EVEN AS MATTHEW ARNOLD WAS PUBLISHING HIS FIRST TWO VOLUMES of poetry (anonymously, in 1849 and 1852), he appears to have been fighting what we might well perceive, early in the twenty-first century, as a culture war. Arnold's famous "Preface" to his 1853 Poems suggests that the most powerful enemies of the poetic principles he formulates there, and (as I hope to demonstrate) of his foundational philosophical, moral, and spiritual values, are the phenomenally popular Spasmodic poets, or, as Arnold terms them in his "Preface," "the school of Keats." In fact, Arnold's "Preface," which has traditionally been read as a poetic and aesthetic manifesto, is, in addition, a political manifesto.
As the generally negative reviews of Arnold's work that appeared between 1849 and 1853 make clear, Arnold's literary and aesthetic values, his "taste," opposed that of most middle-class readers of poetry and fiction. As has been frequently discussed, most of those reviews damn Arnold's work with faint praise; the poetry, although (as Clough himself characterized it) that of "a scholar and a gentleman," (1) is described as out of tune with the modern world, self-absorbed, uselessly erudite. About the 1849 volume, Charles Kingsley asked, "To what purpose [is] all the self-culture through which the author must have passed," given that the poems present only "dreamy, transcendental excuses for laziness" in their domination by "hungry abstractions ... stolen from the dregs of German philosophy"? (2) And William Edmonstoune Aytoun, who two years after the publication of Empedocles was to explode the Spasmodic fad through his Blackwood's parody of their work, attacked Arnold's volume as a "perversion of a taste which, with so much culture, should have been capable of better things." (3) One reviewer was distressed that a fellow Oxonian, "a man of high culture," should be so alienated from his generation and should through his verse propound an "indolent, selfish quietism." (4) Clough himself questioned Arnold's "ascetic and timid self-culture" (Armstrong, Scrutinies, p. 167). Such comments are typical of the reviews of Arnold's work from 1849 and 1852 and present a remarkable contrast, as we shall see, with the tone and content of responses to Alexander Smith's Poems, published on the heels of Arnold's volume.
The responses to Smith's work were effusive. By March of 1853 Arnold had, it seems, read many of the reviews and appears at first to take a "quietist" stance in response to them. In a letter to his intimate friend, Arthur Hugh Clough, of March 21, Arnold espouses a kind of aesthetic relativism that is powerfully belied by the direction and force of his later prose writings on such matters, including the "Preface" to his 1853 volume (the first book he published under his own name). Of Clough, just several months before writing the "Preface," Arnold queried, "What is to be said when a thing does not suit you--suiting and not suiting is a subjective affair and only time determines, by the colour a thing takes with years, whether it ought to have suited or no." (5) Such a view may have eased Arnold's displeasure, not to say bafflement, at the reviews of both The Strayed Reveller (in 1849) and Empedocles on Etna and Other Poems. But he had not yet seen Clough's, which appeared in the July issue of the North American Review.
Reading Clough's review as in itself a text for ideological analysis instructs us in the highly significant cultural conflict embedded in the reception history of Arnold's and Smith's works in 1853 and reified in Arnold's 1853 "Preface." While reviews of Arnold's Empedocles were somewhat slow to appear, Smith's Poems was immediately and widely reviewed. A sensation of the winter season, it was rushed into a second edition soon after the first printing. William Michael Rossetti, in fact, insisted that, during the spring of 1853, "nothing [was] talked of ... but Alexander Smith." (6) Dante Rossetti called A Life-Drama "wonderful" and compared it to Goethe's Wilhelm Meister. (7) Arnold himself was intrigued enough to ask Clough in March to "look at Alexander Smith's poems which some people speak of and let me know what you think of them" (Lang, p. 259). Arnold, however, keeps his distance from them: in a follow-up letter of May 1, he claims not to have read Smith because "I shrink from what is so intensely immature--but I think the extracts I have seen most remarkable--and I think at the same time that he will not go far.... This kind does not go far: it dies like Keats or loses itself like Browning" (Lang, p. 264). Arnold's intellectual arrogance, not to say superciliousness, here is striking--and characteristic. But the backgrounds to it involve both matters of aesthetic principle (formulated in his "Preface") and personal bile. In a letter to his sister Jane written two weeks before this one, Arnold responded to John Forster's long review of Smith in the Examiner for April 9: that review is, he acknowledges, "worth reading." And then he confesses that "it can do me no good ... to be irritated with that young man who has certainly an extraordinary faculty, although I think he is a phenomenon of a very dubious character" (Lang, pp. 261-262). "Dubious" for Arnold, one wonders, in terms of its author's social class, or rather, morally or intellectually or aesthetically "dubious"? Or "dubious," as his 1853 "Preface" suggests, because of what Smith's phenomenal success tells Arnold both about the prospects for his own future as a poet and about the tastes of readers in mid-nineteenth-century England?
