Matthew Arnold as revealed by his letters, poetry, and criticism

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Authors Yeager, Mabel Lee, 1910-

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Link to Item http://hdl.handle.net/10150/553248 Matthew Arnold as Revealed by His

Letters, Poetry, and Criticism

by Mabel Lee Yeager

Submitted in partial fulfillment of the

requirements for the degree of

Master of Arts

in the Graduate College

University of Arizona

1 9 3 5

Approved Major professor Date *• V* • ■

-:v *

; ~ ■ • > «• " ? ' « \ . < * £ < i m m i s Outline Cofi-A. A. Introduction

B. The Three Tatthew Arnolds

I. Arnold the Letter-' riter

1. Early life,

2. Work and marriage

3. Lectures in America

4. Salient characteristics and views

5. Depreciating attitude toward his contei poreries

6. Later life

II. Arnold the Poet

1. Biographical references in his poetry

2. Dominant feeling of despair

3. Views on Christianity

4. Oxford, his period of youth

5. Nature, compared with ordsworth

6. Poetic criticism

III. Arnold the Critic

1. Views on the function of criticism

2. Literary insight and critical perception

3. Observation of life and human nature

4. Repetition and use of stock phrases

5. Intellectuality and "superciliousness'’

6. Satire

C. Conclusion— That each of the three types of Arnold's

writing reveals entirely different phases of his personality. 9 9 5 C 9 A. Introduction

Since 1849, when Matthew Arnold began his writing

career at the age of twenty-seven, he has gained fame as

an educator, a poet, a critic, and a letter writer. "No writer, probably, ever passed so quickly from unpopularity

through fame to comparative n e g l e c t . B u t this apparent

neglect has been due to a lack of understanding on the part

of present-day readers, who are interested in only one phase of his writing. Arnold's nature was so complex that critics

today do not agree in an estimate of him.

As an educator he exerted a lasting influence through

his work as Inspector of Schools and later as Foreign Commis­

sioner. Arnold Tihitridge, reviewing in 1924 a new edition

of Arnold's works, wrote:

Matthew Arnold was only a poet or a critic in his spare moments. By profession he was a painstaking school inspector who, in spite of the dally round and trivial task, maintained an extraordinarily lofty con­ cept ion of the dignity of education.1 2

- ■ His poetry will always be enjoyed by certain readers,

though it will never have lasting general popularity.

_R. H. Stoddard praises him:

When he is at his best, his poetry is so good, so

1 *7. C. Brownell, Victorian Prose Masters (New York: Charles Scribner's Sons, 1902), p.149.

2 Arnold Whitridge, "Critic and Poet," The Saturday Review of Literature, 1:45, 1924. —2—

luminous, so lovely, so noble* that one cannot but re­ gret there is not more of it.*3 45 6

Herbert Paul states.

No poet of modern times, appeals so directly and so exclusively to the cultivated taste of the educated classes

According to George Russell, an intimate friend of the Arnold family, he " '

is not, and could never be, a poet of the multitude. He is the delight of scholars, of philosophers, of men who live by silent introspection or quiet communing with nature,b

But Robert Moras Lovett, in an article in Forum, avers:

His poetry fell flat on' publication, and only gradually came into notice when its author was recognized as a leading public man of the day. . . .' It is perhaps fortunate that Arnold’s early poems were so generally ignored. This failure was bettor than half success, for it left to the age which had been impressed by his criticism the flattering experience of discovering him as a poet.

G. P-. Woodberry,- however, takes an opposing view:

The poetry of Arnold. . . was less widely welcomed than his prose, and made its way very slowly; but it now seems the more important and permanent part.”

3 R. H. Stoddard, "Matthew Arnold the Poet," North ' American, 146:657.

4 Herbert Paul, Matthew Arnold (New York: Macmillan Go., 1903),p.l.

5. George Russell, Matthew Arnold (New York: Chas; Scrib ner’s Sons, 1904), p.3.

6 Robert Morsa Lovett, "Matthew Arnold Today," Forum, 71:666, May, 1924.

7 G.P. woodberry, Makers of Literature (New York: Mac- millan Co., 1901),pp.11-12. -3-

The last thirty years of his life were spent In writing 8 criticism. Vi. J. Dawson praises him as ’’an apostle of ideas";

George Russell claims, "If he had never written prose, the world would never have known him as a humorist."® Stanley

T. Williams writes that "Arnold was destined to be widely known first of all for his prose.Yet Gordon Ball Gerould, in reviewing Arnold's works, would have us believe "Arnold was a poet who turned into critic, not a scholarly critic who once in a while experimented with verse.

His letters, brought out in two volumes by George Rus­ sell in 1896, were not written with a view to possible pub­ lication and were as natural as his conversation. They do not enhance Arnold’s literary reputation, but they are evi­ dence of a singularly happy life and at times a careless, take-life-as-it-coines attitude not revealed in his poetry or criticism. Here we see a home-loving nature, "great forti­ tude under disappointment and losses, remarkable intellectual activity, a keen enjoyment of social life and of foreign travel, strong interest in public events, and an unaffected

8 *V, J . Dawson, Makers of English Poetry (Hew York: Fleming H. Reveil Company, 1906)7 p.336. 9 Russell, op. elt., p. 13.

10 Studies in Victorian Literature (Hew York: E. P. Dutton and Co., c. 1923),p.79. 11 Gordon Hall Gerould> "Matthew Arnold’s Complete works," Bookman, 7:461^ June, 1924. -4-

delight at the reception with which his own writings were welcomed by the reading public,- and at the influence and fame which they brought him."'1-2

Everyone who has written on the works of Arnold has a decided preference,which in,few cases allows a fair estimate of him. Because of these varied-and differing views, he is on§ of the most misunderstood men in literature. It is the purpose of this study to present a true picture of Arnold as revealed in all types of his writings. I plan to do this through four topics:

First, I shall give a study of his letters, combined with biographical references that will form a background for the discussion.

Second, I shall make a study of his poetry, showing the spirit and mood predominating throughout.

Third. I shall discuss his criticism, both of litera­ ture and of life, especially bringing out his Hellenist views.

Fourth, I shall contrast these three types of writing, summarizing the distinct traits brought out in each. This will be accomplished through a personal evaluation.

12 Sir Joshua Fitch, Thomas and Matthew Arnold (New York: Chas. Scribner's Sons, 1 8 9 8 ) p.iel. I.' ARNOLD TEE LETTER-WRITER

Since there is no adequate biography of Arnold, much of the information must be secured by inference from his letters, 1 collected and compiled in 1895 by George Russell. He says in his introduction: "It was Matthew Arnold’s express wish that he might not be made the subject of a Biography. His family, however, felt that a selection from his Letters was not prohibited."12 For the most part, his letters were ad­ dressed to his own family, but he had many friends, with whom he carried on a wide correspondence on diverse subjects.

They not only reveal the core of his personality and character but also touch on the many interests treated,in his poetry and his prose.

Early Life

Although his early life is of little importance in this study, a few facts are necessary to form a background for the characterization. He was born at Laleham, Middlesex, on

Christmas Eve, 1822, the oldest of nine children of Dr. Thomas

1 George Russell, Letters of Matthew Arnold (New York and London: Macmillan and Co., 1896). Unless otherwise specified, all references to Arnold’s letters will be made by volume and page without mention of the title.

2 Ibid., p.vii. -6-

Arnold, the famous Headmaster of Rugby. In his letters Arnold made many references to his father, most of them affectionate and respectful, but leaving a gen­ eral impression that he was not always in sympathy with his father’s views. To his sister, he wrote:

I have often thought, since I published this on the.Italian question, about dear papa’s pamphlets, what­ ever talent I have in.this direction I certainly inherit from him, for his pamphleteering talent was one of his very strongest and most pronounced literary sides, if he had been in the way of developing it.3

In the summer of 1861, he paid loving tribute:

At this time of year I am aIways particularly reminded of papa, and of what he accomplished in the few years he had. * 4 5

When, in 1855, his mother found and sent him a letter of his

father’s, he acknowledged it with an enthusiasm that brings

out the character of both men:

I ought before this to have thanked you for sending the letter, which is ennobling and refreshing, as every­ thing which proceeds from hir always is, besides the. pathetic interest of the circumstances of its writing and finding.5 I think he was thirty-five when that letter was written, and how he had forecast and revolved, even then, the serious interests and welfare of his children— at a time when, to many men, their children are still little more than playthings. He might well hope to bring up children, when he made that bringing

5 I.,p.125. 4 I.,p.l58.

5 The letter'related to the education and future of his children. -7-

up so distinctly his thought beforehand. . . . But this is just what Bakes him great— that he was not only a good nan saving his own soul by righteousness, but that he carried so many others with him in his hand, and saved then, if they would let him, along with himself.®

His mother was a well-educated woman, "of remarkable character and Intellect,whose Interest in her son made her his confidante until her death. His weekly letters to her reveal a devoted son, anxious.to please and happy to re­ ceive her praise.

"You will receive this, my dearest mother, on the morning of your birthday," he wrote her in 1652,. "Accept every loving and grateful wish from a son to whom you have for nearly thirty years been such a mother as few sons have."6 78

She followed every detail of his writing career, and in this respect the understanding between mother and son is most pronounced.

After her death, in 1873, Arnold said of her: ,

She had a clearness and fairness of mind, an interest in things, and a power of appreciating what might not be in her line, which was very remarkable, and w^ich re­ mained with her to the very end of her life.""

Of his sisters, he-looked to "K" for understanding. In a letter to his mother, he said: And my darling K. too,^my first reader (or, hearer), and

6 I., p.40.

7 Herbert Paul, Hatthew Arnold (New York: Macmillan and Go., 1903), p.O

8 I., p.22.

9 II., p.124. —8—

:/ho perhaps has oven now the first place In my heart as the judge of my poems. . . . I told you all you would like this poem. -'A Southern Eight" But my poems I am less and less inclined to show or repeat, although if I lived with K. I daresay I should never have gone out of the habit of repeating them to hcr.^

Education *

His education, of course, was well planned. Receiving

his fundamental instruction for several years under his

uncle at Laleham and for a year under Dr. Moberly, the strict Headmaster of winchester, he entered Rugby in 1837, where he

v/as under his. father’s supervision. In 1840 he~won an open scholarship at Balliol, and a few months later he went into

residence, remaining until 1045 when he was elected a fellow

, of Oriel. . It was v/hilo at the university that the poet in him responded to tho romantic surroundings, the ideals, and

the traditions of Oxford life, but the critic in him ques­

tioned Oxford’s use in English education and Oxford’s place

in society. He was not in sympathy with the Tractarian move­

ment swooping over Oxford at this time. The great freedom of

his life and his delight in exchanging views with his friend,

Arthur Clough, v/ore diverting influences, however, for he was

graduated without first-class rating-- a degree that his

father would have considered a disgrace. In a letter to his

brother Tom, Arnold says, •

10 I.,p.180. -9-

I an-hardly ever at Oxford now, but the sentiment of the place is overpowering to me when I have leisure to feel it, and can shake off the Interruptions which • it is not so easy to shake off now as it was when we were young.

