This is the summary and contents for the series titled Urban Revolutionaries showing paintings of the urban growth of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries in Europe and North America.

The lure of city life was all about the promise of material goods and wealth, fine clothes, and smart carriages, all the things that were lacking in rural life. By 1780, Paris had trebled in size from that of the early fourteenth century, to reach a population of 650,000. Its accelerated growth during the nineteenth century saw it grow to 2.7 million in 1901. This was enabled by the agricultural and industrial revolutions.

Introduction

During these centuries, the majority of those who had farmed the country abandoned their homes and livelihoods for a fresh start in the growing cities. This Danish family group has just arrived in the centre of Copenhagen, and stick out like a sore thumb, with their farm dog and a large chest containing the family’s worldly goods.

1 Leaving the country

Those who arrived from the country found towns and cities to be alien places. Although many were extensively redeveloped during the nineteenth century, common people were often forced into cramped slums away from their grand buildings and streets, such as these tenements for immigrants in New York City.

2 Living in the city

Urban areas had to provide paid work, often in mills and factories. Towns grew rapidly across the coalfields of northern Europe as mines were sunk to extract coal, and again where iron ore was readily available.

3 Factories

Industry turned to coal to fuel its growth, and mining expanded in the coalfields across northern Europe. Industrial nations developed an insatiable need for young men to work as miners. In Britain alone, annual production of coal grew from 3 to 16 million tons between 1700 and 1815, and doubled again by the middle of the nineteenth century.

4 Coal and construction

Unrest grew among the workers in industrial towns and cities, leading to the Paris Commune of 1871, and a succession of strikes across Belgium in 1886. Those spread to other areas, resulting in violent confrontations between workers and the police and military.

5 On strike

Cities had plenty of inns and taverns where folk could consume alcoholic drinks until they couldn’t pay for them any more. While alcohol abuse also took place in the country, it was in the towns and cities that it became most obvious and destructive.

6 Demon drink

Women were widely engaged in light factory work, such as production of fabrics and garments by spinning, weaving and assembly. Many were also employed in domestic service industries including laundry and sewing, to service the middle and upper classes.

7 Women’s work

Prostitution was one of the most common ways for women to earn a living in the growing cities of Europe during the nineteenth century. Like bars and places of entertainment, it only thrived where there were plenty of potential customers with money, in cities like London and Paris.

8 The Oldest Profession

Few who migrated from the country ever made their fortune in the city, and most faced a constant battle to avoid poverty. Just as some social realists painted rural poverty in the middle of the nineteenth century, others depicted urban poverty.

9 Poverty

A few who migrated to the towns and cities did prosper. For young women, success could come through the growing world of fashion.

10 Rags to riches

As population density rose, so accommodation became crowded, the streets were often full of people, and vehicle traffic threatened the safety of pedestrians.

11 Crowds and traffic

As cities grew and swallowed up surrounding countryside, some substantial areas within them were retained as urban parks. But those who used them were overwhelmingly middle class, not the city’s workers.

12 Parks

Holidays were a privilege for the lower classes, and unpaid until legislation often as late as the twentieth century. Despite that, some workers saved all year and took a week’s unpaid leave to travel by railway to coastal and other resorts.

13 Holidays

Early cities were swept by epidemics of plague. In the nineteenth century, those were replaced by other communicable diseases including cholera, influenza and tuberculosis. Although improvements in sanitation brought cholera under control, epidemics continued to take their toll.

14 Epidemic

Although life in the country could be thoroughly miserable, stress of city life brought (and still brings) strain resulting from the stress of everyday life.

15 Angst

Since the dawn of civilisation in the cities of the Fertile Crescent in what’s now the Middle East, epidemics of infectious diseases have been a curse of those concentrations of people, as well as in armies. In classical times, both Athens and Rome were struck by epidemics of what’s likely to have been bubonic plague.

Michiel Sweerts’ painting of Plague in an Ancient City from about 1652-54 is believed to show Athens during one of these epidemics. The moribund and the dead litter the streets, and normal life has collapsed.

The pandemic known as the Black Death that started in about 1338 was different, though. Changing climate in the grasslands of Asia led to the movement of rodent populations into cities, and those rodents brought with them fleas carrying highly infectious diseases for humans, notably Yersinia pestis, the cause of bubonic plague.

