George Stephenson built the first viable steam engine railway in 1821. Rudimentary railways existed before this, but they were generally built near mines and the cars were pulled by horses. They weren't used for traveling between great distances.
This limited travel -- i.e., horse-drawn railways -- proved to be a hitch in the giddyup of many nascent bigamists. Bigamy was difficult to pull off effectively (though not impossible, of course, isn't that right Mr Rochester?) within the village where you were born, grew up, and never left. Bigamy was also difficult, before 1821, even if you did leave your village because it generally took quite a bit of time to get far enough away to places where everyone didn't know your name and your business. But, come 1821 and Stephenson's steam engine, all of that changed.
A few more words about bigamy before I write some more words below about bigamy: Bigamy was more of an issue for the middle and upper classes than it was for the poor working class. In fact, in many small villages, bigamy wasn't necessarily a big deal -- as long as the bigamist had a good reason for marrying again; as long as all parties knew what they were getting in to; and as long as the new relationship didn't put undue financial hardship on the previous relationship. Divorce, as we've discussed before, was expensive and difficult and, for the poor, nearly impossible. Many villages decided to look the other way on bigamous relationships. For those of a wealthier persuasion, though, bigamy proved less socially acceptable (if you allow "less" to really mean "absolutely not at all"). And, again, if the bigamist (or potential bigamist) had to rely on his own feet, or his own horse's feet, to get far enough away to find a community of people who didn't know about the other wife back home -- that bigamist could be walking or riding a long time.
A few more words about bigamy before I write some more words below about bigamy: Bigamy was more of an issue for the middle and upper classes than it was for the poor working class. In fact, in many small villages, bigamy wasn't necessarily a big deal -- as long as the bigamist had a good reason for marrying again; as long as all parties knew what they were getting in to; and as long as the new relationship didn't put undue financial hardship on the previous relationship. Divorce, as we've discussed before, was expensive and difficult and, for the poor, nearly impossible. Many villages decided to look the other way on bigamous relationships. For those of a wealthier persuasion, though, bigamy proved less socially acceptable (if you allow "less" to really mean "absolutely not at all"). And, again, if the bigamist (or potential bigamist) had to rely on his own feet, or his own horse's feet, to get far enough away to find a community of people who didn't know about the other wife back home -- that bigamist could be walking or riding a long time.
That is, until the steam engine comes along.
Now, travel is fast and efficient, and journeys that would, once upon a time, take months, could now be accomplished in, at most, a matter of days. "Goodbye old, sucky family; helloooo ladies!"
The Victorians were obsessed with bigamy -- well, upper class bigamy. It was either terribly romantic or terribly exciting when the bigamist was found out. Victorians could sate their bigamous appetites by reading transcripts of bigamy court cases; additionally, a subset of the sensation novel dealt almost entirely with the subject of bigamy in the middle class household.
The heyday of the bigamy novel runs from 1862 through 1865 -- about the same time as a scandalously delicious true bigamy case was making the rounds: The Yelverton Case. The Yelverton Case was an especially rich stew of all kinds of marital mishigas. Theresa Longworth is an English Catholic; her beau, Charles Yelverton, is an Irish Protestant. Under the law at the time (they met in 1852), though, there love could not lead to marriage. Any marriage between a Catholic and a Protestant, or a marriage between two Protestants celebrated by a Catholic priest, was null and void.
You can see Chuck and Theresa's problem.
Yelverton kept telling Theresa that they couldn't get married (which they couldn't), but could live together. Theresa kept telling Yelverton that there would be no "living together" without a marriage. Yelverton comes up with a plan for a secret ceremony which involves a Catholic priest and the two of them -- Yelverton and Theresa -- simply stating, for the record, how much they loved each other. Theresa had her "marriage." Charles insisted that the "marriage" remain secret.
Things go on, as they do. Theresa suffers a miscarriage in 1858. Charles, being the sensitive guy that he is (isn't that what keeping your marriage secret is all about? Sensitivity?), hooks up with another lady, Emily Forbes. Charles really wanted to marry Emily, and he really wanted Theresa to renounce any "wifely" claims she had on him. He even offered to pay for her passage to New Zealand, because Charles is nothing if not a fine, upstanding guy. Theresa refuses, and begins legal actions against Charles for what we would call "alimony" today. Charles counter-sues, claiming, among other things, that every single step of his "marriage" to Theresa was a sham: he's Protestant, she's Catholic, and they were married by a Catholic priest. Three strikes, Charles is hoping. (Against hope, as it turns out. The courts found in favor of Theresa. If you can read PDFs, here's a Letter to the Editor of the New York Times from 1864 that Theresa wrote.)
The public, of course, were entranced. And why wouldn't they be? Here was a crazy relationship sort of imploding in real time. Periodicals and newspapers couldn't run enough stories about the Yelverton case. And then, to keep up with the demand, they started running bigamy novels serially.
As I said above, the heyday of the bigamy novels ran between 1862 and 1865. So, it's odd that, in 1866, an already-floundering literary magazine, The Argosy, thought to run its own bigamy story. Public taste had, for the most part, moved on; that was one problem. The other problem is, the novel that The Argosy chose to run, Griffith Gaunt, was a flop.
It's not the bigamy that the novel concerns itself with that troubled the Victorian readers. It's not the seduction and the sexual prurience. However, many readers felt that Reade, rather than using those episodes to show how vile they are, and how they should be punished, instead sides with the villains. And that was a little too much for the scandalized Victorians. Readers stopped buying The Argosy, and the magazine failed. (Here's a letter Reade writes, trying to defend himself and the novel.)
Mrs Henry Wood finds herself a widow in 1866. She was supporting her family before her husband died, having written some 14 novels (including East Lynne in 1861). Mr Henry Wood was a dreamer, of sorts, with a hat full of terrible business ideas which he insisted on seeing through to the end. After the failure of several business ventures, the family found itself relying more and more on Mrs Henry. She's able to do this fairly well; her novels and stories are successful and while the family is never relaxingly comfortable while Mr Henry is alive, the family isn't scandalized by poverty, either.
In 1866, Mrs Henry Wood is in the market for a magazine. She is tired of the small returns she's receiving on her stories, especially when she starts to understand the higher profits a successful periodical can bring in. She's also touchy about editors, and longs for the opportunity to be her own boss completely. Mrs Henry heard of the failing Argosy (the straight-laced publisher was horrified and scandalized by the effect Griffith Gaunt on the reading public and began looking for a buyer for the magazine around the time Mrs Henry Wood was looking for a magazine to buy. Ah, kismet...) and was able to pick it up for a song. From that point on, most all of her novels ran serialized in The Argosy (which proudly proclaimed "Under New Management"), and Mrs Henry Wood herself became a publishing and literary force to be reckoned with on her own account.
This post first appeared on Michael Bevel: British Adventuress, please read the originial post: here
