Animals and Women Feminist The
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Dogs are the fashion because we can fashion them to our will. . . . The highly bred dog can have its whole frame twisted and distorted into shapes of the most astonishing kind and can in fact become an ornamental monster. . . . On being [informed] that the monstrosity fanciers are amongst the most resolute critics of vivisection, [an observer] would set them down as hypocrites. Such an accusation would however be unjust; the owners are genuinely devoted to their victims. Fashion . . . has a morality of its own; and the cruelty involved in breeding deformed animals, like that involved in blood sports, is redeemed by the economic futility of the motive; that involved in scientific experiments is felt to be odious because of its unpardonable utility. ( On Human Finery, 55 – 56)
the animal-related discourse of nineteenth-century England was both enormous and diverse. It described a wide range of interactions, which might be inspired by primary motives as disparate as sentiment (petkeeping), economics (animal husbandry), and curiosity (natural history). (4) 8
As heir to the Victorian “ animal estate, ” young Woolf was aware of the details of the Muzzling of Dogs Act (1871) as it applied to the neighbors ’ dog ( Letters, 1:2) and attempted to judge the “ species ” of a dog herself ( Letters, 1:11). Woolf would later refer to the Muzzling of Dogs Act in her obituary to the Stephens ’ dog Shag ( “ On A Faithful Friend ” [1905], Essays, 1:12 – 15) and recall concern over Shag ’ s pedigree: “ [Shag] came to us, however, with a pedigree that had all the elements of romance in it; he, when, in horror at his price, his would-be purchaser pointed to his collie head and collie body, but terribly Skye-terrier legs — he, we were assured, was no less a dog than the original Skye — a chieftain of the same importance as the O ’ Brien or the O ’ Connor Don in human aristocracy ” (12 – 13). Woolf and her sister Vanessa witnessed a carriage running over a dog and, soon after, its owner setting off to the “ Lost Dogs home to buy a new creature ” ( Letters, 1:12). The Stephens ’ own dogs were given to being put into “ prison ” for running wild through the town ( Letters, 1:352, 354 – 55). In 1902, Woolf visited the zoo and wished to buy a green monkey ( Letters, 1:60) to add to the Stephen household. In 1904, Woolf recalled looking at pictures of animals in the nursery even before being able to be read aloud to: “ It is quite true that I still know all my beasts from their pictures in Bewick which we were shown before we could listen to reading aloud ” ( Letters, 1:165).
All of these examples illustrate aspects of the “ animal estate ” as presented by Ritvo. Indeed, Woolf ’ s first exposure to books included one of the “ most influential mediators ” of period discourse about the physical aspects of animals and “ their place in the natural order, and their relationship to people ” (Ritvo, 6). Thomas Bewick ’ s (1753 – 1828) A General History of Quadrupeds (1790) and British Birds (1797, 1804) were both immensely successful upon publication and throughout the nineteenth century:
Within approximately five hundred pages [ Quadrupeds ] offered entries ranging in length from a few sentences to many pages on what purported to be the entire range of known quadrupeds. . . .Almost every entry was illustrated by one of Bewick ’ s appealing woodcuts. (Ritvo, 7)
These entries also expressed an order of nature especially appealing to the Victorian world: “ Bewick presented the animal kingdom as rationally ordered and easily comprehensible, a perception that was itself strong evidence of the power of human intelligence ” (14). This order was not only seen in illustrated books but also in the popular, highly ordered world of the Victorian zoo, an institution emblematic in Ritvo ’ s view of the British imperial system (Ritvo, chap. 5: “ Exotic Captives, ” 205 – 42).
