Glennis Stephenson notes that the annuals were purchased primarily for their engravings and brings in S.C. Hall’s list of expenses to show how the publishers’ payments for the engravings far exceeded those for the literature. She justly argues for "the centrality of the visual to the construction of femininity" and how both visual and written texts worked for "the construction and consolidation of the female domestic ideal." (141) Taking Heath’s Book of Beauty for 1843 as a representative text for the examination of the interplay between engravings and accompanying lines, she identifies three categories of women’s portraits: the woman as mother; the woman "displaying elegant ‘accomplishments’" (140); the idle woman holding feminine objects. The construction of the female domestic ideal served both the purpose of defining the identity of the emergent and still non-homogeneous middle class and the assertion of England as a unified nation –in particular underpinning its superiority. Although I find Stephenson’s comments both relevant and justified, I would like to argue that the interplay between portraits and lines is a dialogical one and, in particular, that the lines work in different directions according to the gender of the author – in that they simultaneously occupy a representational and deconstructive site of the prevalent ideology. Furthermore, the concern that the poets show with the technology of "representation" raises interesting questions in terms of the materiality of the body and its boundaries.

The lines "On a Portrait of Viscountess Fitzharris" by Miss Louisa B. Sheridan, comment on the portrayal of a woman of stern appearance, walking along a street and apparently absorbed in her thoughts. Her clothes contrast sharply with the luxurious frivolity of the women’s dresses in the other portraits. She wears no adornments and her body is completely hidden by a dark cloak and a severe hat. Her dark complexion seems to reinforce her pensive mien and the only "feminine" object that she is holding is a flower. She is not occupying a domestic space, nor is she portrayed against a landscape. Her figure dominates the picture but her self-absorption detaches her from any contact with the real world and rather suggests a reflective attitude –that is an inward gaze. Although the whole portrait reinforces the ideal of the respectable woman –and as such consumed by the viewer as the model for the ideal bourgeois wife- the female poet adopts a very ambiguous attitude. In her portrayal, the woman is removed from the lingering gaze of the outside viewer and attention is shifted to the sylphs, female airy spirits, who only have a right to dwell on her beauty and offer her a poem. Thus, she is lifted from the materiality of her body, even though the entire second stanza deals with her physical features. Interestingly, L. B. Sheridan uses adjectives and expressions connotative of brightness, light, softness and classical grace, which contrast with the darkness and seriousness of the figure, and thus turns her "brow’s high thoughts" (5) and "jet-fringed eyes" (6) away from their connotation of "bluestocking" and "brooder". While seemingly working alongside the dominant mode of construction of feminine qualities, the poet –we might argue- in reality vindicates a different and more autonomous space for women and subtracts the woman’s identity from the male gaze.

In the "Portrait of Miss Maberly" by L.E.L., the female figure embodies all the qualities specific to femininity. Her long and beautifully arrayed ringlets adorn her graceful face and fall onto her more-than-necessary bare shoulders and arms. Her drapery and jewels add to the attractiveness of her figure, which is conveniently intent on playing a harp. The implied seduction of her music is made more explicit by the direct gaze toward the viewer –an unambiguous act of invitation. As expected, she is silent. Her music and her body talk for her. L.E.L. is doing something more than praising the young lady. With her congenial ironical tone, she seems to comment on the identification of music as feminine art with the ideal woman, both of which seem to fit the notion of the object for display and fitting all occasions:

With the lines "On the Portrait of the Viscountess Powerscourt" by B. Disraeli, Esq. and "On the Portrait of Mrs. Mountjoy Martyn" by Hon. Grantley F. Berkeley, the viewer’s perspective changes considerably. In the first poem, no direct reference is made to the woman being celebrated with the exception of the title and of the concluding lines referring to her passage in all her beauty and grace. The direct object of observation seems to be the surrounding landscape, which is portrayed in the picture as more distanced from and certainly subdued to the female presence. From the first stanza, the reader immediately perceives how the focal point of the poem is the act of "contemplation" (2). The viewer’s eye is erasing the woman’s body from his writing, while appropriating it in his act of inspection and of eroticization. Womanness is implied in the use of adjectives denoting frail and delicate beauty, thus conflating femaleness with nature, "For beauty, not for power" (12). Disraeli’s lines subtly play with the representation of the woman as an object for consumption and as specifically created as an invitation for male sexual domination. It is difficult not to read images like the "shade / Closing the world from contemplation view" (1-2), the "gentle entrance" (2), the inviting pleasures "arrayed / In promised harvests" (5-6) and the "radiant visions" (7) as a subtext for the core of female sexuality. Furthermore, the "harvests" (6), the "teeming land" (7) and the "labours" (8) are connotative of the female fertility, as long as matched with the male generative power. The "tall cascade" (10), the act of "forth gushes" (12), the "summer strength" (11) and "voluptuous ease" (11) embody the male desire to respond to the woman’s supposed invitation, while the "Reviving, not destroying" (14) is meant to appease a socially expected coyness. If we turn to the portrait itself, we note that the woman is very sensual and coquettish. Her round and attractive features are quite prominent. With her left hand, she is disclosing further her breast and with the right one she holds her gown and a book that she is not reading. Stephenson justly points out how in these portraits "the books are usually only held and rarely being read" (143). The natural landscape is distanced and submerged to her figure but also participates in her physicality. The gentle breeze moving her aristocratic clothes seems to be caressing her skin too. We can imagine her as reading while walking and being interrupted or surprised by something/somebody. Her half-hidden smile suggests contentment but also a sort of invitation reinforced by her look, and her eyes are certainly very ambiguous and provocative. At first she seems to escape the contemplation of the external viewer but, at a closer look, we sense that she might be playing with the intruding gaze.

The lines "On the Portrait of Mrs. Mountjoy Martyn" offer a different, but not less provocative, perspective. Hon. Grantley F. Berkeley indulges in the description of an aristocratic young lady, whose portrayal produces a vivid impression on the viewer for the amazingly rich dresses and ornaments, as well as her self-conscious and proud portment. The poet does not deny the value of her beauty but points out how "the smile, tone and manner" (3) of her person are most striking and "the look – the expression" (13) are unreproducible in a picture. Although Berkeley is locating himself as the male external viewer, he seems also to acknowledge the implications of visual representation. Both portraits and lines –in that the written word too works as a visual medium- are re-creations of the human body and not just representations of a "real" outside referent. There is no direct correspondence between the original and the copy, "The canvass an image of things may impart;" (11) and the poet is lamenting the illusion of reality in the act of representation, thus betraying a neo-platonic attitude and a nostalgia for the real being. Nevertheless, he seems to be surprisingly aware and attentive to what are to be considered the body boundaries. Does the flower end with its shape and colour? Or are the perfume and the sweetness living in it part of its materiality? And what is the position of the spectator? Is the mediating act of the gaze of the "strangers" a recreation itself?

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