each. Subscriptions were paid in advance, and forfeited if the holder lent books to a non-subscriber. Books could be changed only once a day for residents of the city, and weekly for those who resided in the country. New publications were expected to be returned in a timely manner. Booth’s Circulating Library politely reminded subscribers that A quick return of New Publications is particularly requested, which will enable the Proprietor of this Library to accommodate all Subscribers; without which no regularity can be observed, nor satisfaction given. No preference will be given to Subscribers in the choice of New Books, unless it is to those who are punctual in the early return of them.19 Turner’s Circulating Library specified that ‘New novels must not be kept for longer than a week, and new plays and pamphlets not longer than two days.’20 Books from the Minerva Library were due at the end of each month, but most libraries only specified that books retained after the expiration of a subscription were considered as continuing their borrower’s subscription. Libraries also held the subscriber responsible for any and all damage to books and advised subscribers to take good care of the volumes borrowed. Turner’s catalogue specified that ‘If any book is lost, wrote


in, or in any respect made imperfect, that book, or if it belongs to a set, to be paid for by the person who took it out’ (p. v). But notwithstanding this warning, negligence was widespread; for instance, when Turner sold off the remaining stock of circulating library in 1817 several novels were missing certain volumes including ‘Orphan of the Rhine, Vols 1, 3, 4’ (p. 64). Volumes, when returned, were individually assessed by the librarian. If damaged, the penalty was the replacement of the damaged copy; the book’s price was often indicated inside the book. Proprietors specified the hour the libraries operated and when books could be returned. Booth’s Library in Norwich was open from 7 in the morning to 9 in the evening; however, city residents were admonished ‘not to send their books to be changed on a Saturday, until the evening, as the Country Subscribers must necessarily be attended to in the day, while the Carriers are in town’ (Booth, p. iii). Books, sometimes, were transported in boxes under lock and key. Subscribers paid for ‘Boxes, with Locks and Keys’ which were provided by the proprietor, along with the cost of transportation, ‘carriage and porterage’ (Booth, p. ii). The circulating libraries were above all ‘depots of learning, and stores for rational amusement, . . . adapted to all descriptions of persons and professions’, therefore, librarians were instructed ‘to be a polite misanthrope; look with an equal eye on opulence and poverty, and act so to give offence to neither’ (The Use of Circulating Libraries Considered, pp. 196, 200). After all, the library’s role was to provide a large range of books which would be beneficial to the reader. The author of The Use of Circulating Libraries Considered draws from this notion a simple warning: Books of information and instruction, are in these days read with avidity; and where the library is composed of such, blended with other amusements, its institution will be found a public benefit: But the greatest care should be taken to exclude every book of a profane, immoral, or indelicate nature; when proper books are put into the hands of young persons, let reflection be joined to reading, and knowledge must, and will follow. (p. 200) Considering this advice, what place did Gothic fiction have in the circulating library?

Gothic fiction in the circulating library Circulating libraries then offer a unique insight into the middle-class end of popular literature and can indicate the rise and decline in popularity


of certain books, and provide fundamental information about the circulation and availability of Gothic fiction. Their catalogues make plain that the Gothic, while numerous, was by no means dominating the circulating library in the early nineteenth century. In circulating libraries, Gothic fiction gained and sustained the readers’ interest during the 1790s through such authors as Mrs Radcliffe and Matthew Lewis. Certainly the reviewers of The Monthly Review, The Critical Review and The Anti-Jacobin were continually admonishing the reading public for their Gothic predilection: I allude, Sir, principally to the great quantity of Novels, with which our circulating libraries are filled, and our parlour tables are covered, in which it has been the fashion to make Terror the order of the day, by confining the heroes and heroines in old gloomy castles, full of Spectres, apparitions, ghosts and dead men’s bones.21 This predilection for Gothic romances still remained in the circulating libraries at the turn of the nineteenth century. The success of the Gothic registers itself in the catalogues of the circulating libraries; although it is recognised that inclusion in a library does not necessarily indicate that a book was read, in an industry driven by consumer interest, it is likely that titles which were included in library catalogues reflect to an extent consumer interest in the marketplace. In order to produce a detailed and focused analysis of Gothic fiction in libraries between 1800 and 1834, and to accurately and concisely discuss the wider cultural implications which historically evaluative readings of the Gothic have imposed, I have had to narrow and closely define the Gothic topography in terms of books actually published. The actual number of Gothic novels, like bluebooks and short stories, produced in this period is of course impossible to determine precisely: early bibliographical attempts by Montague Summers, Maurice Levy, Jakob Brauchli, Ann Tracy, Robert Mayo and most significantly Frederick Frank have perhaps disappointingly led to relatively rough estimates; however, when these early attempts are integrated with the recent bibliographical study The English Novel 1770–1829: A Bibliographical Survey of Prose Fiction Published in the British Isles (2000) an increasingly complete and accurate account of Gothic novels published after 1800 emerges. Establishing a complete account of the novel is important for several reasons: first, it establishes and clearly defines this body of work to consider and to study; secondly, it contextualises the entire corpus of the Gothic within the larger novel market; and third, it allows us to look at the


broader issues that surround the post-1800 Gothic, such as publishing trends, the widespread hypothesis of a diminishing readership, saturation of the market and so on. The popular English novel of the early nineteenth century is unmistakably pivotal in the history of the novel. What literary critics often refer to as the pinnacle of Gothic interest, 1764–1820, is more often referred to as the age of Walter Scott and Jane Austen. However, while this period is particularly characterised by the emergence of historical fiction, it is also famous for what Scott describes as the overstocked hamper of imitations and common Gothic novels.22 By the nineteenth century the Gothic trade was expanding at a tremendous rate with the production of novels continually on the increase: 1800–1809 were the most productive years for novel production with 199 titles appearing, as compared to 109 for the period 1790–1799 and 89 for 1811–1820. Figure 2.1 shows the total number of Gothic novels between 1800 and 1834, reflecting several high and low points in the production: the highest points saw the publication of 27 titles in 1800 and 22 new titles in 1802, 1805 and 1806, as well as 22 titles in 1810 and 11 titles in 1819; and the lowest occurring between 1820 and 1834 with a total of just 53 new titles. Generally speaking, these figures for the production of Gothic novels differ significantly with the overall production of fiction, as the high points for the Gothic novel generally occurred in the first decade of the

Gothic novels

Novels

140 120 100 80 60 40 20 0 1800 Figure 2.1

1805

1810

1815

Overall Gothic novel production

1820

1825

1830


nineteenth century. The English Novel 1770–1829: A Bibliographical Survey of Prose Fiction Published in the British Isles (2000) provides the most detailed figures for the total novel production during this period and indicates that a total of 770 novels between 1800 and 1809 (199 or 26 per cent of those being Gothic novels). Figure 2.1 shows drastic variation of the total number of Gothic novels versus total fiction produced, reflecting the fact that production of Gothic novels steadily declined from a high point of 27 novels in 1800 to an average of just five or six after 1820. Figure 2.1 also illustrates some interesting trends such as the tendency of Gothic novel production to reflect the general downturn in overall novel production between 1808 and 1815. The figure similarly shows the volatility of the Gothic production, as in 1803, 19 or 24 per cent of the 79 novels published were Gothic, while in 1804 that number significantly decreased to just 10 or 14 per cent of 73 novels published. The drop, though, was temporary; in 1805, 22 or 29 per cent of 75 novels published were Gothic. However, titles can be deceptive and certainly titles were designed to be just that. Non-Gothic and anti-Gothic often disguised their sentimental or domestic content behind provocative Gothic titles. The anonymous Waldeck Abbey (1795) sounds Gothic, but is the domestic misadventures of a mother and daughter, while Regina Roche’s The Maid of the Hamlet (1793) conceals a novel whose content and tone are distinctly Gothic. Table 2.1 indicates the total fiction and Gothic novel holdings of ten circulating libraries beginning in 1800 and extending through 1831. These figures, perhaps surprisingly, illustrate the continued and sustained interest of Gothic fiction well into the 1830s despite a decline in the publication of the Gothic. For instance, Church’s Circulating library in Norwich (catalogue published in 1828) contained 1129 novels, of Table 2.1

Total fiction and Gothic novels holdings in circulating libraries

Library Newman (London) Kinnear (Edinburgh) Bettison (Cheltenham) Manchester (Public) Booth (Norwich) Fish (Norwich) Cupper (Norwich) Church (Norwich) Norwich (Public) Turner (Beverley)

Catalogue years

Total fiction

Gothic

%

1800–1816 1800–1825 1800–1829 1800–1829 1802–1803 1817 1831 1828 1812 1801–1803

1137 1060 995 405 802 699 976 1129 244 734

241 225 141 21 153 102 173 227 38 108

21 21 14 5 19 18 18 20 16 15


which 865 or 77 per cent were published between 1800 and 1828. Of that number, 194 or 17 per cent were Gothic; when that is combined with the 33 Gothic novels in the catalogue which were published prior to 1800, the total is 227 or 20 per cent of the library that can be considered Gothic. These figures, of course, have to be compared against the total of 2265 titles published between 1800 and 1829, of which 333 or 15 per cent are considered Gothic novels. The amount of Gothic novels in circulating libraries in this survey varied only slightly (with the exception of Manchester Public Library), ranging from 14 to 21 per cent. Interestingly, Fish’s 1817 catalogue contained some 675 novels, of which 362 or 54 per cent were published between 1800 and 1817 (Fish carried just 28 per cent of the 1297 novels published between 1800 and 1817). Of the 362 only 72 or 20 per cent are ‘Gothic’ novels; however, if we combine the 30 Gothic novels published between 1764 and 1799 the total rises to 102 or 15 per cent of the total stock. What is intriguing about Fish’s library is that he includes at least 24 bluebooks under the heading of novels and romances; when these are combined with the entire stock the number increases to 699 works, of which 126 or 18 per cent are ‘Gothic’ material, a number still significantly lower than the total of Gothic novels, namely 272 or 21 per cent of all novels produced between 1800 and 1817. It is also clear that to simply classify bluebooks as novels could substantially increase a library’s Gothic stock. Table 2.1 also illustrates the Gothic’s sustainability in the marketplace: Cupper’s Library in Norwich (1831) contains 976 novels, of which 173 or 18 per cent are Gothic, though significantly only 131 or 14 per cent were published after 1800. This compares with Booth’s Circulating Library of Norwich which in 1802 contained 802 novels, of which some 153 or 19 per cent are Gothic, and 64 or 42 per cent are post-1800. Overall, this survey indicates that an average of 18 per cent of a library’s stock consisted of Gothic fiction, a number which reflects consistent reader interest but which does not illustrate either marketplace domination or a declining readership. One argument, perhaps, is that it was the retention of pre-1800 Gothic novels which sustained the Gothic novel; however, in most cases, after 1800, libraries such as Church’s and Cupper’s stocked a significant number of contemporary novels as well as a mixture of older stock. Table 2.2, in fact, illustrates the number of Gothic novels in libraries which were published after 1800, a figure which suggests that most circulating libraries not only retained significant numbers of early Gothic novels, but continued to purchase contemporary fiction: However, what this figure does not represent is the ‘shelf life’ of Gothic novels. For instance, most libraries in this survey contained

26 The History of Gothic Publishing, 1800–1835 Table 2.2

Amount of post-1800 Gothic novels in circulating libraries

Library Newman Kinnear Bettison Manchester Booth Fish Cupper Church Norwich (Public) Turner

Years

Gothic novels

%

1800–1816 1808–1825 1800–1829 1818, 1831 1802 1817 1831 1828 1812 1801–1803

241 225 141 21 64 72 131 194 8 21

71 66 41 7 19 21 38 57 3 7

a copy of Walpole’s The Castle of Otranto (1764): for Cupper’s library (1831) in Norwich, the 67-year-old book still remained a favourite. Such retention, combined with A. K. Newman’s republishing of ‘classic’ Minerva texts, invariably extended the Gothic’s presence in most libraries as the numbers of Gothic novels produced began to decrease. This of course raises the possibility that the Gothic did not simply fall out of vogue as novel production declined, but rather interest in the genre (i.e. library interest) remained relatively consistent around 18 per cent after 1800. Library catalogues also provide information about author productivity and popularity which in turn affected book trends in circulating libraries. Indeed, the productivity of Gothic novelists illustrated in Table 2.3 reflects the ability to produce quickly new and diverse fiction in the nineteenth century: Francis Lathom, for instance, a Norwich author, wrote a total of 17 novels between 1800 and 1829, 9 of which are Gothic; and Mary Meeke wrote 19 novels, of which 7 are Gothic. Both authors illustrate

Table 2.3

Productivity of Gothic authors, 1800–1834

Authors Meeke, Mary Lathom, Francis Stanhope, Louisa Sidney Harvey, Jane Hatton Curtis, Julia Ann Kemble Roche, Regina Maria Wilkinson, Sarah Green, William Child

Novels

Gothic

19 17 14 12 13 11 6 5

7 9 8 5 4 4 4 4


the ability to diversify: Lathom, for instance, in the preface to The Fatal Vow; or, St. Michael’s Monastery (1.107) in 1807 acknowledged that ‘Historical romances are the taste of the times; and I think it a sufficient sanction for an author whose remuneration is to arise from gratifying the public taste, to apply his pen to such subjects and interest the feeling of the majority.’23 On the other hand, authors like William Child Green and Sarah Wilkinson wrote almost, but not quite, exclusively in the Gothic formula with little deviation and produced a substantial number of novels. Table 2.3 gives a sketch of the production of hack authors, indicating the amount of total novels which include the Gothic, as well as the number of Gothic novels produced. Clearly, author productivity, as well as their appeal to circulating library readers, is reflected to an extent in library catalogues. Table 2.4 reflects the number of ‘Gothic’ novels by authors which were carried in the ten circulating libraries surveyed. For instance, Francis Lathom’s nine Gothic novels appeared in all ten circulating libraries (as did all of his novels). One Gothic novel in particular was extremely popular: Mystery: A Novel (1.221) appeared in all libraries except the Manchester Public Library, whose entire fictional stock of 405 contained only 21 Gothic novels. It must be stated that no single novel appeared in all circulating libraries surveyed. Significantly, of the 342 ‘Gothic’ novels examined in this survey, 23 novels do not appear in any library including Sarah Wilkinson’s New Tales (1.227), Jane Harvey’s Minerva Castle, A Tale (1.191), and the anonymous Alexena; or, The Castle of Santa Marco (1.7). Interestingly, the latter two titles were both published by Minerva Press, and both titles did not even appear in the Minerva Library. Perhaps most surprising is the scant availability of the so-called Table 2.4 Most popular Gothic authors in circulating libraries, 1800–1834 Authors Lathom, Francis Frances, Sophia L. Lewis, Matthew Meeke, Mary Owenson, Sidney Yorke, Mrs R. M. P. Hansworth, H. H. Roche, Regina Maria Cuthbertson, Catherine Helme, Elizabeth

Novels in libraries surveyed 9 8 8 8 8 8 7 7 7 7


‘classic’ Gothic novels in these libraries; for example, Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus (1.120) appears in only three libraries, and John Polidori’s The Vampyre; A Tale (1.321) appears in only one. Charles Maturin’s Melmoth the Wanderer (1.186) was available in four libraries, compared to Matthew Lewis’s translation of Johann Zschokke’s The Bravo of Venice, A Romance (1.37), which appears in eight while both Fish’s and Cupper’s circulating libraries in Norwich did not carry any Gothic ‘classics’. Though this is a relatively small survey it does indicate a level of popularity of certain novelists, most of whom were ‘trade’ authors who diversified their works according to readers’ interest. While catalogues of circulating libraries may illustrate, the best criterion of circulation would be found in the number of copies of each book which libraries contained. For example, William Lane indicated that there were as many as 25 copies of a single novel in the Minerva library, a number which truly reflects the popularity of a single novel. Unfortunately, however, there is no information about the replacement rate of libraries; one library might possibly purchase ten copies of a popular novel, but it would remain a single entry in the catalogue.24 There are of course exceptions: W. Booth’s catalogue (1802) and J. Cupper’s catalogue (1831) frequently identify ‘Another Set’ of a book. This suggests that certain novels were popular enough to require additional copies, but this was not standard. Availability of certain texts and authors also reveals the commercial library’s relationship with certain publishers. For example, Turner’s Circulating Library (1801) in Beverley contains 648 novels in duodecimo format, 15 per cent of which are Gothic. The catalogue, which is in the British Library, is indexed alphabetically, each novel, not volume, being numbered, and the price of each book listed. Most of his Gothic stock was printed in the 1790s such as Isabella Kelly’s Abbey of St. Asaph (1795), Francis Lathom’s Castle of Ollada (1795), Stephen Cullen’s Haunted Priory (1794), John Palmer’s Haunted Cavern (1796) and Eleanor Sleath’s The Orphan of the Rhine (1798). Moreover, each of these titles were printed by William Lane’s Minerva Press and indicate that Minerva supplied a large proportion of Turner’s stock. Christopher Skelton-Foord indicates that Minerva Press books enjoyed large circulation especially through small entertaining libraries.25 In Norwich, 30 per cent of the fiction holdings in the four circulating libraries in this survey were from the Minerva Press.26 Catalogues such as Turner’s illustrate the common errors and discrepancies associated with Gothic titles: item is listed as ‘Avondale Priory, 3 vol. 10s. 6d.’ and item is listed separately as ‘Ruins of Avondale Priory, 3 vol.


10s.6d’. Turner inflated his stock by altering the titles and listing them twice. This was a common practice to increase the apparent size of the library.27 The Appendix to M. Turner’s Catalogue of His Circulating Library for the Year 1802 reflects the continuing demand for Gothic fiction. Turner adds an additional 46 novels including Mary Meeke’s Midnight Weddings (1.188) and Anna Maria Mac Kenzie’s Swedish Mysteries (1.305). The 1803 Appendix of the 40 new acquisitions indicates few Gothic novels including Elizabeth Helme’s St. Margaret’s Cave (1.303) and another copy of Francis Lathom’s Mystery (1.221). By 1817, Turner may have abandoned the circulating library for there is only A Catalogue of Books Sold by M. Turner, Bookseller, Stationer, and Printer.28 The novels on sale, though, are the same that were in the library 15 years before. One hundred and fifty-five novels are for sale, of which many were Gothic. What is also interesting is not only what is being sold and the price of the books, but also what volumes are missing from certain sets. For example, Cavern of Death (1794) is priced at just one shilling and sixpence; Orphan of the Rhine (1798) – vols 1, 3, 4 is priced at three shillings; and Villeroy, or The Fatal Moment – vols 1, 2 was priced at two shillings. Similarly, in Norwich, William Fish’s library catalogue (1817) illustrates the exploitative potential of Gothic fiction. Fish’s catalogue advertises 705 ‘Novels and Romances’, 18 per cent of which are Gothic fiction, and reveals a proprietor with an eye on both ends of the literary market. A large collection of ‘trade’ Gothic, an especially large influx of novels published by Minerva Press, suggests his desire to acquire many of the most popular works and, presumably, to weed out titles no longer in vogue to make room for these new ones and to keep his stock attractive. Fish also retains a fair measure of non-Gothic, romantic-era texts which include: Miss Edgeworth’s Moral Tales (1801); Goldsmith’s Vicar of Wakefield (1766); Scott’s Lady of the Lake (1810); Jane Austen’s Sense and Sensibility (1811) and Pride and Prejudice (1813); and Mrs Inchbald’s Simple Story (1791). Fish, in fact, provides a good instance of a library enjoying a resurgence of interest in Gothic fiction during the second decade of the nineteenth century. The cataloguing practice at his library allows us to witness how diverse reading materials were brought together to increase readers’ interest, specifically in the Gothic. Fish’s catalogue is 47 pages and indexed alphabetically with a complex numbering system. William Fish’s primary trade was not as a bookseller, but rather a music dealer. On initial examination of the titles available, his stock reflects a relatively high concentration (i.e. 18 per cent) of Gothic novels; it could


be that he responded to William Lane’s or Lackington’s advertisement to set up a circulation library to provide supplementary income (both advertised in local Norwich papers). The library consists of over 700 novels and romances, 230 plays and 80 books on history, voyages, travels and poetry. His inventory is comprised of triple-decker Gothic novels, tales from the German and French, chapbooks and shilling shockers, and periodicals. In the provinces at least, the Gothic novel continued to dominate. Sir Walter Scott in the Monthly Review substantiates this observation when he stated in 1821: The taste for horrors, or for tales abounding in supernatural events and characters, compacts with the devil, and mysterious prolongations of human life, has for some years past been on the decline in England. The necromancers of the Rhine, the Italian assassins of Mrs. Radcliffe, the St. Leons of Mr. Godwin, &c., &c., had indeed begun to disappear, overwhelmed by their own extravagance, previously to any positive symptom of a returning relish for sense and nature . . . yet [the works] still [retain] .. .their station in the first rank of the provincial circulating library.29 Fish’s catalogue is a unique guide to a provincial bookseller. The catalogue contains the most lurid of Gothic titles: Blood-Stained Dagger, Bravo of Bohemia, or The Black Forest, Father Innocent, Abbot of the Capuchin; or The Crimes of Cloisters, Gondez the Monk, Midnight Assassin; or The Confessions of the Monk Rinaldi, Mysterious Baron, The Monk of Udolpho, Tales of Horror, and The Veiled Picture, or Mysteries of Gorgona. Fish also carried a large number of bluebooks, not included in Table 2.1, which consisted 36–72 pages and were often redactions of popular novels. Clearly by 1810, the emphasis of the Gothic had shifted from the terror narratives to those of unrestrained horror on the example of Matthew Lewis rather than Ann Radcliffe. The titles indicate a shift to the horrific narrative and the increased availability of bluebook titles such as Albani; or, The Murderer of his Child (2.7), Maximilian and Selma; or, The Mysterious Abbot, A Flemish Tale (2.203), and The Secret Oath; or, Blood-Stained Dagger (2.286) lined the shelves.30 The Use of a Circulating Library Considered in fact strongly suggests that libraries should exclude such productions: ‘Pamphlets in general are very properly excluded from the shelves of Circulating Libraries. They are literary mushrooms, which only enjoy a precarious existence, therefore cannot afford a lasting source of either instruction or amusement’ (p. 199). Though the inclusion of such ‘literary mushrooms’ in circulating libraries suggests that while bluebooks,


chapbooks and pamphlets were ‘disreputable’, they were profitable. Although the bluebook had gained in popularity, the long triple-decker Gothic novels that marked the early years of the genre still dominated the market. The majority of Fish’s stock is comprised of long Gothic novels such as T. J. Horsley-Curties’ The Monk of Udolpho (1.196) and Eliza Parsons’ The Mysterious Warning (1796). Fish’s Library is indicative of not only the proliferation of the Gothic, but its ‘corruption’ (i.e. its recycling, and continued interest for readers). For Fish, Gothic fiction is a commodity and in this respect, he catered to his customers. The more books with lurid titles, the more money he was likely to make. He stocks purely to please the reader.

The readers While circulating libraries’ catalogues are reliable indicators of the availability of novels, they tell us very little about what was read and, more specifically, who were the readers. There is undoubtedly increased interest in what ‘real’ readers read, and this interest has resulted in the unprecedented gathering of the recorded experiences of eighteenth- and nineteenth-century readers from diaries and correspondence. Increasingly the reader’s response, like those of Anna Seward, Anna Larpent31 and Mary Russell Mitford, is utilised as an indicator of the popular taste, which uniquely provides both critical and social insights. For instance, both Rictor Norton’s Gothic Readings: The First Wave, 1764–1840 and the website Cardiff Corvey: Reading the Romantic Text provide anecdotal comments from diaries and letters on many romantic texts; unfortunately, though, most of these comments are from established literary critics such as Hester Lynch Thrale Piozzi, Samuel Taylor Coleridge, Charlotte Brontë and William Makepeace Thackeray and frustratingly restricted to canonical authors and texts.32 They do not reveal what the ordinary readers and subscribers to circulating libraries read. Fortunately, a few catalogues document the reading of individuals who otherwise left no trace of their reading habits or preferences. As I have already pointed out, catalogues cannot disclose how, or even whether, the books were read, but—in the cases examined here—they do offer insight into the ‘cultural diet’ of entertaining works which prevailed among the anonymous reading public in the provinces. Two such catalogues from Norwich document the probable reading lists of two circulating library patrons, who, in the fourteen years they cover—between 1817 and 1831—read approximately 113 novels. On the one hand, these examples are not surprising and, at least superficially,


substantiate specific gender and class suppositions regarding the consumption of Gothic literature.33 But on the other hand, they do not confirm the nineteenth-century literary-historical view which supposed that diminishing audiences for the Gothic novel led to its decline between 1814 and 1820.34 The 1817 catalogue of William Fish’s Circulating Library, 38 London Lane Norwich, contains the name Averil Sibel, the same year that the play ‘Edwin, Heir of Cressingham’ appeared at the Theatre Royal, founded on Mrs Porter’s historical romance Scottish Chiefs (1.280) and written by Mr Edward Ball of Norwich. Averil Sibel of 108 Pottersgate Street subscribed to Fish’s library, paying either two guineas per year for music and reading combined or eighteen shillings per year for general reading only. Her husband, John Samuel, a veterinary surgeon, had been a member of the affluent Norwich Public Library since 1800 paying two and a half guineas on admission, and thereafter eight shillings per year. The Norwich Public Library was an influential institution made up of not only prominent Norwich literati including the German scholar and author William Taylor, the Martineau Family, the bookseller and circulating library proprietor William Booth, as well as the Reverend and critic William Enfield who famously reviewed Ann Radcliffe’s The Mysteries of Udolpho in 1794, but also distinguished politicians such as Right Honourable William Windham (1750–1810) who served as Secretary of War under William Pitt and Lord Grenville and William Smith M. P. (1756–1835) who worked with William Wilberforce on the abolition of the slave trade. The proprietor William Fish, an oboe player and music teacher, was the first in Norwich to open a Musical Circulating Library, though W. Booth was lending songs and glees, in April 1800. Moving to 38, London Lane, from No. 12, Upper Market, Fish built up a more traditional library which, while more profitable than lending music, was not more profitable than the sale and hiring out of instruments. After 1817 he left the running of his ‘Circulating Library and Music Warehouse’ to his wife, Elizabeth Fish, while he continued to be an active musician, teacher of the oboe, piano and violin, leading concerts, conducting and composing instrumental and vocal music.35 The location of Fish’s Music store and library on London Lane, in fact, tells us something about the stock of the library and its clientele. Located just off the high street, Fish’s prominent location would have attracted a variety of clients, both working and middle class, amongst whom would be those who could afford to rent a musical instrument, and those who needed something ‘considerably under the usual prices’.36


While John’s vocation of veterinarian had been profitable for the Sibels, it still ranked below medical doctors and therefore the Sibels would have been considered lower middle class and were subsequently included as trades people in the 1830 Norwich directory. Averil’s reading such as the anonymous He Would Be a Peer (1798), the anonymous Sketches of Character, or Specimens of Real Life (1808), Barbara Hofland’s Visit to London; or, Emily and Her Friends. A Novel (1814), and the anonymous Rosetta, a novel by a lady well known in the fashionable world (1805) indicates an upward mobility in her aspirations. In total, she read some 60 novels from the catalogue, and admittedly very few of them are Gothic. She appears to have had an interest, specifically, in the domestic: Amelia Beauclerc’s Husband Hunters (1816), Mrs Edgeworth’s Wife; or, A Model for Woman (1810), and Barbara Hofland’s Patience and Perseverance, or, The Modern Griselda: A Domestic Tale (1813). Her selection of domestic novels, especially those reinforcing marital standards of the age, was perhaps because her husband John appears to have been much older than her. John was born in 1759 and while there is no indication of Averil’s age their marriage in 1812 and the birth of their first daughter the next year suggests that she was significantly younger than her husband. Averil’s interest in the Gothic, however, is evident: Matilda Fitz John’s Joan!!! A Novel (1796), T. J. Horsley Curties’s St. Botolph’s Priory; or, The Sable Mask, An Historical Romance (1.300), and Sydney Owenson’s Wild Irish Girl (1.334). She preferred historical, didactic and domestic tales with Gothic settings such as Owenson’s Wild Irish Girl the story of which confronts the issue of forced marriages between the English and the Irish. The second catalogue is related to events which began ten years before in 1821. A certain gentleman and silk merchant, John Thurtell, advertised that while walking one January night through Norwich he had been robbed of £1508 by three men: he posted a £100 reward for any information. This was a rather remarkable sum of money even for a gentleman to be carrying and in fact it was a fraud; inside a fortnight, Thurtell’s bombazine firm declared bankruptcy and he absconded. Two years later, he and his brother Thomas Jr were accused of the murder of a gentleman, a Mr Weare in Hertford, though his brother was acquitted and became a reluctant witness for the prosecution. A producer of six penny fiction, James Catnach, sensationalised the crime in the macabre chapbook the Full, True and Particular Account of the Murder of Mr. Weare by John Thurtell and His Companions. By operating four presses day and night, Catnach produced a quarter-million copies within a week. Thurtell’s subsequent trial for murder proved as sensational.


Thurtell’s father, Thomas Thurtell, Esq. (1765–1846), a Norwich alderman, produced a local scandal by refusing to pay for a lawyer to cross-examine the prosecution witnesses in the case (there was, of course, no legal aid in those times). The sensational nature of the trial caused Catnach to put two more printers to work, and in eight days they produced 500,000 copies of the trial proceedings.37 Thurtell was found guilty and hung for the murder in 1824. The career of his father Thomas Thurtell was not permanently tarnished—in 1828 he became Mayor of Norwich. Three years later, Mrs Thurtell, the mother of the executed John, had, herself, developed a certain fondness for sensational fiction.38 She had subscribed to James Cupper’s Circulating Library, opposite the Rampant Horse, St Stephens, Norwich, that was in part devoted to sensational Gothic novels. The catalogue is dated 1831, the same year that Paganini performed at the Corn Exchange and the drama ‘Fate of Frankenstein’ was performed at the Theatre Royal. Mrs Thurtell’s name is inscribed in the front of A Catalogue of James Cupper’s Circulating Library (1831) which was located at numbers 25 and 27, London Street, from 1823 to 1831 when he moved his library opposite the Rampant Horse, St Stephens. The location of the library in fact tells us something about the stock of the library and its clientele. The Rampant Horse, across the street from the library, was one of the largest commercial and family hotel and coaching inns in Norwich, and the first prominent posting-house that travellers on the road from London would encounter after arriving in Norwich. The library’s prominent location on the affluent St Stephens (the London Road) near the Theatre Royal suggests that Cupper’s subscribers were, likewise, wellto-do. The library’s stock not only reflects the literary tastes of his readers, but would have to appeal to wealthy visitors passing through Norwich on the way to seaside resorts such as Cromer, who would have needed a fresh supply of books for the holidays. It is also clear that the library specifically catered for travellers because he offered subscriptions ‘by the Month or Week, two [books] in the Country, and one in the City; the Books not to be kept longer than a week’ (Cupper, p. 2). Cupper’s stock of 976 novels was relatively current or post-1800; for instance, of the 173 Gothic novels, 131 or 76 per cent were produced after 1800. Cupper’s readers were also very fond of Mary Meeke in particular, the library contained all 24 of her novels and translations. Norwich’s local celebrity Francis Lathom was also well represented with 15 of the 22 novels and translations available, the missing including his translations from the French, Ernestine (1803) and Castle of the Thuillieries (1.52), as well as Midnight Bell (1798), The Impenetrable Secret: Find It


Out (1.150), Fashionable Mysteries; or The Rival Duchesses (and other tales) (1829), Polish Bandit, or Who is My Bride, and Other Tales (1824), and Young John Bull; or, Born Abroad and Bred at Home (1828). Mrs Thurtell, in fact, read four of Lathom’s novels including Astonishment!!! (1.21), Very Strange but Very True, or, History of an Old Man and His Young Wife (1803), The Fatal Vow; or, St. Michael’s Monastery (1.107) and Live and Learn, or The First John Brown (1823). The record of what Mrs Susanna Thurtell (1764–1848) read conspicuously connects the criminal acts of her sons with the sensibilities of her social class.39 Mrs Thurtell may have been responding to the criminal atmosphere of the society, and perhaps the Gothic was a way to assimilate that, or to titillate the senses by removing the closeness of the events through the use of an exotic or distant setting. Two distinct features of Mrs Thurtell’s reading stand out: her predilection for horror and for works with female protagonists. Her fondness for horror is most striking; she read not only Horace Walpole’s The Castle of Otranto (1764), but also the anonymous The Cavern of Death: A Moral Tale (1794), Orlando’s The Chamber of Death; or, Fate of Rosaria (1.64), Mrs R. P. M. Yorke’s Haunted Palace, or The Horrors of Ventoliene (1.137), Mrs F. C. Patrick’s More Ghosts! (1798), George Brewer’s The Witch of Ravensworth: A Romance (1.336) and perhaps most telling Mary Meeke’s Conscience (1814). On the other hand, she preferred works with strong female characters, such as Mary Meeke’s Elizabeth; or The Exiles of Siberia (1807), Mrs Edgeworth’s The Wife or Model for Women (1810) and Mrs Parson’s Women as They Are (1796). It is also clear from her reading list that she was interested in the state of matrimony: she also read Mrs Bridget Bluemantle’s Husband and Wife or Matrimonial Martyr (1808) and Bachelor’s Miseries (1814); Horatio Smith’s Trevanion, or Matrimonial Errors (1801); Mary Ann Kelty’s Trials, a Tale (1824) and Madam Arblay’s The Wanderer, or Female Difficulties (1814). Mrs Thurtell’s life and reading habits, perhaps more than Averil Sibel’s, best exemplifies the argument that one of the most contested areas in the contemporary eighteenth- and nineteenth-century cultural debate was, undoubtedly, the Gothic novel. Conduct books and periodicals often attacked the novel as a moral danger: it was unprofitable, a misemployment of time, and it failed to improve the mind of the reader. The Scots Magazine was one of manifold periodicals which argued that reading secretly corrupted the mind; even Gothic writers like Sarah Wilkinson and Eleanor Sleath condemned the novel because ‘fictitious tales of distress . . . have a dangerous tendency’ (Sleath, Orphan, p. 147). In regard to Mrs Thurtell’s Gothic reading, it may have been the specific social distress of her son’s death that gave rise to the dangerous tendency; in


her case, reading Gothic fiction then may have provided a distancing, or escape, from that distress, which is an interesting variation on the contemporary stereotypes of the female reader. The library catalogues of these two readers suggest that reading, like the circulating libraries themselves, was diverse and varied. Both readers read a large variety of novels and their range was not limited by any perceived class or gender constraints, or confined to a ‘genre’. Moreover they read a variety of authors, but perhaps surprisingly few ‘classics’, with the exception of Jane Austen and Horace Walpole. Neither reader read those authors such as Walter Scott and Ann Radcliffe who are commonly associated with the ‘popular’ in the early nineteenth century. Perhaps those proprietors considered the advice of The Use of Circulating Libraries Considered that Reading and instruction should be universal—the humbler walks of life require much culture; for this purpose I would recommend to their perusal, books of authenticity, in preference to those of entertainment only. The simple form of truth will cause a more lasting impression on the mind, than the tawdry shade of fancy and embellishment. Where the beauties of thought are joined with those of expression, it is impossible but they must please; but these are not the best books for instruction. (pp. 201–202) Even a small sampling of libraries and readers indicate that circulating libraries and their readers did construct a different ‘canon’ than is suggested by literary history.

3 Literary Mushrooms: The Gothic Bluebook

Tell us, ye dead, will none of you in pity to those left behind, disclose the secret? – Robert Blair, The Grave The 1803 portrait of young Percy Bysshe Shelley reading ‘garish’ bluebooks under the rose bushes at Sion House, which he obtained from a rather sordid circulating library, is a familiar, if not a disquieting aspect of literary history. Apart from the vicarious thrills provided by such ‘horrid’ material, these tawdry rewrites of Gothic fiction had the added benefit for the middle classes, of being inexpensive to obtain—sixpence or a shilling—or a mere penny a night from the local circulating library which stocked a multitude of horrid and sensational titles. To be specific, bluebooks were a whole series of publications that appeared to satisfy the demand for Gothic fiction, which followed the publication of the novels of Horace Walpole, Ann Radcliffe and Matthew Lewis. The popularity of these short 36–72-page productions, distinguished by their flimsy blue covers, was immense. They were enjoyed by readers in the thousands, apparently, so the standard argument runs, primarily those of the working class, eager to obtain tales of terror in their simplest and crudest form. Gothic novels, after all, were most certainly lengthy and very expensive, well beyond the earnings of such readers. The idea was undeniably straightforward; publishers redacted, plagiarised, abridged, extracted and imitated popular authors and well-known Gothic novels. Indeed, they are exclusively represented by critics as the vulgarisation of the already pastiche-ridden Gothic genre, the dumbing down of its intricate and convoluted plots, dark motifs, and representations of the sublime into simple tales of terror. This is the contemporary critical representation of the Gothic bluebook, but is it the most accurate? 37


A disreputable literary history Critical and historical studies of Gothic fiction have long struggled to conceal its disreputable and degenerate offspring: the Gothic bluebook. This contemptuous diffidence endures, to the embarrassment of Gothic scholars who have been compelled to categorise these cheap productions as merely popular and consequently disreputable works. Until William Watt’s Shilling Shockers of the Gothic School in 1932, there were no full-length accounts of Gothic bluebooks, only inadequate, and often derogatory references to them as an undistinguished curiosity which merit no scholarly treatment of their sources, influences, biographical contexts and generic features. Since that time, though, uneasiness has given way to increasing indifference, and as the Gothic literary tradition has advanced its claims for literary value, curiously the Gothic bluebook remains little more than plagiarised novel devoted not to the moral, but to spectacular events. This chapter not only examines the bluebook trade to observe some of the major trends in the production and reception, it also offers an overview of the lowest form of trade Gothic to provide a basis for a more accurate contextualisation of bluebooks in terms of the entirety of the Gothic discourse surrounding the trade Gothic. Principally there are four main assumptions that underlie the various critical examinations, whether they be concise or wide-ranging, of the legitimacy of Gothic bluebooks. First assumption persistently places the bluebooks automatically on a lower literary plane than the Gothic novel through suggestions that it is a corrupted form of the Gothic, the disposable rubbish whose commercial value is indicative of the Gothic’s disintegration. The second assumption is that innovation and originality are restricted to Gothic novels; bluebooks are without exception plagiarisms, abridgements, redactions and condensations of the leading Gothic authors. The third assumption is that these ‘garish’ plagiarisms were written by hack writers who viewed fiction in monetary terms, not literary. The fourth assumption is that bluebooks are merely for the ‘perverted taste’ of the degenerate and vulgar readers of the working class and are therefore artistically inferior. There are, as I shall show, a variety of problems with all four. Recent comprehensive historical studies of Gothic fiction, such as Robert Miles’ Gothic Writing 1750–1820 (1993), Emma Clery’s The Rise of Supernatural Fiction, 1762–1800 (1995), Fred Botting’s Gothic (1996) and David Punter’s The Literature of Terror (1996), have made little or no reference to the bluebook or its impact on the Gothic industry. Indeed, the silent distaste of modern Gothic criticism for the bluebooks was inherited

Literary Mushrooms: The Gothic Bluebook 39

from the contemporary reviewers of Gothic fiction who hesitated to extend their attacks on the Gothic to such an undignified form of fiction. Working from the first assumption, that the Gothic novel was immensely superior to Gothic bluebooks, what is clearly at the centre of these postulations is the division that exists between the canonical and the trade Gothic; one being an indicator of critical reception and the other set aside as popular and thus disreputable. Frederick Frank in his exceptional bibliography The First Gothics: A Critical Guide to the English Gothic Novel (1987) has connected the profitability of the bluebook industry to the Gothic trade in an effort to reposition the Gothic novel after 1797 by modifying Edith Birkhead’s general suggestion that it persisted simply ‘as a lucrative trade, not as an art’ (p. 185). Frank echoes and develops Birkhead’s observation by arguing that ‘the making of Gothic chapbooks [and bluebooks] was a subliterary industry dominated by profiteers who knew how to see these shortened Gothic novels as a lucrative trade, not as an art’ (p. 68). This argument which reassigns the elements of corruption is analogous to suggestions by Devendra Varma and William Watt that bluebooks are merely a fraudulent form of the Gothic novel, examples of ‘unadorned elements of English Gothicism’.1 Watt and Varma can therefore justify the diffidence critics exhibit when examining the lower depths of trade Gothic, though fundamentally they cannot deny the importance of the tastes of a large body of readers (Watt, p. 9). However, distinguishing between canon and trade, legitimate and corrupt, and popular and disreputable tends to isolate prevalent and popular manifestations of the Gothic potential, eventually marginalising the unadorned and corrupted forms of the Gothic and uniformly narrowing the scope of the Gothic fiction. Isolating and segmenting particular Gothic forms such as the bluebook invariably marginalises the impact these works had on development of the discourse of the Gothic in the nineteenth century. If, on the other hand, the popular forms such as the bluebook are considered as a form of discourse, rather than a corrupted form, a broader understanding of Gothic’s adaptability emerges. In separating these lower forms from the body of the legitimate Gothic, critics have typically provided little or no evidence for their comprehensive marginalisation, generally citing the similarities in plot and characterisation in Gothic novel and the bluebooks; however, rather than conceding the prevalence of familiar Gothic motifs and characterisations it becomes a question of originality, plagiarism and legitimacy, and not, for example, the survival of a readership. Working from this assumption, critics have suggested, on the one hand, that most, if not all, bluebooks provide


little original material. On the other hand, where Montague Summers has cautiously acknowledged that occasionally the bluebooks were original, Peter Haining in Tales from Gothic Bluebooks has argued that while most bluebooks plagiarised the popular Gothic novels, there are many instances of originality, from the first appearance of a werewolf to early instances of science fiction.2 These critiques have two things in common: the first is a shared underlying confidence that bluebooks are all plagiarisms of legitimate Gothic novels; and second, that ascertaining a precise Gothic source in a bluebook or novel is, in effect, impossible, for characters and situations in the genre are traditionally clichéd. Most disquieting, though, is the use of the word legitimate in describing the primary Gothic source, which presumably elevates and canonises the weighty novel by devaluing the use of similar motifs or plot in other or different fictional forms, centralising originality and innovation in novels and locating piracy and plagiarism in bluebooks and short tales. Legitimate and original productions, of course, require a legitimate and original author. Not surprisingly, the critics who have endeavoured to legitimise Gothic novels view the authors of trade or minor Gothic productions as mere profiteers and hack writers. The most persuasive exponent of this view is Frederick Frank who suggests that since Gothic bluebooks are primarily plagiarisms of legitimate novels, that bluebook authors were only counterfeiters. For Frank, the monetary reward was the primary motivation for writers like the anonymous author of The Avenger; or, Sicilian Vespers, A Romance of the Thirteenth Century, Not Inapplicable to the Nineteenth (2.21) who audaciously declared that ‘Latterly, the demand for ghost, necromancy, and murder, has so much increased, that the romance has become by far the most profitable line of business, and enables me to maintain myself, my wife, and four children’ (Frank, First Gothics, p. 11). Conversely, though, Frank has clearly aligned himself with early critics of the Gothic novel such as Birkhead who have, perhaps reluctantly, admitted that it was ‘ingenious authors [who] realised that it was possible to compress into the five pages of a short story as much sensation as was contained in the five volumes of a Gothic romance’ (Birkhead, p. 185). Bluebooks, it has been argued, have the unmistakable advantage over the Gothic novel primarily due to stylistic and word limitations, which necessitated the immediate use of the supernatural. Generally, though, the authors of most bluebooks have been safeguarded from critical attacks through their anonymity, reinforcing the assumption that hack writers were engaged in a lucrative trade and not in the legitimate art of creating legitimate Gothic productions.


The most common critical position likewise builds on the legitimate assumption by arguing that bluebooks were after all unmistakably artistically inferior productions that appealed only to vulgar and degenerate readers of the working class. As I have already noted, there is a critical distinction between legitimate and illegitimate Gothic, an argument that is utilised to devalue the trade Gothic, and police the boundaries of the canon. This distinction though is not exclusively confined its their authors, it is an equally relevant term for the segregating of legitimate and non-legitimate readers. To legitimise the supposed middle-class readers of the Gothic novel, critics consistently and unequivocally refer to the non-legitimate or popular audience of bluebooks as not simply unsophisticated but unmistakably the vulgar working-class reader. Invariably, bluebooks are linked with cheap popular fiction for the poor such as Almanacs, which reached a large number of people in the early nineteenth century and were the popular means of reinforcing superstition, religion or political doctrine. Consequently, literary history, perhaps predictably, aligns the bluebooks with a working-class readership, assuming that they were predictably read schoolboys, apprentices, servants and specifically girls. This lower readership inevitably found these cheap productions either in the bookstalls or in low circulating libraries, places such as the one frequented by the young Percy Shelley in Brentwood. But the fact is that the actual readership of the bluebooks remains largely indefinable.

Assessing the evidence It is necessary to reconsider the critical justifications that have systematically marginalised the bluebooks. Does the literary history of the Gothic bluebook accurately reflect the proper nature of these productions and their audience? Publishers like Ann Lemoine, whose Wild Roses; or Cottage Tales, an anthology of Gothic bluebooks, which contained such titles as ‘Tomb of Aurora; or The Mysterious Summons’, argued that such productions were fundamentally moral: If the Roses contained in the following Pages by Wild Roses [sic], as our Title expresses that they will be, it will still be the peculiar Care of the Editor to prune from them every Luxuriance which might justly offend the Breast of Morality, or be regarded as a Foe to the Heart of Innocence. If our Roses have any Thorns, they shall be found directed against such evil-disposed Minds as merit the Pungency of Correction; but they shall still not be drawn with sufficient Asperity


to offend the Purity of the most chaste and virtuous Heart. This Work is intended to form an Assemblage of Sweets, from which every noisome Weed shall be excluded; the sovereign Rose of which shall be Morality, and the uniting Bond of Heart’s ease!3 Are the arguments for critically excluding bluebooks based on empirical evidence that they were indeed aesthetically corrupt or are they just critically biased? In order to contextualise and analyse the bluebook, this chapter looks closely at the bluebook industry as a whole and its impact on the Gothic by placing what is considered literary history against selected examples of the primary source.

The ‘disposable rubbish’ trade So, are Gothic bluebooks just a popular form of street fiction, and therefore a (i.e. aesthetically ‘corrupt’) form of Gothic novels? Does their commercial value stand as a simple indicator of the sensation-craze into which the Gothic vogue degenerated in its declining years? How long did the Gothic bluebook trade thrive within the larger commercial bluebook industry? How did the Gothic bluebook trade compare to the Gothic novel industry? Was the trade driven by consumer demand for the Gothic, or were the publishers just out to turn a quick profit and therefore prepared to change with the wind? The small quantity of primary evidence available to date generates more queries and illustrates the convolution of the Gothic trade industry in the nineteenth century. The Gothic trade of the early nineteenth century was distinct from the ‘trade’ during the 1790s which critics once viewed as the decade of Gothic fiction when most Gothic novels were published and consumed.4 In the nineteenth century the Gothic trade was expanding at a tremendous rate. The production of Gothic novels continued to steadily increase: if we take the 342 Gothic novels produced between 1800 and 1834 (see Appendix 1) as noted in the first chapter, we observe that 1800–1810 were the most productive years for the Gothic novel production with 240 titles. Figure 3.1 shows the total number of Gothic novels between 1800 and 1834, reflecting several high and low points in the production: the highest point, occurring between 1805 and 1806, saw the publication of 22 appearing each year, in 1810 with 22 titles and in 1819 with 11 titles; and the lowest occurred in 1804 with 10 and between 1821 and 1834 with a total of just 43 new titles. One particularly notable feature is the fact that the entire novel output peaked in 1808 with 111 titles, of


30 25 20 15 10 5 0 1800 Figure 3.1

1805

1810

1815

1820

1825

1830

1835

Output of Gothic novels, 1800–1835

which only 21 are Gothic novels as compared to 79 novels in general in 1809, of which 15 were Gothic. More importantly, however, during this period the Gothic trade was diversifying. As public interest grew during the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, there was an increasing number of publishers ready to supply Gothic fiction to the masses in various forms. In the eighteenth century, chapbook sellers pandered to the popular craving for the novels of Defoe and Richardson, but by the nineteenth century these vendors were replaced by circulating libraries, lending books at rates as low as a penny a volume, and the chapbooks were superseded by bluebooks, selling for sixpence and a shilling, offering the works of Ann Radcliffe and Matthew Lewis. Brief attention to the titles of these bluebooks such as The Bloody Hand; or, The Fatal Cup, A Tale of Horror! (2.36), Midnight Horrors; or, The Bandit’s Daughter (2.207), Ghosts! Spectres! Apparitions! (2.122) attests to the fact that many of these works were exceedingly sensational and were written with a specific readership in mind: the reader of Gothic novels. The Gothic bluebook trade, largely a secondary market for fiction specialising not only in original work but redactions, was separate and distinct from street literature, the cheap ballad sheets, pamphlets and chapbook which simultaneously flourished in the early nineteenth century. Street literature, known to specialise in a wide range of subjects— political, criminal, superstitious, bawdy and ghost stories—was sold by street hawkers as were chapbooks described by a recent critic as ‘shorter versions of sixpenny and shilling romances bought by more prosperous readers’.5 The Gothic bluebook trade, rather, was comprised of several large publishing houses in London including Dean & Munday, J. Roe,


Ann Lemoine and Thomas Tegg, who were often book dealers rather than publishers, but distinctly separate from both ‘respectable’ and ‘street’ publishers, producing a wide variety of literature including cookbooks and religious tracts with Gothic bluebooks comprising only a small number of the total titles produced. Small firms such as Simon Fisher, John Arliss, Robert Harrild, J. Ker, Thomas Hughes, Hodgson, J. Lee, and numerous others whose primary commodity was the bluebook shared approximately 48 per cent of the Gothic bluebook market represented by the selection of bluebooks in this study. Amongst the minor of the minor bluebook producers was Robert Harrild (1780–1853), the publisher of at least two bluebooks by Isaac Crookenden, The Horrible Revenge; or, The Monster of Italy!!! A Romance of the 16th Century (2.155) and The Italian Banditti; or, The Secret History of Henry and Matilda: A Romance (2.167), but more importantly he was also a printing engineer and manufacturer of printers’ materials, responsible for the invention of composition balls and rollers for inking type, which revolutionised newspaper production. Respected as one of the most important people in the trade, Harrild eventually acquired Benjamin Franklin’s original printing press which was displayed to aid the London Printers’ Pension Society.6 On the other hand, larger publishers such as Dean & Munday, Ann Lemoine, and Thomas Tegg, offering a large range of novels, bluebooks and periodicals, succeeded in controlling up to 52 per cent of the sample of the total market which I have selected. J. Bailey, for instance, published nearly 10 per cent of the bluebooks in this study including Sarah Wilkinson’s The Castle of Lindenberg (2.46), an adaptation of Matthew Lewis’s The Monk, and a reworking of John Keats’s unfinished poem The Eve of St. Mark (2.100). Dean & Munday published not only novels and bluebooks, but also The Lady’s Monthly Museum from 1817 to 1830 and commanded 12 per cent of the sample market without a single Gothic bluebook appearing in their ‘respectable’ magazine. One of the most prominent figures in the Gothic bluebook industry, Ann Lemoine, published some 20 per cent of the bluebooks in this study, a number greatly increased by her publication of The Tale-Tell Magazine from 1803 to 1805 in which most tales appeared in bluebook form as well. Ann Lemoine is a conspicuous character in the bluebook industry, not just as a female in a male-dominated field, but also when one considers her possible connection to Henry Lemoine (1756–1812), a prominent, controversial author, bookseller and acknowledged literary hack whose career earned him a place in the Dictionary of National Biography.