Thirteen years after his entrance, he wrote, I am struck with the apathy and poorness of the people here, as they new strike me, and their petty pottering habits compared witji the students of Paris, or Germany, or even of London.1"

Little is known of his college life, because for seme reason letters written during this tine are omitted from

Ur. Russell's collection. Part of this omission, however, is remedied in an anazing article by Lionel Trilling:

At college Arnold was very different— a wit, a dandy, a persifleur, a reader of French novels, a singer of French songs, a rnisser of expected Firsts. He addressed his friends as ”my darling,” and when he was introduced as the son of the great Dr. Arnold he would pose as a sporting nan just come from biting off bull pups’ tails. . . . He is irreverent; he uses strong language. . . . He is enormously and attractively alive and unhampered.^

Such a description of Arnold is almost unbelievable. Clough had been his best friend, but in 1853 Clough wrote from

America to complain of neglect. Finally, after trying to dismiss the subject, Arnold spoke out: You certainly do not seem to me sufficiently to desire and earnestly strive toward assured knowledge— activity— happiness. You are too content to fluctuate, *1112

11 Quoted by Mrs. Humphrey Ward, A Writer's Recollec tions (New York, Harper and Bros., 1918), p.73.

12 I.,44. 15 Lionel Trilling, "The Youth of Arnold", Nation 136:211. -10-

to be ever learning, never coining to see. a knowledge of the truth. That is why, with you, I feel it necessary to stiffen myself— and hold fast to my rudder. w’ith new responsibilities, Arnold’s personality had changed.

Trilling cites this friendship with Clough as a ”symbol of.

Arnold’s youth," for "Clough, with his fluctuant doubts, was inviting the world to kill him, spiritually and material ly, while Arnold was trying to make himself at home in that world ."3-5

For a short time ho taught classics at Rugby, but in 1847 he was made private, secretary to Lord Lan-sdowne. The Arnold we shall know by his letters begins at this time, when he was twenty-five years old.

7/ork and Ka rr iage

In 1849 appeared the first of his sonnets, "To the

Hungarian Nation," which he later told his mother was "not worth much."lG In the some year, he published his first volume of verse, The Strayed Reveller and Other Poems by

"A". A year later, he brought out a second volume,

Empedocles on Etna and Other Poems by "A". A few months

later, a new edition appeared, this time under his own

name, containing some of the work previously published and 1514

14 Quoted in same article.

15 Loc. cit.

16 I., p.12. -11-

including some new ones, ’’Eohrab and Rustum,” "The Seholur-

Gypsy," ’’Requiescat,,f and "The Church of Brou."

All this writing, however, was done in his "leisure hours,” for at this time he entered a bread-and-butter pro­ fession, being appointed Inspector of Schools, a position which, in spite of his writing career, he retained for thir­ ty-five years. It was this appointrent that enabled hi::, to be married in "the. same year to Frances Lucy Tightman, daugh­ ter of Sir V/illiam V/ightman, a judge of the Court of the Queen1s Bench.

It is indeed strange that in the letters of Mr. Russell's collections, Arnold made no mention of his forthcoming mar-, riuge. Oh one pago^there is a matter-of-fact note written to "Miss wightman,” February 21, 1851; on the following page17 18 19 there is a letter "to his wife," October 15, 1851. It is hardly reasonable that Arnold should have let eight months elapse without writing a letter! Hugh Kingsmill makes the statement that "the destruction of Matthew's correspondence was not an accidental by-product of a spring cleaning."1"

There is undoubtedly seme mystery behind this conceal­ ment, but the qualifications of Arnold the husband and the father are indeed as high as those of Arnold the son.

17 I♦,p.19 .

10 I.,p.20. 19 Hugh Kingsmill, Matthew Arnold (New York: The

Dial Press, 1928), p.71. —12—

Years later he wrote M s mother:

%'e had the four children to dinner yesterday to celebrate cur anniversary. It seems only a year or two ago we were married. It has been a great happiness ever since my marriegg that you all took so to Fanny Lucy, and she to youv 0

Most of the letters to the members of his household

circle breathe tender and endearing thoughts of his children.

To his wife, he wrote:

Tell the boys how I love them, and love to hear of them being such good, dear boys while I am away.^1 And to his mother:

Children, however, are a great pleasure, or at least I find mine so.

Many of his references give humorous evidence of his powers

of narration. In one instance, he described Tom and Budge:

The day I read your letter I said to Budge as I was dressing for dinner, "Budge, you must go and see your Aunt Forster." "No," says Bud^e, "do let me 1 top with papa." So I turn to Tom, and when I remind him of the Noah*s ark, Tom says he will go and stop Wif you "for two days." Upon which Budge begins to howl, and running up to Tom, who is sitting on the camp bed in my dressing-room, entreats him not to go away from him. "Why not, Budge?" says Tom. "Because I do love you so, Tiddy Tom," says Budge. "Oh," says Tom, waving his hand with a melancholy air, "this is false. Budge, this is all falser1 You should have seen the sweet little melancholy face of the rogue as he said this. ^

In another, he pictures the children with their governess, *2021

20 II., p.68.

21 I.,p.l25.

22. I.,p.158.

23 I.,p.64. —15—

Mrs. Querlni:

She said to Budge this morning, "Who do you love best of anybody in the world?" "Nobody at all," says Budge. "Yes," says Mrs. Cuerini, "you love your papa and mamma." "Well," says Budge. "But," goes on Mrs. Qnerini, "you are to love God more than any one, more even than your papa and mamma." "Ho, I shan't," says Budge. Jolly . little heathen.I24

At first Mrs. Arnold accompanied him on his inspection.

trips, but with the birth of their children, she gave up this wandering life. "We have taken a house in Chester Square,"

Arnold writes in 1859. "It is a very small one, but it will

be something to unpack one’s portmanteau for the first time

since I was married, now nearly seven years ago."25 *

A letter to his wife contains a pathetic account:

I am too utterly tired out to v/rite^ It certainly was nicer when you came with me, though so dreadfully expensive; but it was the only thing thatpcould make this life anything but positive purgatory. b

The work was drudgery to him, as shown by incidents in his letters:

I had a hard day. Thirty pupil teachers to examine, in an inconvenient room and nothing to eat_except a bis­ cuit, which a charitable lady gave me. 7

I had a long, tiring day, and it certainly will be a relief when I get these Eastern Counties over.28

I don’t know why, but I certainly find inspecting peculiarly oppressive just now; but I must tackle to, _ as it would not do to let this feeling get too strong.29

24 I., p.90. 27 I., p.21 25 I., p.71. 28 I., p.28.

26 I., p.32. 29 I., p.31. -14-

I am now at the work I dislike most in the world— look­ ing over and tar king examination papers. 30

One letter is marked by a slightly different tone:

This is my lest appearance abroad as "Monsieur-General do toutes les Ecoles de la Grande Bretagne,” as my French friends will have it that I am. x

Later on, however, he became accustomed to the work, and though he always considered it irksome, he soon saw the relation between education and the society he loved to ob­ serve. He wrote to his wife:

I think I shall get interested in the schools after a little time; their effects on the children are so immense, and their future effects on civilizing the next gen­ eration of the lower classes, who, as most things are going, will have most of the political power of the country in their hands, may be important. ^

He even goes so far as to say, "Inspecting seems mere play when I have nothing else to do beside it.”33

There is a question what his writing career would have been had he not accepted this position. In all probability,

he would have had the leisure to attain the poetic facility

of Tennyson and Browning; on the other hand, his financial

worries might have thwarted his ability as a critic.

Through this contact, he developed a zest for meeting people31 3230

30 I., p.207.

31 I., p.120.

32 I., p.20.

33 I., p.153. -15-

and met literary men who spurred him on to more distinguished writing.

There is one phase of the inspectorship, however, that

Arnold’s letters do not mention. One of his fellow inspectors,

E.M. Gneyd-Kynnersley, pictures him: .

He arrives in the course of the morning; shakes hands with the managers and teachers; and talks very pleasantly for a few minutes; then he walks through the classes between the desks, looking over the children’s shoul­ ders at sane exercises, and so makes'his way to the door, and we see him no more.34

Another incident:

I imagine his rule was lenient. A colleague told me how they sat together at Y.’hifcelands Training. College (where the girls.have the rude wind of education tem­ pered to them by the study of Ruskin, and the cultus of the maypole) and listened to MRecitation,” which at school we called "Lines.u The prosaic colleague, look­ ing over the poet’s marks, noticed that every girl had got the highest mark possible, and he commented on this monotony of excellence. Arnold merely purred— "They are such charming girls.

Chair of Poetry

In 1857 he was elected Professor of Poetry at Oxford, for a period of five years, with a salary of one hundred thirty pounds a year and duties consisting "in assisting to look over the prize compositions, in delivering a Latin

oration in praise of founders at every alternate commemora­

tion, and in preparing and giving three Latin lectures on 34

34 E. M. Sneyd-Kynnersley, H. M. I. (London: Mac­ millan and Company, 1913), p.156.

35 Ibid., p. 157. ancient poetry in the course of the year.This was sub­

stantial proof that he was attracting attention. By this

time, his creative work as a poet was almost finished; some of his later poems are beautiful, but after this the world began

to know him as a critic.

Arnold was now the father of three boys-- Tom, Trevenen, and Richard. Arnold the family man is pictured amusingly in a letter to his mother, giving an account of the election:

Y7e went first to the telegraph station at Charing Cross. Then, about four, we got the message from V/slrond— "Hothing certain is known, but it is rumored that you are ahead.” Then wo went to get some; toys for the children in the Lowther Arcade, and could scarcely have found a more genuine distraction than in selecting wagons for Tom and Trev, with horses of precisely the same color, not one of which should have a hair more in his tail than the other— and. a musical cart for Biddy. . . . To Baton Place we went, and then a little after G o'clock we were joined by the Judge in the highest state of joyful excitement with the news of my majority of 85.oV

Upon his inauguration to the Chair, he brought out his poem,

"Merope,-" in which he describes Thgland as a stronghold of

romanticism and voices a plea for classical principles,

hoped great things fbr the poem, as he writes to his sister "K": -

I must read Herons to you. I think and hope it will have what Buddha called the "character of Fixity, that true sign of the Law."

Its reception was as unpleasant as it was unexpected, as

36 Quoted by Mrs. Ward, Op. pit..» P* 74. -17-

he writes his mother:

They have lost no time in opening cry. It is singular what irritation the dispute between classicism and romanticism seei'is always to call forth.*59

But a short time Inter we read: '

In spite of the aversion of people to the unfamiliar stranger introduced to them, her appearance evidently makes them think and turn themselves about it; and this will do them good, while their disinclination will do me no harm, as their curiosity will make them buy Me rope.and I have no intention of producing, like Euripides, seventy dramas in this style, but shall now turn to something wholly different

In this way did Arnold accept criticism, but he is disap­ pointed in the reading public, though he must admit "The book sells well, but it must be remembered that a good many people read it from curiosity."3941 40 He complains:

Instead of reading it for what it is worth, everybody begins to consider whether it does not betray a design to substitute tragedies er la Grecque for every other kind of poetical composition in England, and falls into an attitude of violent resistance to such an imaginary design.4"

In 1859, his brother William died at Gibraltar on his way home from India. Arnold felt the loss deeply:

What can one do, my dearest mother, except bow one's head and be silent? My poor dear WillyI If he had known of my being here and had telegraphed to me from Malta, I might have reached him at Gibraltar in time. And no one else could. I like to imagine, even

39 I., p.66.

40 I., p.67.

41 I., p.69

42 I ., p .68 —18—

now that it is so entirely vain, the.arriving at Gibraltar, the standing by his bedside, the taking his poor hand— I, whom he would hardly perhaps have expected to see there-— I, of whom he thought so far more than I deserved, and who showed„hin, poor boy, so far less tenderness than he deserved.40

He remained in the Chair of Poetry for ten years, re­ elected for the five-year per led . In 1867 he retired. He was anxious that Mr. Browning should succeed him, but Mr.

Browning was not an Oxford man, though Oxford had conferred on him an honorary Master of Arts. Though there were a few duties connected with it that Arnold disliked, the burden had not been a heavy one, and.he had continued to hold his position as Inspector during this period. He had even gone so far as to undertake an Investigation of the schools on the Continent. .

