‘’He was the product of an English public school and university. He was, moreover, a modern product of those seats of athletic exercise. He had little education and highly developed muscles—that is to say, he was no scholar, but essentially a gentleman.’’
Henry Seton Merriman The men administering the Imperial colonies are the product of a narrow social class, and most of them spend their entire careers running Britain’s overseas posses-sions. Sweating in Sarawak and Swaziland, they hope to get a nice post at some point in the future – a governor-ship in a pleasant country with a decent climate and prop-erly organized sporting activities. Mostly young men of the upper middle class, who attended public schools and graduated from established universities, they are usually Anglican in faith and Conservative in politics, and to-tally obsessed with the sports and game playing cult of
‘Muscular Christianity.
The selection tests for the Foreign Office are known and feared for their notorious difficulty. Those candidates who have passed them go on to study law and foreign languages for a year, before being transferred to a posting abroad. The less prestigious and less pompous Colonial Office selects its men by personal recommendation and an informal interview, stating that the alien and backward territories they administer require ‘character’ and robust good health rather than intelligence and knowledge.
Once he has arrived in Upper Burma or deep Gorovaan, the new District Commissioner – or whatever his local title may be – will function as policeman, judge, tax collector, census taker, architect, and civil engineer as well as performing a variety of other duties. He will try to comply with the local laws as far as possible – except those deemed repugnant to Anglo-Saxon tastes – and will devise legal theories and procedures as seems appropri-ate to the day-to-day problems that he faces.
Some stations are more convenient than others – Ceylon and Syrtis Major are renowned as ‘nice assign-ments’, whereas others offer only clay huts and mosqui-toes, the nearest white man likely to be the French or German official in his own thatched hovel on the other
side of the vaguely defined border. Not surprisingly, some civil servants become weak, indulging in imported liquor and local mistresses – particularly in tropical Africa, where the ‘Old Coasters’ of the western African colonies have gained an unenviable reputation.
While the statesmen in London might devise poli-cy and issue orders, the administration is in the hands of civil servants. The Victorian Era has seen a dramat-ic increase in bureaucracy – a response to the growing conviction that more government representatives would also result in improved living conditions. Among the civ-il servants, it is those with responsibciv-ility for the colonial empire – the men employed by the Foreign, Colonial, and India Offices – who are most inspired by the spirit of their task and destiny, that which Rudyard Kipling would term the “White Man’s Burden.”
The three governmental departments maintain a fierce, albeit friendly rivalry, when it comes to con-trolling the most prestigious territories – and the budgets that went with them. The Foreign Office is in charge of relations with foreign powers, from France and Russia to the Martian treaty dependencies, whose independence is merely nominal. This situation leads to friction with the Colonial Office, who took over control of Syrtis Major with the establishment of the crown colony in 1881. The idea that the upstarts from the Colonial Office – run by
“missionaries, philanthropists and Jews” as Cecil Rhodes has denounced it – are supposed to administer new and important territories annoys both the elegant society in the Foreign Office and the powerful India Office alike.
In 1878, although quite busy invading Afghanistan, the Viceroy of India, Lord Lytton, took the time to declare that the broad experience, huge treasury, and powerful armed forces of British India made India Office the obvi-ous choice to govern the Martian Regency – just as it did so many of the Indian principalities. The idea eventually fell through thanks to a series of biting editorials in The Times, and a famous Punch cartoon showing a winged elephant carrying the Viceroy from Calcutta to the Red Planet for the summer months – despite the fact that there were Indian troops serving in the Gorovaangian War as instructors to the Parhoon Rifles. The father of the fa-mous Martian writer, Gurchan Xyypt Singh, is one of these Indian soldiers.
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Victorian Society
British society in the 19th century is strictly divided into classes which determine the lives and expectations of their members.
Movement between classes is not easy. Those attempting to climb the social scale often meet with disapproval – while those falling down suffer a downright humiliating experience.
This class system is not even a real ‘system’’: there are great differences between the townsfolk – who, for the first time, make up the majority of the British population – and the country dwellers, as well as between the different regions. The amount of wealth does not define a class per se – certainly less than good manners – but the desire to improve one’s personal fortune might well be a motivation to acquire the behavior and attitudes exhibited by higher classes – an effort that may succeed or fail, depending on the whims of fate and the expertise of one’s eti-quette tutor.
To Victorian observers, the class hierarchy looks as follows (in descending order):
The Royal Family, which is fairly large during the pe-riod. In addition to the Queen herself, there are royal person-ages occupying key positions in society. The Prince of Wales, Prince Edward, is the leader of the London ‘fast set’ of bon viveurs, while the Duke of Cambridge, the Queen’s cousin, was commander-in-chief of the army between 1856 and 1859.
Nevertheless, many of England’s older noble families prefer to regard the current royal family as upstart Germans of question-able education and behavior.
The Aristocracy is the elite of British society in terms of holdings, prestige, and power. It is true that political reforms are beginning to undermine the traditional domination exerted by the titled and privileged over the government circles, and that the decline in land prices is gradually devaluing the estates that noble fortunes have been based on; yet, if their demise has been foretold, it is not evident in 1889.
