Appendix: Overview of the Complete Works of William Hazlitt

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Appendix: Overview of The Complete Works of William Hazlitt

In his early ‘Character of Mr. Burke,’ Hazlitt remarks that ‘there is no single speech which can convey a satisfactory idea of his powers of mind: to do him justice, it would be necessary to quote all his works; the only specimen of Burke is, all that he wrote’ (WH 7.301; emphasis added). A similar specter of the mathematical sublime might be invoked in regard to Hazlitt’s own writing, spread as it is over seemingly innumerable articles across a variety of genres. Given the fragmentary nature of Hazlitt’s œuvre, and the frequency with which he draws on and partially reprints his own earlier work, I append the following index of his writing to provide a detailed overview of the place of his writings in this study. (For a complete listing of Hazlitt’s titles, see WH 21.xi–xxi.)

Volume 1: An Essay on the Principles of Human Action, 1–91 (1805).

Volume 4: The Round Table (1817): ‘On Milton’s “Lycidas,”’ 31–6. (Examiner 6 Aug. 1815) ‘On Milton’s Versiﬁcation,’ 36–41. (Examiner 20 Aug. 1815) ‘On Gusto,’ 77–80. (Examiner 26 May 1816) ‘On Poetical Versatility,’ 151–3. (Examiner 22 Dec. 1816; ‘Illustrations of the Times Newspaper’ [7.142–4]) ‘Observations on Mr. Wordsworth’s Poem The Excursion,’ 111–25. (Examiner 21, 28 Aug., 2 Oct. 1814; see also 19.9–24) Characters of Shakespear’s Plays (1817): Preface, 171–8. ‘Julius Caesar,’ 195–9. ‘Coriolanus,’ 214–21. (Examiner 15 Dec. 1816; see also 5.347–50) ‘The Tempest,’ 238–44. ‘Henry V,’ 285–91.

Volume 5: Lectures on the English Poets (1818): ‘On Poetry in General,’ 1–18. ‘On Shakespeare and Milton,’ 44–68. ‘On the Living Poets,’ 143–68. A View of the English Stage (1818): ‘Mr. Kean’s Shylock,’ 179–80. (Morning Chronicle 27 Jan. 1814) ‘“Comus,”’ 230–3. (Examiner 11 June 1815) ‘Mr. Kemble’s King John,’ 345–7. (Examiner 8 Dec. 1816)

198 Appendix 199

‘Coriolanus,’ 347–50. (Examiner 15 Dec. 1816; see also 4.214–21) ‘Mr. Kemble’s Retirement,’ 374–9. (Times 25 June 1817)

Volume 6: Lectures on the English Comic Writers, 1–168. (1819) Lectures on the Dramatic Literature of the Age of Elizabeth, 169–364. (1820)

Volume 7: Political Essays (1819): Preface, 7–22. (Feb. 1819) ‘Mr. Southey, Poet Laureat,’ 24–5. (Morning Chronicle 18 Sept. 1813) ‘Mr. Southey’s New-Year’s Ode,’ 25–7. (Morning Chronicle 8 Jan. 1814) ‘The Lay of the Laureate,’ 85–96. (Examiner 7 July 1816) ‘Mr. Coleridge’s Lay Sermon,’ 114–18. (Examiner 8 Sept. 1816) ‘Mr. Coleridge’s Statesman’s Manual,’ 119–28. (Examiner 29 Dec. 1816) ‘Mr. Coleridge’s Lay Sermon,’ 128–9. (Examiner 12 Jan. 1817) ‘Illustrations of the Times Newspaper (On Modern Apostates),’ 131–7. (Examiner 15 Dec. 1816) ‘Illustrations of the Times Newspaper (On Modern Lawyers and Poets),’ 137–45. (Examiner 22 Dec. 1816; see also 4.151–3) ‘The Times Newspaper (On the Connexion Between Toad-Eaters and Tyrants),’ 145–52. (Examiner 12 Jan. 1817) ‘Wat Tyler and the Quarterly Review,’ 168–76. (Examiner 9 March 1817) ‘The Courier and Wat Tyler,’ 176–86. (Examiner 30 March 1817) ‘Mr. Southey’s Letter to William Smith, Esq.,’ 186–208. (Examiner 4, 11, 18 May 1817) ‘Character of Mr. Burke,’ 226–9. (‘Coleridge’s Literary Life,’ Edinburgh Review Aug. 1817 [16.115–38]; Champion 5 Oct. 1817) ‘Character of Mr. Burke, 1807,’ 301–13. (The Eloquence of the British Senate, 1807)

Volume 8: Table-Talk (1821/22): ‘The Indian Jugglers,’ 77–89. ‘On Living to one’s-self,’ 90–101. ‘On Paradox and Common-Place,’ 146–56. ‘On Milton’s Sonnets,’ 174–81. (New Monthly Magazine March 1822) ‘On Criticism,’ 215–26. ‘On Effeminacy of Character,’ 248–55.

Volume 9: ‘A Reply to Z,’ 1–10 (1818). A Letter to William Gifford, Esq., 12–59 (1819).

Volume 10: Notes of a Journey Through France and Italy (1826): Chapter 20, ‘English and Foreign Manners,’ 241–52. (Examiner 1 May 1825) 200 Appendix

Volume 11: The Spirit of the Age (1825): ‘William Godwin,’ 16–28. ‘Mr. Coleridge,’ 28–38. ‘Mr. Southey,’ 78–86. ‘Mr. Wordsworth,’ 86–95. ‘Sir James Mackintosh,’ 95–103. ‘Mr. Gifford,’ 114–26. ‘Mr. Jeffrey,’ 126–34.

Volume 12: The Plain Speaker (1826): ‘On the Prose-Style of Poets,’ 5–17. (Aug. 1822) ‘On Reading Old Books,’ 220–9. (London Magazine Feb. 1821) ‘On the Difference Between Writing and Speaking,’ 262–79. (London Magazine July 1820)

Volume 16: Contributions to the Edinburgh Review: ‘Coleridge’s Lay Sermon,’ 99–114. (Dec. 1816) ‘Coleridge’s Literary Life,’ 115–38. (Aug. 1817) ‘The Periodical Press,’ 211–39. (May 1823) ‘Shelley’s Posthumous Poems,’ 265–84. (July 1824)

Volume 17 (Uncollected Essays): ‘On Consistency of Opinion,’ 22–34. (London Magazine Nov. 1821) ‘The Fight,’ 72–86. (New Monthly Magazine Feb. 1822) ‘My First Acquaintance with Poets,’ 106–22. (Liberal April 1823)

Volume 18 (Art and Dramatic Criticism): ‘The Drama: No. II,’ 280–91. (London Magazine Feb. 1820)

Volume 19 (Miscellaneous Literary and Political Criticism): ‘Character of Mr. Wordsworth’s New Poem, The Excursion,’ 9–25. (Examiner 21, 28 Aug., 2 Oct. 1814; see also 4.111–25) ‘The Laureat,’ 115–7. (Morning Chronicle 20 Sept. 1813) ‘The Times Newspaper,’ 177–82. (Examiner 1 Dec. 1816) ‘Mr. Coleridge and Mr. Southey,’ 196–8. (Examiner 6 April 1817) ‘The Press – Coleridge, Southey, Wordsworth, and Bentham,’ 202–6. (Yellow Dwarf 3 Jan. 1818) ‘Mr. Coleridge’s Lectures,’ 206–10. (Yellow Dwarf 14 Feb. 1818) ‘Mr. Wordsworth and the Westmoreland Election,’ 213–14. (Examiner 5 July 1818) ‘Arguing in a Circle,’ 267–78. (Liberal July 1823) ‘Personal Politics,’ 329–34. (Aug. 1830)

Volume 20 (Miscellaneous Writings): ‘Coquets,’ 218–20. (Atlas 22 March 1829) Notes

Introduction: On the Discrimination of Apostasies

1. In this regard, ‘apostasy’ operates according to the logic of what Bataille has termed a mot glissant, a word which is either so perverse or so poetic that it succeeds in positing itself as the only tenable gauge of its own dissolution. The most immediately recognizable examples (for example, Blanchot’s le néant) behave according to Bataille’s inflection of le silence: “Du mot il est déjà … l’abolition du bruit qu’est le mot; entre tous les mots c’est le plus pervers, ou le plus poétique: il est lui-même gauge de sa mort” (28). 2. I am thinking specifically of Romanticism Reconsidered (1963; ed. Northrop Frye), a collection of papers from the English Institute by Frye, Abrams, Trilling, and Wellek. In positioning the papers as both silencing the waning influence of the anti-Romantic criticism of Hulme, Eliot, and Pound, and examining the ‘degree of real content which the term Romanticism has,’ Frye stresses the inseparability of Romanticism and revolution, stating unequivocally that Romanticism ‘is not only a revolution but inherently revolutionary, and enables poets to articulate a revolutionary age’ (viii). 3. On a different plane (one with wide-ranging implications for our study here of the linguistic forms and structures of power), we might position Abrams’s own ‘high argument’ – his attempt to read ‘many seemingly apolitical poems of the later Romantic period’ as political poems (‘Spirit’ 55) – as an articulation of, as it were, a formal politics, or of politics conducted aesthetically. As Ferguson observes, ‘what has Abrams done other than to claim that the French Revolution has become so deeply implicated in Romantic structures of emotion that it must remain as implicit referent … ? And if Abrams’s point is that politics gets sustained by form, McGann’s point ought to be that politics can never be conducted by formal means (since, presumably, the formal version of politics continually tends toward the political masquerading as the apolitical)’ (105). Two of the critics who have usefully complicated our sense of Hazlitt’s abiding presence in such debates are Klancher and James Chandler. Analyzing the relations between romantic criticism and the political lega- cies of the French Revolution, Klancher succinctly identifies one of the primary obstacles to a critical reading of Hazlitt when he observes, apropos Abrams’s idealizing reading of Wordsworth, that ‘Hazlitt is usually cited as verifying Wordsworth’s claim to base literary innovation upon social revolution’ (as when Hazlitt writes, ‘the political changes of the day were the model on which he formed and conducted his poetical experiments. His muse … is a levelling one’ [WH 11.86–7]). Klancher then quickly moves to demystify Abrams’s alignment, noting that ‘it only requires a little further reading of Hazlitt to see that he regarded the stance of “Jacobin poet” as a disturbingly ideological one’ (‘English Criticism’ 466; emphasis added). Klancher suggests that, in citing

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Hazlitt’s judgement rather than reading it with more explicit attention to its textual, cultural, or political context (that of his portrait of Wordsworth in The Spirit of the Age), Abrams flattens Hazlitt into a critical spokesperson for Wordsworth in order to validate his own view that Wordsworth translates political principles into poetical forms, a translation which he values as the representative gesture of romantic writing. In Chandler’s remarks on The Spirit of the Age, he, like Klancher, similarly emphasizes the impossibility of citing any one formulation of Hazlitt’s as somehow ‘representative,’ particularly when the volume from which such pronouncements are excised itself ‘refuses either to capture “the spirit of the age” in a single portrait that could stand as its total representation or to select from among the “spirits of the age” one “proxy” … whose own “portrait” could be definitively representative’ (England in 1819 185). Unlike many of Hazlitt’s putative champions, Chandler reads in him an ‘irreducible multiplicity’ of representations which functions in fact to slough off the cultural authority Abrams and others would invest in his pronouncements. The result is a ‘Hazlitt’ whose power consists in the elusive ventriloquism of his own self-representations. (For a more detailed reading of Abrams’s use of The Spirit of the Age, see Chandler, ‘Representative Men’; for a fuller explication of what it might mean to ‘represent’ the ‘spirit of the age,’ see Chandler, England in 1819, 105–14 and 174–85.) 4. In Klancher’s constellation, Abrams occupies the ‘idealist’ liberal position (derived from Leigh Hunt’s sense of the romantic literary revolution as the ‘liberalizing of a specifically literary history’ [466]), whereas Woodring occupies that of the more ‘skeptical’ liberal (derived from Hazlitt [467]), who refuses the ‘displacement of French Revolutionary meanings into romantic poems’ (488). 5. Compare Abrams’s reading of the Wordsworth of the Prospectus to the Recluse:

Wordsworth, it is evident, has salvaged his earlier millennial hope by a turn both from political revolution and from utopian social planning to a process which, in the phrase from the Prospectus, is available to ‘the individual Mind that keeps her own / Inviolate retirement.’ The recourse is from mass action to individual quietism, and from outer revolution to a revolutionary mode of imaginative perception which accomplishes nothing less than the ‘creation’ of a new world. (Natural Supernaturalism 338)

While Thompson and Abrams share a conviction that Wordsworth (and the Lake poets) turned from public to private vision and reference, Abrams argues for the creative power (rather than the imaginative failure) of this recourse and recoil. 6. Thompson elaborates this claim in his review of the Bollingen edition of The Watchman, and proceeds to argue for the greater inﬂuence of William Frend on Coleridge’s radical years; see ‘Bliss Was it in that Dawn: The Matter of Coleridge’s Revolutionary Youth,’ esp. 119–24. 7. In delineating ‘actual lived historical experience,’ Thompson turns to the literary-biographical details of Wordsworth’s and Coleridge’s sojourn in the Notes 203

West Country in 1797–8, which he makes public and politicizes by focusing on the presence of and correspondence with ‘the most notorious public Jacobin in England’ (157), John Thelwall. 8. As Thompson writes elsewhere, ‘the question of [Coleridge’s] apostasy remains important, not because one wishes to nag at his biographers but because only this sense of covert self-betrayal explains the vehemence, the guilt-ridden and tortuous incoherence, of some of his later writings when he approached this sensitive area’ (‘Bliss Was It in that Dawn’ 129). Yes, Coleridge’s apostasy does remain important – not, however, because of Coleridge’s guilty, covert self- betrayals so much as because such psychologizing explanations do not ade- quately account for the ‘tortuous incoherence’ of the later writings, an incoherence which ought not be written off as a matter of the psychology of apostasy but, rather, examined linguistically and rhetorically. 9. Later, making his claims for the exemplarity of the annus mirabilis as a literary-political ‘spot of time,’ Thompson again turns for support to Hazlitt, to the elegiac ‘My First Acquaintance With Poets’ (1823; WH 17.106–22), in order to validate his own claims; see ‘Compendium of Cliché’ 154–5. 10. Thompson is not the only (politically minded) critic of Hazlitt to be embar- rassed by Hazlitt’s rhetoric. In a study which takes its title from the passage in question, Tom Paulin condemns the Hazlitt of Liber Amoris for its ‘taut flaccid- ity’ and ‘recycled clichés,’ and, as a direct consequence of this style, for joining ‘the royalist enemy and adopting its kitsch language’ (The Day-Star of Liberty 45, 44). As is often the case with writing of Hazlitt’s dismissed as stale or cliché, the passage in question (along with numerous moments in the similarly inflected ‘My First Acquaintance With Poets’) reveals Hazlitt to have exaggerated certain trademarks of his characteristic style for allusive, ironic, and, here, ultimately elegiac purposes. 11. The matter of Hazlitt’s style has been most recently and forcefully addressed by Paulin in The Day-Star of Liberty: William Hazlitt’s Radical Style (1998). In Paulin’s analysis, ‘radical style’ denominates first-and-foremost the intellectual tradition of Rational Dissent and its prose style of ‘plain speaking’ (derived, according to Paulin, through Priestley from St. Paul’s ‘insistently plain-spoken epistolary form’ [53]). Positioned thus, Hazlitt’s ‘radical style’ manifests itself most explicitly in his imitation and appropriation of Miltonic ‘free writing and free speaking’ for the discourse of Rational Dissent (Areopagitica; cited in Day-Star 52). While Paulin’s reading of the influence of Unitarian culture on Hazlitt’s career as a jour- nalist is compelling, I differ from him in emphasizing instead (as do, to differing degrees, David Bromwich and John Whale) Hazlitt’s precipitous emulation of Burkean prose, with its penchant for literary quotation and allusion, and its cultivation of oracular artifice. Considered in this light, Hazlitt’s ‘style’ consists less in its simplicity than in its dalliance with excess. (We will return to the matter of Hazlitt’s style in Chapter 6, ‘Criticism on the Verge.’) 12. For an exemplary reading of ‘unbinding’ as a matter of ‘unsaying’ (and the consequent downfall of language and authority attendant upon such defiant speech-acts), see Jacobs’s analysis of Prometheus Unbound, ‘Unbinding Words’ (Uncontainable Romanticism 19–57). 204 Notes