In 1868 the family was grieved at the death of little

Basil. A letter to "K” shows a grief-stricken but strong character: . . And that little darling we have left behind us at Laloham; anti he will soon fade out of people’s remem­ brance, but we shall remember hin and speak of him as long as we live, and he shall be one more bond between us, even more werhaps in his death than in his sweet little life.44'

. ; ; Less than a year following, his oldest son, Thomas, died at the age of sixteen. In a letter to Lady de Roths­ child, he praises the boy’s courage and self-control.4^

I.’,' P-91. 45 I., p.464. 44 I., p.446. 19-

A month later, a letter to his mother reveals a discouraged

Arnold, searching for the fortitude to face life•

Everything has seemed to come together to make this year the beginning of a new time to me: the gradual settlement of my own thought, little Basil's death, and then my dear, dear Tommy's. . . . All these things point to a new beginning, yet it may well be that I am near my end, as papa was at my age, but without papa's ripeness, and there will be little time to carry far the new be­ ginning. But that is all the more reason for carrying it as far as one can, and as earnestly as one can, while one lives.46

When, about three years later, the Arnolds lost their second son, Trevenen, the "Budge" of the letters, their intense heartache is expressed in his lines to his mother,

I cannot write his name without stopping to look at it in.stupefaction at his not being alive.47

America

In 1882 he accepted an invitation to give a series of lectures in America. He had been strong in his belief that all Americans were Philistines, and before making his de­ cision he had questioned everyone, from authors to railway conductors. On one occasion he says, "Everyone is very kind, 4 8 and I hear all sorts of promising reports of America.

His letters from America are of great interest in show­

ing his attention to details, though he by no means flatters

46 I., p.466

47 II., p.95

48 II., p.256 -20-

the Americans. On one occasion he dined with "some rich 49- people called Shepard" ; on another, he was "invited to 50 four clubs in New York," but he finds the Knickerbocker

the "smart club par excellence."5^

His attention to human-interest stories is strangely

characteristic as he describes a "revivalist called Evefige--- list Harrison:”

His "weeping girls" are his crovning stroke. After the. services he calls the young women to give proof by tears of being converted. You may imagine v/hat the scenes are amongst these people with the religious cravings of our race in them, and also a dash of Southern heot.^

He was enthusiastic in his description of Richmond, where

he lectured to the "old families who in general do not go to

■lectures."*’’*

If .1 ever cone back to America, it will be to see more of the South. ^

Of Americans he says,

Some of the best English qualities are clean gone; the love of quiet and {l^slike of a crowd is gone out of the American entirely.00

Some pages later, we read of "Matthew Arnold's doctrine."

At Newport they showed me the following in a news­ paper: "The Baptist Union recommend all good Christians to give at least two hours to reading their Bible for every hour they give to hearing Matthew Arnold. This shows that in the judgment of the Baptist Union Matthew

49 II., p.2G0 53 II., p.285.

50 II., p.261 54 II., p.288. 51 Ibid , 55 II., p.267.

52 II., p.298 -21-

Arnold*s doctrine is very nearly twice as powerful as that of the Bible.*56

In spite of his feeling toward the American.people, his tour was a pleasureable one, and he enjoyed t % activity of his extensive travelling.

Ac have had a week of good houses. (I consider myself now as an actor, for my managers take me about with theatrical tickets, at reduced rates, over the railways, and t£e tickets have Matthew Arnold troupe printed on them.0 '

But his lectures were disappointing both to himself and to the American public. In a letter to Fan, he is discouraged.

I was badly heard, and many people were much disappointed; but they remained to the end, were perfectly civil and attentive, and applauded me when I had done. It made me doubtful about going on with the lecturing, however, as I felt I could not maintain a louder pitch of voice than I did in Chickering Hall, where I lectured, end seme of the American halls are much larger. . . . There is a good deal to be learned as to the management of the voice, and I have set myself to learn it, though I am old to begin; the kindness of the people rakes everything easier , -bs they are detemined , to jLike me.68

In reading his poetry, he finds himself forgetting his au­ dience and repeating lines for his delectation, but he. says,

"I shall get over.this also in time.”

"('hen he returned frera the United States , he related with much gusto the story of the late P. T. Barnum, who had in­ vited him to his house'by saying, ”You, sir, are a celebrity.

I an a notoriety. We ought to be acquainted."^® ”1 couldn’t go,” Arnold added, "but it was very nice of hire."59 *

5G II., p.2?3. 58 II., p.264.

57 IT., pp.295-6.

59 Herbert Paul, Men and Letters (London: John Lane the Bodlcy Head, 1901, Fourth edition), p.37. —2 2 “

General Characteristics •

His love of travel is frequently evident, combined with his descriptions of Nature end his never-failing loyalty to

England. His opportunities for travelling wore many, for when he was not carrying on foreign investigations in the

name of education, he was accompanying his father-in-law, who

was a circuit judge.

In a letter to "K", in 1857, he had written of a pro­ posed visit to Switzerland, since he had not been there for

some years:

Vie tall: of going abroad for threo weeks, but I sometimes have doubts whether we shall manage it; what to do with three children is too embarrassing. Else I have a positive thirst to see the Alps again, and two or three things I have in hand which I cannot finish till I have again breathed and smelt Swiss air.^O

The following year, the trip was arranged, and though in one

letter he tells "K", "I feel willing to go back at any minute," ho fills his letters with exultation.

No one can read his descriptions of Nature without real­

izing Arnold’s power of vivid picturization. He frequently

painted scenery as though seen through a silvery haze, then suddenly mentioned %bme item with gripping reality. Ho had

a way of writing such things as though a part of his soul.

He gives us a glimpse of the valley of the Veyle:

60 I., p.63 -23

Behind us the aim was setting beautifully over the Cha- rolais mountains, the outliers of the Cevennes, but in front storm-cloud and rain and a rainbow were over the fura.61

Another description is charming:

Chateau de Blonay, an old castellated house standing , among those exquisite hills of park and lawn which are , interposed between the high maintains op$ Vevey, and which make Vevey "so soft and beautiful.

But, alas, in the same letter, he cones face to face with reality: :

I slept for an hour or two, when I woke feeling myself attacked; I -had taken the precaution to get some matches from the waiter, not liking the. aspect of the bedrooms. I found my enemy and despatched him, but kept the candle lighted.

Arnold the .traveller conflicts with Arnold the family man, however, and he writes to his wife:

One of the things I most long for is to come here with you. It seems absurd to tell you, now I have come without you, how I long for you, but so it is. I have not yet once, for a moment, felt as I generally feel abroad; for the first time in my life I feel willing to go back at any moment, and do not mind what happens to shorten the journey.

He did not claim a general liking for sports, though

he mentioned playing lawn tennis and croquet with his child­ ren. Trout fishing is a favored pastime, but his love for.

the country is not that of a sportsman. In a letter to

v.'yndham Slade, he lamented: 62*61

61 I., p.70.

62 I., p.79.

63 I., p.78. -24-

I tried fishing once or twice, and in very renowned waters, but with the heat and the sunshine and the thunderyness it was of no use. 4

The word "thunderyness” is a remindor of another of

Arnold’s traits-— his facility in coining new and expressive words, or his ability to use an old word with added meaning.

This is especially evidenced in his critical writings. He is intensely interested in the significance of names, writing to his mother,

I had written to ask . . ..whether Jerusalem meant "the vision of peace" or "the foundation of peace"; either meaning is beautiful, but I wished for the first, as the more beautiful.

He was a shrewd observer of human nature. Of an Educa­ tion League, organized to promote secular education, he re­ marked :

It is curious how agreeable to them is an agitation such as they are getting up about school fees. So dull are their lives, and so narrow is their natural circle, that these agitations are stimulating and refreshing to them in the highest degree; and that is really one reason why a movement of the kind is so vital and so hard to meet."6

In the sane way he observed English politics.

Parliament seems to have opened stupidly , but so it often.does-when one expects it to open very interestingly.

Tfith the attitude of a critic, he voices his opinion of the

English people: 67666564

64 I., p.61.

65 II., p.59.

66 II., p.77.

67 II., p.57. -25-

The want of independence of mind, the shutting their eyes and professing to believe what they do not, the running blindly in herds, for fear of some obscure danger and horror if they go alone, is so eminently a vice of the English, I think, for the last -hundred years.b°

A few pages later, he warns that

The English aristocratic system, splendid fruits as it has undoubtedly borne, must go.69

Despite his criticism, he is fundamentally loyal to England, and in one Instance he writes from Germany,

I can onlv sey that all I see abroad makes me fonder of England.70 Vfith the same critical attitude he sets forth his views on writing in general.

The great thing is to produce nothing of which, if it comes into broad light, you will be ashamed; and then whether it does come into broad light or no need not much trouble you ./-L

As for his own writing style, he is surprised at the many

lengthy sentences, but, he observes,

I find that for every new thing I write there comes a style which I find natural for that particular thing, and this tendency 1 never resist.z

He refers frequently to some certain work of his own,

as if viewing it from a distance, with an air of satisfaction. Of the poem "Thyrsis,n he says,

"Thyrsls” is a very quiet poem, but 1 think solid and sincere. It will not be popular, however.73

68 I-, P»5 1 . 71 I., p.1 5 7 .

69 I. , p.57 72 X., p.1 8 8 e

70 I;, p. 3 4 0 . 73 II., p.374 -26-

On another occasion, he relates,

I walked about a little and then.went to the opera to see Tristram and Iseult. I mav say. that I have managed the story better than hagner. 4

His Attitude toward His Contemporaries

It is strange tint a man with Arnold's social nature should have an intense feeling against the men in his own profession. His attitude toward his contemporaries gives further evidence of his critical powers, but it is with a peculiar frankness that he "spoke as frankly about

Tennyson, of whom he was jealous, as about Emerson, of whom 75 he was proud." he watched their work carefully, reading eagerly the poems of Tennyson and of Browning as they came from the press, but he seldom voiced his ooinion in public.

Even he must avoid too much honest but unpleasant'criticism.

In 1860 he remarked to his si star the t he meant to "say boldly the truth about a great many English celebrities,"7® but he did this chiefly in his letters to his family and his close friends. These letters, woven together, might form a literary criticism of Victorian expression, though not the I- criticism Arnold would have wished us to have.

kith the exception of Clough, ho formed few friendships 7574

74 II., p.374. 75 Stanley T. Williams, Studies In Victorian Litera­ ture (Hew York: E. P. Dutton and Co., 1923), p.Wl

76 Ibid., p.100 27-

.'.vith- his literary rivals,, und- his references to them are depreciatory. He did not consider Thackeray a good writer, and 11 never liked Carlyle," though he admired certain qualities.

Of Tennyson there is frequent mention which might indicate more than a watchful interest. In 1864 he asserted,

I do not think Tennyson a great and powerful spirit in .any line.77

Just after the publication of the Idylls of the King, he wrote that "Tennyson, with all his temperament and artistic skill, is deficient in intellectual power,"7® and later in the same year he made the statement, "I/y conviction that he ■ riq will not finally stand high is firm." v These criticisms might have been made in a spirit of literary criticism, but a passage in a letter to his mother displays a decided per­ sonal feeling:

I am rather worried to find that Tennyson is at work on. a subject, the story of the Latin peet Lucretius, which I have boon occupied with for some twenty years. I was going to make a tragedy out of it, and the worst of it is that everyone, except the few friends who have known that I had it in hand, will think I borrowed the subject from him.00 .. • / In 1849, ho wrote of Sir "illiam Grove, author of the essay "The Correlation of Physical Force":

— I dined last - night with, a . Grove, a celebrated ■/

77 I., p.270. 79 1., p.278.

78 I . , p.147. 80 1., p.375. -23

man of science; his wife is pretty and agreeable, but not on a first interview. The husband and I agree wonderfully on some points’. He is a bad sleeper, and hardly ever free from headache; he equally dislikes and disapproves of mod­ ern existence and the state of excitement in which every­ body lives: and he sighs after a paternal despotism and a calm existence of a Russian or Asiatic.”81

In the same letter there is an amusing reference to Keble:

He fGroveJ showed me a picture of Faraday, which is won­ derfully fine: I arc almost inclined to get it: It has a curious likeness to Keble, only with a calm, earnest look unlike the latter*s Flibbertigibbet, fanatical, twinkling expression.82

Because of his Greek themes, Browning was high in his favor. But curiously enough, his admiration did not extend to Mrs. Browning, whom he regarded as ’’hopelessly confirmed in her abberation from health, nature, beauty, and truth. These might lead a reader to believe that Arnold was jealous of his contemporaries or that he.failed miserably in his judgments. Either may be true, but it is probable that he, like many reviewers today, made absurd temperamental prophesies which lacked perspective. He had the good judgment to confine them to letters. Also, it is possible that he

judged his contemporaries as he judged the ancients, by his own rigid touchstones, and that he expected seme thing of poetry that it is not possible for poetry to fulfill.

