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Death and sorrow in eighteenth-century English family


Johannes Christiaan Bendorp (1776 - 1825): Dichter Jan Zoet ligt ziek in bed en Machteld Klaas van Medemblik spreekt hem toe terwijl de Dood wenkt, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam.

What children knew about death? Were they kept away when death occurred? How they felt losing their parents or siblings? These are the questions I have come across while searching the experience of eighteenth-century English girls. Several historians have already shown that early modern and eighteenth-century parents loved their children and grieved for their deaths. No matter how young or sickly the child was, its loss had an impact. However, there is little research of the emotions of the young people.

Death was, in the end, an ever-present visitor in eighteenth-century household. Enquiries after health were not empty decorum, but echoed real concern. The illnesses of parents and other family members deserved remark from the young as well. 22-year-old Maria Josepha Holdroyd reported her friend that her step-mother had been ill. She had “Fever and violent Pain in her Side, with incessant cough.” Absent family members were informed how the illnesses developed. 15-year-old Emily Lennox wrote to her father in 1746 that her “Dear Mama is thank God perfectly well, she walked about the Room to Day and finds herself much stronger than usual.”

The harsh realities of life did, indeed, go both ways. It is estimated that child death rate in England between 1500 and 1820 was 0,187 pro mille, whereas between 1600 and 1750 a quarter of youths under 15 years and a third of those under 20 had lost at least one parent, sometimes even both. In the latter part of the eighteenth century the mortality rate declined. 20 per cent of those under 15 and a quarter of those under 20 had lost their parent(s).

As death was a frequent visitor in all eighteenth-century families, even children knew illness might easily lead to death. It duly caused concern even in the minds of the young. Even a possible prospect of a parent dying or being injured caused great anxiety. An unexpected death could also badly injure the prospects of the family. If the father died young or with little economical means his younger children would have to make their fortunes themselves unless the heir was willing or capable of providing for them. For unmarried girls, the death of a father meant that they had to throw themselves to the mercies of their eldest brother and heir or other relatives to provide themselves. The situation was even worse if the heir was a minor.

Little Melesina Chenevix lost both of her parents before she was four and was traumatized to such extent that she lost all remembrance of the event. It is, however, possible that a four-year-old could not remember much in any case. Mary Berry was also four when she lost her mother in 1767. When contemplating afterwards the event in her diary, Mary stated she had no recollection “of the excessive grief of my father and grandmother” or of her “own irreparable loss”. She assumed she was kept away from them. The sickness of Lady Sheffield, Maria Josepha Holroyd’s step-mother led eventually to death in April 1793. Maria’s younger sister Louisa had been visiting her aunt in Bath when the death occurred. The girl had “relieved herself by some hours' crying.”

Unusual, emotional events are easily remembered than more neutral everyday ones, so it is no wonder that these kinds of incidents are most often recorded in letters, diaries and autobiographies. Parental death is one of the most devastating of these. According to Joanne Bailey, eighteenth-century life-writers pinpointed the death of a parent having the most profound consequences for them.

Losing a sibling was not easier to handle. As Amy Harris has pointed out, sibling relations were the long-lasting human relation a person in the eighteenth century could have. Siblings grew up together, and despite some significant age-difference, ties were close. It is now wonder, then, that Fanny Burney stayed up all night beside her sister’s sick bed. She was in agony lest her sister should die. When her half-sister died some years later, Fanny consoled herself with the fact that the girl had been nursed properly and not neglected.

I would argue that, death had major emotion impact on the young and that they were fully aware of its consequences both economic and social. But loving emotions within eighteenth-century family is evident.