Chapter 1: ‘The Laureat Hearse Where Lyric Lies’: The Making of Romantic Apostasy

1. Described by Byron as ‘eminently respectable in everything but his poetry,’ Pye succeeded Thomas Warton as Poet Laureate in 1790 and, as was the case with the majority of eighteenth-century laureates (for example, Tate, Eusden, Cibber, Whitehead), hastened the decline of the office’s reputation for literary merit. As one nineteenth-century chroni- cler of the laureates bluntly clarified regarding the office, ‘the odes were becoming more and more the butt of every humorous writer, and it was pretty evident their end was approaching. Pye’s mediocrity as a poet hastened their fate, and at the same time drew down ridicule upon the ancient office he held’ (Hamilton 209). 2. In its first five years (1808–12), the Examiner had been served with four ex officio informations for libel, which enabled the Attorney General to bring another party to trial without an indictment from a grand jury (Stout 6; for a detailed account of these charges, see Stout 5–21). Of these four informations, only the last two – regarding flogging in the military (September, 1810) and the Regent’s questionable moral and political character (March, 1812) – actually went to trial. In his successful defense of the Hunts against the 1810 charge of seditious libel, Henry Brougham foreshadowed the stakes for both parties in the government’s final, successful prosecution when he argued that what was really on trial was whether an Englishman must have the privilege of Parliament before he could discuss public measures, whether he shall have the privilege of free discussion; and, if discussion, of expression of his opinions against, as well as for, any political measure (“King v. Leigh and John Hunt” 127). 3. Here and throughout, I am adopting the idiom of ‘the case’ as it has been recently explicated by James Chandler: ‘The case might be initially defined as the genre in which we represent situations, and casuistry as the developed practice for making such representation, the discourse of the application of principle to circumstance’ (England in 1819, 39). Accordingly, making a case here for the discursive emergence of the term apostasy in 1813 will entail representing the Examiner’s interrogation of the office of the Laureate at this time as, critically, a representation of the liabilities of poetic apostasy. The word ‘case’ resounds all the more in an analysis of the rhetoric of apostasy given its derivation from the Latin cadere, to fall or befall, which Chandler indicates through citing Derrida and De Quincey. ‘As you know,’ Derrida writes in Mes Chances, ‘the words “chance” and “case” descend, as it were, according to the same Latin filiation, from cadere, which – to indicate the sense of the fall – still resounds in “cadence,” “fall” (choir), “to fall due” (échoir), “expiry date” (écheance), as well as “accident” and “incident”’ (‘My Chances/Mes Chances’ 5; cited 40n79). Chandler later cites De Quincey’s ‘On the Casuistry of Duelling’ to underscore his sense of ‘case’ in terms of a ‘befalling’: ‘Casuistry, the very word casuistry expresses the science which deals with such cases: for as a case, in the declension of a noun, means a falling away, or a deflection from the upright nominative (rectus), so a case in ethics implies some falling off, or deflection from the high road Notes 205

or catholic morality’ (Uncollected Writings 2.71; cited 198). See also 194–202. 4. Here and throughout, I will follow Hunt’s use of the term ‘patriot’ in its earlier, more radical sense of one who privileges the democratically defined rights of the individual (the ‘rights of man’) over the claims of the nation and the state – that is, a patriotism anchored, as David Eastwood has noted, ‘not primarily in love of country but in fidelity to principle’ (268). It should be noted, however, that while the language of patriotism was ‘integral to the politics of opposition’ in the late eighteenth century, its political meanings shifted constantly during the French Revolutionary and Napoleonic Wars until, after the failure of the Treaty of Amiens, it increasingly came to signify ‘loyalty’ to England’s struggle against Napoleonic France (273). (In their reliance upon heroic English Republicanism of the seventeenth century to stir the political passions of nineteenth-century Englishman, Wordsworth’s ‘Sonnets, Dedicated to National Independence and Liberty’ are patriotic in both senses of the term.) Eastwood’s argument is of particular interest here, given his attention to the language of patriotism in the mature writings of Robert Southey, for it was Southey’s appointment as Poet Laureate in 1813 that prompted a recalibration, as we shall see, of the romantic signification of ‘apostasy.’ 5. When the Laureateship was vacant in 1785 (upon the death of William Whitehead), the ‘tradition’ of burlesquing laureates and laureate odes began with the competition for the laurels ‘staged’ in the influential Probationary Odes, which in fact included Warton’s own ode on the king’s birthday, in addition to a ‘Table of Instructions’ on ode-writing as proclaimed by the king’s chamberlain, ‘for the use of the said Thomas Warton, in his said poetical exercise and employment’ (127):

1st : catalogue of Regal Virtues, from which Laureat must be particularly careful not to omit his Chastity, Skill in Mechanics, and Royal Talent of Child-getting 2nd: Laureat should be liberally endowed with the gift of Prophecy, but careful not to predict any event but that which may be acceptable to your Sovereign (such as subjugation of America …) 3rd: always be provided with a due assortment of ‘true, good-looking, and legitimate words’ and that all necessary care is taken not to apply them but on their proper occasions (ie not for the sake of poetical conve- niency, as several predecessors have done) 4th: as the Sovereign of the time being must always be the best, the greatest, and the wisest that ever existed … , so too must the year in question be so celebrated 5th: Music being a much higher and diviner Science than poetry, the ode must always be adapted to music and not vice-versa – the omission of a line or two of your poetry cannot be supposed to make any material difference either in the poetry or the sense 6th: don’t squander more than twenty lines in invoking the Muses (since these sort of invitations have of late years been considered by them as mere cards of compliment …, rarely accepted), nor repeat ‘Hail’ more than ﬁfteen times. (128) 206 Notes

With the death of Pye in 1813, the conceit of a competition for the laurels was revived in two publications, Rejected Odes; or Poetical Hops, Steps, and Jumps of a dozen Popular Bards for the Obtainment of the Situation of Poet Laureat, edited by Humphrey Hedgehog (John Agg), and Leaves of Laurel; or New Probationary Odes, collected and edited by ‘Q.Q. and W.W.’ (John Hamilton Reynolds), both of which were more legibly ‘political’ than the Probationary Odes of 1785 in their explicit attention to the excesses of the Regent (as similarly ridiculed, though with greater personal consequence, by Hunt). While the former collection contains Southey’s own lines (on Wellington’s victories over Bonaparte in Spain), the latter dramatizes the confusion encountered by the judge in attempting to distinguish between the two candidates identified as ‘S–y’ and ‘S–y’ for the younger and the older Southey, ‘Who seem’d determin’d in his purse to put / The 100l., and quaff the malmsey butt; / Not caring if himself the but became, / And nobly trusting to his former fame’ (19). 6. For a detailed account of the Examiner’s indictment of the Regent, the charge of libel, and the ensuing trial, see Stout, esp. 5–8 and 17–25, and Prince of Wales v. the Examiner. 7. See, for example: ‘Letter of the Prince Regent,’ on ‘princely inconsistency’ (23 Feb. 1812), in which Hunt ingenuously enquires, ‘Surely it cannot be, that the Prince Regent, – the Whig Prince, the friend of Ireland – the friend of Fox, – the liberal, tolerant, large-minded Heir Apparent, can retain in power the very Men, against whose opinions he has repeatedly declared himself …’ (113); ‘Ministerial Movements and Regal Flatterers’ (1 March 1812); ‘Princely Qualities’ (8 March 1812), in which Hunt feigns an attempt to enquire into such attributes as generosity, patriotism, and magnanimity, only to find that no words will issue from his pen; ‘The Regent’s First Levee’ (15 March 1812); and, climactically, ‘The Prince on St. Patrick’s Day’ (22 March 1812). 8. For the offending lines from the Morning Post, as read aloud in court, see ‘Prince v. the Examiner’ 792. 9. In an open letter to Ellenborough on the eve of the trial, Hunt publicly chided him for the discrepancy between his ‘character’ and his judicial office, and his observations provide us with another opportunity to remark the close relation between Hunt’s objections to Regency politics and his contempt for the Laureateship. According to Hunt, Ellenborough is categor- ically unfit to discharge his professional responsibilities because in his capacity as a member of the Regent’s Privy Council, Ellenborough maintains a situation ‘incompatible with the nicer feelings of independence required in a Judge’ (‘To the Right Honourable Lord Ellenborough’ 769; emphasis added). Given the fundamental impossibility of maintaining judicial impartiality under such circumstances, Ellenborough ought to know better than to ‘unite two offices in one person, each of which prevents the proper discharge of the other and the just reputation of both’ (770). 10. Hunt, in fact, seems to have been aware of this. As Crabb Robinson records of an evening at Charles Lamb’s at this time, Hunt remarked, ‘No one can accuse me of not writing a libel. Everything is a libel, as the law is now declared; and our security lies only in their shame’ (1.67). As Hunt later reflected in the Autobiography, ‘This article, no doubt, was very bitter and Notes 207

contemptuous; therefore, in the legal sense of the term, very libellous; the more so, inasmuch as it was very true’ (232). 11. For the complete text of Brougham’s defense, see the Examiners of 13 and 20 December, 1812; for Hunt’s own argument that ‘the Lawyers themselves are not yet agreed upon the nature and definition of libel’ and that, consequently, ‘the word libeller has absolutely no meaning at all,’ see ‘Remarks’; for more detailed Whig and Tory commentaries on the law pertaining to libel in the 1810s, see, respectively, Brougham and Holt; for a more recent analysis of both the juridical definitions of libel and the role played by libel trials as a forum for radical assembly in the 1810s, see Gilmartin 114–21, where he observes apropos the trial of the Examiner that ‘the debates trig- gered by libel proceedings were intensely combative and dialectical, spilling from the courtroom to the press and back again, and spiralling outward until they seemed to pit “all that was well-constituted and amiable” against “the general wreck of the community”’ (115). 12. For the Examiner, ‘independence’ principally signifies the state of remaining free of party affiliation in order to criticize and to exercise ‘sturdy common sense,’ both of which characterize what the Hunts invoke as ‘English public spirit.’ At no time is this truer than 1813, when Leigh Hunt writes in the Postscript to the bound volume of that year’s Examiner,

We took leave of our Readers last year, to go to prison; – we now address them in prison; and thank Heaven, that in every thing which fortune has left in our controul, we can still say that we are the same men. Independence was always one of our greatest enjoyments; the companion- ship of adversity has rendered it one of our dearest friends; and if to forfeit it then would have been foolish, to abandon it now would be insane.

Hunt’s reputation soared with his conviction, after which he was celebrated by opposition writers as a martyr to the cause of freedom of the press. Amongst the many tributes written to Hunt at this time, a sonnet by Henry Robertson (a member of Hunt’s Hampstead circle and an occasional con- tributor of opera reviews to the Examiner [Cox 43]) succinctly ﬁgures the proper intersection of poetry and politics as transpiring not in the Prince’s court at Carlton House but in prison, as a result of decisions reached in a judicial – rather than a personal – court of law.

Is this the muses’ haunt? Is this the bower Where Poetry delights to dwell and weave Her fairy ﬁctions? Can she calmly leave The sunny nook, cool stream and simple ﬂower; - Pure nature’s charms; – the renovating power She draws from the free breath of morn or eve; - The mind by study wearied, to relieve, And pass in silent cell the lonely hour? Yes. This for liberty of mind she seeks, Joined with pure thoughts and conscience ever clear. These found, she cares not where her dwelling lies. Through prison bars her fervent fancy speaks, 208 Notes

Roams o’er the absent scenes to mem’ry dear, And soars unfettered through cloudless skies.

(‘Sonnet on the Poet’s Residence in the Surrey Jail,’ cited in Landré 1.75.) Abjuring natural for poetic liberty, Robertson’s sonnet not only re-stages the dynamic of Wordsworth’s ‘“Nuns fret not at their Convent’s narrow room”’ but, in the context of our consideration of the debate over the Laureateship, furthermore constructs the ‘Sonnet’s scanty plot of ground’ as a far more unfettered genre than the putatively ampler scope of the laureate ode. 13. Similar points could be made regarding a number of Wordsworth’s sonnets from 1802 (for example, ‘“Great Men have been among us,”’ ‘“It is not to be thought of that the Flood,”’ ‘“There is a bondage which is worse to bear,”’ and ‘Written in London, September, 1802’), with their repeated thematic and formal allusions to Milton, as well as their (Miltonic) urgency in charging Englishmen with an energetic pride in their native liberties – much as Hunt in 1813 will goad English poets into a proper estimation of the value of their own independence. For a more detailed consideration of the Miltonic poetics which inform the 1802 sonnets, see Chapter 3. 14. While Kinnaird is right to clarify that the principal issue for the Examiner was that of literary independence, he does not satisfactorily distinguish the modalities of literary and political power from one another; while the latter is institutional (an effect of court patronage), the former consists, according to the Examiner as well as Hazlitt, in its rejection of such offices and its critically Miltonic defense of ‘all that [is now] understood of freedom against the hirelings of a Court’ (‘Laureatship’ 547). Neither does Kinnaird sufficiently pressure his understanding of literary independence when he contends that, in 1813, the charge of apostasy implies ‘simply that the poet has surrendered the independence by which he formerly held and expressed his convictions; his allegiance as a poet can no longer be given purely and freely (102-3). There is in fact nothing simple about such a sur- render of independence: not only can the poet no longer ‘give’ his allegiance (having sold it), he cannot even ‘hold’ his own opinions (now that he does not stand, in-dependent, but hangs, dependent). 15. Similarly, in Hazlitt’s most oft-anthologized essay, ‘My First Acquaintance with Poets’ (1823), he can be seen to mourn the ‘death’ of the romantic poet in an elegiac lamentation over the apostate hearse where poetry lies. Hazlitt’s recollection here of his visit to Coleridge and Wordsworth in Nether Stowey at the end of the annus mirabilis in June, 1798, is a romantic topos of resounding significance and (as is the case with his ‘burial’ of Southey), an essay representative both of Hazlitt’s style (his ambiguous susceptibility to quotation, for example) and of the inseparability of poetry and politics at every level of his writing. With its lament for the absence of any ‘abundant recompense’ following upon the loss of Coleridge, Hazlitt’s ironic, allusive, and bitterly nostalgic essay draws together the most complicated example of romantic apostasy and its most insightful critic in an exhumation of both the intimations and implications of Coleridge’s apostasy, one that poisoned Hazlitt’s faith in the language of poetry as well as in Coleridge’s contaminated bequest, Hazlitt’s own language. Notes 209