01 Quoted by Mrs. T/ard, Op. cit. t p.G9.

82 II., p.232.

83 I., p.70. 29-

Later Life

Evan in 1832, Arnold spoke of resigning his Inspector­ ship. He did not actually give up the position, however, until

1886, at which time he accepted a pension of two hundred fifty pounds, offered by Mr. Gladstone "as a public recognition of service to the poetry .and literature of England."

In 1873 he took a house at Cobban;, Surrey, called "Pains

Hill Cottage," which remained his home for the rest of. his life.

His oldest daughter, Lucy, had married and was now living in New York. In April of that year he became the grandfather of an American girl. Mrs. Arnold had gone to Hew York and upon hearing the news, he' addressed her as "My Sweet Granny.”®^

Ho visited there soon afterward anti accopted the little

Philistine84 85 * radiantly, writing:

She is lyihg awake in her little crib, enchanted to see visitors, and always receives me with a smile or two. The other day she snatched a five dollar note out of my hand, and waved it in triumph like a true little Yankee. b

In 1887, he wrote an Amorloan friend:

Since I was sixty I have regarded each year, as it ended, as something to the good beyond what I could naturally have expected. This summer in America 1 began to think that

84 X J ., p.379.

85 Stuart P. Sherman, Matthew Arnold, How to Know Kim (Indianapolis: Bobbs-Merill Co., 1917), p.48.

86 II., p.400. -30-

my time was really coming to an end, I had so much pain in my chest, the sign' of a malady ■which had suddenly struck down in middle life, long before they came to my present age, both my father and my grandfather.97

The following year he was looking forward with eagerness to a visit from Lucy and the "Midget'1:

I long to have the Midget here. I an quite sure the moderate cold will do her no harm— nay,will do her good if she is warmly clothed. I sent you an absurd newspaper which sells much at railway stations because I thought the Midget might be interested in the picture of me; mamma thinks it is very weak-looking, but uponpmy part I am well pleased to be made to look amiable."

On the fourteenth of the month, he left Cobham for ‘

Liverpool, but the meeting with his daughter never took piece,

for on the fifteenth of April, 1888, the family malady proved

fatal. In his notebook he"had written:

YTeep bitterly over the dead, as he is worthy, and then comfort thysoIf; drive heaviness away: thou shaIt do him no good, but hurt thyself.

when the dead is at rest, let his remembrance rest; end gq be comforted for him when his spirit is departed from him.*89 8788

87 II., p.423.

88 II., p.440.

89 Although these notes ere not included in his letters, they reflect so much the spirit and personality of Arnold that I am quoting them. Sherman, on. city pp.51-52. II. ARNOLD THE POST

The poetry of Matthew Arnold reveals an entirely

different person from the stoic Inspector of Schools shown

in his letters, an idealistic, melancholy poet who is out

of place in a period of conflict, aspiring but doubting and

/ despondent i The old order "was changing.Aristocracy was

conflicting with democracy, and traditional belief was being

replaced by science. The reading public of England hardly

knew what to believe. During this time, when.other writers

were trying to fit their spiritual forces to the age, Arnold

was in doubt,

slandering' between two. worlds, one dead The other powerless to be born.

He was not a complaining man^ As Russell says, "Self-denial

was the law of his life, yet the word never crossed his

lips.” But poetry was his dominant interest, and it was

only natural that his poems should be a part of his personality

and reflect Ills thoughts, however conflicting and melancholy they may bo.

'Arnold expected greet things of his poetry.

"My poems, ” he wrote his mother, "’represent on the whole the main movement of mind of the last quarter of a 1

1. "The Grand Chartreuse,” The Poetical works.of Matthew Arnold, with a Biographical Introduction"!^ Nathan Haskell Dole (New York; Thomas Y. Crowell Co., 1925), p.420. Unless otherwise indicated, page numbers In this chap­ ter will refer to this edition.

2 Letters. II., P»10* -32-

ccntury, and thus they will probably have their, day es people become conscious to themselves of what that movement of mind is , and interested in the literary production that reflects It

In u way, his claim was much too-high, for the poems have not

"had their day" as he expected, but they are of great value to people interested in the "movement of mind" reflected there.

host of his poetry was written during the period when he had groat difficulty in "finding himself." After his graduation from Oxford in 1844, he was faced with the problem of a profession. Post-graduate work would have meant taking orders eventually, and Arnold's religious beliefs were entire­ ly too broad for that. The Bar would have suited him in prac­ tice but not in principle, though he later acted as Marshal for his father-in-law. The field of education was not well- suited to his writing talents, but he made it his life-work despite its drudgery and scanty rewards. It was probably this idea of being a misfit that caused the note of despondency in his poems. His profession made unreasonable demands, but he by no means neglected his writing, and he soon established himself as a poet and was well on the way to securing his position as a critic.

Biographical References in His Poetry •

In some of his poems there are direct biographical references, largely descriptions of beautiful scenes he

2 Letters. II., p. 10. -33-

viewed on his travels. The seven poems on Switzerland and the short series,

"Faded Leaves," might contain much in the way of biographical background. There are references to "Marguerite," a French 3 girl who exercised a strong fascination over him.

7/hat appears on the surface is that the girl1 s affection - • ' . " 4 - flQCSed and that they parted by mutual agreement.

They probably met in 1846 at Thun, the scene of "The Terrace at Berne," written ten years later.

Ten years!— and to my waking eye Once more the roofs of Berne appear; The rocky banks, the terrace high, The stream!— and do 1 linger here?

And from the blue twin-lakes it comes. Flows by the town, the churchyard fair; , And ’neath the garden-walk it hums, 5 The house!— and is my Marguerite there?

Hugh Kingsmill suggests that she was not a person of indepen­

dent means,therefore not a gentlewoman in the strict Victorian sense, and that she was probably a governess or a teacher of

„ , 6 " .french.

The first year of their relationship is.dealt with in

"Parting." He describes Marguerite:

But on the stairs what voice is this I hear,

3 The Arnold family piously claimed that this girl did not exist and that the "Marguerite" poems were written, for the most part, to Arnold’s wife.

4 Sherman, On., Sit., p.56.

5 "The Terrace at Berne," p.187.

6 Kingsmill, Op. oit., p.74. -34-

Buoyant as.morning, and as morning clear? Say, has some wet bird-haunted English lawn Lent it the.music of its.trees at dawn? Or was it from some sun-flecked mountain brook 7 That the sweet voice its upland clearness took? But he knows it is hopeless:

Far,- far from each other Our spirits have grown. , And what heart knows another? Ahl who knows his own?6

Marguerite probably realized the predicament before Arnold did.

Days flew; and. soon I could discern A trouble in thine altered air: Thy hand lay languidly in mine," g Thy cheek was grave, thy speech grew rare.

And they parted company. Arnold found it hard to face real­

ity. Once he realized, she no longer,cared for him, he forgot

their "different. past*’ and felt his one hope had been to cake

her happy.

Vfe were apart: yet, day by day, I bade my heart more constant be. I bade it keep the world away, And grow a home for only thee; Nor feared but thy love likewise grow, iQ Like mine, each day, more tried, more true.

One poem in the "Faded Loaves" series brings out the

conflicting forces in Arnold's nature:

7 . "Parting," p.178.

8 , p.180. 9* "A Farewell," p.181.

10 • "Isolation ,n -p.1184. -35

Cone to me in icy dreams, and then By day I shall be viell again! For then the night will more than pay The hopeless longing of the day.

Oft,as thou never oaia1 st in sooth, ; TJono now, and let me dream it truth; And part my hair, and kiss my brow, - And say, h'y love l why sufferest thou?^^

But he complains:

This is the curse of life! that not A nobler, calmer train Of wiser thoughts and feelings blot Out passions from our brain.II. 12

Then there are verses referring to his father with much the same loving tribute contained in his letters.

Standing by his father's grave in Rugby Chapel, he enshrined in one poem a love for service: Coldly, sadly descends The autumn evening. The field Strewn with its dank yellow drifts Of withered leaves, and the elms, Fade into,dimness apace, 5 Silent; hardly a shout From a few boys late at their ploy! The lights come out in the street, In the schoolroom windows; but cold. Solemn,.unlighted, austere, Through the gathering darkness, arise The chapel-walls, in whose bound Thou, my father! art laid .... For fifteen years, We who till then in thy shade Rested as under the boughs

II. •"Longing," p.211.

12 ’-'Absence," p.186. —36—

Of e mighty oek, have endured Sunshine and rain as we might, Bare, unshaded, alone, Lacking the shelter of thee. ^ He becomes more exultant in his tribute:

And through these I believe In the noble and great who are gone; Pure souls honored and blest By former ages, who else-- Such, so soulless, so poor, Is the race of men whom I see-'— Seemed but a dream of the heart, Seemed but a cry of desire. • Yes! I believed that there lived Others like thee in the past. Not like the men of the crowd Y'ho all round me today Bluster or cringe, and make life Hideous and arid and vile; But souls tempered with fire, Fervent, heroic, and good. Helpers and friends of mankind. 4

Poet of Despair

He has been called a poet of despair, but I do not find him always.despairing. I believe a more prevailing note is his calm melancholy caused by a sense of impermanence.

But now I only hear Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar, Retreating, to the breath Of the night-wind, down the vast edges drear And naked shinnies of the world. ^

Idealism was one of his dominating qualities, which loft 14*13

13 "Rugby Chapel," p.412. 14 P.416.

15 "Dover Beach," p.214. 37-

him hopelessly sad. Ho aspired to the very highest, and his greatest desire was for peace and happiness, not

Where just men suffer wrong; Where sorrow treads on joy, Where sweet things soonest cloy, Where faiths are built on dust. Where love is half mistrust.1619 1718

In spite of his melancholy, he is smewhat stoic, not in his indifference to pa in but in his endurance of it. life may not be enjoyed always, but it must be endured because The world in which we live and move Outlasts aversion, outlasts love, Outlasts each effort, interest, hope. Remorse, grief, joy; and, were the scope Of these affections wider made, I Tan still would see, and see dismayed, Beyond his passion's widest range Far regions of eternal change.1”

At times, he is content to say.

Some are born to do great deeds and live, And some are born to be obscured and die.1®

There is a decided emphasis on ethical conduct * for with Arnold duty is supreme.

Him then I praise, who dares To self-selected good Prefer obedience to the primal law Which consecrates the ties of blood. ~

In "Empedocles on Etna" he is almost encouraging:

I say: Fear notl Life still Leaves human effort ....scope.

16 "Stagirius," p.38. 17 "Resignation," p.56.

18 "Sohrab and Rustum," p.84. 19 "Fragment of an ’Antigone" p.200. But since life teems with ill. Nurse no extravagant hope; Because thou must not dream, thou need’st not then despair.20 21

He confronted the dark problem of the grave, not with torture but with acquiescence to the order of the universe.

Make the most of this life first! In that spirit he wrote the sonnet to "Immortality":

Failed by our fellow-men, depressed, outworn. We leave the brutal world to take its way. And Patience! in another life, we say. The world shallTe thrus~t down, and we upborne.