Henna Karppinen-Kummunmäki

FM, doctoral candidate, cultural history, University of Turku



Further reading and cited sources


  • Bailey, Joanne: Parenting in England, 1760–1830. Emotion, Identity, & Generation. Oxford: Oxford University Press 2012.
  • Cooper, Sheila: Kinship and welfare in early modern England. Sometimes charity begins at home. Medicine, Charity and Mutual Aid. The Consumption of Health and Welfare in Britain c. 1550-1950. Anne Borsay & Peter Shapely (eds.)Aldershot, Ashgate 2007, 55–69.
  • Fletcher, Anthony: Growing up in England: The Experience of Childhood, 1600‒1914. New Haven & London: Yale University Press, 2010[2008].
  • Harris, Amy: Siblinghood and social relations in Georgian England. Share and share alike. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2012.
  • Kaartinen, Marjo: Arjesta ihmeisiin. Eliitin kulttuurihistoriaa 1500–1800-luvun Euroopassa. Tammi, Hämeenlinna 2006.

Love, marriage and filial duty in eighteenth-century England


Reinier Vinkeles: Young couple talking with an old man and a woman, 1798, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam.

Love is a wonderful and powerful thing, at its best a source of life-long happiness that unites people and generations, and at its worst, a source of excruciating pain that can rip them apart. Despite the universal nature of this feeling, love is not without a history. While writing my PhD thesis on the experience of elite girlhood in eighteenth-century England, I have got to know a young girl that had struggled, like we all have I believe, with the mixed expectations of personal happiness and societal and parental demands. What these expectations are, vary in time.

In 1796 18-year-old Elizabeth (Betsey) Wynne met a young naval officer Captain Fremantle. In her diary, she described her sweetheart’s “fiery black eyes” as “quite captivating.” So he was wonderful in looks and character and she wondered if he thought of her as much as she thought of him. The infatuated girl declared: “poor me, I am in great distress for I cannot help confessing I love that man with all my heart.” She could hardly live without him.

The course of love never ran smoothly. Betsey had to part with her beloved Captain for some months and was left uncertain as to his intentions. After all, it was not advisable for a young lady to take the initiative in courtship. Although she had received a ring from him and a wish to find her in his return “just the same as I am now”, the engagement was not formally settled with her parents. Despite her feelings, Betsey acknowledged that his lack of money, a thing that would hopefully be settled with his battle expedition, was a thing that would hinder her parents’ consenting to the match. A man, who could not support his wife, was not a good candidate. To add her misery, an unpleasant rival also appeared on the scene. She was worried that her father would accept a proposal from a man not of her liking.

Disobedience towards parents was not an option for a daughter, if not very easy to a son as well. At least it usually had some serious consequences. Eighteenth-century society was strictly hierarchical and family was the society in miniature. At least in theory, the father of the household had the ultimate power and children were expected to obey their elders. Respect towards parents was the most important duty. It was no wonder then, that Betsey dreaded the prospect of conflict between filial duty and her own feelings.

When Betsey learned of her Captain’s return she was “counting the days hours, and minutes and find that time passes very slowly”. She was still anxious about her parents’ resistance. It seems that Mr. Wynne changed his mind constantly and kept his daughter on the edge. Even her mother told her that she was “not in the least engaged to him, and that the matter is far from being settled.” Even contrary to her own feelings, Betsey was not ready to act against her parents’ wish. Historians have widely argued, whether the eighteenth-century saw the rise of more individual choice in marital issues and the decline of parental authority. As this little snapshot from the very end of the century indicates, love was not the only foundation in forming a satisfactory relationship. In elite families, whether genteel or aristocratic, parental authority may not have been forced upon, but it still had major impact. It was not worth the risk to lose the social connections provided by family ties for romantic passion.

The story had a happy ending. Betsey married her Captain January 12th 1797.

I want to express my gratitude to Professor Elaine Chalus for introducing me to Betsey.

Henna Karppinen-Kummunmäki

FM, doctoral candidate, cultural history, University of Turku



Further reading:

  • Tague, Ingrid H.: Women of Quality. Accepting and contesting ideals of femininity in England, 1690−1760. The Boydell Press, Woodbridge & Rochester 2002.
  • Vickery, Amanda: The Gentleman’s Daughter. Women’s lives in Georgian England. New Haven & London. Yale University Press (1998) 1999.

Symposium

Family History & Gender History, Medieval to Modern

University of Turku, Finland 20 - 21 October 2015


The symposium is organized by a project that aims to publish a new book on the family history of Finland, focusing to the continuities and changes over the centuries, from medieval to modern. The main aim of the symposium is to create new connections between researchers that focus on family history and gender history, and to allow free time for discussion.