In 1777 Henry Lemoine established a bookstall dispensing books and medicine, eventually befriending David Levi, the Jewish apologist; Lemoine frequently dining with Levi at the house of George Lackington. Marriage records at Saint Luke Old Street, Finsbury, London, indicate that on 8 January 1786 Henry Lemoine married Ann Swires. That same year he anonymously published The Kentish Curate; or The History of Lamuel Lyttleton (1786) and about the same time he reissued a reprint of John Cleland’s Fanny Hill (1786). In 1794 he was engaged in the copperplate printing business, but sustained serious losses through the bankruptcy of two booksellers, which circumstance, connected with some domestic disagreements, terminated in his confinement for debt and separation from his wife Ann. By 1795 he had to give up his bookshop and commenced a business as pedestrian bookseller or a distributor of pamphlets and chapbooks while simultaneously doing much hackwork in way of translation and compilation for the London booksellers, eventually becoming the recognised leader of his profession. In 1797 he published his most famous work, Typographical Antiquities: The History, Origin, and Progress of the Art of Printing.7 Ann Lemoine began publishing under her own name some four years after separating from Henry in 1798 at her shop in White Rose Court, Coleman Street, in London. Surviving titles indicate that she primarily dealt in bluebooks, though occasionally producing full-length collections such as English Night’s Entertainments (1802) and a novel Rochester Castle; or, Gundulph’s Tower (n.d.). She may have learnt about the bluebook industry from Henry’s experience as a pedestrian bookseller and chapbooker. In 1803 she started The Tell-Tale Magazine, probably employing Sarah Wilkinson as its editor, a moderately successful periodical which ran for three years; longer than Henry’s three magazines, Conjurors’ Magazine (1792–1793) (later becoming Astrologer’s Magazine under new ownership), Wonderful Magazine and Marvellous Chronicle (1793) and Eccentric Magazine (1812). Between 1809 and 1812, Henry Lemoine printed a limited number of bluebooks for Ann Lemoine and J. Roe including The Orphan Boy; or, The Veiled Statue (2.243) and Frederick and Caroline (2.118). Henry Lemoine died on 30 April 1812. Later that year Ann Lemoine appears to have stopped publishing. Another, the infamous bluebooker, Thomas Tegg of Cheapside (1776–1845), published numerous bluebooks, but perhaps disappointingly only captured 10 per cent of the sample Gothic bluebook market in this study. Tegg, however, is an important figure in the bluebook industry for his success brought his company under close inspection by early literary historians. In 1800 with £200 he set up a shop, and by 1802 was


publishing extracts from The Marvellous Magazine printed by Thomas Hurst including Maximilian and Selma; or, The Mysterious Abbot (2.203) and The Secret Oath; or, Blood-Stained Dagger (2.286) under the name Tegg and Castleman. In 1805 he began publishing ‘a series of pamphlets, printed in duodecimo with front pieces, containing abridgements of popular works [which] . . . extended to two hundred, many of them circulating to the extent of 4000 copies’.8 Tegg’s production of bluebooks, which presumably reflects the patterns of other bluebook publishers, is far lower than what was expected from such a presumably prominent bluebook publisher. Like most bluebook publishers, Tegg knew how to entertain his intended audience, producing some of the most notorious Gothic bluebooks including The Secret Tribunal; or, The Court of Wincelaus, A Mysterious Tale (2.287), and The Midnight Assassin; or The Confessions of the Monk Rinaldi (2.204). At the outset, the production of Gothic bluebooks appears fervid, dramatically increasing during the early nineteenth century, proving to be commercially successful well into the 1820s. While no comprehensive register of Gothic bluebooks exists, this study examines a broad sampling of 350 titles which offers direct access to such works in circulation, definite dates of publication and provides a fixed frame of reference.9 As regards the volume of production, 1803 saw the publication of the highest number of titles, with 44 identified for that year, which comprises 66 per cent of all Gothic material (i.e. novels and bluebooks); in fact, 1799–1805 in general were the most productive years for the bluebook, with 144 titles appearing, mostly as serialised bluebooks, as compared to 19 titles for the period 1811–1815 and 24 for 1816–1820. After 1820, bluebook production began to decline with 22 titles between 1821 and 1825 and only 6 between 1826 and 1830, figures which confirm the ‘classic’ picture of the canon. In such a volatile marketplace it is perhaps not surprising that bluebook authors such as Sarah Wilkinson sold Gothic productions to at least 19 different publishers during her 27-year career. There were, of course, several high and low points in the production of Gothic bluebooks: the highest point occurred primarily in the early serialised bluebook phase, 1802 and 1804 saw the publication of 25 and 24 new titles appearing respectively, in two separate periodicals The Tell-Tale Magazine and The Marvellous Magazine; and the lowest occurred in 1816 with no titles produced, but the total number of bluebooks was to continue to dramatically decrease after 1820–1822 saw only two new titles and 1823 three – and production of Gothic titles fell off almost completely after 1825. However, it also appears that a large number of bluebooks, some 72 in this study alone, contain no details of the date of


publication. Nevertheless, it is clear that the production of bluebooks occurred in three distinct stages: the first, or what I term the serialised bluebook phase, took place between 1802 and 1805 (140 examples), the second phase coincided precisely with a sudden rise in the Gothic novel market which occurred between 1809 and 1812 (48 examples), and finally the decline of the bluebooks after 1820 (50 examples). These three phases of production raise several questions about the standard practices of the bluebook trade and the significance of the bluebook in Gothic literary tradition, the most important of which is how was the production of Gothic bluebooks linked to the production of Gothic novels? Generally speaking, the figures for Gothic bluebooks differ significantly from the overall production of Gothic fiction in novel form, as the high points for the Gothic novel generally occurred in 1805, 1810 and 1819. Figure 3.2 shows drastic variation of the total number of Gothic bluebooks versus novels produced, reflecting the fact that the bluebook trade occurred in three dramatic phases, of which only one, in terms of numbers, in 1810, correlates with the novel market, 22 novels as compared to 23 bluebooks produced that year. The demand for Gothic material inclusive of novels and bluebooks culminated between 1810 and 1815; of course, Gothic material reached critical mass well before that,

Novels

Bluebooks

70 60 50 40 30 20 10 0 1800 Figure 3.2

1805

1810

1815

1820

Output of Gothic bluebooks and novels

1825

1830


between 1799 and 1805 with a total of 225 Gothic works published.10 But Figure 3.2 also illustrates some interesting trends such as the fact that in 1803 and 1804, while the bluebook market was on the rise, the Gothic novel market was on the decline, producing 19 novels in 1803 and 10 in 1804. However, 1805 and 1806 saw an enormous increase in the output of novels with 22 each year while the bluebook industry noticeably declined with only 19 and 12 titles respectively. This may be one instance where the Gothic novel market was reacting to popularity sparked by the bluebook market. Alternatively, in 1819 the Gothic novel market saw an increase in output from 5 novels in 1818 (including Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein) to 11 novels in 1819, due in large part, no doubt, to the publication of Romantic Gothic novelists such as Walter Scott, whose The Abbot and The Bride of Lammermoor were published in 1819 as well as John Polidori’s The Vampyre (1.321) and Ernestus Berchtold; or, The Modern Oedipus (1.96). In 1820 with the combination of diminishing paper costs and advances in mechanical printing the bluebook market, in turn, produced 20 titles including 2 abridgements of Scott’s novels Ivanhoe, or, The Jew and His Daughter (2.168) and The Pirate, or The Sisters of Burgh Westra (2.256); two adaptations of Matthew Lewis’s The Monk, The Castle of Lindenberg; or, The History of Raymond and Agnes (2.46), and Raymond and Agnes; or, The Bleeding Nun of the Castle of Lindenberg (2.264); an adaptation of a play based on an Amelia Opie novel, The Ruffian Boy; or, The Castle of Waldenmar, A Venetian Tale (2.282); and an adaptation of James Planché’s play based on an adaptation of a French melodrama, The Vampire; or, Bride of the Isles (2.326). Most importantly, though, Figure 3.2 illustrates the dramatic variations in bluebook production as compared to a more consistent, though declining novel industry after 1810, indicating perhaps that the bluebook industry was more independent from the novel market than has been assumed. It appears that the bluebook industry did not necessarily follow the trends in the Gothic novel market, but usually charted its own course. However, there is clearly one instance, in 1820, that the bluebook industry followed the lead of the novel market producing at least six direct abridgements of popular Gothic novels. Figure 3.3, on the other hand, gives an indication of the combined total bluebook and novel output between 1800 and 1834, revealing that bluebooks accounted for a significant 51 per cent (including 71 titles of non-specific publishing date) of the total production of 692 items of Gothic material (342 novels and 350 bluebooks) in this study. The figure


Bluebooks

Novels

(%) 100 90 19 80

10

120

22

70

101

39

43

38

60 50 40 44

20

30 138

23 66

20

19

28

24

10 0 1800–1805 (258)

Figure 3.3

1803 (63)

1806–1810 (167)

1810 (45)

1811–1815 1816–1820 (58) (62)

1820 (30)

1821–1834 (71)

Total output of bluebooks and novels

also provides an overview of total Gothic production, novels and bluebooks, after 1800. Significantly, it indicates 38 per cent of all Gothic bluebooks and novels in this study were produced between 1800 and 1805, bluebooks comprising 54 per cent of that number. The large output, though, can be accounted for in the simultaneous rise in serial periodicals which specialised in Gothic fiction ‘retailed in monthly parcels—usually one novel or tale at a time—but later collected in volumes’.11 Fiftyseven or 16 per cent of all bluebooks in this study were issued first in periodicals and then reissued in bluebook form. Of the 57 bluebooks, 26 first appeared in the Tell-Tale; or, Universal Museum published by Ann Lemoine between 1803 and 1805;12 and 31 appeared in the Marvellous Magazine and Compendium of Prodigies published by Tegg and Castleman between 1 May 1802 and 2 April 1804, amounting to 53 per cent of all bluebooks published between 1802 and 1805. The literary value of these serial bluebooks found in Tell-Tale and Marvellous has been readily condemned as not only substandard but intended for a less discriminating audience.13 From 1806 to 1810, after the closures of the serialised bluebook anthologies, production of the bluebooks fell to 47 per cent, to just 66 titles. It was within these periodicals that Sarah Wilkinson’s long career in the manufacture of terror and horror began: her first


published work appeared in Ann Lemoine’s Tell-Tale in 1803. Between 1803 and 1805 she redacted and wrote some 12 productions for Lemoine. The total number of Gothic bluebooks which flooded the marketplace will, of course, never be known due in part to their transitory nature; an estimate would place the number between 1000 and 1500 based on the 350 sampled in this study.14 The uncertainty and volatility of the bluebook industry is evident as it continued to decline, then sharply rise; in 1808 only 4 titles were published, 14 titles in 1809 and 23 in 1810. This volatility in production is not confined to the bluebooks, though; the novel market which produced a total of 120 titles between 1800 and 1810 was also steadily decreasing from 22 titles in 1806 to 15 in 1809, but rebounded significantly with 22 novels in 1810. This significant increase in fictional output occurred in the years 1809–1810, partly as a result of an identifiable influx of original work and specific compressions of once popular Gothic novels. Indeed, 6 of the 20 titles are direct abridgements of popular novels including Francis Lathom’s Midnight Bell (1798), now re-titled The Abbey of St. Francis (2.205), Charlotte Smith’s The Old Manor House (1793) now re-titled Rayland Hall; or, The Remarkable Adventures of Orlando Somerville (2.263), Charlotte Dacre’s Zofloya; or, The Moor (1806) now re-titled The Daemon of Venice (2.76), and Matthew Lewis’s The Bravo of Venice (1805) (2.39). The novel market, on the other hand, was increasing due to the appearance of several significant trade authors such as Anthony Frederick Holstein’s Love, Mystery, and Misery! (1.176) and Jane Porter’s Scottish Chiefs (1.280). During the 1820s the number of bluebook publications claiming to be original were also on the decline and the number of abridgements and redactions increased. A number of productions representing historical situations in various forms might be attributed to the success of Walter Scott’s Waverley Novels, especially after 1814; certainly, there was an increase in bluebooks which claimed to be ‘founded on facts’, ‘founded on historical facts’, or ‘a historical tale’, ‘a historical romance’, and ‘an affecting narrative from Walter Scott’. By 1837 there had been at least 7 bluebooks of Scott’s work including Heart of Mid Lothian (2.133), Rob Roy (2.272), The Pirate, or the Sisters of Burgh Westra (2.256), The Astrologer; or, The Prediction of Guy Mannering, a Tale (2.18), Clara Mowbray; or, St. Ronan’s Well (2.66), Waverley; or, The Castle of Mac Iver (2.336) and Ivanhoe; or, The Jew and His Daughter (2.168), four of them from the pen of Sarah Wilkinson. However, the majority of ‘historical’ tales or stories ‘founded on facts’ were neither historical nor factual except, perhaps, for the fact that ‘historical’ characters tended to appear


in a ‘historical’ context. For instance, in The Monks of Cluny; or, Castle-Acre Monastery (2.217) the subtitle indicates nothing more than historical setting; this novel relates the acrimonious intrigues of the Earl De Montalt and the Earl De Warren, who are driven to combat in the name of religious piety for the love of a faithless wife. After 1810, Gothic bluebook production steadily declined as novel production continued to increase slightly. Seventy-three bluebooks were produced between 1811 and 1837 comprising of 40 per cent of the total output. What Figure 3.3 does not reflect are advances in the publishing trade during the 1820s and 1830s which resulted in a wave of cheap publications, particularly periodicals and bluebooks. A sudden increase in bluebook titles in 1820 was the direct result of two new inventions which completely changed the publishing trade and had a lasting impact on the Gothic bluebook industry. During the Napoleonic wars, the publishing trade had been beset by the cost and unreliability of paper supply. The cost of books rose dramatically with paper cost running as high as thirty-four shillings a ream. However, by 1822 the cost of paper had decreased dramatically and the steam-powered printing press facilitated the growing demand for affordable reading material; notwithstanding these advances, this study illustrates the continued decline of the bluebook: between 1820 and 1824 only 35 titles were produced, and after 1825 only 8. The immediate result of cheap paper and mechanical printing was indeed a wave of cheap publications, particularly of periodicals. While it is usual to view the decline of the Gothic bluebook as indicative of the waning interest in the Gothic, there seems to have been more objective causes; on this evidence it was, rather, the mechanisation of the publishing industry which facilitated the acceleration of magazines, serial stories and newspapers, a factor that simultaneously caused the failure of the Gothic bluebook market. Bluebook publishers such as Dean & Munday recognised that the cheaper periodicals as well as annuals were drawing Gothic bluebook readers away, relying more on their periodical publications than smaller works. Accordingly, bluebook publishers took measured steps to secure readers by launching periodicals which contained Gothic tales, and further reducing costs by limiting the number of authors they employed. Dean & Munday turned their attentions to The Ladies’ Monthly Museum, John Arliss to Arliss’ Pocket Magazine (1818–1833) and Tegg to republishing Hone’s Everyday Book and Table Book (1824). A letter dated 1825, found attached to a petition to the Royal Literary Fund on behalf of Sarah


Wilkinson, underlines the impact cheap periodicals had on all aspects of the bluebook industry: Gentlemen, The undersigned Publishers beg to recommend to your consideration Sarah Scudgell [sic] Wilkinson as a respectable industrious person of considerable abilities who has been occasionally employed by us during a long series of past years but latterly owing to the introduction of a small periodical works in which no original matter is required the line of literature in which she principally engaged has been completely stagnated which has materially tended to increase her distress. (signed: Mr Langley, Hughes (35 Ludgate) and Dean & Munday)15 The letter is intriguing; not only does it suggest that the industry by 1825 was adapting and changing direction, but it redefines the publisher– author relationship. As I have already pointed out, Frederick Frank’s argument that this ‘subliterary industry’ was led by profiteers ‘as a lucrative trade, not as an art’ suggests that bluebook authors such as Sarah Wilkinson were merely anonymous manufacturers of terror and horror and subsequently hack writers, writing whatever was required by the publishers. However, this letter suggests that this secondary market was not in fact driven by profiteer publishers, such as Dean & Munday and Mr Langley, who employed writers such as Wilkinson, but a closeknit community in which publishers, rather than exploiting authors, collaborated with them. By writing a letter on the behalf of Sarah Wilkinson, they not only acknowledged her as an author of ‘original’ fictional works, presumably a requirement of the Royal Literary Fund; but, they also point to her as a prominent member of the ‘trade’ community, a community which appears to value the individual author. The copious amount of bluebooks produced by Sarah Wilkinson raises the question of authorship, one which is difficult to clarify because it is frequently obscured by anonymity; for approximately 69 per cent of the titles in the study were published anonymously. The remaining 31 per cent, however, indicates that the bluebook industry was widely sustained by female authors, 19 per cent as compared to the only 12 per cent acknowledged male authors. This trend of authorial anonymity closely reflects the total amount of anonymous authors of new fiction which was 79 per cent, as compared to that of the Gothic novel, an industry which readily acknowledged the author. Figure 3.4 gives an indication of bluebook authorship between 1800 and 1834, revealing particular surges in the production of anonymous bluebooks precisely during the three stages of bluebook production


Male

Female

Anonymous

35 30 25 20 15 10 5 0 1800 Figure 3.4

1805

1810

1815

1820

1825

1830

Authorship of Gothic bluebooks

(1802–1805, 1809–1812 and 1820) which accounted for a significant 33 per cent of the total bluebook production. Also significant are the 72 titles not included in this figure for they have no issuing date, but 59 (or 75 per cent) of these titles are anonymous. Female bluebookers produced 66 titles, a figure which includes 50 by Sarah Wilkinson, while, perhaps surprisingly, men produced 42 titles. What is clear is that a secondary market for fiction which specialised in both originals and redactions existed, independently of the larger Gothic novel industry (i.e. that which was controlled by Lane’s Minerva Press and other publishers) and Street literature (commonly associated with John Pitts and Catnach).16 This industry produced a significant number of periodicals, Gothic bluebooks, Gothic anthologies as well as occasionally publishing full-length novels. However, with advancements in printing and the rise of affordable magazines, the bluebook industry declined sharply after 1825. Publishers in this market provided readers with tales which reflected ‘modern’ taste and when interest turned to another field, this industry abruptly followed suit.

The fetishisation and moralisation of the formulaic Critical readings of trade Gothic, the production of works for money, not literary notoriety, which of course includes bluebooks, tend to be evaluative: they have concentrated on the objection that the writing is unoriginal and formulaic, an allegation which lies at the heart of the critical value judgement dividing high Gothic and trade Gothic. As I have


already pointed out, the argument that the trade Gothics’ failure lies in the formulaic presentation of standard conventions is indicative of the critical value judgement which elevates or legitimises the Gothic on the grounds of originality (though unquestionably the Gothic is nothing, if not formulaic). Historically, Gothic bluebooks might be seen as a particularly good example of this illegitimacy inherent in trade Gothic, on the premise that they provide nothing particularly innovative, but is this really the case? Are they all simply pirated abridgements of full-length legitimate Gothic novels? What instances exist of deviation and variation, to say nothing of innovation, in bluebooks? Certainly many Gothic novels did attract a number of imitators and adaptations; undoubtedly, familiar motifs such as curious heroines, hapless heroes, puissant villains and ruinous castles were present in numerous bluebooks. Most critics cite Radcliffe and Lewis as the principal sources of influence for subsequent representations of the different schools of Gothic in bluebooks; indeed, there are at least 20 identifiable abridgements (title and principal characters remaining the same) of Gothic novels in this study. For example, Ann Radcliffe’s The Mysteries of Udolpho (2.221) was redacted at least once before 1800 and a later ‘new edition’ (2.222) appeared as late as 1828, Matthew Lewis’s The Monk (2.214) was redacted in 1803, as well as Horace Walpole’s The Castle of Otranto (2.52), Sophia Lee’s The Recess (2.265) and Clara Reeve’s The Old English Baron (2.240). Significantly, though, there are multiple redactions and adaptations of what are now viewed as trade novels found in the bibliography; Francis Lathom’s The Midnight Bell was abridged in 1810 and 1815 as was The Fatal Vow (2.110) in 1810, Sarah Wilkinson’s The Fugitive Countess; or, The Convent of St. Ursula (1.123) appeared a year later as The Convent of St. Ursula; or, Incidents at Ottagro (2.68), as well as Regina Roche’s Children of the Abbey (2.64) and Mary Robinson’s Vancenza; or, The Danger of Credulity (2.327). In effect, it appears that on the whole, a larger selection of trade novels were abridged and imitated than the canonical novels of Radcliffe and Lewis. Alexander Thomson’s The Three Ghosts of the Forest: A Tale of Horror (2.317) in 1803 was repackaged the same year into bluebook format as well as Percy Shelley’s juvenile novel St. Irvyne; or, The Rosicrucian, A Romance (2.302) which was deftly converted into Wolfstein; or, The Mysterious Bandit, A Terrific Tale (2.344). Undeniably, though, motifs developed in Radcliffean and Lewisite Gothic were common in bluebooks. But it is erroneous to assume all bluebooks are adaptations of ‘legitimate’ Gothic novels. In the case of The Eastern Turret; or, Orphan of Navona (2.86) which appeared in the Tell-Tale Magazine in 1803, the various motifs and effects utilised are not only from Radcliffe or Lewis, but from Eliza Parsons’s The Castle of


Wolfenbach (1793). The hero of The Eastern Turret is Ferdinand Ruperti, the Orphan of Navona, whose task is to discover his true identity. Ferdinand, whose literary predecessors include the peasant orphans Edmund in Clara Reeve’s The Old English Baron (1778), Alleyn in Ann Radcliffe’s The Castle of Athlin and Dunbayne (1789) and Matilda Weimar in The Castle of Wolfenbach, is hidden from the world by an unknown hand in various locales until he is finally confined in the Castle of Navona. Like Matilda, Ferdinand discovered a living spectre inhabiting the eastern turret and is required to wait until the appointed hour of midnight to hear her woeful tale. However, unlike Victoria (the countess of Wolfenbach, who mysteriously disappeared before her story could be made known), Correlia reveals herself as none other than Ferdinand’s mother. The sudden shift in narrative seems to signal a swift resolution to the short tale. Oswald, the mysterious and, therefore, evil guardian of the orphan of Navona subsequently confesses to the murder of his brother and swiftly dies. The act of speaking or revealing becomes the hero’s absolute means of righteous vengeance. As in most bluebooks, there are no inexplicable mysteries in The Eastern Turret. The action is complete, though underdeveloped, and once Oswald’s villainy is exposed justice works with immediate finality. The plot is presented in simple chronological succession with the moral of noble persistence emphasised in the closing lines. The story is developed from the subplot of The Castle of Wolfenbach where Victoria, the Countess of Wolfenbach, is imprisoned within the confines of the Castle of Wolfenbach until she is found by a noble, but afflicted orphan. The Orphan of Navona is simply a single episode of terror as the primary focal point with characteristically undeveloped characters and a background confined to a single location, the castle. It is easy to see the potential which the tales of terror, found in many subplots of Gothic novels, held for the authors of bluebooks. Perhaps not surprisingly the frequent recurrence of subplots from legitimate Gothic novels appearing in bluebooks undoubtedly gave rise to the claims of piracy, plagiarism and abridgements commonly cited by critics.17 Isaac Crookenden, for example, in the short story ‘The Vindictive Monk’ from Romantic Tales (2.277), extracts the Vivaldi/Schedoni subplot from Ann Radcliffe’s The Italian (1797), removes the active love interest to simply focus on the volatile relationship between Calini/Sceloni. Subplots from novels, rather than plots, then provided the bluebook author with a simple narrative frame, free of the dense and often complicated plotting of long Gothics. Gothic novels, though, were not the only primary source of bluebooks. Historical stories, plays, operas, and melodramas were all converted


deftly into 36- or 72-page bluebooks, often announcing proudly their sources in the title. Historical events provided an especially rich field for the authors of bluebooks: The Affecting History of Louisa, The Wandering Maniac; or, ‘Lady of the hay-stack;’ so called, from having taken up her residence under that shelter, in the village of Bourton, near Bristol, in a state of melancholy derangement; and supposed to be a natural daughter of Francis I. emperor of Germany. A real tale of woe (2.5), or, Sarah Wilkinson’s The Pathetic and Interesting History of George Barnwell. Founded on Facts. Carefully abridged from Mr. Surr’s celebrated novel (2.249). Drama also provided a number of settings for bluebooks; for instance, Sarah Wilkinson adapted two plays and an opera, The Water Spectre; or, An Bratach, A Romance (2.334), a popular melodrama performed at the Aquatic Theatre, Sadler’s Wells and The Ruffian Boy; or, the Castle of Waldemar, A Venetian Tale (1820) which was founded on the popular melodrama performed at the Surrey Theatre, and taken from Mrs Opie’s celebrated tale of that name, and Inkle and Yarico; or, Love in a Cave, an Interesting Tale (2.162) founded on the opera by George Colman the younger (1762–1836). The adaptation of drama proved to be particularly popular, at least 25 examples are found in this study. Again, the recycling is an advertisement in itself; for instance, The Black Castle; or, the Spectre of the Forest, an Historical Romance. Founded on the spectacle of that name, performed at the amphitheatre of arts, with unbounded applause for nearly one hundred nights (2.30) and Rugantino, the Bravo of Venice, On which is founded the popular melodrama now performing, with the most unbounded applause, at the Theatre-Royal, Covent Garden. Abridged from the German (2.283).18 Recent studies of adaptations during the late eighteenth- and early nineteenth-century dramas have focused primarily on the stage adaptations of novels and verse narratives, but have neglected to incorporate the (re)presentation of dramas into short narratives which could further disrupt the relationship between the novel and the drama in the Romantic period.19 One play in particular, Sarah Wilkinson’s adaptation of Matthew Lewis’s The Castle Spectre (performed in 1797 and published in 1798), illustrates the adaptability of the drama into a bluebook. The Castle Spectre: An Ancient Baronial Romance (2.57) is a skilful adaptation which maximises the dramatic and potential horrors of the stage by enlarging the architectural restrictions of the theatrical Conway Castle to include previously unseen forbidden chambers and even a haunted wing. Yet Wilkinson is concerned not merely with the formation of ‘an interesting story’, but with textually cleansing the aesthetic dressing of Lewis’s


supernatural drama. The drama operates by reinforcing the certainties of repetitious Gothic conventions, and by emphasising a blend of the comic with the horrific. The characters of Motley the Fool and Father Philip, for example, in Lewis’s drama not only mitigate the possibility of horror through the exaggeration of its comic potential, they reinforce the readers’ conventional expectations about the workings of Gothic motifs. However, for Wilkinson, the comical elements at work in The Castle Spectre clearly threaten the spectacle of supernatural horror by undermining the readers’ conventional expectations. In forming the drama into ‘an interesting story’, Wilkinson divests the play of the comic possibilities in supernatural horror and thus of the emotional contradictions of the form, by constructing a respectable framework, one which is ‘founded on fact’. Oft did the peasants [sic], while regaling after the labours of the day, with his nut-brown ale, repeat the horrific story of the spectre of lady Evelina and the base Earl Osmond. But hers, gentle reader, was not the only supernatural visitant Conway castle could boast: tradition says that its founder, Lord Hubert, rides over his domains on the first of every moon, mounted on a milk white steed, clad in glittering armour; and that his faithless wife, Lady Bertha, is then seen and heard, shrieking, amidst the western tower, where he had immured her for incontinence while he was at Palestine: that Baron Hildebrand, who lost his life for high treason, regularly walks in the great hall every night, with his head under his arm. But as we are alike ignorant of the truth or falsehood of these assertions, we shall not enter into a more minute detail, but confine ourselves to that of the Lady Evelina, which is certainly founded on fact.20 Lewis, on the other hand, begins his Castle Spectre with a bawdy exchange between Motley the Fool and Father Philip regarding chastity and gluttony. Motley, in the role of supernatural narrator, constitutes the comic detractor of the supernatural drama. Per. I do not dislike your plan: but tell me, Gilbert, do you believe this tale of apparition? Mot. Oh! heaven forbid! Not a word of it. Had I minded all the strange things related of this castle, I should have died of fright in the first half-hour. Why, they say, that earl Hubert rides every night round the castle on a white horse; that the ghost of lady Bertha haunts the west pinnacle of the chapel tower; and that lord Hildebrand, who was


condemned for treason some sixty years ago, may be seen in the great hall regularly at midnight, playing at foot-ball with his own head! Above all, they say that the spirit of her late countess sits nightly in her oratory, and sings her baby to sleep . . .21 In Lewis’s text, when eventually the ‘actual’ spectre of the late countess does appear to avenge her murderer with a grand and dramatic entrance onto the stage, the supernatural is able to divest itself of comic elements. The folding-doors unclose and the oratory is seen illuminated. In its centre stands a tall female figure, her white and flowing garments spotted with blood; her veil is thrown back, and discovers a pale and melancholy countenance: her eyes are lifted upwards, her arms extended towards heaven, and a large wound appears upon her bosom. Angela sinks upon her knees, with her eyes rived upon the figure, which for some moments remains motionless. At length the spectre advances slowly to a soft and plaintive strain: she stops opposite to Reginald’s picture, and gazes upon it in silence. She then turns, approaches Angela, seems to invoke a blessing upon her, points to the picture, and retires to the oratory. The music ceases. Angela rises with a wild look, and follows the vision, extending her arms towards it. The spectre waves her hand; as bidding her farewell. Instantly the organ’s swell is heard; a full chorus of female voices chant ‘jubilate’. A blaze of light flashes through the oratory, and the folding-doors close with a loud noise, Angela falls motionless on the floor. (p. 55) Conversely, in Wilkinson’s The Castle Spectre there is the clear extraction (censorship) of the comic: Motley the fool is replaced with Motley the dutiful servant. The banter between Motley and Father Phillip is removed as is Lady Angela’s jest with Alice regarding the spectre. More intriguingly, though, is Wilkinson’s extraction of comical instances that could be viewed as misogynistic or unflattering to women in Lewis’s drama but which seem out of place in the moral novels of Clara Reeve or Ann Radcliffe. Characters in Wilkinson’s ‘interesting story’ know their proper role (i.e. their passive role) in a Gothic tale; for instance, it is Father Phillip who conducts Lady Angela through the labyrinth beneath Conway Castle. They crossed through the galleries and apartments leading to the southern tower, without interruption; but in this part of the castle they found great devastation from the recent storm; chasms appeared


in the walls, and the stairs they had to descend were loosened in many places, which greatly retarded their progress. After traversing a winding passage, they came to a door cased with iron plates: ‘Dear me,’ said Angela, ‘there are chains and bolts on this side!’ ‘Ah, we will forgive that,’ replied her conductor, ‘if it is not so secure on the other: if it is our labour will prove all in vain.’ But no barrier presented itself, they entered a vault, from which branched two outlets in opposite directions. ‘Now I forget,’ said the friar, ‘I protest, whether we are to turn right or left; wait here few moments, daughter, while I give a look for an iron pedestal, that is a guide to the door we want’. (p. 43) Father Phillip’s role, religious or otherwise, is to conduct and lead; Angela’s is to faithfully submit to reason, or error, which will trap them underground. In Lewis’s original drama the comic element is inherent in Father Phillip, already the hypocrite, who is ultimately revealed as a ‘male chauvinist’: F. Phil. How’s this? A door? Ang. It was barred on the outside. F. Phil. That we’ll forgive, as it wasn’t bolted on the in. But I don’t recollect—Surely—I’ve not— Ang. What’s the matter? F. Phil. By my faith, daughter, I suspect I’ve missed my way. Ang. Heaven forbid! F. Phil. Nay, if ’tis so, I sha’n’t be the first man who of two ways has preferred the wrong. Ang. Provoking! And did I not tell you to choose the right-hand passage! F. Phil. Truly, did you: and that was the very thing which made me choose the left. Whenever I am in doubt myself, I generally ask a woman’s advice. When she’s of one way of thinking, I’ve always found that reason’s on the other. In this instance, perhaps, I have been mistaken: but wait here for one moment, and the fact shall be ascertained. (p. 61) There, Wilkinson, by extracting the comic and accentuating the dramatic horrors, is able to reinforce many of the Gothic reader’s conventional expectations, successfully forming the drama into ‘an interesting story’. Perhaps Wilkinson’s most characteristic dramatic adaptation was The Pathetic and Interesting History of George Barnwell. Founded on Facts (2.249),


deliberately subtitled Carefully abridged from Mr. Surr’s celebrated novel by Sarah Wilkinson the same year. Interest in the redaction of this drama arises not only from its range and popularity, but also from Wilkinson’s curious combination of technical alteration and renovation which clearly depicts the process of bluebook redaction. In Gothic bluebooks, Wilkinson’s preference for the ‘measured’ use of the supernatural, presented as a series of sensational and highly artificial situations, may have attracted her to Surr’s George Barnwell. Thomas Skinner Surr (1770–1847), the novelist, led a double literary life. He was employed at the Bank of England and wrote several technical treatises on economic matters, one of which, The Present Critical State of the Country Developed (1826), went through several editions. He also wrote 6 novels, perhaps the best-known of which, A Winter in London (1806), was one of the most popular nineteenth-century novels and by 1824 it had gone through 13 editions, and was translated into French by Madame de Terrasson de Sennevas.22 The other, Splendid Misery (1801), went through four editions by 1807. Surr’s George Barnwell, a Novel (1798) is a fictional augmentation and adaptation of the play George Barnwell (or The London Merchant) by George Lillo (1693–1739). The original drama followed an apprentice who was debauched by a harlot, Millwood, then, for her benefit, robbed his master and afterwards murdered his uncle. Surr expanded the fiction to include several supernatural episodes early in Barnwell’s life as well as providing a disquieting representation of London low life. It seems that Surr’s manipulation of the supernatural drew Wilkinson to Barnwell. A brief comparison of Wilkinson’s George Barnwell which is Carefully abridged from Mr. Surr’s celebrated novel and Surr’s Barnwell reveals a remarkable combination of technical alteration and careful revision which demonstrates the difficulties of redacting and manipulating a text. The slow seduction of Barnwell into crime, which is highlighted in Lillo’s drama, is obscured in both Surr and Wilkinson by the introduction of new characters such as the reclusive Mr Mental and Barnwell’s own sister Eliza, whose supernatural dreams dominate the narrative. Barnwell’s crimes are not highlighted as they are in Lillo’s play, but are surrounded in an almost quasi-supernatural set of circumstances involving these new characters which somehow affects George’s perception. Wilkinson’s primary aim is to highlight the supernatural occurrences which surround Barnwell’s youth when after the death of his father he is sent to a relative’s house. In Surr’s text, the description of the house and grounds emphasises not only a potential supernatural


location, but the fashion amongst the nobility during the eighteenth century for ruins: Adjoining the seat of Sir James stood the remains of one of those cemeteries for the living, called monasteries. These mouldering and moss-covered relics afforded a more grand coup d’oeil from the park than can be imagined by those whose observations have been confined to the modern ruins with which it is fashionable to decorate the grounds of modish villas. One of the aisles of the chapel still remained in its original state, and afforded subjects of conversations to all the lovers of romance in the country. Spectres of all sizes and shapes, and of each sex, had been seen, by moonlight or torchlight, at different times, playing most singular antics in the old abbey chapel. At one time the spectre would be a nun; at another a monk; and at another would assume the terrific appearance of the fallen angel; or dance in the aisle, in form most beauteous, to notes of aerial music.23 Conversely, Wilkinson’s text briskly expunges Surr’s barb about contemporary taste, emphasising its role primarily as a location for the supernatural: Adjoining the estate of Sir James, stood the remains of one of those cemeteries for the living, called monasteries. One of the aisles of the chapel still remained in its original state, and afforded conversation for all the lovers of romance. Spectres of all sizes and shapes, of either sex, had been seen by moon or torch lights, playing singular antics in the old abbey chapel. At one time it was a nun, at others a monk, and now assumed the terrific appearance of the fallen angel dancing along the aisle in a beauteous form, to notes of delightful harmony.24 Perhaps the most significant feature of Wilkinson’s redaction is the narrative’s sustained supernatural momentum which lunges from one poignant, horrific scene to another in a manner not unlike Surr’s earlier text. However, Surr’s use of the supernatural and the horrific are profoundly different, and close examination reveals Surr’s potentially immoderate use of horror as compared to a distinctly polite horror found in Wilkinson. For example, in Surr’s Barnwell, Eliza’s dream sequence, similar to Antonia’s dream sequence in Lewis’s The Monk (1796),


describes in detail what appears like a premonition of impending destruction: Sleep did not conquer the sense of Eliza that evening with its usual ease. A slight slumber brought with it the following dream— She had arrived at the abbey, and was about to enter the haunted aisle, when a tomb which stood at the entrance seemed to rock at her approach. Whilst hesitating whether to retire or advance, the tomb became enveloped in an ascending vapour. At that moment the ruins echoed with the groans of one in the agonies of death; and as the vapour dispersed, there appeared kneeling on the tomb a most beautiful female, naked to the waist. Her eyes were swollen with weeping, her hair was dishevelled, and from her wounded breast blood trickled, while her hands in vain attempted to remove a dagger, whose fatal point was buried in her bosom. Eliza’s attention to this spectre was so intense, that she did not notice the form of a man, who stood contemplating with smiles the agonies of the female, until the sound of a harp, which he touched in a rapid manner, aroused her. (Surr, Barnwell, p. 7) Not only does this passage give the most precise supernatural detail, it uses shocking and horrific effects to establish the atmosphere and further call into question the role of the supernatural in Barnwell’s early life. The excessive supernatural efficiency of this scene clearly attracted Wilkinson’s attention, which is evident in her close imitation; nevertheless, it precisely demonstrates at least one certain excess that she was careful to avoid. Perhaps unexpectedly Wilkinson’s redaction reveals a polite moralistic subtext which Frederick Frank, for instance, locates exclusively in novels, but not in bluebooks, which principally, according to him, concentrate on violent motifs, unrelenting horror and special effects.25 In Surr’s original text, Eliza’s dream seems to centre on latent sadomasochistic desires in which the spectral body is objectified as a subjugated sexual object ‘naked to the waist’ by another spectral body who contemplates her suffering with malicious pleasure. Wilkinson, though, tries to undermine the sexual deviations in Surr’s text by removing the objectified body, instead emphasising in greater detail the sadism of the viewer: Sleep did not conquer the sense of Eliza with its usual ease. A slight slumber brought with it the following dream. Eliza imagined that she had just entered the haunted aisle, when a tomb that stood at the


entrance appeared to rock at her approach. It then became enveloped in an ascending vapour. The abbey ruins echoed the groans of one, as if in the agonies of death, and as the vapour dispersed, there appeared kneeling on the tomb, a most beautiful female. Her eyes swelled with weeping, her hair dishevelled, and blood trickling from her wounded breast, while her hands in vain attempted to remove a dagger, whose point was buried in her bosom. Eliza’s attention to this spectre was so intense, that she did not notice the form of a man, who stood contemplating with smiles the agony of the female, until the sound of a harp which he touched in a rapid manner, aroused her. He was remarkably handsome, and his voice, which accompanied the harp, was melodious. But the fair maid was struck with horror, when she found his verses were expressive of the pleasure he felt at the heart-rending scene before her. (Wilkinson, Barnwell, pp. 5–6) The supernatural element, however prominent in Wilkinson’s Barnwell, though, cannot entirely sustain the narrative which eventually shifts to Barnwell’s fall at the hands of Millwood. Leaving the supernatural occurrences in the country Barnwell moves to London where elements of Lillo’s play become evident. However, the introduction of Millwood to Barnwell allows Wilkinson to further exploit the sadistic element as a means of undermining the ‘moral’ (i.e. conventionally sexual) deviations of Surr’s and Lillo’s Barnwell. The conspicuously abrupt conclusion of Wilkinson’s Barnwell, while drawing attention to Barnwell’s masochistic dependence on Millwood, is another attempt to emphasise a polite morality which prefers the supernatural to the sordid. Dreadful is the conclusion of this tale of woe. Barnwell, at the instigation of this friend, murdered his sleeping uncle, to secure his wealth; instead of returning to his chamber, and retiring to his bed, according to her plan, that suspicion might not light on him; stung with remorse, left the house, and wandered among the cliffs. He left the dagger, a picture of Millwood, and a letter she had sent him at a late hour of the evening. Detection followed; George had just met with Millwood and Zelotti. He had overheard their conversation before they discovered him. He upbraided her with his crimes, with her own; with the murder of her father. She had already known that fatal secret, from the papers of the deceased; but did not feel remorse. ‘Let us fly (said she to Zelotti,) ere we are discovered; let us secure the casket, and be gone; and let us leave this whimpering boy, this


coward fool to his fate.’ At this moment they were seized, taken before a magistrate, and from thence to prison. (Wilkinson, Barnwell, p. 36) While novels and melodramas containing supernatural elements, prominent for example in The Castle Spectre and Barnwell, were readily adapted into the polite morality of Wilkinson’s bluebooks, dramatic tragedies, most notably Maturin’s Bertram which utilised suspense and tragic consequence in a Gothic atmosphere, were equally prevalent. Charles Maturin’s popular tragic dramatisation of Bertram; or, The Castle of Aldobrand produced at Drury Lane in 1816 was abruptly and deftly adapted into The History of Count Bertram (1816). This, and a subsequent bluebook in 1825, Bertram; or, The Castle of St. Aldobrand Being a Romance taken from the tragedy by the Rev R. C. Maturin [sic] (2.27) illustrate not only the differing technical devices utilised by adapters in forming an interesting tragedy rather than a supernatural thriller, but also the extent to which the narrative is altered and manipulated and then (re)presented as a stimulating tale. Charles Maturin (1782–1824), a descendent of Irish Huguenot ancestry and a Curate in the Church of Ireland, was the novelist of The Fatal Revenge (1.105) and The Milesian Chief (1.190), prior to producing his first drama Bertram in 1816. While Maturin found little dramatic success after Bertram, his literary success rests on his novel Melmoth the Wanderer in 1820 which has gained a conspicuous reputation as the ‘Gothic romance to end all Gothic romances’.26 Maturin’s Bertram chronicles the last desperate days of Bertram, a nobleman turned bandit, who, driven by uncontrollable passions, seduces his former lover and then murders her husband. The success of the play (which ran for 22 nights) attracted the attentions of an anonymous bluebook writer, who immediately fictionalised the drama. A short comparison of the drama with its fictional ‘offspring’ not only reveals the tension between the implied and the explicit but can also be related to differing accounts of how the villain-hero is constructed within the bluebook. The character of Bertram in Maturin’s drama is a portrait of a man enslaved by his passions and demonstrates the drama’s potential to obscure good and evil in an effort to create sympathy for its aristocratic villain-hero. Maturin was careful to conceal his villain-hero in brooding retrospective tirades which leaves his history to be narrated by others, obscuring his character as we shall see. The implication of this uncertain history is an invitation to feel compassion from the audience who view his downfall as a tragic loss of power.


If we turn to The History of Count Bertram we can discern the adapter’s variation of Maturin’s implied narrative, opting for a historical framework to elicit sympathy rather than the obscurity of the dramatic soliloquy. For example, in Maturin’s drama, Bertram’s alienation from his sovereign and lover, Imogine, is narrated by Imogine on information she gained by hearsay and, perhaps her husband, Aldobrand, the arch-enemy of Bertram. Imo. . . . His sovereign’s smile was on him—glory blazed Around his path—yet did he smile on her [Imogine]— Oh, then, what visions were that blessed one’s! His sovereign’s frown came next— Then bowed the banners on his crested walls Torn by the enemies’ hand from their proud height, Where twice two hundred years they mocked the storm. The stranger’s step profaned his desolate halls, An exiled outcast, houseless, nameless, abject, He fled for life, and scarce by flight did save it. No hoary beadsman bid his parting step God speed—No faithful vassal followed him; For fear had withered every heart but hers, Who amid shame and ruin lov’d him better.27 However, the anonymous adapter of Bertram, in order to make an interesting tale, frames the narrative in a historical context which allows the text to reveal Bertram’s otherwise mysterious fall from grace. Arrived at court, Bertram found himself for the first time coldly received, his naturally haughty soul could ill brook the altered eye of his sovereign, and in an evil hour he breathed his discontent in the ear of his chosen friend, Vivaldi, who longed to repair his broken fortune by any measure however desperate; he artfully aggravated the disgust which Bertram had conceived, and swelled the slight coldness of the monarch till it became by his representation a marked and premeditated insult, which Bertram’s injured honor called upon him loudly to revenge. From this accursed sophistry the soul of Bertram at first shrank appalled: ‘Revenge,’ cried he, wildly, ‘on whom am I to seek it? not on my gracious master! my anointed Lord! him whose hand had hitherto been stretched to shower benefits upon my head! Vivaldi, you cannot


mean it!’ ‘Be calm,’ exclaimed Vivaldi, ‘soon will this gracious master despoil you of the honors he has bestowed! soon will they be torn from you to grace a new and triumphant favorite!’ ‘Silence, tempter,’ cried the agitated Bertram, ‘silence, or give me proof!’ ‘Aye, damning proof,’ replied the artful Vivaldi, who now unhesitatingly related a story he had fabricated to convince the credulous Bertram of his approaching disgrace. Maddened with this horrible conviction, loyalty, honor, and principle forsook the wretched man, who, from that moment, lent himself with eagerness to the plans of the treacherous Vivaldi; and ambition once awaked in his breast, he dared to raise his views even to sovereignty. (Bertram, pp. 5–6) This process of disclosure of what was concealed or secret in the drama clearly grounds the bluebook as The History of Count Bertram rather than a dramatic series of events. For example, in a scathing critique of Bertram in Biographia Literaria (1817), Coleridge criticises the character of the Prior for failure to act in accordance to his religious role.28 Coleridge is puzzled by the Prior’s reluctance to summon the authorities at the arrival of Bertram, whose obvious defiance and hatred of Aldobrand and banditry are well known. He objects that the Prior ‘from first to last does nothing but scold’ with one notable exception in the last act where ‘he whines, weeps, and kneels to the condemned assassin out of pure affection’.29 Coleridge, as well as members of the audience, clearly suspected the Prior of having a ‘great secret’ which would explain his inexplicable behaviour in concealing Bertram from Aldobrand’s knowledge, and anticipated, though incorrectly, that it would be revealed in the last act, perhaps ‘that the Prior was one of the many instances of a youthful sinner metamorphosed into an old scold, and that this Bertram would appear at last to be his son’ (Biographia, p. 206). The bluebook adapter was similarly attracted to this ‘great secret’ a year earlier than Coleridge and subsequently ‘revealed’ the Prior’s ‘history’ which paralleled Bertram’s, but conversely demonstrates that a truly noble response to such adversity is Christian submission, not revenge. In The History of Count Bertram the Prior, it is revealed, was also plighted to a noble dame and separated, not by deceit but war. He was taken captive by the Saracens, but escaped with the help of Zorilda, the daughter of a wealthy moor, who converted and upon arriving in Italy entered a convent. Fernando on returning home found his lover married to another; disappointed, he vainly sought the hand of his fair convert, but she had taken her vows. Forsaken by both, he retired to the


Convent of St. Anselm. Only later, as his fair convert expired, did she reveal her true passion for him. It is only in the context of this extratextual information, namely that the Prior unreservedly condemns Imogine, when she confesses her love for Bertram, that the reader is able to comprehend his otherwise inexplicable behaviour. Prior. Thou hast forsaken Heaven. Speed to thy castle, shut thy chamber door, Bind fast thy soul by every solemn vow Never to hold communion with that object— If still thy wishes contradict thy prayer, If still thy heart’s responses yield no harmony— Weary thy saint with agonies of prayer; On the cold marble quench thy burning breast; Number with every bead a tear of soul; Press to thy heart the cross, and bid it banish The form that would usurp its image there— Imo. (kneeling) One parting word— Prior. No, not one parting look— One parting thought, I charge thee on thy soul. (Act III Scene II, p. 38) The historical grounding and textual expansion of the 1816 Bertram bluebook anticipates Coleridge’s principal complaints about the drama, namely those of immorality and Jacobinism, which were merely implied in Maturin’s play. Indeed, the adapters, in an effort to delineate the unsaid, drawing attention away from the moral ambiguity of the drama, emphasise the demarcation between good and evil in the narrative. For instance, in the 1816 adaptation Imogine’s adulterous encounter with Bertram is underlined, though framed by an unmistakable moral tone. Fatal retrospect which lulled the senses of Imogine in a momentary forgetfulness of what was due to St. Aldobrand’s honor, and her own. Dreadful to her honor and her peace was the moment in which she met Bertram; she met him spotless, her heart alone had strayed from the noble lord, to whom her vows were plighted; she left him ‘the dishonored minion of a ruffian.’ Alas! the wretched Imogine is not the only fair one, who, by trusting to her own strength, falls from the path of honor. There is but one way in which temptation can be truly shunned, and that is flight; the wretched sophistry which tries to prove that the affections may


stray so long as the person remains pure, has plunged thousands beside the hapless Imogine into the gulf of shame and sin. Frantic, she fled from Bertram, who, hardened as he was, felt stung by keen remorse for the crime he had committed. Spite of his deadly hatred to St. Aldobrand, his secret soul whispered him, that he had acted a ruffian’s part in stealing thus on his privacy, to blast the honor of his fair and noble dame. (Bertram, p. 22) Similarly, the 1825 adaptation is explicit about the nature of their immorality and is framed by moralising – a combination which almost leads to the opposite of what the writer intends. -t’was thus they buried sad remembrance of their woes, by giving loose to scenes of joys, that had long since gone by, and left the sad trace behind to wound more deep their hours of contemplation-Bertram, nay Imogene herself, seemed to have forgot her sadness, both gave loose to all the transports of love; he clasped her in his arms, she tenderly received the embrace,—extacy [sic] took possession of her soul; the evil demon, who ever hovers round to deal out misery to the sons of Adam, spurred on their passions: joy gave place to joy, fearful alarms forsook her breast, virtue was thrown off her guard; man urged—love, but that of the grosser sort, illicit love pleaded, the passions inflamed guilt, guilt succeeded, and all was lost! Oh! fallen innocence! Oh! guilty Imogene! Fatal, fatal spot! that was doomed e’er to witness such a scene of guilt, and see so foul a spot cast on a form so pure. (Bertram, 1825, pp. 21–22) Another way to view these adaptations is through the mutable image of the villain-hero which can be rendered powerful by implication or explicitly culpable. Maturin’s Bertram draws his strength from the ambiguity which surrounds him; the audience sympathises with his inner demons because they are ignorant of their sources. Conversely, the fictionalised Bertram is subject to moral laws that clearly distinguish between good and evil. The 1816 fictionalised Bertram clearly emerges from the ‘history’ as an example of strictly Puritan morality: Thus perished Bertram, the brave, the noble Bertram, whose early youth had promised a glorious and a happy manhood; whose breast was the seat of every noble, every generous sentiment: yet did one single sin cast him from the highest eminence of human felicity, to the depth of misery and despair;—that sin was pride; he brooked not


a superior, and when once plunged in guilt, his haughty spirit forbade repentance and amendment. Oh, may his fate and that of Imogine serve as a fearful warning to those who yield to passion’s unbridled sway! May their sorrows and their sufferings serve to prove that the smallest deviation from virtue may lead to the deepest abyss of guilt, and that naught but misery can spring from the breach of our duties! (Bertram, 1816, p. 32) The 1825 adaptation clearly rendered the fallen Bertram as nothing more than a base villain: Oh, guilt! how mortal is thy sting! May this teach a lesson to all that if once the path of rectitude is deviated from, it is hard to say where the evil deed may end. Sin leads to sin, crime to crime, till the heart becomes so callous to every tie of Christian feeling, as to render it capable of committing crimes of the blackest hue, and renders vice so familiar as scarcely to observe the dark abyss into which it plunges. (p. 29) However, in rendering Bertram in explicitly moral terms the adapters aligned themselves to a long tradition of forcibly directing the villainheroes to their ultimate end. As we have seen, Wilkinson in The Castle Spectre and Barnwell utilised the supernatural to make explicit the motives of the villain-hero, but what is intriguing about Maturin’s Bertram is the absence of the supernatural, accomplished through the concerted efforts of Sir Walter Scott, Lord Byron and Charles Lamb, who Maturin complained ‘un-Maturined’ the drama. Maturin’s original drama contained the character of the Black Knight, a supernatural and malevolent being that spurred Bertram to his great crimes – a being ‘who would be unintelligible to the majority of the audience, or if intelligible, offensive’.30 However, Maturin’s original text containing the Black Knight was retained by Scott and subsequently published in his review of Maturin’s Women; or, Pour et Contre: A Tale (1818) in the Edinburgh Review 1818. Neither the 1816 nor the 1825 redactions appear to know about Maturin’s original text; neither adaptation makes reference to, or textual enlargements of, the drama’s supernatural potential, preferring instead to explicate the moral. There is no doubt that the bluebook industry supplied redactions or plagiarism of popular novels by simply exploiting well-known motifs; Sarah Wilkinson clearly and unashamedly utilised familiar motifs and scenes from the ‘higher’ form of Gothic fiction, but it was the way in


which she redressed those motifs which makes her work unexpected, according to the existing critical picture. Wilkinson’s work is important primarily due to the prominence of the moral subtext which interposes decorum, decency and morality. While critics like Robert Kiely have recognised the moral intention and didactic nature of early Gothic novelists such as Ann Radcliffe, most critics including Frederick Frank, argue that morality and didactic discourse were both conspicuously absent from the bluebooks.31 Wilkinson’s texts, of course, raise the question of readership. Does the clear delineation of morality in bluebooks indicate that she was writing for the middle-class reader who expected those elements in fiction, or for the working-class reader who needed to have moral instruction through popular literature?

Perverted tastes and vulgar readers The popular historical representation of a Gothic bluebook reader is that of school boy Percy Shelley reading horrid bluebooks from a ‘low’ circulating library at Sion House. This figure has in fact become literary history which in part has aided in distinguishing between legitimate and illegitimate readers of the Gothic. Literary historians have confidently argued that Shelley, since a school boy, read bluebooks; they were of course read by all school boys, apprentices, servants and specifically girls. While no documentation supports this supposition, undoubtedly it is the bluebooks’ link to cheap popular fiction and street literature which predictably aligns them with the working-class reader. However, Shelley’s brief appearance in bluebook literary history does suggest two, often neglected, fragments of evidence. First, it is clear that Shelley obtained these bluebooks at a ‘low’ circulating library which indicates that readers would have to have access to a circulating library and the money to procure them. Second, the fact that Shelley was receiving a formal education while enjoying bluebooks indicates that bluebooks attracted the rising reading class as well as educated readers. Unquestionably one of the most neglected aspects of Gothic bluebooks is the question of their availability. Almost certainly, Gothic bluebooks were exclusively shilling romances and were available from street vendors. For instance, between 1802 and 1803 William Booth’s Circulating Library in Norwich carried over 800 novels and 85 pamphlets, 16 of which were Gothic bluebooks including The Spectre of the Forest, or Black Castle (2.30), Gothic Stories (2.126) and Kilverstone Castle (2.172), which were available for one penny per night.32 In 1817 William Fish’s Circulating Library, attached to his music store in Norwich, contained


705 novels including 37 Gothic bluebooks displayed prominently under the heading Novel and Romances. For instance, The Veiled Picture, or Mysteries of Gorgona (2.328), an adaptation of Mrs Radcliffe’s The Mysteries of Udolpho, was advertised as two volumes and Father Innocent, Abbot of the Capuchin; or the Crimes of Cloisters (2.111), an abridgement of Lewis’s The Monk both of which first appeared in the Marvellous Magazine and Compendium of Prodigies in 1803, was also advertised as two volumes. There is also one instance where the same bluebook is found under a slightly altered title: Fernando of Castillo; or, The Husband of Two Wives (2.115) and Friburgh Castle; or, The Wife of Two Husbands (2.115). They are actually the same novel, one advertised as a story from the German, and the other from the Spanish, perhaps to attract readers with specific interests. Both novels and bluebooks were available to non-subscribers for 1d. per night. It has been suggested, on the strength of the ‘lurid’ appearance of bluebooks, that readers of such ‘garish’ quality were excluded from joining a circulating library due to the high cost of a subscription.33 Indeed the cost was above and beyond most workingclass readers; for example, a year’s subscription to a library in the country could be eighteen shillings per year or as high as two guineas in London. However, it is clear from both Booth’s and Fish’s catalogues that a reader could borrow any volume of bluebook for one penny per night. The fact that both libraries provided both forms of fiction indicates that there was a market for literature that was to be consumed quickly. Reading a volume of Ann Radcliffe’s The Mysteries of Udolpho may take several nights, while reading a redacted version may take only a few hours (see 2.221 and 2.222). The appeal of the bluebook’s short tale of terror was perhaps, as Frederick Frank argues, a quick succession of terror and horror. It was that sort of appeal that made bluebooks viable commodities in the circulating libraries, and attracted readers, even those who had the means to procure fulllength novels, to the reading of bluebooks. There are some textual clues that point that a certain level of sophistication in the bluebooks attracted the middle-class reader. Most notably the diction in Gothic bluebooks is often replete with Latinate and complex sentence structures. For example, in the anonymous adaptation of Charles Maturin’s Bertram; or, The Castle of Aldobrand (2.27) the energy of the scene is compressed into long, complex sentences that are overwrought with sentimentality but are still rhetorically complicated. Even so it was: these men were not of the common stamp—their habits were naturally loose, their desperate and precarious manner of


subsisting had rendered them callous to every feeling, but such as contribute to the gratification of their sensual appetites, or spurred them on to deeds of sanguinary strife and ferocity; and yet these were the associates and companions of the once honoured and amiable Count Bertram; but still he held them at so great a distance, and kept them in such awe, that even these fierce and hardened ruffians obeyed implicitly each signal, whether conveyed by frown, or nod, or word; whether to cease their clamourous rioting, to hurl destruction on his foes, or leave him to his silent lonely contemplations; in which he frequently indulged; for, though the buffetings of fortune had hardened his nature and rendered him the very reverse of his former self, still within that troubled breast there dwelt one guest which ever and anon would shew [sic] itself more prominent, and constantly proved a source of melancholy reflection—’twas love—’twas thought of his lost Imogene; for still to her he held his faith—for her, he cherished every fond hope. (p. 16) In The Spectre Mother; or, The Haunted Tower (2.300), the anonymous author, confined by the restrictions of the bluebook, immediately immerses the reader in the contrived, gloomy atmosphere, often by forcing the location, such as a castle, to reflect the antagonist. The heavy clock of Rovido castle had just sounded the last and fearful hour of night; when a man (whose form seemed more than of human stature) stole from the concealment of a dark recess, and with slow and cautious steps, paced towards the more inhabited part of the castle—a long dark cloak shrouded his gigantic figure, and the sable plume of feathers that waved in his hat, shaded a face on which villainy had stamped her pale and terrific image; one hand held a small dark lantern, and the other was raised to his breast, to be assured the murderous weapon it concealed remained in safety. (Haining, p. 66) Perhaps not unexpectedly the readers of Gothic bluebooks were expected to be familiar with a wide range of poetry confined to not only epigraphs, but lengthy pieces and subtle quips throughout the ‘garishly crude’ publications. For instance, the title page of the anonymous Bloody Hand; or, The Fatal Cup, A Tale of Horror! (2.36) prominently displays two poetical references which underline the dualistic nature of this particular bluebook. On one hand, the sentimental and moralistic subplot is epitomised by a Shakespearean admonition from Julius Caesar Act III Scene II line 173 ‘If you have Tears, prepare to shed them now.’ On the


other, the horrific historical subplot is underlined by an anonymous Macbethean warning: Your old Men murdered, your Mothers outraged, your Wives defiled, your Children danced, to the Yell of a Brutal soldiery, on the Point of the Spear, all Hell let loose, would Scarce make up my History. Predictably Shakespeare appears most often on the title page of Gothic bluebooks, though, occasionally, as in the case of The Midnight Groan; or, The Spectre of the Chapel (2.206) the bluebooks opens with lines from Aaron Hill’s drama The Tragedy of Zara (1736): I stand immoveable like senseless marble! Horror has frozen my suspended tongue: And an astonished silence robb’d my will Of pow’r to tell you how you shocked my soul!34 Without doubt, bluebook readers were required to be familiar with Graveyard poetry, particularly Edward Young whose Night Thoughts (1749–1751) had a profound impact on Gothic fiction. Authors regularly quoted his most gloomy verses, in part to create an atmosphere conducive to the supernatural, and also to instil a sense of mortality in the text. For instance, Isaac Crookenden in The Spectre of the Turret (2.301) expected that his readership would understand the allusion to impending danger when he wrote that ‘Every time the clock proclaimed the lapse of an hour, it made her start, such warnings might truly be called—“The knell of her departing Joys.” ’35 (Young, The Complaint, line 59) as would the author of The Midnight Groan who wrote: He now found himself within an enormous archway, which issuing in an open area, he discerned right before him, by the lightning’s glare, a ponderous marble staircase; this he began to ascend with caution; its vast height and spiral form, rendered it a considerable time before he could reach the top, and when he did, so thoroughly fatigued was he, that he laid down on the landing-place, and resigned himself to sleep; but it is truly said by Young, that the downy god ‘flies from woe, and lights on lids unsullied with a tear’. (Young, The Complaint, lines 4–5)36


There are of course many examples of original poetry found in the bluebooks. In the anonymous Tomb of Aurora; or The Mysterious Summons, A Romance (318), a group of peasants present at the marriage of the Marquis de Verezzi to Olivia della Massina sang a Spenserean song: ’Tis Hymen’s bright torch, that will lengthen their bliss! Then hither Love! Transport thy bower, Hither, oh Hymen, bring thy power; Sincerer hearts thou ne’er didst see Upon thine alter blaze Than those today in wedlock join’d; Ah! Guide them through love’s maze!37 In some bluebooks, however, the subtle nuances of the text are removed to underline the tension that could exist between the Gothic plot and a strong moralistic and didactic narrative. In Sarah Wilkinson’s The Castle of Montabino; or, The Orphan Sisters (2.49), the typically dual plot suggests that the paradoxical nature of the bluebook could also be problematic in terms of readership. The Gothic narrative details the escape of the orphan sisters Emilia and Theresa from the southern tower of the Castle of Montabino and from the tyrannical presence of Count Rupino. The plot is replete with strong Gothic motifs such as freshly dug graves, a labyrinth, the supernatural presence of a ghost and rumours of an alleged poisoning. The moralistic subplot is introduced by the distressing narrative of Harmina, who was believed to have been poisoned by Count Rupino but was instead held captive in the southern tower. Harmina was the eldest daughter of a jeweller from Genoa and the eldest of five daughters. It has been decided by her family that she should receive a superior education, a decision which took its rise from an economic idea; to give their eldest a complete and expensive education that would enable her to be the sole governess to the younger children, and finally procure for herself a genteel establishment in life. For this purpose she is kept till her sixteenth year at one of the first seminaries in Genoa. Whilst engaged in her studies and through bribing one of the maids at the seminary from the fidelity she owed the lady that employed her, the scholars procured romances and novels, and for want of a person able to select them, they read, indiscriminately the good and the bad; and unfortunately, many that had a pernicious tendency.38


At sixteen she returns to her family, though Harmina, displeased with her home and every surrounding object, and accustomed to a life of elegance and ease, resolved to free herself from what she termed inuring her best days in abject slavery; she had read, nor did she for a moment allow herself to suppose it, fiction, of several young ladies who had spirit enough to emancipate themselves from similar situations, and seek a better fortune. (p. 28) She gathers together her family’s savings and flees into the night. When Harmina at length gained the wished for distance, she took a decent apartment at the house of a creditable widow woman, under the fictious [sic] character of an orphan, whose father having expired suddenly in embarrassing circumstance, his creditors had seized on the whole remaining property, with the exception of a few pounds, which they had given her and a small bundle of her best apparel; under these given circumstances, she explained the nature of her abilities, and enquired for a situation in which they could be made of service to an employer. To her amazement she did not succeed—no invitations to visit the neighbouring gentry—no admirers!—no young men of fortune, ready to sacrifice friends and family, to cast themselves at her feet—in short, nothing like what her romantic studies and more romantic mind led her to expect. Some on hearing the tale she had invented, pitied her; others seemed to doubt her veracity, and plainly hinted their suspicions, that she was a young adventurer; others judged still worse;—but none liked to employ a young person in their house, who was to fill a superior station, and have the guidance of young people, to whom any mystery was attached. (p. 29) Forced by poverty to return home, Harmina works in her parents’ jewellery store to compensate for the money she has obtained from them. The Count Rupino, a frequent customer of her father’s store, eventually seduces Harmina. As the mistress of Count Rupino, she believes that eventually she will become the Countess, but the Count is already married and, when the awful truth is discovered by Harmina, she is imprisoned in the southern tower. Sarah Wilkinson’s unambiguous condemnation of reading romances within a Gothic subplot has the effect of enhancing a sense of precariousness which, like Matthew Lewis in The Monk, she wishes to encourage. She is challenging a readership who would be, at once, aware of the moral


and critical backlash surrounding the reading of novels and romances, particularly Gothic, and nevertheless reading them. Wilkinson uses the implication that formal education and a strict moral upbringing do not necessarily guard against the ill-effects of reading romances, not in order to appeal to the fascination of reading, as would the conventional Gothic novel writer, but in a more ‘straightforward’ (or schizophrenic) way. In The Subterraneous Passage; or, The Gothic Cell, it is clear that Wilkinson considers an inferior or austere education as dangerous as the reading of any romance. The ill-judged maxims of some guardians, in depriving the youth entrusted to their care, of innocent recreations and amusements proper for their age, often brings on the very evil they wish to avoid, and makes them attached, in a most romantic manner, to the first amiable object that falls their way. (p. 4) Again in The Eve of St. Mark (2.100) and the novel The Spectre of Lanmere Abbey (1.296), education, especially in the middle class, while necessary, is nevertheless a dangerous endeavour. Harmina, while provided with a superior education, all the same fails to discern fact from fiction. Not only the Gothic bluebook publishers like Dean & Munday, Tegg and Hughes not only exploited this critical debate, but also, as we see here, the bluebook industry profited from it. It is at least possible, on this evidence, that Wilkinson was writing for middle-class readers who are familiar with rhetoric of the middle-class author. Although it has been suggested that the readers of Gothic bluebooks were primarily the ‘vulgar’ working class, it appears, not only from documentation in circulating libraries but textually from the nature of their rhetoric, that they were actually read by middle-class readers.