The ideological conflicts imbricated in the two markedly opposed systems of aesthetic value evident in Smith's and Arnold's poems are apparent in reviewers' responses to their work. Smith's poetry is founded in sensation (to employ the term Arthur Henry Hallam had used, twenty years earlier, to characterize Tennyson's poetry), (8) while Arnold's is, of course, saturated with what we today, like Arnold's anonymous reviewer of 1852, would describe as "high culture." Their works were, in fact, reviewed together in Clough's essay, "Recent English Poetry." There, Clough acknowledges that he is puzzled by the "discrepancy" that "certainly does exist between the two books [of poetry].... We close the one and open the other, and feel ourselves moving to and fro between two totally different, repugnant, and hostile theories of life" (Armstrong, Scrutinies, p. 166). Not "art," but "life." Clough understands, in the most comprehensive manner possible, the opposed fields of value delineated in the works of these "totally different ... and hostile" writers. The stakes of the battle, it would seem, were extraordinarily high: its outcome entailed not just matters of "taste," but, far more importantly to Clough, matters of morality, philosophy, spirituality, and social order.
From the opening of his essay, Clough sets the spiritual vigor, the moral energy, and the surprising originality of Smith's work in opposition to the spiritual hollowness and effete aestheticism of work by the educated upper classes, for whom, in the course of the review, Arnold becomes the exemplar. Clough argues that Smith's poems "deserve attention" and have in fact "obtained ... a good deal more notice than is usually accorded ... to first volumes of verse," in part because of "the fact that the writer is, as we are told, a mechanic." They possess "a force of purpose and character which makes them a grateful contrast to the ordinary languid collectanea published by young men of literary habits." These traits of Smith's poetry, he insists, "may be accepted as more than compensation for many imperfections of style and taste" in his work, which has "the advantage ... of not showing much of the litterateur or connoisseur, or indeed the student" (Armstrong, Scrutinies, pp. 153, 156). Unlike Smith, "young men of literary habits," including Arnold, are enervated by their possession of money, education, and leisure. The radically democratizing impulse in Clough's essay is thus inescapable from the outset, as is appropriate to the context of its composition: we recall that Clough is writing in the United States for the North American Review. (9)
Walter, the protagonist of A Life-Drama, seems to be a land-owning gentleman. So it is curious that Clough appreciates Smith's poem for its working-class perspective. He depicts Walter (and implicitly Smith) as a modern urban hero, an "ingenuous, yet passionate, youthful spirit, struggling after something like right and purity amidst the unnumbered difficulties, contradictions, and corruptions of the heated and crowded, busy, vicious, and inhuman town." He possesses "a real flesh-and-blood heart and soul," like Smith "going forth to battle in the armour of a righteous purpose" (Armstrong, Scrutinies, pp. 157, 165), and he emerges heroic "in spite of criticism and himself ... faulty imagery, turgid periods, occasional bad versification and even [bad] grammar" (p. 157). As his review proceeds, Clough represents Arnold as Smith's social, intellectual, and moral opposite. Yet, in an irony apparently lost on Clough, Arnold was what Smith could aspire to be only through his hero, Walter: "a scholar and a gentleman; a man who has received a refined education, seen refined 'society,' and been more, we dare say, in the world ... Michael than in all likelihood has a Glasgow mechanic." He possesses "more refined, therefore, and more highly educated sensibilities." But, Clough rhetorically asks, are these "too delicate ... for common service?" (Armstrong, Scrutinies, p. 159). By implication, Clough identifies in Arnold "something certainly of an overeducated weakness of purpose[,] ... a disposition to press too far the finer and subtler intellectual and moral susceptibilities" (Armstrong, Scrutinies, p. 167).