The symposium is free of charge and all scholars interested in the topic are warmly welcome. For coffee arrangements, please send an e-mail to Anu Lahtinen (anulah@utu.fi).

The invited speakers are prof. Henry French, University of Exeter, prof. Amy Harris, Brigham Young University, and Research Fellow, PhD Katie Barclay, University of Adelaide.

Contact person:   
Anu Lahtinen, Adj.Prof., University Lecturer, Universities of Turku & Helsinki
anulah@utu.fi, @anulah (twitter & ello)
For more information about the project members & the project itself, please check http://perheenjaljilla.blogspot.fi and http://perheenjaljilla.blogspot.fi/p/blog-page_11.html


Programme

(Minor amendments possible)

Tue 20 October 2015

Location: Lecture Hall "Hovi", Artium Building, Kaivokatu 12, entrance level

10.30 Opening address
10.30-11.30 Research Fellow Katie Barclay
Intimate Relationships amongst Early Modern Lower Scots: a History of Collective Feeling?

11.30-12.30 Lunch
12.30-14.30 Workshop: Finnish project members present their research in English, approx. 10 min / person, disussion
14.30-15.00 Coffee break
15.00-16.00 Professor Henry French
In hopes of becoming a man’ : Younger Sons’ Experiences of Family, Gender and the Life-Course among the English Gentry, 1650-1800

19.00  Evening program


Wed 21 October 2015

Location: Arcanum, Arcanum Lecture Hall 2

10.00-11.00 Prof. Amy Harris, Brigham Young University: Kinship-consciousness, genealogical consciousness (preliminary title)
11.00-12.00 Lunch
12.00-14.00 Workshop: Finnish project members present their research in English, approx. 10 min. / person, discussion
14.00 Coffee

19.00 Evening program

About speakers


Professor Henry French, University of Exeter, has published on the identity and composition of the ‘middle sort of people’ in provincial England 1620-1750, among them a monograph study, published by Oxford University Press in July 2007.  In association with Prof. R.W. Hoyle, of the University of Reading, he has also studied land ownership in Essex and Lancashire, concentrating particularly on the decline of the small farmer, 1500-1800. French & Hoyle have published several articles on this theme, and also a monograph on the land market in the Essex village of Earls Colne, 1500-1750, with Manchester U.P. in March 2007. Professor French's newest area of research interest is in long-term processes of change in notions of masculinity among the landed elite in England, between the later seventeenth and early twentieth centuries.
http://humanities.exeter.ac.uk/history/staff/french/

Professor Amy Harris, Brigham Young University, uses both her historical and genealogical training to study family relationships of the past, particul​arly in early modern Britain.  Her first book, Siblinghood and Social Relations in Georgian England (University of Manchester Press, 2012), examines the impact sisters and brothers had on eighteenth-century English families and society. Using evidence from letters, diaries, probate disputes, court transcripts, prescriptive literature, and portraiture, it argues that although parents' wills often recommended their children "share and share alike," siblings had to constantly negotiate between prescribed equality and practiced inequalities.
 Her most recent work, Family Life in England and America, 1690-1820 (co-edited with Rachel Cope and Jane Hinckley) will be published by Pickering and Chatto in 2015. This four-volume collection of original sources  (manuscript and print) brings together sources from both sides of the Atlantic and from a wide variety of regional archives. It is the first collection of its kind, allowing comparisons between the development of the family in England and America during a time of significant change.
https://history.byu.edu/Pages/Faculty/Harris.aspx

Research Fellow Katie Barclay is currently working in the ARC Centre of Excellence for the History of Emotions. From June 2014-17, she holds a Discovery Early Career Research Award. She is a graduate in Economic and Social History at the University of Glasgow, where she completed her undergraduate degree, Masters and PhD. Before joining the University of Adelaide, she held a Research Fellowship in the Institute of Irish Studies, Queen’s University, Belfast. Between 2008 and 2010, she worked as a Research Fellow at the University of Warwick on a project, run jointly with Queen’s, ‘Marriage in Ireland, 1660-1925’.  In 2007-8, Dr Barclay was the Economic History Society Anniversary Fellow, held through the Institute of Historical Research, London.
http://www.adelaide.edu.au/directory/katie.barclay