4 Ghosts, Spectres and Phantoms: Recycling the Gothic in Periodicals and Anthologies

One of the most familiar episodes in Gothic literary history occurred on the stormy night of 16 June 1816, at the Villa Diodati on Lake Geneva and involves one of the lowest forms of the ‘trade’ Gothic: the short tale of terror. Percy Shelley, Mary Wollstonecraft, John Polidori and Clair Clairmont were gathered by the fireside to hear Lord Byron read aloud from Fantasmagoriana; ou Recueil d’Histoires d’Apparitions, de Spectres, a French translation of a collection of German tales of terror published in Paris in 1812.1 At the end of the dramatic reading, Byron proposed a challenge, to write their own tale of terror; Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus (1.120) was published in 1818 and John Polidori’s Vampyre (1.321) the following year.2 The collection of terror tales, Fantasmagoriana; or, Collection of the Histories of Apparitions, Spectres, Ghosts, etc., was translated three years earlier in England by Mrs Utterson as the Tales of the Dead (1813).3 In translating the collection, Mrs Utterson links the tales with the Gothic tradition suggesting that— Although the passion for books of amusement founded on the marvellous relative to ghosts and spirits may be considered as having very much subsided; yet I cannot think that the tales which form the bulk of this little volume, may still afford gratification in the perusal. From the period when the late Lord of Orford first published The Castle of Otranto, till the production of Mrs. Radcliffe’s romances, the appetite for the species of reading in question gradually increased; and perhaps it would not have been now surfeited, but for the multitude of contemptible imitations which the popularity of the latter writer called forth, and which continually issued from the press, until the want of readers at length checked the inundation. (p. 1) 77


Utterson’s preface is significant for not only does it implicitly associate tales of the marvellous with the Gothic tradition, it suggests that she considered her tales enormously marketable, even though imitators of ‘high’ or canonical Gothic had inundated the reader with enough terrific tales. Notwithstanding the imitators, Utterson considers her tales significantly distinctive from the multitude of trade Gothics. She shared the notion with the anonymous French translator that this species of Gothic tale would be enjoyed by everyone because ghost stories please the reader, ‘and yet it is not clear to me, that recital respecting phantoms have ceased to amuse; or that, so long as human nature exists, there will be wanting those who will attach faith to histories of ghosts and spectres’ (pp. 3–4). The two translators of Tales of the Dead were not alone in their understanding of the reader’s gratification with short tales of terror; booksellers throughout London were increasingly publishing Gothic anthologies and collections. For instance, The Story-Teller, A Collection of Tales, Original, Translated and Selected published in 1830 contained at least 25 tales including The Mysterious Husband, The Castle of Reinspadtz, The Last Coffin, and Kruitzner. The tales, some of which were original, were gathered from the popular periodicals of the day and compiled for the reader’s pleasure in one anthology. The selections, made with the desire of passing ‘from grave to gay, from lively to severe,’ are from ‘Blackwood’s Magazine,’ ‘The New Monthly Magazine,’ ‘The Ladies’ Museum,’ ‘Arliss’s Pocket Magazine,’ and various other sources; but, in his anxiety to present the greatest possible variety which could be embraced in a couple of volumes, the Editor feels it his duty to state that he has, in two or three instances, borrowed rather largely from works of more permanent interest, and although that of which he has thus availed himself has been greatly compressed, he considers this acknowledgement due, not only to the justly celebrated Authors with whom some liberty has been taken, but to the readers who may perhaps, in the course of the work, recognize ‘an old friend with a new face’.4 The persistence of the Gothic tale in periodicals and collections, particularly tales after 1820, indicates a sustained readership and raises several questions; most importantly, how prevalent were tales of terror in periodicals and collections? Who was reading these tales?

Ghosts, Spectres and Phantoms 79

Definitions and boundaries: A compendium of prodigies Like Mary Shelley, readers in the early nineteenth century were familiar with Gothic tales in both periodicals and collections. It is perhaps appropriate to indicate the way in which I am defining a Gothic tale or tale of terror. Generally speaking, there are two species of Gothic short stories: Gothic tales and Gothic fragments. In each species is contained an abbreviated form of the Gothic novel including conventional motifs and characteristics. There is no difference between the two terms except that of length, the tale being the longer of the two; consequently, the term ‘Gothic tale’ applies equally to Gothic short stories, tales of terror, novelettes, fragments and serialised romances. By 1800, Gothic stories were an established, distinct and recognisable type of Gothic fiction located in periodicals, collections and anthologies. The first attempt to define and isolate Gothic fiction in the magazines was done by Robert Mayo, who convincingly demonstrated that ‘by 1810 the Gothic short story was a well-defined and familiar species of fiction’.5 Mayo argued further that these Gothic tales not only show substantial creativity, and refined attitudes found in the novels of Radcliffe but on the whole they are no more disreputable than trade novelists. In other words, he recognised that these tales, written mostly by hacks, were not works of ‘art’, but rather trade Gothic. Though he argues persuasively that ‘the Gothic short stories of the monthlies belong to this class of fiction, and while they undoubtedly tried to be blood-curdling they were usually careful not to violate decorum or to offend the moral sense’, he views these polite didactic features as symptomatic of periodicals themselves. Mayo’s argument, nevertheless, is important because it does (unexpectedly) point to an increasingly prominent feature in the lower depths of the Gothic trade: the moralising rhetoric. Mayo’s primary objective was not to redeem the Gothic tale from its trade roots, but to disengage and elevate tales in periodicals from Gothic bluebooks and anthologies. To do this, Mayo argues that bluebooks were too unsophisticated to be pleasing to the rising middle-class audience while periodical fiction was reputable enough to appear in respectable periodicals such as the Lady’s Magazine and the Lady’s Monthly Museum. He does this by maintaining that readers’ interest in Gothic tales peaked in 1814, but this assumption, as we saw in the introduction, is based on the Gothic tales in Lady’s Magazine. This, however, does not take into account other magazines which recycled and reprinted Gothic tales well into the 1830s.


Modern critics have similarly followed Mayo’s lead in the marginalisation of particular Gothic tales. Like Mayo, Chris Baldick in The Oxford Book of Gothic Tales (1992) distinguishes between early Gothic tales (1790–1839) and those of literary achievement (1839 to present) such as Poe’s Fall of the House of Usher (1839) which he considers the arrival of the short Gothic tale from cruder beginnings.6 Readers who are likely to be impatient with the historical curiosities to be found in the opening section, and wish to spend time only on works of some literary accomplishment may prefer to skip straight to the second section, or even to Poe’s ‘Fall of the House of Usher’, although they will be missing some rather startling entertainment. (p. xxii, my italics) Consequently, while Gothic tales begin to find inclusion in the legitimate Gothic literary tradition (through the validation of an academic anthology), early Gothic short stories (1800–1834), which fall outside the short-story tradition, continue to be discarded as corrupt and without literary accomplishment. Baldick argues that because the early Gothic tale originated and is entangled in the longer Gothic novel tradition, Gothic tales in this period are characteristically distinct (and dubious) and should be considered in relation to the Gothic novel rather than the short-story tradition (p. xvi). Mayo’s work on Gothic tales remains one of the only reference points for examining trade Gothic in periodicals and collections. Mayo points in two directions: he diverts attention away from the connection of the tales to bluebooks and he also directs it towards their moral rhetoric. In the following sections, however, I will challenge some of Mayo’s assumptions on a number of issues ranging from morality to readers to editorial framing. The Gothic undoubtedly underwent a number of shifts in the 1820s and 1830s—there are a number of external circumstances which must be taken into account: price of paper and the advancement of printing technology, which resulted in a move away from bluebook production into annuals and magazines. These factors further complicate the oversimple picture of a precise temporal canon (1764–1820) and challenge the assumption of reader saturation.7 Taste clearly did change, as this chapter will demonstrate, and the era of Scott ushered in a new method of framing fiction as history—and in the tales of the magazines and collections, we catch a glimpse of the way the hacks used that format to reclaim the old Gothic.


The incubi of a morbid imagination: Morality and the periodical Gothic The amount of fiction which appeared in the miscellanies was tremendous.8 Between 1790 and 1815, periodicals such as Lady’s Magazine published a number of serialised Gothic novels including George Moore’s Grasville Abbey: A Romance (March 1793–August 1797) and The Monks and the Robbers, A Tale (August–November 1794; April 1798–May 1805) as well as numerous short tales and fragments.9 Gothic fiction was decidedly a tolerated minority in magazines, losing its general appeal before 1820.10 If we look at the 134 tales of the 300 tales found in Appendix 3, it is clear that such tales continued to appeal to readers after 1820. Figure 4.1 illustrates the amount of Gothic tales which appeared in periodicals in this survey (see Appendix 3).11 It reflects several high and low points particularly in 1825 with sixteen and 1830 with eight; however, one particularly notable feature is the fact that there were several years like 1823 and 1828 in which no tales appeared in the periodicals surveyed. Periodicals were available both for purchase and at libraries. In fact, circulating libraries retained a great number of popular magazines including Critical Review and Gentleman’s Magazine. In fact, 45 per cent of Gothic tales in this survey initially appeared in periodicals such as The London Magazine, Belle Assemblée, or Bell’s Court and Fashionable Magazine, Lady’s Monthly Museum, or Polite Repository of Amusement and Instruction, Tell-Tale; or, Universal Museum, Marvellous Magazine and Compendium of Prodigies and New Gleaner, or Entertainment for the Fire-Side amongst innumerable others. It was still common for most circulating libraries to offer a large variety of magazines along with novels on a nightly

19 16 13 10 7 4 1 1814 Figure 4.1

1819

1824

Gothic fiction in periodicals 1814–1834

1829

1834


basis; for instance both Booth’s (1803) and Church’s (1831) circulating libraries offered Magazines at twopence per night for non-subscribers, a price slightly higher than a single volume or bluebook. We saw in Chapter 3 that the publishers of bluebooks also observed a potential market for magazines and collections of Gothic tales; Ann Lemoine, for instance, recycled single bluebooks not only in her Tale-Tell Magazine (1803–1805), but in special bluebook collections such as Tales of Terror! or More Ghosts (1802), and Romances and Gothic Tales (1801). Bluebook collections were subsequently reprinted in anthologies such as English Night’s Entertainments (1802). Bluebooks such as The Mysterious Spaniard (1807) would occasionally appear in collections such as the voluminous Legends of Terror! in 1826 and 1830 as did The Illuminati; or, The Mysterious Spaniard (3.122), and Sarah Wilkinson’s Albert of Werdendorff; or, The Midnight Embrace (2.8) which appears as The Midnight Embrace in the Halls of Werdendorff! (3.174).12 Of the 134 titles first issued in periodicals, 26 or 8 per cent were subsequently reissued in collections of tales.13 As already indicated, by 1825 many of the publishers of Gothic bluebooks had turned to other fields, most notably Dean & Munday who turned attention to their magazine The Ladies’ Monthly Museum; however, the tales they had mass-produced still retained marketability, and most significantly audience appeal. As we saw in Chapter 3, this shift was a result of two new inventions which completely changed the publishing trade. The cost and unreliability of the paper supply which had resulted in the high cost of books, however, was changing. Innovations in printing and stereotyping (reproducing complete pages of type) along with improved woodcuts in 1828 further revolutionised the printing of cheap books, periodicals and newspapers, resulting in a wave of cheap publications, mainly periodicals.14 There are, of course, similarities between bluebooks and the tales of terror which appeared in periodicals. In both, the narratives are usually presented in straightforward chronological succession with a strong moral subtext. The Skeleton Witness (3.243) which appeared in the Endless Entertainment; or, Comic, Terrific, and Legendary Tales in 1825, for example, recounts the tale of Hernando Villebon who is directed by a disguised skeleton to revenge his uncle’s death. The revenge plot was recycled not only from bluebooks such as The Black Forest; or, The Cavern of Death (2.31), where Albert is led by a skeleton waving a bloody sword, to avenge his father’s death and Edwin, but also from ‘The Mysterious Monk; or, The Cave of Blood’ from Romances and Gothic Tales (2.275), where he is led by a skeleton in religious garb to revenge the death of a


knight of the holy cross; and these in turn were recycled plots from earlier Gothic novels such as The Animated Skeleton (1798) and Ann Radcliffe’s The Italian (1797). But they also differed particularly in terms of framing; like Tales of the Dead, the editorial format of The Skeleton Witness enables a familiar plot to be recycled as anthropological document: A few centuries back, superstition gave rise to a general belief that the spirits of murdered persons wandered about the earth, until the perpetrator was either, by revenge or justice, punished for the foul deed he had committed; and that they would appear to their relatives and others, to point out the means by which their violent deaths might be avenged. Such superstitious feelings, though now seldom called into action, are probably not so completely extinguished, even in this enlightened era, as is generally imagined, but are yet cherished by a large portion of mankind. In Spain, the following tale is still mentioned as corroborative of the truth of that belief. (Legends of Terror!, pp. 210–211) Figure 4.2 compares the output of bluebooks and Gothic tales appearing in periodicals between 1814 and 1834. One hundred and thirty-four titles or 45 per cent of three hundred tales in this survey appeared in various magazines from cheap penny magazines like Endless Entertainment; or, Comic, Terrific, and Legendary Tales to the middle-class Belle Assemblée,

Magazines

25

Bluebooks

20 15

10 5

0 1814 Figure 4.2

1819

1824

1829

A comparison of the Gothic in periodicals and bluebooks

1834


or Bell’s Court and Fashionable Magazine. Three distinct phases are evident, the first occurring in 1825 with a total of sixteen tales appearing in periodicals and just seven bluebooks, this being a result of developments in printing techniques and the decline of the bluebook industry. The second phase occurs in 1830 with the publication of eight tales compared to one bluebook; and a smaller third phase in 1833 with five tales in periodicals and no bluebooks published. The sample here is small, but it reveals the shape and pattern of the large shift in the industry. There are two prominent assumptions which underpin the marginalisation of tales of terror in periodicals which are seldom called into question: first is the assumption that these tales were bloodcurdling. Mayo, here, is reiterating Birkhead’s observation in The Tale of Terror that the origin of the short tale of terror in periodicals were the bloodcurdling chapbooks.15 The other assumption is that while these tales tried to be bloodcurdling, they nevertheless did not violate decorum or the moral sense. Both assumptions point to an uncomfortable blend of the horrific and the didactic in periodical tales, a conflict accentuated by own Mayo’s argument that it was the ‘prevailing didacticism of the miscellanies’, not the tales themselves, that were moralistic.16 An example of uncomfortable blend of the horrific and the moralistic is found in Miss M. L. Beevor’s The Old Sign Board; or, ‘House in the Wilderness’ (3.202) published in The Ladies’ Pocket Magazine in 1832. Little is known about Miss Beevor, except that she was an experienced author publishing at least two other tales in The Ladies’ Pocket Magazine: A Second Story of the Death Bride (3.4) and The Waltz, A Tale Founded on Fact (3.286). The Old Sign Board operates by reinforcing the certainty of familiar Gothic motifs and by the revisiting of some of the famous and well-known situations and motifs. Marianne Macfarlane and her eight sisters are removed to ‘House in the Wilderness’ by their tyrannical father. The remote house is haunted by the ghost of Lady Geraldine. Marianne is separated from her faithful lover, Reginald Percy. Marianne, who is ‘inclined to superstition and romance’, is the target of her father’s hatred (p. 81). Like Wilkinson, Beevor’s tale utilises dual plots, the horrific and the moralistic, each one designed to engage the reader’s attention. The moralistic subplot involves Marianne’s ordeal at the hands of her father. To drive these romantic ideals out of Marianne, and— not to encourage such idle fancies, and, not to lose a good room in the house (which already more than accommodated his family), because fools chose to believe it haunted, [Macfarlane] immediately gave orders that it should be prepared as a bedroom for Marianne. 17


To instruct his daughter she is forced to inhabit the rooms reported haunted by Lady Geraldine. The persecution of Marianne continues until one night when the moralistic and horrific collide. Angered and losing his mind, Macfarlane decides to vent his frustration on Marianne, who is writing a secret letter to Percy late at night in her chamber— Step by step, up the stairs he came,—Marianne, in terror, put out her light, when suddenly Macfarlane stopped short, and she heard him in a voice half frantic and suffocated with alarm, demand:—‘In the name of the Lord, who, and what, art thou? and what business brings thee here?’ A voice, strange and unearthly, replied:—‘I am the proprietor and guardian of this chamber:—without my permission, none may enter it,—and thou,—rash man, advance one step further at thy peril!’ A muttered curse was the reply of Macfarlane, and his bravado, the mounting two stairs at a time, for his anger at this unseasonable rebuke, and extraordinary opposition, to that indisputable authority, whereby he ruled his wife and family with a rod of iron, overcame his terror at beholding the supernatural being who bestowed them:—he mounted, we say, in defiance of the apparition, a couple of stairs at a time, and was instantly hurled with violence to the bottom of the flight, where for some minutes he laid, stunned and insensible! (pp. 81–82) For Beevor, the horrific protects the moral. The spectre obstructs a greater monster from attacking something innocent. Poor Marianne heard him fall, and dark as it was, would have rushed from the room to render him some assistance, when she was stayed by the entrance of one, whom it was impossible to mistake:—the pale, sad, sweet countenance, and the white, antique costume, all dimly visible in the darkness like the body and contour of a cloud, emitting a faint, phosphoric radiance, proclaimed the presence of the lady of the eastern turret, and Marianne uttering a faint cry, sank into a chair, half dead with terror. ‘Fear me not!’ said the spirit, in a voice which resembled the sigh of the evening gale, ‘I, too, have known opposition, and far be it from me to add unto that, which I am powerless to prevent!—Fear me not, poor child!’ The Lady Geraldine then passing her luminous hand over the extinguished candle, it re-lighted, and entering a small square closet, she vanished. (p. 82)


The spectre of Lady Geraldine is a loose reconstruction of familiar spectres, which comforts heroines in their depths of sorrow and punishes their persecutors. Most clearly, though, she is an imitation of Matthew Lewis’s spectre in The Castle Spectre (performed in 1797 and published in 1798) who appears to Lady Angela. However, the supernatural visitant indicates another shift in the narrative which turns its attention to Reginald Percy and the eventual hand of justice to be related by a third party. Breaks in the process of explanation not only arouse the reader’s curiosity, but maintain suspense, suggesting an uncertainty about the area of ‘traditional’ and ‘unwritten’ historical material. Eventually historical facts are authenticated by the arrival of Reginald Percy in Fernbrake and a healthy rehearsal of the historical evidence. Mr Macfarlane systematically murders his wife and children, until only poor Marianne remains. Late one night Marianne escapes and the magistrates are called. They attempt to arrest Mr Macfarlane, but he commits suicide. Lady Geraldine appears to the magistrates to explain her fate and her need for a proper burial. She leads them to the closet where her bones are mingled with the unfortunate Macfarlane family. The Old Sign Board also attempts to establish a credible historical frame through the pretence that this story is a ‘romantic tragedy of domestic life’ and is nothing less than ‘a hitherto unwritten tradition . . . having received from very authentic sources . . . we have thus succeeded in rescuing from total oblivion’ (p. 89). The text up to this point is familiar to Gothic readers, and it also marks a noticeable shift in the emphasis on historical reality. Thus far, historical reality has been reinforced, not only by a localised location, Fernbrake, Norfolk, but also by the historical familiarity of Gothic motifs. Once more, as in most Gothic tales in this period, The Old Sign Board exhibits in abbreviated form the conventional devices of a Gothic novel simplified: tyrannical father, lovers separated, sympathetic and vengeful spectre and a solitary castle/house/prison. The framework of the story, influenced by Walter Scott, allows the text to be viewed from different perspectives which by degree authenticate the narrative through multiple viewpoints which culminate in the law’s arrival and its recognition of the terrifying history of the supernatural of ‘the house in the wilderness’. The frame narrative is carefully concluded with the notice that this tale has been saved from ‘total oblivion’ through the diligence of a skilled writer: But as by degrees, a neat little village sprung up around it, as the wilderness was gradually converted into cultivated land, and above


all, as the painting on the old weather-beaten signboard gradually disappeared (as did the story connected with it from the minds of generations who only received of it imperfect traditional accounts), the house in the wilderness lost its title, and assumed that of the Inn of Fernbrake, by which it is known at this day, whilst yet the Old Signboard swings in faded glory aloft”. (p. 89) Another, perhaps unexpected location for the horrific and moralistic to meet was in the Annuals, which, like periodicals, may broadly indicate not only popularity of types of fiction but reveal a more divergent literary history than Birkhead, Summers or Mayo indicate. Unmistakeably, Gothic fiction did indeed prosper after 1820, specifically with a middle-class readership, reaching its pinnacle of popularity, in terms of readers, periodicals and in annuals such as Friendship’s Offering, Forget Me Not and The Literary Souvenir. The Annuals were first introduced to the English market from the continent by the Swiss engraver Rudolph Ackermann in the form of Forget Me Not: A Christmas and New Year’s Present for 1823. In the nineteenth century, these gift books contained poetry and prose fiction which was illustrated with steel engraved plates of the finest quality and were sold for Christmas, New Year or birthday gifts. Publishers immediately recognised the profitability of these ventures and imitators soon followed with titles like The Keepsake, Friendship’s Offering, Literary Souvenir, The Gem and The Amulet. By 1825, nine annuals competed for readers and by 1832 the numbers had soared to sixty-two. But sales justified the increase. The Literary Souvenir edited by Alaric Watts sold 6000 copies in two weeks when it appeared in 1825; the following year it sold 10,000 and at its peak it achieved a circulation of 15,000 copies; the Friendship’s Offering a circulation of 35,000. The annuals proved most fashionable, finding their way into respectable middle-class homes, and were sustained by providing the most fashionable and renowned artists and writers such as James Hogg, William Wordsworth, Percy Shelley, Lord Byron and Mary Shelley and a host of minor writers and poets. A brief glance at their contributions reveals that Gothic fiction is remarkably common: The Mysterious Monk (3.191), The Terrible Warning, or Blood will have Blood (3.265) and The Haunted Chamber (3.115). Most of the Gothic tales in the Annuals have diverse historical settings including Irish, Hungarian, Greek, German, Italian, Spanish, Scottish, American and English. The Grotto of Akteleg (3.110), for instance, is based on a Hungarian Legend set in the reign of the apostate Julian in the


turbulent transition from paganism to Christianity. The Fortress of Saguntum (3.96) by William Harrison Ainsworth similarly is set in an historical situation in a castle in Spain following one of the crusades to the Holy Land. In this tale, a portrait of a heroic ancestor assumes the character of champion for the heroine. One example of this ‘founded on facts’ genre in the annuals is found in The Leixlip Castle; an Irish Family Legend (3.147) where we are assured by its author Charles Maturin that The incidents of the following tale are not merely founded on fact, they are facts themselves, which occurred at no very distant period in my own family. The marriage of the parties, their sudden and mysterious separation, and their total alienation from each other until the last period of their mortal existence, are all facts. I cannot vouch for the truth of the supernatural solution given to all these mysteries; but I must still consider the story as a fine specimen of Gothic horrors, and can never forget the impression it made on me when I heard it related for the first time among many other thrilling traditions of the same descriptions.18 While the number of these productions representing historical situations in various forms might be attributed to the success of Walter Scott’s Waverley Novel, there was not however, in this period between 1825 and 1834, as in the Gothic tales of terror in periodicals, an increase in tales that claimed to be ‘historical’, ‘founded on facts’ or even ‘historical romances’ or tales. Nevertheless, they do represent a relatively unexplored aspect of the Gothic twilight.

Plundering the Germans While Gothic tales in periodicals are generally well documented, tales in popular collections, anthologies and compilations which gathered Gothic tales from manifold sources, including magazines, bluebooks, newspapers and foreign publications, are often ignored or marginalised.19 Gothic tales similarly appeared in novels, collections of Gothic essays, tales and fragments of the same length as novels, including Mrs Ann Aikin Barbauld’s Sir Bertrand: A Fragment originally published in Miscellaneous Pieces in Prose (1792), Kruitzner (3.137) by Harriet and Sophia Lee in their The Canterbury Tales (1797–1805), several Gothic tales from Francis Lathom’s One Pound Note and Other Tales (1820) and The Polish Bandit; or, Who’s My Bride (1824) and Matthew Lewis’s Romantic Tales


(1808). In the survey of 300, there are 19 examples of tales (6 per cent) which first appeared in either as a tale (Lathom’s The Prophecy (3.215) from One Pound Note & Other Tales or Lewis’s Mistrust; or, Blanche and Osbright, A Feudal Romance (3.176) from Romantic Tales), or were extracted from a novel (Walter Scott’s Wandering Willie’s Tale from Redgauntlet). Circulating libraries, as we saw in Chapter 2, were the primary distributors of novels, and they also stocked significant numbers of collections of tales. Fifty-four per cent of the Gothic tales in this survey were available in these bound collections. For example, there were eighteen collections of tales contained in Booth’s Circulating Library catalogue such as the popular Arabian Nights’ Entertainment (1750),20 William Beckford’s translation of Popular Tales from the German (1791) and Kendall’s Tales of the Abbey (1800). The catalogue also contains three bluebook anthologies, collections of Gothic tales issued as bluebooks including Ghosts and Apparitions, Gothic Stories & Wonderful Tales. Fifteen years later, Fish’s library lists sixteen collections several of which were found in Booth’s library, including Arabian Nights’ Entertainment and Beckford’s Popular Tales from the German. The library also contains two collections of bound magazines, comprised mainly of serial bluebook tales, Marvellous Magazine and Compendium of Prodigies, Maria Edgeworth’s Fashionable (1809 and 1812) and Moral Tales (1801) and Walter Scott’s Tales of My Landlord (1816). In 1831, Cupper’s Library contained 32 titles, twice the amount of Booth’s or Fish’s libraries. Familiar titles such as Arabian Nights’ Entertainment, Stories of Four Nations, Scott’s Tales of My Landlord and Miss Edgeworth’s Moral Tales are still found in the library, as well as Lewis’s Romantic Tales and several of Amelia Opie’s tales.21 One latest collection of tales of terror was the curious Gothic omnibus Legends of Terror! and Tales of the Wonderful and Wild (1826 and 1830) is a collection of 136 tales which pretentiously claims itself to be ‘a complete collection of Legendary Tales, National Romances, & Traditional Relics of Every Country, and of the most intense interest’ whose central concern purports to be the transmission, re-transmission, and authentication of tales. Legends of Terror! can clearly be seen continuing Gothic’s fascination with narrative diversification and methods in which communicated tales, or short Gothic fictions, are made legitimate.22 The collection’s structure is established principally through its use of framing narratives and formal paratexts (including introductions and epigraphs) which are utilised by the editors of the series to record the process of transmission, or in most cases, re-transmission and significantly to insinuate limitations in historical and authorial authentication.


Framing narratives and other formal paratexts are frequently utilised to maintain editorial and authorial control of the narrative.23 In Legends of Terror! for instance, the editors provide their readers historical or literary references not only as a defence for the problem of the supernatural, but to disarm the critics by an open admission of opulence or excess in use of the supernatural. In the introduction to the tale The Wanderer; or, The Magic Phial! (3.287) they remind the reader that This wild and marvellous, though far from immoral story, may be traced to a source from whence no one would have expected a romance, viz. Barnavius’s History of Spain, vol. I, pp. 211–13. And is the foundation of Maturin’s celebrated Romance of ‘Melmoth the Wanderer’. (Legends of Terror! p. 33) The presence of a remote and external editorial voice does not overrule the authority of the tales themselves; however, it does draw attention to their process of transmission or re-transmission rather than their supernatural elements. This is the distinguishing and unifying feature of the tales in Legends of Terror!, the dominant narrative strategy. The utilisation of frames and authenticating interventions by editors and narrators to maintain suspense is perceptible, of course, in early Gothic novels such as Horace Walpole’s The Castle of Otranto (1764) and Clara Reeve’s The Old English Baron (1777) which utilise the translator/ editor and Ann Radcliffe’s The Sicilian Romance (1790); and also in a more radial way later in Charles Maturin’s Melmoth the Wanderer (both of which latter utilise the fragmentary manuscript). However in Gothic tales, the framed narratives not only sustain and maintain suspense; these strategies also allow the narrative to be viewed as both historical (albeit rather loosely termed) and literary (romance or fiction) texts. In the case of the Gothic tales, frame narratives often perhaps unwittingly subvert historical certainties with uncertainties by framing ‘historical’ material as legends, traditions and tales. Gothic tales then hold the precarious position between historical and supernatural fiction. There are two forms of paratext in Legends of Terror!: the frame narratives found at the beginning of most tales which are designed to insure historical authenticity; and the editor’s introductions that preface many of the texts not only containing detailed annotations, historical and publication information, but also including local history, legends and custom. The editors of Legends of Terror! include no preface to the omnibus, but instead attach three poetic epigraphs which function not only as indicators of its legendary content, but also as legitimising


such content by evoking the character and work of Walter Scott as adjudicator: All nations have their omens drear, Their Legends wild of woe and fear. Scott The mightiest chiefs of British song Scorned not such legends to prolong; They gleam thro’ Spenser’s elfin dream. And mix in Milton’s heavenly theme— Scott Here still the Legendary tale goes round Of charms, of spells, of treasures lost and found, Of fearful goblins, and malicious sprites, Enchanted damsels, and enamoured knights. Drummond The first two from Scott, both taken from introductions to Marmion (1808), cantos six and first respectively, and the second is perhaps taken from William Drummond, the Scottish poet and historian. By using Scott, the editors underline the intent of the series to mix historical and legendary. An outline of two distinct varieties of paratext utilised by Legends of Terror!, though first detected in the Gothic novel, may illustrate the function of frame narrative of the Gothic tales; for example, the novel Die Elixiere des Teufels (The Devil’s Elixirs) by E. T A. Hoffmann published in Germany 1816 and first published in England in 1824.24 The novel is framed by an anonymous ‘editor’s’ preface which presents the posthumous papers of a Monk named Medardus, which, the editor assures us, the Prior of the Capuchin Monastery thought should be burned. The editor, after guiding the reader around the Capuchin Monastery in Bamberg, Germany, introduces the autobiographical papers with two clear intentions: first is an attempt to tempt the reader to understand the text as ‘more than just the caprice of an inflamed imagination’, and second, for the reader— to feel that what we call simply dream and imagination might represent the secret thread that runs through our lives and links its varied facts; and that the man who thinks that, because he has


perceived this, he has acquired the power to break the thread and challenge that mysterious force which rules, us, is to be given up as lost. Perhaps your experience, gentle reader, will be the same as mine. For the profoundest of reasons I sincerely hope that it may be so. (p. 1) The preface then acts as a temptation, asking the reader to suspend the historical certainties of the text, and ‘willingly . . . believe that everything is really happening before your eyes’ (p. 1). The editor as Devil, of course, is mirrored in Hoffmann’s text, as Medardus is tempted by the Devil’s elixir. The preface then highlights the difficulties of balancing the imaginative potential and the historicity of the text. The following year The Mysterious Bottle of Old Hock (3.187), a redaction of Hoffmann’s novel which appeared in Endless Entertainment in 1825, simply framed the narrative as a story or legend attached to a Capuchin Convent in Germany. However, in 1830 that redaction was renovated and repacked into Saint Anthony’s Flask; or, The Devil’s Wine! (3.232) in Legends of Terror! The anonymous writer frames the narrative first as a legend, relating Saint Anthony’s temptation, and second as a translation: ‘the direful fate which attended the violator of the flask; whose history is related in the following pages; is translated from a German work published in Germany, which was taken from a manuscript on vellum, preserved in the archives of the Convent till its dissolution’.25 The story, however, is only a partial redaction of Hoffmann’s text, a revision of the short original in Endless Entertainment. Perhaps to fit the expectations of a pious middle-class readership, or to control the length, the final part of the novel, Medardus’s atonement, is omitted and a moralistic ending is invented. Indeed, a high number of tales purport to be derived from German legends, tales, fragments, at least fifty-four, 18 per cent, in total, which include E. T. A. Hoffman’s The Sandman (3.233) which appeared in The Keepsake in 1834 and Christian August Vulpius’s Rinaldo Rinaldini first published in 1800, republished as a bluebook in 1801 and repackaged again for the magazine Endless Entertainment in 1825, suggests that these tales had a tremendous commercial potential as tales of terror. One possible source for the increase in Gothic tales was the growing interest in German tales due to the publication of several collections of popular tales such as Popular Tales and Romances of Northern Nations (1823) which included De Quincy’s translation of J. A. Apel’s Der Freischütz as William the Fatal Marksman! or, The Seven Charmed Bullets (3.295). The popularity of these tales also gave rise to particular criticism regarding


German literary tastes and resulted in vehement defences of what Thomas Carlyle calls the ‘bowl-and-dagger department’.26 Their literature, in particular, is thought to dwell with peculiar complacency among wizards and ruined towers, with mailed knights, secret tribunals, monks, spectres and banditti . . . Black forests, and the glories of Lubberland; sensuality and horror, the spectre nun, and the charmed moonshine, shall not be wanting. Boisterous outlaws also, with huge whiskers and the most cat-o’-mountain aspect; tear-stained sentimentalists, the grimmest manhaters, ghosts and the like suspicious characters, will be found in abundance. (pp. 37–38) Writing in 1827, Carlyle argues that to confine German literature to these kind of tales is equivalent to the Gothic representing English literature: ‘Or what should we think of the German critic that selected his specimens of British Literature from The Castle Spectre, Mr. Lewis’s Monk or The Mysteries of Udolpho, and Frankenstein or the Modern Prometheus?’ (p. 38). German tales at the time in the 1820s were treated with suspicion, so much so that the editors of Popular Tales and Romances of the Northern Nations (1823) attached the following apology: Stories of this kind form an important feature in the literature of the Germans, who seem to be the authenticated historians of Satan in all his varieties of name and attribute . . . It must however be allowed that, with the Germans, fancy has had too much sway, for it has seldom been under the guidance of sound taste, and the consequence is, that the multitude of their original fiction is disgraced by the most babarous [sic] absurdities. The same may, in some measure, be said of their modern romance, but at the same time the reader can not fail to be delighted with the variety and richness of its inventions, diablerie [sic] with the Germans being as inexhaustible as the fairyism [sic] of the Eastern world. (p. 1) The same editor regards the Gothic tale, and particularly its German influences, as distinctly different from the modern readers’ taste for real life, but goes on to mount an interesting defence of ‘the connexion between the visible and invisible world’: The English reader of these volumes must not expect to find in them the style of romance, which is now so popular, in his own country. These tales do not pretend to be a picture of human nature or human


manners; they are either imitations of early traditions, or the traditions themselves, amplified by some modern writer, and must be judged of in reference to such origin. . . . It may be said, that reason has nothing to do with any of them, either with sylphs or gnomes, spectres or sorcerers, and this no doubt is true; but reason is not always the most agreeable companion, nor is her constant persence [sic] any way condusive [sic] to the expansion of the kinder feelings; fiction is the natural point of rest for the mind, which worn out by the stern realities of life: those realities present little that is agreeable, and it is no wonder, therefore, if we seek to escape from them in the dreams of falsehood. There is something too, in such tales, that touches a spring common to all hearts; the connexion [sic] between the visible and invisible world is a thing which all reason denies, but all feeling allows, and which it always must allow, or fancy will be so completely subdued to truth that even poetry will have lost its value. (p. 1) The editor’s defence sounds as if it is based on a real decline: ‘But it may be necessarily to apprise novel-writers, in general, that this taste is declining, and that real life and manners will soon assert their claim.’27 But unquestionably there was sustained interest in the narrative devices of German authors, so much so that the editors of Legends of Terror! (1826) frame the following introduction to A Night in the Grave; or, The Devil’s Receipt! A Scottish Tale (3.3): Much has been said by various sagacious critics, on the system so generally adopted by the German Romance writers of introducing scenes of diabolical agency into their tales, which, although they are generally seized upon by the reader with the utmost avidity, and usually prove of the most intense interest, yet they are of opinion that they tend to demoralize the mind, and enervate the understanding. It is not our intention to controvert this popularly received opinion (but which might easily be done), as we at present wish only to remove the stigma that has been so long attached to the German Romance writers of their being the only ones of that class who do introduce these diableries [sic] into their compositions. If we look at the productions of many authors of our own country, we shall soon find that they have not been far behind and with their German Brothers in calling into their aid all the interest to be derived from a connection with devilish agency: and even the ‘Great Wizard of the North,’ in one of his late productions, has not disdained


to introduce a scene of this description, which fully equals (if not excels) in diabolism most of those yet produced from the German school, not excepting even the celebrated scene in Faustus, or the Masque of the Walpurgis Night on the Harz Mountains. If a writer like this, with his gigantic powers, has chosen to play with such a subject, surely we may in future cease from upbraiding the Germans in the acrimonious manner we have hitherto done, for their committal of those faults, which are committed by others in common with them. (p. 531) It is by the authority of Walter Scott that the writers and editors presumed to indulge ‘German’ supernaturalism in the Gothic, and the frame narrative establishes an editorial authority over the text, which can then grant itself the rhetorical licence to terrify. What is clear is that the hacks re-used Scott’s historical realism for their own (largely didactic) purposes and, in doing so, they broadened its appeal.

The appetite for tales of terror The amount of Gothic tales in periodical does confirm some of the present critical assumptions: Mayo’s argument, for example, is quite correct—that Scott did not ‘kill off the Gothic’ – it illustrates the way in which it re-appropriated Scott’s historical realism to reclaim the old Gothic. By adapting Scott’s narrative framework, the Gothic continued to appeal to large audiences. Figure 4.3 gives an indication of the combined total novel, bluebook and tales output between 1800 and 1834, illustrating the ascendancy of Gothic tales which significantly accounted for 80 per cent of the total production of Gothic material surveyed. The figure provides a linear overview of total Gothic production, that is novels, bluebooks and tales. Significantly, the figures for Gothic tales contrast with the overall production of Gothic fiction in other forms, as we have seen notable periods of production of the novel and bluebook occurred approximately in 1803–1805, 1810 and 1819–1820. This figure illustrates the drastic increase in the total number of tales as the other two dominant forms gradually declined between 1811 and 1820, ultimately representing the declivity of the bluebook industry in 1825 and the overall slowdown of Gothic novel production. Significantly though, Figure 4.3 also illustrates that the total output of Gothic was waning between 1812 and 1823 (with the exception of a transient increase in the production of bluebooks in 1820) dwindling


Tales

Bluebooks

Novels

80 70 60 50 40 30 20 10 0 1800 Figure 4.3

1805

1810

1815

1820

1825

1830

Total output of Gothic fiction, 1800–1834

dramatically in 1822 to a total of eight Gothic works: four novels, two bluebooks and two tales.28 Likewise, it reflects this period’s intense diversification of the ‘trade’ in which the Gothic began to appear in more formats than ever, while the Gothic tale never dominated the magazines and collections, undermines the blanket assumption that Gothic fiction had lost its readership after the publication of Charles Maturin’s Melmoth the Wanderer (1820). Figure 4.3 also gives an indication of the combined total bluebook, novel and Gothic tale output in this study between 1800 and 1834. More importantly, it critically indicates 90 per cent of all Gothic material published after 1821 in this survey took the form of tales. As we have seen, this large amount of Gothic tales can be accounted for in the simultaneous introduction of popular collections such as Legends of Terror which concentrated on Gothic tales and legends. One hundred and sixty-nine tales or 56 per cent in this survey were published in popular collections such as Legends of Terror! and Tales of the Wonderful and Wild (1826 and 1830) and Popular Tales and Romances of the Northern Nations (1823). Of the one hundred and sixty-nine titles, one hundred and twenty-one first appeared in Legends of Terror! published by Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper 1826 and 1830; sixty-one titles previously appeared in print in either novels, bluebooks, periodicals or other popular collections of tales.29

5 Morality and Blood: William Child Green

In 1826 William Child Green was only one of a handful of authors still actively producing Gothic novels. Little is known about the late Gothic novelist except that he was born in London on 5 September 1802.1 He resided in Walworth, where he frequented both social and literary circles; his portrait by le Compte de Carne is preserved in his fifth novel The Prophecy of Duncannon; or, The Dwarf and the Seer (1.249). He was the author of six late Gothic novels including The Maniac of the Desert (1821), The Woodland Family; or, The Sons of Error and The Daughters of Simplicity (1824), The Fays of Loch Lomond (1824), The Sicilian Boy (1824), Alibeg the Tempter: A Tale Wild and Wonderful (1.10) and The Algerines; or, The Twins of Naples (1.9).2 What sets Green apart from other late trade writers of the Gothic is that his principal objective in writing the novel was not monetary (as it was for Wilkinson), but what Frederick Shroyer terms ‘pious didacticism’. The Abbot of Montserrat uniquely demonstrates the process through which a well-known Gothic novel (and particularly prevalent themes) was reconstructed to ‘serve, while they entertain, to exemplify the important moral precept’ (my italics).3 In the preface of The Abbot of Montserrat, Green argued that his intention was twofold: first, ‘[t]o demonstrate forcibly . . . the vanity and impiety of some men’s wishes and prayers’ (vol. 1: p. i) and second, to emphasise the moral axiom ‘that provided a transgressor’s penitence (however flagrant may have been his crimes or repulsive his cruelties) be only undissembled, it can never be too late’ (vol. 1: p. ii). The objectives were suggested by Green’s reading of Charles Maturin’s Melmoth the Wanderer (1820) ‘wherein he so admirably depicts the immeasurable value of immortal soul’ (vol. 1: p. i). The Abbot of Montserrat, like Maturin’s Melmoth the Wanderer, relates the story of 97


a demonic quest and temptation. The diabolical Melmoth has exchanged his soul for immortality and wanders in search of a willing soul to release him from his pact. Green, however, not only found the management of Melmoth’s fate, dragged off by demons, disquieting but strenuously argued that Maturin’s text should have offered Melmoth spiritual redemption: ‘Unlike that able author, I have chosen to rescue my hero from the snare of darkness which had wellnigh ingulfed [sic] him.’ The preface suggests that the tale will offer the reader something that Maturin’s novel could not; the penitent sinner, salvation. I argued in Chapter 3 that the trade Gothic often unexpectedly contained a moral subtext which attempted to interpose decorum, decency and morality. In The Abbot of Montserrat, morality was no longer confined to a subtext, it attempted to re-establish the decorum and decency Green found absent in the Gothic. Green’s intent is not only to reinforce Maturin’s emphasis of the impiety of man’s desires, but to interpose his own distinct strategy of moralisation. This ideology is ‘the existence of an abundance of clemency in the Supreme Judge, with respect to the portal of whose mercy it is written—“Knock, and it shall be opened,” and to inculcate the universal efficacy of a sincere repentance’ (vol. 1: pp. i–ii). Green’s fundamental theme, Shroyer suggests, ‘is seemingly that one can have his Hell and evade it, too’ (p. viii). However, Shroyer’s allusion presumably negates Green’s attempt to redeem the Gothic hero-villain, as he further suggests ‘[t]his is a twist, of course, that somehow warps the novel’s dramatic structure’ (p. viii). Frederick Frank similarly argues that Green intentionally violated an ‘inflexible law’ of the Gothic: ‘the moralized climax is a violation of one of the high Gothic’s inflexible laws—that unswerving evil characters should remain defiantly evil at their deaths’ (Frank, First Gothics, p. 124). Green’s evangelical efforts and moral strategizing, likewise, is extended to his readers. Green argued that The Abbot of Montserrat was intended for ‘those who might perhaps even turn aside with aversion from the perusal of any more serious matter’ and the tale of Fernandez and Isabel was to be ‘the lighter efforts made to amuse the reader’. Notwithstanding the lighter elements, Green was clear that ‘the greater portion are remarkable facts, historically recorded: see various works, tours, essays, &c. that have been written respecting the Monastery of Montserrat’ (vol. 1: p. ii). For Green, a novel should be both moral and educational. The setting of this ‘tragycal hystorye’ in medieval Spain during the ‘romantic “olden time” ’, at the ‘eve of torment and of massacre, of real fanaticism and hypocrisy’ (vol. 1: pp. 3–7), is the first indication that

Morality and Blood: William Child Green 99

Green, who is well-versed in the Gothic motifs, is deliberately exploiting such entrenched motifs to emphasise an implicitly moralistic tone in the text. The setting, like the preface, underlines Green’s determination to illustrate the paradoxes with which the supernatural is associated. For Green, a tale of demonic possession, such as The Abbot of Montserrat, is only credible in the context of an age of superstition; consequently, the tale operates in an age which he explicitly regards as one of religious deception: When monastic superstition and intolerable bigotry, aided by the credulity of the surrounding vassalage, and rendered still more prevalent by the dread of inquisitorial interference, were gradually enthralling the ‘cloud-girt minds of men,’ and weakening their intellects in proportion as the delusion was repelled with scorn, or suffered to overpower them, that dreadful delusion, whose reign was demonstrated by the profound respect and universal reverence with which the several orders of that faith then miscalled Christianity, were treated. (vol. 1: p. 4) With the preface in mind, Green clearly delineates between the age of ‘monastic superstition’ when the romance is set and the true Christian belief in the ‘Supreme Judge’ which underlines his motives for writing the tale. Like Maturin’s Melmoth the Wanderer, and Lewis’s The Monk, The Abbot of Montserrat is fiercely anticlerical (and specifically anti-Catholic), a hostility which continually threatens to overpower Green’s pious didacticism. Initially, this is done by defining the physical setting of the novel in religious terms rather than within historical confines: About this period, and even at a much later epoch, the tongues of the brotherhood of almost every holy order in existence were remarkably active in propagating various absurd traditions respecting their monasteries, the miracles performed by their saints, or the unhallowed mysteries of their polluted cloisters; and to a little better than grotesque fabrication of the latter kind, we shall have occasion frequently to allude during the progress of the succeeding ‘tragycal hystorye’. (vol. 1: pp. 6–7) The absence of any historical context initially reinforces the reader’s awareness that The Abbot of Montserrat is recycling the principal action of Lewis’s The Monk, rather than presenting it as ‘facts’. But, the distinctly religious connotations of Green’s introduction forewarns readers of his


didactic intentions. Green’s readers would have been fully aware that morality, not history, provides the story’s framework. The romance relates the trials of Fernandez de Leon and Isabel de Gracey who elope to the Abbey of Montserrat to marry against their parents’ wishes. The Abbey is home to the tormented malcontent monk Obando, who, to gain the affection of Isabel, enters into a diabolical pact with the demon Zatanai. With the aid of Roldan, the ferocious bandit who inhabits the same mountain, Isabel is kidnapped and imprisoned, only for Roldan to fall in love with her and refuse to release her to Obando. Meanwhile, through Zatanai’s assistance, Obando murders the Abbot and succeeds to his post. But lust is the dominating passion of Obando, and when Isabel escapes (with the assistance of her mother-in-law and Roldan’s mistress), Roldan attacks the Abbey. The Inquisition is equally interested in the rumours about the diabolical Abbot Obando, and arrives at the Abbey to investigate; a battle ensues between the two rival forces resulting in the destruction of the Abbey. In the midst of the turmoil, Zatanai offers to save Obando. The demon bears the monk through the burning roof of the Abbey. Suddenly though, Obando confesses and renounces his evil practices and the demon relinquishes his prey leaving Obando to plummet to a fiery death. Fernandez and Isabel are in the end reunited. An examination of the plot reveals that even though Green acknowledged Maturin’s Melmoth the Wanderer as the principal inspiration for The Abbot of Montserrat; or, The Pool of Blood, it is undoubtedly Matthew Lewis’s The Monk (1796) which is its primary source. (A fact which simply confirms that Green is recycling ‘high’ Gothic.) In fact, the similarities between the texts underline Green’s moralistic approach to adapting The Monk which conspicuously disregards Coleridge’s caution that ‘[t]ales of enchantment and witchcraft can never be useful’.4 Coleridge, in his review of The Monk, argued that Lewis had managed to make such tales ‘pernicious, by blending, with an irreverent negligence, all that is most awfully true in religion with all that is most ridiculously absurd in superstition’ (p. 374). Coleridge suggested that this ‘irreverent negligence’ along with other catalogued immoral traits compelled him to declare ‘in full conviction that we are performing a duty, we declare it to be our opinion, that The Monk is a romance, which if a parent saw in the hands of a son or daughter, he might reasonably turn pale’ (p. 374). Without a moral foundation, The Monk epitomises Coleridge’s conviction that romances are ‘incapable of exemplifying a moral truth’ (p. 371). Green, on the other hand, fundamentally assumes that romances have the dual purpose of both entertaining and exemplifying


moral principles, and in the case of The Abbot of Montserrat it is that of repentance. Separated by thirty years, the two novels predictably treat the potent religious and moral issues distinctly. Like The Monk, The Abbot of Montserrat; or, The Pool of Blood describes the demonic temptation of one who has devoted themselves wholly to religion. Both texts centre on demonic provocation; Ambrosio and Obando both enter into diabolical pacts in order to satisfy their lusts, committing murder while accomplishing their objective. Both are rescued from the inquisition by demonic interventions, only to suffer a most horrible death, bruised and broken at the hands of that same demon. Although the plot and situations of The Monk strongly anticipate The Abbot of Montserrat, the two romances make significantly different uses of similar material. Most importantly, Green avoids the religious and moral complications, underlined by Coleridge, which dominate and undermine Lewis’s text. Obando is no haughty, Ambrosio engaging in a hopeless conflict to beguile himself, and Green is at some pains to emphasise that this moral repositioning is not a simplification of an individual’s relationship with God. In this way, Green’s reformulation represents a significant struggle against the moral and religious practices of early Gothic authors such as Lewis and Charlotte Dacre. A romance about religion, sex and temptation had been refocused as a highly moral, yet ‘entertaining’ text. Throughout the novel, Green is also fascinated by the possibilities of modifying what Frank distinguishes as a fundamental Gothic law that ‘no Gothic novel can terrify or horrify its readers unless they are made to feel the possibility or better yet the probability that demons are in control of the world and the self and that evil is going to defeat good’ (Frank, First Gothics, p. 437). In The Abbot of Montserrat, Green restructures the fall of Ambrosio by carefully weakening the notion of the infallibility of evil by allowing religion to play the primary role in the text. Consequently, the subplot which frames the novel is drastically simplified. Its principal characters reduced to secondary roles: Fernandez reporting Obando to the inquisition and Isabel, the object of lust of both Obando and Roldan, whose escape sets into motion the destruction of the Abbey. Their tale, unlike the distracting subplot of Raymond and Agnes, is merely intended to enhance the main story of the temptation of Obando. Although framed by Fernandez and Isabel’s tale, The Abbot of Montserrat, like The Monk, centres on the actions of a monk and the religious and moral implications of his behaviour. Obando is portrayed as the parallel


of Ambrosio, and his experience with the demon. Like Ambrosio, Obando is the victim of a demonic pursuit. In reconstructing Ambrosio, Obando is sketched in stark contrast to Lewis’s ‘Man of Holiness’. In their descriptions, Ambrosio and Obando are contrasted in distinct terms of passions. Obando possesses both the propensity for evil and a universal gloom. He is portrayed as a representation, not of ‘tranquillity’, as one who has found contentment within the monastic community, but a portrait of what monastic life represents. Green is careful to transpose the qualities of Lewis’s Ambrosio, creating the first of several distinct contrasting episodes. Obando is described as a singular-looking personage, whose remarkable figure, once beheld, was not easily to be forgotten, seemed pale in his complexion, even unto sickliness, but gigantic in his stature, and in his deportment haughty and unbending; at least the attitude which he first caught their vision, one of fiery impatience and fiercely conflicting passions. .. .He appeared about the age of thirty-five—it might be rather more; but a life of the strictest discipline and abstinence, added to an almost incessant state of mental inquietude, had done that for him which his years could not possibly have accomplished—stamped his cheek with furrows, and his brow with gloom. (vol. 1: pp. 57–59) For Green, monastic life cannot possess true spirituality and this is reflected in the physical and mental description of the monk. Obando’s ‘gloom’ and ‘mental inquietude’ emphasise his ‘conflicting passions’ and suggest that secluded religious life is itself pernicious. Conversely, where Obando is corrupted by a monastic life, Lewis’s Ambrosio flourishes. In The Monk, the physical description of Ambrosio emphasises not only contentment, but the noble qualities of a true religious devotee: He was a Man of noble port and commanding presence. His stature was lofty, and his features uncommonly handsome. His Nose was aquiline, his eyes large black and sparkling, and his dark brows almost joined together. His complexion was of a deep but clear Brown; Study and watching had entirely deprived his cheek of colour. Tranquillity reigned upon his smooth unwrinkled forehead; and Content, expressed upon every feature, seemed to announce the Man equally unacquainted with cares and crimes. (p. 18) In The Monk, Ambrosio’s portrait distinctly parallels that of Christ and sets about to illustrate the heights from which men of ‘holiness’ can


fall. However, for Green, it is not the mighty who fall, but the discontented ‘everyman’. Coleridge similarly argued that ‘no pleasure therefore can be received from the perception of difficulty surmounted’ when a text fails to exemplify a moral truth: No proud man, for instance, will be made less proud by being told that Lucifer once seduced a presumptuous monk. Incredulus odit. Or even if, believing the story, he should deem his virtue less secure, he would yet acquire no lessons of prudence, no feelings of humility. Human prudence can oppose no sufficient shield to the power and cunning of supernatural beings; and the privilege of being proud might be fairly conceded to him who could rise superior to all earthly temptations, and whom the strength of the spiritual world alone would be adequate to overwhelm. So falling, he would fall with glory, and might reasonably welcome his defeat with the haughty emotions of a conqueror. (p. 371) Green was not only aware of Coleridge’s objections to The Monk, he attempted to incorporate the pertinent alterations Coleridge suggested into his text. Although The Abbot of Montserrat is occasionally shaped by Coleridge’s suggestions, the central difference between the two texts is most clearly evident in the handling of the demonic moral deviations of which Coleridge fundamentally disapproved. Perhaps the most significant feature of Green’s moralisation of The Monk is his restructuring of the appearance of the Dæmon. In The Monk, Ambrosio is led by Matilda to the subterraneous passages beneath the monastery where she conjures the Demon. The scene is a mixture of the homo-erotic and the spiritual: Ambrosio started, and expected the Dæmon with terror. What a surprize [sic], when the Thunder ceasing to roll, a full strain of melodious Music sounded in the air. At the same time the cloud dispersed, and He beheld a Figure more beautiful, than Fancy’s pencil ever drew. It was a Youth seemingly scarce eighteen, the perfection of whose form and face was unrivalled. He was perfectly naked: A bright Star sparkled upon his fore-head; Two crimson wings extended themselves from his shoulders; and his silken locks were confined by a band of many-coloured fires, which played round his head, formed themselves into a variety of figures, and shone with a brilliance far surpassing that of precious Stones. Circlets of Diamonds were fastened round


his arms and ankles, and in his right hand He bore a silver branch, imitating Myrtle. His form shone with dazzling glory: He was surrounded by clouds of rose-coloured light, and at the moment that He appeared, a refreshing air breathed perfumes through the Cavern. Enchanted at the vision so contrary to his expectations, Ambrosio gazed upon the Spirit with delight and wonder: Yet however beautiful the Figure, He could not but remark a wildness in the Dæmon’s eyes, and a mysterious melancholy impressed upon his features, betraying the Fallen Angel, and inspiring the Spectators with secret awe. (pp. 276–277) For Lewis, the demon appears as a ‘delight and wonder’, beautiful, his evil nature betrayed only through the ‘wildness’ in his eyes and a ‘mysterious melancholy’. Green, on the other hand, removes any suggestion of eroticism, beauty and wonder, instead focusing on the almost scientific appearance of the demon. Unlike Ambrosio, Obando is not led or enticed to actually raise the demon. In The Abbot of Montserrat, the demon appears when there are conflicting passions within Obando. After first beholding Isabel, a hitherto unknown lust overwhelms Obando. He leaves the chapel seeking solace in the Abbey’s cemetery: A stream of yellow light burst gradually around him and shining on the adjacent shattered tombstones, chequered them with grotesque shades, and appearance equally hideous and indescribable; within the pale of that infernal radiance, the elements seemed to have not power; for the rain, which had hitherto pelted his drenched form, now dripped on him no longer, and had either entirely ceased, or was rendered imperceptible, Obando shuddered and grew motionless. Meanwhile the brilliance which surrounded him grew stronger, until seeming presently to compress itself into what began now to resemble a corporeal form, its rays by degrees became concentrated to a pitch of denseness so impenetrable, as to present the perfect aspect of a material substance; scaled magnificently over and composed of fiery particles, which emitted a brilliant yellow glow through the beautifully bossed and speckled coverage, which, without concealing, rendered their radiance endurable— Like no ethereal night, where long white clouds Streak the deep purple, and ennumbered stars Spangle the wonderful and mysterious vault, With things that look as if they might be suns.