Doubt has been cast that Boccaccio’s description of the Black Death in Florence was based on his personal experience, but few alive at the time could have escaped witnessing its deadly consequences. Much later, in the early nineteenth century, Luigi Sabatelli made this undated engraving to illustrate an edition of the Decameron, in The Plague of Florence in 1348.

Venice was particularly prone to outbreaks of plague, and developed procedures and establishments for coping with cases. In Tintoretto’s painting of Saint Roch Heals Plague Victims from 1559, those suffering from plague have been brought to this small chapel, where the saint is healing them. The dark room is already collecting a disarray of bodies, some seemingly close to death. Without the miraculous work of the saint, this would quickly have become the waiting room for hell. There were twenty-two outbreaks of plague recorded in Venice between 1361-1528, and a single epidemic in 1576-77 killed almost a third of its population.

Goya’s painting of a Plague Hospital from his disturbing series The Disasters of War (1808-10) shows management of an outbreak that occurred during the Peninsular War of 1808-14.

Arnold Böcklin reminds us that the spectre of death is never far away in The Plague, painted in 1898. This coincided with the late stage of a pandemic that had started in China in 1855, and in the last years of the century was circulating through different ports around the world, in Hong Kong in 1894, and Mumbai in 1896. That reached San Francisco in 1900-04.

As plague became less of a problem in the cities of Europe and North America in the nineteenth century, so other diseases took hold, including cholera, influenza and tuberculosis. Six pandemics of cholera swept cities across the world in the century from 1817. Spread largely in drinking water contaminated by human faeces, improvements in sanitation introduced by redevelopment of cities like London and Paris were decisive in bringing it under control.

Carlos Schwabe’s painting titled Crepuscule in the French original is more likely to refer to Dawn rather than dusk. This giant female figure of “dawn, shivering in her green and rose garment, was moving slowly along the deserted Seine”. This was an illustration for a 1900 edition of Les Fleurs du Mal (Flowers of Evil) by Charles Baudelaire.

Edvard Munch completed two versions of Hearse on the Potsdamer Platz in 1902. These depict a horse-drawn hearse in this famous square in the heart of Berlin. Amid its bright hues is the hearse, covered in a black pall, and drawn by a single black horse. Munch’s father was a doctor, and both his mother and older sister died of tuberculosis during the artist’s childhood in Oslo.

Finally, here’s a glimpse of one of the obsessions of the nineteenth century: the fear of being buried while still alive.

After his mother’s death, the eccentric artist Antoine Wiertz became increasingly obsessed with death. Premature Burial (1854) visits a not uncommon dread in the nineteenth century: that of being presumed dead, buried, then recovering to find yourself in a coffin.

This did happen, particularly during cholera epidemics, as indicated by the lettering on the opening coffin. The profound shock resulting from choleric dehydration could make the pulse and breathing so feeble as to escape detection; with hundreds or thousands of dead, many were dumped hurriedly into mass-produced coffins and so into mass graves. And a very few managed to survive.

Coffins were designed with bells which could be rung by a recovered person. Wiertz’s victim is left with the nightmare scenario of trying to make it back to the land of the living.

Before the arrival of railways in the middle of the nineteenth century, travel was slow, and holidays were optional. Most of the working class in cities were grateful to get one day off each week, and in many cases that was Sunday to be spent in church. Most employers allowed their workers as little time off as they could get away with, and those who weren’t there simply weren’t paid.

By the 1870s, cotton workers in Lancashire saved all year and took a week’s unpaid leave to travel by train to stay on the coast, in what were known as Wakes Weeks. These allowed mill and factory owners to shut production down for that week in the summer to perform maintenance, while their workers recuperated by the sea.

Public holidays, officially known as Bank Holidays because banks were allowed to close for the day, weren’t introduced in England until 1871, and even then consisted of just four days a year, and remained that few for the next century. Workers had no right to any paid holiday until 1938, when employers were required to provide them with one week a year in addition to Bank Holidays.

Eugène Lepoittevin’s Bathing, Étretat Beach shows French families enjoying the beach in 1864, and their first tentative steps in the development of beach and swimwear. Those shown are all middle class, well-dressed and hardly taking unpaid time away from the factory.