What Clough wants--by contrast with verse that exposes such effete and antisocial self-absorption--is a variety of poetry we might label "transcendental realism." Such poetry for Clough is, like the hugely popular realist novels of the time, also profoundly democratic, unifying the disparate human community with the Divine, and presumably thereby erasing barriers of class. (He names Bleak House and, less explicably, Vanity Fair.) Early in his review, Clough argues (through a series of rhetorical questions) that "to be widely popular, to gain the ear of multitudes, to shake the hearts of men, poetry should deal more than at present it usually does, with general wants, ordinary feelings, the obvious rather than the rare facts of human nature," converting "into beauty and thankfulness ... the actual palpable things with which our every-day life is concerned," introducing "into business and weary task-work a character and a soul of purpose and reality," and intimating in the process "some central, celestial fact," some "sense of significance, if not of dignity, in that often dirty, or at least dingy, work which it is the lot of so many of us to have to do." In short, such poetry would constitute a "Divine Song" that reveals our relations to some "purer existence" (Armstrong, Scrutinies, p. 155). This Shelleyan poetic ideal Clough manages to discover in A Life-Drama, while that ideal is clearly antithetical to the very foundations of Arnold's work; for Clough it determined the extraordinary popularity of Smith's poetry.
Like Byron after the first two cantos of Childe Harold's Pilgrimage were published, Smith, after the appearance of his Poems, awoke one morning and found himself famous. Preceding the text of A Life-Drama in the second edition (10) are eight small-print pages of selections from reviews (twenty-nine of them, many from major periodicals of all political persuasions, as well as respected newspapers such as the London Times and the Glasgow Sentinel). Though not uniform, the praise for Smith is often hyperbolic. The Athenaeum insists that, "everywhere [A Life-Drama] has lines and phrases revealing a wealth of poetical thought and expression from which much may be expected." The Literary Gazette, even more dazzled, compares Smith to the Laureate: "Since Tennyson, no poet has come before the public with the same promise as the author of this volume. The presence of a remarkable power is unmistakable.... There are many lines and sentences in these poems which must become familiar on the lips of lovers of poetry." The Spectator finds in Smith's poetry "the dawning of genius," and although comparing his "richness of fancy and force of expression" to that of early Keats and Shelley, discerns "the marks of a true [Wordsworthian] poet," whose "senses receive from outward objects impressions finer and keener than ordinary men ... reproduced in phrases and lines of singular beauty, melody, and power." The Leader does not hesitate to call Smith "a poet ... of unmistakable genius," while the Westminster Review admires Smith's "Shakespearean felicity of expression," a characteristic of Spasmodic verse which Arnold, of course, laments in his "Preface." The Nonconfomist reviewer, like so many of his scribbling brethren, avoids fine distinctions, comparing Smith's work to that of Tennyson, both Brownings, Keats, Shelley, and Coleridge.
To the modern eye and ear, however, Smith's blank-verse story of an aspiring poet searching for both fame and fulfillment in love will likely appear inchoate, childish, and cloying. Yet clearly A Life-Drama powerfully appealed to "Victorian taste." Its original readers especially admired its intense and melancholy hero, the fecundity of sensuous images that characterize the poem, its Keatsian and Shakespearean stylistic mannerisms, its sentimentalism, its ultimate return to conventional religious pieties, (11) and--not least--its sensational plot: at one point the hero Walter appears compulsively to rape his beloved Violet; at another he discusses love with a prostitute late at night on a London bridge.
Some examples of Smith's verse are instructive. They lose little, I might add, taken out of context. Early in the poem the despondent poet-hero in a very long and syntactically inscrutable sentence, proclaims himself "beaten, and foiled, and shamed." He explains:
The arrow of my soul which I had shot To bring down Fame, dissolved like shaft of mist, This painted falsehood, this most damned lie, Freezes me like a fiendish human face, With all its features gathered in a sneer. Oh, let me rend this breathing tent of flesh; Uncoop the soul. (p. 13)
Analyzing this passage is irresistible, though hardly needed to highlight its intoxication with figures of speech that serve primarily to confuse, rather than delight, the modern reader: Walter compares his soul to an arrow that unsuccessfully hunts personified Fame; the arrow becomes mist, and deceptive Fame (uninjured, but perhaps mystified like the reader) immobilizes him with a "fiendish" sneer, provoking in our hero the desire to destroy his own body and liberate his soul.