And will not, then, the immortal armies scorn The world *s poor, routed leavings? or will they Who failed under the heat of this life's day Support the fervors of the heavenly morn?

No, no! the energy of life may be Kept on after the grave, but not begun; And he who flagged not in the earthly strife,

From strength to strength advancing— only he. His soul well-knit, and all his battles won, Mounts, and that hardly, to eternal llfe.21

Christianity

Phases of Christianity are the themes of many of his poems, and it is surprising that he was sympathetic with a faith that did not have his intellectual sanction. The second Obermann poem reflects Arnold's historical interests,

20 "Empedocles on Etna,” p.238.

21 "Immortality,” p.175. 39

contrasting Christianity t?ith the ancient world.

Ay, ages long endured his span Of life,— *tis true received,— That gracious Child, that thorn-crowned ten! — He lived while we believed.22

"The Buried Life" might lead us to believe Arnold was pro­ foundly religious, but his faith was not always strong, and he did not adhere to any one creed. In reconciling traditional faith and science, his tone is one of resignation.

He did not believe in the Church as a manifestation of Cod. Wisdom and goodness, they are God! 2322 24 25

At times he expressed a religious disillusionment even to the point of hopelessness.

Fools! That in man’s brief term He cannot all things view, Affords ho ground to affirm That there are gods who do; 2 4 Nor does being weary prove that he has where to rest.*"

But his beliefs were such that he faces death with serenity.

Hast man no second life: Pitch this one high! Sits there no Judge in heaven, our sin to see? More strictly, then, the inward judge obey! Was Christ a man like us? Ah! let us try If wo then, too, can be such men as ho! 25

In "Monica’s Last Prayer," he concluded, in the words of

Monica, that his grave need not be in a chosen spot, for

22 "Obermann Once More," p.444.

23 "The Divinity," p.175. 24 "Empedocles on Etna," p.236.

25 "The Better Part," p.174. ■40-

Everywhere heard will be the judgment-eall.26 27

She had longed for a burial at home, but before her death,

. To her pure soul : All tie with all beside seemed vain and cheap And union before God the only care.

And now, Arnold respects her memory.

Creeds pass, rites change, no altar standeth whole. Yet we her memory, as she preyed, will keep. Keep by this: Life in God, and union therel

Oxford, His Period of Youth

Love of Oxford fills Arnold's verse. "The picture is delightful, and the urging power of it is love— -the life-long

love of an Oxford scholar for the shelter and inspiration of

his youth. In no poems that Arnold wrote is his natural description better than it is in these."

As I have said in the previous chapter, the Traetarian

movement had little effect on Arnold • He admired Kewma'n, but he felt the main "movement of the mind" was not toward

cloistered refuge. In "The Grand Chartreuse," he described

a visit to a monastery. For rigorous teachers seized my youth. And purged its faith, and trimmed its fire. Showed me the high, white star of Truth, Then bade me gaze, and there aspire Even now their whispers pierce the gloom; What dost thou in this living tomb?28

26 "Monica’s Last Prayer," p.176. 27 Stopford Brooke, Four Victorian Poets (New York: G. P. Putnam’s Sons, 1906), p.1%9.

28 "The Grand Chartreuse," p.427. -41

The next stanzas are more vigorous: .

Forgive me, masters of the mindI At irtiose behest I long ago So much unlearned, so much resigned: I came not here to be your foe!

In "Dover Beach*' he further emphasized this, with the idea of a transition— a departure from the close, intellectual life to a critical but emotional life, yet to be formed.

The Sea of Faith Y;as once, too, at the full, and round earth’s shore Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furled. But now I only hear Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar, . Retreating, to the breath Of the night wind, down the vast.edgos drear And naked shingles of the world-2®

He felt that intellect and emotion cannot be combined, that "as the discipline of his feelings approached completion there was relatively little feeling left to discipline," ^0 and though he considered criticism necessary for more effective poetry, he laments the loss of his lyrical powers. In "Growing

Old" he asks:

What is it to grow old? Is it to lose the glory of the form. The lustre of the eye? Is it for beauty to forego her wreath? — Yes, but not this alone.

It is to spend long days, And not once feel that we were ever young; It is to add, immured In the hot prison of the present, month To month with weary pain. *29

29 "Dover Beach," p«214.

Sherman, op.clt., p.70.30 -42-

It is to suffer this. And feel but half , and feebly, what v/e feel. Deep In our hidden heart Festers the dull remembrance of a change. But no emotion,--none,31

This is easily reconciled with "Youthfs Agitations” written early in his life:

When I shall be divorced, some ten years hence. From this poor present self which I am now; : When youth has done its tedious vain expense Of passions that forever ebb and flow:

Shall I hot joy youthTs heats arc left behind And breathe more happy in an even clime? Ah, nol for then I shall begin to find A thousand virtues in this hated time,32

Again, in "The Progress of Poetry,” he says:

Youth rambles on life’s arid mount. And strikes the rock, and finds the vein. And brings the water from the fount,--. The fount which shall not flow again,33

Although an admirer of Wordsworth, Arnold did not share his attitude toward nature. Arnold’s is inconsistent and con­ flicting, pecularly characteristic of his temperament.

He loved its beauty,

In this lone, open glade I lie, Screened by deep boughs on either hand; And at its end, to stay the eye, Those black-crowned, red-boled pine-trees stand;* 343233 but he was awed by it and endeavored to reconcile it with

51 "Growing Old,” p.215,

32 "Youth’s Agitations,” p.36.

33 "The Progress of Poetry,” p.216.

34 "Kensington Gardens,” p.286. -43

science.

"In harmony with Nature?” Restless fool, T/ho with such heat dost preach what were to thee, When true, the last impossibility,— To be like. Nature .strong, like Nature cool.

Nature is fickle, man hath need of rest; Nature forgives no debt, and fears no grave; Han would be mild, and with safe conscience blest.

Han must begin, know this, where Nature ends; Nature and man can never be fast friends. Fool, if thou canst not pass her, let her slave 1 ^

Here, he is not the sportsman who liked trout fishing nor the traveller who loved misty Switzerland; he is the poet who admires Nature's endurance rather than her beauty.

In a few instances he followed Wordsworth:

He spoke, and loosed our hearts in tears. . H e laid us, as we lay at birth, On the cool flowery lap of earth, Smiles broke from us, and we had ease; The hills were round us, and the breeze Went o'er the sunlit fields again; Our,foreheads felt the wind and rain. Our youth returned, for there was shed On spirits that had long been dead, Spirits dried up and closely furled, The freshness of the early world.^

Thus he contemplates nature as an uplifting power.

But as he studies nature, he is filled with the desire for the peace and tranquility his work as Inspector had begrudged him. .

One lesson, Nature, let me learn of thee, Oiie lesson which in every wind is blown,35

35 ”In Harmony with Naturej” p.2.

36 "Memorial Verses," p;399i -44-

One lesson of two duties kept at one Though the loud world proclaim their enmity.

Cf toil unsevered from tranquillity; Of labor, that in lasting fruit outgrows Far noisier schemes, accomplished in repose. Too great for haste, too high for rivalry. *7

In other words, "Arnold feels that man needs not, and had better not, look to nature for moral guidance," 58 but

"after all, the effort and the earnestness of man are his

special human distinctions, the signs of his morality, the marks which show: his alliance with God."39

Poetic Criticism

It has been said that even as a critic, Arnold remained a poet, but I believe it is equally true that as a poet he possessed the qualities of a critic. He felt that poetry should be "less and less personal.

The poet, to whose mighty heart Heaven doth a quicker pulse impart, Subdues that energy to scan Not his own course, but that of man.-1

His poetic criticism is outstanding in "Obermann" and "Ober- mann Once Nora," written In commemoration of Senancour, the

37 "Cuiet Y'ork," p.l.

38 Sherman, op. cit.,

39 Ibid., p.85.

40 Letters, I., p.400.

41 "Resignation," p.54 -45

author of ’’Obennann.” . Written with a twenty years' interval between then, they reflect a spirit of change.

In its general tone, "Obermann" reflects Arnold's youth, ’’with its dream of a life spent neither in the world, nor out of it, a life of love without its pains, and medita­

tions without its ennui, and experience without its dis­

illusionment.42 4344

I turn thy leaves: I feel their breath Once more upon me roll; That air of languor, cold, and death, Which brooded o ’er thy soul.

Fly hence, poor wretch, whoe'er thou art, Condemned to cast about. All shipwreck in thy own weak heart, For comfort from withouti

A fever in these pages burns Beneath the - calm they feign; A wounded human spirit turns, ... Here, on its bed of pain.

To this youth, he addressed his last verse:

FarewellI Under the sky we part, In this stern Alpine dell. 0 unstrung will! 0 broken heart 1 A last, a last farewell.44

"Obermann Onco More” was written entirely in retrospect

and shows Arnold's imaginative powers.

And who but thou must be, in truth," Obermannl with me here?

42 Kingsmlll, ojq. cit.^ p.124.

43 "Obermann," pp.432-3.

44 P.435. —46—

Thou master of my wandering youth, But left this many a year!

Yes, I forget the world's work wrought. Its warfare waged with pain: An eremite with thee, in thought ... Once more I slip my chain,

And to the mountain chalet come, And lie beside its door, And hear the wild bee's AlpjLpe hum, And thy .sad, tranquil lore. Finally,

— The vision ended. I awoke As out of sleep, and no Voice moved; only the torrent broke The silence, far below.

Soft darkness on the turf did lie: Solemn, o'er hut and wood; In the yet.star-sown nightly sky. The peak of Jaman stood.

Still in my soul the voice I heard Of Obenaarm! Away I turned; .by some vague impulse stirred; Along the rocks of aye ,—

Fast Sonchaud's piny flanks I gaze, And the blanched summit bare Of Yalatrait, to where in haze The Valais opens fair.

And the domed Yelen, with his shows, .Behind the upcrowding hills. Doth all the heavenly opening close Which the Rhone’s murmur fills;

And glorious there, without a sound, Across the glimmering lake, High.in the Valais-depth profound, I saw the morning break.^

45 -"Obcrmann Once More," p.440.

46 "Obermann Once More," pp.449-450. III. ARNOLD THE CRITIC

The personality of Arnold the critic is entirely different from that of the sad, despondent writer of poetry. In his criticism he was confident, stimulating, and enlightening.

He was sure of his ground and broad in his views, and he combined simplicity of taste with keen analysis and intel-- ligent reasoning. He had a definite purpose, and he considered it a worthy one, as he wrote hiis mother,

I more and more become conscious of having something to do, and of the resolution to do it.l

Moreover, he was pleased with himself in this field:

It is very animating to think that one, at least has a chance at getting at the English public.2

This confidence in himself seems entirely justified, for he arose to great fame as a critic and materially advanced the art of literary criticism.

Views on the Function of Criticism

First, let us consider the function of criticism which

Arnold furthered. He believed it to be A disinterested endeavour to learn and propagate the best that is known and thought in the world.*3

1 Letters, p.400.

2 Letters, p.223.

3 MFunction of Criticism at the Present Time." Essays In Criticism, First Series, (London and New York: fcae- mTlian and Co•, 1896), p.38. -48-

It must be truthful and constructive.

Everybody would admit that a false or malicious criticism had better never have been written.4

He believed critical power to be of lower rank than the creative because "for the creation of a master-work of literature two powers must concur, the power of the man and the power of the moment."5 But he summarized the function of criticism:

It obeys an instinct prompting it to try to know the best that is known and thought in the world, irrespec­ tively of practice, politics, and everything of the kind; and to value knowledge and thought as they approach this best, without the intrusion of any other considerations whatever.6

Furthermore,

Its business is to do this with inflexible honesty, with due ability; and its business is to do no more, and to leave alone all questions of practical consequences and applications, questions which will never fail to have due prominence given to them.” '

Literary Insight and Critical Perception

His chief quality was his literary insight and his critical perception. His analysis was reasonable but discerning. ....