Similar groups are shown visiting the bathing resort of La Grenouillère in the summer of 1869, in one of Auguste Renoir’s masterworks from early Impressionism. This is located a short distance downstream on the River Seine from Paris, and easily reachable by train.

In 1882 at Le Tréport on the Channel coast of France near Dieppe, Évariste Carpentier’s Le Tréport, Bathing Time again shows members of the middle class dressed in the latest beachwear. The young woman to the right of centre may still have her head wrapped in a bonnet, but you can see her lower legs and all her arm, almost to the shoulder. It’s noticeable that several heads have turned to look at her, as she walks in her sandals along the wooden walkway.

The railway came to Ramsgate in 1846, and with it the masses from London in search of a ‘cure’ from its waters. William Powell Frith holidayed there in 1851, when he made his first preparatory sketches for his painting of Ramsgate Sands (1854). On its beach is a more eclectic mixture of classes, reflected in their clothing and activities, although I still can’t see many from London’s factories or market-barrows.

In 1920 William S Horton painted this Punch and Judy show taking place on the beach at Broadstairs, Kent, a traditional family beach resort at the extreme eastern tip of the south-east coast of England. Most if not all are visibly well-dressed and hardly working class.

In 1902 Lovis Corinth visited the south coast of the Baltic, where he painted Swimming in Horst – Ostsee, now the Polish resort of Niechorze.

There are a few paintings showing lower classes in America away from their labours, though.

George Bellows’ Forty-two Kids from 1907 shows unruly youths at play by the water near a dilapidated wharf on New York City’s East River. These are from poor migrant families inhabiting overcrowded neighbourhoods in Manhattan’s East Side.

As cities grew during the nineteenth century, what had been countryside in and around them was swallowed up by housing and factories. In the first couple of decades, livestock grazed and cows were milked within a couple of miles of the centre of London.

The American history painter Benjamin West painted this view of Milkmaids in St. James’s Park, Westminster Abbey beyond in about 1801. Two cows and attendant milkmaids are providing a supply of fresh milk for the crowds in this royal park with Buckingham Palace on its edge. This remains 57 acres (23 hectares) of grass, trees and lakes.

John Linnell’s Evening, Bayswater from 1818, only two centuries ago, shows what was then a rural part of London, out to the west of what’s now Paddington Station, in more peaceful times before this area was assimilated into the growing city. Although it has retained some garden squares, this became a densely populated area during the nineteenth century.

Kensington Gardens: Vicinity of the Pond, painted by Paul Fordyce Maitland in about 1907, shows the Oval Pond in the middle of these gardens, another of the royal parks in London, to the west of the Serpentine Lake in the adjacent Hyde Park.

Over the same period, central Paris was extensively rebuilt, but preserved some of its green spaces, including the gardens of the Tuileries Palace.

Camille Pissarro’s Garden of the Tuileries on a Spring Morning from 1890 is an aerial view, with the trees in full leaf, in their brilliant fresh green foliage.

Hans Andersen Brendekilde painted this Summer Day in Villa Borghese in Rome late in his career, in 1922. It shows this large public park, which was originally landscaped in ‘English style’ from a former vineyard. It was bought by the city and made properly public in 1903, and has since hosted many events, including part of the 1960 Olympic Games.

The Austrian Post-Impressionist landscape painter Tina Blau painted her favourite park, Vienna’s Prater Gardens, as its trees were just starting to change colour one autumn, probably around 1890. The Prater covers an area of 1,500 acres (600 hectares) and was opened to the public in 1766.

On the other side of the Atlantic, expansion of cities occurred slightly later, but preserved some notable parks.

This map of New York City and its environs in about 1885-90 shows Central Park on Manhattan Island and Prospect Park, then on the southern edge of Brooklyn.

William Merritt Chase’s view of Prospect Park, Park in Brooklyn from about 1887, shows housing at the edge. This now has an area of 526 acres (200 hectares), and was originally laid out by Frederick Law Olmsted and Calvert Vaux, and completed in 1873.

Olmsted and Vaux were also responsible for the first and most famous New York park of them all, Central Park, now 843 acres (341 hectares). Chase’s View from Central Park shows the park in 1889, and relegates the large buildings of Manhattan to its distant skyline.

Maurice Brazil Prendergast’s view of carriages in Central Park, 1900 (1900) shows how crowded it could become in fine weather.