Walter's suicide is forestalled, however, (some readers might say, alas), by a meeting with a sympathetic "Lady" to whom he can tell his story and rant about the transcendent value of poetry:
"A Poet must ere long arise, And with a regal song sun-crown this age, As a saint's head is with a halo crowned;-- ... for Poetry is The grandest chariot wherein king-thoughts ride;-- One, who shall fervent grasp the sword of song As a stem swordsman grasps his keenest blade, To find the quickest passage to the heart." (p. 34)
The accumulation of metaphors here--about to topple, like a tower of legos built without an adequate foundation--attains the dubious distinction of being at once strained and commonplace: the "age" is personified as both a king at the moment of coronation (by the Poet) and a "crowned" Saint (coronation being apparently comparable to canonization). Poetry is simultaneously crown and halo, while the sanctifying poet is a warrior whose weapon is "the sword of song" that efficiently elicits emotion from the (wounded?) heart.
Passionate descriptions of nature also punctuate the text. This passage, from the fourth scene of the poem, demonstrates Walter's Romantic sensibilities to the anonymous Lady whose love he seeks:
"The sunset hung before us like a dream That shakes a demon in his fiery lair; The clouds were standing round the setting sun Like gaping caves, fantastic pinnacles, Citadels throbbing in their own fierce light, Tall spires that came and went like spires of flame, Cliffs quivering with fire-snow, and peaks Of piled gorgeousness, and rocks of fire, A-tilt and poised, bare beaches, crimson seas, All these were huddled in that dreadful west." (pp. 61-62)
Even long study can make little particular sense of this land and seascape in the sky; the jumble of images in the passage might well justify Clough's criticism that Alexander Smith
writes, it would almost seem, under the impression that the one business of the poet is to coin metaphors and similes. He tells them out as a clerk might sovereigns at the Bank of England. So many comparisons, so much poetry; it is the sterling currency of the realm. Yet he is most pleased, perhaps, when he can double or treble a similitude; speaking of A, he will call it a B, which is, as it were, the C of a D.... But simile within simile, after the manner of Chinese boxes, are more curious than beautiful. (Armstrong, Scrutinies, p. 168)
Arnold's sour-grapes "Preface" to what amounts to a revised second edition of his second volume of poetry, with the much-castigated Empedocles on Etna removed and several poems added, is in part a response to such stylistic "curiosities" as those in Smith's poetry that Clough describes here. In it Arnold laments, "We have poems which seem to exist merely for the sake of single lines and passages; not for the sake of producing any total impression. [And] we have critics who seem to direct their attention merely to detached expressions, to the language about the action, not to the action itself.... That is, they permit [the poet] to leave their poetical sense ungratified, provided that he gratifies their rhetorical sense and their curiosity," (12) that is, their taste for sensation. Here and throughout the "Preface," Arnold has in mind the mid-Victorian rage for Spasmodic poetry (still in 1853 unnamed as such), especially Smith's, though he never mentions that poet by name.
This claim is by now relatively familiar to students of Victorian poetics and poetry. But less studied and extraordinarily significant is the concluding paragraph to Arnold's 1854 addendum to his 1853 "Preface" (titled "Preface to Second Edition of Poems"). Reverting to his earlier emphasis that "the study of the classical writers of antiquity" is mandatory to the production of excellent poetry, Arnold extends his general point in a striking fashion. He insists that such study
can help cure us of what is, it seems to me, the great vice of our intellect, manifesting itself in our incredible vagaries in literature, in art, in religion, in morals: namely, that it is fantastic, and wants sanity. Sanity,--that is the great virtue of the ancient literature; the want of that is the great defect of the modern, in spite of all its variety and power. It is impossible to read carefully the great ancients, without losing something of our caprice and eccentricity. (Arnold, p. 185)
One might observe the central irony of this passage: to the extent that it employs exaggerated language ("great vice," "incredible vagaries," "great defect," "fantastic") to propound enormous and unsupported generalizations, the statements themselves verge on being fantastic and, one might add, hysterical. Arnold is practicing in his prose precisely what he preaches against for poetry in the 1853 "Preface," that is, "representations" that are "vaguely conceived and loosely drawn ... general, indeterminate, and faint, instead of being particular, precise, and firm" (Arnold, p. 172).
He does so, ultimately, in the service of what is for Arnold a hugely important manifestation of class warfare, represented in the 1853 "Preface" as a limited skirmish between systems of aesthetic value. However, his 1854 addendum reveals that everything Arnold has been constructed to cherish by his upper-class breeding and education is at stake in this conflict: "literature," "art," "religion," and "morals," not to mention the social order so incontrovertibly threatened by "insanity." In presenting Smith as the prospective hero of a new social order (Carlyle's hero as poet), Clough must have appeared to Arnold as of the devil's party (perhaps, but improbably, without knowing it). And Smith's designation as a new Keats by Clough and other reviewers would, for Arnold, have reconfirmed the face of the enemy.