Such was the object which now met the sight of conscience-stricken and appalled Obando; who stood fixed to the spot with involuntary trepidation while his eyes wandered alternatively over the fiery form and terrific aspect of the inexplicable being before him; his shape was that of a monster—half brute, half serpent; his shaggy, sparkling crest—his worse than the worst of human visages—bespoke him neither God, nor devil, nor angel, nor man; and yet with this horrible phantom did the monk Obando appear not wholly unacquainted. (vol. 1: pp. 106–107) The textual parallels bring out important differences in the presentation of evil. For Green, evil cannot be romanticised through eroticism or subtlety. Evil is evil. While Ambrosio is pleasantly astonished by the beautiful features of the demon; Obando is ‘conscience-stricken and appalled’ at the sight of his. Likewise, the physical presentation of the demon illustrates the author’s different perceptions of evil; where one appears in ‘dazzling glory’, the other appears as a monster ‘half brute, half serpent’. Evil cannot be disguised in Green’s text, there are no grey areas. For Green, the Gothic should not be ambiguous in its representation of spiritual struggles; readers should be presented with evil in blackand-white terms. A similar restructuring takes place in the presentation of the final scene of the novels when the demons take possession of the monks. In The Monk Ambrosio, confined in his cell, finally calls upon the demon and accepts its help in order to be liberated from the inquisition. ‘Take it!’ said the God-abandoned; ‘Now then save me! snatch me from hence!’ ‘Hold! Do you freely and absolutely renounce your Creator and his Son?’ ‘I do! I do!’ ‘Do you make over your soul to me for ever?’ ‘For ever!’ ‘Without reserve or subterfuge? Without future appeal to the divine mercy?’ The last Chain fell from the door of the prison: The key was heard turning in the Lock: Already the iron door grated heavily upon its rusty hinges.


‘I am yours for ever and irrevocably!’ cried the Monk wild with terror: ‘I abandon all claim to salvation! I own no power but yours! Hark! Hark! They come! Oh! save me! Bear me away!’ ‘I have triumphed! You are mine past reprieve, and I fulfil my promise.’ While He spoke, the Door unclosed. Instantly the Dæmon grasped one of Ambrosio’s arms, spread his broad pinions, and sprang with him into the air. The roof opened as they soared upwards, and closed again when they had quitted the dungeon. (pp. 437–438) Similarly, Obando, in the confusion of battle raging in his monastery, is offered deliverance from the awful scene by the demon Zatanai: ‘Dost thou resign thyself to me—thy soul to my eternal keeping?’ again demanded Zatanai impatiently. ‘I do! I do!’ sobbed forth Obando wringing his hands in an agony of terror; “but—” The mediated objection of the monastic, it appeared, came too late; for in that instant Zatanai advancing, laid his hands (or what resembled such) lightly upon his shoulders. Obando felt himself immediately uplifted from the ground, and transported, with his horrible conductor, through the aperture . . . made by the falling fragment in the ceiling of the monastery. (vol. 2: pp. 212–213) Both texts emphasise the profound moral implications of submitting to the demon; however, Obando’s hesitation marks a significant change to the moral. Obando is implicitly given a way out. Obando, unlike Ambrosio, is never fully convinced that the demon can deliver all that is promised. Conversely, Ambrosio, in order to be saved, must relinquish what Green sees as a fundamental privilege of all individuals, that of repentance. Green argues that Christianity ensures the individual’s right to repent. In effect, for him, Ambrosio’s demon has no right to demand such a high price for his supposed deliverance; repentance is given freely to all. Green fundamentally objects to Lewis’s assumption that evil will inevitably triumph. The difficulty for Green is that it is precisely that threat of no return which strikes terror into the soul; removing that threat has the potential to undermine the possibility of evil winning


and weakening the demon. For Lewis, Ambrosio is not even allowed an attempt to repent: He sank upon his knees, and raised his hands towards heaven. The Fiend read his intention and prevented it— ‘What?’ He cried, darting at him a look of fury: ‘Dare you still implore the Eternal’s mercy? Would you feign penitence, and again act an Hypocrite’s part? Villain, resign your hopes of pardon. Thus I secure my prey!’ As He said this, darting his talons into the Monk’s shaven crown, He sprang with him from the rock. The Caves and mountains rang with Ambrosio’s shrieks. The Dæmon continued to soar aloft, till reaching a dreadful height, He released the sufferer. (p. 441) Conversely, Obando decisively renounces his compact with the devil. But despite Obando’s repentance, the repercussion for both monks is identical. Obando plunges into the fiery monastery. Though injured and dying, Green allows the repentant monk to make a full confession: Oh, true! in the dusky regions of never-ending wretchedness—the dark and gloomy realms of interminable misery, where pleasure is never tasted and repose is unknown—where the malevolent gnash their teeth in vain, for their torments are eternal! Where my companions are devils . . . —the ravisher, the man-slayer, and the apostate! ‘No,’ he continued, as if suddenly recollecting himself—‘no! I have repented— ha! ha—I have repented! Off, then fiends! ye have no power to harm me now—I have repented!’ (vol. 2: p. 240) Repentance, however, does not guarantee Obando’s admittance to heaven. On the contrary, Green is explicit that more than a deathbed repentance would be needed to ensure his admittance: ‘I have little hope in the world to which I am summoned, except—’ and the rest of the sentence was too imperfectly pronounced to be comprehended by his auditors. The brethren looked anxiously upon each other—life seemed hovering, ready to depart, upon the yet quivering lips of Obando. ‘He has little hope, except—’ repeated Geronimo, looking steadily in the wrinkled visage of his companions.


‘Except our hearts and our voices be employed for his salvation,’ said Jacopo, suddenly: ‘thus,’ he added, turning towards the expiring abbot, ‘it shall be so: a hundred masses shall be duly said for the repose of thy sinful soul.’ Jacopo afterwards became abbot of Montserrat’s monastery, and he kept his word. Obando survived just long enough to hear this assurance repeated to him, and then expired. (vol. 2: p. 247) Green does not redeem the fallen monk. He has, however, provided the monk with the appropriate means whereby to initiate the process. By restructuring the temptation and fall of ‘the monk’, Green attempts to redirect the Gothic towards a Christian moral base–—a move which allows his readers to be edified as well as entertained. There is little doubt that trade novelists recycled and exploited well-known plots; Green flagrantly utilises familiar motifs and scenes from the high Gothic, but it was the way in which he recycles those motifs which makes his work unexpected, according to the existing critical picture. In trade Gothic, Green’s moralistic rhetoric is a conventional method to restore decency and morality. Trade texts, including bluebooks, exploit this tension which can exist between the Gothic plot and a moralistic narrative.

6 The Romance of Real Life: Sarah Wilkinson

In 1803, a curious account was appended to a short Gothic tale that appeared in the Tell-Tale Magazine; it was published anonymously and narrated the distressing and dismal ‘Life of an Authoress, Written by Herself’. It was published as a warning [to] every indigent woman, who is troubled with the itch of scribbling, to beware of my unhappy fate . . . and beg her to take this advice; that, whatever share of learning or wit she may have, if she has nothing better to recommend her to public favour, she must be content to hunger and thirst all her days in a garret, as I have done.1 The unfortunate ‘authoress’, after a series of distressing circumstances, found herself alone in London and determined to subsist as a writer of novels. Reduced to her last five guineas, by ‘scribbling night and day’ she finished a four-volume novel. She approached a bookseller, but the naïve ‘authoress’ was greatly shocked at his terse response: A novel! Nothing of this kind is now read, I assure you. Novels are a drug; a mere drug: they are as dead a weight upon our hands as sermons. Surely, Madam, you must know that this kind of writing is perfectly exploded! No such things are read now-a-days. (p. 32) Distressed to find the novel out of fashion and further reduced to poverty, the authoress is compelled to undertake the most slavish of all employments, that of translating . . . for the booksellers. The life of a galley-slave is even preferable to my state of slavery: I am a beggar, without enjoying air and liberty: I have 109


the confinement of a servant, with the regular diet and wages which a servant receives, and am condemned to perform a severe task, by a certain period of time, which, when with the utmost difficulty it is performed, I am often obliged to transcribe the whole work again . . . To add to my distresses, I have written myself almost blind, with continually poring on the old authors I have been so long engaged with; and have, besides, from the constant posture of writing, contracted a disorder in my lungs, which, I imagine, will soon put an end to a life of pain and misery. (pp. 33–34) The ‘authoress’, concluding her own tale, admonishes other women to ‘apply themselves sooner to the spinning-wheel, than the pen, that they may not be pining, with hunger and cold, in a wretched garret’ (p. 34). The ‘authoress’ in this case was Sarah Wilkinson.2 Her vast output of varied fiction—some 29 volumes and above a hundred small publications— illustrates the demanding conditions trade authors, who produced fiction as part of a profitable industry rather than an art form, endured living by the pen. Born on 14 December 1779 to William and Hannah Wilkinson, Sarah Carr Wilkinson, like many of her contemporaries including Eliza Parsons, Charlotte Smith and Frances Burney, ‘lived by the pen’; but unlike these authors, she never had the comfort of literary or economic success. Her life was unmistakably difficult and fraught with hardship and illness. Little is known about Wilkinson’s early life or education, apart from that she ‘selected by Mrs. [Frances] Fielding as one of the young persons who read to her mother Lady C[harlotte] Finch when deprived of sight’ (RLF, 10 February 1824). Charlotte Finch (1725–1813), daughter of Thomas Fermor, Earl of Pomfret, was the Governess of the children of King George III (1762–1792). The relationship between Wilkinson and the Pomfrets would indeed last throughout her long life; many of her works are dedicated to members of that family. However, the publication of three text books for schools including: A Visit to London (1810), A Visit to a Farm-House (1805) both published at the Juvenile and School Library by M’Millan, and The Instructive Remembrancer. For the Use of Schools (1805) published by M’Kenzie, strongly suggests that she was, indeed, well educated and perhaps a governess or educator. Sarah Wilkinson’s literary career began in 1803 with several short works appearing in Ann Lemoine’s Tell-Tale, a magazine which specialised in short stories, which were simultaneously sold as bluebooks, including The Subterraneous Passage; or, The Gothic Cell and Lord Gowen; or, The Forester’s Daughter (2.307). Robert Mayo in The English Novel in the

The Romance of Real Life: Sarah Wilkinson 111

Magazines 1740–1815, speculates that the amount of ‘short stories’ published by Wilkinson in the Tell-Tale suggests that she was actually the ‘editor’ of the magazine, though there is little evidence beyond an extraordinary production of sixteen ‘tales’ to substantiate this claim.3 Between 1803 and 1806 she published at least 16 bluebooks with Lemoine, including Horatio and Camilla; or, The Nuns of St. Mary (2.153), The Water Spectre; or, An Bratach (2.334) and The Travellers; or, Prince of China (1806); most of these bluebooks, but not all, appeared in the Tell-Tale Magazine. However, Wilkinson’s literary relationship with Lemoine was not exclusive: she simultaneously published at least nine bluebooks with five other publishers; for example, The Ghost of Golini; or, The Malignant Relative (2.121) was published by Simon Fisher; The Knights of Calatrava; or, Days of Chivalry (2.174) and Zittaw the Cruel; or, The Woodman’s Daughter (2.350) both with Mace; Monkcliffe Abbey (2.215) with Kaygill; The Spectre; or, The Ruins of Belfont Priory (2.302) with J. Ker and John Bull; or The Englishman’s Fire-side (2.171) with Thomas Hughes. Sarah Wilkinson, however, did not confine herself entirely to bluebooks. In 1806 she published The Thatched Cottage; or, Sorrows of Eugenia, A Novel by subscription with Thomas Hughes. The novel is dedicated to Mrs Frances Fielding (1748–1815) and the subscribers include Her Royal Highness the Princess Sophia (1777–1848) and Amelia (1783–1810), the Dutchess [sic] of Gloucester, Her Highness the Margravine of Anspach, Lady Mary Coke, to whom Horace Walpole inscribed the sonnet which fronts The Castle of Otranto (1764), Lady Crespigny, the Right Honourable Earl of Pomfret and perhaps, most intriguingly, a Mr Scadgell. The financial success of her first novel enabled Wilkinson to commence the library business in Westminster at No. 2 Smith-Street; and the following year she gave birth to a daughter Amelia Scadgell, though it is unclear whether or not she married Mr Scadgell. It was about this time when the name on many of her publications began to appear as Sarah Scudgell Wilkinson. There is no proof that the misspelling of her name, however, was an attempt to use a pseudonym. Many of her works which appear with Scudgell are published by Dean & Munday; other publishers did not adopt the middle name.4 Achieving relative success with her library, Wilkinson continued to publish novels including The Fugitive Countess; or, The Convent of St. Ursula, A Romance (1.123), The Child of Mystery, A Novel (1808), and The Convent of the Grey Penitents; or, The Apostate Nun, A Romance (1.70). The modest success of her novels, however, was offset by the failure of the library sometime after 1811; to survive, Wilkinson was compelled to take lodgers into her home, an arrangement which lasted some years ‘till overwhelmed with losses by


lodgers due to sickness and domestic troubles’, she returned to teaching and living by the pen (RLF, 10 February 1824). Wilkinson began teaching at the White Chapel Free School on Gower Walk, sometime after 1812; and writing for periodical publications (‘Torbolton Abbey’ in New Gleaner (3.268) in 1810), and only occasionally publishing Gothic bluebooks such as Priory of St. Clair; or, Spectre of the Murdered Nun (2.260) and Edward and Agnes (2.88), both with Arliss. After 1812, however, she began to exclusively focus on writing children’s books which included a vast number of books, of which she can pretend no merit but their moral tendency amongst the later ones, are local geography, William’s Tour, or, a peep into numbers, Jack and his Grandmother, or, Pounds, Shillings, and Pence, Moral Emblems, Aunt Anne’s Gift, Mary and her Doll, or, the new A, B, C, and the whole forming a set for the nursery and may be purchased at Mr. Bailey’s 116 Chancy Lane . . . (RLF, 15 November 1820) In 1819, Wilkinson returned to the Gothic, publishing the novel The Bandit of Florence (re-titled New Tales (1.227) by the publisher Mr Iley). That same year, on the recommendation of Mrs Lovell, the Headmistress of the White Chapel Free School, she was engaged to be the ‘Mistress of the [Free] School at Bray in Berkshire, at a very good salary, coach and a house to live in and my child to be with me and expect to be sent for with every prospect of being comfortable for life’ (RLF, 1819). But her health, which had been steadily declining since 1816, forced her to resign just nine months later; cancer had developed under her right arm. Wilkinson returned to Westminster in May of 1820, but deprived of a constant income, she again turned to the pen, publishing at least seven bluebooks, four Valentine Readers,5 serving ‘several persons regularly with periodical publications and some small shops with small books wholesale which is at present until I can get some employment to occupy my time and only means of subsistence’ (RLF, 15 November 1820) and also publishing Lanmere Abbey, in two volumes, re-titled The Spectre of Lanmere Abbey; or, The Mystery of the Blue and Silver Bag, A Romance (1.296) with William Mason. Later that year she opened a parlour which sold small books and pictures for children (RLF, 15 November 1820) but found it increasingly difficult to procure books and almanacks. The small profits from sales were barely enough to support herself and Amelia. In March 1821, however, Wilkinson’s desperate situation was somewhat alleviated; she was engaged by the publishers Dean & Munday to ‘conduct’


a part of the Lady’s Monthly Museum. Her small parlour, though, continued to fail, and in a letter to the Royal Literary Fund she bitterly lamented that she was not ‘able to earn enough by a business I follow independent of my pen to procure the most common necessaries of life’ (RLF, March 1821). In June she lost both her business and her home and was again forced to support herself with regular periodical publications, bluebooks and Valentine Readers. For the next decade, she had no permanent home, but was forced to occupy boarding houses. Unfortunately, Wilkinson’s difficulties only continued to increase, an accident of a shutter blowing in high wind which broke two segments of glass, causing an unexpected debt of one pound ninepence. Unable to pay, she was summoned to court, and advised to ‘expect nothing else but confinement and to be taken from [her] home and Daughter’ (RLF, 12 December 1821). In desperation she again petitioned the Royal Literary Fund for assistance, but they twice rejected her plea. Increasingly frantic, she sought out a former patron, Lord Pomfret, who interceded on her behalf with two letters, but only upon receipt of a letter from her daughter Amelia Scadgell did the Royal Literary Fund vote her two pounds. But as Wilkinson’s ill-health continued (more for the want of proper necessities [proper food, clothes and medical attention], than from illness), she persisted in writing bluebooks, short pieces for periodicals, children books and ‘moral’ novels. Unable, though, to support herself, she complained, I have not the least income for me and my child and my only certain dependence half a guinea a month derived from the Ladys Monthly magazine, called the Museum, repeated confinement from illness during the last twelvemonths has not only rendered my poverty more severe, but compelled me to part with my wearing apparel, also expecting every hour my few remaining goods to be seized for arrears of rent . . . (RLF, 11 December 1822) Her distress, however, was further increased as she was diagnosed with breast cancer in 1824 and forced to write, once again, to the Royal Literary Fund for assistance, this time for an operation at the Westminster Hospital. Augmenting her misfortune, her new manuscript entitled The Baronet Widow, in three volumes, had not yet been published— a novel but of strict moral tendency dedicated by permission to Lord Pomfret, and having several copies of his Lordship and other noble families. I have fair prospect from the produce should God think it


proper to spare my life to be enabled once more to commence in the Book trade—the failure of a Bookseller with whom I had made arrangements has caused a fatal delay to me, of at least two or three months but it is now placed at a most respectable house. (RLF, 14 January 1824) These unfortunate circumstances combined, compelled Wilkinson to actively solicit the support of her publishers in obtaining assistance from the Royal Literary Fund. Most of her applications after 1824 were endorsed by individual publishers and two separate letters were subsequently included in her petitions: The Publishers & c. c. whose names are Undersigned begs permission to recommend to the consideration of the Honourable Society that confers the Literary Fund, Mrs. Sarah Scudgell [sic] Wilkinson as a deserving Unfortunate individual, deprest by a long and increasing illness, and the poverty attending thereon. Also esteeming her worth their notice, from her Abilities and general deportment while in their occasional employ as a writer of Original works, Abridgements, c. c. – Dean & Munday, G. Martin, Hughes, Dimanche (RLF, 1824) The obliging publishers included Mr E. Langley (whom she had known for 18 years), Thomas Hughes, George Martin, Dimanche, and Dean & Munday—all of whom continually supported Wilkinson’s application, specifically underlining her illness and poverty. Another intervention, this time by Dr Holland and Sir James Mackintosh, assisted in placing her daughter Amelia with a Lady residing in Henley on Thames (RLF, 14 January 1824).6 During 1825 Wilkinson’s cancer worsened, and frustration mounted at continued delay in the publishing of her novel. The same publishers, sent another letter of support to the Royal Literary Fund, not only underlining her illness, but emphasising the decline in the bluebook industry.7 Wilkinson’s applications increasingly point to the significant decline in the general book trade and the distress this induces: ‘I need not point out to you that the depression in the Book trade and consequently scantiness of employ in Juvenile works has been great [. . .] Forsake me and I perish’ (RLF, 12 December 1825). Her application was again endorsed by Dean & Munday, and George Martin. Once more, she attempted to find work outside the book trade, taking embroidery lessons, in the hope that it would eventually enable her to procure a more substantial subsistence.


However, the state of Wilkinson’s health continued to decline between 1826 and 1827; she underwent two more operations at St George’s Hospital. During these difficult times she was ‘chiefly employed in poetry for the composers of music which I have derived small endowments’ (RLF, 8 January 1828). That same year the crisis in the book trade cost Wilkinson her one constant employment: she long conducted a part of the Ladies Museum a magazine published by Dean and Munday, Threadneedle (for a series of years) and by its discontinuation was denied of a Guinea a month which added to the stagnation of trade and the introduction of cheap periodicals where no original matters is required has materially tended along with her personal afflictions to a state of poverty she did not in the least anticipate! (RLF, 12 February 1828) In her last application to the Royal Literary Fund in 1830, Wilkinson was overwhelmed by illness and poverty, ‘incapable of procuring the merest trifling employment’, but had recently finished The Curator’s Son ‘a novel of moral and improving tendency’ (RLF, 12 April 1830).8 It was endorsed by Dean & Munday, E. Langley, George Martin and Mrs Wellington (her landlady, to whom she owed three months’ rent). Sometime after April 1830, destitute and ailing, Sarah Wilkinson became a resident of St Margaret’s Workhouse, Westminster. She died on 19 March 1831, aged fifty-two. In ‘The Life of an Authoress’, Wilkinson had once expressed the fond hope that a hospital for ‘decayed’ authors would be established: I remember to have read in a periodical paper, some years ago, a proposal for building an hospital for decayed authors, which gave me real satisfaction; as I was in hopes some part of so charitable an institution might perhaps be appropriated to the relief of decayed authoresses likewise. If the aged, the sick, and the blind, are universally esteemed objects of compassion, how much more so are those who have so intensely used their understanding for the benefit of others, that they are thereby rendered unfit for every self pursuit! How many sublime geniuses (as a celebrated writer remarks) do we daily see, who have so long feasted their minds with pierian delicacies, as to leave their bodies to perish with hunger and nakedness. (p. 28) For Sarah Wilkinson, living by the pen was not only financially fraught, but physically burdensome. She continually sought to break away from


living by the pen, whether it was through teaching, running a library, a parlour or the needle; the pen never brought the financial reward or personal success she had so desired. Sarah Wilkinson is primarily remembered as the author of well over one hundred ‘short tales’, chapbooks, or bluebooks, at least fifty of those, Gothic; the majority composed between 1803 and 1812; and after 1820, publishing with at least twenty-five publishers. Wilkinson’s most important attribute as a bluebooker was the ability to construct clear and simple story lines free from dense subplotting that often encumbered Gothic novels. Her bluebooks are derived from a mixture of Lewisite horror and Radcliffean terror with equal proficiency and familiarity with both branches of Gothic fiction. What Wilkinson does is to blend the pleasing aesthetics and the enticing suspension of terror found in Radcliffe and the rapidity of horrifying shocks distinctive of Lewis. Her heroes and heroines are archetypal Radcliffe: not only are they noble, they are sensitive; prone to appreciate the aesthetics of ruins, quick to haughtily dismiss any suggestions of the supernatural, nevertheless, they are predictably positioned in a Lewisite landscape of spectres and blood. Her stories, though, never divest themselves of the genteel trappings of the Gothic in favour of gratuitous horror. In The Spectre; or, The Ruin of Belfont Priory (1806), for instance, it is the noble Theodore Montgomery and Matilda Maxwell, compelled to reside in the haunted Belfont priory, who are confronted by two horrific, albeit noble, spectres, yet the hapless Harmina in The Castle of Montabino; or, The Orphan Sisters (1809), the daughter of a jeweller, though confined to a turret, never sees a ghost. In The Mysterious Novice; or, Convent of the Grey Penitents (1809), for example, the narrative is clear and compelling; nevertheless, it possesses an overwrought, abbreviated style and a simple clichéd setting. However, this example does not justify the common complaint that ‘horror in all of the shilling shockers is rapid, crude, and where Sarah Wilkinson’s bloody pen is involved,—an arrant act of Gothic plundering’ (Frank, First Gothics, p. 412). On the contrary, Wilkinson’s handling of horrific wandering spectres (murderers and murdered), like those whose ‘body [was] covered with wounds, and one large gash in his forehead, from which the blood still appeared to flow in copious streams’,9 is measured and leisurely, never hurried or vulgar. While Sarah Wilkinson is at her most Gothic in bluebooks, it is in these works that she also comes the closest to parodying it. For example, in The Eve of St. Mark; or, The Mysterious Spectre. A Romance (2.100), published by J. Bailey, the heroine, Margaret, daughter of the Steward of the De Clifford Family, utilises well-known Gothic strategies


(i.e. the animated portrait) to deceive her parents about her attachment to the Earl De Clifford. The character of Margaret was readily identifiable to the readers of Gothic fiction: ‘Margaret was very romantic, and well skilled in all legendary tenets, nor was there a tale or horror or interest on the shelves of the circulating library in the next town but what had passed through her fair hands.’10 As Jane Austen gently derided Catherine Morland’s longing for ‘Gothic’ adventures in her visit to the Tilney’s country home in Northanger Abbey (1818), Wilkinson’s Margaret is similarly portrayed as unable to discern fiction from reality, steeping herself in local legend and tales of castles. Margaret frequently dressed her head so as to resemble the picture, and, in fact, almost fancied herself a Lady Bertha. She sighed for the young Hubert of the Glen Cottage, a lover as romantic as herself, but, of course, wished for a happier denouement of their love, and that Hubert of the nineteenth century might not prove like his name-sake of old, and stab the resemblance of Bertha to the heart should her truant fancy prefer another. (p. 6) A working knowledge of Gothic motifs, however, allows Wilkinson (and Margaret) to exploit and exaggerate the familiar experience of the animated portrait: ‘Accordingly, at the appointed hour, the earl assembled his family in the room so long known as Lady Bertha’s; some were very loath indeed to come, and their footsteps moved very tardily, but my lord would be obeyed, and no one was excused except Mr. Cavendish, from this domestic assemblage. Earl De Clifford heard some of them whispering that there ought to be a clergyman present. “You are mistaken, my good friends,” said he, “I am not going to exorcise the spirits in a common way; such a charming creature must not be treated like a common ghost. No, I will woo her for a bride—descend, my gentle Bertha, and fill these adoring arms.” ‘Obedient to his call the lovely figure stept out of the frame upon a table that stood close to it, from thence on a chair, and thence, by the aid of a foot-stool, to the ground. ‘Her ladyship descended with cautious slowness, when most of the domestics took to flight, precipitating one another down the back stairs, without ceremony, as if they thought the old saying held good, of woe


be to the hindmost—as for those that remained, their good sense led them to perceive a happy termination to the romance of real life. ‘Lady Bertha glided to the outstretched arms of the earl, while the canvass shewed that the painted figure had been cut out and a niche behind the frame had opportunely served to place in its room a breathing resemblance of the angelic form. ‘“I will not banish this fair spirit from the castle,” said the earl, “I cannot think of enriching the red sea with her; no, she shall reign in this mansion its adored, its benevolent mistress. Look not so anxious, my good friends,” continued he, addressing Mr. and Mrs. Oakley; “Margaret is my legal wife” ’. (pp. 23–24) This is a rather coarse version of the ‘explained supernatural’—in which the Earl sets his wife up as a spectre to thrill his neighbours. Wilkinson here seems to be offering a more pragmatic approach to the Gothic, relying on readers to discriminate between reality and romance. Significantly, Wilkinson wrote at least 17 adaptations and translations: one implied ‘translation’ from German, Albert of Werdendorff; or, The Midnight Embrace and one from the Spanish Love and Perfidy; or, The Isolated Tower, From the Spanish (2.191); both bluebooks were published by Angus & Son and were not translated at all, only marketed as such Therese; or, The Orphan of Geneva, an Interesting Romance (2.316); translated from Henri Joseph Brahain Ducange (1821) and The White Pilgrim; or, Castle of Olival (2.339) from the French novel, Le Pélerin Blanc, both translated from the French and published by Dean & Munday. As we saw in Chapter 3, plays, operas and melodrama were deftly adapted into bluebooks by Wilkinson; in fact, she redacted at least seven such productions including The Wife of Two Husbands Translated from the French Drama and Formed into an Interesting Story (2.341) published by Lemoine, which claimed to be a translation from the French drama of the ‘La Femme à Deux Maris’ by René-Charles Guilbert, though upon textual comparison I found that it was actually a redaction of the English translation of ‘The Wife of Two Husbands; A Musical Drama’ by James Cobb; Inkle and Yarico; or, Love in a Cave (1805) published by Lemoine, a redaction of the opera of the same name by George Colman the younger (1762–1836); The Travellers; or, Prince of China (1806) published by Lemoine was a redaction of the opera ‘The Travellers’ by Domenico Corri, libretto by Andrew Cherry, first performed at Drury Lane on 22 January 1806; The Water Spectre; or, An Bratach (2.334), founded on Charles Dibdin’s (1768–1833) popular melodrama, as performed, at


the Aquatic Theatre, Sadler’s Wells (1805) published by Lemoine; The Ruffian Boy; or, The Castle of Waldemar (2.282) founded on the popular melodrama, and taken from Mrs Opie’s celebrated tale of that name, published by J. Bailey; and Conscience; or The Bridal Night. An Interesting Venetian Tale Written from the Tragedy of J.H. (2.67) adapted from the tragedy of James Haynes and published by Dean & Munday. She also adapted two versions of Matthew Lewis’s melodrama ‘The Castle Spectre’ publishing The Castle Spectre; or, Family Horrors (2.58) in 1807 with Thomas Hughes, and The Castle Spectre; An Ancient Baronial Romance, Founded on the Original Drama M. G. L. (2.57) in 1820 with John Bailey. As we have seen, Wilkinson not only adapted dramas, she redacted popular novels including The Pathetic and Interesting History of George Barnwell. Founded on Facts. Carefully Abridged from Mr. Surr’s Celebrated Novel (2.249) published by Lemoine. John Bailey, who published her adaptation of The Castle Spectre, also published another redaction of Lewis’s The Monk: The Castle of Lindenberg; or, The History of Raymond and Agnes. Abridged from The Monk, written by the late M.G. Lewis (2.46) in 1820. It appears that Wilkinson was probably commissioned by Bailey to produce redactions of Lewis, as these made up the bulk of works published with him. Dean & Munday, on the other hand, published Wilkinson’s redactions of other popular novels (i.e. non-Gothic) including The Pastor’s Fireside; or, Memoirs of the Athelstan. Abridged from the Popular Novel by Jane Porter (2.248), The Pirate, or The Sisters of Burgh Westra: A tale of the Islands of Shetland and Orkney Epitomized from the Celebrated Pirate of Sir Walter Scott (2.256) and Waverley; or, The Castle of Mac Iver: A Highland Tale, of sixty years since from the pen of the celebrated author of ‘Kenilworth’ &c.; epitomized from the original (2.336). What is interesting about the redaction of these novels is that Wilkinson includes the author of the original work in the title indicating that there was no attempt to hide or disguise the fact that these were redactions. The title’s inclusion, in fact, was as much a selling point as its abridgement. Wilkinson also wrote novels and while she found no critical (and limited financial) success with her novelistic attempts, they are, however, useful insights into the Gothic novel from the view point of a bluebook author. Her novels demonstrate a clear assimilation of bluebooks into Gothic novels as a direct consequence of the tremendous outpouring of such productions in the early nineteenth century. Wilkinson’s association with bluebooks has undoubtedly led critics such as Edith Birkhead and Frederick Frank to question her capability as a novelist. According to Frank, Wilkinson is clearly a superior bluebooker rather than a serious novelist: ‘in her chapbook and bluebooks endeavors,


she achieved a chilling economy of style and more frequently than not got the right number of words in just the right order’ (Frank, First Gothics, p. 422). In a similar vein, Birkhead has suggested that Wilkinson’s novels can be seen as amateurish works which ‘deliberately concocted an unappetising gallimaufry of earlier stories and practised the harmless deception of serving their insipid dishes under new and imposing names’ (p. 73).11 For both critics, her bluebooks and novels are highly representative and ‘may perhaps serve as well as those of any of her contemporaries to show that Scott was not unduly harsh in his condemnation of the romances fashionable in the first decade of the nineteenth century’ (Birkhead, p. 77). These critiques have two things in common. The first is a collective certainty that bluebooks should not be utilised in novels. In the natural literary order, bluebooks were derived from novels. Second, Wilkinson’s novels, like her bluebooks, were likely to be plagiarised redactions from legitimate Gothic novels. For Birkhead and Frank, the underlying difference between bluebooks and Gothic novels is simply their legitimacy. As I pointed out in Chapter 3, bluebooks are systematically viewed as corrupt and illegitimate; an act of ambiguous canon-making which enforces the critical divide between the canon and the trade Gothic. Therefore, Wilkinson’s novels offer a unique insight into an attempt to transpose the cycle: to spin the ‘corrupt’ into the ‘legitimate’. Of all Wilkinson’s novels, The Fugitive Countess; or, The Convent of St. Ursula, A Romance clearly illustrates this assimilation of bluebooks into the form of a legitimate Gothic novel. Like Horace Walpole’s The Castle of Otranto (1764), Ann Radcliffe’s Sicilian Romance (1790) and Eliza Parsons’s The Castle of Wolfenbach (1793), The Fugitive Countess centres on the crimes of the past which return to threaten the present and is essentially a novel of retribution and reconciliation. As in all of her novels and most bluebooks, the central figure is a rejected wife, Magdalena, Countess of Ottagio, who unwittingly discovers her husband’s crimes and is forced to become a fugitive in the Convent of St Ursula. Throughout the novel, Wilkinson is fascinated by the possibilities of adapting bluebooks for their simple and straightforward moral story unhindered by complicated subplotting.12 In The Fugitive Countess, Wilkinson not only develops simple subplots which would eventually become bluebooks, she carefully integrates a well-known drama she had earlier redacted into the text. The flexibility of the bluebook plot was such that it could be utilised by Wilkinson and reworked into subplots which often diverted the readers’ attention from the main story, affording Wilkinson the appropriate opportunity to moralise and educate.


The novel centres on Magdalena, who is tyrannised and victimised by her cruel and capricious husband, the Count Ottagio. Like her aristocratic progenitors, Magdalena is a victim of her father’s debt, her husband’s greed and the duplicity of an evil agent, Stefano. Similarly, she shares formidable morals which are only second to her (obligatory) compassion for the sufferings of others. The Fugitive Countess opens with Magdalena in extreme distress. The Count is attempting to murder her, for it would seem on the onset that the Countess’s morals are not only in doubt, but in serious danger. The bitter exchange between the Count and Countess immediately draws the readers’ attention to a pronounced moral division, common in Wilkinson’s works, between a husband and his wife— Spare me—for heaven’s sake—for your own sake—spare me!—Plant not the horrors of unavailing remorse within your bosom; should you be allowed to escape the vengeance of your fellow creatures, and your crimes remained concealed from human knowledge; yet, remember, there is, above, an all-seeing eye, from whom no secret is hid. O strike not, suspend your uplifted arm—I have yet another plea to offer—Innocence. ‘Innocent!’ repeated the Count, with a malignant sneer,—‘then you are better prepared to meet your impending doom.’13 For Wilkinson, the issue of moral disparity within a marriage is invariably the basis for an immediate and often permanent separation. A well-timed knock at the door distracts the Count, allowing a disguised Magdalena to flee the Castle of Ottagio with a maid Laura, to seek sanctuary in the Convent of St Ursula under the protection of her maternal aunt, Lady Viola Del Serina. The horror of secret, arranged, or forced marriages is another theme commonly found in Wilkinson’s novels and bluebooks. For Wilkinson, such marriages will inevitably remain loveless where ‘the first duties, next to chastity, in a female is filial and connubial obedience; and nothing more hateful in her than a spirit of argument and contradiction’ (vol. 2: pp. 28). Like Lady Emily de Cleve in The Subterraneous Passage; or, Gothic Cell (2.307) and Rosalthe di Zoretti in The Convent of the Grey Penitents; or, The Apostate Nun (1.70), Magdalena has been forced into a marriage with the Count of Ottagio to whom she feels both ‘aversion’ and ‘horror’. In Wilkinson’s bluebooks such as The Subterraneous Passage, her characters are often delivered by deception into the hands of a nefarious suitor: Emily de Cleve is kidnapped by Dubois, the leader of banditti with the


assistance of Madam Rambouillet, Emily’s governess. Rambouillet and Dubois were partners in vice; Dubois wanted Emily’s money, and Madam Rambouillet wanted the daughter out of the way, that she might not hinder her designs on the father, the Marquis de Cleve. Marriage is forcibly performed with Emily the unwilling partner: ‘In vain she shrieked, and implored for mercy: no friendly hand was near to give her aid; and the servile priest performed the office in spite of her resistance, and pronounced them man and wife’ (p. 15). Similarly, Magdalena’s father, the Count di Verona, having squandered her inheritance at the gaming table, arranged to settle his debt with Ottagio by offering the hand of his daughter. However, unprepared to counter Magdalena’s aversion to the Count, he challenges her to withstand the loss of his life (and soul) as a consequence of what he bitterly terms her ‘caprice’. In a dramatically staged confrontation, the Count di Verona contemptuously invites Magdalena to ‘exult over the ashes of a parent’ (vol. 2: pp. 9–10). Despite deploring forced and arranged marriages, Wilkinson fundamentally supports the traditional importance of duty within that marriage, a quality which Magdalena (despite her name) not only upholds but strictly separates from affection. Throughout The Fugitive Countess, Wilkinson clearly delineates between Magdalena’s duty to her husband and her love for the Count, and she extends this throughout the novel in her refusal to disclose the crimes of her husband, which would free her from her hated marriage vows. Safely secreted in the Convent, the Countess is able to cautiously unveil the Count’s crime through a series of fragmentary documents and personal histories. The first disclosure, in fact, is related through Magdalena’s servant, Laura, who fled the castle with her mistress. The suddenness and gravity of her flight overwhelms the ‘Fugitive’ Countess who almost immediately succumbs to illness. During the long hours, Laura’s attention shifts to the book-press where she searches ‘for some work of imagination, that should be adapted to her taste, which it must be owned rather bordered on the romantic’ (vol. 1: p. 19). For Wilkinson, the most unassuming and obvious method of reintegrating the bluebook is through the inclusion of a fragment of manuscript. The fragment’s ominous opening naturally reflects the Countess’s position as a ‘fugitive’: The storm still raged—the gusts of wind were repeated with, if possible, increased violence—Eudora pressed her babe to her woe-worn breast— ‘Alas! my child, but for thee,’ exclaimed the wretched mother, ‘the warring elements might pass unheeded—the drenching rain—the lightning’s glare—the thunder’s tremendous peal—could not affect


a wretch like me. The storm within my breast make me callous to that without.’ (vol. 1: p. 21) The overtly moralistic plot centres on the consequences of Eudora’s seduction, betrayal and the deception of Lord Willibald. ‘[S]educed from the paths of virtue, to the precipice of vice’, Eudora and her young son Willibald, endeavour in vain to remind him of his promised pledge just days after his wedding to the heiress of Passenger. In anger, he murders both the baby and Eudora and eventually takes his own life. The fragment ends with a typical Wilkinson punishment of the lecherous and ‘unnatural Baron’: Every night, at the exact hour Eudora was murdered, the isolated castle is supernaturally illumined;—lord Willibald, the self-destroyed Baron, can be distinctly seen through the gothic windows, by those who have the courage to gaze thereon, flying from chamber to chamber,— persued by the shrieking Eudora, clasping her infant to her bleeding bosom, and demanding heaven’s vengeance on the head of their destroyer. (vol. 2: p. 60) The moral of the tale is simply put: ‘[b]eware, lest a vile villain’s insidious arts should destroy both thy body and thy soul’ (vol. 2: p. 42). ‘Laura carefully replaced the fragment in the book case, intending to present it to her lady, as worthy of perusal’ (vol. 2: p. 61). The subject matter as well as the ending is of course reminiscent of Matthew Lewis’s ballad ‘Alonzo the Brave, and Fair Imogine’ from The Monk (1796) and illustrates Wilkinson’s reliance on ‘art’ novels. The ballad relates the story of a knight who leaves his betrothed to fight in the crusades. Though she pledged unfeigned loyalty, she eventually marries a wealthy baron. At the wedding feast a stranger appears next to her. When Imogine entreats him to remove his helmet, the unknown knight complies, and a skeleton’s head, full of worms, is discovered. This is Alonzo, of course, who has come to claim Imogine as his bride and carry her to the grave: At midnight four time in each year does her Spright When Mortals in slumber are bound, Arrayed in her bridal apparel of white, Appear in the Hall with the Skeleton-Knight, And shriek, as He whirls her around. While They drink out of skulls newly torn from the grave,


Dancing round them the Spectres are seen: Their liquor is blood, and this horrible Stave They howl.—‘To the health of Alonzo the Brave, And his Consort, the False Imogine.14 The popularity of ‘Alonzo the Brave and Fair Imogine’ was immense. Not only did the ballad appear in various magazines and newspapers including The Gentleman’s Magazine and The Monthly Mirror, it was reprinted in Lewis’s own collections of tales and ballads Tales of Wonder (1801).15 In 1796 it also appeared as a pantomime ballet titled ‘Alonzo and Imogen; or, The Bridal Spectre’ adapted by Thomas John Dibdin (1771–1841),16 and in 1801 as ‘Alonzo the Brave and the Fair Imogine, a Grand Ballet’. The plot then would have been easily recognisable to readers. ‘Alonzo the Brave and Fair Imogine’ and The Fugitive Countess of course share the same theme of betrayal and deception, Wilkinson, though, placing emphasis on the male rather than female, who was seduced from virtue’s path. As we saw in Chapter 3 in her adaptation of The Castle Spectre, Wilkinson is often inclined to strengthen the female position. In the fragment, she inverts Lewis’s plot through Willibald’s seduction of Eudora. Eudora, like the knight, has come to claim Willibald. The supernatural ending, as retained by Wilkinson, again strengthens the readers’ conviction that for seducers, though they may often escape earthly justice, ‘heaven’s vengeance’ is inevitable. ‘Alonzo the Brave and Fair Imogine’ and The Fugitive Countess were separated by eleven years, but it would be another five years before Wilkinson returned to the ‘fragment’ further adapting it into Albert of Werdendorff; or, The Midnight Embrace (2.8) published by Angus & Son in 1812. The first striking difference between the two previous texts and Albert of Werdendorff; or, The Midnight Embrace is that Wilkinson (or the publisher) claims that it is a translation not from the Spanish, but from the German. Albert of Werdendorff recounts the seduction of Josephine by Lord Albert. Like Eudora, ‘Josephine had many virtuous sentiments; but Albert, by sophistry, overcame those scruples.’17 Josephine and Albert met nightly at midnight in her cottage, but Albert’s visits suddenly stopped. Josephine eventually seeks Albert in this castle, and arrives in time to witness his wedding feast. Distraught she returns home, when at midnight Albert again came to her door—‘the soft blandishments of her deceiver again lured her to guile; and her anger was completely vanquished by love’ (p. 3). The lover’s feast on food and wine was brought by Albert, who convinces Josephine that his father forced him into marriage with Guimilda.


Albert has deceived Josephine and on the instigation of Guimilda (through the threat of the wedding bed) poisoned her with his wedding wine, though not before promising ‘at the dark hour of midnight [that] he would again return and clasp her in his arms’ (p. 5). At midnight, the following night, a tremendous storm suddenly shook the castle ‘when Josephine’s death-like form glided from the portal’ and confronted her unfaithful lover: Thou false one! Base assassin of her whom thou lured form the flowery paths of virtue; he whom thou had sworn to cherish and protect while life was left thee. Thou has cut short the thread of my existence: but think not to escape the punishment due to they crimes. ’Tis midnight’s dark hour: the hour by thyself appointed: delay not, therefore, they promised embrace. With these words Josephine wound her arms around his trembling form. ‘I am come from the confines of the dead,’ said she, ‘to make thee fulfil thy parting promise.’ She dragged him by a force he could not resist to her breast: she pressed her clammy lips to his; and held him fast in her noisome icy embrace. At length the horrific spectre released him from her grasp. He started back in breathless agony, and sank on the floor. Thrice he raised his hands, as if to implore the mercy of offended heaven; and then expired with a heavy groan. (pp. 5–6) The bluebook, like the fragment, contained a moral which underlines the guilt of the seducer, though not mitigating the culpability of the seduced: From the preceding tale we may extract this moral: that, had the lovely maiden preserved her virtue from the snares of a seducer, she had still been happy: or even had she repulsed him, as she ought, when conscious of his being married to Guimilda, she had escaped the death to which her haughty rival decreed her. Thus virtue is a female’s firmest protector. (p. 6) Wilkinson suggests that Imogine, Eudora and Josephine were ultimately accountable for yielding to the seducer’s art, but that only the latter two were in the end deceived by their seducers. The end of Albert of Werdendorff has a similar ending to both the fragment and ‘Alonzo the Brave and Fair Imogine’: Full oft, when travellers wander among the time-stricken ruins, a peasant will lead him to his cot, and relate the sad story of Albert and


Josephine, and warn the stranger not to rove among the avenues of the castle, lest he should be assailed by the grim spectres, who always punish the temerity of those who intrude with unhollowed steps in the mansion where they keep their mysterious orgies. The hall of the castle still remains entire amid the gothic ruins. On the anniversary of that fatal night when Josephine’s spectre gave the midnight embrace to the false Albert, the same scene is again acted by supernatural beings. Guimilda, her husband, and his murdered love traverse the haunted hall, which is then illuminated with a more than mortal light: and the groans of the spectre lord can be heard afar, while he is clasped in the arms of Josephine’s implacable ghost. (p. 6) For Wilkinson, the fragment is intended to raise various questions not only of morality (is Magdalena a victim of seduction?), but also about the use of the supernatural in accomplishing ‘heaven’s vengeance’. The distinctive disjointedness of Eudora fragment within The Fugitive Countess, however, points to one of the problems raised by the inclusion of such bluebooks in The Fugitive Countess. What is their ultimate function? Thematically, bluebooks do not threaten the novel’s structure, but they do underline Birkhead’s criticism that ‘Wilkinson’s sentences stagger and lurch uncertainly . . . she is, in fact, more addicted to “gramarye” than to “grammar”’ (Birkhead, pp. 78–79). Ultimately, for Wilkinson, their function appears to have two purposes: the first is to offer simple thematic diversions disconnected from Magdalena’s distress; the second is to subjectively narrate the past. Though the fragment is problematic, Laura finds it ‘worthy of perusal,’ and intends to present it to the Countess (vol. 1: p. 61). Wilkinson’s use of personal histories, like fragmentary documents, are essential to reveal the Count’s crimes; therefore, individual histories are only disclosed in order to influence the present as well as underlining the moral. According to Wilkinson, to elucidate the mysteries attending to Magdalena’s behaviour, it is requisite to inform the reader of her history. Raised by her father, Magdalena was initially educated by a governess and then sent to the Convent of St Ursula. Like Emily in The Mysteries of Udolpho (1794) and Elena in The Italian (1797), Magdalena initially appears unsociable, if not withdrawn, and is attracted to the demanding life of the nuns, even contemplating taking vows. Her aunt, Viola, the abbess, however, while sympathetic to her desires, admonishes her to avoid such a life and in doing so narrates her own story. The abbess, as a young woman, although the elder of two sisters, was forced into the convent, due in part to the fact that her mind was of


a more serious nature than her worldly sister.—‘My boudoir was filled with select authors, globes, and drawing utensils. I wrote essays on various subjects, poems, &c. corresponding with the tone of my mind, which was unfortunately sensitive to a painful degree’ (vol. 2: pp. 91–92). Though disappointed, Viola thrived until an accidental meeting with Horace Beverly, the brother of Sister Frances. Love inevitably followed as did an escape from the convent. Fleeing to a castle, Viola was discovered by her father instead of her lover. Horace, imprisoned by the Count Del Serina, eventually dies and Viola is returned to the Convent. The Abbess’s story, like the fragment, is intended by Wilkinson as instructional. The tale anticipates Magdalena’s most distressing challenge, that of unfeigned filial duty to her father. After several years of disinterest in his daughter, the Count di Verona arrives to take Magdalena to Ottagio castle. As I have already indicated, Magdalena was offered to Ottagio in lieu of Verona’s debt. On the night of the wedding, Magdalena discovers the Count and Jacintha as they enter the library, and, following, she watches them descend through a trapdoor in the chapel. Resolved to discover their secret, the following night she descends down the trapdoor and discovers Thomasina, the housekeeper, who promises to reveal their secret. The Count’s dreadful secret is, of course, that the Count’s first wife, Lady Clementina di Lusini, and their daughter, Adeline are alive, immured in a subterraneous dungeon. The plot element of the imprisoned wife is familiar enough in Gothic romance; it had been much utilised by writers in the eighteenth century and was in common use in nineteenth-century Gothic. To a contemporary reader, this scene would have recalled memories of many others: perhaps the key scene in Sophia Lee’s The Recess (1785), or Ann Radcliffe’s A Sicilian Romance (1790), in which Julia discovers her mother, Marchioness Mazzini, immured in the deserted wing of their decaying mansion. Wilkinson, it appears, was particularly practised in the confinement of distressed females: in The Subterraneous Passage Emily de Cleve discovers Madame Dubois, the wife of the murdered Count Dubois, imprisoned by her brother-in-law to obtain her property and in The Priory of St. Clair; or, The Spectre of the Murdered Nun Julietta, a young nun is kidnapped from her Convent by the Count de Valve, and imprisoned in the dungeon beneath his castle until her ignominious death. Similarly, Clementina di Lusini’s distressful tale, as related to Magdalena, parallels many of Wilkinson’s bluebook plots. Clementina’s tale, narrated over several trips to the subterraneous dungeon, confirms Magdalena’s suspicions regarding the Count and prefigures certain elements in Magdalena’s future or textual past. The tale is


an adaptation of an earlier Wilkinson bluebook The Wife of Two Husbands and a subplot in Eliza Parsons’s Mysterious Warning (1796). Wilkinson’s The Wife of Two Husbands (2.341), which claimed to be a translation from the French drama ‘La Femme à Deux Maris’ by René-Charles Guilbert and ‘formed into an interesting story’, was actually based on the musical adaptation of James Cobb as performed at the Theatre-Royal, Drury-Lane. The bluebook, like the drama, relates the story of Eliza, who marries Isidore Fritz against her father’s wish. Fritz is a man of deceit who, whilst in prison, fakes his own death. Believing that she is a widow, the Count Belfior marries her. Years later, Fritz returns to claim his wife as well as her property. Eliza, caught between duty to a husband whom she loves and one whom she despises, concedes that she should leave the Count, but his friend recognises Fritz as a deserter and has him immediately arrested. Spared the death penalty through Eliza’s intercession, Fritz repays her kindness by attempting to murder the Count, but is himself slain. Wilkinson has reworked her adaptation of Eliza’s tale into Clementina’s. There are many similarities between the bluebook and the inset tale: both Eliza and Clementina marry against the wish of their father; both mistakenly believe their first husbands to be dead; and both are confronted by the horror of their contrasting duties. As I have already argued, for Wilkinson, the traditional importance of duty within a marriage is fundamental. By placing Eliza and Clementina in a situation which brings them into direct conflict with this duty, Wilkinson underlines a woman’s imprisonment in an institution that binds one party by certain rules and restrictions which are flouted by the other. However, despite these broad similarities, there are important differences in presentation and emphasis between Eliza’s and Clementina’s tales, and these can be understood as a response to changes from bluebook to a tale within a novel. While Wilkinson took the basic plot structure from her dramatic adaptation, she simultaneously drew from other popular themes found in Gothic novels, most notably from Eliza Parsons’s The Mysterious Warning. The inset tale, which was later extracted verbatim and published anonymously as The Horrible Revenge; or, The Assassin of the Solitary Castle (2.154) by Fairburn in 1828, contained the memoirs of Baron S—— which records, with exacting detail, the imprisonment of his wife and ‘husband’. Baron S——saves Count Zimchaw and his daughter Eugenia from banditti. In gratitude Zimchaw offers the Baron, Eugenia’s hand in marriage, and though she appears hostile to the union, the father’s will prevails and they are united. That night, Eugenia disappears from her


room; all searches prove futile. This humiliation drives the Baron to distraction: ‘[f]or my part, neither time nor disappointment had abated my passion; I still loved to a degree of fury, for rage, and a desire of revenge on her and her paramour, went hand in hand with my inclination for her person’.18 Eventually, the Baron discovers Eugenia and her lover, Count M——. Baron S——confronts Eugenia: ‘you, who at the altar gave me your hand and faith, and now live as an adultress with the man you swore never to be join with without your father’s consent; know you are still my wife, and I will prove my right by my power of punishing you’ (p. 18). This threat is similar to the threats of Count Ottagio, ‘I regard not your marriage, unsanctioned by parental consent, as any bar to my wishes;’ said Ottagio, fiercely, ‘but look on you in the light of a base adulterer, striving to dishonour my name’ (vol. 2: p. 151). But as with Clementina, Eugenia had secretly married Count M——before meeting the Baron. The Baron, moved the family, consisting of the Count, Eugenia and young daughter, to a dungeon. In an act of unadulterated evil, Baron S——dashes the family’s water to the floor, just as their young daughter is dying from thirst. The cruel Baron eventually dies and the Count M——and Eugenia are freed from their prison. Again, the similarities between Parsons’ and Wilkinson’s inset tales are consistent: second marriages, cruel revenge and conflicting duty (though more focused on the tension between filial and matrimonial). Wilkinson’s attraction to this inset tale, though, is directly associated with its male perspective. There are broad similarities between Count Ottagio and Baron S——which link the two texts. While The Wife of Two Husbands focuses on the dreadful circumstance from the viewpoint of the wife, Parsons’ inset tale illustrates the viewpoint of the Baron. Similarly, Wilkinson’s inset tale focuses on Clementina’s perspective of discovering that Lenardo still lives, while Ottagio’s cruel revenge, seen from his perspective, is defending his honour. The amalgamation of the two perspectives allows Wilkinson to contrast their individual roles within marriage. For the Count it is honour, for Clementina (and Magdalena) it is merely duty. The bluebook incidents, such as these, are utilised by Wilkinson to moderate the pace of the narrative, often allowing characters the time and ability to reflect on circumstances in the past. For example, in the case of Magdalena, Clementina’s distressful confinement in a dungeon confirms all of her growing suspicions about the Count. Throughout The Fugitive Countess, Wilkinson is continually experimenting with assimilating bluebooks, as inset tales, into her novels as a method of both moralising and revealing the past. Recycling her trade into novels is


not unexpected, but they indicate a fluidity and connection to the larger Gothic market that is politely ignored by critics who view the Gothic merely as an art form. Sarah Wilkinson’s diverse literary corpus reflects not only the perilous pitfalls of living by the pen, but also the shifting readers’ interest in Gothic fiction in the early nineteenth century. Her enormous output of bluebooks underlines the existence of a distinct bluebook ‘trade’, separate from the book publishers, one where morality, decency and education were equally important as sensational and horrific. Her novels, while relying on recycled scenes and motifs, uniquely show the amalgamation of the bluebook and the novel.