As suggested above, the young Woolf also inherited the Victorian preoccupation with and intense love of dogs, even to the point of parodying the obsession: “ I expect I shall leave all my fortune to a home for stray pug dogs, having become entirely maudlin in my old age ” ( Letters, 1:364). 9 One manifestation of the era ’ s preoccupation with dogs were the various discourses on and attempts to control the spread of rabies (a subject also thoroughly chronicled by Ritvo [chap. 4: “ Cave Canem, ” 167 – 202]). One of the successful legislative measures concerning rabies was the Muzzling of Dogs Act of 1871. Much later, Quentin Bell, Woolf ’ s nephew and biographer, would use the trope of Victorian concerns over dog breeding, pedigree (see Ritvo, chap. 2: “ Prize Pets, ” 82 – 121), and antivivisection to illustrate the caprice of fashion:
Woolf ’ s fascination with shopping and shopping districts found full expression in Mrs. Dalloway (1925) with Woolf ’ s brilliant depiction — one could almost say characterization — of Bond Street. Unlike Bond Street, Regent Street had been created as part of an elegant, exclusive shopping district for men and women rather than developing as one (like Bond Street) over time (Adburgham, 98 – 100). The style of Woolf ’ s prose picture of Regent Street in “ The Plumage Bill ” — the focus on plate glass windows full of desirable goods listed in detail — would appear again in Mrs. Dalloway and in Woolf ’ s study of mass consumerism in the essay “ Oxford Street Tide ” (1932). What is important here is Woolf ’ s emphasis on a marketplace appealing to both men and women. Save for the dresses and bracelets, all of the goods listed could be desired and used by both sexes, but even the dresses and bracelets could be purchased by men. In Mrs. Dalloway, two characters shop for their respective wives: Hugh Whitbread inspects jewelry for his wife (171 – 73) and Richard Dalloway buys flowers for his wife (174). Woolf ’ s focus on Regent Street begins with this mass of men and women, of would-be consumers. This ungendered group quickly disappears amongst the various producers and consumers mentioned later in the essay, but their inability to consume the goods on display immediately highlights the entrance of the archetypal consumer — the lady of means:
It is fitting to turn to Quentin Bell ’ s writing on fashion, as Bell ’ s sartorial sense consistently chronicled his aunt ’ s concerns over clothes and personal appearance as well as apprehending Woolf ’ s struggle to fashion a “ public ” Woolf as polished and as self-confident as her prose. 10 This sartorial struggle, I suggest, offers a highly informative perspective on Woolf ’ s concept of women in the public sphere and, in this instance, merges with the plumage controversy of the Victorian, Edwardian, and Georgian eras. The infant Woolf who was entertained by Bewick ’ s ordered natural world of quadrupeds and birds, the six-year-old Woolf who wrote her godfather about the birds and beasts of North America, 11 the ten-year-old Woolf who vowed never to wear an egret plume, the twenty-two-year-old Woolf who madly imagined birds singing in Greek, all became the “ thirtysomething ” Woolf who had just barely managed to deal with milliners ( “ I dont [ sic ] like buying hats though: though I ’ ve conquered some part of the horror by learning how to look into the eyes of milliners, & make my demands boldly ” [ Diary, 1:6, 148 – 49]) and who, in her own exercise in “ animal discourse, ” would “ buy an egret plume, and stick it — is it in the back or the front of the hat? ” ( “ The Plumage Bill, ” 241) as a rhetorical symbol of defiance at an assault on the integrity of her sex.
This outrage, this defiance, should not surprise the reader, for it is exactly how A Room of One ’ s Own begins, as the essay ’ s persona is first intercepted on the green by the beadle (6) and then by the “ guardian angel ” of the library who turns her away from the library ’ s door (7 – 8). The persona ’ s curse on the library follows, as does her meditation on the “ unending stream of gold and silver ” (9) needed to build a university, particularly the lack of money women had to donate to build a university for women (20 – 21). Money makes an earlier appearance in A Room of One ’ s Own as part of the essay ’ s thesis ( “ a woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction ” [4]), and money gives Three Guineas its title, frame, and thesis. Money also begins “ The Plumage Bill ” : “ If I had the money and the time I should, after reading ‘ Wayfarer, ’ in the Nation of 10 July, go to Regent Street, [and] buy an egret plume ” (241). “ The Plumage Bill,
” therefore, introduces three themes that would always interest Woolf: women and money, women as consumers (egret plumes), and women as producers (writers).