16. For a consideration of the style of Hazlitt’s pronouncement here, see Paulin 51–3. 17. Tellingly, the essays collected in Political Essays commence with his writings for the Morning Chronicle in 1813 and reach their highest pitch with his relentless assault on (most notably) Coleridge and Southey in the winter of 1816–17. As William Hone remarked in a blurb for Political Essays (which he published), ‘No man has lashed political apostasy with more severity’ (cited in Kinnaird, 101). 18. Southey himself quickly came to feel the constraints of the office. Despite having been reassured by Croker that he would not have to ‘write odes as boys write exercises, at stated times and upon stated subjects’ (LC 4.40; see also Southey’s letter to John King of 17 September 1813, where he writes, ‘You will please to congratulate, and not condole with me, upon this appointment. I take it upon an understanding that no odes are to be expected from me …’ [New Letters 2.73]), or at the very least that he ‘might so execute [them] as to give [them] a new character’ (LC 4.41), Southey was in fact initially bound by the same conventions and restraints as his predecessors. ‘Doomed,’ as his son put it, ‘to feel the inconvenience of writing to meet the taste of those in power’ (LC 4.51), Southey lamented that the ‘Carmen Triumphale’ was hopelessly compromised by the necessity of cutting out all that related to Bonaparte. When he then attempted to recon- cile his conscience to its mutilation by assembling the ‘maledictory stanzas’ into a separate ode and sending them – anonymously – to the Courier (LC 4.53), he conceded to Landor what Hunt had warned all prospective candidates of in August, namely that ‘I could not say all I wished or wanted to say, because a sort of official character attached to it’ (LC 4.60). (Southey later published these excisions in collected editions of his poetry as ‘Ode written during the Negotiations with Bonaparte in January 1814’ [see LC 4.54 and note].) However we construe the ‘character’ in question – whether as the persona of the Laureate or as the personage of the Regent or even as the public estimate of the morality of either – what is of note is the adher- ence of the attachment: Southey could not say what he wanted to say because he was no longer speaking in his own voice. Indeed, as the Regent’s pensioned versifier, he was not even speaking for himself. 19. A detailed construction of the historical experience of apostasy as a product of the 1810s might takes shape as a ‘hot chronology’ along the following lines: Wordsworth’s appointment as ‘Distributor of Stamps for Westmoreland’ (April 1813); Southey’s appointment as Laureate (Sept. 1813) and his first ‘Lay of the Laureate’ (Jan. 1814); Wordsworth’s Excursion (Aug. 1814), his collected Poems, with the self-vindicating ‘Essay, Supplementary to the Preface’ (Feb. 1815), and his Thanksgiving Ode volume (April, 1816); Coleridge’s ‘Lay Sermon’ (Dec. 1816); the pirated publication of Southey’s Wat Tyler (Jan. 1817); Southey’s self-defense in the Letter to William Smith, M.P. (Feb. 1817); Coleridge’s letters to the Courier on apostasy and ‘renegado-ism’ (March, 1817) and the Biographia Literaria (notably ch. 10); Wordsworth’s ‘Two Addresses to the Freeholders of Westmoreland’ (May, 1818); and ‘Peter Bell’ (April, 1819). James Chandler has recently demonstrated the usefulness (for romantic studies) of the phrase ‘hot chronology,’ or a period that because of its volatility requires a number of 210 Notes

dates to record (as formulated by Lévi-Strauss in The Savage Mind); in the public discourse on romantic apostasy in the 1810s, 1813 and 1817 are the most incendiary years, due in no small part to the spotlight on Southey. See Chandler, England in 1819, 3–5, 67–9.

Chapter 2: The Mausoleum of Independence

1. In fact, Coleridge first formulated the ‘logic’ behind this adage when report- ing on Pitt’s ‘security speech’ of 18 February 1800 for the Morning Post. In Coleridge’s transcription, Pitt declared, ‘The mind once tainted with Jacobinism can never be wholly free from the taint; I know no means of purification; when it does not break out on the surface, it still lurks in the vitals; no antidote can approach the subtlety of the venom, no length of quarantine secure us against the obstinacy of the pestilence’ (EOT 1.186, 1.186n11). 2. In Chapter 10 of the Biographia, Coleridge writes that ‘Soon after my return from Germany, I was solicited to undertake the literary and political depart- ment in the Morning Post [Nov. 1799]; and I acceded to the proposal on the condition, that the paper should thenceforwards be conducted on certain fixed and announced principles, and that I should be neither obliged nor requested to deviate from them in favor of any party or any event’ (BL 1.212). Erdman clarifies that, in fact, any such announcement on the part of the Morning Post only came after a crisis in the relations between Coleridge and the Post’s editor, Daniel Stuart, in January 1800, and, when it was printed (buried amidst details about type, paper, and circulation), it stressed the difficulty of abiding by any such ‘fixed, reasonable, and practical’ principles (EOT 1.xcii–xciii). 3. The two earliest examples cited by the OED are Coleridge’s: ‘for from the effect we may fairly deduce the inherence of a power producing it, but are not entitled to hypostasize this power (that is, to affirm it to be an individual substance) any more than the Steam in the Steam Engine, the power of Gravitation in the Watch, or the magnetic Influence in the Loadstone’ (Friend 2.75); ‘The admission of the Logos as hypostasized (i.e. neither a mere attribute or a personification) in no respect removed my doubts concerning the incarnation and the redemption by the cross’ (BL 1.204–5). 4. Irony, as Paul de Man repeatedly argues, ‘is precisely what makes it impossi- ble ever to achieve a theory of narrative that would be consistent’ (‘Concept of Irony,’ Aesthetic Ideology 179). In the context of a consideration of romantic apostasy, irony names the threat of an imminent undoing of the apostate’s self-consistency, as constructed by a recuperative narrative of his standing-away as somehow stable. As will become increasingly apparent here, my consideration of irony closely follows the implications of de Man’s own, particularly as developed in ‘The Concept of Irony’ and ‘The Rhetoric of Temporality.’ For a reading of de Man’s theory of irony which is particularly attentive to the ways in which the category of time marks and delimits the subject’s sense of the impossibility of self-definition, see Jacobs, ‘The Metaphor of Temporality’ (Telling Time 142–58). Notes 211

5. In this regard, the conversion of a standing into a falling resembles what F.W. Schlegel and, following him, de Man, have designated as a moment of parabasis, or ‘the interruption of a discourse by a shift in the rhetorical register’ (‘Concept of Irony,’ Aesthetic Ideology 178). Thus, the ‘always falling’ that emerges out of the economy of Coleridgean apostasy will be seen to resemble Schlegel and de Man’s structure of ‘permanent parabasis.’ 6. De Man most explicitly considers the relation between irony and falling in the early ‘Allegory and Irony in Baudelaire,’ where he observes (apropos ‘De l’essence du rire’) that for the subject to come ‘face to face with its own fallen condition’ is for it to recognize the attendant ‘threat of a persistent falling’ (Romanticism and Contemporary Criticism 111), which falling has been initiated by ‘a passing from a mere extension of the self to an altogether different kind of self that results from a radical change of the level of consciousness,’ which one can in turn think of ‘as a vertical movement of climbing and falling’ (110). (See ‘The Rhetoric of Temporality’ [Blindness and Insight], especially 211–16.) For a detailed consideration of de Man’s articulation not merely of irony but in fact of theory with falling, see Caruth. 7. The OED deﬁnes ‘multeity’ as ‘the quality or condition of being many’ and attributes it to Coleridge in both ‘The Principles of Genial Criticism’ and the Biographia, where, in justifying his use of scholastic formulations, he prefers ‘multeity’ to ‘multitude’ for its greater precision in expressing ‘the kind with the abstraction of degree’ (1.287). Cf. CN 4352 (on the laxity of philosophical language in English), 4449 (to which we will turn at the end of Chapter 4), and 4450. For my purposes here, multeity denominates (in a succinctly Coleridgean fashion) the unmanageability of the term apostasy as deployed both by and regarding Coleridge. 8. Nor is this strictly a recent concern: whether or not denominated as ‘apostasy,’ the question of Coleridge’s political (in)consistency has troubled his readers at least since his wife Sara wrote Thomas Poole in April, 1799, ‘It is very unpleasant for me to be often asked if Coleridge has changed his political sentiments, for I know not properly how to reply. Pray furnish me’ (cited in Sandford 160). Routinely acknowledged by Coleridge’s earliest editors and biographers (amongst them Joseph Cottle, his daughter Sara Coleridge, H.D. Traill, and James Dykes Campbell), the question of apostasy takes on an anxious, critical edge only in the 1920s, when critics of Romanticism begin to diverge into two camps: those who overlook or deny the matter, and those who confront it while conceding that they are unable to resolve it. In Edmund Burke and the Revolt Against the Eighteenth Century (1929), Cobban simply refuses to consider the issue at anything other than face-value, remarking that we need not ‘suspect [Coleridge] of disingenuousness when he declares in a letter of 1798 [the notorious, self-incriminating apologia to his brother George (CL 1.395)] that his opinions were never tainted in any degree by the French system’ (165), and that if he was ‘eclectic’ in his political allegiances, it was ‘not because of mere innate perversity of temperament’ but, rather, ‘by force of circumstance’ (158–9) – that is to say expedience, an integral and tem- porizing element of political apostasy. Nearly contemporaneous with Cobban is Brinton’s account of Coleridge’s political ideas in The Political Ideas of the English Romanticists (1926), in which he plaintively acknowl- 212 Notes

edges that it is ‘most unfortunate’ that we are unable to separate Coleridge’s ideas from the intricacies of his personality, for ‘much is gained in the way of simplicity – and Truth is surely simpler than psy- chologists will have it – if a man’s ideas can be granted a degree of objec- tivity, a certain independence of the petty twistings and turnings of his inner self’ (65). Attempting to distinguish Coleridge’s ‘ideas’ from his ‘self,’ Brinton uncannily (however unwittingly) anticipates the ironic undoing of the self we have sketched above: positing a ‘degree of objec- tivity’ which validates itself as an interruption of the twists and turns of the self’s tortured narrative of self-consistency, ‘independence’ can here be seen to name a standing-away from the self – an ironic standing, as it were, predicated upon the continued threat of a further, systematic undoing (through twists and turns) of any understanding of the self’s standing-away as in any way stable. Brinton’s formulation is all the more provocative given his proviso that he has ‘no interest in affirming or denying Coleridge’s claim to personal consistency’ (67). 9. For an additional consideration of Thompson’s analysis of Coleridge’s apostasy, see the Introduction 7–10. 10. In his Introduction to a forum on Coleridge’s ‘politics of the imagination,’ Carl Woodring positions the dilemma as one of ‘critical indeterminacy’: ‘Did Coleridge begin as a Jacobin and end as a Tory? Did he begin and end as either a radical or a conservative? Did he begin or end, or begin and end, in eccentric independence? Did he become an equivocator? Did he begin and remain an equivocator?’ (447). Such a litany underlines the degree to which romantic criticism is indeed riddled by questions pertaining to the matter of Coleridge’s apostasy. Receiving particular attention in the discussion which follows here will be the various modalities of in-dependence available to the apostate, as well as both the logic and figures of equivocation in Coleridge’s discourse. 11. McFarland poses the problem thus: ‘Did Coleridge’s attitudes over the course of his adult life represent a coherent development from primary assumptions, or, on the contrary, did they represent an incoherent line of thought characterized by opportunism and outright apostasy?’ (78). Taking as his premiss that Coleridge ‘was temperamentally on all sides of a question at once’ (82), and underlining this habit as ‘the idiosyncracy and defining merit of his mental activity’ (83), McFarland argues for the fundamental coherence and tenacity of Coleridge’s political thought, which he then represents via Hazlitt’s anecdote of Coleridge (in ‘My First Acquaintance with Poets’) as ‘shifting from one side of the foot-path to the other’ as if ‘unable to keep on in a strait line’ (WH 17.113; cited 83–4). (In a similar figuration of the curious mode of Coleridge’s intellectual movement, Thompson repeatedly speaks of his ‘crablike political evolutions’ [‘Compendium of Cliché’ 145].) McFarland’s ensuing claim – that ‘Coleridge’s political progress was precisely an intellectual version of the idiosyncratic fact that … [he] did keep moving on the path; the shifting, however peculiar to his mode of progression, was not an opportunistic abandonment of one faith and adhesion to another’ (84) – is dubious at best. (Given Coleridge’s penchant for returning to and worrying the same texts, of his own devising, it is hard to detect any real ‘progression’ in Notes 213

Coleridge’s thought on such matters as, say, Jacobinism after 1798.) And McFarland’s method of resorting to Coleridge’s notebooks and journalism from the 1810s to rationalize his own writings from the 1790s is entirely untenable. Coleridgean repetition, as I argue below, can be seen to be less a matter of shifting than turning – as in turning one’s back on, or turning with an about-face. 12. In a detailed notebook entry of 1801, seemingly occasioned by James Mackintosh’s abrupt political about-face from his pro-French position in Vindicæ Gallicæ (made pæublic in his lectures ‘On the Law of Nature and Nations’ [1799]), Coleridge ﬁgures romantic apostasy in terms of two modalities of movement, the wavering of a compass needle and the motions of hands on a watch:

A ﬂash of Lightning has turned at once the polarity of the Compass Needle – & so perhaps now & then, but as rarely, a violent motive may revolutionize a man’s professions – but more frequently his honesty dies away from evening into twilight & from twilight to night – he turns hypocrite so gradually & by such tiny atoms, that by the time he has arrived at a given he forgets his own hypocrisy in his conversion. The difference between such a man, & a bolder Liar, is merely that between the Hour Hand, & the Hand that tells seconds, on a Watch. Of the one you can see only the Motion, of the other both the motion & the moving. (CN 947)

Which type of ‘Liar,’ then, better represents Coleridge’s own conversion? Though implicit in the image of the compass is the presumption that (as if in accordance with the economy of ‘once/always’) the needle will always reorient itself as it once was, Coleridge’s ‘see-saw’ reasoning on the matter of Jacobinism and apostasy, in league with his incremental adjustments to his own rationalizations (as we shall see), ultimately suggest the delusions of the hour hand. (The ﬁgure of the compass recurs on several occasions in assessments of Coleridge’s political mutability: while Erdman reminds us apropos Coleridge’s journalism, ‘we are observing a weathervane, not a magnetic needle’ [EOT 1.lxxxi], Thompson remarks of the same body of work that, at the spectre of Jacobinism, ‘Coleridge swung instantly to the most bitter attacks’ [‘Compendium of Cliché’ 149].) 13. See the Introduction to Essays on His Times, esp. 1.lxiv–lxv, lxxiv–lxxxiii, and lxxxvi–cxiii. For another reprisal of Erdman’s narrative, see Liu, Sense of History 417–20. 14. As Erdman notes, ‘“Recantation” is a term Coleridge uses for himself, more than once, but it is less accurate than “oscillation,” a term he prefers to use for others’ (EOT 1.lxv). In Confessions of an Inquiring Spirit, Coleridge speaks in terms of ‘Yea, and Nay, but as an attempt to delineate an arc of oscillation’ in his state of mind (cited by Erdman, EOT 1.lxxv note 3). 15. Or, as Liu formulates Coleridge’s expedient manipulation of political apostasy and the ‘journalism of impartiality’ (Sense of History 416), ‘In two cycles of opportunistic apostasy punctuated by his famous recantations, Coleridge led the Post away from Opposition to its popular contrary: a crypto- Ministerial stand little short of outright Pittism’ (417). 214 Notes