7 The Business of Morality: Francis Lathom

It is not an author’s business to inquire why such is the public taste, but to comply with it. – Francis Lathom, The Unknown; or, The Northern Gallery Today Francis Lathom is remembered as a hack novelist of a horrid novel.1 A novel so horrid, in fact, that Isabella Thorpe recommended it as essential Gothic reading to Catherine Morland in the Pump Room at Bath in Jane Austen’s Northanger Abbey (1818). But from the late nineteenth century on, as Gothic fiction faded from the minds of readers, the titles (as well as the authors) soon were forgotten. It was only in the early twentieth century, when Michael Sadleir attempted to locate the missing Northanger Gothic novels, that it became clear that Austen had intended the titles to be recognisable and indicative of popular taste, and not just a parody of the Gothic. The inclusion of Lathom’s The Midnight Bell (1798) in the Northanger set, along with Eleanor Sleath’s The Orphan of the Rhine (1798), Regina Roche’s Clermont (1798), Eliza Parsons’ The Castle of Wolfenbach (1793) and The Mysterious Warning (1796) and Karl Kahlert’s The Necromancer; or, The Tale of the Black Forest (1794) in many ways summarises the career of the ‘forgotten’ Goth. Francis Lathom was, without doubt, one of the most popular trade novelists of the early nineteenth century, only to be almost completely forgotten today. Lathom is an interesting, if not elusive, novelist in the trade Gothic, producing some seven plays, ten ‘Gothic’ and eleven contemporary domestic novels in a career spanning some 35 years. As the epigraph above suggests, Lathom presumes that his sole responsibility was to comply with the public’s partiality for particular novels: his business and trade was writing. Accordingly, as a trade novelist, Lathom’s novels, and 131


particularly his prefaces, not only indicate the shifting interests of readers’ ‘public taste’ during the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, but significantly also illustrate his constant concern that readers view his work as fundamentally moral. As such, his work not only depicts the fluid nature of the waning trade Gothic, but, at least in part, underscores the suggestion that the Gothic needs to be seen not simply to be an art form, but when we are thinking about questions of genre, its function as a lucrative literary trade needs to be looked at more closely. It is by no means understated in the 1857 Notes & Queries when it recorded of Francis Lathom that ‘there was certainly something mysterious in his history’. Little biographical information exists or has emerged in the 170 years since his death. What little information is available is often inaccurate or derived completely from speculation.2 Even Norwich, the city where he lived and made his name is oddly quiet about the celebrated writer and dramatist. Born 14 July 1774 in Rotterdam, Holland, and christened in the English Episcopal Church, Francis was the only child of Henry and Sarah Lathom, a wealthy merchant family originally from Norwich, who returned to the city around 1777.3 Nothing is known about Lathom’s childhood and education in Norwich, but it appears as early as 1791 that he became a member of the Norwich Stock Company, a local theatre company, writing and acting in dramas at the Theatre Royal. 4 On 13 June 1797 Lathom married Diana Ganning, the daughter of Daniel Ganning, a successful lawyer, in a ceremony in Norwich.5 A son Henry was born a year later on 27 May 1798, but died on 6 June, not two-weeks old. The following year, a second son, Henry Daniel was born on 8 April 1799. In 1800, an increasingly successful playwright and novelist, Lathom moved his small family to No. 15, St Martin-at-Palace Street, Norwich, their home until 1810.6 The year ended with the birth of another son, Frederick Charles born 15 September 1800. Three years later, on 14 July 1803, a daughter Jessy-Ann was born to Francis and Diana.7 In 1803, Lathom left the Norwich Stock Company to focus on his writing career; he achieved both critical (art) as well as financial (trade) and popular success. However, something mysterious occurred around 1810 which compelled Lathom to leave Norwich. A search of local newspapers, diaries and books failed to discover the cause of the local celebrity’s departure. His early literary career ended. There have been speculations that Lathom’s departure from Norwich was in fact because he was of homosexual temperament and left with his lover; however, there is no substantial evidence to corroborate these

The Business of Morality: Francis Lathom 133

suggestions.8 It is clear, nevertheless, that a separation did occur between Francis and his wife Diana, sometime between 1811 and 1812. The only evidence that the author was the cause of the separation is to be found in the will of Henry Lathom, Esq., Lathom’s father, who died in May 1812. On 17 May, just prior to his death, Henry Lathom amended his will leaving his entire estate to his wife Sarah Lathom and three trustees including John Grand, Rev. Jeremiah Ives and Charles Tompson.9 Francis Lathom would receive £2000 a year based on the following condition: Upon the express condition that the said son shall and so upon request made to him by my said Trustee (Sarah Lathom) release and relinquish to them . . . , as far as by the law be . . . the custody for and Guardianship of Henry, Frederick and Jessy-Ann Lathom the three Infant children of my said son by Diana his wife and shall permit them and every of them surviving their respective minorities to be wholly and entirely under the Situation and management of their mother and my said Trustee and shall not in anyway or manner whatsoever direct to control or interfere in or with the education arrangements or bringing up of the said three children and any one or more of them but in case my son shall not in every respect perform the conditions herein expressed then my will and mind is and I direct that immediately after such his unobservance of the said condition the said annuity or yearly sums of two thousand pounds shall cease and be no longer paid or payable to him.10 Henry Lathom, though, provided liberally for his son’s children; £200 a year per child would be paid until they obtained the age of twenty-one when the remaining estate, valued at £14000 should be divided between the surviving children. Three years later in 1815, the Prince Regent granted Diana a letter patent dated 4 July 1815 which presumably gave her sole guardianship over the children.11 The following year the two boys were publicly renamed Ganning, their mother’s maiden name in a ceremony at St Giles Church, Norwich.12 Nothing is heard of Lathom again, until in 1819, Lathom turns up in New York where he attempted to revive his literary career, working on two novels, both of which were published by A. K. Newman in 1820. In 1821, he probably attended the marriage of his eldest Son, Henry to Eliza Birt at Saint Mary Le Strand, Westminster on 3 July 1821. 13 He returned to the United States in 1822, travelling to Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. In fact, between 1820 and 1824, Lathom travelled not only in the United States, but also extensively in France and Italy.


One of the most mysterious aspects of Lathom’s life is undoubtedly his relationship with the Rennie family of Fyvie, Scotland. Both Summers and Varma suggest that he was so impressed with their hospitality that he made their home his permanent residence and an additional room was added to the house for his accommodation.14 Notes & Queries records ‘At the time of his death he was amusing himself by training a few young rustics for the stage, and had fitted up a theatre, the dresses and scenery of which cost him upwards of 100l’ (p. 259). In Fyvie, it is suggested that Lathom encouraged many of the rumours that have shrouded his life, including that he was the illegitimate son of an English Peer. Francis Lathom died on 19 May 1832 and was buried in the churchyard of Fyvie under the name Mr James Francis in the ground belonging to the Rennies, in the same grave as two of their children. Lathom’s novels denote a significant shift in the moral subtext prominent in both Green and Wilkinson. They can also be separated into two distinct periods not only along longitudinal lines, but in Lathom’s attitude towards morality. Indeed, morality, it would appear, was a hallmark of Lathom’s early writing career. Morality, he wrote, is ‘—the first and perhaps only important point for an author to consider, who writes only for the amusement of his readers’.15 I think that my opinion is not more arrogant than justifiable, when I say, that I regard a novel-writer of considerable use in society. Horace has said once, and many millions of times has it been quoted after him, that ‘Omne tulit punctum, qui miscuit utile dulce;’ and, according to the taste of the present time, an author appears to have very little chance of producing the ‘utile,’ who does not mix the ‘dulce’ largely with it. It is an acknowledged truth, that many will dwell with pleasure on grave reflections and moral admonitions in a novel, who would not read an essay containing the very same sentences; a novel-writer, therefore, cannot be a useless being; for as such is the contradictory character of readers, it must undoubtedly be more beneficial to society, that there should be writers who can induce its members to reading not wholly useless to their morals, than that there should be no writers who can tempt them to read at all. (Lathom, Unknown, pp. iv–vi) Lathom’s early novels are profoundly influenced by provincial Norwich theatre. The Midnight Bell, ‘Founded on Incidents in Real Life’, for instance, illustrates his utilisation of the dramatic framework and tragic structures. The novel itself owed its popular success in the circulating


libraries to the popularity in mysterious romances generated by Ann Radcliffe and Matthew Lewis. The Monthly Review, in fact, sensing Radcliffean influence pronounced: The novel belongs to the school of terror; midnight bells, dismal dungeons, lonely tapers, banditti, murders, thunder-storms, all but the supernatural horrors, conspire to agitate the reader. Much curiosity is excited; and, although its gratification be protracted by supernumerary episodes, it is eventually not disappointed.16 The Midnight Bell, like the first Gothic novel, Horace Walpole’s The Castle of Otranto, centres on the sins of the parents visited upon the heads of their children. Alphonsus of Castle Cohenburg has promised his mother to avenge the murder of his father. As we have seen, when Lathom published The Midnight Bell he was already an established playwright, actively involved in the Norwich Stock Company. Consequently, it is difficult to imagine that whilst writing this romance Lathom did not have Horace Walpole’s drama, The Mysterious Mother, in mind. The scandalous theme of incest in The Mysterious Mother, which was written and privately published in 1768, but not publicly published until 1791 in both London and Dublin, revolves around the mysterious widowed Countess of Narbonne, who secluded in her decaying castle, surrounded by monks, performs enigmatic rituals of grief while she awaits the return of her son Edmund to claim his inheritance. The drama centres on Edmund, son of the Countess of Narbonne, who was banished by his mother for a sexual misdemeanour, returns home to claim his inheritance after 16 years. To atone for his sexual misconduct, Edmund marries the orphan Adeliza, the Countess’s ward. Through the villainous priest, Benedict, it is discovered that Adeliza is actually the offspring of Edmund’s original transgression which took place not with Beatrice the maid (as he assumed) but with his own mother; he has thus ignorantly married his own sister/daughter. The Countess, who, since the fatal night, has concealed the knowledge of this secret, stabs herself. Edmund returns to the battlefield and Adeliza retires to a convent. The play and the novel, separated by 30 years, predictably use moral rhetoric differently to confront these potent sexual and religious themes. Like The Mysterious Mother, The Midnight Bell hinges on an event in the past that not only threatens the present, but debilitates and punishes the children. They both centre on women who are unable to


forget or confess their sins of the past. The Countess of Narbonne (no personal name is given) and Anna, Countess of Cohenburg, both mysteriously immure themselves in their castle, surround themselves with men of religion, and drive their sons from their presence as a result of a mysterious transgression. Edmund and Alphonsus, both exiles, marry orphans and return home to reconcile themselves to their mothers in order to discover their sins. Despite these broad similarities, there are important differences in presentation and emphasis between The Midnight Bell and The Mysterious Mother. Moreover, it illustrates the difficulties of a first dramatic adaptation, which Coleridge described as ‘the most disgusting, detestable, vile composition that ever came from the hand of man’.17 Undoubtedly, as a man of the theatre, Lathom was attracted to Walpole’s play because of dramatic potential, but he also recognised that the Countess of Narbonne’s conscious act of incest made this play impossible in the eighteenth century to bring to the stage. An adaptation, on the other hand, would allow Lathom to effectively exploit Walpole’s dramatic (or tragic) framework, which, like Walpole, he ‘found it so truly tragic in the two essential springs of terror and pity’(Romantic Plays, p. 65). But Lathom also understood that in order to be successful, The Midnight Bell needed not only to utilise the Radcliffean motifs prevalent and honed in The Castle of Ollada, but to possess a significant moral subtext. Walpole, writing in the 1791 postscript of The Mysterious Mother, remarked that the intent of the drama in presenting a subject so horrid as incest was to elicit both terror and pity in the audience. Walpole, however, was circumspect about utilising such a shocking subject; consequently, he thought it necessary to moderate the crime as well as the criminal. In doing so, Walpole argued that the Countess’s crime occurred in the midst of a severe moral test: the moment in which she had lost a beloved husband, when grief, disappointment, and a conflict of passions might be supposed to have thrown her reason off its guard, and exposed her to the danger under which she fell. Strange as the moment may seem for vice to have seized her, still it makes her less hateful, than if she had coolly meditated so foul a crime. (p. 66) To adapt Walpole’s fundamental dramatic framework, but not the incestuous theme, Lathom shifted the story away from the Countess’s horrendous act, by emphasising what Walpole considered her redeeming


characteristic: ‘I have endeavoured to make her very fondness for her husband in some measure the cause of her guilt’ (p. 66). Consequently, The Midnight Bell is framed by the mysterious behaviour of Alphonsus’ mother, whose love and respect for her husband, especially under the duress of unwanted (though contrived) advances by his brother Count Frederic, results in her murdering her own husband. For Lathom, the Countess’s real crime was not necessarily murder, but a lapse of morality which aroused suspicion caused by excessive ‘fondness for her husband’ that drove her to commit such a barbarous act: she stretched out her other hand to a table near the bed, and grasping a dagger which she had lately worn to defend herself from count Frederic, should he have attempted force upon her person, and which she now believed him to be doing, she pierced him who held her to the heart. (p. 191) The Countess’s fear of Frederic and the suspicion that he might ‘attempt force upon her person’ directly results in the murder. Lathom, though, is clear that responsibility does not lie solely with the Countess, but with the Count, as well as Frederic, in contriving the moral test. Alphonsus underlines the Countess’s crimes, though not the criminal, as he instructs his own children: Learn, above all, my children . . . to avoid suspicion; for as it is the source of crimes, it is also the worst of crimes, attaching itself with equal mischief to the guilty and the innocent; it is an endless pang to him who harbours it; for it dies only when he dies, and then too often leaves a curse on those that follow him; it is influence of evil that breeds suspicion, the noble spirit of charity that subdues it! (p. 197) Unlike The Mysterious Mother, in The Midnight Bell, the crime itself is never the focus of the novel. (Though the incest theme would eventually be the emphasis in Mystery: A Novel in 1800 and then again in Italian Mysteries; or, More Secrets Than One in 1820.) Instead, Lathom’s novel shifts focus away from the castle and the mother to the son’s exile, his experiences in that condition and his quest to discover the truth. The action begins with the crime, but is quickly displaced as Lathom centralises the story around the banishment of Alphonsus and his efforts to elucidate his mother’s mysterious behaviour. In The Mysterious Mother, Edmund is banished for his sexual rendezvous with the maid Beatrice on the night of his father’s death. Edmund


returns to the castle of Narbonne in order to reconcile with his mother and claim his inheritance. In The Midnight Bell, Alphonsus is banished on the night of his father’s murder, not for a sexual misdemeanour, but for the vow to avenge his father’s death which his mother had extracted from him, filial obedience replacing sexual deviance. For Lathom, the vow is equivalent to the act of incest; it embodies the finality that the Countess of Narbonne’s actions should have ensured by denying reconciliation between mother and son. Edmund returns to the Castle of Narbonne, seeking to elucidate the mysterious behaviour of his mother, but unlike Alphonsus, he confronts his mother. It is the Countess of Narbonne who reveals her crime: Countess: Yes, thou polluted son! Grief, disappointment, opportunity, Raised such a tumult in my madding blood, I took the damsel’s place; and while thy arms Twined, to thy thinking, round another’s waist. Hear, hell, and tremble!—thou didst clasp thy mother! Edmund: Oh! execrable! Adeliza faints Countess: Be that swoon eternal! Nor let her know the rest—she is thy daughter, Fruit of that monstrous night! (p. 60) Alphonsus, on the other hand, never speaks to his mother again; instead, the secret is revealed through an official of the church, her confessor, Father Nicholas: In the middle of that night a noise in your mother’s chamber alarmed her,—she shrieked; a voice which she immediately concluded to be count Frederic’s addressed her accents of familiar love; she sprang from the bed, as the person advanced towards it; he held her arm; she stretched out her other hand to a table near the bed, and grasping a dagger which she had lately worn to defend herself from count Frederic, should he have attempted force upon her person, and which she now believed him to be doing, she pierced him who held her to the heart. Till the dawn arose, she thought herself the murderer of count Frederic; but alas! she beheld her bleeding husband, killed by her own hand! (pp. 190–191)


Unexpectedly Lathom’s restructuring of the revelation is disappointingly non-dramatic. Confrontation as well as reconciliation is avoided by having a third person narrating the murder and the subsequent consequences. Though the secret is finally discovered, the fatal vow remains in place, the truth by no means sets the Countess free: ‘Immediately the vow she had extracted from you recurred to her, and constituted no small part of her agony; for the mad state of her brain taught her to believe you would fulfil it’ (p. 191). The vow, unlike sin, cannot be simply displaced through the act of confession. In Lathom’s text, religion plays the opposite role from its appearance in the drama. Where Walpole exploited the authoritative and superstitious age of the church setting it ‘at the dawn of the Reformation’ (p. 67), Lathom emphasises its important role in the redemption of a soul. In order to save Alphonsus’s soul as well as his mother’s life, the Countess is secreted out of the castle, retiring to the convent of the Virgin Maria ‘whose votaries are not permitted, when they have once entered its walls, ever again to hold converse with the world’ (p. 194). Thus, Alphonsus, only with the church’s intercession, can abolish the cursed vow: ‘absolution was readily obtained for him, on the obligation of his bestowing a sum of money on a convent of her nuns, and undergoing a slight penance’ (p. 196). In adapting The Mysterious Mother, Lathom sought to gratify the reader by negotiating between the moral, the sexual and the religious issues raised by Walpole’s text. Morality, as we have seen in the novels of Sarah Wilkinson and William Child Green, was also a prominent feature in Lathom’s ‘trade’ novels. Like The Midnight Bell, Lathom’s romance The Fatal Vow in 1807 is written with a clear moral in mind, a point emphasised in the preface: ‘I am equally certain that the course of morality will not be a sufferer by the contents of my pages’ (vol. 2: p. vi). Lathom, in fact, was continually concerned that his audience viewed his novels and plays as fundamentally moral. Intriguingly, the moral of The Fatal Vow, like The Midnight Bell, is extracted not from Richard and Christabelle’s narrative, but from the disastrous marriage between Glencowell (Sir Walter) and Rosamund. Abandoning the subtle moral lessons prepared by Alphonsus in The Midnight Bell, the moral is an unequivocal condemnation of infidelity, regardless of class distinction: In the fate of Matilda and her Richard, may the seducer learn of the uncounted miseries which flow from an infringement on the sacred honours of the marriage bed! may he believe that whilst there is an undoubted reward prepared in heaven for those who have innocently


suffered, there cannot fail to be punishment in store for those who have been the criminal origin of their afflictions. There is no distinction in the grave; nor will there be any distinction of persons beyond it. A crime perpetuated by a monarch is not less a crime, than one of which the meanest of his subjects may have been guilty—not the rank of the person, but the virtues of the heart will be inquired into at the hour of universal retribution. The lesson before us applies therefore equally to the King and to the beggar; and happy will be the weak hand which has recorded it, if in either it checks the first step toward the indulgence of a vicious inclination. (vol. 2: pp. 267–268) The moral is meant to underline the effect infidelity has on marriages, not just on the participants, but particularly upon the children. The success of Lathom’s moralistic subplots is evident in The Monthly Mirror’s review of Lathom’s The Mysterious Freebooter (1.214) in 1806. The review emphasises, perhaps unexpectedly, that it is the morality of his texts which is attracting readers. This tale is a pleasing exception to the general opinion of critics that all novels are nonsense. If the development of interesting situations, or the inclusion of honest and honourable morality be nonsense; if nonsense consists in the display of a lively conception, and the investigation of the human be nonsense; then, indeed, the Novel before us is entitled to the name of nonsense. But if the lesson of example can instruct our understandings, or the administration of poetical justice correct our hearts, The Mysterious Freebooter will be read with satisfaction by a considerable portion of the public. (Summers, p. 320, my italics) The review is significant in that it draws attention to the connection between the moral discourse in ‘trade’ Gothic and that of readership. Like Wilkinson, Lathom’s moral rhetoric suggests that he was writing for a middle-class readership; in particular, his, perhaps unexpected, emphasis on fidelity in marriage. However, his emphasis on the husband (or son) is in stark contrast to Wilkinson’s wife-centred narratives, and could suggest a predominately male readership. But for Lathom, the male-centred moral subtext was soon to be marginalised by historical discourse with the appearance of Sir Walter Scott. Lathom’s interest in historical novels however began as early as 1808 when writing in the preface of The Unknown; or, The Northern Gallery (1.316), he observed that: ‘the tales which at the present day are the


most in request, are undoubtedly those which unite with a considerable degree of the marvellous, some portion of history’. The blending of history and the horrific in the early nineteenth century, of course, was an established aspect of the trade Gothic. The shelves of the circulating libraries contained such historical romances as The Anglo-Saxons; or, The Court of Ethelwulph. A Romance (1.17) by Leslie Armstrong, The Catholic, An Historical Romance by William Henry Ireland (1.59), and Robert Charles Dallas’s The Knights: Tales Illustrative of the Marvellous (1.166). Twenty-three years later, writing the preface of The Abbot in 1831, Sir Walter Scott similarly observed: There occur in every country some peculiar historical characters, which are, like a spell or charm, sovereign to excite curiosity and attract attention, since every one in the slightest degree interested in the land which they belong to has heard much of them, and longs to hear more. A tale turning on the fortunes of Alfred or Elizabeth in England, or of Wallace or Bruce in Scotland, is sure by the very announcement to excite public curiosity to a considerable degree, and ensure the publisher’s being relieved of the greater part of an impression, even before the contents of the work are known. (On Novelists, p. 451) Historical matter, for Lathom (and Scott), always had a larger potential market than morality. The literary history of the Gothic novel is interconnected with the historical novel until the emergence of Scott. Punter in The Literature of Terror observes: ‘Whereas before him historical fiction had proceeded on a parallel course with Gothic, or intertwined with it, Scott’s novels mark a radical break in the process of mythologisation which characterises his predecessors’ (p. 140). For the Gothic, the history merely provided a backdrop, a canvas, where historical characters flit across the pages, while the author creates a story from what history does not reveal. Conversely, according to Punter, Scott’s historical novels and particularly his portrayal of historical events added a ‘new dimension of realism’ into the text (p. 140). Where the Gothic reflected a historical view of the aristocracy’s history, Scott infused historical facts into a historical landscape encompassing individuals. This shift is important, for, as we have seen, literary history suggests that this sudden and dramatic appearance of Scott’s historical fiction led to the displacement of the Gothic. Punter, however, is less certain of Scott’s immediate impact, suggesting that while his innovations radically changed the historical novel, it nevertheless ‘did


not produce the general change in approach which has sometimes been assumed’ (p. 140). By the 1830s Scott and Lathom represented the two differing courses of the historical novel. Lathom’s view of the historical, unchanged since 1808, is initially explained in his preface addressed to the ‘Gentle Reader’ of his Mystic Events wherein he suggests: In the construction of the following tale, various slight anachronisms will be observable to the keen-eyed critic but as they cannot mislead the scholar, and will, no doubt, be accepted as venial errors by the regular list of subscribers to a circulating library, who read principally for the story, and are consequently complacent pardoners of chronological deviations; it is not deemed necessary to add an apology to the frank acknowledgement, that such errors have, not without numerous precedents, crept into the state of the romantic legend presented to their indulgent perusal.18 For Lathom, readers of the circulating libraries are not reading for historical exactitude, but ‘principally for the story’. Where Scott’s novels rely on historic realism, Lathom’s centre on ‘story’ with history providing a background. Mystic Events; or, The Vision of the Tapestry, A Romantic Legend of the Days of Anne Boleyn appeared in 1830, the same year other ‘Gothified histories’: The Fortunes of Perkin Warbeck (1.119) by Mary Shelley, and Catherine Cuthbertson’s Sir Ethelbert; or, The Dissolution of the Monasteries, A Romance (1.291) continued the tradition by blending the horrific to antiquity. Like The Recess, the plot of Mystic Events; or, The Vision of the Tapestry centres on persecution, characters suffering for the sins of a parent. The central action is solidly Gothic involving enigmas of genealogy, the dark journey of the young hero, horrific and terrific subterranean locales, a suggestion of incest, and supernatural phenomena such as the aliveness of the tapestried chamber. The subplot of the novel is decidedly historical, tracing the jealous passions of King Henry VIII, the sorrows of Queen Catherine of Aragon, the ineffectual diplomacy and fall of Cardinal Wolsey, the political cunning of Thomas Cromwell, the poet Sir Thomas Wyatt and the ill-fated character of Anne Boleyn herself, a pawn in a deadly game, are rendered by Lathom with an eye for historical exactitude. The division between the historical and the fictional is clear. The historical context, full of precise detail and information, is confined to specific chapters, where the frame of history functions free from the fictional speculation which


dominates the romance. Mystic Events, like The Recess, attempts to form a story from the set of truths history has omitted. Lathom’s use of history is clearly set out: ‘. . . it is not our design to swell our pages with historical matter, irrelevant to the subject of our tale, and with a knowledge of which the memory of every moderately-well-educated schoolboy is already stored’ (vol. 2: p. 24). The two plots are adeptly conjoined producing an engaging integration of horror and history. The counterpart to Henry VIII in the Gothic segment of the tale is the wandering knight-in-training, Sir Leolin, a rival opposing Henry for Anne Boleyn’s attentions. This conflict never occurred in history, but is offered by Lathom as one of the acceptable inventions of his alternative history. For Lathom, like Sophia Lee, what history did not reveal was the most intriguing thing: did Henry have a rival for Anne’s hand? The hero Leolin is modelled not only on Clara Reeve’s Edmund in The Old English Baron (1778), but also on Reginald de Brune otherwise known as King Richard the Lion-hearted in Lathom’s own Fatal Vow. Leolin has never known his true parentage, having been succoured by the friar, Father Benedict, then raised by the hag, Mabellah. For Lathom, the search for parentage is a common theme and a significant element in most of his other novels. In The Castle of Ollada (1795), the peasant Henrico is unable to marry Eliza until he discovers his true parentage; in Astonishment!!! (1802) Claudio searches for his parents as does Silvo in The Impenetrable Secret, Find It Out (1805), Christabelle in The Fatal Vow (1807), Eleonora in The Unknown; or The Northern Gallery (1808) and Paulina and Julio in Italian Mysteries; or, More Secrets Than One (1820). For Lathom, on one hand, genealogical entanglements are hindrances to true happiness, parents providing stability in an otherwise unstable world. But on the other hand, they give the reader a sense of familiarity and an indication of the possibilities the romance offers. The recognition and reunion often provide the resolution of numerous other mysteries in the story. Lathom’s continual success (i.e. amongst circulating library readers) illustrates that the recycling of this particular motif, if done ingeniously, still attracted a readership. As we saw in Wilkinson’s The Fugitive Countess, inset tales, often of bluebook quality, provide the moral subtext and interposes both morality and decency, while revealing the past. Lathom similarly utilises the introduction of Ginnetthon to reveal the concealed history of Thomas Boleyn, previously known as Sir Ralph de Gastonville, who fell violently in love with Hyppolita, the daughter of a poor Spanish musician. On her father’s death, he removes her to the Castle of the Rock, intending


to wed her. Hyppolita, fearing lest the union should prejudice her lover’s career, prepares a fatal draught, which she swallows immediately, enclosing herself in a burial vault, thinking that she will instantly expire. But the poison has been changed for a harmless potion, so that actually her fate is more terrible, since she breathes her last under the devouring tortures of famine. Ralph de Gastonville plunges into profligacy, and when he realises that, having lost large sums through living a debauched life, he must replenish his coffers, he turns to the study of alchemy, and becomes a disciple of Abijah Ginnetthon. In fine, he discovers the transmutation of metals and, the estate of Auvignac in France then falling to him, he plunges yet further into the study of occult lore and becomes the master of many curious secrets, amongst others the art of prolonging the existence and renovating the countenance of man. In order to suit his plan it is given out that Sir Ralph has died at Rome, bequeathing his domains to Count Louis of Beaumarchais. For Lathom, the Boleyn ‘history’ is one of many ‘venial errors’ accepted ‘by the regular list of subscribers to a circulating library’. As we saw with Wilkinson, the seduction and desertion of a young woman provides a suitable moral subtext. While Lathom was capable of depicting the fate of young women, such as Eloise and Hyppolita, Lathom’s novels are fundamentally male-centred plots as in The Midnight Bell, The Fatal Vow, The Unknown. Lathom centres the plot around Louis’ guilt, repentance and reconciliation. Lathom’s recycling of historical discourse, rather than the morality prominent in his early novels, suggests that he was aware of a shifting readership of his novels. His preface would indicate that there was a continued, and presumably large readership who preferred the familiar Gothic fiction with a prominent historical discourse, to Scott’s historical realism. The recycling of familiar motifs and situations, as we have seen in Wilkinson and Green, would suggest that there were readers still interested in reading (and rereading) various types of trade Gothic. There is no mistake in categorising Green, Wilkinson and Lathom as hacks. All unashamedly wrote novels for profit, Green to redeem, Wilkinson for survival, and Lathom for professional pleasure. They demonstrate that there was a lively Gothic trade sustained, in part, through authors whose commercial prowess continued to attract readers.

8 The Monster of Morality: Mary Shelley

This is, perhaps, the foulest Toadstool that has yet sprung up from the reeking dunghill of the present time. – William Beckford, Vathek On 17 June 1825, a small pamphlet simply titled ‘The Monster Made By Man’ was published in London by J. Mark and sold for twopence. Available in small and large circulating libraries, the short tale was embellished with a spirited cut illustrating the moment of animation of a monster in a cave laboratory. The illustration shows an assistant, Frantz, on one side of a creature, and scientist, Wallberg at the moment the creature first raises itself from the rude bed, opening and displaying its horrid eyes. Human remains are scattered in the foreground, a broken vessel lies in the centre at the creature’s feet representing the elixir of life, machinery and instruments set behind the assistant denote the impious actions of creation. Frantz is horror-struck, hands clasped, while Wallberg, arm outstretched, distances his self from his creation. The simple illustration underscores the narrative’s central theme: the punishment of presumption. The tale of terror – an adaptation and reconciliation of Mary Shelley’s novel Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus (1818) and Richard Brinsley Peake’s dramatisation Presumption; or, The Fate of Frankenstein (1823) – dramatically illustrates the potent impact of adaptations on public reception. Moreover, these adaptations, and specifically their appeal to a broad discerning audience, are fundamental to Frankenstein’s advancement from trade to canon as the reader’s perception of morality, which is secondary to the modes of reasoning in the novel, is brought to the foreground in the adaptations. A comparison of Mary Shelley’s novel and its fictional progeny reveal that the infusion of a moral subtext through the drama and short tale helped to repackage the tale of Frankenstein, heightening its popularity. 145


Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus (1.120) appeared anonymously in January 1818, published by the printers Lackington, Hughes, Harding, Mavor and Jones in three volumes. The novel became a best seller despite the revulsion shared by many critics including The Quarterly Review, who exclaimed that Our taste and our judgment alike revolt at this kind of writing, and the greater the ability with which it may be executed the worse it is— it inculcates no lesson of conduct, manners, or morality; it cannot mend, and will not even amuse its readers, unless their taste have been deplorably vitiated—it fatigues the feelings without interesting the understanding; it gratuitously harasses the sensations.1 The Belle Assemblée, or Bell’s Court and Fashionable Magazine, likewise, deplored the novel’s lack of a clear and concise moral; it expressed certainty that the tale would, nevertheless, be popular. Should not an author, who has a moral end in view, point out rather that application which may be more generally understood? We recommend, however, to our fair readers, who may peruse a work which, from its originality, excellence of language, and peculiar interest, is likely to be very popular, to draw from it that meaning which we have cited above.2 In this respect, Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein is similar to the trade novels of William Child Green, Sarah Wilkinson and Francis Lathom, critically disparaged but financially lucrative. Mary Shelley’s first novel might have well remained another anonymous trade Gothic were it not for its extraordinary evolution into a pillar of the genre through the process of moral and narrative revisionism, through its dramatic and short story adaptations. Mary Shelley (1797–1851), the daughter of Mary Wollstonecraft and William Godwin and the wife of Percy Shelley, wrote Frankenstein when she was only 18-years old. While she found some critical and financial success with her other numerous novels including Valperga; or, The Life and Adventures of Castruccio, Prince of Lucca (1823), The Last Man (1.169) and The Fortunes of Perkin Warbeck (1.119), her literary reputation rests on her youthful Frankenstein. A brutal tale of the consequences of impious actions, the novel recounts Dr Frankenstein’s quest and discovery of the power to regenerate life. Relating his cautionary tale to the sympathetic explorer Robert Walton, Frankenstein divulges his dark and horrific secret that he created an

The Monster of Morality: Mary Shelley 147

unimaginable monster who seeks the creator’s life. Connected by a shared disgust for life and a deep hatred of one another, Frankenstein and the monster, creator and creation, seek each other out in a violent struggle for survival. The monster, seeking to understand his creation, is schooled in secret until inhumanity drives him to confront his creator with vehemence. Dr Frankenstein, who has displaced God as creator, is filled with horror and disgust for his creation, and spurs the monster’s demand to create a partner for him. The monster soon deprives Frankenstein of those whom he most treasures, his family. The novel’s ending is the recognizable Gothic pattern of escape and pursuit. Following the monster to the icy north, Frankenstein falls ill and dies. The monster visits his creator, seeking pardon for his treatment and continues his journey north to a certain death. The first significant textual transformation of Frankenstein appeared on 28 July 1823 with Richard Brinsley Peake’s dramatic adaptation Presumption; or, The Fate of Frankenstein, which premiered at the English Opera House. Promoted as morally improving, the theatre actively advertised the propriety of the drama replete with an assurance that ‘The striking moral exhibited in this story is the fatal consequence of that presumption which attempts to penetrate, beyond prescribed depths, into the mysteries of nature.’3 The drama not only simplified Shelley’s complex narrative structure, dropping the Walton frame narrative, it set a precedent that has endured to the film adaptations of Frankenstein today. The impious act of creation, for example, takes place offstage and is witnessed by Frankenstein’s comic side kick Fritz. Elizabeth, now Victor’s sister, is in love with Clerval, and Frankenstein’s love interest is Agatha De Lacey. One of the most recognizable alterations, prevalent in subsequent adaptations, is the silencing of the monster, who Peake deprives of language and reason, except anger and malice. In Peake’s drama the creature truly become monstrous as punishment for Frankenstein’s impious presumption. The fate of presumption is, of course, death, accomplished most dramatically in an avalanche. Peake’s play itself received mixed reception. The London Morning Post for its part had a difficult time differentiating the dramatic adaptation from the novel—‘There is something in the piecemeal resurrection effected by Frankenstein, which, instead of creating that awful interest intended to arise from it, gives birth to a feeling of horror.’ What did strike the reviewer was the prominence of the moral subtext in the drama. Whatever may be thought of Frankenstein as a novel, or of the principles of those who could indite such a novel, there can be but one opinion


of it as a drama. The representation of this piece upon the stage is of astonishing, of enchanting, interest. In the novel the rigid moralist may feel himself constantly offended, by the modes of reasonings, principles of action, &c.—But in the Drama this is all carefully kept in the back ground. Nothing but what can please, astonish, and delight, is there suffered to appear; Frankenstein despairingly bewails his attempt as impious, and suffers for it; partial justice is rendered; and many more incidents in the novel might have been pourtrayed, of harrowing interest! though without infringing good taste.4 Notwithstanding the prominence of a moral, within a week of the drama’s arrival, it was causing a stir in the city of London. An anonymous group styling themselves as ‘friends of morality’ issued the following warning: Do not go to the Lyceum to see the monstrous Drama, founded on the improper work called ‘Frankenstein.’—Do not take your wives and families—The novel itself is of a decidedly immoral tendency; it treats of a subject which in nature cannot occur. This subject is pregnant with mischief; and to prevent the ill-consequences which may result from the promulgation of such dangerous doctrines, a few zealous friends of morality, and promoters of this Posting-bill (and who are ready to meet the consequences thereof) are using their strongest endeavours.5 The moral campaign against the drama underscored Peake’s difficulty in adapting Frankenstein; not only was he trying to deflect the charges of immorality levelled against the novel, he was attempting to establish a middle ground, where the possibilities of science did not conflict with what the public saw as immoral. ‘The Monster Made By Man; or, The Punishment of Presumption’ appeared almost two years after Peake’s Presumption, first as a pamphlet, then in a compilation of tales titled Endless Entertainment; or Comic, Terrific, and Legendary Tales published by G. Hebert in 1826. Advertised as a series of original tales, the ‘originality’ of this adaptation lays largely in the economical amalgamation of Mary Shelley’s novel and Peake’s drama. The anonymous author, acutely aware of their reader’s tastes, mediates alternatively between the horrific and the moral, rendering Frankenstein and his creation less monstrous. ‘The Monster Made by Man’ like it progenitors, Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein and Peake’s Presumption, centres on the volatile relationship between the Wallberg (Frankenstein) and the nameless creature. Ernest Wallberg, like Victor Frankenstein, became a student of that ‘certain kind of


philosophical works, which the superior light of modern science has proved to be absurd and rendered obsolete’ (p. 100). In pursuit of the elixir of life and the philosopher’s stone, Wallberg discovers ‘the mysterious art of forming and imparting the vital spark of life to a being perfectly endowed with all the faculties and attributes of human nature’ (p. 100). In a ‘retired cave’ Wallberg, unlike Mary Shelley’s or Peake’s Frankenstein begins to form a body from clay, ‘modelled after the finest sculptures he could procure; the fibres, muscles, veins and skin, he supplied according to the preconceived ideas of his distempered imagination’ (p. 101). Scarcely after applying the spark of life, the motionless body convulses that its perfectly proportions were enlarged to an unnatural size, its regular features were distorted into hideousness, the eyelids opened, and displayed two green balls, bedded in a yellow fluid, and the alabaster whiteness of its exterior turned to a leaden blue colour. (p. 101) As the illustration depicted, Wallberg’s initial reaction was to distance himself from his creation. The necessity to escape is the shared response of Wallberg and his two predecessors and is recognisably the first sign of moral weakness as a dominant character flaw. Unlike, Mary Shelley and Peake, though, the anonymous author of ‘The Monster Made By Man’ has Wallberg return to his creation in order ‘to provide for its wants in a place of safety’ (p. 102). The scene of unremitting horror is mitigated with Wallberg’s moral determination to accept (at least initially) responsibility for his impious actions. Wallberg returns to the cave to find the creature cowering, terrified and cold. The creature responds appreciatively when Wallberg throws a cloak over its shoulders and gives it food. However, when he binds and strikes the creature, it breaks free bitterly exclaiming ‘I am the punishment of thy presumption,’ with the suggestion that God imbued the creature with speech. The monster’s utterance gives Wallberg pause— fully impressed with the truth of the few words he had heard, and thought he had impiously dared to mould the figure of a fellow creature, it was a supreme power that had imparted to it the principle of vitality, and would make it an instrument of retribution. (p. 103) Again, the immediate recognition of his actions differentiates Wallberg from his predecessors, underscoring the author’s awareness of the moralistic shortcomings of Mary Shelley and Peake’s Frankenstein.


It is precisely this type of moralisation that writers such as Green, Wilkinson and Lathom utilised to define themselves as moralists; Mary Shelley, while interested in instilling a moral, is more subtle in her inculcation of ‘conduct, manners, or morality’. In Frankenstein, morality is placed secondary to science and the modes of reasoning, but as Punter points she ‘took her moral and political purposes more seriously . . . she requires all the time to subject her narrative to intellectual scrutiny’ (p. 111). In drama or short fiction, rarely does the adaptor have the luxury of space to undergo an internal transformation of character, individuals are either moral or not. Distinctive in ‘The Monster Made By Man’ is the limited education the monster receives. He has no access to books, history or even music. Society shuns him, and his heart remains untutored. The creature is altogether less monstrous than Frankenstein’s monster and the unnamed in Peake’s drama. While the monster is there to punish Wallberg’s (Frankenstein’s) presumption, it is Wallberg’s own guilt that proves more destructive than the monster. Indeed, Wallberg possesses a degree of moral courage conspicuously absent in Frankenstein. Where the novel and the drama heap monstrous deeds upon monstrous deeds to underscore the moral cowardice of Frankenstein, heightening the wickedness of the monster, ‘The Monster Made By Man’ goes to great lengths to remind the reader that the monster is the consequence of presumption, not divine retribution gone awry. With the deaths of his mother and brother, Wallberg is driven to the verge of madness. In an effort to protect those ignorant of his impious deed, he encourages his friend Hartmann (Clerval) to marry Agnes (Elizabeth). As Wallberg slips into insanity, the monster acquires knowledge and understanding. In a twist of the novel and play, Wallberg seeks out the monster whom he acknowledges as a superior being— I will be thy pupil; what I learned, I learned from musty books, that puffed me up with vanity, and taught me to deceive myself. What thou knowest is from nature, and therefore drawn from a source of truth and purity; thou, therefore, must be the real philosopher, and so shall be my friend and master: come, then, let us away, and leave the hateful world to the ignorant fools who think they are wise. (p. 111) The two then embark on a journey through the mountains, only to be caught in an avalanche, their bodies recovered in what is now known as ‘Valley of the Monster’. The short tale’s ending is simply summed up


with the uniting of Agnes and Hartmann, and the understanding that moral strength is the best guard against presumption. ‘The Monster Made by Man’ tells us something more about the popular reception of the story of Frankenstein, it demonstrates the power of the trade Gothic to disseminate and perpetuate a tale. It is clear that imitations and adaptations are, at least in part, responsible for extending the life of Frankenstein as we know it today. More importantly, it illustrates how the novel, the bluebook and the magazine industries were inexorably linked – novel to chapbook, drama to novel, tales of terror to novel. By examining the conflict between the trade Gothic as below and after (illegitimate and disreputable) and the canon or art (legitimate and reputable), we can come to a greater understanding of the Gothic genre, but if we are to fully understand the Gothic we have to view the good novels with the awful, the ‘art’ and the ‘trade’. We need to lower our sights.

Appendix 1 Gothic Novels, 1800–1834

1. [Roche, John Hamilton] A Suffolk Tale; or, The Perfidious Guardian. London: Printed for the Author by T. Hookman, Jr and E. T. Hookman, 1810. 2. [Green, William Child] The Abbot of Montserrat; or, The Pool of Blood. A Romance. London: A. K. Newman, 1826. 3. [Pilkington, Miss] Accusing Spirit; or, De Courcy and Eglantine. A Romance. London: Minerva Press for William Lane, 1802. 4. [Lamb, Lady Caroline] Ada Reis: A Tale. London: John Murray, 1823. 5. [Ker, Anne] Adeline St. Julian; or, The Midnight Hour. London: J. Bonsor, 1800. 6. [Maturin, Charles Robert] The Albigenses: A Romance. London: Hurst, Robinson, 1824. 7. [Belll, Nugent?] Alexena; or, The Castle of Santa Marco. A Romance. London: Minerva Press for A. K. Newman, 1817. 8. [Parker, Mary Elizabeth] Alfred; or, The Adventures of the Knight of the Castle. A Novel. London: Apollo Press, 1802. 9. [Green, William Child] The Algerines; or, The Twins of Naples. London: A. K. Newman, 1832. 10. [Green, William Child] Alibeg the Tempter: A Tale Wild and Wonderful. London: A. K. Newman, 1831. 11. [Meeke, Mary] Amazement. A Novel. London: Minerva Press for Lane, Newman and Co., 1804. 12. [Davenport, Selina] An Angel’s Form and a Devil’s Heart. A Novel. London: Minerva Press for A. K. Newman, 1818. 13. [Brewer, James Norris] An Old Family Legend; or, One Husband and Two Marriages. A Romance. London: A. K. Newman and Co., 1811. 14. [Curties, T. J. Horsley] Ancient Records; or, The Abbey of St. Oswythe. A Romance. London: Minerva Press for William Lane, 1801. 15. [Meeke, Mary] Anecdotes of the Altamont Family. A Novel. London: Minerva Press for William Lane, 1800. 16. [Frances, Sophia] Angelo Guicciardini; or, The Bandit of the Alps: A Romance. London: Colburn, 1809. 17. [Armstrong, Leslie] The Anglo-Saxons; or, The Court of Ethelwulph, A Romance. London: Minerva Press for Lane, Newman, 1806. 18. [Croffts, Mrs] Ankerwick Castle: A Novel. London: Minerva Press for William Lane, 1800. 19. [Isaacs, Mrs] Ariel; or, The Invisible Monitor. London: Minerva Press for William Lane, 1801. 20. [Holstein, Anthony Frederick] The Assassin of St. Glenroy; or, The Axis of Life. A Novel. London: Minerva Press for A. K. Newman, 1810. 152

Appendix 1 153 21. [Lathom, Francis] Astonishment!!! A Romance of a Century Ago. London: T. N. Longman and O. Rees, 1802. 22. [Hales, J. M. H.] The Astrologer; or, The Eve of San Sebastian. A Romance. London: William Fearman, 1820. 23. [Haynes, Miss C. D.] Augustus and Adelina; or, The Monk of St. Barnadine. A Romance. London: Minerva Press for A. K. Newman, 1819. 24. The Avenger; or, The Sicilian Vespers: A Romance of the Thirteenth Century, Not Inapplicable to the Nineteenth. London: J. J. Stockdale, 1810. 25. The Bandit Chief; or, The Lords of Urvino. A Romance. London: Minerva Press for A. K. Newman, 1818. 26. The Baron De Courcy; or, Reading Abbey: A Legendary Tale. London: J. F. Hughes, 1808. 27. [Guénard, Elisabeth] Baron de Falkenheim, A German Tale of the Sixteenth Century. London: Minerva Press for Lane, Newman, and Co., 1807. 28. [Holloway, William] The Baron of Lauderbrooke. A Tale. London: Ann Lemoine, 1800. 29. [Kelly, Isabella] Baron’s Daughter: A Gothic Romance. London: J. Bell, 1802. 30. [Smith, Catherine] Barozzi; or, The Venetian Sorceress, A Romance of the Sixteenth Century. London: Minerva Press for A. K. Newman, 1815. 31. [White, T. H.] Belgrove Castle; or, The Horrid Spectre. A Romance. London: White and Lee, 1803. 32. [Melville, Theodore] The Benevolent Monk; or, The Castle of Olalla. A Romance. London: B. Crosby, 1807. 33. [Guénard, Elisabeth] The Black Banner; or, The Siege of Clagenfurth. A Romantic Tale. London: Minerva Press for A. K. Newman and Co., 1811. 34. The Black Convent; or, A Tale of Feudal Times. London: Minerva Press for A. K. Newman, 1819. 35. [Ball, Edward] The Black Robber: A Romance. London: Booth and Ball for A. K. Newman, 1819. 36. [By a Lady] The Bravo of Bohemia; or, The Black Forest. A Romance. London: Minerva Press for Lane, Newman and Co., 1806. 37. [Zschokke, Johann Heinrich; Lewis, Matthew Gregory (trans.)] The Bravo of Venice, a Romance: Translated from the German by M. G. Lewis. London: J. F. Hughes, 1805. 38. [Arnold, Ignaz Ferdinand; Geisweiler, Maria (trans.)] The Bride’s Embrace on the Grave; or, The Midnight Wedding in the Church of Mariengarten. London: G. Sidney, 1802. 39. [Huish, Robert] The Brothers; or, The Castle of Niolo, A Romance. London: William Emans, 1820. 40. [Harvey, Jane] Brougham Castle. A Novel. London: Minerva Press for A. K. Newman and Co., 1816. 41. [Ireland, William Henry] Bruno; or, The Sepulchral Summons. London: Earle and Hemet, 1804. 42. [Smith, Catherine] The Caledonian Bandit; or, The Heir of Duncaethal; A Romance of the Thirteenth Century. London: Newman, 1811. 43. [Green, Sarah] The Carthusian Friar; or, The Mysteries of Montaville. A Posthumous Romance. London: Sherwood, Neely, and Jones; C. Chapple, 1814. 44. [Manners, Mrs] Castle Nouvier; or, Henry and Adelaide. A Romance. London: B. Crosby, 1806.

154 Appendix 1 45. [Smith, Catherine] Castle of Aragon; or, The Banditti of the Forest. A Romance. London: Henry Colburn, 1809. 46. [Montague, Edward] The Castle of Berry-Pomeroy. A Novel. London: Minerva Press for Lane, Newman, 1806. 47. [F. H. P.] Castle of Caithness: A Romance of the Thirteenth Century. London: Minerva Press for Lane, Newman, 1802. 48. [Picard, Mary] The Castle of Roviego; or, Retribution. A Romance. London: J. Barfield for J. Booth, 1805. 49. The Castle of Santa Fe. A Novel. London: Minerva Press for Lane, Newman, 1805. 50. The Castle of St. Caranza. A Romance. London: Minerva Press for Lane, Newman, and Co., 1804. 51. [Beauclerc, Amelia] The Castle of Tariffa; or, The Self-banished Man. A Novel. London: B. Crosby, 1812. 52. [Roussel, Pierre Joseph Alexis; Lathom, Francis (trans.)] The Castle of the Tuileries; or, A Narrative of all the events which have taken place in the interior of that Palace, from the time of its construction to the eighteenth brumaire of the year VIII. Translated from the French. London: T. N. Longman and O. Rees, 1803. 53. [Harvey, Jane] The Castle of Tynemouth. A Tale. London: Vernor and Hood, 1806. 54. The Castle of Villa-Flora: A Portuguese Tale, from a manuscript lately found by a British officer of rank in an old mansion in Portugal. London: Minerva Press for A. K. Newman, 1819. 55. [Mills, Frances Mary] The Castle of Villeroy, A Romance. London: D. N. Shury, 1801. 56. [Ann of Kent] The Castle of Villeroy; or, The Bandit Chief. London: Published by W. Simpkin and R. Marshall, 1827. 57. [Horwood, Caroline] The Castle of Vivaldi; or, The Mysterious Injunction. A Novel. London: Minerva Press for A. K. Newman, 1810. 58. [Doherty, Ann] The Castles of Wolfnorth and Monteagle. London: Hookham, 1812. 59. [Ireland, William Henry] The Catholic; or, Arts and Deeds of the Popish Church, A Tale of the English History. London: Earle and Hemet, 1807. 60. [Stuart, Augusta Amelia] The Cava of Toledo; or, The Gothic Princess, An Historical Romance. London: Minerva Press for A. K. Newman, 1812. 61. The Cavern of Astolpho, A Spanish Romance. London: W. Simpkin and R. Marshall, 1815. 62. The Cavern of Strozzi. A Venetian Tale. London: William Lane, 1800. 63. [Hatton Curtis, Julia Ann Kemble] Cesario Rosalba; or, The Oath of Vengeance, A Romance. London: Minerva Press for A. K. Newman, 1819. 64. [Orlando] The Chamber of Death; or, The Fate Rosario, An Historical Romance of the Sixteenth Century. London: Minerva Press for A. K. Newman, 1809. 65. [Musgrave, Agnes] The Confession: A Novel. London: Apollo Press, 1801. 66. [Stanhope, Louisa Sidney] The Confessional of Valombre. A Romance. London: Minerva Press for A. K. Newman, 1812. 67. [Dacre, Charlotte] Confessions of the Nun of St. Omer. A Tale. London: J. F. Hughes, 1805. 68. [Frances, Sophia] Constance de Lindensdorf; or, The Force of Bigotry. A Tale. London: Minerva Press for Lane, Newman and Co., 1807. 69. [Howard, Charles] The Convent of St. Marc; A Romance. London: J. F. Hughes, 1808.

Appendix 1 155 70. [Wilkinson, Sarah] The Convent of the Grey Penitents; or, The Apostate Nun. A Romance. London: J. F. Hughes, 1810. 71. [Sheriffe, Sarah] Correlia; or, The Mystic Tomb. A Romance. London: Minerva Press for Lane, Newman, 1802. 72. [Stanhope, Louisa Sidney] The Corsair’s Bride: A Legend of the Sixteenth Century. London: A. K. Newman, 1830. 73. [Butler, Harriet] Count Eugenio; or, Fatal Errors: A Tale, Founded on Fact. London: J. F. Hughes, 1807. 74. [Mosse, Rouviere, Henrietta] Craigh-Melrose Priory; or, Memoirs of the Mount Linton Family. A Novel. London: Chapple, 1816. 75. The Curse of Ulrica; or The White Cross Knights of Riddarholmen. A Swedish Romance of the Sixteenth Century. London: Black, Parry and Co., 1815. 76. Dangerous Secrets. A Novel. London: Minerva Press for A. K. Newman and Co., 1815. 77. De Mowbray; or, The Stranger Knight. A Romance. London: A. K. Newman, 1823. 78. [Hales, J. M. H.] De Willenberg; or, The Talisman. A Tale of Mystery. London: A. K. Newman and Co., 1821. 79. [Green, Sarah] Deception: A Fashionable Novel. London: Sherwood, Neely, and Jones, 1813. 80. [Morley, G. T.] Deeds of Darkness; or, The Unnatural Uncle. A Tales of the Sixteenth Century; Including Interesting Memoirs, Founded on Facts. London: Tipper and Richards, 1805. 81. Dellingborough Castle; or, The Mysterious Recluse. A Novel. London: Minerva Press for Lane, Newman, 1806. 82. [Montague, Edward] The Demon of Sicily: A Romance. London: J. F. Hughes, 1807. 83. Hoffmann, Ernst Theodor Amadeus; Gillies, Robert Pierce (trans.), The Devil’s Elixir. Edinburgh: William Blackwood; London: T. Cadell, 1824. 84. [Stanhope, Louisa Sidney] Di Montranzo; or, The Novice of Corpus Domini. A Romance. London: Minerva Press for A. K. Newman, 1810. 85. [Roche, Regina Maria] The Discarded Son; or, Haunt of the Banditti. A Tale. London: Minerva Press for William Lane, 1807. 86. [Walker, George] Don Raphael: A Romance. London: Exton for C. Walker and T. Hurst, 1803. 87. Don Sancho; or, The Monk of Hennares, A Spanish Romance. London: J. F. Hughes, 1803. 88. [Young, Mary Julia] Donalda; or, The Witches of Glenshiel. A Caledonian Legend. London: J. F. Hughes, 1805. 89. [Evans, Robert] The Dream, or Noble Cambrians. A Novel. London: Minerva Press for William Lane, 1801. 90. [Tuck, Mary] Durston Castle; or, The Ghost of Eleonora. A Gothic Story. London: M. Tuck, Circulating Library, 1804. 91. [Ker, Ann] Edric the Forester; or, The Mysteries of the Haunted Chamber. An Historical Romance. London: J. F. Hughes, 1817. 92. [Singer, Mr] Edwin, or The Heir of Ælla. An Historical Romance. London: Minerva Press for Lane, Newman and Co., 1803. 93. [Haynes, Miss C. D.] Eleanor; or, The Spectre of St. Michael’s, A Romantic Tale. London: A. K. Newman, 1821. 94. [Parker, Emma] Elfrida, Heiress of Belgrove. A Novel. London: B. Crosby and Co., 1811.