You will think I deal in nothing but negatives. I have been saying that Emerson is not one of the great poets.

4 Ibid., p.4.

5 Ibid., p.4.

6 Ibid., p.16

7 Ibid., P-19 -49-

the great writers. He has not their quality of style. He is, however, the propounder of a philosophy.8

In his essay On the Study of Celtic Literature, he evidenced a keen analysis of a situation.

In the first place, Europe tends constantly to become more and more one community, and we tend to become Europeans instead of merely Englishmen, Frenchmen, Germans, Italians; so whatever aptitude or felicity one people imparts into spiritual work, gets imitated by the others, and. thus tends to become the property of all. Therefore anything so beautiful and attractive as the natural magic I am speaking of, is sure, nowadays, if it appears in the productions of the Celts, or of the English, or of the French, to appear in the productions of the Italians; but there will be a stamp of perfect­ ness and iniicitableness about it in the literatures where it is native, which it will not have in the liter­ atures where it is not native.9 10

He combined this analytical power with a broad knowledge of literature, using the best of the classics as a basis for study of modern writing. Of translations, his judgment was unfailing, for he had an acquaintance with the original languages.

"Prose cannot have the power of verse," he wrote in his essay bn Miltons "Verse-translation may give whatever of charm is in .the soul and translator himself, but never the specific charm of the verse and poet translated.

8 "Emerson," Discourses in America. (London and New York: Macmillan and Co., 1894T• . 9 Lewis E. Gates, Selections from the Prose Writings of Matthew Arnold. (New York: Henry Holt and. Company, 1396), pi96. ¥tiis is a good example of his analysis, though Stuart Sherman, in his Matthew Arnold, suggests Arnold's "method of detecting the presence of 'Celtic Magic' in English poetry is itself a magical method." p.175.

10 "Milton," Essays in Criticism. Second Series.(London and New York: The MacmTTlan Co., 1898), p.66. 50-

In his essay On Translating Homer, he seemed more concerned with translators than translations, as he stated his main object was to advise the translator:

Try to affect Englishmen powerfully, as Homer affected Greeks powerfully; but this direction is not enough, and can give no real guidance. For all great poets affect their hearers powerfully, but the effect of one poet is one thing, that of.another poet another thing; it is our translator’s business to reproduce the effect of Homer.

His treatment of contemporary translations is typical of his procedure. . , .

It is well known how conscientiously literal is Cowper in his translation of Homer. It is well known how extravagant­ ly free is Pope.

Yet Pope’s translation is the more Homeric, "for it is more rapid", but "Pope fails to render Homer, because he does not render his plainness and directness of style and diction."!^

In another portion he subjected Pope to an even more rigid analysis:

It is very far from my wish to hold Pope up to ridicule, so I shall not quote the commencement of the passage, which in the original is of great and celebrated beauty, and in translating which Pope has been singularly and notoriously unfortunate.15

11 Lewis E. Cates, Selections from the Prose Writings of Matthew Arnold.(New York: henry Holt ami Company,1898) P #4:2 * la Ibid., p.51. '

13 Ibid., p# 52 * 14 Ibid., p.54.

15 Ibid., p *57 # ^ -51-

In his treatment of poets and. poetry I believe he Is

the most appreciative.

The grand power of poetry Is In Its Interpretative power; by which I mean, not a power of drawing out in black and white an explanation of the mystery of the universe, but the power of so dealing with things as to awaken in us a wonderfully full, new, and intimate sense of them, and of our relations with them.16

His claims for poetry were unusually high, but it must be remembered that the only poetry that interested him was great poetry.

Everyone can see that a poet . . .ought to know life and the world before dealing with them in poetry; and life and the world being in m o d e m times very complex things, the creation of a modern' poet, to be worth much, implies a great critical effort behind it; else it must be a comparatively poor, barren, and short-lived affair.16 17 He was convinced that .

More and more mankind will discover that we have to turn to poetry to.interpret life for us, to console us, to sustain us.18

For the most part, his judgments have stood the test of

time, for he consistently impressed the reader with the desire

to "make the best ideas prevail.*1^ Dryden and Pope he greatly

admired, but he did not regard them as inspired poets to be

16 "Maurice de Guerin," Essays in Criticism, First Series. (London and New York:" Macmillan arid Company, 1896), p.81.

17 "Function of Criticism at the Present Time," Op.clt., p . 6. 18 "The Study of Poetry." Essays in Criticism. Second Series. (London and New York: The Macmillan Co., 1898), p.2. ' ■ ■■■■

19 "Function of Criticism at tho Present Time," Op. clt.. p.6. -52-

compared with Chaucer, Milton, or Wordsworth. Though Gray lacks the "volume or the power of poets who, coming in times more favorable have attained to an independent criticism of life,"20 Arnold justly called him "our poetic classic of that literature and age."2^- .

Of Wordsworth he said: .

I admire Wordsworth, as he is, so much I cannot wish him different; and it is in vain, no doubt, to imagine such a man different from what he is, to suppose that he could have been different. But surely the one thing wanting to make Wordsworth an even greater poet than he is . . . was that he should have read more books, among them, no doubt, those of that Goethe whom .he disparaged without reading him.22 - :

With the same understanding and fairness ho said.of„Heine:

He is not an adequate interpreter of the modern world. He is only a brilliant soldier of the Liberation War of humanity. But such as he is, he is.in the European poetry of.that quarter of a century which follows the death of Goethe, Incomparably the most Important figure.23 ,

Of Milton, Arnold was appreciative but critically discerning.

. . That Milton, of all our English race, is by his diction and rhythm the one artist of the highest rank in the great style whom we have; this I take as requiring no discussion, this I take as certain. 4

20 "The Study of Poetry," op.clt., p.42. 21 loo. clt. 22 "Function of Criticism at the Present T i m e op.clt., P.7. . ' ' 23 "The Study of Poetry," o£. clt.. p.42.

24 "Milton." Essays in Criticism. Second Series. (New York and London: The Macmillan tio., 1898), p.63. •53-

He praised Gray: Knowledge, penetration, seriousness, sentiment, humour. Gray had them all...... Gray, with the qualities of mind and soul of a genuine poet, was isolated in his century

He compared Byron with Goethe, saying, "Goethe knew life and the world, the poet's necessary subjects, much more compre­ hensively and thoroughly than Byron."26 in the same essay he disposes of the poetry of part of his century with one sweep­ ing statement.

The English poetry of the first quarter of this century, with plenty of energy, plenty of creative force, did not know enough. This makes Byron so empty of matter, Shelley so incoherent, Wordsworth even, profound as he is, yet so wanting in completeness and variety.

Of his knowledge of Celtic literature, there is some doubt, though his judgment is reasonably sound. He knew little of the Celtic languages, but he allowed his taste to dominate and confined himself to capturing'-the intangible Celtic ;• spirit.

Observation of Life and Human Nature

In spite of this understanding and appreciation of writers and writing, Arnold was not merely a literary critic.

25 "Thomas Gray," Essays in Criticism, Second Series. P»92. 26 "Function of Criticism at the Present Time," op.cit., p.7.

27 Loc. clt. 54

His chief concern was in bringing literature before the public. In his criticism, as in his other writings, he was essentially an Englishman, and as such he endeavored to ,rpull out a few more stops in that powerful but at present somewhat " • ■ , 90 narrow-toned organ, the modern Englishman." His efforts centered around the desire to change or broaden English thought and to further English culture, and to do this he must combine li* " *' Mfe,

It was in this connectloji that he evolved the use of his best known terms, "Hellenism," "Hebraism," and "Philistinism."

The final aim of both Hellenism and Hebraism, as of all great spiritual disciplines, is no doubt the same: man's perfection or salvation.29 But ' . • , : ;

The uppermost idea with Hellenism is to see things as they really are; the uppermost idea with Hebraism is conduct and obedience.’30

He explained "Philistinism."

: Philistine must have originally meant, in the mind of those who invented the nickname, a strong, dogged, un­ enlightened opponent of the chosen people, of the children of light.31

Therefore

The man who regards the possession of the practical

28 Preface, Essays in Criticism, First Series, p.vli.

29 Culture and Anarchy. (New York: The Macmillan Co., 1902),p.116.

30 Ibid., p.lll. 31 "Heinrich Hein®." Essays in Criticism, First Series. p.168 -55

conveniences as something sufficient in itself, something which compensates for the absence or surrender of the idea, of reason, is . a Philistine.*^

But according to Arnold, the term had an even deeper meaning:

It is the same fashion of teaching a man to value himself not on what he is, not on his progress in sweetness and light, but on the number of railroads he has constructed, or the bigness of the tabernacle he has built. . . . But teaching the democracy to put its trust in achievements of this kind is merely training them to be Philistines to take the place of the Philistines whom they are super­ seding; and they too, like the middle class, will be encouraged to sit down at thb banquet of the future without having on a wedding garment, and nothing excellent can then come from them.53

"Culture is Hellenism-for Arnold,wrote John Burroughs the year of Arnold’s death, and he wrote truly, for Arnold was distinctly a Hellenist both in his views of literature and his outlook on English life. To see things as they really are % That was the basis for all his critical writings.

To try and approach truth on one side after another, not to strive or cry, nor to persist in pressing forward, on any side, with violence and self-will,— it is only thus, it seems to me, that mortals may hope to gain any vision of the mysterious Goddess, whom we shall never see except in outline, but only thus even in outline.32 333435

As such he descended to the arena to fight the Philistine.

Philistinism:— we have not the expression in English. Perhaps we have not the word because we have so much of

32 Ibid., p.165.

33 Culture and Anarchy, p.32.

34 John Burroughs, "Matthew Arnold," Century, 14:185, 1888# ... 35 Preface, Essays in Criticism, FirstSeries, p.v. the thing. At Soli, I Imagine, they did not talk of. solecisme; and here, at;the very headquarters of Goliath, nobody talks of Philistinism. The French have adopted the term eplcler (grower).; to designate the sort of being whom the tiermans designate by the term Philistine; but the French term,— besides that it casts a slur upon a respectable class, composed of living and susceptible members, •while the original Philistines are dead and buried long ago,— is really, I think, in itself much less apt and expressive than the German term. Efforts have been made to obtain in English some term equivalent to Phillster or eplcler; „ Mr. Carlyle has made several such efforts: "respectability with its thousand gigs," . he says . . . .However, the word respectable is far too valuable a word to be thus perverted from its proper meaning; if the English are ever to have a word for the thing we are speaking of, . . I think we had.much better take the term Philistine Itself. 856

In weakening the morale of the Philistine, he had a definite theory of culture, in which he included an increase

in vital knowledge, combined v;ith literature. He respected

science, but he felt it was inadequate, for it tends to develop only fine observation and highly formed intellect;

therefore he urged literary training to increase imaginative

power. ' ' . ' ■

Of the beliefs he carried over from his verse, the most

important are those relating to religious questions. He

never ceased to vnite them with social conduct. He was not

deeply religious in traditional faith, but he combined re­

ligion with culture, M a study of perfection."^ And religion, the greatest and most important of the efforts by which the human' race has manifested its impulse 3637

36 "Heinrich Heine,” 0£. clt.. p.163.

37 Culture and Anarchy, p.112. -57-

to perfect Itself, . . . does not only enjoin and sanction the aim of sotting ourselves to ascertain what perfection is and make It prevail; but also, in deter­ mining generally In what human perfection/ consists, religion comes to a conclusion identical with that which culture. . .likewise reaches. Religion says: The kingdom of God is within you; and culture, in YiKe manner places human perfection in an internal condition.38 39

His remarks were curt and almost irreverent at times, but he had a definite idea of religious‘truth.