In many respects, the aristocrats are the least ‘Victorian’ el-ement of British society. They may come to enjoy the conve-niences offered by the modern world, but a time of serious and somber virtues however, they long for the carefree days experi-enced under King George II or during the Rococo period. The nobles are not really concerned with ‘progress’; they are perfect-ly content with the way things have been all along. Fox hunting, balls, winter in France, afternoon rides, and dinner at the Carlton or the Turf club – these are the pursuits of a leisured class, a class whose wealth – though based in myriad acres of farmland – allows them to live wherever and however they choose. Noble government representatives are scarcely interested in trade and industry, their education largely consisting of Latin and Greek, with an increasing emphasis on sports – after all, a gentleman needs little knowledge of mathematics or science. Consequently, after years spent at Eton, Harrow, or Winchester, perhaps fol-lowed by a period at Oxford or Cambridge, a nobleman has few options when it comes to a career to pursue. The eldest son re-tains the family title and estate, while the younger brothers join army regiments befitting their social status, become churchmen, or enter politics. By the last quarter of the 19th century, they may also choose to become a judge or to enter one of the more prestigious parts of the civil service.
The English aristocracy – as opposed to the country squires in Berkshire or Kent – does not comprise more than some two hun-dred families, and those born to rule have known each other since their childhood days. Men are expected to be leaders, but might also lead comfortable lives as rogues – one of Lord Salisbury’s sons is alleged to have died a drunkard in Australia. Women are luxuriously cloistered and bargained away in marriages every bit
as forced and arranged as those of Indian potentates. Female ed-ucation is limited to music, the arts, and the conduct befitting a lady. The nobility is not prepared for the 20th century and the fate of almost completely sinking into insignificance; indeed, the only concession made to the 19th century is a slight adjustment of the lax morality and the extravagant life it has been enjoying since 1066 – or thereabouts. Yet, even though he might appear somewhat bizarre in his monocle and paisley tie, young Lord Algie is certainly a fine horseman, probably an excellent gun-man, and knows very well indeed that he was born to run things.
The Gentry are poor cousins to the aristocracy. They are nei-ther dukes nor earls, though some may carry minor titles with or without a seat in the House of Lords, and are often of very ancient lineage indeed. These people would hardly admit to be inferior to other noblemen, least of all those upstarts who have only been granted their titles by Charles II. Their education and attitudes are quite similar to those displayed by the higher nobility; howev-er, they possess lesser expectations, assumptions, and of course, bank accounts. These are people who go hunting for foxes and pheasants in their own shires rather than in Argyllshire or India, and who have traditionally held venerable government offices in the countryside – those of sheriffs and magistrates rather than ambassadors or ministers.
Likewise, their opportunities for employment are restricted – estate management, the church, the armed and diplomatic ser-vices, perhaps a career in law. ‘Trade’ is beyond the question, of course. In retrospect, the country gentry appear to be as anachro-nistic and hedoanachro-nistic as the aristocracy – a little fustier and more reactionary, yet more cordial. They have strong ties to the coun-tryside, take their traditional obligations seriously, are steady and honest, and enjoy tremendous respect in their boroughs – far greater than any self-made gentleman can ever expect. Country gentlemen can be expected to be model Englishmen, courte-ous and dutiful, at home in the Manor or serving as a District Commissioner in Uganda or Avenel on Mars.
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Below the high society, the counties provide for yet another group, which hardly receives recognition as a class, but which contributes many of its sons to the service of the empire. These are the country doctors, parsons, lawyers, and the wealthier type of landholding or tenant farmer. Their traditional role is to sup-port the gentry and maintain the old rural-based order. Many of them serve in the Royal Army or Navy, or in the civil services of India or Syrtis Major, where they enjoy a frugal prosperity and a sense of satisfaction in serving the British crown overseas.
The Urban Middle Classes are the Victorians par excel-lence. It is the values and virtues of this rising bourgeoisie – modesty, duty, competition, piety, frugality – that characterize the era. The respectability they enjoy thanks to their social and – often modest – economic success based on these values allows these tradesmen, lawyers, manufacturers, parsons, and clerks to determine the tone of British life and dominate many of its in-stitutions. Britain is a middle-class empire, and Victoria – in her attitudes and pronouncements – is a middle-class queen.
The rise of the Victorian middle class is a consequence of the burgeoning economy driven by Britain’s industrial and com-mercial dominance. The traditional elites might scorn trade as a “money-grubbing” business, but their social inferiors do not, and as a result dramatically increase their wealth, prestige, and influence throughout the Era. The Christian movement they fol-low – most of them being Methodists or Baptists – makes them abstinent and prudish, moralistic and judgmental; they believe in ‘progress’, and dominate the town councils, welfare organiza-tions, and the Temperance movement. The middle-class men tend to look down on the workers, disparaging them as morally de-praved drunkards and paupers engaging in savage amusements, and if they consort with the poor at all, it is to give them educa-tion and the opportunity to improve their lot in his own likeness.