Henrik Ibsen – defender of emancipated women and father of an illegitimate child

While staying in Oslo, I must – I thought – blog about the famous Norwegian author and playwrite Henrik Ibsen (1828-1906). Ibsen’s play A Doll’s House (Et dukkehjem), written, published and first performed in 1879 was, after all, a significant and relatively early expression for women’s liberation from the bourgeois domestic cage. I imagined that I would present Ibsen as an important spokesman in the struggle for women’s political and economic emancipation. His wife Suzannah Ibsen (1836–1914, née Daae Thoresen) has introduced him to the writings on John Stuart Mill (1806-1873) on women’s rights.

When Ibsen wrote his play, it was considered scandalous. Debates ensued. It was hardly acceptable to Ibsen’s contemporaries that Nora Helmer, the protagonist of A Doll’s House, quitted her home, her husband and her three small children. At the end of the play, Nora, an unfulfilled middle-class housewife and mother, denied that her life with her husband was a true marriage, while she continued by declaring that her husband was a stranger to her and her small children were better off without her. When the front door slammed after her, walking out on her family after her final “Farvel”, many people in the audience must have shuddered with shock.

In 1889, a decade later, Clement Scott, the critic of the Daily Telegraph, commended the acting and observed that “[t]he interest [of the audience] was so intense last night that a pin might have been heard to drop.” However, he observed: “But at the present moment we have no time or opportunity to discuss Ibsen or his theories, which we might do at great length. We do not honestly believe that those theories as expressed in ‘The Doll’s House’ would ever find favour with the great body of English playgoers.”

In fact, Ibsen himself thought it necessary to write an alternative version of the play when his translator and agent informed him that there was a risk that his play would be tampered with in Germany and that the North-German theaters especially would prefer a different ending. In the alternative version, Nora’s husband showed her their sleeping children when she was leaving. At the end, she was unable to make them motherless by quitting the house and them.

Moreover, I had planned to tell how Ibsen had modeled the plot of A Doll’s House and Nora Helmer on a real-life incident involving Laura Kieler (née Petersen, 1849-1932), a family friend of the Ibsens. Laura Kieler had taken a loan in order to finance her family’s trip to Southern Europe after her husband had contracted tuberculosis and the doctors had recommended a warmer climate. Unable to raise the money to pay the debt, desperate, pregnant and unwell, Laura Kieler had forged a document in order to get out of the predicament.

Unlike Torvald Helmer who threatened his wife Nora with having the upbringing of their children taken away from her and the reduction of their union to a mere façade, Victor Kieler took his wife Laura to court in order to have sole custody of the his children – also the newborn – and a legal separation. Laura Kieler was labelled an unfit mother. In addition, she was sent to a mental asylum for a month. Only two years later did her husband relent and accept to take her back so that she could again live with her children.

So, this was the original plan for the blog. But it did not turn out that way. As I was about to visit the Ibsen Museum (Henrik Ibsens gate 26) in Oslo with my uncle, I read more about the life of this famous author. Then I discovered that I had to abandon my original idea of focus on A Doll’s House and Ibsen’s role in women’s lib.

Instead, I realized that I would have blog about another, less exemplary aspect of Henrik Ibsen himself. Namely, Ibsen as the father of an illegitimate son who is not mentioned in his official entry in the Norsk biografisk leksikon alongside with Sigurd Ibsen (1859–1930), Ibsen’s legitimate son. (Obviously, the place of illegitimate children is not among the legitimate children in biographical encyclopedia articles even if they were acknowledged as Ibsen’s was.)