It is a result of no little culture to attain to a clear perception that science and religion are two wholly different things...... There is truth of science and truth of religion; truth of science does not become truth of religion until it is made religion. And I will add: Let us have all the . science there Is from the men of science; from the men of religion let us have religion.3®

It was his purpose to bring out the great truth in Christian­ ity. In his treatment of the Bible as literature, he was strong in his belief that religion has as real and definite a place in life as poetry.

I write to convince the lover of religion that by follow­ ing habits of intellectual seriousness he need not, so far as religion is concerned, lose anything.*0

In God and the Bible, he reflected his attitude toward creeds:

The reader whom the present work has in view is not the man still striving to be content with the received

38 Culture and Anarchy, p.10.

39 ”Function of Criticism at the Present Time." op. cit., p.28.

40 Preface, God and the Bible. (New York: The Macmillan Co., 1924), p.xxxiv. 58-

theology. With him we do not seek to meddle. Neither Is it intended for a frivolous upper class in their relig­ ious insensibility, nor for the raw lower class in their religious insensibility, nor for the Liberal secularists at home or abroad, nor for Catholics who are strangers, or nearly so, to the Bible. Some of all of these may perhaps come to find the work useful to them one day, and after they have undergone a change; but it is not directly aimed at them. It is meant for those who, won by the modern spirit to habits of intellectual serious- ness, cannot receive what sets these habits at nought, and will not try to force themselves to do so; but who have stood near enough to the Christian religion to feel the attraction which a thing so very great, when one" stands really near to it, cannot but exercise, and vho have some acquaintance with the Bible and some practice in using it.41

This attitude is again portrayed in an incident cited by

Mr. Sherman: MA friend, on hearing of Arnold’s death, said

’Poor Arnold! He won’t like God!” 142

In his poetry he approached nature with religious awe, but in his criticism he had the tone of a self-assured critic.

In the second place, there are many ways of handling nature, and we are here only concerned with one of them,; but a rough-and-ready critic imagines that it is all the same so long as Nature is handled at all, and fails to draw the needful distinction between modes of handling her. But these modes are many; I will mention four of them now: there is the conventional way of handling nature, there is the faithful way of handling nature, there is the Greek way of handling nature, there is the magical way of handling nature. In all these three last the eye is on the object, but with a difference; In the faithful way of handling nature, the eye is on the object, and that is all you can say; in the Greek, the eye is on the object, but lightness and brightness are added; 4142

41 Ibid., p.xxxi.

42 ' Stuart Sherman, Matthew Arnold, How to Know Him. (Indianapolis: Bobbs-Merill Co., 1917)," p.274. ' ' . • * - - / -59

in the magical, the eye is on the object, but charm and magic are added. In the conventional way of handling nature, the eye is not on the object; what that means we all know, we have only to think of our eighteenth century poetry . . . to call up any number of instances.-3

With the same scrutiny he observed the panorama of

English life,, with a swelling interest in society, education, and politics. In all, he exercised the same discrimination evidenced in his judgment of literature.

The Englishman has been called a political animal, and he values what is political and practical so much that ideas easily become objects of dislike in his eyes, and thinkers "miscreants," because ideas and thinkers have rashly meddled with politics and practice. This would be all very well if the dislike and neglect confined • themselves to ideas transported out of their own sphere, • and meddling rashly with practice; but they are inev­ itably extended to ideas as such, and to the whole life of intelligence; practice is everything, a free play of the mind is nothing.43 44 45

His judgment was not wholly without prejudice, however, for he was conscious of class distinctions almost to a point of snobbery. He spoke to a select audience, and when he con­ sidered the masses, it was with a view to enlighten them.

In Culture and Anarchy, he divided society into three classes: 45 Barbarians, Philistines, and Populace. This prejudice must

43 Lewis E. Gates, Selections from the Prose Writings of Matthew Arnold. pp.97-6.

44 . "Function of Criticism at the Present Time," op. cit., p«16.

45 This same prejudice sometimes led him to give utter­ ance to perverse opinions in literature. "When he tells us, for example, that Shelley’s prose is better than his poetry, we can only say with Swinburne that it would not take many such dicta to ruin the reputation of a critic." 171111am Morton Payne, The Greater English Poets of the -60-

not be confused with his strong sense of duty, which was

Intensified by his loyalty and his belief that only by honest

criticism could defects be repaired. He had reasonable res­

pect for authority and established reputation, but his loyalty did not blind him to defects or deter him from exposing them.

x If England were swallowed up by the sea tomorrow, which of the two, a hundred years hence, would most excite the love, interest, and admiration of mankind,— would most, therefore, show the evidences of having possessed great­ ness , — the England of the last twenty years, or the England of Elizabeth, of a time of splendid effort, but when our coal, and our industrial operations depending on coal, were very little developed? Well, then, what an unsound habit of mind it must be which makes us talk of things like coal or iron as constituting the greatness of England, and how salutary a friend is culture, bent on seeing things as they are, and thus dissipating de­ lusions of this kind and fixing standards of perfections that are real...... But bodily health’and vigour, it may be said, are not to be classed with wealth and population as mere machinery; they have a more real and essential value. True; but only as they are more intimately connected with a perfect spiritual condition than wealth or population ere.46

In the same manner, he regarded other forms of English life.

Every one knows the British College of Health; it is that building with the lion and the statue of the Goddess Hygeia. This building does credit, perhaps, to the re­ sources of Dr. Morrison and his disciples; but it falls a good deal short of oneTa idea of what a British College of Health ought to be* In England, where we hate public interference and love individual enterprise, we have a whole crop of places like the British College of Health; the grand name without the grand thing. 746

Nineteenth Century.(New York: Henry Holt and Co., 1907), p.H'80. ~ *

46 Lewis B. Gates. Selections from the Prose Writings of Matthew Arnold, pp.166-7.

47 •’Function of Criticism at the Present Time," op. cit., p.32. - ~ -61-

V/ith the eye of a critic he viewed current affairs. In one instance particularly, he was deeply moved by a newspaper account.

"A shocking child murder has just been committed at Nottingham. A girl named V.ragg left the workhouse there Saturday morning with her young illegitimate child. The child was soon afterwards found dead on Mapperly Kills, having been strangled. V/ragg is in custody." Nothing but that; but, in juxtaposition with the absolute eulogies of Sir Charles Adderly and Mr. Roebuck, how eloquent, how suggestive are those few lines* "Our old Anglo-Saxon breed, the beat in the whole worldl"— how much that is harsh and lllfavoured there is in this best! Wraggt If we are to talk of ideal perfection, of "The best in the whole world," has any one reflected what a touch of grossness in our race, what an original short­ coming in the more delicate spiritual perceptions, is shown by the natural growth amongst us of such hideous names,-- Higginbottom, Stiggins, Buggl . . . And "our; unrivalled happiness";— what an element of grimness, bareness, and hideousness mixes with it and blurs it; the workhouse, the dismal Mapperly Kills,— how dismal those who have seen them will remember;— the gloom, the smoke, the cold, the strangled illegitimate child! . . . And the . final touch,— short, bleak, and inhuman: V/ragg is in custody.48

Nowhere is his loyalty to England brought out more dis­ tinctly than in his reference to Oxford, "home of lost causes and forsaken beliefs, and unpopular names, and impossible loyalties."^9

Beautiful city! so venerable, so lovely, so unravaged by the fierce intellectual life of our century, so serene! . . . And yet, steeped in sentiment as she lies, spread­ ing her garden to the moonlight, and whispering from her towers the last enchantment of the Middle Age, who will 48

48 "Function of Criticism at the Present Time," op. cit., pp.23-4.

49 Preface, Essays in Criticism, First Series.,pp.x-xl -62-

deny that Oxford, by her ineffable charm, keeps ever calling us nearer to the true goal of all of us, to the ideal, to perfection,— to beauty, in a word, which is only truth seen from another side,— nearer, perhaps, than all the science of Tugingen. Adorable dreamer, whose heart has been so romantic 1 who hast given thyself so prodigally, given thyself to sides and to heroes not mine, only never to the PhilistinesJ^O

A few pages later he - commented, on the strong effect of Oxford on his criticism.

Proud as I am of my connection with the University of Oxford, I can truly say, that knowing how unpopular a task one is undertaking when one tries to pull out a few more stops in that powerful but at present somewhat narrow-toned organ, the modern Englishman, I have always sought to stand by myself, and to compromise others as little as possible...,. « However, it is not merely out of modesty that I prefer to stand alone, and to concentrate on myself, as a plain citizen of the republic of letters, and not as an office bearer in a hierarchy, the whole responsibility for all I write; it is much more out of genuine devotion to the University of Oxford, for which I feel, and always must feel, the fondest, the most reverential attachment.

His prejudice undoubtedly affected his appreciation of

America, for he displayed an unusual tendency to generalize.

In the following essay it will be seen how our society distributes itself into Barbarians, Philistines, and Populace; and America is just like ourselves, with the Barbarians quite left out, and the Populace nearly. This leaves the Philistines for the great bulk of the nation; a livelier sort of Philistine than ours, and with the pressure and false ideal of our Barbarians taken away, but left all the more to himself and to have his full swing. . . . From Maine to Florida, and back again, all America Hebraises .5<' *5051

50 Loc. cit.

51 Preface. Essays in Criticism, First Series, pp. vii : viii. . ' - . :■ 52 Culture and Anarchy, p.xxiv. •63

But in dealing with Emerson, he gave evidence of admiration combined with severe judgment.

To us at Oxford Emerson was but a voice speaking from three thousand miles away. But so well he spoke, that from that time forth Boston Bay and Concord were names invested to my ear with a sentiment akin to that which invests for me the names of Oxford and of Weimar. . . . At last I find myself in EmersonTs own country, and looking upon Boston Bay. Naturally I revert to the friend of my youth. It is not always pleasant to ask oneself questions about the friends of one's youth; they cannot always well support it. . . . 7,’hen I come to this country, where Emerson now counts for so much, and where such high claims were made for him, I pull myself together, and ask myself what the truth about this object of my youthful admiration really is . . . . 1 set myself, therefore, resolutely to come at a real estimate of Emerson, and with a leaning even to strictness rather than indulgence.

Repetition and Use of Stock Phrases

Probably the most prevalent and the best known of Arnold's characteristics is his repetition and use of stock phrases.

This is apparently confined to his criticism, for it does not occur in his poetry and is noticeable in his letters only when dealing with his work as a critic.

His use of "Hebraism,n "Hellenism," and "Philistinism" has been mentioned previously, and it should be noticed especially that the terms, sometimes similar to nick-names, have well-defined meanings. In no case did he apply them carelessly. He used them because they expressed the idea; 53

53 Discourses in America, (London and New York: Mae millan and Co., 1594),.ppT 146-6. \ 64-

never did he indulge in style for its own sake. He included the terms in such a way that they became a pert of his per­ sonality. He frequently repeated whole statements from his other writings as if to say, "I have used that before, and

I still like it:

Many objections have been made to a proposition which, in some remarks of mine on translating Homer, I ventured to put forth; a proposition about criticism, and its importance at the present day. I said: Mftf _the literature of France and Germany, as of the literature of Europe in general, the main effort, for now cany years, nas been a critical effort; the endeavour, in all branches of knowledge, theology, philosophy, history, art, science, to see the object as In itself It really is.” I added, that owing to the operation in English literature of certain causes, "almost the last thing for which one would come to English literature is just the very thing which now Europe most desires,— criticism"; and that the power and value of English literature was thereby Impaired.54

This repetition of phrases, as well as their aptness, had much to do with securing their place In the public memory.

It was the result of an effort to write down to his public; he should not confuse them by using different terms, especially when he was fond of the terms he had used.