156 Appendix 1 95. Elizabeth De Mowbray; or, The Heir of Douglas. A Romance of the Thirteenth Century. London: Minerva Press for A. K. Newman and Co., 1816. 96. [Polidori, John William] Ernestus Berchtold; or, The Modern Oedipus. A Tale. London: Longman, Hurst, Rees, Orme, and Brown, 1819. 97. Eustace Fitz-Richard: A Tale of the Baron’s War. London: A. K. Newman and Co., 1826. 98. [Beauclerc, Amelia] Eva of Cambria; or, The Fugitive Daughter. A Novel. London: Minerva Press for A. K. Newman, 1811. 99. [Neri, Mary Anne] The Eve of San-Pietro. A Tale. London: T. Cadell and W. Davies, 1804. 100. Eversfield Abbey; A Novel. London: Crosby and Co., 1806. 101. [Hanway, Mary Ann] Falconbridge Abbey. A Devonshire Story. London: Minerva Press for Lane, Newman and Co., 1809. 102. [Jones, Harriet] The Family of Santraile; or, Heir of Montault. A Romance. London: J. Cawthorn, 1809. 103. [Porter, Anna Maria] The Fast of St. Magdalen. A Romance. London: Longman, Hurst, Rees, Orme, and Brown, 1818. 104. [Forster, A. V.] Fatal Ambition; or, The Mysteries of the Caverns. A Romance of the Thirteenth Century. London: Thomas Tegg, 1811. 105. [Maturin, Charles Robert] The Fatal Revenge; or, The Family of Montorio. A Romance. London: Longman, Hurst, Rees, Orme, 1807. 106. [King, Sophia, afterwards Fortnum] The Fatal Secret; or, Unknown Warrior; A Romance of the Twelfth Century, with Legendary Poems. London: Printed for the Author, by J. G. Barnard, 1801. 107. [Lathom, Francis] The Fatal Vow; or, St. Michael’s Monastery, A Romance. London: B. Crosby, 1807. 108. [Vanzee, Maria] Fate; or, Spong Castle. London: Printed for Parsons and Son, Circulating Library, 1803. 109. Faulconstein Forest: A Romantic Tale. London: T. Hookham and E. T. Hookman, 1810. 110. [Green, Sarah] The Festival of St. Jago: A Spanish Romance. London: Minerva Press for A. K. Newman, 1810. 111. [Naubert, Christiane Benedicte Eugenie; Lewis, Matthew Gregory (trans.)] Feudal Tyrants; or, The Counts of Carlsheim and Sargans. A Romance. Taken from the German. London: J. F. Hughes, 1806. 112. [Huish, Robert] Fitzallan. London: Thomas Kelly, 1832. 113. [Williams, William Frederick] Fitzmaurice: A Novel. London: J. Murray, 1800. 114. [Linley, William] Forbidden Apartments. A Tale. London: Minerva Press for William Lane, 1800. 115. [Sheriffe, Sarah] The Forest of Hohenhelbe: A Tale. London: Minerva Press for Lane and Newman, 1803. 116. [Cuthbertson, Catherine] The Forest of Montalbano. A Novel. London: George Robinson, 1810. 117. [Hamilton, Ann Mary] Forest of St. Bernardo. A Novel. London: J. F. Hughes, 1806. 118. [Darling, Peter Middleton] The Forest of Valancourt, or, The Haunt of the Banditti: A Romance. Edinburgh: Printed by J. Hay and Co. for Author, 1813. 119. [Shelley, Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin] The Fortunes of Perkin Warbeck. London: Henry Colburn and Richard Bentley, 1830.

Appendix 1 157 120. [Shelley, Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin] Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus. London: Lackington, Hughes, Harding, Mavor, and Jones, 1818. 121. [Bernard, William Bayle] The Freebooter’s Bride; or, The Black Pirate of the Mediterranean: Including the Mystery of the Morescoes, A Romance. London: A. K. Newman, 1829. 122. [Mortimer, Edward] The Friar Hildargo. A Legendary Tale. London: J. F. Hughes, 1807. 123. [Wilkinson, Sarah] The Fugitive Countess; or, The Convent of St. Ursula. A Romance. London: J. F. Hughes, 1807. 124. [Smith, Maria Lavinia] The Fugitive of the Forest. A Romance. London: Minerva Press for William Lane, 1801. 125. [Radcliffe, Ann] Gaston De Blondeville; or, The Court of Henry III Keeping Festival in Ardennes. A Romance. London: Henry Colburn, 1826. 126. [Lyttleton, Mr] German Sorceress. A Romance. London: Minerva Press for Lane, Newman, 1803. 127. [English, John] The Grey Friar and the Black Spirit of the Wye. A Romance. London: Minerva Press for A. K. Newman, 1810. 128. The Ghost of Harcourt: A Romance. London: Minerva Press for Lane, Newman, 1803. 129. [Lamb, Lady Caroline] Glenarvon. London: Henry Colburn, 1816. 130. [Isaac, Mrs] Glenmore Abbey; or, The Lady of the Rock. A Novel. London: Minerva Press for Lane, Newman, 1805. 131. [Ireland, William Henry] Gondez the Monk: A Romance of the Thirteenth Century. London: W. Earle and J. W. Hucklebridge, 1805. 132. [Hatton Curties, Anne Julia Kemble] Gonzalo de Baldivia; or, A Widow’s Vow. A Romantic Legend. London: Minerva Press for A. K. Newman, 1817. 133. Gothic Legends. A Romance. London: J. F. Hughes, 1809. 134. [Matthews, Charlotte] Griffith Abbey; or, The Memoirs of Eugenia. London: Oddy and Godwin, 1807. 135. [Lucas, Charles] Gwelydordd; or, The Child of Sin. A Tale of Welsh Origins. London: Minerva Press for A. K. Newman, 1820. 136. Hatred; or, The Vindictive Father, A Tale of Sorrow. London: Minerva Press for Lane and Newman, 1802. 137. [Yorke, Mrs R. M. P.] The Haunted Palace; or, The Horrors of Ventoliene. A Romance. London: Earle and Hemet, 1801. 138. [Craik, Helen] Henry of Northumberland; or, The Hermit’s Cell, A Tale of the Fifteenth Century. London: Minerva Press for William Lane, 1800. 139. The Hermit of the Wood; or, The Intrigues of Armanda. London: J. F. Hughes, 1808. 140. [Edridge, Rebecca] The Highest Castle and the Lowest Cave; or, Events of the Days Which are Gone. London: Geo. B. Whittaker, 1825. 141. [Vulpius, Christian August; Hinckley, John (trans.)] The History of Rinaldo Rinaldini, Captain of Banditti. Translated from the German of Vulpius. London: Longman and Rees, 1800. 142. [Charlton, Mary] The Homicide. A Novel. London: Minerva Press for Lane, Newman, 1805. 143. [Jamieson, Frances] The House of Ravenspur: A Romance. London: G. & W. B. Whittaker, 1822. 144. [Roche, Regina Maria] The Houses of Osma and Almeria; or, Convent of St. Ildefonso. A Tale. London: Minerva Press for A. K. Newman, 1810.

158 Appendix 1 145. [By a Northern Briton] Howard Castle; or a Romance from the Mountains. London: Minerva Press for A. K. Newman, 1817. 146. [Layton, Mrs Frederick] Hulme Abbey. London: William Fearman, 1820. 147. [Sheriffe, Sarah] Humbert Castle; or, The Romance of the Rhone. A Novel. London: Minerva Press for William Lane, 1800. 148. [Radcliffe, Mary Anne or Ker, Louisa Theresa Bellenden] Ida of Austria; or The Knights of the Holy Cross. A Romance. London: Earle, Taylor & Co., 1812. 149. Idiot Heiress. A Novel. London: Minerva Press for Lane, Newman, 1805. 150. [Lathom, Francis] The Impenetrable Secret, Find it Out! A Novel. London: Minerva Press for Lane, Newman, 1805. 151. [Lucas, Charles] The Infernal Quixote: A Tale of the Day. London: Minerva Press for William Lane, 1801. 152. [Lathy, Thomas Pike] The Invisible Enemy; or, The Mines of Wielitska, A Polish Legendary Romance. London: Minerva Press for Lane, Newman, 1806. 153. [Melville, Theodore] The Irish Chieftain, and his Family. A Romance. London: Minerva Press for Lane, Newman and Co., 1809. 154. [Mac Kenzie, Anna Maria] The Irish Guardian; or, The Errors of Eccentricity. London: Longman, Hurst, Rees, Orme, 1809. 155. [Marshall, Thomas] The Irish Necromancer; or, Deer Park. A Novel. London: A. K. Newman, 1821. 156. [Hunt, J. P.] The Iron Mask; or, The Adventures of a Father and Son. A Romance. London: Minerva Press for A. K. Newman, 1809. 157. [Cowley, Hannah Parkhouse] The Italian Marauders. A Romance. London: J. Dean for George Hughes, 1810. 158. [Lathom, Francis] Italian Mysteries; or, More Secrets Than One. A Romance. London: Minerva Press for A. K. Newman, 1820. 159. [Davenport, Selina] Italian Vengeance and English Forebearance. A Romance. London: A. K. Newman, 1828. 160. [Somerset, Henry] Jaqueline of Olzenberg; or, Final Retribution. A Romance. London: Chapple and R. Dutton, 1800. 161. [Jullien, Jean-Auguste; Barnby, Mrs (trans.)] Kerwald Castle; or, The Memoirs of the Marquis des Solanges. London: Maidstone; Printed for the Author by D. Chalmers, 1803. 162. [De Quincey, Thomas] Klosterheim; or, The Masque. London: T. Cadell, 1832. 163. [Soane, George] Knight Daemon and Robber Chief. London: Sherwood, Neely, and Jones, 1812. 164. [Doherty, Ann] The Knight of the Glen: An Irish Romance. London: G. Walker, 1815. 165. [Ward, Catherine George] The Knight of the White Banner; or, The Secrets of the Castle. London: C. Baynes, 1827. 166. [Dallas, Robert Charles] The Knights: Tales Illustrative of the Marvellous. London: Longman, Hurst, Rees, Orme, 1808. 167. [Hasworth, H. H.] Lady of the Cave; or, The Mysteries of the Fourteenth Century, An Historical Romance. London: Minerva Press for Lane and Newman, 1802. 168. [Meeke, Mary] Langhton Priory. A Novel. London: Minerva Press for Lane, Newman, 1809. 169. [Shelley, Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin] The Last Man. London: Henry Colburn, 1826. 170. [Brydges, Sir Samuel Egerton] Le Forester, A Novel. London: J. White, 1802.

Appendix 1 159 171. [Montague Edward] Legends of a Nunnery: A Romantic Legend. London: J. F. Hughes, 1807. 172. [Dacre, Charlotte] The Libertine: A Novel. London: T. Cadell and W. Davies, 1807. 173. [Hernon, G. D.] Louisa; or, The Black Tower. A Novel. London: W. Gordon, 1805. 174. Louisa; or, The Orphan of Lenox Abbey. London: J. Booth, 1807. 175. [Lathy, Thomas Pike] Love, Hatred, and Revenge; A Swiss Romance. London: A. K. Newman, 1809. 176. [Holstein, Anthony Frederick] Love, Mystery, and Misery! A Novel. London: Minerva Press for A. K. Newman, 1810. 177. [Stuart, Augusta Amelia] Ludovico’s Tale; or, The Black Banner of Castle Douglas: A Novel. London: Hughes, 1808. 178. Lusignan; or, The Abbaye of La Trappe. A Novel. London: Minerva Press for William Lane, 1801. 179. [Mosse, Henrietta Rouviere] Lussington Abbey. A Novel. London: Minerva Press for Lane, Newman, 1804. 180. Mandeville Castle; or, The Two Elinors. London: Printed for J. Booth, 1807. 181. [Radcliffe, Mary Anne or Ker, Louisa Theresa Bellenden] Manfrone; or The One-Handed Monk. A Romance. London: J. F. Hughes, 1809. 182. [Sykes, Mrs] Margiana; or, Widdrington Tower, A Tale of the Fifteenth Century. London: Minerva Press for Lane, Newman, 1808. 183. [Mackenzie, Anna Maria] Martin & Mansfeldt, or The Romance of Franconia. London: Minerva Press for Lane and Newman, 1802. 184. [Somerset, Henry] Martyn of Fenrose; or, The Wizard and the Sword. A Romance. London: R. Dutton, 1801. 185. [Sicklemore, Richard] Mary-Jane. A Novel. London: Printed for the Author at the Minerva Press for William Lane, 1800. 186. [Maturin, Charles Robert] Melmoth the Wanderer: A Tale. London: Hurst and Robinson, 1820. 187. [Campbell, Margaret] The Midnight Wanderer; or A Legend of the Houses of Altenberg and Lindendorf. A Romance. London: A. K. Newman, 1821. 188. [Meeke, Mary] Midnight Weddings. A Novel. London: Minerva Press for William Lane, 1802. 189. Midsummer Eve, or The Country Wake. A Tale of the Sixteenth Century. Newcastle upon Tyne: Printed for the Author by Edward Walker, 1800. 190. [Maturin, Charles Robert] The Milesian Chief. A Romance. London: Henry Colburn, 1812. 191. [Harvey, Jane] Minerva Castle. A Tale. London: Minerva Press for Lane and Newman, 1802. 192. [By a Young Lady] The Monastery of Gondolfo. A Romance. Limerick: Printed by John and Thomas M’Auliff, at the Circulating Library, near the Exchange, 1801. 193. [Roche, Regina Maria] The Monastery of St. Columb; or, The Atonement. A Novel. London: Minerva Press for William Lane, 1813. 194. [Sands, James] Monckton; or, The Fate of Eleanor. London: G. and J. Robinson, 1801. 195. [Pigault-Lebrun, Charles-Antoine?] Monk of the Grotto; or, Eugenio and Virginia. A Tale. London: Minerva Press for William Lane, 1800. 196. [Curties, T. J. Horsley] The Monk of Udolpho, A Romance. London: J. F. Hughes, 1807.

160 Appendix 1 197. [Meeke, Mary?] The Monks and the Robbers: A Tales of the Fifteenth Century. London: George Robinson, 1808. 198. [Hamilton, Ann Mary] Montalva; or, The Annals of Guilt. A Tale. London: N. L. Pannier, 1811. 199. [Stanhope, Louisa Sidney] Montbrasil Abbey; or, Maternal Trials. A Tale. London: Minerva Press, 1806. 200. [Rice, Mrs] Monteith, A Novel, Founded on Scottish History. Grainsborough: H. Mozley, 1805. 201. [Mortimer, Edward (pseudonym)] Montoni; or, The Confessions of the Monk of Saint Benedict. A Romance. London: J. F. Hughes, 1808. 202. [Chilcot, Harriet] Moreton Abbey; or, The Fatal Mystery, A Posthumous Romance. Southampton: T. Baker; London: J. Brew, 1800. 203. [Young, Mary Julia] Moss Cliff Abbey; or, The Sepulchral Harmonist, A Mysterious Tale. London: J. F. Hughes, 1803. 204. [Harvey, Jane] Mountalyth, A Tale. London: Printed for Baldwin, Cradock, and Joy, 1823. 205. [Brewer, James Norris] Mountville Castle, A Village Story. London: Corri & Co., 1808. 206. [Hervey, Elizabeth] The Mourtray Family. A Novel. London: Printed by Millar Ritchie, 1800. 207. [Bounden, Joseph] The Murderer; or, The Fall of Lecas. A Tale. London: Minerva Press for Lane, Newman, 1808. 208. [Huish, Robert] The Mysteries of Ferney Castle: A Romance of the Fifteenth Century. London: Henry Colburn, 1810. 209. [Moore, Edward] The Mysteries of Hungary: A Romantic History of the Fifteenth Century. London: Minerva Press for A. K. Newman, 1817. 210. [Ward, Catherine George] The Mysteries of St. Clair; or, Mariette Mouline. London: Jaques and Wright, 1823. 211. [Houghton, Mary] The Mysteries of the Forest: A Novel. London: A. K. Newman, 1810. 212. [Ratcliffe, Eliza] The Mysterious Baron, or The Castle in the Forest, A Gothic Story. London: Minerva Press for Lane, Newman, 1808. 213. [Ker, Anne] The Mysterious Count; or, Montville Castle. A Romance. London: D. N. Shury, 1803. 214. [Lathom, Francis] The Mysterious Freebooter; or, The Days of Queen Bess. A Romance. London: Minerva Press for Lane, Newman, 1806. 215. [Crandolph, Augustus] The Mysterious Hand; or, Subterranean Horrours, A Romance. London: Minerva Press for A. K. Newman, 1811. 216. [Meeke, Mary] The Mysterious Husband. A Novel. London: Minerva Press for William Lane, 1801. 217. [Bolen, C. A.] The Mysterious Monk; or, The Wizard’s Tower. An Historical Romance. London: A. K. Newman, 1826. 218. Mysterious Penitent; or, The Norman Chateau, A Romance. London: Crosby and Letterman, 1800. 219. [Parsons, Eliza] The Mysterious Visit: A Novel Founded on Facts. Brentford, England: P. Norbury, 1802. 220. [Guénard, Elisabeth] Mystery upon Mystery: A Tale of Earlier Times. London: Minerva Press for Lane, Newman, 1808. 221. [Lathom, Francis] Mystery: A Novel. London: H. D. Symonds, 1800.

Appendix 1 161 222. [Gaspey, Thomas] The Mystery; or, Forty Years Ago. A Novel. London: Longman, Hurst, Rees, Orme, and Brown, 1820. 223. [Lathom, Francis] Mystic Events; or, The Vision of the Tapestry, A Romantic Legend of the Days of Anne Boleyn. London: Minerva Press for A. K. Newman, 1830. 224. [Palmer, John, Jr] The Mystic Sepulchre; or, Such Things Have Been, A Spanish Romance. London: J. F. Hughes, 1807. 225. [Dutton, Thomas] The Necromancer. Battle: T. Garland, 1819. 226. [Purbeck, Jane] Neville Castle; or, The Generous Cambrians. London: T. Plummer and J. Cawthorne, 1802. 227. [Wilkinson, Sarah] New Tales. London: Mathew Iley, 1819. 228. [Sleath, Eleanor] The Nocturnal Minstrel; or, The Spirit of the Wood. A Romance. London: Minerva Press for A. K. Newman, 1810. 229. [Roche, Regina Maria] Nocturnal Visit: A Tale. London: Minerva Press for William Lane, 1800. 230. [Owenson, Sydney] Novice of St. Dominick. London: T. Gillet for Richard Phillips, 1806. 231. [Pilkington, Mary] The Novice; or, The Heir of Montgomery Castle. A Novel. London: Minerva Press for A. K. Newman, 1814. 232. [Frances, Sophia] The Nun of Misericordia; or, The Eve of All Saints. A Romance. London: Minerva Press for Lane, Newman, 1807. 233. [Stanhope, Louisa Sidney] The Nun of Santa Maria di Tindaro. A Tale. London: Minerva Press for A. K. Newman, 1818. 234. [Acton, Eugenia, de (psuedonym of Alethea Brereton Lewis)] Nuns of the Desert; or, The Woodland Witches. London: Minerva Press for William Lane, 1805. 235. [Ziegenhirt, Sophia F.] The Orphan of Tintern Abbey. A Novel. London: Minerva Press for A. K. Newman, 1816. 236. [Sicklemore, Richard] Osrick; or Modern Horrors. London: Minerva Press for Lane, Newman, 1809. 237. [Gaspey, Thomas] Other Times; or, The Monks of Leadenhall. London: Longman, Hurst, Rees, Orme, and Brown, 1823. 238. [Sullivan, Mary Ann] Owen Castle; or, Which is the Heroine? A Novel. London: Minerva Press for A. K. Newman, 1816. 239. [Dacre, Charlotte] The Passions. London: T. Cadell & W. Davies, 1811. 240. [Parsons, Eliza] The Peasant of Ardenne Forest: A Novel. Brentford: P. Norbury, 1801. 241. [Haynes, D. F.] Pierre and Adeline; or, The Romance of the Castle. London: B. Crosby, 1814. 242. [Helme, Elizabeth] The Pilgrim of the Cross; or, The Chronicles of Chrtistabelle de Mowbray. An Ancient Legend. Brentford: P. Norbury, 1805. 243. [Charlton, Mary] The Pirate of Naples. A Novel. London: Minerva Press for William Lane, 1801. 244. [Millikin, Anna] Plantagenet; or, Secrets of the House of Anjou. A Tale of the Twelfth Century. Cork: Printed by J. Connor Circulating Library, 1802. 245. [Zschokke, Johann Heinrich] The Polish Chieftain: A Romance. London: J. F. Hughes, 1806. 246. [St Hilaire, Bridget] The Priory of Saint Mary. A Romance Founded on Days of Old. London: Printed by J. Dean, 1810. 247. [Smith, Julia] The Prison of Montauban; or, Times of Terror, A Reflective Tale. London: Craddock, 1810.

162 Appendix 1 248. [Hogg, James] The Private Memoirs and Confessions of a Justified Sinner. London: Longman, Hurst, Rees, Orme, and Brown, 1824. 249. [Green, William Child] The Prophecy of Duncannon, or The Dwarf and the Seer: A Caledonian Legend. London: Printed by J. M’Gowan, 1824. 250. [Sleath, Eleanor] Pyrenean Banditti: A Romance. London: Minerva Press for A. K. Newman, 1811. 251. [Sicklemore, Richard] Rashleigh Abbey; or, The Ruin on the Rock. A Romance. London: Minerva Press for Lane, Newman, 1805. 252. [Wentworth, Zara] The Recluse of Albyn Hall. A Novel. London: Minerva Press for A. K. Newman and Co., 1819. 253. [Huish, Robert] The Red Barn: A Tale Founded on Fact. London: Knight and Lacey, 1828. 254. [Siddons, Henry] Reginald de Torby and the Twelve Robbers. A Romance. London: Minerva Press for Lane, Newman, 1803. 255. [Fletcher, Grenville] Rhodomaldi; or, The Castle of Roveggiano! A Romance. London: J. C. Spence, 1822. 256. [Young, Mary Julia] Right and Wrong; or, The Kinsmen of Naples. A Romantic Story. London: Crosby & Co., 1803. 257. [Ireland, William Henry] Rimualdo; or, The Castle of Badajos. A Romance. London: T. N. Longman and O. Rees, 1800. 258. [West, Jane] Ringrove; or, Old Fashioned Notioned. London: Longman, Rees, Orme & Brown, 1827. 259. [Millikin, Anna] The Rival Chiefs; or, Battle of Mere. A Tale of Ancient Times. Cork: J. Connors, 1804. 260. [Porter, Anna Maria] Roche-Blanche; or, The Hunters of the Pyrenees. A Romance. London: Longman, Hurst, Rees, Orme, and Brown, 1822. 261. [Yorke, Mrs R. M. P.] The Romance of Smyrna; or, The Prediction Fulfilled!!! London: Earle and Hemet, 1801. 262. The Romance of the Apennines. London: Henry Colburn, 1808. 263. [Elson, Jane] Romance of the Castle. London: Minerva Press for William Lane, 1800. 264. [Lathom, Francis] The Romance of the Hebrides; or, Wonders Never Cease! London: Minerva Press for A. K. Newman, 1809. 265. [Darling, Peter Middleton] The Romance of the Highlands. Edinburgh: Printed by George Ramsay and Co. for the Author, 1810. 266. [Cuthbertson, Catherine] Romance of the Pyrenees. London: G. and J. Robinson, 1803. 267. [Lewis, Matthew Gregory] Romantic Tales. London: Longman, Hurst, Rees, Orme, 1808. 268. [Ainsworth, William] Rookwood. London: Richard Bentley, 1834. 269. [Woodfall, Sophia] Rosa; or, The Child of the Abbey. A Novel. London: J. F. Hughes, 1805. 270. [Rhodes, Henrietta] Rosalie; or, The Castle of Montalabretti. London: Longman, Hurst, Rees, Orme, 1811. 271. [Fletcher, Grenville] Rosalviva; or, The Demon Dwarf, A Romance. London: Longman 1824. 272. [Saint Victor, Helen] The Ruins of Rigonda; or, The Homicidal Father. London: Chapple, 1808.

Appendix 1 163 273. [Haynes, Miss C. D.] The Ruins of Ruthvale Abbey. A Novel. London: A. K. Newman, 1827. 274. Ruins of St. Oswald. London: Vernor and Hood, 1800. 275. [Clifford, Francis] The Ruins of Tivoli: A Romance. London: J. F. Hughes, 1810. 276. [Kelly, Isabella] Ruthinglenne; or, The Critical Moment. A Novel. London: Minerva Press for William Lane, 1801. 277. [Croly, George] Salathiel: A Story of the Past, Present, and the Future. London: Henry Colburn, 1828. 278. [Croffts, Mrs] Salvador, or Baron de Montbelliard. London: Minerva Press for William Lane, 1801. 279. [Cuthbertson, Catherine] Santo Sebastiano; or, The Young Protector. A Novel. London: George Robinson, 1806. 280. [Porter, Jane] The Scottish Chiefs. A Romance. London: T. N. Longman, Hurst, Rees, and Orme, 1810. 281. [Curties, T. J. Horsley] The Scottish Legend, or the Isle of Saint Clothair. A Romance. London: Minerva Press for William Lane, 1802. 282. [Loney, T. C.] Sebastian and Isabel; or, the Invisible Sword. A Romance. London: Henry Colburn, 1807. 283. [Hatton Curtis, Julia Ann Kemble], The Secret Avengers; or, The Rock of Glotzden. A Romance. London: Minerva Press for A. K. Newman, 1815. 284. [Hook, Sarah Ann] Secret Machinations. A Novel. London: R. Dutton, 1804. 285. [Burke, Anne] The Secret of the Cavern. A Novel. London: Minerva Press for Lane, Newman, 1805. 286. [Carey, David] The Secrets of the Castle; or, The Adventures of Charles D’Almaine. London: B. Crosby, 1806. 287. [Stanhope, Louisa Sidney] The Seer of Tiviotdale. A Romance. London: A. K. Newman, 1827. 288. [Gooch, Elizabeth Sarah Villa-Real] Sherwood Forest; or Northern Adventures. A Novel. London: S. Highley, 1804. 289. [Hatton Curtis, Julia Ann Kemble] Sicilian Mysteries; or, The Forest Del Vechii. A Romance. London: Henry Colburn, 1812. 290. [Stanhope, Louisa Sidney] The Siege of Kenilworth: An Historical Romance. London: A. K. Newman, 1824. 291. [Cuthbertson, Catherine] Sir Ethelbert; or, The Dissolution of the Monasteries, A Romance. London: Longman, Rees, Orme, Brown, and Green, 1830. 292. [Dallas, Robert Charles] Sir Francis Darrell; or, The Vortex. A Novel. London: Longman, Hurst, Rees, and Orme, 1820. 293. [Brown, Elizabeth Cullen] The Sisters of St. Gothard. A Tale. London: Minerva Press for A. K. Newman, 1819. 294. [Siddons, Henry] The Son of the Storm. A Tale. London: G. A. Wall for Longman, Hurst, Rees, and Orme, 1809. 295. [Herbert, William] The Spanish Outlaw, A Tale. London: J. F. Hughes, 1807. 296. [Wilkinson, Sarah] The Spectre of Lanmere Abbey; or, The Mystery of the Blue and Silver Bag. A Romance. London: W. Mason, 1820. 297. The Spectre of the Mountain of Grenada. A Romance. London: George Hughes, 1811. 298. [Proby, William Charles] Spirit of the Castle. A Romance. London: Crosby and Letterman, 1800.

164 Appendix 1 299. The Spirit of Turretville; or, The Mysterious Resemblance. A Romance of the Twelfth Century. London: J. D. Dewick; or R. Dutton, Cornhill, 1800. 300. [Curties, T. J. Horsley] St. Botolph’s Priory; or, The Sable Mask, An Historical Romance. London: J. F. Hughes, 1806. 301. [Helme, Elizabeth] St. Clair of the Isles; or, The Outlaws of Barra, A Scottish Tradition. London: Longman and Rees, 1803. 302. [Shelley, Percy Bysshe] St. Irvyne; or, The Rosicrucian, A Romance. London: J. J. Stockdale, 1811. 303. [Helme Elizabeth] St. Margaret’s Cave; or, The Nun’s Story, An Ancient Legend. London: Earle and Hemet, 1801. 304. [Ross, Mrs] The Strangers of Linderfeldt; or, Who is my Father? A Novel. London: Minerva Press for A. K. Newman, 1813. 305. [Mac Kenzie, Anna Maria] Swedish Mysteries; or, The Hero of the Mines of Delecarlia. A Tale. London: Minerva Press for William Lane, 1801. 306. [St John, Andrew] Tales of Former Times. London: Crosby and Co., 1808. 307. [Kendall, Mrs] Tales of the Abbey: Founded on Historical Facts. London: H. D. Symonds, 1800. 308. [Moore, George] Theodosius de Zulvin, the Monk of Madrid: A Spanish Tale Delineating Various Traits of the Human Mind. London: G. & J. Robinson, 1802. 309. [Meeke, Mary] There is a Secret, Find it out! A Novel. London: Minerva Press for Lane, Newman, 1808. 310. Theresa; or, The Wizard’s Fate. A Romance. London: Minerva Press for A. K. Newman, 1815. 311. [Pickersgill, Joshua, Jr] Three Brothers: A Romance. London: John Stockdale, 1803. 312. [Thomson, Alexander] The Three Ghosts of the Forest: A Tale of Horror, An Original Romance. London: J. Ker, 1803. 313. [Walker, George] Three Spaniards, A Romance. London: G. Walker and Hurst, 1800. 314. [Hitchener, William Henry] The Towers of Ravenswold; or, Days of Ironside. A Romance. London: C. Chapple, 1813. 315. [Stanhope, Louisa Sidney] Treachery; or, The Grave of Antoinette. A Romance. London: Minerva Press for A. K. Newman, 1815. 316. [Lathom, Francis] The Unknown; or, The Northern Gallery. A Romance. London: Minerva Press for Lane, Newman, 1808. 317. [Tuckett, T. R.] Urbino; or, The Vaults of Lepanto: A Romance. London: Minerva Press for A. K. Newman, 1814. 318. [Lathy, Thomas Pike] Usurpation; or, The Inflexible Uncle. A Novel. London: Minerva Press for Lane, Newman, 1805. 319. [Yorke, Mrs R. M. P.] Valley of Collares; or, The Cavern of Horrors. A Romance. London: Minerva Press for the Author, 1800. 320. Valombrosa; or, The Venetian Nun. A Novel. London: Minerva Press for Lane, Newman, 1805. 321. [Polidori, John William] The Vampyre; A Tale. London: Sherwood, Neely, and Jones, 1819. 322. [Bennett, Agnes Maria] Vicissitudes Abroad; or, The Ghost of my Father. A Novel. London: Minerva Press for Lane, Newman, 1806. 323. [Seldon, Catherine] Villa Nova; or, The Ruined Castle. A Romance. London: Minerva Press for Lane, Newman, 1805.

Appendix 1 165 324. [Thomas, Elizabeth] The Vindictive Spirit. A Novel. London: Minerva Press for A. K. Newman and Co., 1812. 325. [Selden, Catharine] Villasantelle; or The Curious Impertinent. A Romance. London: A. K. Newman, 1817. 326. [Frances, Sophia L.] Vivonio; or, The Hour of Retribution. A Romance. London: Minerva Press for Lane, Newman, 1806. 327. [Bolen, C. A.] Walter the Murderer; or, The Mysteries of El Dorado. An Historical Romance. London: Minerva Press for A. K. Newman, 1827. 328. [Holford, Margaret] Warbeck of Wolfstein. London: Rodwell and Martin, 1820. 329. [Harvey, Jane] Warkfield Castle. A Tale. London: Minerva Press for Lane and Newman, 1802. 330. [Curties, T. J. Horsley] The Watch Tower; or, The Sons of Ulthona. An Historical Romance. Brentford: P. Norbury, 1803. 331. [Melville, Theodore] The White Knight; or, The Monastery of the Morne. A Romance. London: Crosby & Letterman, 1802. 332. [Sleath, Eleanor] Who’s the Murderer? or, The Mystery of the Forest. A Novel. London: Minerva Press for William Lane, 1802. 333. [Maturin, Charles Robert] The Wild Irish Boy. London: Hurst, Rees, Orme, 1808. 334. [Owenson, Sydney] The Wild Irish Girl: A National Tale. London: Richard Phillips, 1806. 335. [Musgrave, Agnes] William de Montfort; or, The Sicilian Heiress. London: George Richards, 1808. 336. [Brewer, George] The Witch of Ravensworth: A Romance. London: J. F. Hughes, 1808. 337. [Williams, William Frederick] The Witcheries of Craig Isaf. London: Minerva Press for Lane, Newman, 1805. 338. [Poynet, Quintin] The Wizard Priest and the Witch. A Romance. London: A. K. Newman, 1822. 339. [Wächter, Georg Philipp Ludwig Leonhard; Powell, James (trans.)] Wolf; or, the Tribunal of Blood. A Romance. London: Johnson, 1806. 340. [Williams, William Frederick] The World We Live In. A Novel. London: Minerva Press for Lane, Newman, 1804. 341. [Shelley, Percy Bysshe] Zastrozzi: A Romance. London: G. Wilkie and J. Robinson, 1810. 342. [Dacre, Charlotte] Zofloya; or, The Moor, A Romance of the Fifteenth Century. London: Longman, Hurst, Rees, Orme, 1806.

Appendix 2 Gothic Bluebooks, 1799–1835

1. The Abbess of St. Hilda. A Dismal, Dreadful Horrid Story! London: J. Ker, 1800. 2. The Adopted Child; or, The Castle of St. Villereagh. London: Ann Lemoine and J. Roe, 1805. 3. The Adventures of General Hutchinson and Serinda, the Fair Georgian. London: J. Lee, 1802. 4. The Adventure of Dorastus and Fawnia. London: M’Kenzie, n.d. 5. The Affecting History of Louisa, the Wandering Maniac, or, ‘Lady of the hay-stack’. London: A. Neil, 1804. 6. Agnes de Castro; or, The Innocent Victim. A Portuguese Romance. London: J. Lee, n.d. 7. Albani; or, The Murderer of his Child. London: Tegg and Castleman, 1803.* 8. Albert of Werdendorff; or, The Midnight Embrace, from the German. To which is added, The danger of pleasures. Newcastle: M. Angus & Son, 1812. 9. Alfred the Great. London: John Arliss, 1809. 10. Algernon and Caroline. London: Hodgson, 1820. 11. Allanrod; or, The Mysterious Freebooter: An Historical Tale of the Sixteenth Century. London: 1806. 12. Almagro & Claude; or Monastic Murder. London: Tegg and Castleman, 1803; London: Dean & Munday, 1803. 13. Alphonso and Elinor, or The Mysterious Discovery. A Tale. London: J. Ker, 1800. 14. The Alpine Wanderers; or, The Vindictive Relative. London: J. Scales, 1820. 15. Angelina; or, Mystic Captives: A Romantic Fragment. Added to ‘Seduction; or, The triumph of reconciliation’. London: Lewis and Hamblin, 1808. 16. Arthur and Ellinor; or, The Fatal Effects of Feudal Quarrels: A Romance. London: J. Lee, 1810. 17. Arthur and Mary; or, The Fortunate Fugitives. London: B. Crosby and Co., 1803. 18. The Astrologer; or, The Prediction of Guy Mannering, A Tale. Glasgow: Richard Griffen, MDCCCXXXVI. 19. Augustus; or, The Benevolent Rambler. London: Ann Lemoine, n.d. 20. The Avenger, or, Mysterious Assassin. London: Dean & Munday, 1810, 1822. 21. The Avenger; or, Sicilian Vespers, A Romance of the Thirteenth Century, Not Inapplicable to the Nineteenth. London: J. J. Stockdale, 1810. 22. The Banditti of Monte Baldo; or, The Lass of the Lake. A Romance. London: Ann Lemoine, 1805. 23. The Banditti of the Mountains; or, The Castle of St. Albans. A Romance. London: J. Corry, 1810. 24. The Baron of Lauderbrooke: A Tale. London: Ann Lemoine, 1800. 25. The Beggar of Vernon. London: J. Roe & Ann Lemoine, n.d. 26. Berthinia; or The Fair Spaniard. A Romance. London: S. Fisher, 1802. 166

Appendix 2 167 27. Bertram; or, The Castle of St. Aldobrand. A Romance. London: S. Carvalho, 1825. 28. Biographical Annals of Suicide, or Horrors of Self-Murder. London: Tegg and Castleman, 1803.* 29. The Black Castle; or The Spectre of the Forest. An Historical Romance. And The Fate of Isabella; or Sacrifice to Superstition. London: Dean & Munday, 1810. 30. The Black Castle; or, The Spectre of the Forest, An Historical Romance. To which are added, Tracy castle; or, The Parricide Punished. Fate of Edeliza; or Sacrifice to Superstition. London: S. Fisher, 1803. 31. The Black Forest; or, The Cavern of Horrors. A Gothic Romance. London: Ann Lemoine and J. Roe, 1802. 32. The Black Knight: An Historical Tale of the Eighth Century. London: A. Neil, 1803. 33. The Black Valley; or, The Castle of Rosenberg. A Romance. To which is added, The Maid of Inn. London: Ann Lemoine, 1801. 34. Blanche and Carlos; or, The Constant Lovers. London: Tegg and Castleman, 1803.* 35. The Bleeding Nun, of the Castle of Lindenberg; or, The History of Raymond & Agnes. London: Hodgson & Co., 1823. 36. The Bloody Hand; or, The Fatal Cup, A Tale of Horror! London: Stevens Circulating Library, n.d. 37. Blood-Stained Mantle; or, A Sister’s Revenge. A Legendary Tale. London: Hodgson, n.d. 38. The Bravo of Perth; or, Voorn the Tiger. London: J. Roe & Ann Lemoine, 1809. 39. The Bravo of Venice. London: Dean & Munday, 1810. 40. Canterbury Tales. Containing The Great Devil’s Tale; or, The Castle of Morbano; The Old Abbey Tale; or, Village Terrors; The British Sailor’s Tale and the Knight’s Tale. London: Ann Lemoine, 1802. 41. The Captive Prince; or, Love and Madness: An Heroical Tale of the Fifteenth Century. London: Ann Lemoine and J. Roe, 1807. 42. The Castle de Albani; or, The Usurper Punished. An Original Romance. London: John Arliss, 1809. 43. The Castle of Alvidaro; or, The Spanish Quarrel. A Romance. London: J. Roe & A. Lemoine, 1809. 44. The Castle of Enchantment; or, The Mysterious Deception. London: Lemoine, n.d. 45. The Castle of Kolmeras. To which is added Ida Molten. London: Lane, Newman and Co., 1804. 46. The Castle of Lindenberg; or, The history of Raymond and Agnes, A Romance. London: S. Fisher, 1799; London: J. Bailey, 1820. 47. Castle de Maraford. London: J. Bailey, n.d. 48. The Castle of Mirandola. London: Hodgson, n.d. 49. The Castle of Montabino; or, The Orphan Sisters. London: Dean & Munday, 1809. 50. The Castle of Murillo, a Tale of the Sixteenth Century. Edinburgh: Oliver & Boyd, n.d. 51. The Castle of Oravilla; or, The Unnatural Guardians. London: Dean & Munday, n.d. 52. The Castle of Otranto: A Gothic story. London: T. Hughes, 1804. 53. The Castle of St. Bernard, or, The Captive of the Watch Tower. To which is added, The Twin Brothers of Mezzorania. London: Langley & Belch, 1810. 54. The Castle of St. Gerald, or The Fatal Vow. London: J. Ker, n.d. 55. The Castle of the Apennines. A Romance. London: Thomas Tegg, 1810. 56. The Castle of the Pyrenees; or, The Wanderer of the Alps. An Historic Tale. London: A. Lemoine, 1803.

168 Appendix 2 57. The Castle Spectre. An Ancient Baronial Romance. London: J. Bailey, n.d. 58. The Castle Spectre; or, Family Horrors: A Gothic Story. London: T. and R. Hughes, 1807. 59. The Castles of Montreuil and Barre; or, The Histories of the Marquis La Brun and the Baron La Marche. A Gothic Story. London: S. Fisher, 1804. 60. The Cave of Destiny; or, The Enchantress of the Forest of Fontanbleau. London: J. Lee, n.d. 61. The Cavern of Horrors, or Miseries of Miranda: A Neapolitan tale. London: T. Hurst, 1802;* London: Dean & Munday, n.d. 62. Cecilia; or, The Victim of Treachery. To which is added, Edward & Egwina. London: G. Pigott, n.d. 63. The Chateau de Montville; or, The Golden Cross. An Original Romance. London: T. Hughes, 1803. 64. The Children of the Abbey. London: W. Mason, n.d. 65. Clairville Castle; or, The History of Albert & Emma. London: J. Ker, 1805. 66. Clara Mowbray; or, St. Ronan’s Well: An Affecting Narrative from Walter Scott. London: Dean & Munday, 1830. 67. Conscience; or, The Bridal Night. London: Dean & Munday, 1820. 68. The Convent of St. Ursula; or, Incidents at Ottagro. London: John Arliss, 1809. 69. The Convent Spectre, or Unfortunate Daughter. London: T. & R. Hughes, 1808. 70. Cordelia, or, The Heiress of Raymond Castle. A Romance. London: T. & R. Hughes, 1807. 71. The Cottage in Kent; or, The First of September: An Interesting Tale. London: J. Roe & Ann Lemoine, 1810. 72. The Cottager’s Daughter; or, The Sorrows of Rosa. A Pathetic Tale. London: Ann Lemoine and J. Roe, 1803. 73. Cronstadt Castle; or, The Mysterious Visitor. An Original Romance. Surry: J. Ker, 1803; London: Ann Kemmish, 1815. 74. The Cross, or, The Spanish Champion: A Tale. Edinburgh: Oliver & Boyd, n.d. 75. The Curfew; or, The Castle of Baron de Tracy. London: T. & R. Hughes, 1807. 76. The Dæmon of Venice. London: Tegg, 1810. 77. Dalmanutha; or, The Monster of Venice: A Romance. London: J. Lee, n.d. 78. De la Mark and Constantia; or, Ancient Heroism: A Gothic Tale. London: Tegg, 1803;* London: Dean & Munday, n.d. 79. The Deserted Daughter. London: J. Roe & Ann Lemoine, 1809. 80. Domestic Misery, or The Victim of Seduction, A Pathetic Tale. London: Tegg & Castleman, 1803.* 81. Don Algonah; or, The Sorceress of Montillo. London: T. Hurst, 1802; London: Tegg & Castleman, 1803.* 82. Douglas Castle; or, The Cell of Mystery, A Scottish Tale. London: A. Neil, 1803. 83. Duncan; or, The Shade of Gertrude. A Caledonian Tale. London: J. Ker, 1810. 84. Dunleith Abbey; or, Malevolence Defeated. London: John Arliss, 1809. 85. Durward and Isabelle. London: Dean & Mundy, n.d. 86. Eastern Turret; or, Orphan of Navona. A Romance. London: Ann Lemoine and J. Roe, 1803.** 87. Edmund and Albina; or, Gothic Times. A Romance. London: Ann Lemoine, 1801. 88. Edward & Agnes, or, The Twin Orphans of Rosemount Farm: A Village Tale. London: R. Harrild, 1812. 89. Edward and Eleonora; or, The Adventures of a Stroller. A Romance. London: J. Lee, n.d.

Appendix 2 169 90. Edward’s Cross; or, The Wife and the Friend: An Old English Tale. London: Dean & Munday, 1810. 91. Edwin; or, The Wandering Fugitive. London: Ann Lemoine and J. Roe, 1805. 92. Edwy and Bertha; or, The Force of Connubial Love. London: Crosby & Co., 1802. 93. Eliza; or, The Unhappy Nun. Including, The adventures of Clementina, or The Constant Lovers. London: Tegg & Castleman, 1803. 94. Elizabeth; or, The Exiles of Siberia. A Tale. London: Dean & Munday, 1819. 95. Ellen Le Clair; or, The Mysterious Minstrel: An English Romance of Former Times. London: R. Harrild, 1821. 96. The Enchanted Laurel; or, The Mysterious Adventures of Sir Cuthbert de Tracy & Sir Arnold de Lancey in the Black Tower. London: J. Bailey, n.d. 97. Entertaining Gothic Stories; including Raymond Castle, or, The Ungrateful Nephew; Adela, or, The Ruin of the House of Albert; Fitzalan, and the Usurper Fitzurban; Vildac, or, The Horrid Discovery; and Henry, or, The Portrait of Mary. London: W. Mason, 1820. 98. Ethelbert’s Tower; or, Edric and Emmeline. Newcastle: 1800. 99. Ethelinda; or, The Fair Maid of the Inn. An Interesting Tale. London: J. Roe & A. Lemoine, 1812. 100. The Eve of St. Mark; or, The Mysterious Spectre. A Romance. London: J. Bailey, 1820. 101. The Eventful History of Charles Brandon Duke of Suffolk, the Flower of English Chivalry, and the Princess Mary of England: An Original Romance. London: Dean & Munday, 1821. 102. The Extraordinary Life, and Singular Adventures of Wolfe. London: Dean & Munday, n.d. 103. Fair and Fatal Warnings, or, Visits from the World of Spirits. London: T. & R. Hughes, 1812. 104. Fair Rosamond. London: Hodgson, n.d. 105. The False Knight, Radiger, and The Enchanted Swan: A Venetian Romance. London: J. Bailey, n.d. 106. The Famous History of Valentine and Orson; or, The Wild Man or Orleans. London: T. Hughes, n.d. 107. Fatal Jealousy; or, Blood will have Blood! London: T. & R. Hughes, 1807. 108. The Fatal Scarf; or, A Sister’s Vengeance. A Legend of Cuth-Ionor. London: Dean & Munday, 1825. 109. Fatal Secrets; or, Etherlinda de Salmoni, A Sicilian Story. London: J. Lee, 1806. 110. Fatal Vows, or The False Monk, A Romance. London: Thomas Tegg, 1810. 111. Father Innocent, Abbot of the Capuchins, or The Crimes of the Cloister. London: Tegg, 1803.* 112. Fatherless Fanny; or, A Young Lady’s First Entrance into Life. London: Tegg, 1819. 113. Fatherless Fanny; or, The Adventures of the Countess of Werdensdorf. London: Harrild, 1810. 114. Female Intrepidity; or, The Heroic Matron, A tale. London: Thomas Tegg, n.d. 115. Fernando of Castile; or, The Husband of Two Wives. London: T. Hurst, 1802. Also sold as Friburgh-Castle, or The Wife of Two Husbands.* 116. Feudal Days; or, The Noble Outlaw. An Historical Romance. London: J. Bailey, n.d. 117. The Forest Phantom; or, The Golden Crucifix. London: 1810. 118. Frederick and Caroline. London: J. Roe & Ann Lemoine, 1809. 119. The Friends; or, St. Londen Castle. London: J. Bailey, 1825. 120. George Barnwell. London: J. Bailey, n.d.

170 Appendix 2 121. The Ghost of Golini; or, The Malignant Relative. London: S. Fisher, 1820. 122. Ghosts! Spectres! Apparitions! The New Life After Death; or, Secrets of the Grave Laid Open. London: Dean & Munday, n.d. 123. Glenwar: The Scottish Bandit. London: Dean & Munday, 1828. 124. Gothic Legends. A Tale of Mystery. London: A. Seale, 1802. 125. Gothic Pieces. Newcastle upon Tyne: J. Mitchell, 1804. 126. Gothic Stories. Contents: Sir Bertrand’s Adventures in a Ruinous Castle—The Story of Fitzalan—The Adventure James III. of Scotland had with the Weird Sisters—The Story of Raymond Castle—Vildac; or The Horrid Discovery—Henry; or The Portrait of Mary—The Ruin of the House of Albert. London: S. Fisher, 1800, 1804. 127. Gothic Stories. Contents: The Enchanted Castle: A Fragment; Glanville, A Romance; Ethelbert; or The Phantom of Castle, A Tale of Horror; Mary, A Fragment; The Mysterious Vision; or Perfidy Punished; and The Unfortunate Spaniard, A Tale. London: S. Bailey, n.d. 128. The Gothic Story of De Courville Castle, or The Illegitimate Son. London: W. Mason, 1820. 129. The Hag of the Lake; or, The Castle of Monte Falcon. A Romance. London: J. Lee, 1812. 130. The Hag of the Mountains; or Mysterious Memoirs of the Marquis la Terra and his Supposed Friend the Count di Suza. An American Tale. London: Langley and Belch, n.d. 131. The Haunted Castle, or, The Child of Misfortune. A Gothic Tale. London: Ann Lemoine, 1801. 132. The Haunted Tower; or, The Adventures of Sir Egbert De Rothsay. London: R. Hunter, 1820. 133. Heart of Mid Lothian. London: J. Bailey, n.d. 134. The Heiress of the Castle of Morlina; or, The Domains of Isabella di Rotaldi Restored: To which is added, The Story of Shabraco and Sabrina; or The Mystery Developed. London: S. Fisher, 1802. 135. Hengist & Mansford; or, The Mysteries of the Castle. An Original Romance. London: Harrild & Billing, 1802. 136. Henry; or, Secrets of the Ruins: A Moral Tale. London: N. Merridew, 1807. 137. Henry Sinclair, or The Ghosts of Haverford Hall. London: Dean & Munday, 1815. 138. The Hermit of the Cave; or, The Royal Shepherdess. And Alfred and Zara: A Pathetic Tale. London: Dean & Munday, n.d. 139. The Hermit of the Grove; or, The Fatal Effects of Gaming. London: Ann Lemoine and J. Roe, 1805. 140. The Hermit of the Lakes; or, The Revengeful Brother: A Tale of Truth. London: Ann Lemoine and J. Roe, 1806. 141. The Hermit of Warkworth: A Northumberland Tale. London: J. Bailey, 1823. 142. Hero and Leander; or, The Lovers of the Hellespont. An Ancient Tragic Romance. London: Ann Lemoine and J. Roe, 1806. 143. The Hero of Scotland; or, Battle of Dumbarton: An Historical Romance. London: J. Bailey, 1824. 144. Highland Heroism; or, The Castles of Glencoe and Balloch. London: Tegg, 1803.* London: 1820. 145. The History and Surprising Adventures of Joseph Pignata. London: Dean & Munday, 1821.

Appendix 2 171 146. The History of Cecilia; or, The Beautiful Nun. London: Ann Lemoine and J. Roe, 1804.** 147. The History of Henry Thomson; or, The Reward of Filial Affection. London: B. Crosby & Co., 1803.* 148. The History of Montecchio and Julietta. London: J. M’Kenzie, n.d. 149. The History of Paul and Virginia; or, The Shipwreck. London: Ann Lemoine, 1802. 150. The History of Raymond and Agnes; or, The Castle of Lindenberg. A Romance. London: S. Fisher, 1803. 151. An History of the Devil, from the First Ages to the Present Time. Lewes, Sussex Press: J. Baxter, 1813. 152. The History of the Renowned John of Calais, and the Beautiful Constance, Princess of Portugal. To which is added, The Monk and Spectre. A Romance. London: Ann Lemoine and J. Roe, 1803.** 153. Horatio and Camilla; or, The Nuns of St. Mary. London: Ann Lemoine, 1804. 154. The Horrible Revenge; or, The Assassin of the Solitary Castle. London: J. Fairburn, 1828, 1830. 155. The Horrible Revenge; or The Monster of Italy!! A Romance of the 16th Century. Also, Hopeless Love, An Interesting Tale. London: R. Harrild, 1808, 1809, 1812. 156. The Horrors of the Secluded Castle, or Virtue Triumphant. London: T. and R. Hughes, 1807. 157. The Hunter of the Alps: To which is added, The History of the Amazons; or, Female Warriors. London: Ann Lemoine and J. Roe, 1805. 158. Ildefonzo and Alberoni; or, Tales of Horror. London: Tegg and Castleman, 1803.* 159. The Illegal Lovers: A true though secret history of an unfortunate attachment which took place between a noble lord and his sister. London: J. Bailey, 1812. 160. The Imprisoned Chief; or, The Deluded Monarch. An Historical Romance. London: J. Bailey, 1824. 161. Infernal Secret! or, The Invulnerable Spaniard. London: William Cole, n.d. 162. Inkle and Yarico; or, Love in a Cave. An Interesting Tale. London: Ann Lemoine and J. Roe, 1805. 163. The Invisible Ring; or, The Water Monster, and Fire Spectre. A Romantic Tale. London: Ann Lemoine and J. Roe, 1806. 164. The Irish Assassin. London: Tegg, 1800. 165. Irish Freebooter. London: Hodgson, n.d. 166. The Iron Chest: A Tale. London: Thomas Tegg, n.d. 167. The Italian Banditti; or, The Secret History of Henry and Matilda: A Romance. London: R. Harrild, 1809. 168. Ivanhoe; or, The Jew and his Daughter: An Interesting Old English Tale. London: W. Mason, 1820. 169. Ivy Castle; or, The Eve of St. Agnes. London: Hodgson & Co., 1825. 170. The Jealous Mother; or, The Singular Adventures and Miraculous Escapes of a Young Lady of Fortune. London: Arliss & Huntsman, 1808. 171. John Bull; or The Englishman’s Fire-side. An Original Romance. London: T. Hughes, 1803. 172. Kilverstone Castle; or, The Heir Restored. A Gothic Story. London: Ann Lemoine, 1799, 1800. 173. Knight of the Broom Flower; or, Horrors of the Priory. A Romance. To which is added, Warrington Grange; or Victims of Treachery. A Tale. London: Ann Lemoine and J. Roe, 1803.**

172 Appendix 2 174. 175. 176. 177. 178. 179. 180. 181. 182.

183.

184. 185. 186. 187.

188. 189.

190. 191. 192. 193. 194. 195. 196. 197.

198. 199. 200. 201.