When Henrik Ibsen was a mere impoverished youth and working as an apprentice pharmacist in the household of the chemist Reimann in Grimstad since 1844, on 9 October 1846, Reimann’s maid gave birth to a son who was baptized Hans Jacob Henrichssen Birkedalen. The baby’s mother Else Sophie Jensdatter (1818-1892) named Ibsen as the father, and this was duly recorded at the baptism.
The alleged father could deny paternity if he wished to escape the imposition of child maintenance payments until the child’s fifteenth year by the officials. In his reply, Henrik Ibsen observed that he could not “categorically deny responsibility of the infant” as he had “regrettably” had intimacies with the ten-year older Else Sophie Jensdatter. However, Ibsen observed that she had also “kept company with other young gentlemen” at the time. Moreover, he considered that their being in the same household and “her tempting deportment” had caused his moral lapse.

So, the older temptress had thrown herself on top of the young and innocent, but good-looking and ambitious lad in the scenario of young Ibsen. Indeed, this has been one of the most common clichés used for illegitimate mothers.

At first, Ibsen made the maintenance payments regularly, but later he fell into arrears. He had financial difficulties, but he was also pursuing other love interests. In 1850, Ibsen’s failure to pay child maintenance on time lead to his being threatened by the officials with forced labour in the Fortress of Akershus in Oslo. This was averted, but Ibsen had maintenance arrears many times over the years, especially after his own marriage in 1858 until the final payment in 1862 released Ibsen from the maintenance obligation.

Per Kristian Heggelund Dahl has observed about Ibsen’s “reserved indifference” towards the economic plight of Else Sophie Jensdatter and his son Hans Jacob Henrichssen that “[t]he cleft that separates [Ibsen] from mother and child is deep. He doubts the paternity imposed on him […].” Indeed, Ibsen may never even have seen his illegitimate son, whom he apparently considered a dark and shameful secret of his unhappy early life.

Henrik Ibsen and his family left for Germany and Italy in 1864, and they lived abroad for more than two decades. Thus, Ibsen’s rising star took him to European fame and fortune, while his former lover’s prospects spiraled down as a labourer who died pauperized and living on charity. While Ibsen’s legitimate son Sigurd Ibsen (1859–1930) became prime minister and doctor of laws, Hans Jacob Henrichssen became a blacksmith with a fondness for reading, alcohol and fiddles. He had several children, including one illegitimate daughter, and he also died a pauper in 1916. While Ibsen’s legitimate son rose to the elite of the new nation, the bastard son was plunged into obscurity, manual labour and the workhouse.

Nevertheless, it is worth remembering that this year Norway celebrates the centenary of the so-called “Castberg’s laws on children” (De Castbergske barnelover), named after the politician Johan Castberg (1862-1926), one of the most active spokesmen of the reform. The six laws were very progressive in their time, giving illegitimate children, e.g., equal inheritance rights after both parents and a right to the paternal name. Despite being criticized for undermining Christian family values and promoting promiscuity, the laws were accepted on 10 April 1915.

The “Castberg’s laws on children” were too late to make a difference in Else Sophie Jensdatter’s or Hans Jacob Henrichssen’s lives, but they certainly improved the fortunes and prospects of many other Norwegian illegitimate children. They came to mark an important milestone in making all children equal regardless of their parents’ marital status. The centenary of “Castberg’s laws on children” is well worth celebrating – especially bearing in mind that similar reforms were made in Finland only in the 1970s, more than half a century later.

Mia Korpiola


Further reading:


  • Joan Templeton, Ibsen’s Women. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge 1997.
  • Vigdis Ystad, “Henrik Ibsen”, Norsk biografisk leksikon (Norwegian Biographical Encyclopedia, accessed 27 June 2015).

Gustav Vigeland and Images of Modern Fatherhood


Gustav Vigeland
The Norwegian Gustav Vigeland (1869-1943) was a great artist.

Anyone who has ever visited the Vigeland Park with its massive sculptures, one of the major tourist attractions of Oslo, will probably concur – regardless of whether they are to everyone’s particular taste. Many of Vigeland’s sculptures represent the ages of man (childhood, youth, adulthood and old age) and family ties.
"Slekten"

Admittedly, Gustav Vigeland was just a vague name for me for many decades. I might never have had the incentive to get to know his work had I not come as a visiting researcher to Oslo in August and had I not been living in the proximity of the Vigeland Park. However, after I got better acquainted with the artist’s work both in the open air and at the Vigeland Museum, I became curious about his life as well. Some of his sculptures seemed to portray so well the new, more modern emotional ties between fathers and children: fathers romping with their children and demonstrating paternal tenderness and protectiveness towards them.