The well known conclusion that Arnold reaches in his 1853 "Preface" is that in his historical moment it is extraordinarily difficult to write excellent poetry. He explains:
The confusion of the present times is great, the multitude of voices counselling different things bewildering, the number of existing works capable of attracting a young writer's attention and of becoming his models, immense. What he wants is a hand to guide him through the confusion, a voice to prescribe to him the aim which he should keep in view, and to explain to him that the value of the literary works which offer themselves to his attention is relative to their power of helping him forward on his road towards this aim. Such a guide the English writer at the present day will nowhere find. (Arnold, p. 178)
Arnold's concern here with finding "models" is, in fact a direct response to the second paragraph of Clough's review, where he observes that "the models, whom [Smith] has followed, have been ... predominantly, if not exclusively, the writers of his own immediate time, plus Shakespeare." He specifically names Tennyson (The Princess), Elizabeth Barrett Browning, and Keats, while noting the absence of Pope, Dryden, Milton, Wordsworth, Scott, and (perplexingly) Byron. He concludes that, "we have before us ... the latest disciple of the school of Keats" (Armstrong, Scrutinies, p. 154). It is precisely the example of Keats, "the very chief among those who seem to have been formed in the school of Shakspeare," that Arnold sets up as the antagonist of enlightened aesthetic and, more generally, desirable cultural values, in the "Preface" (Arnold, p. 179), and therefore a dangerous model for contemporary poets.
After reading, at Clough's suggestion, R. M. Milnes's Life, Letters, and Literary Remains of John Keats in 1848, Arnold penned a disturbed letter to his friend, beginning, "What a brute you were to tell me to read Keats's Letters" (Lang, p. 128). In it he confesses to his own "almost maniacal" pursuit of an "Idea of the world" that Keats entirely lacks. And he concludes, "what perplexity Keats Tennyson et id genus omne must occasion to young writers ... yes & those d--d Elizabethan poets generally. Those who cannot read G[ree]k sh[ou]ld read nothing but Milton & parts of Wordsworth: the state should see to it" (Lang, p. 128). In the tradition of Keats's early reviewers who disparaged him as the foremost representative of the Cockney School of poetry, Keats's lower-class origins (he is one of those who "cannot read Greek") and presumably his aspirations to write upper-class verse, drive Arnold to profanity--and the craving for an elitist state apparatus to protect culture and control the lower orders.
As I have argued elsewhere, (13) Arnold had an extraordinarily vexed relationship with Keats, whose work influenced that of Arnold far more than he desired. This is especially the case with Empedocles on Etna. Both the 1853 "Preface" and the withdrawal of Empedocles from his Poems of that year might in fact be seen as rearguard actions against the power Keats's poetry held over Arnold.
To demonstrate the extent to which the ostensibly aesthetic concerns of the "Preface" are grounded in issues of class conflict, it will suffice here to recall a crucial paragraph from Arnold's essay on Keats, written shortly after he read the recently published Letters to Fanny Brawne (1878). Arnold in the following passage is reacting to Keats's famous letter of October 13, 1819, in which he unabashedly proclaims to Fanny that "there is no limit to my love.... Love is my religion. I could die for that.... You have ravished me." Arnold observes that the "real point of remark" in this letter is
the complete enervation of the writer.... We have the tone, or rather the entire want of tone, the abandonment of all reticence and all dignity, of the merely sensuous man, of the man who 'is passion's slave.' Nay, we have them in such wise that one is tempted to speak even as Blackwood or the Quarterly were in the old days wont to speak; one is tempted to say that Keats's love-letter is the love-letter of a surgeon's apprentice. It has in its relaxed self-abandonment something underbred and ignoble, as of a youth ill brought up, without the training which teaches us that we must put some constraint upon our feelings and upon the expression of them. It is the sort of love-letter of a surgeon's apprentice which one might hear read out in a breach of promise case, or in the Divorce Court. The sensuous man speaks in it, and the sensuous man of a badly bred and badly trained sort. (14)
Although Arnold subsequently overcomes the "temptation" to continue viewing Keats through this condescending lens, insisting that there is indeed "something more, and something better" in Keats's "poetic powers," Arnold's profound anxieties over the conflict between Keats's social origins and his poetic aspirations has been irrevocably betrayed. And it is precisely such issues of class which impel the attack upon "the school of Keats" and implicitly upon the Spasmodic poets, especially Alexander Smith, in Arnold's 1853 "Preface."