16. Following Erdman: ‘Lord Moira’s Letter’ (20 January 1798; EOT 1.13–17) represents the ‘extreme “Yea” in [Coleridge’s] “arc of oscillation”’ (EOT 1.lxxv); ‘Insensibility of the Public Temper’ (Feb. 24, 1798; EOT 1.20–3) publicizes ‘the ambivalent centre of indifference between the Yea and Nay of Coleridge’s arc’ (EOT 1.lxxvi); and the self-justifying letter to his brother George in which Coleridge claims to be of no party – ‘I am no Whig, no Reformist, no Republican’ – and to have ‘snapped [his] squeaking baby-trumpet of Sedition’ (ca. 10 March 1798; CL 1.394–8) marks, albeit privately, ‘the extreme Nay of [his] oscillation’ (EOT 1.lxxx). While the fourth stanza of the ode on France clearly implies that it was the French invasion of Switzerland that prompted the poet to repudiate his support of the French Republic (now no longer syn- onymous with Liberty), Erdman suggests that just as influential (if not more so) were the arrests of members of the London Corresponding Society and the United Irishmen earlier in the month, for the Post’s coverage of these arrests earned the editor, Daniel Stuart, an interview with the Privy Council (EOT lxxvii–lxxix). From this time forward, Erdman observes, we can see the Post ‘preparing the ground for recantation’ as, in their different ways, both Stuart and Coleridge ‘recanted while saying they did not, and oscillated more than they recanted’ (EOT 1.lxxx, lxxxi). 17. In this second, more extended oscillation, the extreme ‘Yea’ of Coleridge’s arc can be read in his three celebratory essays on Bonaparte (March 11, 13, 15, 1800; EOT 1.207–16); the indifferent center in his essential withdrawal from journalism between March 1800 and September 1802 (with the notable exceptions of three essays between December 1801 and March 1802, on the negotiations leading to the Peace of Amiens [EOT 1.c, ciii]); and the extreme ‘Nay’ in his critical comparison of Bonaparte and the Caesars of the late Roman Republic (Sept. 21, 25, 29; Oct. 2; EOT 1.311–39). 18. Both Christensen and Liu attempt, in other words, to reify their own methods for arresting and controlling Coleridgean apostasy. In writing of Coleridge’s ‘habitual method of disunity,’ Liu subordinates Coleridgean disunity to his own habit (here, a ‘practical’ dialectic) in order to exculpate him from the charge, while in describing Coleridge as ‘always already’ an apostate, Christensen would seem to conflate ‘always’ with ‘all ways’ in order to appear to have anticipated future apostasies. Read more ironically, ‘disunity’ insistently undoes the claims of ‘method,’ and ‘always’ names a constant deferral or interruption of any narrative of the self. In each case, the radical irony of apostasy is such that it represents apostasy itself as a matter of falling back into and repeating a previous mistake – for Coleridge, the attempt to stand away and incorporate his disunity, rather than fall down in succumbing to it. 19. I am indebted on this score to Liu’s reading of Books 9–13 of The Prelude in terms of a contest of genres. See Sense of History 359–87, esp. 360–1 and Liu’s appropriation of Lacan’s ‘Of Structure as an Inmixing of Otherness Prerequisite to Any Subject Whatsoever’ as it applies to lyric self- consciousness and the control of generic boundaries. 20. With regard to the idiom of ‘the case,’ see Chapter 1, note 3, and Chandler, England in 1819 39–40 and 194–202. 21. See Coleridge’s letter to Southey of October 15, 1799: ‘and what say you of the Resurrection & Glorification of the Saviour of the East after his Tryals in Notes 215

the Wilderness? – I am afraid that this is a piece of Blasphemy – but it was in simple verity such an Infusion of animal Spirits into me – Buonaparte! Buonaparte! dear dear DEAR Buonaparte!’ (CL 1.539). 22. As Liu notes (reading Coleridge’s representations of Napoleon within the oscillating arc from Yea to Nay), ‘even as he excoriated Napoleon’s desertion of republican principles and branded him usurper… , he said Yea to his genius,’ and did so to such a degree, finally, that his ‘extreme denunciation of Napoleon is balanced in the body of the essay [‘Bonaparte I’] by a romance of Commanding Genius no less extreme’ (Sense of History 419, 421). 23. See Coleridge’s series, ‘On Peace,’ of Jan. 2, 3, 4, 6, 1800 (EOT 1.64–79), as well as the ‘Paper War’ articles later in the month, especially Jan. 21, 22, 23, 25, and 28 (EOT 1.108–17, 121–30, 135–8). 24. Essays on His Own Times, ed. Sara Coleridge, 1.xxviii; cited by Erdman, EOT 1.lxiv. 25. In ‘My First Acquaintance With Poets,’ Hazlitt characterizes Coleridge’s gait in a remarkably similar fashion, and does not hesitate to read in it an allegory of political inconsistency. Recalling his walk with Coleridge in January 1798, Hazlitt writes that ‘I observed that he continually crossed me on the way by shifting from one side of the foot-path to the other. This struck me as an odd movement; but I did not at that time connect it with any insta- bility of purpose or involuntary change of principle, as I have done since. He seemed unable to keep on in a strait line’ (WH 17.113). 26. Erdman and, following him, Liu proceed to gloss the ramifications of world gardening with a further citation from Coleridge’s 1802 notebooks while walking in the Lakes: ‘O for wealth to wood these Tarns… . Bear witness for me, what thoughts I wandered about with – if ever I imagined myself a con- queror, it was always to bring peace – but mostly turned away from these thoughts to more humane & peaceable Dreams’ (CN 1.1214; EOT 1.cv; Liu Sense of History 423). 27. See Liu Sense of History 422–3 for a reading of this entry (furthering Erdman’s own) as a moment in which ‘Coleridge became as Napoleon’; see also Bainbridge 25. 28. Though our consideration of Coleridge’s writing for the Morning Post will close with a reading of the dynamics of ‘Once a Jacobin Always a Jacobin’ (October 1802), see Coleridge’s last essay for the paper at this time, ‘Our Future Prospects’ (January 1803), for further evidence of his preoccupation with the metaphoric operation of the figure of the fulcrum, in this case of the poise and counterpoise of wartime European politics (EOT 1.cxi–cxii, 419–22). 29. As Griggs notes:

’′Εστησ signifies ‘He hath placed’ not ‘He hath stood.’ The word should have been Εστηκε, but then the play on Coleridge’s initials would have lost. Elsewhere he called it ‘Punic Greek.’ Subsequently Coleridge wrote in a copy of his Conciones ad populum: ‘Qualis ab initio, εστησε ΕΣΤΗΣΕ=S.T.C. July, 1820.’ The echo from Ars Poetica, 127 (‘Qualis ab incepto processerit, et sibi constet’ [have it kept to the end even as it came forth at the first, and have it self-consistent]), suggests that he found in Horace’s ‘sibi constet’ a confirmation of his forced interpretation. (CL 2.867n) 216 Notes

Additionally, for the ‘remembrance’ of Coleridge’s ‘Let him that stands take heed lest he fall,’ see 1 Corinthians 10.12, ‘Wherefore let him that thinketh he standeth take heed lest he fall.’ See also the late poem ‘A Character’ (ostensibly written in response to Hazlitt’s portrait of Coleridge in The Spirit of the Age), for a depiction of ‘our Bard’ as ‘Contented if he could subscribe / In fullest sense his name ’′Εστησ (Poems 1.453 and note). Finally, see Hazlitt’s 1821 essay, ‘On Consistency of Opinion,’ for its use of the same lines from Horace as epigraph (WH 17.22). 30. Jonson’s ‘To the Immortal Memory and Friendship of That Noble Pair, Sir Lucius Cary and Sir H. Morison’ (1629) is, as Stuart Curran has noted, the first truly Pindaric ode in English, and the first in which the structural terms are anglicized in such a way as also to suggest their choral role in Athenian drama (64). In this view, widely exploited though not uniformly endorsed throughout the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, the chorus was understood to have been moving ‘to the left during the first strophe, to the right during the antistrophe, and standing still in the epode’ (69). Whether or not this was in fact the case on the Athenian stage, such a progressive alternation of the movements of the ode serves to underline its dramatic as well as its dialectical structure for romantic writers, and distinguishes the formal symmetries of the ‘true Pindaric’ from the ‘irregular Pindaric’ (or Pindarick) introduced by Cowley. 31. While it may be objected that no significant ode in English can be cited as abiding by the controlled structure of regular stanzaic triads, my point is simply that the rhetoric of this schema is imaginatively available to any English poet undertaking the composition of a Pindaric ode. 32. See Curran, who notes that ‘All in all, the ode represented a daunting field for youthful poets to test their originality in,’ and proceeds to cite a 1791 composition by Coleridge originally entitled ‘Prospectus and Specimen of a Translation of Euclid in a series of Pindaric Odes’ in order to demonstrate the illusory ‘balance of power’ promised by the Pindaric ode (71, 72). Equating ‘the exactness of Mathematical disquisition [with] the boldness of Pindaric daring,’ Coleridge describes an equilateral triangle in such a fashion that ‘Not Peter Pindar carp, nor Zoilus can wrangle’ – ‘The unani- mous three / C. A. and B. C. and A. B. / All are equal, each to his brother, / Preserving the balance of power so true’ (ll. 31, 51–4; CP 27, 28) – a balance not to be found in the later, political odes. 33. When it first appeared in the ‘Cambridge Intelligencer,’ the title read ‘Ode for the Last Day of the Year’ (to clarify its oppositional relation to the Laureate’s forthcoming ‘Ode for the New Year’); since the 1834 edition of the Poetical Works it has been titled ‘Ode to the Departing Year.’ I follow Woodring in referring to it as the ‘Ode on the Departing Year’ (as it was listed in all published versions between 1797 and 1834) in order to stress Coleridge’s presentation of it as ‘an elevated poem on a certain serious subject of public concern’ (Politics in the Poetry of Coleridge 176; emphasis added). 34. Hence its classification by Shuster (247n12) and others as not Pindaric but Pindarick. Unless otherwise noted, all citations from the ‘Ode on the Departing Year’ are from Poems (1797). 35. When published in a quarto pamphlet in December, 1796, the line describing Destruction as lying ‘By livid fount, or roar of blazing stream’ (142 in Notes 217

Poems) read ‘Stretched on the marge of some fire-flashing fount’ (see CP 489, note to line 144). 36. See Woodring (Politics in the Poetry of Coleridge 177–8) and Curran (73) for additional appraisals of this connection. 37. The prophetic character of this bard is underlined at the outset, in Coleridge’s epigraph from a speech of Cassandra’s in Aeschylus’ Agamemnon: ‘Ha, ha! Oh, oh the agony! Once more the dreadful throes of true prophecy whirl and distract me with their ill-boding onset… . What is to come, will come. Soon thou, present here thyself, shalt of thy pity pronounce me all too true a prophetess’ (ll. 1173–5, 1199–2000; Loeb Classical Library translation, as cited CP 485). 38. Coleridge also refers thus to ‘France’ in the margins of a copy of Sibylline Leaves, where, at the end of the ‘Ode on the Departing Year,’ he writes of ‘the Ode that follows,’ that on France, as ‘a kind of Palinodia’ (Johnson, as cited CP 485). Approximately halfway between the initial publication in the Morning Post of ‘The Recantation’ (April 1798) and its reappearance there as ‘France: An Ode’ (Oct. 1802), Coleridge glossed ‘Palinodia’ (in a March 1800 review of Arthur Young’s pamphlet, The Example of France a Warning to Britain) as a work of recantation ‘almost lyrically unconnected, and set to a more boisterous music than would have suited any [other] species of the Lyric’ (EOT 1.233). As Erdman has noted, Coleridge’s description here of the palinode pertains far less to Young’s avowals in prose than to his own recantations in verse (EOT 1.233n3). 39. As Woodring notes, Stuart’s editorial preface ‘praised Coleridge not for thinking the conduct of France atrocious, which everybody did, but for publicly denouncing what he had formerly praised and for avowing his past misjudge- ment, which few lovers of Freedom had yet shown the courage to do’ (180; emphasis added) – that is, for recanting. As Liu comments, ‘Recantation, quite simply, sold newspapers’ (Sense of History 420). 40. As is often the case in Coleridge’s later writings and remarks, ‘steadiness’ varies in value according to the context. James Dykes Campbell cites an anecdote from Coleridge’s Table Talk relevant to our discussion of ‘France’: ‘No man was more enthusiastic than I was for France and the Revolution; it had all my wishes, none of my expectations. Before 1793, I clearly saw, and often enough stated in public, the horrid delusion, the vile mockery of the whole affair’ (Table Talk, July 23, 1832; Campbell’s emphasis). Campbell then comments, ‘The editor of T. T. quotes stanzas iv. and v. of ‘France’ in support of Coleridge’s imperfect recollection. It would have been more useful had he quoted stanzas ii. and iii. in correction of it’ (85n2). 41. All citations from ‘France’ will be taken from CP. For the text of the poem most closely resembling that of its initial appearance in the Morning Post, see either the 1798 quarto Fears in Solitude or Complete Poetical Works, ed. E.H. Coleridge, 243–7 and appar. crit. (which prints the remnants of a trun- cated stanza which originally appeared between stanzas iv and v); for the text of the ‘Argument’ prefixed to the ode when Coleridge reprinted it in 1802, see EOT 3.295–6, CP 518, or Complete Poetical Works 243–4. 42. See Fry, who formulates a similar reading thus: ‘The energies of nature, high and distant as in “Dejection,” cannot be controlled by the individual will, but only by a consonance … between eternal laws and social laws’ (187). 218 Notes

43. Coleridge suggests something similar in annotations to the Fears in Solitude quarto (presumably made in 1807 or 1808 at Coleorton), where he writes at the end of ‘France’: ‘Southey in a review made some (me judice) unfounded objections to this last stanza – as if I had confounded moral with political Freedom – but surely the Object of the Stanza is to show that true political Freedom can only arise out of moral Freedom – what indeed is it but a Dilation of those golden Lines of Milton: – “License they mean, when they cry Liberty! / For who loves that must ﬁrst be wise & good.” S. T. C.’ (Evans 255). 44. I cannot agree with Liu, however, regarding the geographical prospect to be had from this verge. Liu maintains that ‘The sea-verge at the time, after all, looked eastward not with intensest love but with hate toward the expected French invasion’ (Sense of History 418). But from the Quantock Hills above Nether Stowey (where Coleridge was living in the spring of 1798 and where he quite speciﬁcally located the two other poems published with this ode in the 1798 quarto volume, ‘Frost at Midnight’ and ‘Fears in Solitude,’ the latter written ‘during the Alarm of an Invasion’) one faces west (more precisely, northwest) over the Bristol Channel. And it was from the west that a small French landing force had in fact arrived in February 1797, and was then expected in the winters of both 1798 and 1811. See Lean 2–11. 45. See Evans for the context and history of this and other annotations in the Fears in Solitude volume of 1798. 46. ‘… there are moods of mind, & such as a Poet will often have, & sometimes express; but they are not his highest, & most appropriate moods. They are “Sermoni propiora” which I once translated – “Properer for a Sermon”’ (CL 2.864). As Woodring notes, ‘The motto from Horace was always printed inaccurately as “Sermoni propriora,”’ rather than sermoni propiora, and the ‘absence of the r translates something like “talk more individual” into something like “on the verge of conversation”’ (Politics in the Poetry of Coleridge 255n16). In the context of our consideration of Coleridge’s ‘poetics of the verge,’ however, the inaccurate ‘propriora’ is far more succinct. 47. See Roe Radical Years 267–8 for a similar reading of the contraction and reversal of the poet’s stance in the concluding verse paragraph. 48. In the larger context of Coleridge’s contributions to the Morning Post in the fall of 1802 (the extreme ‘Nay’ in his second arc of apostasy; see n. 17), the essay functions simultaneously as an afterword to Coleridge’s four-part comparison in September of the French and Roman republics (in which Napoleon is represented as having metamorphosed from an Augustus into a Julius Caesar) and as an announcement of the line of argument he will take up in his two public letters of November to Fox, whom he denounces for his continuing commitment to peace. 49. See EOT 1.186 and n. 1 above. 50. In Erdman’s reading, Coleridge’s purpose was manifold: to rouse English Anti-Jacobins into uniting in order to topple Napoleon; to convince linger- ing English Jacobins that now was the time to recant; and to distance himself from his own earlier support for Napoleon in the winter of 1799–1800 (EOT 1.cix). 51. See CP 517–19 and 522–3 (or Complete Poetical Works 1.243–7, 256–63, and appar. crit.) for changes made to these poems between 1798 and 1802. Notes 219