Of the "grand style" he says:

Nothing has raised more questioning among my critics than these words,— noble * the grand style. People com- . plain that I do not define these words sufficiently, that I do not tell them enough about them. "The grand style, — but what the grand style?"— they cry; some with an inclination to believe in it, but puzzled; others mock­ ingly and with incredulity. Alas I the grand style is the last matter in the world for verbal definition to deal with adequately.55

54 "Function of Criticism at the Present Time," op. cit., p. 1«

55 Celtic Literature. p.102. -65-

By the use of the word "magic” he captured the feeling in

Celtic literature:

The Celt's quick feeling for what is noble and distinguished gave his poetry style; his indomitable ' personality gave it pride and passion; his sensibility and nervous exaltation gave it a better gift still, the gift of rendering with wonderful felicity the magical charm of nature. . . . Magic is just the word for. it,— the magic of nature; not merely the beauty of nature,— that the Greeks and Latins had; not merely an honest smack of the soil,a faithful realism,— that the Germans had; but the intimate life of Nature, her weird power and her fairy charm. 6

Intellectuality and ."Superciliousness."

The attempt to place himself on a level with his readers has caused him to be characterized as "supercilious" and "dog­ matic." Lewis Gates compares Arnold and his writing to a man with a "strut in his gait,"56 57but he explains it by saying,

"Arnold has a keen consciousness of the very stupid beast of

Philistinism lying In wait for him; and in the stress of the moment he is guilty of a little exaggeration of manner; he is 58 just a shade unnatural in his flippancy."

He undervalued himself playfully, assured us he was an

"unpretending writer, without a philosophy based on inter­

dependent, subordinate, and coherent principles." He talked

56 Ibid., p.120.

57 Lewis E. Gates, Selections from the Prose "'ritings of Matthew Arnold. (New York:" Henry Holt and Company, 1598), p.i.

58 Ibid., p.lx. — 66—

to us in an elaborate tone, taking great pains to assure us we are his equals but knowing full well we would not believe ourselves to be. By this, he placed himself on an even higher plane, taking delight in his intellectual isolation,

— and we listen attentively to the Mprophet in evening dress.

The smallness of my own acquaintance with the disciplines of natural science is ever before my mind, and I am fearful of doing these disciplines an injustice.5960 *

In one instance, however, when mentioning his lack,of under­ standing of Celtic literature, he might be making a sincere apology:

He ftdr. Newman] proceeds to discuss my statements at great length, and with an erudition and ingenuity which nobody can admire more than I do. And he ends by saying that my ignorance is great. Alas! that is very true. Much as Mr. Newman was mistaken when he talked of my rancour, he is entirely right when he talks of my ignorance. . . . And yet, per­ verse as it seems to say so, I sometimes find myself wishing, when dealing with these matters of poetical criticism, that.my ignorance were even greater than it is. To handle these matters properly there is needed a poise so perfect that the least overweight in any direction tends to destroy the balance. . . . With this consciousness of my lack of learning,— nay, this sort of acquiescence in it, with this belief that for the labourer in the field of poetical criticism learning has its disadvantages,— I am likely to dispute with Mr. Newman about matters of erudition.

His mention of himself in Friendship's Garland is marked by stinging humor.

59 C. H. Herford, "Matthew Arnold as a Prophet," Living Age, 316:353, 1923.

60 Discourses in America, p.100.

61 Celtic Literature, p.264 Lastly, I mentioned Mr. Matthew Arnold. I hope I rate' this poor soul's feeble and•rambling•performances at their proper value; but I am bound to say that at the mention of his name Arminius showed signs of tenderness. "Poor fellow!" sighed he; "he had a soft head, but I valued his heart. Tell him I leave him my ideas,— the easier ones; and advise him from me," he added, with a faint smile, "to let his Dissenters go to the devil in their own way I m6<5

Satire

His humor occasionally becomes cool satire,.and in these cases, I believe we glimpse Arnold at his best. Here he evidences most strongly his knowledge of the English people.

He knew them to be complacent and self-satisfied, not easily moved by passionate, revolutionary appeals to the masses; furthermore he is himself an Englishman, not given to emo­ tional appeals. Ridicule therefore is an admirable weapon— in the use of which Arnold is most proficient. He indulged in an occasional flourish that would lead us to believe he wrote much for his own enjoyment as for the message he wished.to convey.

Frequently his ridicule was subtle. He did not sugar- coat his Judgments, but "he. delivered his indictment with an urbanity so exquisite that every hearer felt himself implicitly exempted from the charge."63 62*

62 Lewis'B.'Gates, op. cit., p.252.

63 C. H. Herford, op. cit., p.353. -68-

His satirical tone was especially well suited to his replies to his contemporaries.

Mr. Wright, one of the many translators of Homer, has published & letter to the Dean of Canterbury, complaining of some remarks of mine, uttered not a long while ago, on his version of the Iliad. One cannot be always.study­ ing one’s own works, and 1 wes really under the impression, until I saw Mr. Wright’s complaint, that I had spoken of him with all respect. The reader may judge of my aston­ ishment, therefore, at finding, from Mr. Wright’s pamphlet, that I had "declared with much solemnity:that there is not any proper reason for his existing;" That I never said; but, on looking back at my Lectures on Translating Homer, I find that I did say, not that Mr. Wright, but that Mr. Wright’s version of the Iliad, repeating in the main the merits and defects of Cowper’s version, as ' Mr. Sotheby’s repeated those of Pope's version, had, if I might be pardoned for saying so, no proper reason for existing. Elsewhere I expressly spoke of the merit of his version; but I confess that the phrase, qualified as I have shown, about its want of a proper reason for existing, I have used.

Rebuked by one of his critics for the humor with which he treated serious subjects, Arnold justified himself in the preface to his first volume of the Essays in Criticism: AVe are none of us likely to be lively much longer. My vivacity is but the last sparkle of flame before we are all in the dark, the last glimpse of colour before we ell go into the drab, the drab of the earnest, prosaic, prac­ tical, austerely literal future. Yes, the world will soon be the Philistines, and then with every voice out of thunder silenced, and the whole earth filled and ennobled every morning by the magnificent roaring of the young lions of the Daily Telegraph, we shall all yawn at one another’s faces with the dismallest, the most unimpeach­ able gravity.64 65

64 Preface, Essays in Criticism; First Series, p.vi.

65 Ibid, p.vii. -69

.He delighted in quarrels v/ith newspapers.

Now for my part I do not wish to see men of culture asking to be entrusted with power; and, indeed, I have freely said, that in my opinion the speech most proper, at present, for a man of culture to make to a body of his fellow-countrymen who get him into a committee-room, is Socrates’s: Know thyselfI and this is not a sppech to be made by men wanting to be entrusted with power. For this very indifference to direct political action I have been taken to task by the Daily Telegraph, coupled, by a strange perversity of fate, with just that very one of the Hebrew prophets whose style I admire the least, , and called "an elegant Jeremiah.” It is because I say . (to use the words which the Daily Telegraph puts in my mouth): "You mustn’t make a fuss because you have no vote,-— that is vulgarity," you mustn’t hold big meetings to agitate for reform bills end to repeal corn laws,— that is the very height of .vulgarity,^— it is for this reason that I am called sometimes an elegant Jeremiah, sometimes a spurious Jeremiah, a Jeremiah about■the reality of whose mission the writer in the Daily Telegraph has his doubts. It is evident, therefore, that I have so taken my line as not to be exposed to the whole brunt of Mr. Frederic Harrison’s censure.®® = -

Arnold’s imagination was most active when he assumed a malicious tone, and one of his most effective means was his use of an imaginative scene in which sane ludicrous character­

istic of his opponent might be held up to ridicule. The first chapter of Culture and Anarchy evidences this ability. Con­ demning the feeling toward "mere bodily health and vigour," he says:

Why, one has heard people fresh from reading certain articles of the Times on the Registrar General’s returns of marriages and births in this country, who would talk of our large English families in quite a solemn strain, as if they had something in itself, beautiful, elevating, and meritorious in them; as if the British Philistine would have only to present himself before the Great Judge with

66 Culture and Anarchy, p.2. -70-

his twelve children, in order to he received among the sheep as a matter of right.

It is amusing to note his satire that takes a biblical turn. He knew Bible phraseology and was sure of his readers* familiarity with it; therefore its effectiveness was assured.

Discussing the grand style, he said:

One may say of it as is said in faith: "One must feel it in order to know what it is." But, as of faith, so too one may say of nobleness, of the grand style: "Woe to those who know it notl". . . For those, then, who ask the ques­ tion,— What is the grand style?— with sincerity, I will try to make some answer, inadequate as it must be. For those who ask it mockingly I have no answer, except to repeat to them, with compassionate sorrow, the Gospel words: "You must die in your sins."®"

This familiarity with biblical and ancient terms is one of the many examples of the wide reading knowledge which made his criticism different from that of other writers. Arnold the critic based his Judgments on his own doctrines, far removed from pedantry, system, and academic conventions but deriving some benefit from all of them.

His personality is so much a part of his writing style that we should believe he was thinking aloud, but on further examination, we find it plainly evident that he maintained a critical view, just and deliberate but full of personal feeling and detailed observations. As Mr. Brownell says,

67 Ibid., p.17.

68 Celtic Literature. (New York: The Macmillan Co., 1898), p.264. -71-

In any theme of Arnold's one is interested in how he takes it, how it is conceived, exhibited, enforced, in the way in which its own intrinsic interest is unfolded, in the adap­ tation itself of the means to the end...... He has the style, if not of a great writer, at least, of an admirable, a unique, literary artist.be -

69 V/. c. Brownell, Victorian Prose Masters. (New York: Charles Scribner's Sons, 1902), p.lvl. G. Conclusion

An attempt to bring out the personality of Matthew Arnold through his writings leads to a two-fold general conclusion. First, a distinct part of his character is re­ vealed by each of the three types of work discussed in this

study, severally so different that to read them is like read­

ing the work of three men. Second, in order to portray the complete charm of his character, a knowledge of all three

types is necessary. I mentioned previously the tendency of

critics and readers to judge only one side of Arnold, but

it is plain to be seen that his manner was so much a part of his writing that a study of any one phase will not suffice.

It is evident thet he was a man of two distinct moods: in his poetry he was despondent, reflecting the despair of a man who was out of place and of an age whose faith had been

shaken by science; in his prose he was light-hearted and ban­

tering, supercilious and enlightening, satirical and buoyant.

His poetry and prose portray a marked conflict in his attitude

toward life, for in his poetry, written during the uncertain

years of his early manhood, he faced life with acquiescence,

but in his criticism, written during his mature years, he

contemplated change and reform. In his letters, extending

over both periods, he reflected the moods and conflicts of

both. Undoubtedly this difference in moods was due to the period in which Arnold wrote. Writing the poetry and the prose at separate times in his life, he addressed two gen­ erations, and since he made himself a part of those generations his views changed as well. He wrote verse during the period when he was struggling for reputation; he wrote prose after he had caught the public ear, when he was sure of himself and sure of his readers. In other 7,0 rds, Arnold the poet seemed to fear ridicule, while Arnold the critic amused him­ self by it. His popularity as a critic was partly due to his opportuneness; he appeared when the English public needed him most.

Detailed examination points out that certain striking similarities exist, especially in expressions of conflict. The poetry expressed an emotional conflict, futile and melancholy, but the criticism voices an intellectual conflict, cold and reasoning. There is a common interest in religion and in science but different means of expressing it. In the verse and the criticism he portrayed a passing interest in human nature; in the letters he observed it but did not probe into it. All three types present problems of. varied kinds: the letters discuss problems as matters of personal interest; the poetry presents then as an outlet for intense.feeling; the criticism faces situations squarely and offers practical solutions. All have the same high, firm courage. -74-

Arnold’s activities were as varied and numerous as they were eminent. As letter-writer, poet, and critic, he attained a degree of excellence, and each type of writing reveals cer­ tain dominant traits of his character. In all three types, his greatest strength was in the fact that he knew what he wanted to say and allowed his style and expression to follow his thought. BIBLIOGRAPHY -76

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