These and many other views of urban parks have one feature in common: those who took advantage of them were seldom working class. Enjoying these small enclaves of countryside inside cities was almost exclusively for the middle class, who had the time and opportunity. There were also few such parks in industrial cities.

As more people were drawn from the surrounding countryside to populate growing towns and cities, the density of people within them rose. Accommodation became crowded, the streets were often full of people, and vehicle traffic threatened the safety of pedestrians.

The people that cities thrived on for their labour force were also its greatest threat. Outbreaks of infectious disease were common: in London, over fourteen thousand died from cholera in 1849, and a further ten thousand in 1853. From the middle of the nineteenth century, cities across Europe improved their sanitation and water-borne diseases became infrequent. The biggest killer of young adults remained ‘King Death’, tuberculosis, which spreads well in densely populated urban areas, and there were also local outbreaks of diseases like smallpox.

Extensive redevelopment of central Paris retained many of its open spaces, although in fine weather these got crowded, as shown in Adolph Menzel’s Afternoon in the Tuileries Gardens from 1867. This appears to have been painted in homage to Manet’s Music in the Tuileries of 1862.

Many cities were just as crowded at night, as seen in Lesser Ury’s view of Leipziger Straße in Berlin, painted in 1889. Although street lighting was becoming increasingly common, it was inadequate for this hazardous mixture of electric trams (introduced in 1881), horse-drawn carriages and pedestrians. Accidents were frequent, and deaths not uncommon.

City markets such as Les Halles, the central market in Paris, depicted here by Léon Augustin Lhermitte in 1895, were packed with buyers and sellers for much of the day, as described by Émile Zola in his novel Le Ventre de Paris (1873).

Painting the crowded city streets was a challenge mastered by few, including Camille Pissarro for Paris and Colin Campbell Cooper for New York.

Pissarro’s Boulevard Montmartre, Spring from 1897 is a landscape composed primarily of buildings and streets, a plethora of figures, and countless carriages to move those people around.

In 1902, just a year before his death, Pissarro painted this amazing view of crowds on The Pont-Neuf bridge in Paris.

In Cooper’s The Rush Hour, New York City from about 1900, the canvas is literally teeming with people, who are pouring along the street, packing the stairways and walkways to a station, and seething around booths and tramcars.

Cooper followed those crowds onto The Ferries, New York (c 1905), where they are as densely packed as they were in The Rush Hour above.

Cooper’s Broadway from the Post Office (Wall Street) (c 1909) is one of his most famous skyscraper cityscapes. This shows the Singer Building or Tower, at Liberty Street and Broadway, that had only just been completed, and was still the tallest building in the world. Below in Broadway itself the street is packed with people.

George Bellows’ New York (1911) has a human horizon of figures walking past a white background, dividing the canvas into two. Above is a vague blur of buildings, below a cacophony of vehicles, stalls, and people.

Among the immigrants to arrive in New York City from Italy in 1896 was Giuseppe Michele Stella. Born in the small town of Muro Lucano, with a population of about ten thousand, he changed his name to Joseph, abandoned his medical studies, and became a painter of international renown. The shock of living and working among those crowds must have run deep, and between 1909-11 he had to return to Italy to recover.

Berlin’s Spittelmarkt, painted here by Paul Hoeniger in 1912, mixes early motor cars, horse-drawn wagons, trams, and people walking in every direction, all without any road markings or traffic controls.

Winter weather was no deterrent either, as Maximilien Luce demonstrates in his painting of The Gare de l’Est in Snow from 1917.

Although few of those who migrated to the towns and cities from the countryside prospered as a result, there were sufficient examples to lure others to take their chances. For a young woman, success could come through the growing world of fashion.

The foot of the ladder was the greatest challenge: how to make the break from the worn-out worker shown in Christian Krohg’s Tired from 1885. This young seamstress was one of the many thousands who worked at home at that time, toiling for long hours by lamplight for a pittance. A few of them had the good fortune to be discovered and taken up into a small dressmaker’s.

They might then enter the world of Moritz Stifter’s New Dress from 1889. Every face is smiling here, some perhaps a little vacuously, as an affluent young woman tries on a new dress, with its incredibly small waist. Although this room is full of fabric and the trappings of dressmaking, including the mandatory sewing machine, no one actually appears to be making anything.