52. Particularly Miltonic moments in this extract include Coleridge’s denunciation of the French as ‘still promising / Freedom, themselves too sensual to be free’ (ll. 142–3) and his avowal of the necessity of telling bitter truth (ll. 154–6), much as Milton defends such a necessity in the second book of the Reason of Church Government (a tactic and a text which Coleridge will more thoroughly appropriate in The Statesman’s Manual). Coleridge’s argument here, that the freedom of a nation depends upon the virtue of its people, finds similar expression in Wordsworth’s early sonnets from 1802, as we shall see in the following chapter. 53. For an invaluable gloss on Coleridge’s wariness regarding definite terms, see a notebook entry from November 1801: ‘Whether or no the too great definiteness of Terms in any language may not consume too much of the vital & idea-creating force in distinct, clear, full made Images & so prevent originality – original thought as distinguished from positive thought – Germans in general – ’ (CN 1016). 54. In the same letter to Southey as that in which he had celebrated ‘dear dear DEAR Bonaparte’ as the ‘Saviour of the East’ just after the Brumaire coup, Coleridge goes on to write of Poole’s reaction, ‘in consequence of the News he burns, like the Greek Fire, under all the Wets and Waters of this health- and-harvest-destroying Weather. – He flames while his Barley smokes – see! he says – how it grows out again, ruining the prospects of those, who had cut it down! – You are harvest man enough, I suppose, to understand the metaphor’ (CL 1.539; see also EOT 2.454–5 and 2.455n4). 55. For detailed considerations of Coleridge’s ‘Jacobin youth,’ see Thompson, ‘Disenchantment or Default?’ (esp. 150–4); ‘Bliss Was it in that Dawn: The Matter of Coleridge’s Revolutionary Youth,’ (esp. 108–20, 124–32); and ‘A Compendium of Cliché: The Poet as Essayist.’ See also Roe, ‘Coleridge and John Thelwall.’ For a less than persuasive rebuttal of Thompson, see McFarland 75–139. 56. Southey’s accusation comes amidst a longer tirade: ‘Coleridge has vexed me by his Friend – the affectation of humility even to downright canting, is to me insufferable, and the folly of talking as he does about his former principles is still worse… . There is a baseness in talking about himself as he has done for which even all his power of intellect cannot atone’ (New Letters 1.511). 57. Of Coleridge’s reminiscences later in Chapter 10 regarding his ‘retirement’ to Nether Stowey, Thelwall intervened, ‘Where I visitted him and found him a decided Leveller – abusing the Democrats for their hypocritical mod- eratism, in pretending to be willing to give the people equallity of privileges & rank, while at the same time, they would refuse them all that the others could be valuable for – equality and property – or rather abolition of all property’ (Pollin 82). For a critique of the ‘defensive, evasive, non-commit- tal’ stance of the editors of the Bollingen Biographia (143) in failing to address this and other contemporary challenges to Coleridge’s veracity here, see Fruman 152–4. 58. See Chapter 4 for an examination of the ‘Wat Tyler scandal.’ 59. Maintaining the division of the extract from ‘Once a Jacobin Always a Jacobin’ that he had used in 1809 (such that the subsequent essay begins, ‘I was never, at any period of my life, a convert to the system), Coleridge pref- aced it in 1818 with this couplet (attributed to Coleridge by E.H. Coleridge, 220 Notes

Poetical Works 2.1008): ‘Truth I pursued, as Fancy sketch’d the way, / And wiser men than I went worse astray’ (Friend 1.223). 60. For Liu, such a position closely resembles the stance of Opposition politics, as epitomized by Burke: ‘… apostasy was endemic to the basic negational structure of opposition. Referenced on a pure relation, Opposition was in the final analysis a will to oppose independent of settled object’ (Sense of History 411; see also 407–13). 61. Compare Hazlitt’s formulation in the later essay, ‘On Consistency of Opinion’ (1821): ‘It seems that they [apostates] are afraid to look their old opinions in the face, lest they should be fascinated by them once more. They banish all doubts of their own sincerity by inveighing against the motives of their antagonists. There is no salvation out of the pale of their strange inconsistency’ (WH 17.24). See also ‘Arguing in a Circle’: ‘Their zeal, their eagerness to distinguish themselves in their new career, makes them rash and extravagant’ (WH 19.276). 62. Indeed, Coleridge would appear to avow as much himself in ‘Once a Jacobin Always a Jacobin,’ where he concedes (as we have earlier noted), ‘In this sense of the word, Jacobin, the adage would affirm, that no man can ever become altogether an apostate to Liberty, who has at any time been sincerely and fervently attached to it. His hopes will burn like the Greek fire, hard to be extinguished, and easily rekindling’ (EOT 1.368). 63. For a more detailed account of this lengthy entry, see the notes of the editor of the Notebooks, Kathleen Coburn (whose translations of Coleridge’s Greek have been inserted here), as well as ‘Guilty Thing’ 772–4. Closely related to Coleridge’s reading here of Schelling are his letter of September 30, 1818 to T.H. Green (CL 4.873–6), the fragment ‘On the Error of Schelling’s Philosophy’ (Shorter Works 786–7), and Coleridge’s marginalia concerning the Naturphilosophie, where he asserts the superiority of his own conception of ‘multeity’ over Schelling’s positing of ‘original productivities’ (Marginalia 4.381).

Chapter 3: ‘Lawless Sway,’ Pendulous Politics

1. For the text of Wordsworth’s (incomplete) sonnet on Milton, see SP 46. Throughout this chapter, citations from Wordsworth’s poetry will be taken from the earliest available texts, habitually as (re-)printed in the Cornell Wordsworth editions of Lyrical Ballads and Other Poems, 1797–1800 (LB), Poems, in Two Volumes, and Other Poems, 1800–1807 (P2V), and Shorter Poems, 1807–1820 (SP). Exceptions to this procedure will be noted parenthetically. 2. When reprinted in A View of the English Stage (1817; [WH 5.230–3]), the clause ‘and (somewhat prematurely) on the triumphs resulting from it’ was omitted. 3. Also cited in Howe 195. Hazlitt clariﬁed his position in response to Crabb Robinson, who had taken exception to Hazlitt’s concluding diatribe against Wordsworth in the Examiner of 22 December 1816, the third of his ‘Illustrations of the Times Newspaper (On Modern Lawyers and Poets)’ as a violation of decorum. Characteristically denigrating poets for their unprinci- pled want of fortitude, Hazlitt furthered his denunciation of the ‘rank egotism’ of Wordsworth’s ‘Jacobin poetry’ with the timely reminder that ‘Milton was however a poet, and an honest man; he was Cromwell’s secretary’ (WH 7.144). Notes 221

4. See the ‘Essay, Supplementary to the Preface’ (1815), where, regarding the ‘real difﬁculty of creating that taste by which a truly original poet is to be relished,’ Wordsworth maintains that it consists in

divesting the reader of the pride that induces him to dwell upon those points wherein men differ from each other … ; and in making him ashamed of the vanity that renders him insensible of the appropriate excellence which civil arrangements, less unjust than might appear, and Nature illimitable in her bounty, have conferred on men who may stand below him in the scale of society’ (PrW 3.80).

While Wordsworth’s attention here to the necessity of educating his reader is not new, I cite this particular instance given the date of its composition in the midst of Wordsworth’s most publicly Miltonic phase (1814–16). (See also the Preface of 1802, with its emphasis throughout on moral sensations [PrW 1.126–8]; Wordsworth’s letter to John Wilson of June 7, 1802, where he assumes responsibility for rectifying men’s feelings [Early Years 355]; and his letter to Beaumont of February 1808, where he insists, ‘Every great Poet is a Teacher: I wish either to be considered as a Teacher, or as nothing’ [Middle Years 1.195].) With regard to the vanity that renders readers insensible to the excellence of English civic law, see the Advertisement to the Thanksgiving Ode volume (April 1816), where Wordsworth chides his (disenchanted) readers for the ‘morbid satisfaction’ they presume to take in the ‘present distresses’ of post-Waterloo Britain (Thanksgiving Ode iii–iv; SP 178). 5. The terms are of course John Guillory’s: linguistic capital names the ‘means by which one attains to a socially credentialed and therefore valued speech’ (in Wordsworth’s case, the language of a man speaking to real men …); while symbolic capital designates a ‘kind of knowledge-capital whose possession can be displayed upon request and which thereby entitles its possessor to the cultural and material rewards of the well-educated person’ (the ability of Wordsworth’s contemporaries both to recognize and contest his identiﬁcation with Milton) (Guillory ix). 6. Coleridge’s 1817 letter to Street (as cited in the epigraph to the Introduction) articulates a relevant and tantalizing reading which will not, alas, be pursued here: the unavoidable question of the degree to which we can or should read Milton ‘in the Devil’s Name.’ That is to say, how ironically does the Satan of Paradise Lost stand in relation to the politics of Milton’s prose? In relation to Abdiel in the epic? If the 1810s are as devilish a time as Coleridge would have it, then we might be well served to reread book 5 of Paradise Lost as an index of the range of possible appropriations of the political Milton. For an in-depth consideration of Romantic attitudes toward Milton, see Newlyn; see also nn. 12 and 13 below. 7. For the ordering of Wordsworth’s sonnets in Poems, in Two Volumes, see P2V 60–1; for their ordering in the two-volume Poems of 1815, see SP 618–19. 8. As James Chandler has pointed out, the presentation of the Thanksgiving Ode volume was modeled quite speciﬁcally on the editions of both 1807 and 1815, and the ‘Thanksgiving Ode’ itself was to be read as complement- ing the enormously successful ode, ‘“There was a time,”’ that closed the 222 Notes

second volume of 1807: ‘Even the architectonic arrangement of poems in the 1816 volume recalls the publication of 1807, for the sequence of sonnets dedicated to liberty followed by the elevated and extended “Thanksgiving Ode” closely approximates the order of the second 1807 volume’ (‘“Wordsworth” after Waterloo’ 98–9). 9. Owen and Smyser note this allusion (PrW 3.10) and support it with a letter from Wordsworth to Thomas Poole (previously cited) from the spring of 1814: ‘I have at last resolved to send to the Press a portion of a Poem which, if I live to ﬁnish it, I hope future times will “not willingly let die.” These you know are the words of my great Predecessor, and the depth of my feelings upon some subjects seems to justify me in the act of applying them to myself… .’ (Middle Years 2.146). See also Wordsworth’s dedicatory sonnet to Lonsdale, in which, disparaging his incomplete poem as but a ‘token’ of his gratitude, he hastens to correct himself: ‘(may it prove a monument!)’ (Poetical Works 5.1). 10. The ﬁgural economy of falling proliferates throughout the proem to book 7. Ironically, Urania is named here (‘Descend from heaven Urania’) not to lead the poet any further ‘into the heaven of heavens,’ but to return him to his native element before he should ‘fall’ from an un-reined Pegasus: ‘Standing on earth, not rapt above the pole, / More safe I sing with mortal voice’ (7.23–4; emphasis added). 11. Compare ‘Lycidas,’ ll. 58–63:

What could the Muse herself that Orpheus bore, The Muse herself, for her inchanting son Whom universal Nature did lament, When by the rout that made the hideous roar, His gory visage down the shore was sent, Down the swift Hebrus to the Lesbian shore?

12. As Newlyn proceeds to explain, ‘It was as political allegory that the Romantics read Paradise Lost, at least in the first instance, because to do so lent support to their own radical positions; but … they tended increasingly to turn to Milton as a way of exploring the moral issues that politics raised, rather than simply appropriating Milton as a champion of their cause’ (38). 13. Paulin presents the consistency of Hazlitt’s political reading of Milton as integral to his Unitarianism: ‘because Milton is one of the central cultural pillars of Unitarianism[,] to cite his poetry or prose is implicitly to affirm that faith and perpetuate it in the present’ (217). For the Unitarian reader, furthermore, there was no discernible shift from the republican prose writer to the epic poet; for Hazlitt in particular, Paulin claims, ‘the Allied victory over Napoleon [was] the equivalent of Milton’s tragic disappointment at the restoration of the Stuarts’ (217). 14. Hazlitt’s remarks here on Milton’s style occur in the second of two Examiner pieces on Milton in August, 1815. The reading of ‘Lycidas’ in the previous number (Aug. 6, 1815; WH 4.31–6) is likely his first piece for the Examiner since Waterloo (the week following his review of ‘Comus’), a notice which it is tempting to construct as his elegy for Napoleon. Notes 223

15. To denigrate the grammar of one’s opponent is a decidedly conservative tactic (often practiced against Hazlitt by William Gifford and the reviewers of the Quarterly Review and Blackwood’s Edinburgh Magazine), one which Hazlitt here turns against Wordsworth when he quotes from the ‘Letter to a Friend of Robert Burns’: ‘Whom did the poet intend should be thought of as copying that grave over which, after modestly setting forth the moral dis- cernment and warm affections of its “poor inhabitant,” it is supposed to be inscribed that “Thoughtless follies laid him low, / And stained his name?” Who but himself – himself anticipating the too probable termination of his own course?’ Hazlitt then retorts, ‘Who but Mr. Wordsworth, a person tri- umphing over the slips of the pen in an electioneering placard, would have put to the press such a sentence as this? We leave it to his friend Mr. Coleridge to extricate him from this grammatical scrape … and trans- late the above passage into legitimate English’ (WH 19.213). 16. The quotation is from Addison’s Cato, which, appropriately enough, had been written expressly to contest the ‘ridiculous Doctrine in Modern Criticism’ that rewards and punishments should be distributed justly. 17. Hazlitt’s rhetorical question here serves to remind his readers that ‘true’ English republicans are not high church Trinitarians but Unitarians, the intellectual and political descendants of Milton, Marvell, Harrington, and Algernon Sidney – precisely the ‘Great Men’ whom Wordsworth claimed for his own cause in his 1802 sonnet. For an account of the ‘revolutionary consciousness which runs through Unitarian writing,’ including Hazlitt’s, see Paulin, esp. 3–4, 6–11. 18. Among other examples, I am thinking of the imperative moral force to which the Pedlar is subservient in such critical lines (dating from 1798) as ‘“Not useless do I deem … ,”’ in which one ‘needs must feel’ the (putatively natural) power that not only moves us ‘from strict necessity,’ but which disturbingly ‘knows no bound.’ Alternatively, see Wordsworth’s avowal in book 10 of The Prelude (similarly preoccupied as it is with Godwin) that during his residence in France, ‘amid the awe / Of unintelligible chastise- ment / I felt a kind of sympathy with power’ (1805; 10.414–16). While one might argue that such constructions of power must themselves be recuper- ated under the heading of ‘the excursive power / Of Intellect and thought’ (‘“Not useless do I deem …”’) to which various Wordsworthian personae yield, these passages nonetheless resound uneasily with the voice that aspires in both the ‘Essay, Supplementary’ and the Advertisement to the Thanksgiving Ode volume to establish dominion and to communicate power. (For ‘“Not useless do I deem … ,”’ see Gill 495–7 and The Ruined Cottage 261–71.) 19. As J. Hillis Miller observes in his review of Natural Supernaturalism, ‘Abrams perhaps takes his writers a little too much at face value, summarizes them a little too ﬂatly, fails to search them for their ambiguities or contradictions in their thought, does not “explicate” in the sense of unfold, unravel, or unweave’ (11). Abrams would not necessarily disagree, noting in the Preface to Natural Supernaturalism that ‘authors, so far as feasible, should be allowed to speak for themselves’ (15). See the Introduction, n3, for a consideration of the impediments such a citational practice poses to a critical reading of Hazlitt. 224 Notes