From the beginning of the “ The Plumage Bill, ” Woolf places herself in the role of female producer — a busy writer who earns her living by writing and really does not have the time or the money to shop on Regent Street. 12 Thus, Woolf ’ s egret plume must remain, for practical reasons alone, simply a rhetorical figure, a metaphor for her rage. Instead of visiting Regent Street, the author exercises her craft and produces a word picture of the shopping district:
One can look at Regent Street without leaving one ’ s room. The lower half of the houses is composed of plate glass. One might string substantives and adjectives together for an hour without naming a tenth part of the dressing bags, silver baskets, boots, guns, flowers, dresses, bracelets and fur coats arrayed behind the glass. Men and women pass incessantly this way and that. Many loiter and perhaps desire, but few are in a position to enter the doors. Most of them merely steal a look and hurry on. (241)
And then there comes on foot, so that we may have a good look at her, a lady of a different class altogether. A silver bag swings from her wrist. Her gloves are white. Her shoes lustrous. She holds herself upright. As an object of beauty her figure is incomparably more delightful than any other object in street or window. It is her face that one must discount, for, though discreetly tinted and powdered, it is a stupid face, and the look she sweeps over the shop windows has something of the greedy petulance of a pug-dog ’ s face at tea-time. (241 – 42)
It is at this point in the essay that Woolf ’ s attention shifts from the female producer of goods (essays) to the female consumer as found by Massingham in his own essay to be “ [a] child-bearing [woman] ” willing to “ flaunt ” her child-bearing status with such things as egret plumes, thereby being guilty of a hard and heartless “ carelessness ” regarding the ecological consequences of the plumage trade. Woolf responds to Massingham ’ s charge with the creation of “ Lady So-and-So. ” Woolf ’ s recourse to a fictional character to illustrate an argument would be used again in the character of “ Shakespeare ’ s sister ” in A Room of One ’ s Own — a memorable and effective rhetorical creation. Here, however, the reader may question the rhetorical soundness of Woolf ’ s example. Woolf appears to have made her “ actual ” egret consumer into the very persona — vain, selfish, careless — condemned by Massingham.
But Lady So-and-So is more ambiguous than that. While Lady So-and-So is a creation of a patriarchal system of male production and wealth and a patriarchal aristocracy (it is doubtful that she is Lady So-and-So in her own right), she is also a reflection/product of patriarchal society as produced and consumed by women. Lady So-and-So ’ s bag, gloves, shoes, and cosmetics were at least sold by if not designed and/or made by women. 13 Lady So-and-So ’ s existence as a consumer, a flawlessly finished consumer icon at that, was at least partly the work of women producers of luxury goods or services. The “ artfully arranged ” egret plumes in the window ( “ flights of hats on little rods ” [ The Years (1937), 333]) that attract Lady So-and-So were probably arranged by female hands. The “ lemon-coloured egret ” was probably dyed by female hands. In 1889, 8,000 women were employed in Paris in the millinery trade (Ginsburg 100). The majority of the 83,000 people employed in New York City in 1900 in making and decorating hats were women (Doughty, 23). 14 The true milliner was an artist and generally, almost exclusively, a woman:
A true creative artist, the milliner was frequently “ author ” of “ a masterpiece. ” She constantly invented new models of hats and revived earlier styles; and even when the basic substructure of the hat was simple, she decorated it artistically with ribbons, flowers, and feathers, creating a “ harmonious ensemble. ” (Steele, 72 – 73; see also Doughty, 24)
At least one Parisian milliner, Caroline Reboux (1837 – 1927), gained an international reputation and is credited with inventing the “ plumeless ” cloche of the 1920s (O ’ Hara, 210 – 11). Woolf herself was later to create a maker of hats in the character of Rezia in Mrs. Dalloway (34, 131, 135).