A few specialised in making hats, as shown in Edgar Degas’ The Millinery Shop (1879/86). While husbands and partners were expected to pay for a woman’s hats, their choice was hers, and hers alone.

Jean Béraud’s fashionably-dressed Milliner on the Champs Elysées is enjoying her success, and carrying her work in two large hatboxes. She has also attracted the attention of the well-dressed man in a top hat behind and to the left of her.

Les Modistes (Two Milliners in the Rue du Caire, Paris) from 1885-86 is one of Paul Signac’s transitional paintings to Seurat’s Divisionism. These two young milliners are busy making fashionable hats and making their way into bourgeois life.

Pierre-Georges Jeanniot’s At the Milliner (1901) shows the milliner in a mirror at the right.

Millinery was one of the staples of fashion houses like that of Paquin, whose success was characteristic of the late nineteenth century, and shown in Henri Gervex’s Five Hours at Paquin’s from 1906.

The purpose of these expensive hand-made hats was for show, when the lady was seen in appropriate surroundings. Jeanniot’s painting of the patrons of one of the most fashionable hotels in Paris shows all the hats out on parade in the inner garden of the Paris Ritz in fine weather.

Béraud’s Workers leaving the Maison Paquin (1907) shows the ladies who worked in Jeanne Paquin’s highly successful fashion house in the Rue de la Paix, as they left work at the end of the day.

A select few were fortunate enough to marry into the middle class and forge a more secure future for themselves.

Béraud’s After the Service at the Church of Sainte-Trinité (the ‘American Cathedral’) (c 1900) shows affluent Franco-American society at the turn of the century, and the prominence of hats and clothes.

The reality of urban life was that precious few who migrated from the country ever made their fortune in the city. For the great majority life was a constant battle to avoid poverty that, in the long run, turned out to be their only reward. Just as there were social realists who painted rural poverty in the middle of the nineteenth century, so there were a few who depicted urban poverty in its closing decades.

During the mid-1870s, Jean-François Raffaëlli started painting the poorer residents of Paris and its surrounds. The Ragpicker from 1879 was a great success, and his work was promoted by the influential critic Joris-Karl Huysmans.

Raffaëlli’s elderly Garlic Seller from about 1880 is making his way across a muddy field just beyond one of the new industrial areas on the outskirts of Paris, his battered old wickerwork basket containing the garlic he hoped to sell. Behind him is his companion, a dog.

Raffaëlli painted these Parisian Rag Pickers in about 1890 using mixed media of oil paints and oil crayons.

In 1882, George Hendrik Breitner met Vincent van Gogh, and the pair went out sketching and painting in the poorer parts of The Hague. Among Breitner’s paintings of that campaign is his watercolour Distribution of Soup (1882), showing those from poor families queuing for free soup.

Most of Fernand Pelez’s paintings of the poor are deeply unsettling, often frankly depressing. His Homeless from 1883 shows a worn and weary mother and her five children living on the street. She stares from sunken eyes straight at the viewer, as her children huddle in filthy blankets and sacking around her.

Pelez’s painting became even more pointed, as in A Martyr – The Violet Vendor from 1885, showing a child of the street. One of the small bunches of violets has fallen from his tray. His eyes are closed, and his mouth agape: is he dead asleep, or simply dead?

In the late 1880s the Norwegian artist Christian Krohg had been working on his next major painting, The Struggle for Existence (also translated as The Struggle for Survival) (1889). It shows Karl Johan Street in Oslo in the depths of winter, almost deserted except for a tight-packed crowd of poor women and children queuing for free bread. This was Oslo’s main street at the time, and three years later was to be the setting for Edvard Munch’s famous painting of Evening on Karl Johan Street.

The people are wrapped up in patched and tatty clothing, clutching baskets and other containers for the food. A disembodied hand is passing a single bread roll out to them, from within the pillars at the left edge. That was yesterday’s bread; now stale, the baker is giving it away only because he cannot sell it. A policeman, wearing a heavy coat and fur hat, walks in the distance, down the middle of the icy street, detached from the scene.

Better known for his many paintings of schools and children, Henri Jules Jean Geoffroy’s painting of The Night Hostel or The Soup Kitchen (1891) shows homeless women and children being fed in what appears to be almost a prison.