Father playing with his child
Father carrying infant
Perhaps Vigeland himself was like that: a tender father like some of his contemporaries, Finnish and Swedish male artists of the period (e.g., the Swede Carl Larsson 1853-1919)? Perhaps because of this, he could encapsulate the essence of the new ideals of fatherhood so well? I wanted to know more.

Gustav Vigeland was born Adolf Gustav Thorsen in a small commune on the southern coast of Norway in 1869. Vigeland and his Pietist artisan family came to experience hardships when his father, a master carpenter, first lost considerable sums of money in unsuccessful shipping investments and then took to the bottle. Vigeland’s mother took the children and moved back to her parental domicile. The following year, Vigeland’s father sired an adulterous child out of wedlock – the parents were never divorced – and was convicted for a misdemeanour.

As so many other male artists of his time, even Gustav Vigeland became physically attracted to a string of his models. By 1894, he had met Laura Mathilde Andersen (1869 or 1870-1957), a seamstress who modelled for him. A love affair developed between the two apparently also leading to cohabitation. Their daughter Else (Elsa) was born in Oslo (then, Christiania) in 1899. Pressured, it appears, Vigeland agreed to make an honest woman out of his lover in July 1900, and the couple contracted marriage. Laura seems to have become immediately pregnant again and their son, christened Alf Gustav Vigeland, was born on 27 March 1901.

However, in 1900, Vigeland had become infatuated with a young and beautiful girl, Inga Syvertsen (1883-1968), thirteen or fourteen years younger than his wife Laura. The troubled relationship between Vigeland and Laura ended in practice in 1901, but they only divorced officially after a five-year separation in 1906. By that time, Inga had been Vigeland’s muse, model and assistant – as well as common-law wife under the guise of being his housekeeper – for several years.

Later, Laura Vigeland and the children lived in Sandefjord, a small town south-west of Oslo, close to the town of Larvik where the Vigelands had contracted marriage. Laura had been born in Sandefjord, and she had returned there to give birth to her and Gustav Vigeland’s son Alf Gustav. It seems that although Gustav Vigeland paid child support to his children, he did not keep any contact with them after the separation. Nor did he have any children with Inga Syvertsen or any other of his later young model lovers (e.g., Marie Nordby and his later second wife Ingerid Alise Vilberg [1902-1976]).

Earlier, I blogged about the Finnish author Ilmari Kianto (1874-1970), Vigeland’s contemporary, who wrote so touchingly about fatherhood. Like Kianto, Vigeland had complex attitudes towards sexuality. According to the short biography on Vigeland’s by Tone Wikborg in the Norsk biografisk leksikon, among Vigeland’s works, “the erotic motifs describing especially male sexuality, often with elements of desperation and despair, form a group of their own” (“En egen gruppe utgjør de erotiske motivene, som beskriver særlig mannens seksualitet, ofte med innslag av desperasjon og fortvilelse.”).

Like Kianto since his fourties, Vigeland also showed a tendency to become enamoured in very young women from his thirties on – something both artists continued to do even in quite mature years. But whereas Kianto had an emotional relationship with his many children – legitimate and illegitimate alike – and enjoyed playing the role of a gentle father from time to time, Vigeland apparently considered family life a completely unwelcome distraction from his own artistry.
Father, mother and child

So, the real Gustav Vigeland was hardly the perfect doting father I had briefly imagined him to be. Nevertheless, he was able to capture something essential of his time, an evolution of parental ideal roles when the traditional nurturing mother had by her side an affectionate and tender father sharing his children’s every-day life. This is a talent that great artists have even if they lacked such feelings in their own personal life.


Mia Korpiola




Further reading:

Tone Wikborg’s article on Vigeland in the Norsk biografisk leksikon (Norwegian Biographical Encyclopedia, accessed 24 October 2014)
Population registration data on the Vigelands from 1910 (accessed 24 October 2014)