Elizabeth Barret Browning & “The Fallen Woman”

by Laura Cude

The nine books of Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s novel poem Aurora Leigh span the life of the title character as she tries to make a living for herself as an independent poet. Beginning in Florence during Aurora’s childhood, the poet travels to England, France and then back to Italy as she endeavours to establish the idea of woman as artist, whilst being unable to avoid the prospect of marriage, the notion of love, and the prejudices found in the idea of the Victorian “fallen woman,” through the character Marian Erle.

At the time when this work was published in 1856, Women’s Suffrage had been advocated but would not yet become law for another 62 years. Women had to hand over all control of their property to their husbands until the Married Woman’s Property Acts of 1870 – 1908 was established. Inequalities such as these are what formed the public debate of “the Woman’s question,” where issues of voting, marriage, property, education and work were discussed. Though these issues, especially concerning employment, are featured throughout the work, it is not until the fifth book that Barrett Browning actually uses the Victorian “trending” phrase of the time “the Woman’s question.”

Aurora Leigh is an enthralling read, if not a trying one at times, due to the author’s frequent allusions to the Bible and ancient Greek and Roman literature, texts with which Elizabeth Barrett Browning was much acquainted. It makes for a taxing read for the less well read mind without extensive footnotes (as I found out the hard way). This is indeed, a failing on my part, and leaves me only with a feeling of inadequacy to appreciate the full richness of the text. When considering the novel poem’s feminist themes, and therefore it’s justifications for appearing on the goodreads list of best feminist works, the task is much more obvious.

In the second book, on her twentieth birthday “Came a morn/I stood upon the brink of twenty years,” Aurora stands as “Woman and artist, – either incomplete,/ Both credulous of completion,” and turns down her cousin’s proposal of marriage in order to pursue a life in art, something which her courter, Romney Leigh, believes to be a futile attempt for a woman, and certainly not as important as his own ambitions at social reform through helping and housing the poor and homeless; a plot twist that is textbook feminist fiction.

Aurora does find success with her work, but after much labour with little inspiration. Her success comes from a manuscript which she sold in order to go to Italy. Its popularity and more importantly, Romney’s approval of it and apologies for his unsupportive words several years earlier, provoke Aurora to think that her work was somewhat better than what she had thought. And here’s the kicker: the book climaxes with realising that she indeed loves her cousin, and they will both be personally better off, as well as in work, with the love of each other: “Our work shall still be better for our love,/ and our love be sweeter for our work.”

Naturally, one thinks that by Aurora feeling as if she needs love in order to “fuel” herself and her writing, she is relying on a man to provide her that strength. What redeems this objection however, is that Romney, unsuccessful in his endeavours to help the underclass, agrees that he, too, needs the love of Aurora to fulfil his ambitions. This makes for quite a cosy ending. And I guess for cynics like me, it leaves me disappointed and regrettably betrayed by my heroine.

For me, Marian is the real heroine of the book, even if when she first appears, she doesn’t seem to be. After her mum attempted to sell Marian into prostitution, Romney came to her rescue as part of his mission to help those in grave poverty. He gets her a job as a seamstress and they get engaged. During the time in which this work was written, seamstress work was an oversubscribed occupation for women. Women were outnumbering men at the time, meaning many were unmarried and so had to support themselves, but with a lack of employment options, or only jobs with poor working conditions, many women turned to prostitution. Virtue and purity were seen as paramount to a woman’s reputation. Anything less would result in them being scandalised. Barrett Browning risked scandalising herself through illustrating such themes as prostitution and children out of wedlock in a sympathetic light.

Marian feels, due to her social standing, that she is unworthy of Romney. So she jilts him. In the sixth book, Aurora by chance finds Marian in France, but with a baby. A rival for Romney’s affections, Lady Waldemar, had convinced her that Romney did not love her and sent her to France. After being abandoned in a brothel, Marian was raped. What’s so empowering about Marian is that she claims the joy of her child, despite the circumstances in which she conceived, and that prevents her from despair. That in itself conquers the physical power that the rapist had over Marian. When Aurora invites Marian and her baby to Italy with her, and promises to protect them, sisterhood is also demonstrated in an optimum example.

Before Aurora’s love for Romney is declared, he offers to marry Marian. And she, despite being “a fallen woman” declines in a joyous moment, where she goes on to explain that she never did love him, simply idolised him. Marian has rejected the idea of a saviour personified in a man. Now that is feminism at it’s greatest.

One of Aurora Leigh‘s greatest merits is its progressive look at prostitution and the scandalised woman. Sympathy needed to be evoked with the female characters on the receiving end of such prejudice to nudge Barrett Browning’s readers into diverting their thoughts away from the prescribed idea of a virtuous woman. This is why Aurora Leigh was a wise choice for including in the goodreads list.

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