In Denmark, Erik Henningsen’s Evicted from 1892 shows a family of four being evicted into the street in the winter snow. With them are their meagre possessions, including a saw suggesting the father may be a carpenter. In the background he is still arguing with a policeman.

Prostitution isn’t the only occupation that has been claimed to be the earliest, and that claim wasn’t even made until the late nineteenth century. However, it certainly was one of the most common ways for women to earn a living in the growing cities of Europe during the nineteenth century. Like bars and places of entertainment, prostitution only thrived where there were plenty of potential customers with money. London and Paris were renowned for the number of women who worked as prostitutes, catering for all classes and pockets.

Thoughts of the Past (1859) was the first of John Roddam Spencer Stanhope’s paintings to be exhibited at the Royal Academy, and remains one of his best-known works. It shows a woman standing by a window looking out onto the River Thames in London, and is a faithful depiction of the studio below that used by Dante Gabriel Rossetti at the time, in Chatham Place.

The woman and her surroundings contain rich clues as to her status: behind her, a gaudy cloak with some white lace hangs. The small dressing table is tatty and covered with cheap, garish jewellery. Potted houseplants straggle up for light from the window, and at their foot is a man’s glove and walking stick. She’s dressed for the bedroom, with her long red hair let down, and looks gaunt, her eyes tired and sunken. The view looks towards Waterloo Bridge, with the Strand embankment to the right, at the time a popular haunt for prostitutes.

In Ford Madox Brown’s Work (1863), the profligate woman in the foreground wears a torn and tattered red dress (detail below), although it’s faded rather than full scarlet. With her gaggle of unruly children and a babe in arms, she’s portrayed as a prostitute.

Like Manet’s notorious Olympia (1863) before, the contemporary surroundings and heap of clothes beside Henri Gervex’s Rolla (1878) ensured it was deemed immoral by the Salon jury. This was inspired by a poem by Alfred de Musset about a prostitute, and Gervex depicted her asleep in bed as her client gets dressed the following morning. In the end, the artist got a commercial gallery to exhibit this painting, where it attracted far more attention than it would have in the Salon.

Jean-Louis Forain’s candid view of endemic prostitution shown in his watercolour The Client (1878) surpassed those of Edgar Degas, and were later to inspire the paintings of Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec (1864-1901).

One response to the popularity of Naturalism was Félicien Rops’ tender portrait of a low-end prostitute Down and Out in 1882. While she stands next to a sheet on the wall headed TARIF making clear her trade, a single small red flower adorns her flaunted cleavage.

In Antonino Gandolfo’s Compensation from 1880-85, the man settling his bill is only seen by the hand holding out money, and a foot. The young woman holding out her hand to receive, looks away in shame, and wears scarlet to advertise her trade. This is one of a series by Gandolfo depicting the poor in the city of Catania on Sicily.

The theme of prostitution dominates many of the paintings of the Norwegian artist Christian Krohg, who was also an author.

Just before Christmas 1886, Christian Krohg’s first novel Albertine was published by a left-wing publisher. Its central theme is prostitution in Norway at the time, and the police quickly seized all the copies they could find, banning it on the grounds of violating the good morals of the people. Krohg was found guilty of the offence the following March and fined, although the police were only able to seize 439 of the first 1600 copies to go into circulation.

At the same time as he was writing that novel, Krohg had been working on his largest and most complex painting: Albertine in the Police Doctor’s Waiting Room (1885-87). He also painted other scenes from the book.

In the novel, Albertine starts as a poor seamstress, who is mistaken for a prostitute by the police officer in charge of the section controlling prostitutes. He plies her with alcohol then rapes her. She is summoned to be inspected by the police doctor, whose examination further violates her, making her think that she is destined to be a prostitute, and that is, of course, exactly what happens.

Albertine isn’t the prominent woman in the centre looking directly at the viewer: Krohg’s heroine is the simple and humble country girl at the front of the queue to go into the police doctor for inspection. Behind her is a motley line of women from a wide range of situations. At the right, in the corner of the room, is another country girl with flushed cheeks. Others are apparently more advanced in their careers, and stare at Albertine, whose profiled face is barely visible from behind her headscarf. Barring the way to the surgery door, and in control of the proceedings, is a policeman.