As I hope the framework of events that I have sketched here begins to suggest, what we in fact discover during the spring and summer of 1853 when reviews of the volumes by Matthew Arnold and Alexander Smith were appearing and when Arnold himself was composing his "Preface" to Poems (1853) is a fortuitous confrontation of two opposed fields of mid-Victorian taste which we might, for practical purposes, label "culture" and "sensation." During the later 1850s and throughout the 1860s, the gulf between these two categories became further pronounced, culminating, one might argue, with the publication of Arnold's Culture and Anarchy in 1867, just as the sensation novel was reaching the point of its greatest popularity. The class politics of the confrontation, as we have seen, are unmistakable from Clough's review. Clearly, the conflict had profound social and political dimensions that demand attention from students of Victorian poetry and the cultural contexts of its production and reception. And for this reason, among others, the moribund Spasmodic poets might well for a time be resuscitated.
(1) Arthur Hugh Clough, review of Matthew Arnold's Empedocles on Etna, and Other Poems and Alexander Smith's Poems, in Isobel Armstrong, ed., Victorian Scrutinies: Reviews of Poetry, 1830-1870 (London: The Athlone Press, 1972), p. 159.
(2) Charles Kingsley, Fraser's Magazine 29 (1849): 575-580, qtd. here from Carl Dawson, ed., Matthew Arnold: The Poetry: The Critical Heritage (London: Routledge, 1973), pp. 42, 45, 44.
(3) William Edmonstoune Aytoun, review of The Strayed Reveller and Other Poems, Blackwood's Magazine 66 (1849): 340-346. In Dawson, p. 52.
(4) North British Review 9 (1853): 209-14. In Dawson, p. 69, 68.
(5) Cecil Y. Lang, ed., The Letters of Matthew Arnold, vol. 1 (Charlottesville: Univ. Press of Virginia, 1996), 1:258.
(6) Sidney Coulling, Matthew Arnold and His Critics: A Study of Arnold's Controversies (Athens: Ohio Univ. Press, 1974), p. 27.
(7) William E. Fredeman, ed., The Correspondence of Dante Gabriel Rossetti: The Formative Years, 1835-1862, 2 vols. (Cambridge: D. S. Brewer, 2002), 1:255.
(8) "On Some of the Characteristics of Modern Poetry, and on the Lyrical Poems of Alfred Tennyson," Englishman's Magazine 1 (August 1831): 616-628.
(9) In Victorian Poetry: Poetry, Poetics and Politics (London: Routledge, 1993, pp. 17980), Isobel Armstrong reads Clough's view of Smith as far more derogatory than it appears to me.
(10) Alexander Smith, Poems, 2nd ed. (London, 1853). All references to Smith's poetry are taken from this edition.
(11) At the end of scene 12, after Walter's rape of Violet and subsequent collapse, his intimate friend Edward correctly predicts that Walter
will return to the old faith he learned Beside his mother's knee. That memory That haunts him, as the sweet and gracious moon Haunts the poor outcast Earth, will lead him back To happiness and God. (Poems, p. 198)
In the next and final scene of the poem, as Violet forgives Walter and concludes that love is a "Redeemer of all errors," Walter views his beloved as a "noble soul" who will "lift me up / By thy sweet inspiration" and enable him to perform "great duties" and pen "great songs," so that "when I fall / It matters not, so that God's work is done" (pp. 209-211).
(12) Matthew Arnold, ed. Miriam Allott and Robert H. Super (Oxford: Oxford Univ. Press), p. 177. All references here to Arnold's 1853 "Preface" are taken from this accessible and well edited single-volume collection.
(13) See Antony H. Harrison, "Arnold, Keats, and the Ideologies of Empedocles on Etna in Victorian Poets and Romantic Poems: Intertextuality and Ideology (Charlottesville: Univ. Press of Virginia, 1990), pp. 16-43.
(14) The Complete Prose Works of Matthew Arnold, ed. R. H. Super, 11 vols. (Ann Arbor: Univ. of Michigan Press, 1960-77), 9:206-207.…