Here, however, women as workers or artists who produce or create hats and millinery 15 is a point missed by the class-bound Woolf, or intentionally ignored so Woolf could focus on the “ male producers ” and “ profiteers ” in the plumage trade and in patriarchal society as a whole. This change of focus or rhetorical shift is quick and cutting. The word picture of Regent Street is subsumed by another picture, a picture of the jungle: egrets nesting and producing young, hunters fashioning decoys as artfully contrived as Lady-So-and-So ’ s toilette, and the “ opening and shutting ” of “ innumerable mouths ” as egret young die of starvation (242). While Woolf does not ponder the position of women as producers of millinery or spokespersons for the plumage trade, she does pause to consider the “ gender ” of the plumage trade itself:
But these hands — are they the hands of men or of women? The Plumage Bill supporters say that the hunters “ are the very scum of mankind. ” We may assume that the newspapers would have let us know if any of the other sex had been concerned in it. We may fairly suppose then that the birds are killed by men, starved by men, and tortured by men — not vicariously, but with their own hands. (242)
In this passage, Woolf ’ s direction in the essay is clearly established: male producers of plumage = female consumers of plumage. While Lady So-and-So is not to be absolved of all guilt when she opens her silver mesh bag and “ disgorges I know not how many notes ” (242) in the purchase of an egret plume, Woolf does not place primary blame in this act of trade with the female consumer. After all, Lady So-and-So is a success with the very tools of the only “ profession ” (marriage) Woolf acknowledged to be open to women before 1919 [ Three Guineas, 20). It was Woolf ’ s plea throughout her life that just enough economic power and independence ( “ Of the two — the vote and the money — the money, I own, seemed infinitely the more important.[ A Room of One ’ s Own, 37]) guaranteed women rooms of their own. This stance sets the stage for another production/consumption equation: male consumers of women = female producers of children. Woolf deftly takes Massingham ’ s cry against “ child-bearing women ” who must flaunt that status in fashionable plumes and turns it away from questions concerning the feminine motivations and vicarious guilt of fashion to a critique of the structures of patriarchal capitalism as manifested in a male-dominated workplace. Woolf then extends this attack to include the patriarchal family structure and even male desire:
But what is the nature of this compulsion? Well, men must make their livings, must earn their profits, and must beget children. For though some people say that they can control their passions, the majority maintain that they should be protected from them rather than condemned for them. In other words, it is one thing to desire a woman; quite another to desire an egret plume. (243)
In her reply to Massingham ’ s 30 July 1920 attack on her article, Woolf freely acknowledges that her essay was “ an outburst of sex antagonism. ” Woolf also acknowledges that she has used “ animal discourse, ” here “ bird discourse, ” to champion women:
To torture birds is one thing, and to be unjust to women is another, and it was, I hope, plain to some of my readers that I was attacking the second of these crimes and not the first. . . . I reply that I am not writing as a bird, or even a champion of birds; but as a woman. (245, n.4)
Beyond the fashionable facade — beyond the objectification of Lady-So-and-So in the contexts of both patriarchal power and consumerism — is the woman herself. Lady So-and-So as “ an object of beauty ” is “ incomparably more delightful than any other object in street or window. ” Although her desires may make her take on a “ pug-dog ” countenance, Lady So-and-So as a human being and, more importantly for Woolf ‘ s argument here, as a woman is, faults notwithstanding, of more importance socially, politically, and morally than Massingham ’ s egrets.
Woolf as “ naturalist ” does not buy an eg
ret plume; instead, in a Bewickian gesture of species/sex classification, she places the phallic egret plume, plumage developed by the male egret at breeding time to attract a female, as a decoration marking both men and the patriarchal institutions behind male power. As stated above, men make themselves “ attractive ” with the plumage trade and, as a result, breed, but in the larger spheres of education, religion, and, most especially, politics, men assume even greater power and appropriate badges of this power — the “ tufts of fur ” worn at the university in A Room of One ’ s Own (8) and the other badges of office derided in Three Guineas (19, 21, 114). This power orders nature (Muzzling of Dogs Act, Plumage Bill) and extends power, grudgingly, to women (suffrage). In the best of all possible worlds, these men wear their badges of office with honor and without bias or self-interest in wielding power over other men, women, and even egrets:
There remains, however, a body of honourable and disinterested men who are neither plume hunters, profiteers, nor women. It is their duty, as it is within their power, to end the murder and torture of the birds, and to make it impossible for a single egret to be robbed of a single plume. (243)