Knights of Calatrava; or, Days of Chivalry. London: B. Mace, 1804. Koenigsmark the Robber; or, The Terror of Bohemia. Portsea: J. Williams, 1803.* Koenigsmark the Robber; or, The Terror of Bohemia. London: Dean & Munday, 1815. Lermos and Rosa; or, The Fortunate Gipsy. London: Tegg and Castleman, 1803.* Lewis Tyrell; or, The Depraved Count. London: Tegg and Castleman, 1804;* London: Dean & Munday, 1825. The Life and Achievements of Rob Roy Macgregor, The Celebrated Scotch Freebooter! London: J. Bailey, 1825. The Life and Exploits of Three-Finger’d Jack, The Terror of Jamaica. Sommers Town: A. Neil, 1801.* The Life and History of G. Barnwell. London: Dean & Munday, 1820, 1826. The Life, Persecutions, and Sufferings, of Sophia Dorothea, Princess of Zell, Wife of George I, King of England. An Authentic Narrative. London: Dean & Munday, n.d. The Life and Singular Memoirs, of Matilda, Countess de Lausanne; or, The Unfortunate Victim of Parental Ambition: A Gothic Story. To which is added, The Castle of Formosa; or The Treacherous Moor: and The Rivals; or Love and Superstition; A Teneriffe Tale. London: S. Fisher and T. Hurst, 1802. Life of Jemima, or, The Confessions of an Unfortunate Bastard. London: J. Bailey, 1800. The Life, Surprising Adventures, and Most Remarkable Escapes of Rinaldo Rinaldini, Captain of a Banditti Robbers. London: Ann Lemoine, 1801. Lilly of Navarre, or Banditti of the Forest. London: Ann Lemoine, 1804. Lissette of Savoy; or, The Fair Maid of the Mountains. An Interesting Tale; To which is added, Ethelred and Lidania, or, The Sacrifice to Woden. A Saxon Tale. London: Ann Lemoine and J. Roe, 1804.** Lodoiska; or, The Tartar Robber: An Historic Tale. London: J. Roe & Ann Lemoine, 1811. Lord Gowen; or, The Forester’s Daughter: An Historical Romance of the Twelfth Century. To which is added, The Barons of Old. An Historic Tale. London: Ann Lemoine and J. Roe, 1803.** Lorenzo and Elmira. London: Hodgson, n.d. Love and Perfidy; or, The Isolated Tower. Newcastle: Angus & Son, 1812. Lovel Castle; or, The Rightful Heir Restored. A Gothic Tale. London: Dean & Munday, 1818, 1825. The Loves and Adventures of Sir Gerard, the Valiant Knight, and the Enchanted Emma. London: T. and R. Hughes, n.d. Lucretia; or, The Robbers of the Hyrcanean Forest. London: J. Lee, n.d. Maid of Lochlin; or, Northern Mysteries. A Scottish Romance. London: Ann Lemoine and J. Roe, 1804.** Magic Legacy. London: Lemoine, n.d. The Magician; or, The Mystical Adventures of Seraphina. A German Romance. To which is added, The Arabian Lovers, A Tale. London: Minerva Press, for Lane and Newman, 1804. Man with the Iron Mask. London: Hodgson, n.d. Manfredi; or, The Mysterious Hermit. London: G. Stevens, 1820. Mary, the Maid of the Inn; or, The Secrets of the Ruins. London: Hodgson, n.d. Matilda; or, The Adventures of an Orphan: An Interesting Tale. London: Tegg & Castleman, 1804.*

Appendix 2 173 202. Matilda and Fanny; or, The Sisters of Rosedale. London: Dean & Munday, 1828. 203. Maximilian and Selina; or, The Mysterious Abbot: A Flemish Tale. London: Tegg & Castleman, 1804.* 204. The Midnight Assassin; or, Confession of the Monk Rinaldi. London: T. Hurst, 1802;* London: Dean & Munday, 1814. 205. Midnight Bell; or, The Abbey of St. Francis. London: Tegg, 1810; London: J. Ker, 1815. 206. The Midnight Groan; or, The Spectre of the Chapel. A Gothic Romance. London: T. & R. Hughes, 1808. 207. Midnight Horrors; or, The Bandit’s Daughter. An Original Romance. London: Dean & Munday: 1810, 1837. 208. Midnight Hour; or, The Fatal Friendship. London: Lemoine and Roe, 1806. 209. The Midnight Monitor; or, Solemn Warnings from the Invisible World. London: Champante & Whitrow, n.d. 210. Midnight Spells!; or, The Spirit of St. Osmond. A Romance. London: A. Neil, 1804. 211. The Monastery of St. Mary; or, The White Maid of Avenel. A Scottish Tale. London: J. Bailey, n.d. 212. Monastic Ruins; or, The Invisible Monitor: A Romance. To which is added, The Brazier. A Tale. London: Ann Lemoine and J. Roe, 1805.** 213. The Monk of Hennares. London: J. F. Hughes, 1817. 214. The Monk; or, Father Innocent, Abbot of the Capuchins. London: Tegg, 1803. 215. Monkcliffe Abbey, A Tale of the Fifteenth Century. To which is added, Lopez and Aranthe; or, The Suicide. London: Kaygill, 1805. 216. Monkish Mysteries; or, The Miraculous Escape. London: T. Hurst, 1802. 217. The Monks of Clugny; or, Castle-Acre Monastery. London: Ann Lemoine and J. Roe, 1807. 218. Montalde; or, The Honest Breton: An Interesting Tale. London: Ann Lemoine and J. Roe, 1805.** 219. The Mountain Cottager; or, The Deserted Bride. London: Ann Lemoine and J. Roe, 1805.** 220. The Mysteries of the Castle del Carmo. London: R. Harrild, n.d. 221. The Mysteries of Udolpho, A Romance, Founded on Facts; Comprising the Adventures & Misfortunes of Emily St. Aubert to which is added, Adolphus and Louisa, or The Fatal Attachment, A Tale of Truth. London: W. Mason, n.d. 222. The Mysteries of Udolpho: A Romance. London: S. Fisher, 1828. 223. The Mysterious Bravo; or, The Shrine of St. Alstice: A Caledonian Legend. London: J. Bailey, n.d. 224. The Mysterious Bride; or, The Statue Spectre. London: T. Hughes, 1800, 1804.* 225. Mysterious Cavern: An Historical Romance of the Fourteenth Century. London: J. Bailey, n.d. 226. The Mysterious Foundling; or, The Heir Restored. London: Langley and Co., n.d. 227. The Mysterious Murder; or, The Usurper of Naples: An Original Romance. To which is prefixed, The Nocturnal Assassin; or, Spanish jealousy. London: Lee, 1806. 228. The Mysterious Omen; or, Awful Retribution: An Original Romance. London: R. Harrild, 1812. 229. Mysterious Oracle. London: J. Bailey, n.d. 230. The Mysterious Pilgrim; or, Fatal Duplicity. An Italian Romance. To which is added, The Hibernian Mendicant. A Tale. London: Langley and Bruce, 1810.

174 Appendix 2 231. The Mysterious Stranger, or, Sorrows of a Natural Daughter. A Historical Tale. London: Dean & Munday, 1837. 232. The Mysterious Vision; or, The Eventful Adventures of the Princess Florella and Sultan Abuifa. London: G. Hubbard, Seal, n.d. 233. The Mystery of the Black Convent. An Interesting Spanish Tale of the Eleventh Century. London: A. Neil, n.d. 234. The Mystic Tower; or, Villainy Punished. A Romance. London: Kaygill, 1800. 235. Nettlestead Abbey, or The Fair Maid of Suffolk: A Romance. London: W. Mason, 1826. 236. New Collection of Gothic Stories. Contents: Rodolph; or, The Banditti of the Castle.—The Story of Frederico; or, The Ruin of the House of Vilaineuf.— Ethelbert; or, The Phantom of the Castle, A Tale of Horror.—The Mysterious Vision; or, Perfidy Punished—and Henry de Montmorency, A Terrific Story. London: S. Fisher, 1804. 237. The Night Hag; or, Saint Swithin’s Chair. A Romance. London: J. Bailey, n.d. 238. Nocturnal Visits; or, The Mysterious Husband. London: 1800. 239. The Old Castle; or, The Forty Knights and the Fair Penitent. A Romance. London: J. Roe & A. Lemoine, 1810. 240. The Old English Baron. London: T. Hughes, 1806. 241. Orasman and Azora; or The Fatal Effects of Cruelty: A Persian Tale. London: P. Mackenzie, 1806. 242. Orlando, or The Knight of the Moon. London: Ann Lemoine, 1804.** 243. The Orphan Boy; or, The Veiled Statue. London: J. Roe & Ann Lemoine, n.d. 244. The Orphan of the Castle; or, The Haunted Tower. A Gothic Story. To which is added, Heir of the Castle. An Historic Tale. London: Ann Lemoine, 1803. 245. Osbert Castle; or, The Mysterious Peasant: An Highland Romance. London: R. Brown, Wilmot and Hill, 1809. 246. Oswick, The Bold Outlaw: A Tale. London: Dean & Munday, 1823. 247. The Parental Murder; or, The Brothers, An Interesting Romance. London: T. and R. Hughes, 1807. 248. The Pastor’s Fireside; or, Memoirs of the Athelstan family. London: Dean & Munday, 1822. 249. The Pathetic and Interesting History of George Barnwell. Founded on Facts. London: Ann Lemoine and J. Roe, 1804.** 250. The Peasant Boy; or, The Events of De Courcy Castle. To which is added, Celestina. A Tale. London: Ann Lemoine and J. Roe, 1805.** 251. The Penitent Daughter; or, History of Elinor de Burgh. Sommers-Town: A. Neil, 1803.* 252. The Perilous Cavern; or, Banditti of the Pyrenees. London: A. Neil, 1803. 253. The Peruvian Dæmon; or, Conjugal Crimes. London: T. & R. Hughes, 1807. 254. Peveril of the Peak; or, The Singular History of Julian Peveril & Alice Bridgenorth. London: Dean & Munday, n.d. 255. Phantasmagoria; or, The Development of Magical Deception. London: Tegg & Castleman, 1803.* 256. The Pirate, or The Sisters of Burgh Westra. London: Dean & Munday, 1820. 257. The Prince of the Assassins; or, The Cruel Saracens. London: J. Mackenzie, 1804. 258. The Princess Monpensier, or The Beautiful Princess. London: Cox, 1805. 259. The Priory of Alba, and the Castle on the Cliffs. London: J. Bailey, 1825.

Appendix 2 175 260. Priory of St. Clair; or Spectre of the Murdered Nun: A Gothic Tale. London: R. Harrild, 1811. 261. Prophetic Nuptials. London: Hodgson, n.d. 262. Prophetic Warning; or, The Castle of Lindendorff. London: J. Ker, 1800, Southwark: Ann Kemmish, 1808. 263. Rayland Hall; or, The Remarkable Adventures of Orlando Somerville. London: Tegg, 1810. 264. Raymond and Agnes; or, The Bleeding Nun of the Castle of Lindenberg. London: Dean & Munday, 1820. 265. The Recess. A Tale of Past Times. London: T. Hurst, 1802.* 266. The Recluse of the Woods; or, The Generous Warrior. A Gothic Romance. London: J. Roe & Ann Lemoine, 1809. 267. The Remarkable Life of Dr. Faustus. London: Dean & Munday, 1814. 268. Revenge. London: Hodgson, n.d. 269. The Rival Knights; or, The Fortunate Woodlander: A French Romance. London: J. Lee, 1800. 270. The Robber’s Daughter, or, The Phantom of the Grotto. London: Lemoine, n.d. 271. The Robbers of the Forest; or, The Unfortunate Princess. London: Ann Lemoine and J. Roe, 1805.* 272. Rob Roy. London: J. Bailey, n.d. 273. Rochester Castle; or, Gundulph’s Tower: A Gothic Tale. London: J. Roe & A. Lemoine, 1810. 274. Rodolpho; or, The Tomb of Ferrados: A Scottish Legend. To which is added, The Spirit of the Black Forest. London: J. Bailey, 1824. 275. Romances and Gothic Tales. Contents: The Ruins of the Abbey of Fitz-Martin— The Bleeding Nun of St. Catherine’s—The Castle on the Beach; or, A Sea-Side Story—The Mysterious Monk; or, The Cave of Blood—Courtney Castle; or, The Robbers’ Cavern—The Castle of Hospitality; or, The Spectre. London: Ann Lemoine, 1801. 276. Romano Castle; or, The Horrors of the Forest: A Romance. London: Dean & Munday, n.d. 277. Romantic Tales. The Revengeful Turk: or Mystic Cavern. The Distressed Nun: or Sufferings of Herselia di Brindoli of Florence. And the Vindictive Monk: or Fatal ring. London: S. Fisher, 1802. 278. Rosse Castle; or, The Vindictive Thane. To which is added, Secret Enemies, etc. London: T. Hughes, 1814. 279. The Round Tower; or, The Mysterious Witness. London: Tegg and Castleman, 1803. 280. The Round Tower; or, The Mystery: A Romantic Tale. To which is added, The Noble Genoese. A Tale. London: Ann Lemoine and J. Roe, 1803.** 281. Roxalana; or, The Step-Mother. An Historic Tale. London: Ann Lemoine and J. Roe, 1806. 282. The Ruffian Boy; or, The Castle of Waldemar, A Venetian Tale. London: J. Bailey, 1820. 283. Rugantino, The Bravo of Venice. London: Dean & Munday, 1815. 284. The School for Friends, A Domestic Tale. London: Thomas Tegg, n.d. 285. Sebastian and Zeila, or, The Captive Liberated by Female Generosity. London: Crosby and Co., 1802. 286. The Secret Oath, or Blood-Stained Dagger: A Romance. London: Tegg and Castleman, 1802.*

176 Appendix 2 287. The Secret Tribunal; or, The Court of Winceslaus: A Mysterious Tale. London: Tegg and Castleman, 1803.* 288. Shrewsbury Castle; or, Hubert & Ellinor. A Tale of Ancient Times. London: Dean & Munday, n.d. 289. Shrewtzer Castle; or, The Perfidious Brother. London: A. Neil, 1802. 290. The Sicilian Pirate; or, The Pillar of Mystery, A Terrific Romance. London: 1800. 291. Sir Malcolm the Brave; or, Isabella’s Ghost: A Scottish Legend. London: M. Tuck Circulating Library, n.d. 292. The Skeleton; or, Mysterious Discovery. A Gothic Romance. London: A. Neil, 1805. 293. The Soldier’s Daughter; or, The Fair Fugitive, A Pathetic Tale. London: Tegg and Castleman, 1804.* 294. The Solemn Warning; or, The Predictions Verified: A Romance. London: Thomas Tegg, 1810. 295. Somerset Castle; or, The Father and Daughter, A Tragic Tale to which is added, Ghost and No Ghost; or, The Dungeon. London: Ann Lemoine and J. Roe, 1804.** 296. The Southern Tower; or, Conjugal Sacrifice and Retribution. London: T. Hurst, 1802.* 297. The Spanish Exile; or, The Mysterious Monk. London: Thomas Redrifee, 1820. 298. The Spanish Hero; or, History of Alonzo the Brave. London: J. Bailey, n.d. 299. The Spectre Chief; or, The Blood-Stained Banner, An Ancient Romance. London: J. Bailey, 1800. 300. The Spectre Mother, or The Haunted Tower. London: Dean & Munday, 1800. 301. The Spectre of the Turret: or Guolto Castle: A Romance. London: Harrild, n.d. 302. The Spectre; or, The Ruins of Belfont Priory. London: J. Ker, 1806. 303. The Spectres; or, Lord Oswald and Lady Rosa. London: Langley, n.d. 304. St. Clair of the Isles, and the Fair Ambrosine: An Historical Romance. London: W. Mason, n.d. 305. St. Leance; or, The Castle of Rugosa. London: Bailey, 1820. 306. Story of Morella de Alto; or, The Crimes of Scorpion Developed. London: S. Fisher, 1804. 307. Subterranean Passage; or, The Gothic Cell. London: Ann Lemoine, 1803. 308. Surprising Achievements of Oswick, the Bold Outlaw, Chieftain of a Band of Robbers. London: T. Hughes, 1806. 309. A Tale of Mystery; or, The Castle of Solitude. London: Thomas Tegg, 1803.* 310. Tales of Superstition; or, Relations of Apparitions. London: Tegg and Castleman, 1803; London: Dean & Munday, 1820. 311. Tales of Terror! or, More Ghosts. London: Ann Lemoine and J. Roe, 1802. 312. Tales of Wonder. Contents: The Castle of Enchantment or, The Mysterious Deception—The Robbers Daughter or The Phantom of Grotto—The Magic-Legacy &c. London: Ann Lemoine, 1801. 313. The Tartarian Prince; or, The Stranger. An Historic Tale. London: Ann Lemoine and J. Roe, 1803.** 314. Theodore and Clementina; or, Crusades Against the Infidels of Palestine. London: Hodgson & Co., 1825. 315. Theodore and Emma; or, The Italian Bandit. London: J. Bailey, 1800. 316. Therese; or, The Orphan of Geneva; An Interesting Romance. London: Dean & Munday, 1821. 317. The Three Ghosts of the Forest, A Tale of Horror. London: J. Ker, 1803.

Appendix 2 177 318. The Tomb of Aurora; or, The Mysterious Summons. London: Ann Lemoine and J. Roe, 1807. 319. The Tragical History of Crazy Jane. And Young Henry. Newcastle: M. Angus & Son, 1812. 320. The Treacherous Danish Knight; or, The Border Lords, and the White Plume. London: Stevens, n.d. 321. The True and Affecting History of the Duchess of C****, Who was Confined by Her Husband in a Dismal Dungeon. London: S. Fisher, 1803. 322. Turret Clock. London: Hodgson, n.d. 323. The Two Sisters; or, The Cavern: A Moral Tale. London: T. & R. Hughes, 1807. 324. Ulric and Gustavus, or, The Unhappy Swedes; A Finland Tale. London: Tegg and Castleman, 1803.* 325. Undine the Spirit of the Waters. London: William Cole, 1824. 326. The Vampire; or, Bride of the Isles. London: J. Bailey, 1820. 327. Vancenza; or, The Dangers of Credulity. London: Tegg, 1810. 328. The Veiled Picture; or, The Mysteries of Gorgono, A Romance of the Sixteenth Century. London: Hurst, 1802; T. Tegg & Co., 1803.* 329. Venice Preserved, or, A Plot Discovered: A Tragedy. London: R. & W. Dean & Co., 1803. 330. The Victim of Seduction. London: J. Bailey, n.d. 331. The Village Maid; or, The Interesting Adventures of Montsirant. London: Ann Lemoine and J. Roe, 1804.** 332. The Voyages and Adventures of Edward Teach, Commonly called Black Beard, the Notorious Pirate. London: J. Roe and Ann Lemoine, 1805. 333. The Wandering Spirit; or, The Memoirs of the House of Morno. London: T. Hurst, 1802.* 334. The Water Spectre; or, An Bratach. London: Ann Lemoine and J. Roe, 1805. 335. The Watch Tower of Mazzara; or, The Generous Moor. A Sicilian Tale. London: J. Bailey, n.d. 336. Waverley; or, The Castle of Mac Iver: A Highland Tale, of Sixty Years Since. London: Dean & Munday, n.d. 337. The White Castle; or, The Island of Solitude. A Gothic Romance. To which is added, The Cabinet; or, Fatal Curiosity. An Arabian Romance. London: J. Roe & Ann Lemoine, 1803.** 338. The White Cottage of the Valley; or, The Mysterious Husband: An Original, Interesting Romance. London: R. Harrild, n.d. 339. The White Pilgrim; or, Castle of Olival. London: Dean & Munday, 1820. 340. The Wife and the Mistress; or, The Italian Spy. London: J. Bailey, 1824. 341. The Wife of Two Husbands. London: Ann Lemoine and J. Roe, 1804.** 342. William and Emily; or, The Cruel Deception. A Domestic Tale. London: Dean & Munday, 1820. 343. The Witch of Rona; or, The Magic Spell: A Romance. London: J. Roe & Ann Lemoine, 1810. 344. Wolfstein; or, The Mysterious Bandit. A Terrific Romance. To which is added, The Bronze Statue, A Pathetic Tale. London: J. Bailey, 1800. 345. Wonderful Tales. Contents: Charles and Mary, The Three Suicides, The Suicide of Frederic, and Jeanette and Ubaldo. London: T. Hurst & B. Crosby & Co., 1802. 346. Wonders of a Village. London: J. Ker, n.d. 347. Woodcutter’s Daughter. London: Hodgson, n.d.

178 Appendix 2 348. The Wood Daemon; or, ‘The Clock has Struck’. London: J. Scales, 1807. 349. Zelia in the Desert; or, The Female Crusoe. London: Ann Lemoine and J. Roe, 1805.** 350. Zittaw the Cruel; or, The Woodman’s Daughter, A Polish Romance. London: Mace, n.d. * The Marvellous Magazine and Compendium of Prodigies. ** Tell-Tale Magazine.

Appendix 3 Gothic Tales, 1800–1834

1. A Highland Legend, The Ladies’ Pocket Magazine, 1825. 2. [Sandford, Daniel Keytes] A Night in the Catacombs, Blackwood’s, October 1818. 3. A Night in the Grave; or, The Devil’s Receipt! A Scottish Tale, Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1826. 4. [Beevor, Miss ML] A Second Story of the Death Bride, The Ladies’ Pocket Magazine, 1833. 5. A Story of the Old Time in Italy, The Story-Teller. London: James Robins & Co., 1830. 6. [Hunt, Leigh] A Tale for a Chimney Corner, The Indicator, 1819. 7. [Edwards, Charles] A Tale of the Plague; or, Di Vasari. Blackwood’s, 1826; Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert, & Piper, 1830. 8. [Ritchie, Leitch] A Traveller’s Tale, Friendship’s Offering, 1832. 9. [Gore, Mrs Charles] The Abbey of Laach, Tales of All Nations. London: Thomas Hurst and Co., 1827. 10. Alberto, The Pocket Magazine, 1826. 11. All-Hallows Night; or, The Magic Mirror. A German Legendary Tale. Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1830. 12. Amelia of Rheinsberg, The New Hibernain Magazine, Dublin, II, 1821. 13. [Lewis, Matthew] Amorassan; or, the Spirit of the Frozen Ocean! An Eastern Tale. Romantic Tales, 1808; Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1826. 14. [Lewis, Matthew] The Anaconda, Romantic Tales, 1808. 15. [Bulwer] Arasmanes; or, The Seeker, Amulet, 1834. 16. Arnaud The Devil! Or, The Dwarf. Endless Entertainment. London: Herbert, 1825. 17. The Astrologer’s Prediction; or, The Maniac’s Fate! Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1826. 18. Auburn Egbert, Popular Tales and Romances of the Northern Nations. London: W. Simpkin & R. Marshall; and J. H. Bohte, 1823. 19. [Wilkinson, Mrs Sarah] The Bandit of Florence and the Fugitive Nun, New Tales. London: Mathew Iley, 1819. 20. [Croker, T. C.] The Banshee. Fairy Legends and Traditions of the South of Ireland. London: John Murray, 1825; Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1830. 21. The Banshee’s Well. Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1830. 22. The Bath of Beauty; or, The Swan’s Pool. A Romantic Tale from the German. Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1826. 23. [Dalby, J. W.] Bernstorf, A Tale (4 parts) The Pocket Magazine, xi, 1823. 24. [Delta] Bessy Bell and Mary Gray, Forget Me Not, 1831. 25. Bishop Bruno. Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1826. 179

180 Appendix 3 26. The Black Canon of Elmham; or, Saint Edmond’s Eve. An Old English Legend. Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1826. 27. The Black Forest; or, the Cavern of Death. A Bohemian Romance. Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1830. 28. The Black Goat of Brandenburgh, a Fragment, The Theatrical Inquisitor, xv (1819); Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1826. 29. The Black Rainbow; or, The Death of Charles the Bad! Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1826. 30. The Black Spider. An Original Tale. Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1830. 31. The Black Trader; or, The Phantom Ship! A Mariner’s Legend. Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1830. 32. [Irving, Washington] The Black Woodman; or, the Devil and Tom Walker. Tales of a Traveller, London: John Murray, 1824; Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1830. 33. The Bleeding Hand, Gem, 1831. 34. [Irving, Washington] The Bold Dragoon from Tales of a Traveller, The Literary Magnet. London: Wright, 1824. 35. The Bond of Blood, Original Romance. Theatrical Inquisitor (6 parts), 1815. 36. The Bottle-Imp. A German Popular Tale. Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1826. 37. [Roberts Emma] The Bridal of St Omer, Literary Souvenir, 1827. 38. The Bridal of Wintoun-Tower, Tales of All Nations. London: Thomas Hurst & Co., 1827. 39. The Bride of Glenmoy, Tales of All Nations. London: Thomas Hurst & Co., 1827. 40. [Shelley, Mary] The Bother and Sister: An Italian Story, Keepsake, 1833. 41. [Galt, John] The Buried Alive, Blackwood’s, October 1821. 42. Byard’s Leap. Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1830. 43. The Casket, A Tale, Keepsake, 1834. 44. The Castilian Captive, or the Pacha Perplexed, The Story-Teller. London: James Robins & Co., 1830. 45. [Nubilia] The Castle of Glenroich: A Romance of the Twelfth Century. Glasgow Magazine and Clydesdale Monthly Register, 1812. 46. The Castle of Reinspadtz The Story-Teller. London: James Robins & Co., 1830. 47. [Kennedy, William] The Castle of St. Michael: A Tale, Friendship’s Offering, 1831. 48. The Castle-Goblin, or The Tower of Neuftchaberg, The Weekly Entertainer (1820); Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1826. 49. The Chapel of St. Benedict. A Romance of the Fifteenth Century. Belle Assemblée, 1814. 50. The Chase of King Waldemar, The Dane. Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1826. 51. The Chief of Glendowrdy, The Story-Teller. London: James Robins & Co., 1830. 52. The Child of the Battle, The Lady’s Monthly Museum, 1815–1817. 53. Church-Yard Watch. A True Tale, Friendship’s Offering, 1832. 54. [Maginn, William] The City of the Demons, Literary Souvenir, 1828. 55. The Collier’s Family Popular Tales and Romances of the Northern Nations. London: W. Simpkin & R. Marshall; and J. H. Bohte, 1823. 56. [Neele, Henry] The Comet by, Forget Me Not, 1827.

Appendix 3 181 57. Conrad and Julia. A Legend of the Hartz forest. Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1830. 58. The Convent of St. Ursula, Forget Me Not, 1830. 59. Count Egmont’s Jewels, Forget Me Not, 1833. 60. The Crusader, The Story-Teller. London: James Robins & Co., 1830. 61. The DÆMON’S GIFT! Or, The Eve of All Souls. A German Tale. Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1830. 62. The Dance of the Dead! A German Popular Tale. The Literary Magnet. London: William Charlton Wright, 1824; Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1826. 63. [Croker, Croften] Daniel O’Rourke; or, A Visit to the Moon. Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1830. 64. The Death’s Head, Tales of the Dead. London: White, Cochrane & Co., 1813. 65. The Death-Bride, Tales of the Dead. London: White, Cochrane & Co., 1813. 66. [Scott, Walter] The Demon of the Hartz; or, The Three Charcoal Burners. Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1826. 67. Des Freischutz, Endless Entertainment; or, Comic, Terrific, and Legendary Tales. London: G. Hebert, 1825. 68. The Devil’s Dancing-Place. Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1830. 69. The Devil’s Ladder; or, The Gnomes of the Redrich. Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1826. 70. The Doomed Man! Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1826. 71. The Drachenfels. A Tradition of the Rhine. Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1826. 72. [Shelley, Mary] The Dream, Keepsake, 1832. 73. The Druid-Seer of Malwood; or, The Death of the Red-King. An English Legend. Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1826. 74. The Dwarf; or The Deformed Transformed. Endless Entertainment; or, Comic, Terrific, and Legendary Tales by J. Mark. London: G. Hebert, 1825. 75. The Dwarfs of the Nine Mountains of Rambin. From the German. Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1826. 76. The Elfin Miller of Croga Mill. Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1830. 77. The Elfin Piper, Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1830. 78. Elfin-Land, Popular Tales and Romances of the Northern Nations. London: W. Simpkin & R. Marshall; and J. H. Bohte, 1823. 79. Ellen of Eglantine, Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1826. 80. The Elopement, The Pocket Magazine, 1826. 81. [Elphin Irving] The Fairies’s Cupbearer. A Scottish Traditionary Tale. Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1826. 82. The Enchanted Castle, Popular Tales and Romances of the Northern Nations. London: W. Simpkin & R. Marshall; and J. H. Bohte, 1823. 83. [Shafton, Pierce] The Enchanted Lake. A Swiss Tradition. Vagaries in Quest of the Wild and Whimsical. London: 1827; Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1830. 84. [Shelley, Mary] The Evil Eye, Keepsake, 1830. 85. [Wilson, John] Extracts from Gosschen’s Diary, Blackwood’s, August 1818. 86. The Faction of Sienna, The Story-Teller. London: James Robins & Co., 1830.

182 Appendix 3 87. The Fair Iselle, or The Phantom of the Castle Valfin, The Ladies’ Pocket Magazine, 1824. 88. The Family Portraits, Tales of the Dead. London: White, Cochrane & Co., 1813. 89. The Fated Hour, Tales of the Dead. London: White, Cochrane & Co., 1813. 90. The Father’s Fatal Vow! From the German. Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1826. 91. Faustus, Endless Entertainment; or, Comic, Terrific, and Legendary Tales. London: G. Hebert, 1825. 92. [Shelley, Mary] Ferdinando Eboli. Keepsake, 1829. 93. The Field of Terror. A Tale. Blackwood’s, 1820; Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1826. 94. [Howison, John] The Floating Beacon; or, The Norwegian Wreckers. A Tale of the Sea. Blackwood’s Magazine, May 1821–July 1822; Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1830. 95. The Flying Dutchman! or, Vanderdecken’s Message Home. A Mariner’s Legend. Blackwood’s Magazine; Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1826. 96. [Ainsworth, William] The Fortress of Saguntum, Literary Souvenir, 1825. 97. [Lewis, Matthew] The Four Facardins. Romantic Tales, 1808. 98. Frederick and Alice. Translated from the German by Sir Walter Scott. Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1826. 99. [Ainsworth, William] The Ghost Laid, Keepsake, 1828. 100. Ghost Stories, The Literary Magnet. London: William Charlton Wright, 1824. 101. The Ghost with the Golden Casket. A Scottish Tradition. London Magazine; Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1826. 102. [Landon, Miss Letitia Elizabeth] Giuliette. A Tale of the Fourteenth Century, Forget Me Not, 1833. 103. The Gnome King; or, The Magic Spectre. A Silesian Legend. Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1826. 104. The Gnome of the Hartz Mountains. Endless Entertainment; or, Comic, Terrific, and Legendary Tales, London: G. Hebert, 1825; Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1830. 105. The Golden Jew of Burges. Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1826. 106. The Golden Snuff-Box, Literary Souvenir, 1825. 107. [Soane, George] Gondibert. A Tale of the Middle Ages. Specimens of German Romance, London: 1826; Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1830. 108. Gortz of Franckfort; or, The Illusions of a Dream. From the German. Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1826. 109. The Green Taper. Forget Me Not, 1825; Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1830. 110. The Grotto of Akteleg; an Hungarian legend, Literary Souvenir, 1829. 111. The Grotto of St. Odille. A German Tradition. Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1830. 112. Hallowe’en in Germany, or, The Walpurgis Night. A Tale of the Harz Mountains. Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1830. 113. Hans Heiling’s Rocks. A Bohemian Legend. Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1826.

Appendix 3 183 114. 115. 116. 117. 118. 119. 120. 121. 122. 123. 124. 125. 126.

127. 128. 129. 130. 131. 132. 133. 134. 135. 136. 137. 138. 139. 140. 141. 142. 143. 144.

The Harp. A Tale. Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1826. [Bird, John] The Haunted Chamber, Forget Me Not, 1831. The Haunted Hogshead, Forget Me Not, 1831. The Haunted Manor-House, Forget Me Not, 1827. The Haunted Ships; or, The Spectre Hulks of Solway Bay. A Tradition of the Scottish Coast. Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1826. The Heir Presumptive, Tales of All Nations. London: Thomas Hurst & Co., 1827. The Hoard of the Nibelungen Popular Tales and Romances of the Northern Nations. London: W. Simpkin & R. Marshall; and J. H. Bohte, 1823. The Hollow Oak; or, The Haunt of Demons. A Welsh Legend. The Literary Magnet. London: Wright, 1824. The Illuminati; or, The Mysterious Spaniard. A Romance. Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1830. The Inchcape Rock; or, The Rover’s Fate! Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1826. The Infidel. A Welsh Legend. Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1826. The Irish Heiress, The Story-Teller. London: James Robins & Co., 1830. The Irish Witch and the Rebel’s Wife. A Tale, founded on the Gunpowder Plot. Endless Entertainment; or, Comic, Terrific, and Legendary Tales. London: G. Hebert, 1825. [Mudford, William] The Iron Shroud, Blackwood’s, August 1830. The Italian Travellers, The Ladies’ Pocket Magazine, 1830. Jan Schalken’s Three Wishes. A Dutch Legend. Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1826. [Mackenzie, R. Shelton] Julian and Leonor, The Ladies’ Pocket Magazine, 1831. Karl and his Horse Nicolaus. From the German. Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1826. Kemp, The Bandit, Forget Me Not, 1830. Kibitz Popular Tales and Romances of the Northern Nations. London: W. Simpkin & R. Marshall; and J. H. Bohte, 1823. The Knight and the Disour, The Story-Teller. London: James Robins & Co., 1830. The Knight of the Wounded Hart, The Story-Teller. London: James Robins & Co., 1830. The Knights’ Cellar in the Kyffhausen, Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1830. [Lee, Harriet] Kruitzner, The Canterbury Tales, London: G. G. & J. Robinson, 1801; The Story-Teller. London: James Robins & Co., 1830. Lacy de Vere, Forget Me Not, 1827. The Lady and her Lover, The Ladies Pocket Magazine, 1830. Lanucci: A Tale of the Thirteenth Century, Friendship’s Offering, 1825. The Last Coffin, The Story-Teller. London: James Robins & Co., 1830. [Emerson, James] The Last Heir of Glenkerrin, Tales of All Nations. London: Thomas Hurst & Co., 1827. The Latern in the Castle-Yard. Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1830. [Thomson, Henry] Le Revenant, Blackwood’s, April 1827.

184 Appendix 3 145. The Legend of Bottle-Hill. An Irish Tradition, Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1830. 146. The Legend of Dunmorven, Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1826. 147. [Maturin, Charles] Leixlip Castle; an Irish Family Legend, Literary Souvenir, 1825. 148. The Lepreghaun, or Gold Goblin. An Irish Tale. Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1826. 149. Lham-Dearg; or, The Legend of Bloody-Hand. Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1826. 150. Life after Death; or, The Friar of Conradsburg. A German Tradition of 1296 and 1796. Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1830. 151. Life in Death Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1830. 152. Lord Eustace D’Ambreticourt, Tales of All Nations. London: Thomas Hurst & Co., 1827. 153. Lorenzo, or The Robber, Lady’s Monthly Museum, s3.III, 1816. 154. The Love Devil. Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1830. 155. [Walpole, Horace] Maddalena; or, The Fate of the Florentines. An Italian Legend. Unpublished Tales, 18—; Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1826. 156. [De Quincey, Thomas] The Magic Dice. An Original. London Magazine, 1823; Legends of Terror, The Story-Teller. London: James Robins & Co., 1830. 157. [Plumptre, Anne and Annabella] The Magic Dollar. A Tale of Alsace. Tales of Wonder, of Humour, and of Sentiment, London: 1818; Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1826. 158. The Magic Mirror, Forget Me Not, 1823; The Story-Teller, London: James Robins & Co. Ivy Lane, Paternoster Row, 1830. 159. [de la Motte, Friedrich Fougue] The Magic Ring. A Legendary Fragment. Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1826. 160. The Magic Watch. Raphael’s Lady’s Witch, 1833. 161. [Neele, Henry] The Magician’s Visitor, Forget Me Not, 1828. 162. [Wilkinson, Sara] The Maid of Lochlin; or Mysteries of the North. The Tell-Tale; or Universal Museum, London: Ann Lemoine, 1804; Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1826. 163. [S. H. A.] Malgherita Spoletina. An Interesting Tale from the Italian. Tales of all Nations, London: Thomas Hurst & Co., 1827; Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1830. 164. [Maginn, William] The Man in the Bell, Blackwood’s, November 1821. 165. Manuscript found in a Madhouse, Literary Souvenir, 1829. 166. Maredata and Giulio; or, the Ocean Spirit. An Italian Legend. Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1826. 167. Maredata, a Tradition of the Fourteenth Century, The Literary Magnet London: Wright, 1824. 168. The Mariner’s Legend; or, The Bridal of Death! Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1826. 169. The Marsh-Maiden, A Tale of the Palatinate, The Literary Souvenir, 1833. 170. [Croker, Crofton] Master and Man. An Irish Tradition, Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1830.

Appendix 3 185 171. Master and Man; or, the Mock Ambassador, Endless Entertainment; or, Comic, Terrific, and Legendary Tales. London: G. Hebert, 1825. 172. [Roberts, Miss Emma] Maximilian and his Daughter, Forget Me Not, 1827. 173. Metempsychosis, The Story-Teller. London: James Robins & Co., 1830. 174. [Wilkinson, Sarah] The Midnight Embrace in the Halls of Werdendorff! Albert of Werdendorff; or, The Midnight Embrace. Newcastle: Printed by M. Angus & Son, 1800; Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1826. 175. [Miles, Colvine] The Cumberland Mariner. A Tale of the English Coast. Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1826. 176. [Lewis, Matthew] Mistrust; or, Blanche and Osbright, A Feudal Romance, Romantic Tales, 1808. 177. The Monster Made by Man; or, The Punishment of Presumption. Endless Entertainment; or, Comic, Terrific, and Legendary Tales. London: G. Hebert, 1825. 178. [F. A.] Montgomery, A Sketch, The Ladies Pocket Magazine, 1830. 179. The Moor’s Revenge. Repository of Arts, 1815. 180. [Shelley, Mary] The Mortal Immortal, Keepsake, 1834. 181. The Mountain King. A Swedish Legend. Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1826. 182. [Shelley, Mary] The Mourner, Keepsake, 1830. 183. The Mousquetaire, The Story-Teller. London: James Robins & Co., 1830. 184. The Murder Hole, Blackwood’s, February 1829. 185. [Stone, William L.] The Murdered Tinman, Forget Me Not, 1833. 186. The Murderess; or, The Fatal Prediction! A Romantic Tale. Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1826. 187. The Mysterious Bottle of Old Hock, An Ancient Legend. Endless Entertainment; or, Comic, Terrific, and Legendary Tales. London G. Hebert, 1825. 188. [Hogg, James] The Mysterious Bride, Blackwood’s, December 1830. 189. The Mysterious Husband, The Story-Teller. London: James Robins & Co., 1830. 190. The Mysterious Man of the Castle, Endless Entertainment; or, Comic, Terrific, and Legendary Tales. London: G. Hebert, 1825. 191. The Mysterious Monk, of the Mountain Rose (3 parts) The Ladies Pocket Magazine, v, 1826. 192. [Lathom, Francis] The Mysterious Murder; or, Where is the Secret Buried? The Polish Bandit or Who’s My Bride. London: 1824. 193. Mysterious Stranger or the Bravo of Banff, Friendship’s Offering, 1833. 194. The Necromancer! A Romance. From the German of Weber. Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1830. 195. The Norwegian Rovers; or, the Curse of the Island Seer! A Romance of the North. Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1826. 196. The Novice of San Martino, The Pocket Magazine of Classic and Polite Literature, II, 1818. 197. [Ritchie, Leitch] The Novice; or, The Convent Demon, Keepsake, 1833. 198. Number-Nip. A Tradition of the Harz. Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1830. 199. The Numidians. Tales of All Nations. London: Thomas Hurst & Co., 1827. 200. The Nymph of the Fountain; or, The Musk Ball. Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1826. 201. [Moir (Delta), D. L.] The Old Manor House, Literary Souvenir, 1826.

186 Appendix 3 202. [Beevor, Miss M. L.] The Old Sign Board, or House in the Wilderness (2 long parts) The Ladies’ Pocket Magazine, SVII, 1832. 203. Oliva and Richardos. A Tale of the Crusades. Endless Entertainment; or, Comic, Terrific, and Legendary Tales. London: G. Hebert, 1825. 204. [Ritchie, Leitch] The Outlaw’s Bride, Keepsake, 1833. 205. The Parricide; or the Stranger Knight! An Original Translation from the German. Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1830. 206. Peter Klaus. The Legend of the Goatherd. Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1826. 207. Peter of Stauffenburg. From the German. Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1826. 208. Peter Schlemihl; or, The Man Without a Shadow! Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1830. 209. The Phantom Voice, Forget Me Not, 1826. 210. The Pirate’s Treasure. Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1826. 211. The Player and Prisoners, Endless Entertainment; or, Comic, Terrific, and Legendary Tales. London: G. Hebert, 1825. 212. [Lathom, Francis] The Polish Bandit; or, Who’s My Bride, A Tale of Mystery. The Polish Bandit or Who’s My Bride. London: 1824. 213. Princess Matilda and Prince Morterio, A Saracen tale, The Ladies’ Pocket Magazine, 1833. 214. The Priory The Ladies’ Pocket Magazine, xiv, 1830. 215. [Lathom, Francis] The Prophecy, One Pound Note & Other Tales, 1820. 216. Queen Elizabeth at Theobalds. Tales of All Nations. London: Thomas Hurst & Co., 1827. 217. [Andrews, J. P.] The Raven’s Tower of Llangarran Castle. An Old English Tradition, Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1830. 218. The Recluse, The Weekly Entertainer, 1821. 219. [Hofland, Barbara] The Regretted Ghost, Forget Me Not, 1826. 220. The Riddle Read. From the Italian. Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1830. 221. [Vulpius, Christian August] Rinaldo Rinaldini, The Great Bandit Captain. London: Longman and Rees, 1800; The Life, Surprising Adventures, and Most Remarkable Escapes of Rinaldo Rinaldini, Captain of a Banditti of Robbers. London: Ann Lemoine, 1801; Endless Entertainment; or, Comic, Terrific, and Legendary Tales. London: Published by G. Hebert, 1825. 222. The Ring—A Spanish Tale Tales of All Nations. Thomas Hurst & Co., 1827. 223. [Irving, Washington] Rip Van Winkle. An American Tale. The Literary Magnet London: Wright, 1824; Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1826. 224. The Rob Roy of Wales. A Welch Legend, Endless Entertainment; or, Comic, Terrific, and Legendary Tales. London: G. Hebert, 1825. 225. The Rock of the Candle, Literary Souvenir, 1829. 226. [Rolfe, Mrs Ann] Roderick, or The Magic Tower, a Tale of Former Times, by (2 long parts), The Ladies’ Pocket Magazine, SVII, 1832. 227. [Inglis, Henry] Rodolph, The Fratricide, Friendship’s Offering, 1830. 228. [Richardson, G. F.] Rosalie Berton. Tales of All Nations. London: Thomas Hurst & Co., 1827.

Appendix 3 187 229. [Roberts, Emma] Rosamunda: A Venetian Fragment, Literary Souvenir, 1826. 230. [Ainsworth, W. Harrison] Rosicrucian, A Tale, Friendship’s Offering, 1827. 231. [Horsley-Curties, T. J.] The Ruins of the Abbey of Fitz-Martin. New Gleaner, or Entertainment for the Fire-Side, 1810. 232. Saint Anthony’s Flask; or, the Devil’s wine! A German Legend. Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1830. 233. [Conyngham, Lord Albert] The Sandman from the German of Hoffman, Keepsake, 1834. 234. [Green, William Child] Secrets of Cabalism; or, Ravenstone and Alice of Huntingdon. Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1826. 235. The Sexagenarian’s Story; or, The Incognita of Munich, Friendship’s Offering, 1832. 236. [Chorley, H. F.] The Silent Man, Forget Me Not, 1834. 237. [Drake, Nathan] Sir Egbert, A Gothic Tale. Literary Hours; or, Sketches Critical, Narrative, and Poetical. London: T. Cadell & W. Davies, 1804. 238. Sir Guy, The Seeker. A Northumbrian Romance. Romantic Tales, 1808. Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1826. 239. Sir Hugh the Heron. A Border Romance. Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1826. 240. Sir Roger De Calverley’s Ghost, The Story-Teller. London: James Robins & Co., 1830. 241. [Shelley, Mary] The Sisters of Albano, Keepsake, 1829. 242. [Stone, William] The Skeleton Hand, Forget Me Not, 1834. 243. The Skeleton Witness. A Spanish Romance. Endless Entertainment; or, Comic, Terrific, and Legendary Tales. London: G. Hebert, 1825; Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1830. 244. [Fraser-Tythler, Patrick] Sketch of a Tradition Related by a Monk in Switzerland, Blackwood’s, June 1817. 245. [Croker, Crofton] The Sleeping Friar; or, the Stone of Father Cuddy. An Irish Tradition, Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1830. 246. The Smuggler. A Tale of the Sea. Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1826. 247. The Sorcerers. Popular Tales and Romances of the Northern Nations. London: W. Simpkin & R. Marshall; and J. H. Bohte, 1823. 248. [Drake, Nathan] The Spectre, A Legendary Tale. Literary Hours; or, Sketches Critical, Narrative, and Poetical. London: T. Cadell & W. Davies, 1804. 249. The Spectre Barber. A Tale of the Sixteenth Century. Tales of the Dead London: White, Cochrane & Co., 1813; Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1830. 250. [Ainsworth, W. Harrison] The Spectre Bride; or, The Legend of Hernswolf. Arliss’s Pocket Magazine, 1822; Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1826. 251. [Irving, Washington] The Spectre Bridegroom. A Traveller’s Tale. Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1826. 252. The Spectre Horsemen of Soutra-Fell; or, the Fall of the House of Selby. A Cumberland Tradition. Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1826.

188 Appendix 3 253. [Plumptre, Anne and Annabella] The Spectre of Presburg. A Hungarian Tale, Tales of Wonder, of Humour, and of Sentiment; 1818; Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1826. 254. [Warren, Samuel] The Spectre-Smitten, Blackwood’s, February 1831. 255. The Sprite of the Glen. A Swedish Legend. Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1826. 256. The Stirrup Cup. From the German. Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1830. 257. The Storm, Tales of the Dead. London: White, Cochrane & Co., 1813. 258. The Stranger of Mariette’s Lake. A Legendary Fragmant. Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1830. 259. [Maturin, Charles] The Sybil’s Prophecy; a Dramatic Fragment, Literary Souvenir, 1826. 260. The Sybil’s Spell. Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1830. 261. [Scott, Walter] The Tale of the Mysterious Mirror, Keepsake, 1828. 262. The Tale. Popular Tales and Romances of the Northern Nations. London: W. Simpkin and R. Marshall & J. H. Bohte, 1823. 263. The Talisman. Endless Entertainment; or, Comic, Terrific, and Legendary Tales. London: G. Hebert, 1825. 264. The Temptation of the Capuchins, Friendship’s offering, 1832. 265. [Ann of Kent] The Terrible Warning, or Blood will have Blood, a Romance, The Ladies Pocket Magazine (5 parts), x, 1829. 266. The Three Damsels, a Tale of Halloween, Forget Me Not, 1827. 267. The Tomb of the Lovers, The Story-Teller. London: James Robins & Co., 1830. 268. [Wilkinson, Sarah] Torbolton Abbey: A Gothic Tale, New Gleaner, or Entertainment for the Fire-Side, 1810. 269. [Shelley, Mary] Transformation, Keepsake, 1831. 270. The Treacherous Servant, Endless Entertainment; or, Comic, Terrific, and Legendary Tales. London: G. Hebert, 1825. 271. The Treasure Seeker. Popular Tales and Romances of the Northern Nations. London: W. Simpkin & R. Marshall; and J. H. Bohte, 1823; Legends of Terror!. London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1826. 272. The Treuenfels; or, the Rock of Fidelity. A Tradition of the Rhine. Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1826. 273. Twelve O’Clock; or, George Dobson’s Journey to Hell! Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1830. 274. [Catty, John] The Welsh Rob Roy The Story-Teller. London: James Robins & Co., 1830. 275. Ulric, the Bold. Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1826. 276. [Griffin, Gerald] The Unburied Legs. Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1830. 277. [Inglis, Henry] The Unholy Promise: A Norwegian Legend, Friendship’s Offering, 1831. 278. [Curtis, Mrs Julia Anne] The Unknown! or, The Knight of the Blood-Red Plume. A Welsh Legend. Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1826. 279. Unsuccessful Machinations, or The Castle of Dunanachy (2 parts), La Belle Assemblée, n.s.xv, 1817.

Appendix 3 189 280. The Veiled Heiress of Lomond, a Tale (2 parts), The Theatrical Inquisitor, XIII, 1818. 281. The Victim of Priestcraft, Popular Tales and Romances of the Northern Nations. London: W. Simpkin & R. Marshall; and J. H. Bohte, 1823. 282. The Victim, The Ladies Pocket Magazine, 1833. 283. [Gore, Mrs] Victoria; or, the Sicilian Vespers, Forget Me Not, 1834. 284. [Watts, Alaric A.] The Virgin Mary’s Bank. An Irish Tradition. Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1830. 285. [Tieck, Ludwig] Wake Not the Dead! Or, The Bride of the Grave. A Romance from the German, Popular Tales and Romances of the Northern Nations. London: W. Simpkin and R. Marshall, 1823; Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1826. 286. [Beevor, Miss ML] The Waltz, Forget Me Not, 1834. 287. The Wanderer; or, the Magic Phial! A Spanish Legendary Romance. Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1830. 288. Wandering Willie’s Tale, The Literary Magnet. London: Wright, 1824. 289. [Gillies, Robert Pearce] The Warning: A German Legend, Friendship’s Offering, 1829. 290. The Water Lady. An Austrian Tradition. Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1826. 291. [Wilkinson, Sarah] The Water Spectre; or The Weird Sisters. A Scottish Romance. Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1826. 292. The White Horse. A Kentish Tradition. Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1830. 293. The White Woman of Berlin, a Fragment, The Theatrical Inquisitor, xv, 1819; Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1826. 294. [JRR] The Widow of Underwalden, The Ladies Pocket Magazine, 1830. 295. William the Fatal Marksman! or, The Seven Charmed Bullets. Popular Tales and Romances of the Northern Nations. London: W. Simpkin and R. Marshall, 1823; Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1826. 296. The Willi-Dance. An Hungarian Legend. Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1830. 297. The Wish, Forget Me Not, 1833. 298. [Galt, John] The Witch, Literary Souvenir, 1827. 299. The Wizard’s Revenge! An Irish Tradition. Legends of Terror! London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1826. 300. The Young Robber. The Literary Magnet. London: Wright, 1824; The Story-Teller, London: James Robins & Co., 1830.

Notes Preface 1. For a fuller discussion of pre-1800 Gothic see, amongst others, Edith Birkhead’s The Tale of Terror (1921), Fred Botting’s Gothic (1996) and David Punter’s Literature of Terror (1996).

1 Literary rubbish 1. Ainsworth, William Harrison, Rookwood (London: Richard Bentley, 1837), pp. xiii, xxxix. 2. Birkhead, Edith, The Tale of Terror: A Study of the Gothic Romance (London: Constable, 1921; Repr. New York: Russell & Russell, 1963), p. 185. 3. Howells, Coral Ann, Love, Mystery, and Misery: Feeling in Gothic Fiction (London: Athlone Press, 1978), p. 80. 4. Varma, Devendra, The Gothic Flame: Being a History of the Gothic Novel in England; Its Origins, Efflorescence, Disintegration, and Residuary Influences (New York: Russell & Russell, 1966), p. 173. 5. James, Louis, Fiction for the Working Man: 1830–1850 (London: Oxford University Press, 1963), pp. 80–81. 6. Punter, David, The Literature of Terror: A History of Gothic Fiction from 1765 to the Present Day (London and New York: Longman, 1996), p. 114. 7. Richter, David H., The Progress of Romance: Literary Historiography and the Gothic Novel (Columbus: Ohio State University Press, 1996), p. 125. 8. Mayo, Robert, ‘How Long Was Gothic Fiction in Vogue?’, Modern Language Notes, LVIII (1943), pp. 58–59. Both Birkhead and Mayo fail to mention Mrs Radcliffe’s last novel Gaston de Blondeville; or, The Court of Henry III Keeping Festival in Ardennes written in 1802 and published posthumously in 1826. Austen’s Northanger Abbey was written in 1798, but not published until 1818, in part due to the satirical treatment of romance readers. 9. Varma argued in The Gothic Flame that after Maturin’s Melmoth the Wanderer (1820) that the Gothic splintered into several diverse channels including serials, tales, fragments and bluebooks, but that these productions generally misused the familiar themes of Radcliffe and Lewis and such ‘imitations’ generally attracted only working-class readers (pp. 176, 186). 10. Sage, Victor, ‘Gothic Novel’, The Handbook to Gothic Literature, ed. Marie Mulvey-Roberts (London: Macmillan Press Ltd, 1998), p. 84. 11. Clery, Emma, The Rise of the Supernatural, 1762–1800 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995), p. 55. 12. Frank, Frederick, The First Gothics: A Critical Guide to the English Gothic Novel (New York and London: Garland Publishing, Inc., 1987), p. 235. 13. Public libraries such as Norwich Public Library and Manchester Public Library differ slightly from Circulating Libraries in that they met the specific

190

Notes 191 needs of a special interest groups such as physicians, dissenting clergy or well-to-do members of society. In Public Libraries, members had influence over the selection of books for the library. Members could propose whatever books they pleased, by writing the names of them, with the prices, in a book to be kept for that purpose by the librarian. A committee, formed through a meeting of the general members, was responsible for the acquisition of new books. Requested books were taken before that committee, at monthly meetings, so they could order the books that were proposed, or reject them, as they thought proper; and such books that were rejected could not be afterwards admitted by the committee which rejected them. In Circulating Libraries, the proprietor ordered the books, though subscribers could place a request for certain books. 14. Wilkinson, Sarah, The Spectre of Lanmere Abbey; or, The Mystery of the Blue and Silver Bag; A Romance (London: W. Mason, 1820), p. 1. 15. For example, Eleanor Sleath in an Advertisement attached to The Orphan of the Rhine in 1798 wrote: The Author of the following pages presents them to the Public with a sentiment of respectful diffidence. She avows them as her first performance, and must therefore appeal to the candour and indulgence of the liberal. As work of this kind are universally read, and, if written with discretion, are allowed by the strictest moralists to be, at least, innocent, she feels the less need of an apology for this adding to her amply supplied treasury of literary amusement, of which this country boasts; and should her production contribute, in the smallest degree, to the entertainment of those who may honour it with a perusal, she will consider the hours spent in its composition as having been not unprofitably employed, and will deem her exertions more than adequately rewarded. (p. 1)

2 The circulating library 1. Wilkinson, Sarah, The Subterraneous Passage; or, Gothic Cell. A Romance (London: Lemoine, n.d.), pp. 10–11. 2. Young women and servants are commonly thought of as readers of Gothic fiction. See Summers, Montague, Gothic Quest (London: Fortune Press, 1938), pp. 84–85. Also see Chapter 2. 3. ‘Anti-Ghost’, ‘On the New Method of Inculcating Morality’ [Letter to the editor], Walker’s Hibernian Magazine; or, Compendium of Entertaining Knowledge (1798), pt i, p. 11, The Gothick Novel: A Casebook, ed. Victor Sage (London: Macmillan, 1990), p. xx. 4. Devendra Varma’s The Evergreen Tree of Diabolical Knowledge (Washington, DC: Consortium Press, 1972), p. 198. Varma’s book contains a reprint of a pamphlet titled The Use of Circulating Libraries Considered (1797). Consequently, subsequent references to this pamphlet will note the pamphlet’s title and page numbers as located in Varma’s book. 5. Catalogue of a Collection of Books, containing the Epsom Library which will be sold, by Mr. Hone, etc. (London: 1823), p. 1.

192 Notes 6. Lane, William, A Tale Addressed to the Novel Readers of the Present Times (London: Minerva Press, 1795). 7. See Devendra Varma, Evergreen Tree, p. 48. 8. Blakey, Dorothy, Minerva Press 1790–1830 (London: Oxford University Press, 1939), p. 114. 9. A Catalogue of Books, for the year 1804–1805 Comprising of 850,000 Volumes by Lackington, Allen, & Co., Temple of the Muses, Finsbury Square, London (London: J. D. Dewick, 1804). 10. A Catalogue of Harrod’s Circulating Library Comprising 700 Novels, &c. and 300 Plays (Stamford, 1790). 11. The figures are taken from Patrick Colquhoun’s A Treaties of Indigence (1806), in Harold Perkins’ The Origins of Modern English Society 1780–1880 (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1969), pp. 17–23. 12. A Catalogue of Instructive & Entertaining Books which are Lent out to Read by William Phorson at His Circulating Library (Berwick, 1790). 13. W. Fish’s Catalogue of His Circulating Library, 38, London-Lane, Norwich (Norwich: Lane & Co., 1817). 14. A Catalogue of Ebers’s New Circulating Library, 23, Old Bond-Street (London: Renyell, Sons & Wales, 1809). 15. A Catalogue of Hargrove’s Circulating Library (York: Blanchard, 1801). 16. Catalogue of Turner’s Circulating Library, Market-Place, Beverley (Beverley: Turner, 1801), p. iii. 17. A Catalogue of J. Cupper’s Circulating Library, opposite the Rampant Horse, St. Stephen’s, Norwich, Bookseller, Binder, and Stationer (Norwich: 1831). 18. M. & A. Church’s Circulating Library (Norwich: 1831), p. 3. 19. W. Booth’s Catalogue of Books, belonging to his Circulating Library; consisting of more than Four Thousand Volumes (Payne: Norwich, 1802), p. ii. 20. Catalogue of Books (Ancient and Modern) Which will be sold for ready money at the prices affixed by M. Turner, Bookseller, Stationer and Printer, Market-Place, Beverley (Beverly: Printed and Sold by M. Turner, 1817), p. iv. 21. Anonymous, ‘Letter to the Printer’, Sarah Farley’s Bristol Journal, 12 December 1796. 22. Sir Walter Scott: On Novelists and Fiction, ed. Ioan Williams (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1968), pp. 206–207. 23. Lathom, Francis, Fatal Vow; or, St. Michael’s Monastery (London: B. Crosby, 1807), 2, pp. iii–iv. 24. Kaufman, Paul, Libraries and Their Users: Collected Papers in Library History (London: Library Association, 1969), pp. 195–196. 25. Skelton-Foord, Christopher, ‘Fiction Holdings and Indexing Practices in the Circulating Libraries of Late 18th- and Early 19th-Century Britain’, Corvey Journal, Jahrgang 8 (1997), p. 11. 26. Each library in Norwich was examined and the novels published by Minerva Press identified. 27. In assessing the novels in the libraries, second or third copies of books were excluded from the overall total of novels. 28. A Catalogue of Books (Ancient and Modern) which will be sold for ready money, at the prices affixed by M. Turner, Bookseller, Stationer, and Printer (Beverley: M. Turner, 1817).