As for the upper class, the situation is completely different.
Even though the bourgeoisie does not appreciate the idle-ness, frivolity, and scandalous moral blunders of the nobility, many are pushing to join the ranks of the latter. A Scottish en-gineer or a steel tycoon from Lancashire, who might be a little too ‘rough’ to join high society himself, will send his sons to the right schools where they will learn Latin to become advocates or merchants – while hoping to marry his daughters to young aristocrats of ancient pedigree who need the wealth that their dowries will bring.
The middle class is not adventurous in spirit. Instead, their life is centered on prudence, austerity, profit, and good plan-ning. The daring frontiersman riding with the Rhodesia column or venturing into the Meroe Badlands is more likely to be an impoverished nobleman or grim–jawed millwright. The mid-dle class provides merchants, tradesmen, architects, and senior clerks, who in their way, are pioneers, as well. They concern themselves with steam turbines, the price of liftwood, the ap-palling moral decay of the Canal Martians – and the rarity of a decent cup of tea. Together with their wives, housemaids, and rosy-cheeked children, they epitomize Victorian civilization on Mars and in the suburbs of London, Manchester, and Bath.
The Urban Working Class is divided into several categories – something that is only dimly understood by those better placed in society. At the top are the craftsmen. Careful budgeting, good health, and twelve-hour shifts may allow them to attain moder-ate wealth, enjoy additional amenities, and adopt some of the values upheld by the middle class. Often deeply religious, they help each other in the form of trade unions and cooperative en-terprises or societies. On the one hand, they oppose the bour-geoisie in the eternal struggle between workers and employers;
on the other hand, they share with them a fear of the teeming
masses of the poor. Able to read and write, they show faith in the empire, yet also support reform, which most recently has taken the shape of a practical, populist socialism that will grow into the Labour Party and the Liberal Radicalism of David Lloyd George. Usually, they do not support the empire in the sense of administrators and soldiers, but their contribution will come later, as settlers, railroad engineers, or skilled workmen hired to oversee the local laborers in distant territories.
This comparably wealthy group is followed by the poor, who constitute the largest group of all English city dwellers, but are only recognized in form of a narrow and unfair stereotype. The myth sees them immoral, lazy, and constantly drunk. In truth, they have every reason to fit this image – squeezed into tiny, dark, cold rooms and being grossly underpaid for their labor. If they vent their bottled-up anger in brawls outside pubs and riots at Trafalgar Square, they have every right to do so – that was the opinion of reformers, at least. Terrible living conditions, bad food, moist lodgings, and back-breaking work that can be – and often is – ended at short notice, result in the bulk of the city’s population being malnourished and small in stature. Army statistics show an alarming decline in body size and general health of recruits enlist-ed between 1800 and 1900 – the period during which the slums replaced the country villages as prime sources of young men.
The London inhabited by the literary Sherlock Holmes and the real Jack the Ripper – both at the respective peaks of their careers at this time – is characterized by the dim alleys of Whitechapel, the Dickensian workhouses, and the desolate streets full of houses devoid of any sunlight, water, or a sewer-age system. Yet, besides those actually living on the streets – the thieves and prostitutes who dominate the stereotype, there are millions of honest working people, deprived of the opportunity to improve their situations, who are destined to remain day-la-borers – and prevented from becoming skilled craftsmen – their entire lives. They do not need any police to watch over them, nor any charity preachers to teach them frugality and abstinence;
what they do need is a decent place to live, a reasonable wage, and a chance to improve their lot. To get this chance, many of them choose to emigrate – to New Zealand, Canada, or as most recently suggested by politicians to the cool, dry highlands of the Red Planet.
In doing so, they take advantage of properties that already helped them to master their old lives at home – inventiveness and improvisational skill. With many of them having had to eke out a living as street kids, they have learned the advantage of collab-oration. Consequently, the social cohesion amongst them often is much stronger than that of the ‘high society’, whose members are bound to social constraints completely unknown to the poor.
The Rural Laborers are, perhaps, the poorest of all. The green fields might not run rife with beggars and pickpockets, but there is little hope of some day leading a comfortable life as an established urban craftsman. Eager to find success, many country dwellers move to the towns, hoping that employers will appreciate the work of the ‘thick-set, red-faced men of enor-mous strength’ hailing from the shires. Keeping a pig and a veg-etable garden in the cottage yard, most farm laborer’s families are unlikely to starve – yet, as the tragedy of the 1840s testi-fied, the devastating poverty of Ireland could not guarantee ac-cess to the most basic supplies. At best, prospects are slender – with daughters becoming housemaids and sons becoming farm workers, who even when allowed to attend school, have to stay away from their limited studies and work the fields during the harvest season. Their wages are low – especially in the mar-ginal regions like the moorlands of the north, the thin-soiled glens of the Scottish highlands, and in particularly in Ireland.
Irish tenants have fewer rights to their land than even English
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cottagers. Moreover despised for their Catholic beliefs and their
cottagers. Moreover despised for their Catholic beliefs and their