20. From ‘English Romanticism: The Spirit of the Age’ (1963), through Natural Supernaturalism (1971) and his review of David Bromwich’s Hazlitt: The Mind of a Critic (1984), to the Foreword to the exhibition catalogue, William Wordsworth and the Age of English Romanticism (1987), and, most recently, in ‘On Political Readings of Lyrical Ballads’ (1989), Abrams consistently exploits the same pronouncement from ‘On the Living Poets,’ in league with the same two paragraphs from the portrait of Wordsworth in The Spirit of the Age. Even his review of Bromwich often reads as but another opportunity to remind us (this time more self-consciously attentive to Hazlitt’s ‘doubleness of assertion and attitude’) that Hazlitt was right: Wordsworth was the exemplary romantic poet. 21. Repeatedly arguing that ‘Wordsworth’s Lyrical Ballads and his other early poems were a revolution in poetry equivalent to the French Revolution in politics, in that they transferred to their stance and subject-matter the political principles of human equality and fraternity’ (Foreword viii; emphasis added), Abrams distinguishes three interrelated projects in Wordsworth’s revolutionary poetics: an overturning of the decorum and hierarchy of genre; the translation of scriptural transvaluations into literature; and the reformation of his readers’ sensibilities. Furthermore, for Abrams, this last constitutes Wordsworth’s own critique of romantic ideology ‘On Political Readings’ 371–2). 22. Compare Hazlitt’s account, in the Letter to William Gifford, of the ‘subtle sophistry of the human mind, that tolerates and pampers the evil, in order to guard against its approaches’ (WH 9.38). 23. Although Abrams denounces the ‘radically political criticism’ of McGann and Marjorie Levinson as a ‘“must-be,” or necessitarian theory: it brings to the reading of any literary work a predetermination of the kind of meaning … that the act of reading will necessarily discover’ (‘On Political Readings’ 367), his irritation at such totalizing strategies does not exempt him from succumbing to a similar degree of ‘critical authoritarianism’ when it comes to his own ‘reading’ of Hazlitt, insisting as he repeatedly does on Hazlitt’s recognition of a clear alignment of political and poetical revolutions which (at least in Hazlitt’s writing) is far too complicated, not to mention tenuous, to be so simply distilled. For an analysis of Abrams’s essay as a ‘massive mis- reading’ of the methodology of the New Historicism, see Liu, ‘The Power of Formalism’ 770n92; for an appraisal of the exchange between Abrams and the New Historicism, see Ferguson. 24. Klancher cites Hunt from the Examiner (29 April 1821, review of Byron’s Letter to **** ***** on the Rev. W.L. Bowles’ Strictures on the Life and Writings of Pope), as reprinted in Leigh Hunt’s Literary Criticism 640. (See Introduction 6–7.) For an alternative account of Wordsworth’s contributions to literary ‘revolution’ which illustrates the complexity of Hunt’s reading of Wordsworth, see Feast of the Poets 87–109. 25. In the 1807 Poems, the section on sonnets is divided into 20 ‘Miscellaneous Sonnets’ and 26 ‘Sonnets Dedicated to Liberty.’ In the 1815 Poems, the ‘Sonnets Dedicated to Liberty’ are further divided into two parts, those which appeared in 1807 and a second series of 32 sonnets, from 1807 to 1813. With Miscellaneous Poems (1820), the second series of ‘Sonnets Dedicated to Liberty’ is augmented by six additional sonnets from the Notes 225

Thanksgiving Ode volume (1816) and the ‘Thanksgiving Ode’ itself. For the arrangement of the political sonnets in 1807, see P2V 60–1; for 1815, see SP 618–19; and for 1820, see SP 627–8. 26. See Wordsworth’s letter to Lady Beaumont of May 21, 1807, where, although Milton is not mentioned by name, the ‘simplicity’ and ‘grandeur’ in terms of which Wordsworth characterizes the ‘Sonnets Dedicated to Liberty’ inflects them as decidedly Miltonic: ‘… I would boldly say at once, that these Sonnets, while they each fix the attention upon some important sentiment separately considered, do at the same time collectively make a Poem on the subject of civil Liberty and national independence, which, either for simplicity of style or grandeur of moral sentiment, is, alas! likely to have few parallels in the Poetry of the present day’ (Middle Years 1.147). 27. Woodring characterizes the ‘goading sonnets’ in terms of their ‘mixture of rhetorical passion, topical immediacy, lucid political and psychological propositions, apostrophes to leaders who had fallen in a just cause and to whole peoples in the pulse-quickening news, with bookish appeals to historic analogues’ (Politics in English Romantic Poetry 125). For a detailed account of Wordsworth’s sense of historic indebtedness to the ‘great men’ of English Republicanism, see Fink. 28. For a dialectical explication of Wordsworth’s ‘critical patriotism’ in these sonnets (treated as Wordsworth’s first fully political discourse since the 1793 ‘Letter to the Bishop of Llandaff’), see Liu, Sense of History 432–5. 29. In the Morning Post of January 29, 1803, Daniel Stuart (the proprietor of the paper) ran the following announcement: ‘We have been favoured with a dozen Sonnets of a Political nature, which are not only written by one of the first Poets of the age, but are among his best productions. Each forms a little Political Essay, on some recent proceeding’ (cited in Sense of History 431; see also EOT 3.297). In the end, Wordsworth contributed a total of seven sonnets to the Morning Post in 1803: ‘“I griev’d for Buonaparte”’ (Jan. 29), ‘Calais, August, 1802’ (‘Is it a Reed that’s shaken by the wind’; Jan. 29); ‘To Toussaint L’Ouverture’ (Feb. 2); ‘September 1st, 1802’ (‘We had a Fellow-Passenger’; Feb. 11); ‘Calais, August 15th, 1802’ (‘Festivals have I seen’; Feb. 26); ‘“It is not to be thought of that the flood”’ (April 16); and ‘“When I have borne in memory what has tamed”’ (Sept. 17). All seven sonnets appeared with the signature W.L.D., initials which, according to several of Wordsworth’s editors, stood for Wordsworthius Libertati dedicavit (cited by de Selincourt, Poetical Works 3.453). 30. As Stuart Curran has noted, ‘Whatever their lapses in an ultimate scale of value, the “Sonnets on Eminent Characters” stand out from the thousands of sonnets published in the closing decade of the eighteenth century for their creation of a sustained public posture and unified cultural vision’ (39–40). Curran goes on to argue that Wordsworth’s address to Coleridge in the thirteenth of the political sonnets (‘Written in London, September, 1802,’ which begins ‘O Friend! I know not which way I must look / For comfort …’) is not merely a gesture of friendship but in fact ‘an implicit acknowledgment of obligation to [Coleridge’s] example’ (40). 31. For an account of the deterioration of the English sonnet between Milton and Wordsworth, see Havens 488–528 and Curran 29–39. 226 Notes

32. As Curran observes, ‘Wordsworth creates the greatest of neo-Miltonic sonnet sequences through the profound imagining of what Milton would have required of the poet who would emulate him’ (48). 33. See, for example, Wordsworth’s letter to Alexander Dyce (April 1833), in which he remarks of Milton’s tendency to override any clear distinction between the octave and the sestet by delaying the turn, ‘Now it has struck me, that this is not done merely to gratify the ear by variety and freedom of sound, but also to aid in giving that pervading sense of intense Unity in which the excellence of the Sonnet has seemed to me mainly to consist’ (Later Years 2.604–5). See also Wordsworth’s remark in the Fenwick note on the 1802 sonnets regarding the ‘dignified simplicity and majestic harmony’ that runs through most of Milton’s sonnets (cited by de Selincourt, Poetical Works 3.417). 34. Todd articulates the sonnet’s appeal for Wordsworth particularly well, noting that ‘In the regularity of the sonnet form he found an artistic coun- terpart to the personal discipline for which he was beginning to yearn; and the appeal of the ordered verse form was the precursor of those imperious demands which the principle of duty was later to make on him’ (115). While Todd inflects ‘duty’ in terms of poetic standards of order (culminat- ing in the ‘Ode to Duty’), Wordsworth’s preoccupation in 1802 with the tension between freedom and order is of course every bit as political as it is poetical. 35. See Dorothy’s journal entry for May 21, 1802 (Grasmere Journals 101). 36. The letter (to Lamb?) continues, ‘The Sonnets of Milton which I like best are that to “Cyriack Skinner;” on his “Blindness;” “Captain or Colonel;” “Massacre of Piedmont;” “Cromwell” except two last lines; “Fairfax,” &c’ (Early Years 379). 37. In poetry, as John Hollander has observed apropos this sonnet, ‘freedom paradoxically manifests itself in the imagination’s unbridled propensity to design new bridles for itself’ (90). 38. See Havens 531–2 for an account of Wordsworth’s handling of the techni- cal challenges of the sonnet. According to Havens, ‘in the first six years of [Wordsworth’s] sonnet activity, during which his best work was produced, thirty-seven of his octaves are legitimate, twenty-three have the three-rimed form, a b b a a c c a, and only one is irregular’ (531). See also McNulty. 39. Compare the sestet of Milton’s sonnet to Vane:

… besides to know Both spiritual power and civil, what each means, What severs each, thou hast learned, which few have done. The bounds of either sword to thee we owe; Therefore on thy ﬁrm hand Religion leans In peace, and reckons thee her eldest son.

40. For a reading of ‘“I griev’d”’ which is sympathetic to Wordsworth’s appropriation of a Napoleonic ‘true Sway,’ see Bainbridge 86–8. 41. In 1803 in the Morning Post, ‘“I griev’d”’ appeared as Wordsworth’s ﬁrst sonnet and ‘Calais, August 15, 1802’ ran nearly a month later, the ﬁfth of seven. See above, note 29. Notes 227

42. Compare Prelude (1805) 6.352–70, where Wordsworth writes of ‘How bright a face is worn when joy of one / Is joy of tens of millions,’ and of towns ‘gaudy with reliques’ of the Fête de la Fédération (14 July 1790). 43. Beyond ‘“I griev’d”’ and ‘Calais, August 15, 1802,’ Wordsworth elsewhere addresses ‘sway’ (in this first series of the ‘Sonnets Dedicated to Liberty’) as an imperial corruption of revolutionary French liberté in ‘October, 1803,’ where he denounces Napoleon as ‘one man, of men the meanest too! / Raised up to sway the world…’ (ll. 2–3). See also the ‘Lines on the Expected Invasion. 1803’ (P2V 598–9), where the memory of the heroes of the Commonwealth is invoked to spur Englishmen on to ‘take your stand’ and ‘display / Banners at enmity with regal sway’ (ll. 2, 5–6). 44. Curran continues: ‘The second half of the sonnet sequence recovers motive force through the incorporation of Milton as abiding genius within it. The sequence does not simply pay tribute to Milton: it regains its sense of purpose and integrity, both cultural perspective and inner assurance, through incorporating Milton’s voice and vision’ (47). 45. Apropos lines 13–14 of ‘London, 1802,’ de Selincourt and Darbishire cite Wordsworth’s letter to J.K. Miller (Dec. 17, 1831): ‘It is the habit of my mind inseparably to connect loftiness of imagination with that humility which is best taught in Scripture’ (Poetical Works 3.455; Later Years 2.465). Interestingly, Wordsworth is concerned in this letter (written during the debates on the Reform Bill) to clarify his opposition to any ‘revolutionary’ English spirit; the republican ‘Milton’ whom he summons in 1802 would have been entirely unacceptable to him in 1831, given his interest in defending the political institutions of ‘this empire’ (Later Years 2.464; emphasis added). 46. That it was read in this light can be seen in the regularity with which even such an ambivalent Wordsworthian as Leigh Hunt cites this poem as a barometer of Wordsworth’s ‘greatness’; consider, for example, Hunt’s important allusion to it during the 1813 debate over the Laureateship, as discussed in Chapter 1, and, below, his reliance upon it in the notes to the Feast of the Poets (1814) as well as in his response to the Waterloo sonnets (1816). 47. See SP 627–8 for their arrangement in Miscellaneous Poems (1820), which appends six sonnets from the Thanksgiving Ode volume (1816) to the second sequence on liberty in the collected Poems (1815). 48. See Woodring, Politics in English Romantic Poetry, 122–6, for further commentary on Wordsworth’s later, ‘international’ political sonnets. 49. Stephen Gill’s remarks on Wordsworth’s 1816 odes are equally applicable to the falling-off that can be read in the later political sonnets, in which, ‘in attempting a generalizing utterance Wordsworth forsook the very ground of the success of most of his poems, which is that they are realized in and through the matter-of-fact, the everyday, the human. “Michael” and “The Brothers” depict belonging, rootedness, loyalty, but not as abstractions, rather as forces expressed in daily living in a particularized place. The 1816 odes are empty of human beings, unanchored in specific place or event’ (319–20). Similarly, although the 1816 sonnets are topically catalyzed by Waterloo, they too are devoid of the anxious quotidian reflections that energize the 1802 sonnets. 228 Notes

50. For further commentary on the Miltonic echoes in the Waterloo sonnets, see Bainbridge 233n48. 51. As Bainbridge notes, ‘the three sonnets on Waterloo … fail to transcend their status as pseudo-laureate celebrations of the British victory’ (169); consequently, ‘it was by abandoning the sonnet and returning to the sublime lyric mode of the irregular or Pindaric ode that Wordworth found a form in which he could “worthily rehearse” the “hideous rout” of Waterloo’ (170). (Ketcham, the editor of the ‘Thanksgiving Ode,’ makes a similar claim; SP 12.) For a detailed reading of the ‘Thanksgiving Ode,’ see Bainbridge 170–6. 52. Hunt announces his reading of Wordsworth’s sonnets as a party: ‘Heaven Made a Party to Earthly Disputes – Mr. Wordsworth’s Sonnets on Waterloo’ (97). Not a celebratory event so much as a conspiracy, this party’s guest list (far more restrictive than that of Hunt’s own, earlier Feast of the Poets) is restricted to God, the Holy Alliance, and Wordsworth. Neither Hunt nor the readers of the Examiner, as quickly becomes apparent, have been invited. And though Milton’s company seems to have been solicited – who better to represent God’s Party and represent its ways to Englishmen? – it remains uncertain on whose side he will be seated. 53. Hunt’s critique here (that ‘Wordsworth has got into an awkward business here altogether,’ rekindling Catholic superstition and praising an elected monarch [98]) is exemplary of his reading strategies, the habitual ways in which he resists Wordsworth’s moves toward transcendence. 54. See, for example, the Advertisement to the Thanksgiving Ode volume. 55. Though it might be argued that Wordsworth’s politics in the sonnets are consistent to the degree that he is always anti-Napoleonic, Hazlitt’s critique reveals the degree to which Wordsworth’s public presentation of his Miltonic aspirations in 1814–16 inﬂected the manner in which he was read from that point on. Relying critically on two overdetermined citations from the Excursion, Hazlitt insists that because of Wordsworth’s recantation of revolutionary politics in that poem, he can not be considered as more than ‘half the man or half the poet Milton was’:

[Mr. Wordsworth’s sonnets] mouth it well, and are said to be sacred to Liberty. Brutus’s exclamation, ‘Oh Virtue, I thought thee a substance, but I ﬁnd thee a shadow’ [cited in Excursion 3.775–7], was not considered as a compliment, but as a bitter sarcasm. The beauty of Milton’s Sonnets is their sincerity, the spirit of poetical patriotism which they breathe. Either Milton’s or the living bard’s are defective in this respect. There is no Sonnet of Milton’s on the Restoration of Charles II. There is no Sonnet of Mr. Wordsworth’s, corresponding to that of ‘the poet blind and bold,’ ‘On the late Massacre in Piedmont.’ It would be no niggard praise to Mr. Wordsworth to grant that he was either half the man or half the poet that Milton was. He has not his high and various imagination, nor his deep and ﬁxed principle. Milton did not worship the rising sun, nor turn his back on a losing and fallen cause. ‘Such recantation had no charms for him!’ [Excursion 3.778] (WH 8.176)

56. The language is Shelley’s, from the 1816 sonnet, ‘To Wordsworth’ (Poetry and Prose 92), with which Hunt clearly seems to be not only in agreement Notes 229

but in fact in dialogue. Note, for example, the representation in each of Wordsworth as a heavenly beacon – in Shelley’s case, presumably an allusion to ‘London, 1802,’ where Wordsworth addresses Milton, ‘Thy soul was like a Star, and dwelt apart.’ 57. See Cox, who remarks of the Hunt Circle’s acutely social sense of poetry that ‘The occasional nature of so much of even the group’s best verse is a sign of how deeply embedded their poetry was in day-to-day life, whether personal, social, cultural, or political’ (65). 58. Concerned as he is in the long note on Wordsworth to compensate for his previous neglect, Hunt’s more insightful remarks on Wordsworth are actually to be found in the note on Southey, where he characterizes the apostasy of the Lake poets as a product of their literary language: ‘the maudlin German cant which first infected their muse at last corrupted their manners, and being a jargon adapted to every sort of extreme, enabled them to change their free opinions for slavish ones, without altering the cast of their language’ (Feast 77). 59. Benjamin Haydon, who arranged the visit between Wordsworth and Hunt, later remarked in a letter to Wordsworth (April 1817), ‘Leigh Hunt’s weather- cock estimation I cannot account for … . He first attacks you when he had never read you, then a friend (Mr. Baines) brought him your Excursion, pointed out your sonnets and he began to find that he should have looked through a Poet’s works before he came to a conclusion on the genius displayed in them – he then recanted … . [Hunt] never holds one opinion one month he does not sophisticate himself out of before the next is over’ (cited in Moorman 2.279). 60. Mary Moorman’s remark on Hazlitt’s footnote – ‘as Wordsworth had included the whole of the Vagrant’s story after her return from America, it seems a strange and careless criticism’ (2.280) – overlooks the fact that the descriptions of war (to which Hazlitt alludes) all precede her return, and that the narrative’s decisive events (her father’s eviction and her husband’s enlistment) are also absent from the 1815 version, collected in the collected Poems as ‘Juvenile Pieces.’

Chapter 4: Facing the Past: Spectral Apostasies

1. For detailed accounts of the political agitation during the winter of 1816–17 – speciﬁcally, the signiﬁcance of the three Spa Fields meetings of December 1816 and their aftermath – see Halévy, Liberal Awakening 15–25 and Thompson, Working Class 631–41. 2. For a history of the man as well as the uprising, see Wat Tyler xvii–xxiii, which reprints the relevant pages from Hume’s History of England. 3. As cited in the Examiner, Dec. 8, 1816 (779). 4. After delivering the Speech from the Throne at the opening of the 1817 parliamentary session (Jan. 28), the Regent was returning to Carlton House when a projectile (a bullet? a pebble?) passed through his carriage, piercing two windows. Though the Regent was unhurt, this unexpected attempt on his life (if it was that) immediately recalled the attack on George III’s carriage at the opening of Parliament in 1795, and threw Sidmouth’s cabinet into a counter-revolutionary fervor. See Halévy, Liberal Awakening 22–3. 230 Notes

5. In 1794, Southey had left the manuscript with the radical publisher Ridgway, who was at that time in Newgate. Southey never bothered to recover the manuscript, which came to be owned by a friend of Ridgway’s, a dissenting minister named Winterbotham, who arranged for its publication after the history of Wat Tyler began to circulate again in December 1816. See Carnall 161–5; see also Storey 253–7 and passim; for Southey’s own account, see New Letters 2.150–1, 153 and LC 4.234–9; for a detailed account of the entire controversy, see Hoadley. 6. ‘The Battle of Blenheim’ (Feb. 4); ‘Inscription for the Apartment in Chepstow Castle, where Henry Marten the Regicide was Imprisoned Thirty Years’ (Aug. 18); ‘Inscription for a Monument at Old Sarum’ (Aug. 25); ‘Inscription for a Monument in the New Forest’ (Sept. 1); ‘To Horror’ (Sept. 15). In a later edition of Wat Tyler (April 1817), William Hone reprinted the poems on Henry Marten and the battle of Blenheim, as well as ‘On Bad Rulers’ and an extract from ‘Sapphics.’ For contemporary texts of Southey’s poems from the 1790s, see Poems. 7. The astonishing sales figures for Wat Tyler would prove to be Southey’s highest ever, a significant increase over the successes of The Curse of Kehama (1810) and Roderick, The Last of the Goths (1814), and far more than the later The Vision of Judgement (1821); see Storey 200–5, 218, 225, 230–2, 285–9. 8. See Chapter 2 for a consideration of Coleridge’s 1817 articles for the Courier. 9. See Hunt, ‘Death and Burial of the Late Mr. Southey’ and ‘Extraordinary Case of the Late Mr. Southey.’ 10. As Carnall observes, ‘The spectacle of the Laureate’s jacobin past rising in judgement against him was too diverting to be reasoned away; nor was the unconciliatory tone of the Letter itself calculated to impress the ordinary reader favourably’ (164). 11. In the Preface, ‘Suitable to Recent Circumstances,’ to his April 1817 edition of the play, Hone underscores the gothic qualities of Wat Tyler’s sudden appearance: ‘Had Mr. Robert Southey made up his mind to revel only in the “sweet sin of poesy,” at his retreat in Cumberland, perhaps no ghost had risen from the grave, and all might have been well … .’ Having decided to write conservative polemics in the ministerial press, however, ‘during a paroxysm, in the Quarterly, [he] had scarcely put down his pen, when, as in retribution, up jumped WAT TYLER’ (Wat Tyler vi, vii). 12. The phrase is William Godwin’s, from a melancholy pronouncement of 1801: ‘I have fallen (if I have fallen) in one common grave with the cause and the love of liberty; and in this sense have been more honoured and illustrated in my decline from general favour, than I ever was in the highest tide of my success’ (‘Thoughts Occasioned by the Perusal of Dr. Parr’s Spital Sermon,’ Uncollected Writings 284). Though acknowledging that he himself may have fallen from favor and into the ‘grave’ of liberty, Godwin is more immediately concerned with attempting to account for the political apostasies – the fallings-off – of so many of his contemporaries, including Samuel Parr. What is of note in Godwin’s representation of himself as having fallen into a grave is his clarification that he has not been silenced by such a fall but (and it is this implication to which we shall return) that he is speaking to us from – if not beyond – the grave. Notes 231

13. For extracts from Smith’s speech, as well as the reply by Charles Wynn, see Madden 236–9. For a more complete account, see Hoadley, who writes, ‘Smith is reported to have entered the House of Commons on the morning of Friday, 14 March with a copy of Wat Tyler in one coat pocket and the current issue of the Quarterly in the other. Hansard’s Parliamentary Debates [vol. 35 1090–4] and sundry newspaper accounts record that during the debate on the Seditious Meetings Bill he read a characteristic extract from each, declared Wat Tyler to be seditious and its author (whom he did not mention by name) worthy of prosecution, and predicted that the author would go free because the Ministry would not proceed against a Quarterly writer’ (83). 14. Smith’s position is representative of contemporary attitudes toward Southey: at issue was not the fact that he had changed sides, but that he so thoroughly denounced those who continued to maintain those positions which he had once espoused. Compare Hazlitt, from a contemporaneous comparison of Wat Tyler and ‘Parliamentary Reform’: ‘Those who have undergone a total change of sentiment on important questions, ought certainly to learn modesty in themselves, and moderation towards others; on the contrary, they are generally the most violent in their own opinions, and the most intolerant towards others’ (WH 7.170). 15. See, for example, Hazlitt’s review of Southey’s 1816 ‘Lay of the Laureate,’ in which he undermines the Laureate’s patriotism in terms of his recent productions: ‘It was understood to be for his exertions in the cause of Spanish liberty that [Southey] was made Poet-Laureate. It is then high time for him to resign … Has he discovered that the air of a Court does not very well agree with remonstrances against acts of oppression and tyranny, when exercised by those who are born for no other purpose? Is his patriotism only a false cover, a Carlton-House convenience? His silence on this subject is not equivocal’ (WH 7.95). See also Hunt’s earlier characterization of laureate poetry as libelous in ‘On the New-Year’s Ode’ (as cited above, Chapter 1). 16. See Chapter 2 n. 3 for a gloss of ‘hypostasis.’ 17. See Chapter 3 for a consideration of the charge of literary Jacobinism as it applies to Wordsworth. 18. See Hoadley: ‘As soon as Southey heard of Smith’s remarks, his attitude toward the whole Wat Tyler affair changed. No longer did he see the poem as dangerous only in stirring up riots; it personally menaced its author’ (84). See also Carnall 163. 19. For the full text of Lord Eldon’s opinion, see LC 4.251; on Southey’s desire to see the publishers charged with sedition, see LC 4.239, 242. 20. The curious applicability of ‘renegade’ and ‘renegado’ to Southey’s career is further illustrated by the OED, which cites his Roderick, The Last of the Goths (1814) to illustrate both terms: ‘How best they might evade The Moor, and renegade’s more watchful eye’ (Roderick VIII); ‘Might I meet that renegado, sword to scymitar, in open ﬁeld’ (Roderick IX). 21. See Hazlitt, ‘The Courier and “The Wat Tyler”’ (WH 7.176–86), where he observes, ‘Instead of applying for an injunction against Wat Tyler, Mr. Southey would do well to apply for an injunction against Mr. Coleridge, who has undertaken his defence in The Courier. If he can escape from the ominous patronage of that man’s pen, he has nothing to fear from 232 Notes

his own… . [Wat Tyler] only proves that he was once a wild enthusiast: of the two characters, for which Mr. Southey is a candidate with the public, this is the most creditable for him to appear in … . A strong dose of the Jacobin spirit of Wat Tyler may be of use to get the sickly taste of the Poet- laureate and the Quarterly Reviewer out of our mouths’ (WH 7.176–7). 22. Southey strikes this pose repeatedly throughout the Letter to William Smith, even going so far at one point as to characterize the English Jacobins of the 1790s as a uniquely enlightened class: ‘[Wat Tyler] was written when republicanism was confined to a very small number of the educated classes; when those who were known to entertain such opinions were exposed to personal danger from the populace; and when a spirit of Anti-jacobinism was predominant, which I cannot characterize more truly than by saying, that it was as unjust and intolerant … as the Jacobinism of the present day’ (7). 23. See Hazlitt, ‘Consistency of Opinion’ (WH 17.22–34), where he alludes to ‘a story somewhere in Don Quixote, of two champions coming to a shield hung up against a tree with an inscription written on each side of it,’ in order then to represent apostasy in terms of the combatants changing sides during the heat of battle and subsequently denying ‘that there were any such words on the opposite side as they had before been bent on sacrificing their lives to prove were the only ones it contained.’ As unaccountable as such a scenario may seem, Hazlitt continues, it is nonetheless the very situation of some modern apostates: ‘It seems they are afraid to look their old opinions in the face, lest they should be fascinated by them once more. They banish all doubts of their own sincerity by inveighing against the motives of their antagonists. There is no salvation out of the pale of their strange inconsistency’ (WH 7.24). Below, we will take up the apostate’s dilemma when attempting to face his old opinions as it arises in Southey’s Letter to William Smith. 24. See Hazlitt’s three-part dissection of the Letter (WH 7.186–208), where he caustically observes, ‘It is not always that a simile runs on all-fours; but this does. The sun, indeed, passes from the East to the West, but it rises in the East again: yet Mr. Southey is still looking in the West – for his pension’ (WH 7.203–4). 25. Southey follows up his figure of the apostate as (political) weathervane when, several pages later, he writes: ‘The changes which have taken place render other changes inevitable; forward we must go, for it is not possible to retrace our steps; the hand of the political horologe cannot go back, like the shadow on Hezekiah’s dial [2 Kings 20.9–11]; … when the hour comes, it must strike’ (Letter 30). Within the context provided by the ‘political horologe,’ Southey’s defense of change as inevitable and irreversible underlines the structure of apostasy not as a terminal conversion but as an initiat- ing turn which is not to be arrested. 26. Both the formulation and the premiss are de Man’s; see ‘Autobiography as De-facement,’ where he characterizes autobiographical discourse as ‘a discourse of self-restoration,’ developed and deployed in response to a per- ceived threat of deprivation to or mutilation of the self (Rhetoric of Romanticism 74). 27. Compare Coleridge, who in the second of his articles on Southey and Wat Tyler similarly maintains that William Smith cannot really be ignorant that ‘the Wat Tyler is a Poem, and a dramatic Poem, and that it is both unfair and Notes 233

absurd to attribute to the Poet, as a man all the sentiments he puts in the mouth of his character’ (EOT 2.457). 28. It is not simply that political apostasy and literary criticism are inevitably linked in the 1810s; the problem of romantic apostasy continues to illumi- nate the interpretive dilemma posed by the attribution of agency, not least because – as the very rhetoric of Southey’s dramatization of himself suggests – such agency can never be reliably adduced. 29. As in fact it may be said to have done; in the Life and Correspondence, Charles Cuthbert Southey conspicuously appends it to volume 4, noting that he thinks it right to place it there as, ‘from my father’s reprinting it in his Essays, it appears plainly that he intended it should be preserved, and as the history of Wat Tyler is incomplete without it’ (LC 4.256). 30. Read in its proper context (the concluding paragraph of ‘Autobiography as De-facement’), de Man’s formulation bears even further resonance for our reading of the Letter to William Smith: ‘Death is a displaced name for a linguistic predicament, and the restoration of mortality by autobiography (the prosopopoeia of the voice and the name) deprives and disfigures to the precise extent that it restores. Autobiography veils a defacement of the mind of which it is itself the cause’ (Rhetoric of Romanticism 81). Southey’s prosopopoeiae in the Letter – the displacements of persona from the first to the third person in regard to both the past and the future (allowing him to speak, proleptically, from beyond the grave) – disfigure as well as restore in the sense that, speaking for Robert Southey but not as Robert Southey, he re-faces (pre-faces) himself only then ultimately to deface himself in conclusion through silencing himself.