During Joaquín Sorolla’s period of Naturalist painting, he depicted the contemporary trade in prostitutes in Spain. His White Slave Trade (1895) is set in a bleak railway compartment, where four young women are asleep while being transported in the care of an older woman. In contrast to their guardian who wears black, the young women are dressed in bright-coloured Valencian regional costumes, and wear fashionable shoes. Their few possessions are stacked on the bench at the right, and include a guitar. The ‘slave trade’ to which the title refers is the movement of prostitutes between brothels, in this case from the city of Valencia to the port of Cartagena, then over to Orán and Algeria.

Aksel Waldemar Johannessen was another Norwegian who took up the cause with Krohg. He had been born in Hammersborg, a poor suburb of Oslo, but his paintings weren’t exhibited until after his death in 1922.

Forced into Prostitution, also known as Night Wanderer, from 1915, shows the artist’s wife Anna in the role of a prostitute in the city of Oslo. Here an odious-looking client with bushy eyebrows and a thick-set face is pressing against her from behind, wanting to pick her up.

Women in towns and cities were widely engaged in light factory work, commonly that involving the production of fabrics and garments such as spinning, weaving and assembly. Large numbers were also employed in domestic service industries including laundry and sewing, the subject of this article.

Concentration of people in urban areas transformed what had been a small-scale household function into a sizeable service industry that was eventually industrialised by companies who have concentrated on the hotel trade. Individual washerwomen who might have been servants in households collected, laundered and finished clothing and linen that were then returned to the customer.

On a grey day of showers in 1842, the major French landscape artist Eugène Isabey caught laundresses at work above The Town and Harbour of Dieppe. There’s a second group at the extreme left edge whose washing looks in danger of being blown away over the town below.

The landscape painter Johan Jongkind returned to Paris in 1859, where he painted this view of Le Pont de la Tournelle, Paris, with a small group of washerwomen at work by the water’s edge. The bridge shown here connects the city to the south with the Île Saint-Louis, which had originally been two smaller islands close to the Île Notre Dame, on which the cathedral stands. Jongkind isn’t interested in the market for topographic paintings, though, and his attention is on the washerwomen and the old bridge.

In the early years of the Impressionist movement, Berthe Morisot’s Hanging the Laundry out to Dry (1875) shows a communal drying area at the edge of a town, probably one of the suburbs of Paris. The women have a large black cart to transport the washing, and are busy putting it out on the lines to dry in sunny spells. Next to that area is a small allotment where a man is growing vegetables, and in the distance are the chimneys of the city.

Early in his career, Edgar Degas started painting a series of works showing laundresses. Woman Ironing (c 1869) shows one of the army of women engaged or enslaved in this occupation in Paris at the time. She is young yet stands like an automaton, staring emotionlessly at the viewer. Her right hand moves an iron (not one of today’s convenient electrically-heated models) over an expanse of white linen in front of her. Her left arm hangs limply at her side, and her eyes are puffy from lack of sleep. She is surrounded by pieces of her work.

Degas’ less gloomy painting of a Woman Ironing (c 1876-87) maintains the impression of this being protracted, backbreaking work, only slightly relieved by the colourful garments hanging around the laundress.

Washing, drying and ironing clothes was long and arduous, paying but a pittance. At the end of the day came exhaustion.

Fernand Pelez’s early portrait of a Sleeping Laundress from about 1880 is one of a group of works showing poor women reclining. For all her obvious poverty, there is a faint smile on her face, as she enjoys a brief rest from her long hours of washing.

In Christian Krohg’s view, young women came to the city to work as seamstresses, who later ended up as prostitutes. The young woman seen in his Tired from 1885 is one of many thousands who worked at home at that time, toiling for long hours by lamplight for a pittance. At the left is an empty cup, which had probably contained the coffee she drank to try to stay awake at her work. Krohg and others claimed that the paltry income generated by sewing quickly proved insufficient and drove women to seek alternatives. Prostitution was tolerated in Oslo (then known as Kristiania) from 1840, with the introduction of police and medical supervision of women sex-workers.

Eva Bonnier’s Dressmakers (1887) features two women dressed in plain working clothes, who are collaborating on the making of a dress for a special occasion.

Judging by the sheer volume of garments in Hans Best’s undated Sewing Women in the Room, these two women are professional seamstresses working at home, sharing the single sewing machine.

It took two world wars in the following century to start changing the division of labour between men and women.