Notes 193 29. Scott, Walter, ‘Review of Melmoth the Wanderer’, Monthly Review, 2nd ser., xciv (1821), pp. 81–82. 30. It appears that William Fish like William Booth received a majority of his bluebooks from Tegg and Castleman. All bluebooks listed here were published by Tegg. 31. See John Brewer’s ‘Reconstructing the Reader: Prescriptions, Texts, and Strategies in Anna Larpent’s Reading’, The Practice and Representation of Reading in England, ed. James Raven, Helen Small, and Naomi Tadmor (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996). 32. Belanger, Jacqueline, Garside, Peter, and Mandal, Anthony, British Fiction, 1800–1829: A Database of Production and Reception, Phase II: Anecdotal Comments. http://www.cf.ac.uk/corvey/article/database/anecdote.html. 33. See Montague Summers’s Gothic Quest. 34. See Varma’s Gothic Flame, Chapter VII. 35. Fawcett, Trevor, ‘Music Circulating Libraries in Norwich’, Musical Times (July 1978), pp. 594–595. 36. A Catalogue of W. Fish’s Circulating Library (Norwich: Land & Co.), p. 2. 37. Altick, Richard, The English Common Reader: A Social History of the Mass Reading Public, 1800–1900 (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1957), pp. 288, 382. 38. IGI Records, Norfolk, held at the Norwich PRO. 39. Susanna and Thomas Thurtell, Esq., had several children who distinguished themselves in various ways, not all of them savoury or respectable. Thomas Jr (1793–?), publican and owner of the Cock pub in Haymarket, was acquitted of complicity in the Weare murder; John (1794–1824), murderer of Mr Weare and executed in the most sensational manner in 1824; Charles (1796–1856), a decorated Lieutenant in the Royal Navy (married Susan Dunham 21 April 1825); and George (1801–1848), a horticulturist who was convicted of stealing and died in the Norwich Gaol in 1846 (married Miss Edward in 1825).

3 Literary mushrooms: The Gothic bluebook 1. Watt, William Whyte, Shilling Shockers of the Gothic School: A Study of Chapbook Gothic Romances (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1932; New York: Russell & Russell, 1967), p. 21. 2. Tales from Gothic Bluebooks, ed. Peter Haining (Chislehurst: Gothic Society, 1978), p. 13. 3. Anonymous, Wild Roses; or, Cottage Tales (London: Lemoine & Roe, n.d.). 4. Botting, Fred, Gothic (London and New York: Routledge, 1996), p. 62. 5. Shepard, Leslie, The History of Street Literature (Newton Abbot: David & Charles, 1973), p. 27. 6. Shepard, Leslie, John Pitts: Ballad Printer of Seven Dials, London 1765–1844 (London: Private Libraries Association, 1969), pp. 78–79. 7. Dictionary of National Biography, ed. Sir Leslie Stephen and Sir Sidney Lee, Volume XI (London: Oxford University Press, 1917; Repr. 1960), pp. 906–908. 8. Curwen, Henry, A History of Booksellers (London: Chatto and Windus, 1873), p. 389. 9. In compiling this bibliography I first consulted the largest single bibliography of bluebooks which consists of 52 titles found in Peter Haining’s Tales from

194 Notes

10. 11. 12.

13. 14. 15. 16.

17. 18.

19.

20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27.

Gothic Bluebook (1978). Afterwards, I consulted several larger Gothic bibliographies including Montague Summers’ A Gothic Bibliography (1941), Ann Tracy’s The Gothic Novel 1790–1830: Plot Summaries and Index to Motifs (1981), Robert Mayo’s The English Noel in the Magazines 1740–1815 (1962), and Louis James’s Fiction for the Working Man 1830–1850 (1963), but searches yielded few bluebooks. Significantly, Frederick Frank’s The First Gothics: A Critical Guide to the English Gothic Novel (1987) produced a number of records of these rare issues, and additional search of the catalogues of the British Library, Cambridge University Library, Bodlian Library, Leeds University Library, University of Birmingham Library, the Sadleir Black Collection at the Alderman Library, University of Virginia and the New York Public Library, yielded a large cache of these unappreciated Gothic bluebooks. Frederick, Frank, ‘Gothic Gold: The Sadleir-Black Gothic Collection’, Studies in Eighteenth-Century Culture (1998), p. 296. Mayo, Robert, The English Novel in the Magazines, 1740–1815 (London: Oxford University Press, 1962), p. 367. Robert Mayo indicates that a total of 57 tales appeared in the Tell-Tale between 1803 and 1805, but I can only find 26 that were also issued as bluebooks; it is likely, however, that all tales were reissued in that form. See Robert Mayo, English Novel, p. 368. This amount closely reflects Montague Summers’s estimate of hundreds upon hundreds in Gothic Quest, pp. 84–85. British Library, Letter to the Royal Literary Fund, Loan No. 96 (Case 375). Hereafter referred to as RLF and accompanied by the date of the letter. See Dorothy Blakey’s The Minerva Press 1790–1820 (London: Oxford University Press, 1939), Louis Dudek’s Literature and the Press: A History of Printing, Printed Media, and Their Relation to Literature (Toronto: Ryerson Press and Contact Press, 1955) and Leslie Shepard’s The History of Street Literature (Newton Abbot: David & Charles, 1973). For example, see Frederick Frank’s discussion of the bluebook author Isaac Crookenden in The First Gothics, pp. 64–69. There is no evidence that the bluebook author had access to J. H. D. Zschokke’s Abällino, Der Grosse Bandit (1794), but simply included it in the title because of the success of Lewis’s translation. Cox, Philip, Reading Adaptations: Novels and Verse Narratives on the Stage, 1790–1840 (Manchester and New York: Manchester University Press, 2000). Wilkinson, Sarah, The Castle Spectre (London: J. Bailey, 1820), p. 2. ‘The Castle Spectre, A Dramatic Spectre’, The Hour of One: Six Gothic Melodramas, ed. Stephen Wischhusen (London: Gordon Fraser, 1975), p. 26. Richmond: Scenes in the Life of a Bow Street Runner; Drawn up from his Private Memoranda (New York: Dover Publications, Inc., 1976), pp. ix–x. Surr, Thomas, George Barnwell (London: Symonds, 1798), p. 5. Wilkinson, Sarah, The Pathetic and Interesting History of George Barnwell (London: Lemoine & Roe, 1805), pp. 4–5. For examples see Frederick Frank, The First Gothics, pp. 20, 414–415. Maturin, Charles Robert, Melmoth the Wanderer, ed. Victor Sage (London: Penguin Books, 2000), p. viii. Maturin, Charles, Bertram (London: 1816), Act 1 scene V, pp. 11–12.

Notes 195 28. Coleridge’s attack on Maturin’s play was a direct response to Drury Lane’s decision to produce Bertram rather than Coleridge’s Remorse, and must be read in that context. 29. Coleridge, S. T., Biographia Literaria; or Biographical Sketches of my Literary Life and Opinions, Volume II (London: Rest Fenner, 1817), p. 200. 30. The Correspondence of Sir Walter Scott and Charles Robert Maturin, ed. Fannie E. Ratchford and William H. McCarthy, Jr (New York & London: Garland Publishing, Inc., 1980), p. 42. 31. See Robert Kiely’s The Romantic Novel in England (Cambridge, Massachusetts: Harvard University Press, 1973), p. 79 and Frederick Frank’s The First Gothics, pp. 20, 414. 32. In 1808 William Booth is listed as supplier for Thomas Tegg. 33. See Montague Summers, The Gothic Quest, pp. 84–85. 34. Hill, Aaron (1685–1750), The Tragedy of Zara (London: J. Watts, 1736), Act 3 Scene 1. 35. Crookenden, Isaac, The Spectre of the Turret (London: Printed and sold by R. Harrild, n.d.), p. 21. 36. Anonymous, The Midnight Groan; or, The Spectre of the Chapel. A Gothic Romance (London: Printed for T. & R. Hughes, 1808), p. 7. 37. Anonymous, Tomb of Aurora; or The Mysterious Summons, A Romance from Wild Roses (London: Lemoine & Roe, n.d.), pp. 4–5. 38. Wilkinson, Sarah, The Castle of Montabino; or, The Orphan Sisters (London: Dean & Munday, 1809), p. 28.

4 Ghosts, spectres and phantoms: Recycling the Gothic in periodicals and anthologies 1. Fantasmagorian; ou Recueil d’Histoires d’Apparitions, de Spectres (Revenan, Fantomes, &c. Traduit de l’Allemand, par un Amateur. Paris, 1812). 2. Florescu, Radu, In Search of Frankenstein: Exploring the Myths Behind Mary Shelley’s Monster (London: Robson Books, 1996), pp. 1–2, 113–116. 3. Utterson, Mrs, Tales of the Dead Principally translated from the French (London: White, Cochrane & Co., 1813). 4. The Story-Teller, A Collection of Tales, Original, Translated and Selected (London: James Robins & Co., 1830), p. 1. 5. Mayo, Robert, ‘The Gothic Short Story in the Magazines’, Modern Language Review, XXXVII (1942), p. 448. Further references to this article are given in quotations in the text. 6. The Oxford Book of Gothic Tales, ed. Chris Baldick (Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press, 1992), pp. xi–xviii. 7. See Varma’s The Gothic Flame, pp. 175–189. For a discussion on reader saturation which, for Varma, led to the disintegration of the genre. 8. See Chapter 1, pp. 11–69. 9. See Robert Mayo, English Novel, pp. 501, 559. 10. See Robert Mayo, ‘Gothic Short Story’, p. 454. 11. I have examined a cross-section of 300 Gothic tales from novels, periodicals and collections of popular tales. Appendix 3 offers direct access to works in circulation, dates of publication, publishing history and provides a fixed frame of reference. The periodicals include The Ladies’ Pocket Magazine,

196 Notes

12. 13.

14.

15. 16. 17.

18. 19.

20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25.

Blackwoods, The Indicator, The New Hibernian Magazine, The Endless Entertainment; or, Comic, Terrific, and Legendary Tales, The Pocket Magazine, The Theatrical Inquisitor, Belle Assemblée, Glasgow Magazine and Clydesdale Monthly Register, The Lady’s Monthly Museum, The Cigar, The Literary Magnet, The Pocket Magazine of Classic and Polite Literature, New Gleaner; or, Entertainment for the Fire-Side, London Magazine, and Arliss’s Pocket Magazine. See Chapter 2 for a further discussion on these magazines. However, as I indicated before, while most tales share similar narrative techniques with bluebooks, there are four works originally published as bluebooks in the survey of 300 which were repackaged and revised as short stories, including three from Sarah Wilkinson’s The Maid of Lochlin; or, Mysteries of the North (3.162 and 2.195), The Water Spectre; or, The Weird Sisters (3.291 and 2.334) and Albert of Werdendorff; or, the Midnight Embrace. A Romance from the German (3.174 and 2.8) all of which appeared in the Gothic collection Legends of Terror! (1826 and 1830). In addition there are two examples of novels redacted into bluebooks then repackaged as short Gothic fiction including Rinaldo Rinaldini, The Great Bandit Captain, first published in novel form for Longman and Rees in 1800, then redacted and published as The Life, Surprising Adventures, and Most Remarkable Escapes of Rinaldo Rinaldini, Captain of Banditti Robbers by Ann Lemoine in 1801 (2.185), and subsequently revised and republished as ‘Rinaldo Rinaldini’ (3.221) in Endless Entertainment; or, Comic, Terrific, and Legendary Tales by J. Mark in 1825. See Louis Dudek’s Literature and the Press: A History of Printing, Printed Media and Their Relation to Literature (pp. 90–91, 156–158) for a further discussion on printing innovations and advancements. See Birkhead, Tales of Terror, pp. 185–186. Mayo, Robert, ‘Gothic Romance in the Magazines’, Publications of the Modern Language Association, LXV (1950), p. 780. Beevor, M. L. ‘The Old Sign Board; or, “House in the Wilderness” ’, The Ladies Pocket Magazine, Volume One (London: Joseph Robins, 1832), p. 81. Further references to this tale are given after quotations in the text. Maturin, Charles, ‘Leixlip Castle’, Twelve Gothic Tales, ed. Richard Dalby (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998), pp. 1–13 (p. 1). Of the 300 tales in this survey, 141 tales or 47 per cent are found in just 5 large collections: The Tales of the Dead (1813), Popular Tales and Romances of the Northern Nations (1823), Legends of Terror! and Tales of the Wonderful and Wild (1826) and (1830), Tales of All Nations (1827) and The Story-Teller (1830). A copy of Arabian Nights was located in every library in this survey. Amelia Opie (1769–1853) married to the artist John Opie, Amelia settled in Norwich and became a Quaker under the influence of the Gurneys in 1825. Legends of Terror! and Tales of the Wonderful and Wild (London: Sherwood, Gilbert and Piper, 1826 and 1830). Duyfhuizen, Bernard, Narratives of Transmission (London and Toronto: Associated University Presses, 1992), pp. 27–28. Hoffmann, E. T. A., The Devil’s Elixirs (London: Calder, 1963). Anonymous, ‘Saint Anthony’s Flask; or, The Devil’s Wine!’, Legends of Terror! (London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1830), p. 82.

Notes 197 26. Carlyle, Thomas, Critical and Miscellaneous Essays, ‘State of German Literature’ (1827) (London: Chapman & Hall Limited, 1899), p. 38. 27. Review/Hubert de Sevrac: A Romance, of the Eighteenth-Century. By Mary Robinson. Critical Review/JAS, 1798 ns vol. 23 (1798), p. 472. 28. The difficulty of a survey of this nature, though, is that most Gothic tales appeared in multiple publications, some slightly altered, some imitations, others carefully plagiarised, and most appearing as ‘original’, the result of which is that the actual number of Gothic tales produced and in what medium they first appeared is difficult, if not impossible, to determine. In this survey the first date of publication, if known, has been utilised. 29. The inevitable result of intense diversification in the ‘trade’ Gothic was the recycling of tales. For instance, the verbose four volume novel, The Three Brothers. A Romance (2.331) by Joshua Pickersgill, Jr, published by J. Stockdale in 1803, later appearing as the acknowledged source of Lord Byron’s fragment The Deformed Transformed (1822). It was then redacted and repackaged into ‘The Dwarf; or The Deformed Transformed’ (3.74) in The Endless Entertainment: A Series of Original, Comic, Terrific, and Legendary Tales in 1825 and that version once more modified and repackaged as ‘Arnaud the Devil! Or, The Dwarf’ (3.16) by Joshua Pickersgill appears in the Gothic omnibus Legends of Terror! in 1830.

5 Morality and blood: William Child Green 1. International Genealogical Index (#A1340 London) indicates that William Child Green was born to William Green and Mary Perkins, Southwark, Saint Saviour, London. 2. Green, William Child, The Abbot of Montserrat; or, The Pool of Blood, A Romance. Introduction by Frederick Shroyer (New York: Arno Press, 1977), pp. v, xi. 3. Green, William Child, The Abbot of Montserrat; or, The Pool of Blood, A Romance (London: A. K. Newman, 1826), p. ii. Further references to this novel are given after quotations in the text. 4. Critical Review, February 1797, vol. xix, pp. 194–200 in Coleridge’s Miscellaneous Criticism, ed. Thomas Middleton Raysor (London: Constable & Co. Ltd, 1936), p. 374.

6 The romance of real life: Sarah Wilkinson 1. ‘The Life of an Authoress, Written by Herself’, Tell-Tale Magazine (London: Ann Lemoine, 1803; Tale 57, p. 28). Further references to this tale are given after quotations in the text. 2. The tale is attached to The Eastern Turret; or, Orphan of Navona. A Romance, which, though not attributed, has the distinct characteristics and language found in Wilkinson’s other Tale-Tell stories. Particularly, Wilkinson’s discussion of female wit is found verbatim in later novels such as The Convent of Grey Penitents (1810). 3. Mayo lists eleven works by Wilkinson, though, my research indicates at least sixteen, p. 368. Mayo lists the following: The Adopted Child, or The Castle of St. Villereagh (Tell-Tale), The History of George Barnwell (Tell-Tale),

198 Notes

4.

5.

6.

7. 8. 9. 10.

11. 12. 13.

14. 15. 16.

Lissette of Savoy, or The Fair Maid of the Mountains (Tell-Tale), Lord Gowen, or The Forester’s Daughter (Tell-Tale), The Maid of Lochlin, or Mysteries of the North (Tell-Tale), The Marriage Promise (Tell-Tale), Monastic Ruins, or The Invisible Monitor (Tell-Tale), The Mountain Cottager, or The Deserted Bride (Tell-Tale), Orlando, or The Knight of the Moon (Tell-Tale), The Sorcerer’s Palace, or The Princess of Sinadone (Tell-Tale), The Wife of Two Husbands (Tell-Tale). For example, the name Sarah Wilkinson appears on the title page of The Spectres; or, Lord Oswald and Lady Rosa published by Langley in 1814 and Sara Scudgell Wilkinson appears on the title page of The White Pilgrim; or, Castle of Olival published by Dean & Munday in 1820. Valentine Readers were collections of poems written, generally, for the working class, often for specific occupations and events such as proposals of marriage. Mackintosh, Sir James (1765–1832) British writer and public servant, b. Scotland. His Vindiciae Gallicae (1791), a spirited reply to Edmund Burke’s Reflections on the French Revolution, was the leading Whig statement in favour of the French Revolution, but from 1796 he grew hostile to French radicalism. His writings include several historical works. See Dictionary of National Biography: Index and Epitome (London: Smith, Elder, & Co., 1906), p. 819. Sir Henry Holland (1788–1873), physician, son of Peter Holland, medical practitioner, and the medical attendant on the Princess of Wales (afterwards Queen Caroline). He became one of the best-known men in London society, the friend and adviser of almost every man of note. In 1837 he was appointed physician extraordinary to Queen Victoria, in 1840 physician in ordinary to the prince consort, and he declined a baronetcy offered by Lord Melbourne in 1841. He was made physician in ordinary to the Queen in 1852, and accepted a baronetcy in 1853. See Dictionary of National Biography: Index and Epitome (London: Smith, Elder, & Co., 1906), p. 631. See Chapter 2 for this letter and a discussion of the decline of the bluebook industry. The novel, almost certainly, remained unpublished at her death. ‘The Spectre; or, The Ruins of Belfont Priory’, The Lifted Veil, ed. A. Susan Williams (London: Xanada, 1992), p. 16. Wilkinson, Sarah, The Eve of St. Mark; or, The Mysterious Spectre (London: J. Bailey, 1820), p. 5. Further references to this tale are given after quotations in the text. Also see Frank’s The First Gothics, p. 422. ‘Spectacular [supernatural] special effects’ (Frank, Frederick, First Gothics, p. 20). Wilkinson, Sarah, The Fugitive Countess; or, The Convent of St. Ursula. A Romance (London: J. F. Hughes, 1807), vol. 1: pp. 1–2. Further references to this novel are given after quotations in the text. Lewis, Matthew, The Monk (Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press, 1973; Repr. 1991), pp. 315–316. Parreaux, André, The Publication of The Monk: A Literary Event 1796–1798 (Paris: Librairie Marcel Didier, 1960), pp. 51–53. Thomas Dibdin and his brother Charles (1768–1833) both worked with Sadler’s Wells Theatre. Charles wrote The Water Spectre; or, An Bratach. A Romance, founded on the popular melodrama, as performed, at the Aquatic Theatre, Sadler’s Wells (1805) and adapted by Sarah Wilkinson.

Notes 199 17. Wilkinson, Sarah, Albert of Werdendorff; or, The Midnight Embrace. A Romance from the German. To which is added, the Dangers of Pleasure (Newcastle: Printed by Angus & Son, 1812), p. 2. 18. The Horrible Revenge; or, The Assassin of the Solitary Castle (London: Fairburn, 1828), p. 11.

7 The business of morality: Francis Lathom 1. See David Punter’s short discussion of Francis Lathom in Literature of Terror, pp. 114–115. 2. Some of this misinformation can be traced to Lathom’s original entry in the Dictionary of National Biography, but more specifically to Montague Summers’s chapter on Lathom in The Gothic Quest (see Chapter VI, pp. 309–333). Notwithstanding, Summers’ questionable suggestion concerning Lathom’s sexuality, Summers remains the best resource for Lathom’s bibliography and historical sketch. 3. Henry Lathom married Sarah Hussey on 4 May 1772 at St George, Colgate, Norwich. Norwich Public Record Office, PD 7/7(w). 4. In 1791, not yet eighteen, Lathom showed literary prowess with the composition of The Dash of the Day, a comedy later produced at Norwich Theatre Royal in 1800. In 1795 a five-act farce, fashioned after The Beaux Stratagem by George Farquhar (1677–1707), titled All in a Bustle; A Comedy was produced at the Norwich Theatre. The next year Lathom wrote Orlando and Seraphina; or, The Funeral Pile; an heroic drama, acted and printed in Norwich in 1799. A second edition appeared in London in 1800 and was reissued again in 1803. The premise of the play was taken from Canto II of Tasso’s Gerusalemme Liberata, and received at Norwich and throughout provincial theatre circuits with considerable favour (Summers, Gothic Quest, p. 313). However, as a dramatist, Lathom was beginning to struggle; critics were beginning to suggest that his plays were unoriginal and contrived. Lathom’s drama, Holiday Time, or The School Boy’s Frolic; a farce, acted at Norwich on 10 April 1801, for instance, was harshly criticised as ‘a frivolous and uninteresting plagiarism from beginning to end’ by the Biographia Dramatica. Despite this criticism it later appeared at Drury Lane on 20 October 1804 ‘with some slight alterations and music by Reeve, as The Dash; or, Who but He? and during the autumn season as The Denouement’ (Summers, Gothic Quest, p. 315). Becoming increasingly reliant on borrowed material, his next drama appeared later the same year, and was adapted from the French version of Madame de Genlis. Curiosity; a comedy, acted at Norwich on 18 November, 1801. Lathom’s last drama The Wife of a Million; a comedy, was acted at Norwich on 3 March 1803, and later in both Lincoln and Canterbury. Though generally successful and retained in the repertories of small theatres, the Biographia Dramatica pointed out that ‘the morality of this piece is unexceptional; it affords some good situations, and contains just sentiments, generally well expressed; of novelty, however, it does not partake much’ (Summers, p. 315). Between 1802 and 1803 Lathom ceased writing dramas, instead concentrating on his increasing popularity and success with novels.

200 Notes 5. Diana Ganning was the daughter of Daniel and Ann Ganning, christened on 25 April 1776 at the Old Meeting House-Independent, Norwich. Daniel Ganning and Ann Tompson were married on 14 May 1771 at Saint Peter Parmentergate, Norwich (Norwich PRO 192/7 (w)). The Old Meeting House in Norwich was the home of the Congregational Church whose Calvinistic doctrine may have put the Lathoms and Gannings at odds. 6. Lathom, Francis, The Midnight Bell (1798) (London: Folio Press, 1968), p. vii. Further references to his novel are given after quotations in the text. 7. Norwich PRO PD106/4(s) and PD7/4. 8. See Montague Summers’s The Gothic Quest, p. 316 and Devendra Varma’s Introduction of The Midnight Bell, p. vii. 9. Jeremiah Ives, Jr, was Sheriff of Norwich in 1782 and Mayor in 1786 and 1801. He was a son of Jeremiah Ives, who was Mayor in 1756. He was alderman for Great Wymer ward and a deputy-lieutenant for Norfolk. He was a prominent Whig. At the time of his first mayoralty he lived at 26, Tombland. He built Catton Hall and died there on 24 March 1820, aged sixty-six. Charles Tompson, of Burgh Apton, could quite possibly be a relation of Ann Ganning (see Tompson). 10. Norwich PRO N.R.S 2658 (148x3). Probate Copy of the Will of Henry Lathom, formerly of Rotterdam, late of Catton, now of Norwich, Esq. 17 May 1812. Proved 16 October 1812. 11. I have not been able to trace the original Letter Patent; neither the Norwich Public Record Office nor the PRO at Kew had the original copy. Such letters were obtained through solicitors, but were not always publicly published. The only record of it comes from St Giles Parish Records of baptisms 1815 held at the Norwich Public Record Office. 12. ‘Henry, the son of Francis Lathom and Diana his wife (Diana Ganning) was born in the parish of St. George of Colgate in this city the 8th day of April 1799 and his name was changed to Ganning by his Majesty’s letter patent dated Carlton House the 4 July 1815 and the said Henry Ganning was this 22nd day of April 1816 publickly baptised in this church by the name of Henry Daniel Ganning.’ ‘Frederick the son of the said Francis Lathom and Diana his wife was born in the parish of St George of Tombland in this city the 15th day of September 1800 and his name was changed to Ganning by the above letters patent of his Majesty and the said Frederick Ganning was this 22nd day of April 1816 publickly baptised by the name of Frederick Charles Ganning.’ (from the Baptism book of St Giles on the Hill: Norwich PRO 192/4) 13. International Genealogical Index: London, England—Lathom, Henry (father Francis, mother Diana). 14. See Summers, Gothic Quest, p. 317 and Varma, Midnight Bell, p. viii. 15. Lathom, Francis, The Fatal Vow; or, St. Michael’s Monastery; A Romance (London: Crosby, 1807), p. iv. Further references to this novel are given after quotation in the text. 16. Monthly Review quoted in The English Novel 1770–1829: A Bibliographical Survey of Prose Fiction Published in the British Isle. Volume 1: 1770–1799, ed. Peter Garside, James Raven and Rainer Schöwerling (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000), p. 750.

Notes 201 17. Five Romantic Plays, 1768–1821 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000), p. xi. Also see Horace Walpole: The Critical Heritage, ed. Peter Sabor (London: Routledge & Kegan, 1987), pp. 147–148 for these and other early comments on the play. 18. Lathom, Francis, Mystic Events; or, The Vision of the Tapestry, A Romantic Legend of the Days of Anne Boleyn (London: Minerva Press for A. K. Newman, 1830), vol. 1: p. 1. Further references to this novel are given after quotations in the text.

8 The monster of morality: Mary Shelley 1. The Quarterly Review, 18 (January 1818), pp. 379–385. 2. The Belle Assemblée, or Bell’s Court and Fashionable Magazine, 17 (March 1818), pp. 139–142. 3. Nitchie, Elizabeth, Mary Shelley, Author of ‘Frankenstein’ (Westport, Conn., 1953), p. 221. 4. London Morning Post: Wednesday, 30 July 1823. 5. Forray, Steven Earl, Hideous Progenies: Dramatizations of Frankenstein from Mary Shelley to the Present (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1990), p. 5.

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Bibliography 203 ——, The Unknown; or, The Northern Gallery (London: Minerva Press for Lane, Newman, 1808). ——, Legends of Terror! And Tales of the Wonderful and Wild (London: Sherwood, Gilbert & Piper, 1826 and 1831). Lewis, Matthew, The Monk: A Romance, ed. Howard Anderson (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1991). ——, The Bravo of Venice (London: J. F. Hughes, 1805). Maturin, Charles, Bertram; or, The Castle of St. Aldobrand; A Tragedy, in Five Acts (London: John Murray, 1816). ——, Melmoth the Wanderer, ed. Victor Sage (London: Penguin Books, 2000). ——, ‘Leixlip Castle’, Twelve Gothic Tales, ed. Richard Dalby (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998), pp. 1–13. The Midnight Groan; or, The Spectre of the Chapel. A Gothic Romance (London: T. & R. Hughes, 1808). Parsons, Eliza, The Castle of Wolfenbach: A German Story (London: Minerva Press for William Lane, 1793). ——, The Mysterious Warning: A German Tale (London: Minerva Press for William Lane, 1796). Radcliffe, Ann, The Romance of the Forest, ed. Chloe Chard (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1986). ——, The Mysteries of Udolpho, A Romance Interspersed with Pieces of Poetry, ed. Bonamy Dobrée (London: Oxford University Press, 1995). ——, The Italian; or, The Confessional of the Black Penitents, A Romance, ed. Frederick Garber (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1992). Reeve, Clara, The Old English Baron: A Gothic Story, ed. James Trainer (London: Oxford University Press, 1967). ——, Richmond: Scenes in the Life of a Bow Street Runner; Drawn up from his Private Memoranda (New York: Dover Publications, Inc., 1976). ——, Romances and Gothic Tales (London: Lemoine, 1801). Sleath, Eleanor, The Orphan of the Rhine (1798) (London: Folio Press, 1968). ——, The Spectre Mother; or, The Haunted Tower (London: Dean & Munday, 1800). Surr, Thomas, George Barnwell (London: Symonds, 1798). ——, The Tomb of Aurora; or, The Mysterious Summons (London: Lemoine and Roe, 1807). Walpole, Horace, The Castle of Otranto and Hieroglyphic Tales (London and Rutland: Dent & Tuttle Co., 1993). Wilkinson, Sarah, Albert of Werdendorff; or The Midnight Embrace, From the German (Newcastle: M. Angus & Son, 1812). ——, The Castle Spectre (London: J. Bailey, 1820). ——, The Castle Spectre; or, Family Horrors, A Gothic Story (London: T. & R. Hughes, 1807). ——, The Castle of Montabino; or, The Orphan Sisters (London: Dean & Munday, 1809). ——, The Convent of St. Ursula; or, Incidents at Ottagro (London: John Arliss, 1809). ——, The Convent of the Grey Penitents; or, The Apostate Nun (London: J. F. Hughes, 1810). ——, Eastern Turret; or, Orphan of Navona (London: Lemoine & Roe, 1803). ——, The Eve of St. Mark; or, The Mysterious Spectre (London: J. Bailey, 1820). ——, The Fugitive Countess (London: J. F. Hughes, 1807). ——, The Life of an Authoress, Written by Herself (London: Lemoine, 1803).

204 Bibliography ——, The Mysterious Novice; or, Convent of the Grey Penitents (London: Arliss, 1809). ——, New Tales (London: M. Iley, 1819). ——, The Pathetic and Interesting History of George Barnwell: Founded on Facts (London: Lemoine & Roe, 1804). ——, Priory of St. Clair; or, Spectre of the Murdered Nun. A Gothic Tale (London: Harrild, 1811). ——, The Spectres; or, Lord Oswald and Lady Rosa. An Original Tale (London: Langley, n.d.). ——, The Spectre of Lanmere Abbey; or, The Mystery of the Blue and Silver Bag (London: W. Mason, 1820). ——, The Spectre; or, The Ruins of Belfont Priory (London: J. Ker, 1806). ——, Subterranean Passage (London: Lemoine, 1803). ——, The Water Spectre; or, An Bratach (London: Lemoine, 1805). ——, The Wife of Two Husbands (London: Lemoine, 1810). ——, Wild Roses; or, Cottage Tales (London: Lemoine & Roe, n.d.).

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Bibliography 205 Dictionary of National Biography: Index and Epitome (London: Smith, Elder, & Co., 1906). Doughty, Oswald, ‘Coleridge and the “Gothic Novel” or “Tales of Terror” ’, English Miscellany, 23 (1972), pp. 125–148. Dudek, Louis, Literature and the Press: A History of Printing, Printed Media, and Their Relation to Literature (Toronto: Ryerson Press and Contact Press, 1960). Ellis, Markman, The History of Gothic Fiction (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2000). Flint, Kate, The Woman Reader, 1837–1914 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1993). Frank, Frederick S., The First Gothics: A Critical Guide to the English Gothic Novel (London: Garland Publishing, Inc., 1987). ——, ‘Gothic Gold: The Sadleir-Black Gothic Collection’, Studies in EighteenthCentury Culture, 1987, pp. 287–213. Feather, John, The Provincial Book Trade in Eighteenth-Century England (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1985). Garside, Peter, and Raven, James, and Schöwerling, R., eds, The English Novel 1770–1829: A Bibliographical Survey of Prose Fiction Published in the British Isles, 2 Volumes (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000). Hadley, Michael, The Undiscovered Genre: A Search for the German Gothic Novel (Berne: Peter Lang, 1978). Haining, Peter, ed., Great Tales of Terror, From Europe and America: Gothic Stories of Horror & Romance, 1765–1840, Volume Two (London: Victor Gollancz, Ltd, 1972). ——, ed., Tales from Gothic Bluebooks (Chislehurst: Gothic Society, 1978). Howells, Coral Ann, Love, Mystery, and Misery: Feeling in Gothic Fiction (London: The Athlone Press, 1978). Hume, Robert D., ‘Gothic Versus Romantic: A Revaluation of the Gothic Novel’, Publications of the Modern Language Association, 84 (1968), pp. 632–652. James, Louis, Fiction for the Working Man: 1830–1850 (London: Oxford University Press, 1963). ——, Print and the People, 1819–1851 (London: Allen Lane, 1976). Jewson, C. B., The Jacobin City: A Portrait of Norwich 1788–1802 (Glasgow and London: Blackie, 1975). Kaufman, Paul, Libraries and Their Users: Collected Papers in Library History (London: Library Association, 1969). Kelly, Gary, English Fiction of the Romantic Period, 1789–1830 (Oxford: Clarendon 1976). Kiely, Robert, The Romantic Novel in England (Cambridge, Massachusetts: Harvard University Press, 1972). Klancher, Jon P., The Making of English Reading Audiences, 1790–1832 (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1987). Lévy, Maurice, Le Roman Gothique Anglais, 1764–1824 (Toulouse, France: Association des Publications de la Faculté des Lettres et Sciences Humaines de Toulouse, 1968). Lloyd Smith, Allan, and Sage, Victor, eds, Gothick: Origins and Innovations (Amsterdam: Rodopi, 1994). Mayo, Robert D., The English Novel in the Magazines 1740–1815 (London: Oxford University Press, 1962). ——, ‘Gothic Romance in the Magazines’, Publications of the Modern Language Association, LXV (1950), pp. 762–789.

206 Bibliography ——, ‘How Long was the Gothic in Vogue’, Modern Language Notes, LVIII (1943), pp. 58–64. ——, ‘The Gothic Short Story in the Magazine’, Modern Language Review, XXXVII (1942), pp. 448–454. Meeres, Frank, A History of Norwich (Chichester, Phillimore, 1998). Miles, Robert, Gothic Writing 1750–1820: A Genealogy (London: Routledge, 1993). Mulvey-Roberts, Marie, The Handbook to Gothic Literature (London: Macmillan Press Ltd, 1998). Parreaux, André, The Publication of the Monk: A Literary Event 1796–1798 (Paris: Librairie Marcel Didier, 1960). Pearson, Jacqueline, Women’s Reading in Britain, 1750–1835 (London: Cambridge University Press, 1999). Pitcher, E. W., ‘Changes in Short Fiction in Britain 1785–1810: Philosophic Tales, Gothic Tales, and Fragments and Visions’, Studies in Short Fiction, 13:3 (1976: Summer), pp. 331–354. ——, ‘ “Frankenstein” as Short Fiction: A Unique Adaptation of Mary Shelley’s Novel’, Studies in Short Fiction, 20:1 (1983: Winter), pp. 49–52. Praz, Mario, The Romantic Agony, trans. A. Davidson (London: Oxford University Press, 1970). Punter, David, ed., A Companion to the Gothic (Oxford: Blackwell Publishers Ltd, 2000). ——, The Literature of Terror: A History of Gothic Fictions from 1765 to the Present Day, Volume One: The Gothic Tradition (London: Longman, 1980; Repr. London: Longman, 1996). Railo, Eino, The Haunted Castle: A Study of the Elements of English Romanticism (London: George Routledge and Sons, 1927). Ratchford, Fannie E. and McCarthy, Jr, William H., eds, The Correspondence of Sir Walter Scott and Charles Robert Maturin (New York & London: Garland Publishing, Inc., 1980). Raven, James, and Small, Helen, and Tadmor, Naomi, eds, The Practice and Representation of Reading in England (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996). Raysor, Thomas Middleton, ed., Coleridge’s Miscellaneous Criticism (London: Constable & Co. Ltd, 1936). Richter, David H., The Progress of Romance: Literary Historiography and the Gothic Novel (Columbus: Ohio State University Press, 1996). Sage, Victor, Horror Fiction in the Protestant Tradition (London: Macmillan, 1988). ——, The Gothick Novel: A Casebook, ed. Sage, Victor (London: Macmillan, 1990). Shepard, Leslie, The History of Street Literature (Newton Abbot: David & Charles, 1973). ——, John Pitts: Ballad Printer of Seven Dials, London 1765–1844 (London: Private Libraries Association, 1969). Sedgwick, Eve Kosofsky, The Coherence of Gothic Conventions (London: Methuen, 1986). Skelton-Foord, Christopher, ‘Fiction Holding and Indexing Practices in the Circulating Libraries of Late 18th- and Early 19th-Century Britain’, Corvey Journal, Jahrgang 8 (1997), pp. 4–14. Spencer, Dale, ed., Living by the Pen: Early British Women Writers (New York and London: Teachers College Press, Columbia University, 1992).

Bibliography 207 Summers, Montague, A Gothic Bibliography (New York: Russell & Russell, 1964). ——, The Gothic Quest: A History of the Gothic Novel (London: Fortune Press, 1938; Repr. New York: Russell & Russell, 1968). Tarr, Muriel, Catholicism in Gothic Fiction: A Study of the Nature and Function of Catholic Materials in Gothic Fiction in England (1764–1820) (Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, 1946). Thompson, E. P., The Making of the English Working Class (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1980). Tompkins, J. M. S., The Popular Novel in England 1770–1800 (London: Constable & Constable, 1932). Tracy, Ann, The Gothic Novel 1790–1830: Plot Summaries and Index to Motifs (New York: Arno Press, 1980). Turner, Cheryl, Living by the Pen (London and New York: Routledge, 1992). Varma, Devendra, The Evergreen Tree of Diabolical Knowledge (Washington, DC: Consortium Press, 1972). ——, The Gothic Flame: Being a History of the Gothic Novel in England: Its Origins, Efflorescence, Disintegration, and Residuary Influences (New York: Russell & Russell, 1966; London: A. Barker, 1957). Watt, William Whyte, Shilling Shockers of the Gothic School: A Study of Chapbook Gothic Romances (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1932; New York: Russell & Russell, 1967). Webb, R. K., The British Working Class Reader, 1790–1848 (New York: Augustus M. Kelly, Publishers, 1971). Williams, Ioan, ed., Sir Walter Scott: On Novelists and Fiction (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1968). Wischusen, Stephen, ed., The Hour of One: Six Gothic Melodramas (London: Gordon Fraser, 1975).

Index A Night in the Grave, 94–5 The Abbey of St. Francis, 50 The Affecting History of Louisa, 56 Ainsworth, William Harrison, 1, 7, 9 The Fortress of Saguntum, 88 Rookwood, 1 Albani, 30 The Amulet, 87 Animated Skeleton, 83 Anti-Jacobin Magazine, 22 Arabian Nights’ Entertainment, 89 Arliss, John, 44 Arliss’ Pocket Magazine, 51 Armstrong, Leslie Anglo-Saxons, 141 The Astrologer, 50 Austen, Jane, 23, 36 Northanger Abbey, 5, 131 Pride and Prejudice, 29 Sense and Sensibility, 29 The Avenger, 40 Bailey, J., 44, 116, 119 Baldick, Chris, 80 Ball, Edward Edwin, Heir of Cressingham, 32 Barbauld, Ann Aikin Sir Bertrand, 88 Barrett, Eaton Stannard The Heroine, 5 Beauclerc, Amelia Husband Hunters, 33 Beckford, William, 145 Popular Tales from the German, 89 Vathek, 145 Beevor, Miss M. L. A Second Story of the Death Bride, 84 The Old Sign Board, 11, 84–7 The Waltz, 84 Belle Assemblée, 81, 82, 146 Bertram; or, The Castle of St. Aldobrand, 64–9 Bettison Circulating Library, 24, 26

Birkhead, Edith, 2, 3, 4, 8, 12–13, 39, 40, 84, 119–20 The Black Castle, 56 The Black Forest, 82 Blair, Robert The Grave, 37 Bloody Hand, 43, 72–3 Blood-Stained Dagger, 30 Bluemantle, Bridget Bachelor’s Miseries, 35 Husband and Wife, 35 Booth’s Circulating Library, 18, 20–1, 24, 25, 26, 28, 70, 71, 82, 89 Botting, Fred, 38 Brauchli, Jakob, 22 Bravo of Bohemia, 30 Brewer, George The Witch of Ravensworth, 35 Brontë, Charlotte, 31 Cardiff Corvey, 31 Carlyle, Thomas, 93 The Castle of Reinspadtz, 78 Catnach, James, 33–4, 53 Cavern of Death, 29, 30 Church’s [M. & A.] Circulating Library, 20, 24, 25, 26, 82 Circulating Libraries, 9, 14–34 Gothic fiction, 21–31 Organisation, 17–19 Price, 19–20 Rules and Regulations, 20–1 Clara Mowbray, 50 Cleland, John Fanny Hill, 45 Clery, Emma, 4, 6, 8, 38 Cobb, James Wife of Two Husbands, 118 Coleridge, Samuel, 31, 66 Colman, George, the younger Inkle and Yarico, 56, 118 Conjurors’ Magazine, 45 Critical Review, 22, 81 208

Index 209 Crookenden, Isaac, 44 Horrible Revenge; or, The Monster of Italy, 44 The Italian Banditti, 44 Romantic Tales, 55 The Spectre of the Turret, 73 Cullen, Stephen The Haunted Priory, 28 Cupper’s Circulating Library, 20, 24, 25, 26, 28, 34–5, 89 Cuthbertson, Catherine, 27 Sir Ethelbert, 142 The Daemon of Venice, 50 Dallas, Robert Charles The Knights, 141 Dean & Munday, 43, 44, 51, 52, 76, 82, 111–16, 119 Dibdin, Charles, see Wilkinson, Sarah Water Spectre, 56 Drummond, William, 91 Ebers’s New Circulating Library, 19 Eccentric Magazine, 45 Edgeworth, Maria Fashionable Tales, 89 Moral Tales, 29, 89 Wife; or, A Model for Women, 33, 35 Edinburgh Review, 69 Endless Entertainment, 82, 83, 92 Enfield, William, 32 English Night’s Entertainments, 45, 82 The English Novel 1770–829, 22, 24 Epsom’s Circulating Library, 16 Everyday Book and Table Book, 51 Fantasmagoriana, 77 Father Innocent, Abbot of the Capuchin, 30, 71 Fernando of Castillo, 71 Fisher, Simon, 44 Fish’s Circulating Library, 10, 19, 24, 25, 26, 28, 29–31, 32–3, 70–1, 89 Fisher, [R.] Circulating Library, 19 Fitz John, Matilda Joan!!!, 33 Forget Me Not, 87

Frances, Sophia, 27 Frank, Frederick, 7, 12, 22, 39, 40, 52, 62, 70, 71, 98, 101, 119–20 Friburgh Castle, 71 Friendship’s Offering, 87 Full, True and Particular Account of the Murder of Mr. Weare by John Thurtell and His Companions, 33 The Gem, 87 Gentleman’s Magazine, 81, 124 Ghosts and Apparitions, 43, 89 Gothic Stories, 70 Green, William Child, 2, 26, 27, 97–108, 134, 139, 144, 146, 150 The Abbot of Montserrat, 97–108 Alibeg the Tempter, 97 The Algerines, 97 The Fays of Loch Lomond, 97 Maniac of the Desert, 97 Prophecy of Duncannon, 97 The Sicilian Boy, 97 The Woodland Family, 97 The Grotto of Akteleg, 87–8 Guilbert, René-Charles La Femme à Deux Maris, 118, 128 Haining, Peter, 40 Hansworth, H. H., 27 Hargrove’s Circulating Library, 19 Harrild, Robert, 44 Harrod’s [William] Circulating Library, 18–19 Harvey, Jane, 26 Minerva Castle, 27 Hatton Curtis, Julia Ann Kemble, 26 Alexena, 27 The Haunted Chamber, 87 Haynes, James, 119 He Would Be a Peer, 33 Heart of Mid Lothian [chapbook], 50 Helme, Elizabeth, 27 St. Margaret’s Cave, 29 History of Count Bertram, 64–9 Hodgson, 44 Hoffman, E. T. A. Die Elixiere des Teufels, 91–2 The Sandman, 92

210 Index Hofland, Barbara Patience and Perseverance, 33 Visit to London, 33 Holstein, Anthony Frederick, 56 Love, Mystery, and Misery!, 50 Horrible Revenge, 128–9 Horsley-Curties, T. J. The Monk of Udolpho, 30, 31 St. Botolph’s Priory, 33 Howells, Coral Ann, 2 Hughes, Thomas, 44, 76, 111, 114, 119 Hurst, Thomas, see Marvellous Magazine Illuminati, 82 Ireland, William Henry, 2, 141 The Catholic, 141 Gondez the Monk, 30 Ivanhoe, 48, 50 James, Louis, 3, 5–6 Kahlert, Karl Necromancer, 131 Keats, John Eve of St. Mark, 44 The Keepsake, 87 Kelly, Isabella Abbey of St. Asaph, 28 Kelty, Mary Ann Trials, 35 The Kentish Curate, 45 Ker, J., 44 Kiely, Robert, 70 Kilverstone Castle, 70 Kinnear Circulating Library, 24, 26 Kruitzner, 78, 88 Lackington, Allen & Co., 18, 30 Ladies’ Monthly Museum, 7, 9, 44, 51, 79, 81, 82, 113, 115 Ladies’ Pocket Magazine, 11, 84 Lady’s Magazine, 5, 44, 79 Langley, E., 114–15 Larpent, Anna, 31 The Last Coffin, 78 Lathom, Francis, 2, 9, 26, 27, 50, 131–44, 146, 150 Astonishment!!!, 35, 143

The Castle of Ollada, 28, 136, 143 The Castle of Thuillieries, 34 Ernestine, 34 Fashionable Mysteries, 35 The Fatal Vow, 27, 35, 54, 139–40, 143, 144 The Impenetrable Secret, 34, 143 Italian Mysteries, 135, 137, 143 Live and Learn, 35 The Midnight Bell, 34, 50, 54, 131, 134–9 Mysterious Freebooter, 140 Mystery, 27, 29, 137 Mystic Events, 142–4 One Pound Note & Other Tales, 88, 89 Polish Bandit, 35, 88 The Unknown, 131, 134, 140–1, 143, 144 Very Strange but Very True, 35 Young John Bull, 35 Lee, J., 44 Lee, Sophia The Canterbury Tales, 88 The Recess, 8, 54, 127, 142–3 Legends of Terror!, 11, 82, 89–95, 96 Lemoine, Ann, 41, 44–5, 82, 118 Lemoine, Henry, 44–5 Typographical Antiquities, 45 Levy, Maurice, 22 Lewis, Matthew, 2, 11, 22, 27, 37, 43, 54, 75 Alonzo the Brave and the Fair Imogine, 123–4 Castle Spectre, 56–9, 86–93, 119 Mistrust, 89 The Monk, 44, 48, 54, 61–2, 71, 75, 93, 99–108, 123 Romantic Tales, 55, 88, 89 Tales of Wonder, 124 Lillo, George George Barnwell, 60 Literary Souvenir, 87 London Magazine, 81 London Morning Post, 147 Mac Kenzie, Anna Maria, 27 Manchester Public Library, 24, 25, 26, 27 Martin, George, 114–15

Index 211 Marvellous Magazine, 46, 49, 71, 81, 89 Maturin, Charles Bertram, 64–9, 71–2 The Fatal Revenge, 64 Leixlip Castle, 88 Melmoth the Wanderer, 2, 3, 4, 9, 28, 64, 90, 96, 97–8, 99 The Milesian Chief, 64 Women; or, Pour et Contre, 69 Maximilian and Selma, 30, 46 Mayo, Robert, 4–5, 22, 79–83, 84, 95, 110–11 Meeke, Mary, 7, 26, 27 Conscience, 35 Elizabeth, 35 Midnight Wedding, 29 Midnight Assassin, 30, 46 The Midnight Embrace in the Halls of Werdendorff, 82 Midnight Groan, 73 Midnight Horrors, 43 Miles, Robert, 4, 6, 8, 38 Minerva Library, 17–18, 19, 20, 28 see also Newman’s Circulating Library Minerva Press, 15, 27, 28, 29, 30, 53 Mitford, Mary Russell, 31 The Monks and the Robbers, 81 The Monks of Cluny, 51 Monster Made By Man, 148–51 Monthly Mirror, 124 Monthly Review, 22, 30, 135 Moore, George, 81 Grasville Abbey, 81 The Mysteries of Udolpho [chapbook], 54 Mysterious Baron, 30 Mysterious Bottle of Old Hock, 92 The Mysterious Husband, 78 The Mysterious Monk, 82, 87 The Mysterious Spaniard, 82 New Gleaner, 11, 81, 112 Newman’s Circulating Library, 24, 26 Norton, Rictor, 31 Norwich Public Library, 24, 26, 32 Notes & Queries, 132

Opie, Amelia, 6, 48, 89 see also Wilkinson, Sarah; The Ruffian Boy Orlando The Chamber of Death, 35 The Orphan Boy, 45 Owenson, Sidney, 27 Wild Irish Girl, 33 Palmer, John The Haunted Cavern, 28 Pannier’s Foreign and English Circulating Library, 16, 19 Parsons, Eliza, 8, 110 The Castle of Wolfenbach, 54–5, 120, 131 The Mysterious Warning, 31, 128, 131 Women as They Are, 35 Patrick, Mrs F. C. More Ghosts!, 35 Peake, Richard Brinsley Presumption; or, The Fate of Frankenstein, 145–51 Phorson’s [William] Circulating Library, 19 Piozzi, Hester Lynch Thrale, 31 The Pirate, 48, 50, 119 Priory of St. Clair, 112, 127 Ruffian Boy, 48, 56, 119 Spectre, 111, 116 Spectre of Lanmere Abbey, 11–12, 76, 112 Subterraneous Passage, 14–15, 76, 110, 121–2, 127 Thatched Cottage, 111 The White Pilgrim, 118 Therese, 118 Travellers, 111, 118 Water Spectre, 56, 111, 118–19 Wife of Two Husbands, 118, 119, 128 Zittaw the Cruel, 111 Pitts, John, 53 Planché, James The Vampire, 48 Poe, Edgar Allen, 80 Polidori, John Ernestus Berchtold, 48 The Vampyre, 28, 48, 77

212 Index Popular Tales and Romances of the Northern Nations, 11, 92, 93, 96 Porter, Jane, 50 Scottish Chief, 32, 50 Punter, David, 3, 7, 38, 141–2 Radcliffe, Ann, 1, 2, 5, 11, 22, 37, 43, 54, 58, 70 The Castle of Athlin and Dunbayne, 55 Mysteries of Udolpho, 32, 54, 71, 93, 126 The Italian, 2, 5, 55, 83, 126 The Sicilian Romance, 90, 120, 127 Rayland Hall, 50 Raymond and Agnes, 48 Reeve, Clara, 58 The Old English Baron, 8, 54, 55, 90, 143 Richter, David, 4 Rob Roy [chapbook], 50 Robinson, Mary Vancenza, 54 Roche, Regina, 26, 27 Children of the Abbey, 54 Maid of the Hamlet, 24 Rochester Castle, 45 Roe, J., 43, 45 Romances and Gothic Tales, 82–3 Rosetta, 33 Royal Literary Fund, 52, 112–15 The Ruffian Boy, 48, 56, 119 Rugantino, the Bravo of Venice, 56 Sadleir, Michael, 3 Sage, Victor, 6 Saint Anthony’s Flask, 92 The Scots Magazine, 35 Scott, Walter, 2, 6, 9, 23, 30, 48, 50, 80, 88, 91, 95, 141 The Abbot, 48, 141 Bluebook Adaptations, 48, 50 Bride of Lammermoor, 48 Marmion, 91 Redgauntlet, 89 Tales of My Landlord, 89 Wandering Willie’s Tale, 89 Waverley, 2, 3, 4, 7, 9 The Secret Oath, 30 The Secret Tribunal, 46

Seward, Anna, 31 Shelley, Mary, 77, 79, 142, 146 The Fortunes of Perkin Warbeck, 142, 146 Frankenstein, 2, 28, 48, 77, 93, 145–51 The Last Man, 146 Valgerga, 146 Shelley, Percy, 37, 70, 77 St. Irvyne, 54 Shroyer, Frederick, 97–8 Sibel, Averil, 32–3 Skeleton Witness, 82–3 Skelton-Foord, Christopher, 28 Sketches of Character, 33 Sleath, Eleanor, 35 The Orphan of the Rhine, 28, 29, 131 Smith, Horatio Trevanion, 35 Spectre Mother, 72 Spectre of the Forest, 70 Stanhope, Louisa, 2, 26 Stories of Four Nations, 89 Story-Teller, 78 Summers, Montague, 3, 4, 22 Surr, Thomas Skinner George Barnwell, 60–4 Splendid Misery, 60 Tales of Horror, 30 Tales of Terror!, 82 Tales of the Dead, 77–8, 83 Taylor, William, 32 Tegg, Thomas, 44, 45–6, 51, 76 Tell-Tale Magazine, 44, 45, 46, 49–50, 81, 82, 109, 110–11 Terrible Warning, 87 Thackeray, William Makepeace, 31 Thomson, Alexander The Three Ghosts of the Forest, 54 Thurtell, John, 33 Thurtell, Susanna, 35–6 Thurtell, Thomas, 34 Tomb of Aurora, 41, 74 Tompkins, J. M. S., 3 Tracy, Ann, 22 Turner’s Circulating Library, 19, 20–1, 24, 26, 28–9

Index 213 Use of Circulating Libraries Considered, 16–17, 18, 19, 21, 30–1, 36 Varma, Devendra, 3, 4, 5, 8, 39 The Veiled Picture, 30, 71 Villeroy, 29 Vulpius, Christian August Rinaldo Rinaldini, 92 Waldeck Abbey, 24 Walpole, Horace, 36, 37 The Castle of Otranto, 2, 3, 4, 8, 9, 26, 35, 54, 90, 120, 135 The Mysterious Mother, 135–9 The Wanderer, 90 Watt, William, 38, 39 Waverley; or, The Castle of Mac Iver, 50, 119 Wild Roses, 41–2 Wilkinson, Sarah, 2, 8, 9, 11–13, 26, 27, 35, 45, 46, 49–50, 51–3, 54, 69–70, 75, 76, 109–30, 134, 139, 144, 146, 150 A Visit to a Farm-House, 110 A Visit to London, 110 Albert of Werdendorff, 82, 118, 123–6 Baronet Widow, 113 Castle of Lindenberg, 44, 48 Castle of Montabino, 74–6, 116 Castle Spectre, 56–9, 69, 119, 124 Child of Mystery, 111 Conscience, 119 Convent of St. Ursula, 54 Convent of the Grey Penitents, 111, 121

Curator’s Son, 115 Eastern Turret, 54–5 Edward and Agnes, 112 Eve of St. Mark, 44, 76, 116–18 Fugitive Countess, 54, 111, 120–30, 143–4 Ghost of Golini, 111 Horatio and Camilla, 110 Inkle and Yarico, 56, 118 The Instructive Remembrancer, 110 John Bull, 111 The Knights of Calatrava, 111 Life of an Authoress, 109–10, 115 Lord Gowen, 110 Love and Perfidy, 118 Monkcliffe Abbey, 111 The Mysterious Novice, 116 New Tales, 27, 112 The Pathetic and Interesting History of George Barnwell, 56, 59–64, 69, 119 William the Fatal Marksman!, 92 Pastor’s Fireside, 119 Wolfstein, 54 Wonderful Magazine and Marvellous Chronicle, 45 Yorke, Mrs R. M. P., 27 The Haunted Palace, 35 Young, Edward The Complaint, 73 Night Thoughts, 73 Zschokke, Johann The Bravo of Venice, 28, 50

The History of Gothic Publishing, 1800-1835: Exhuming the Trade

The History of Gothic Publishing, 1800-1835: Exhuming the Trade

Procopius: History of the Wars, Books 6.16-7.35: Gothic War

The Gothic Cathedral

Screening the Gothic

Tricks of the Trade

Tricks of the Trade

Tricks of the Trade

Tool of the Trade

The politics of Trade

Tricks of the Trade

Tricks of the Trade

Rules of the trade

The Art of the Trade

The Castle of Otranto: A Gothic Story

The Trade

The Trade

The Trade

The Castle of Otranto: A Gothic Story

The castle of Otranto a Gothic story

The Female Gothic: New Directions

The Gothic: Architecture, Sculpture, Painting

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The Publishing History of Uncle Tom's Cabin, 18522002

The castle of Otranto a Gothic story

The Castle of Otranto: A Gothic Story

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Gothic and the Comic Turn

The Provincial Book Trade in Eighteenth-Century England (Cambridge Studies in Publishing and Printing History)

The Provincial Book Trade in Eighteenth-Century England (Cambridge Studies in Publishing and Printing History)

The History of Gothic Publishing, 1800-1835: Exhuming the Trade