Chapter 5: Upstaging the Fall: The Spectacle of Romantic Apostasy

1. Inchbald’s isolation of the danger of the play at the level of the sentence draws our attention particularly to the tendency of many of the play’s notable rhetorical flourishes, such as Martius’ dismissal of the plebeians in the first scene, ‘Go get you home, you fragments!’ Reserving the sentence as the unit for aristocratic expression, Martius’ grammatical elitism here reveals yet another fashion in which we can read what romantic criticism repeatedly terms Shakespeare’s ‘leaning’ toward the arbitrary side of the question in Coriolanus. In the subsequent and final paragraph, Inchbald more prominently inflects the ability to stage the play as a barometer of public discontent: ‘As Coriolanus is now once more brought upon the stage, and the voice of the public has hailed its return; this circumstance may be received as a joyful evidence – that the multitude at present are content in their various stations; and can therefore, in this little dramatic history, amuse themselves with behold- ing, free from anger and resentment, that vainglory, which presumes to despise them.’ The pleasure Inchbald takes in the renewed possibility of staging the play (a possibility which rests with the public’s ability to amuse itself at its own expense) compromises our sense of her ideological savvy as a critic, as she reinscribes her earlier attention to the play’s dangerous tendencies within the larger framework of an humiliating public stasis. 234 Notes

For a similar portrayal of the audience of a full theatre as a ‘national convention,’ upon whom the passions of the play will work to conciliate and harmonize, ‘to make the various ranks pleased with themselves and with each other,’ see Walter Scott’s review of James Boaden, Memoirs of the Life of John Philip Kemble, 200–1. For a far more vitiated appraisal of the play’s politics, see Coleridge’s notes on Coriolanus, in which he cites the play as exemplary of the ‘wonderful philosophic impartiality of Shakespeare’s politics’ and as little more than a ‘good-humoured laugh at mobs’ (Shakespearean Criticism 1.79). 2. All citations from Hazlitt’s review of Kemble’s 1816 production of Coriolanus are taken from the text reproduced in A View of the English Stage (1818; WH 5.347–50), which follows the original Examiner review (15 Dec 1816; 792–4) more closely than that reprinted in Characters of Shakespear’s Plays (1817; WH 4.214–21). 3. John Philip Kemble, Shakespeare’s Coriolanus; or, The Roman Matron (London: Longman, 1806). Unless otherwise noted, all citations from Coriolanus are taken from this edition, and will be cited parenthetically by page. (For a fac- simile of an earlier Kemble edition, see Kemble, Coriolanus [1789], ed. Inga- Stina Ewbank.) For an account of the textual history of Kemble’s Coriolanus, see Ewbank; for an account of the contemporary reception of Kemble’s Coriolanus, see Rostron, ‘Examination of the Prompt Copies.’ 4. See Hazlitt, ‘Coriolanus’: after remarking how ‘ably handled’ are the play’s ‘arguments for and against aristocracy, or democracy, or the privileges of the few and the claims of the many, on liberty and slavery, power and the abuse of it,’ he nonetheless concludes that ‘Shakespear himself seems to have had a leaning toward the arbitrary side of the question’ (WH 5.347; emphasis added). 5. See Rostron, ‘Contemporary Political Comment in Four of J.P. Kemble’s Shakespearean Productions.’ 6. After an absence of two years, Kemble returned triumphantly to Covent Garden on 15 January 1814, in the role of Coriolanus. His success was soon to be compromised, however; on 27 January 1814, Edmund Kean made his debut at Drury Lane, in the role of Shylock. According to one account, ‘within a month [Kean] had taken the town by storm and the public, fickle as a Roman crowd, had turned from their old idol to the new’ (Kelly 192). See also Baker 324–5. For Hazlitt’s account of Kean’s debut, see ‘Mr. Kean’s Shylock’ (WH 5.179–80), prominently collected as the first review in A View of the English Stage (1818). 7. See Hazlitt, ‘Mr. Kemble’s King John’ (WH 5.345–7). See also Hazlitt on Kean’s Coriolanus (WH 18.290–1). Whereas, for Hazlitt, Kemble remains fixed and immoveable, ‘Kean’s acting is not of the patrician order; he is one of the people and what might be called a radical performer.’ Unable to ‘keep his state,’ and consequently descending ‘into the common arena of man,’ Kean betrays that the ‘intolerable airs and aristocratical pretensions of which [Coriolanus] is the slave, and to which he falls a victim, [do] not seem legitimate in him, but upstart, turbulent, and vulgar’ (WH 18.290). For a shrewd account of the tension in Hazlitt’s criticism between his adulation of Kemble and his respect for Kean, see Galperin, 140–55. See also Donohue, Dramatic Character, 323–43. Donohue’s response (elsewhere) to Notes 235

Hazlitt’s criticism of Kean’s ‘failure as Macbeth’ further underlines Hazlitt’s peculiar preoccupation with falling: ‘Although he may not have done full justice to Kean, it is Hazlitt’s sense of failure that makes his criticism extremely significant’ (Donohue Theatre in the Age of Kean 149). 8. In his review of Boaden’s Memoirs, Scott generalizes Hazlitt’s observation to include all of Kemble’s Roman characters (Cato, Brutus, Coriolanus), who were, according to Scott, ‘peculiarly suited to [Kemble’s] noble and classical form, his dignified and stately gesture, his regulated yet commanding eloquence … To his peculiar art of acting, also, the Roman character in its various shades afforded great facilities. There was almost always connected with it an assumed character, which qualified, if it did not master, that which nature had assigned to the individual’ (222–3). Scott’s attention to the tension provided by each character’s ‘assumed character’ succinctly underlines Coriolanus’ fatal inability to act his part. 9. Hazlitt additionally notes that Kemble ‘gave the same prominence to the very same passages, that he used to do’ (WH 5.375): humbling himself before Volumnia during the triumphal procession in Act II; waiting for Tullus next to the statue of Mars with the opening of the curtain for Act IV; prostrating himself before Volumnia in Act V; and taunting Aufidius in the final scene, ‘Like an eagle in a dove-cote, I / Flutter’d your Volscians in Corioli; Alone I did it …’ (62). 10. While Jonathan Bate is certainly right to note the ‘conjunction between the dispute about the availability of grain in the first scene of Coriolanus and the principal cause of public discontent in the years immediately after the Napoleonic wars: the 1815 Corn Law,’ it nevertheless does not follow that, in his reviews of the play, it is ‘quite clear that Hazlitt is thinking as much about the condition of the people in England in 1816 and 1817 as he is about the interpretation of Coriolanus’ (Shakespearean Constitutions 166). Hazlitt’s nuanced attention to Coriolanus’ physical as well as his rhetorical posturing suggests, instead, that the play is far too fraught to be reduced so quickly to a merely topical interpretation. 11. So too in Joanna Baillie’s Introductory Discourse, in which she explicates at length the ‘dominion’ of strong and fixed passions (1.9, 29–30, 37–42). Baillie’s contention that the ‘chief object [of tragedy] should be to delineate the progress of the higher passions in the human breast’ res- onates in Hazlitt’s praise for Kemble’s genius as shining most particularly in the representation of those characters who are governed by ‘one solitary sentiment or exclusive passion’ (WH 5.376). Indeed, Hazlitt’s final eulogy for Kemble illustrates the sense of ‘passion’ that preoccupies Baillie: ‘In short, we think the distinguishing excellence of his acting may be summed up in one word – intensity; in the seizing upon some one feeling or idea, in insisting upon it, in never letting it go, and in working it up, with a certain graceful consistency, and conscious grandeur of conception, to a very high degree of pathos or sublimity’ (WH 5.379). Despite such a striking similarity between Baillie’s delineation of the passions and Hazlitt’s praise for Kemble (who not only staged Baillie’s De Monfort [1798] but also appeared with his sister in the title roles), Hazlitt casually dismisses both Baillie’s writing and her sensibilities in the 236 Notes

Lectures on the English Poets (1818): ‘Her tragedies and comedies … are here- sies in the dramatic art. She is a Unitarian in poetry. With her the passions are, like the French republic, one and indivisible: they are not so in nature, or in Shakespeare’ (WH 5.147). Hazlitt’s objection here to the republican nature of Baillie’s account of the passions reminds us of one of the abiding paradoxes of his criticism: that despite his ‘Jacobin’ politics, Hazlitt can be every bit the critical aristocrat in his own state of letters; as he freely concedes in reviewing Coriolanus, ‘The cause of the people is indeed but ill calculated as a subject for poetry’ (WH 5.347). 12. Witness Coriolanus’ revulsion at the prospect of bending his ‘arm’d knees, / … like his / That hath receiv’d an alms!’ (39). Obsessed as he is to ‘stand, / As if a man were author of himself’ (56), Coriolanus is fundamentally unable to sway beyond the conﬁnes of his dramaturgical deﬁnition of ‘self’ – as against (political or military) actor. 13. For an alternative account of the modalities of swaying in romantic drama, see Christensen’s reading of Sardanapalus (Lord Byron’s Strength 275–99). 14. Coriolanus’ exchange here with his mother (III.ii in Kemble) repeatedly reveals the pendulous nature of Coriolanus’ dilemma, and his double inability either to dress or act the part:

Cor. I muse, my mother Does not approve me further. Why did you wish me milder? Would you have me False to my nature? Rather say, I play Truly the man I am. Vol. O, sir, sir, sir, I would have had you put your power well on, Before you had worn it out. Cor. Why, let it go. Vol. You might have been enough the man you are, With striving less to be so: Lesser had been The thwartings of your dispositions, if You had not show’d them how you were dispos’d, Ere they lack’d power to cross you. Cor. Let them hang. (36–7)

Ironically, of course, it is Coriolanus who not only hangs now, divided as he is being acting and being, but who will also hang between the Volscians and Volumnia in Act V, and thus precipitate his ﬁnal fall. 15. Kemble’s text divides Shakespeare’s II.i into three distinct scenes, with the curtain rising for II.ii on the scene of a triumphal procession streaming through an arch accompanied by music and a public ovation, then coming down on ‘A grand March’ (22) immediately after Coriolanus’ pronouncement. In noting of his farewell performance that Kemble ‘gave the same prominence to the very same passages, that he used to do’ (WH 5.375), Hazlitt directs our attention to precisely this scene. For accounts of Kemble’s gift for and exploitation of pageantry, see Rostron ‘Examination of the Prompt Copies’ 27, and Kelly 72–3. Notes 237

16. Consider, for example, Menenius’ equivocal remark when releasing Coriolanus from his formal duty to stand for the consulship through begging the voices of the people, ‘You’ve stood your limitation’ (29), and the equally curious assertion by the tribunes in the act of recalling the voice of the people, ‘Let us stand to our authority’ (34). 17. While Coriolanus was Kemble’s most famous role, there were no more iconographically significant representations of him as Coriolanus than those depicting him in precisely this pose. Sir Thomas Lawrence’s portrait of Kemble represents him standing, statue-like, in ‘mean apparel’ yet of ‘exalted port,’ while the frontispiece to the British Theatre edition of Coriolanus (1808; ed. Inchbald) shows Coriolanus unveiling himself, between Tullus Aufidius on one side and a statue of Mars on the other, with the inscription, ‘Knowest thou me yet?’ So powerful was Kemble’s impres- sion upon the audience in this posture that, even as late as 1838, Macready attempted to distance himself from Kemble’s iconicity by entering against a backdrop of only a starlit Antium foregrounding a distant seascape (Brockbank, Introduction to Coriolanus 81). 18. Throughout his eulogy on Kemble’s talents, Hazlitt repeatedly stresses Kemble’s ability to stand firm: Kemble failed as Hamlet ‘from a want of flexibility,’ for ‘he played it like a man in armour, with a determined invet- eracy of purpose’ (WH 5.377); his Macbeth ‘stood as it were at bay with fortune, and maintained his ground too steadily’ against the passions that assailed him (WH 5.378). 19. Ironically, the overt theatricality that constituted much of the appeal of Kemble’s production can here be seen to undo its own hero for, like an extravagantly sensible theater-goer, Coriolanus has been too much moved by the theatricality of his own imagination. Mary Jacobus’s decidedly Hazlittian observations on Macbeth are strikingly apposite our own concerns with Coriolanus: ‘What we witness in Romantic responses to Macbeth is not so much anti-theatrical prejudice in yet another of its historical manifesta- tions, as the difficulty of confronting the inherent theatricality of the imagination itself’ (‘“That Great Stage Where Senators Perform”: Macbeth and the Politics of Romantic Theatre’; Romanticism, Writing, and Sexual Difference 37). See also Carlson, 1–4, 14–21. 20. Scott’s account of Coriolanus’ death, as represented by Kemble, emphasizes its prominence as a decisive coup de théâtre: ‘There was no precau- tion, no support; in the midst of the exclamation against Tullus Aufidius, he dropped as dead and as flat on the stage as if the swords had really met within his body. We have repeatedly heard screams from the female part of the audience when he presented this scene, which had the most striking resemblance to actual and instant death we ever witnessed … ‘ (224). Having himself succumbed to one spectacle (that of Volumnia shaming him with her knees), Kemble’s Coriolanus subjects his own audience to another. 21. The status of Coriolanus’ ‘consistency’ is particularly dependant upon the political liberties staged by each appropriation. For adaptations prior to Thomson’s, see Nahum Tate, The Ingratitude of a Common-Wealth: Or, the Fall of Caius Martius Coriolanus (1682), and John Dennis, The Invader of His Country; Or, the Fatal Resentment (1720). 238 Notes

22. The phrase is of course Coleridge’s, dating from his ‘portraits’ of Bonaparte for The Morning Post in March, 1800 (see Chapter 2). In an earlier article, an obituary for General Washington, Coleridge characterizes ‘commanding genius’ as ‘that character which all men are compelled to feel, though few are capable of analysing’ (EOT 1.132) – precisely Hazlitt’s dilemma, as we shall see, in his repeated attempts to come to terms with the ‘aristocracy’ of the imagination that identifies itself not with the plight of the citizens but with the imperious hauteur of Coriolanus. For a more detailed account of ‘commanding genius’ and its importance for our understanding of romantic theatre, see Carlson 21–6. 23. By ‘Jacobin poetics’ (as examined in greater detail in Chapter 3), I do not mean the traditionally valorized reading of Wordsworth’s poetics in terms of a ‘levelling muse’ that reduces all things to the same standard in order to confer dignity and sublimity upon previously marginalized poetic subjects and genres. Rather, ‘Jacobin poetics’ names what Hazlitt condemns in Wordsworth’s poetry as the ‘spirit of rank egotism’ – specifically (as he clarifies at this time in a diatribe against the Lake poets), that which moti- vates Wordsworth to deride the idea ‘of any thing greater, or thought greater than himself,’ to tolerate ‘nothing but what he himself creates,’ and to sympathize ‘only with what can enter into no competition with him’ (WH 7.144). 24. For additional considerations of Hazlitt’s seemingly contradictory commit- ments to aesthetic power and Reform politics, see Kinnaird (esp. 101–13) and Trilling, ‘The Princess Cassamassima’ (The Liberal Imagination 81–2; cited in Kinnaird 112 and Shakespearean Constitutions 166.) 25. As opposed to what Bate denigrates as ‘today’s more strident “materialist” readers,’ Hazlitt is ‘too catholic in his interests … to imply that there is nothing but politics’ (8). 26. Presenting the essay on Coriolanus as Hazlitt’s ‘most famous expression of radical doubt’ regarding the limitations of romantic republicanism, Tom Paulin has recently read in it ‘an almost tragic gaiety’ – indeed, ‘an almost Nietzschean exhilaration’ – as Hazlitt ‘rages against [Napoleon’s] defeat by following the logic of the imagination’ with an exultant relish in its aggran- dizement of power (the Allied victory at Waterloo) at the expense of the more republican understanding (Day-Star of Liberty 39, 40). This is excessive, and skews the Hazlittian formulation upon which it depends – namely, that ‘the principle of poetry is a very anti-levelling principle’ (WH 5.348). Paulin’s glib dramatizations (the essay is no more ‘about’ Napoleon than it is ‘about’ Nietzsche) further compromise their tenability when we consider how hastily Paulin succumbs to careless historical references as well as to an inverted version of the republicanism he would puncture. Yes, as Paulin repeatedly points out, Hazlitt did publish his review of Kemble’s Coriolanus in the aftermath of Napoleon’s defeat and in the same year as Wordsworth’s celebration of the occasion (see below, n. 29), but it was 18 months after Waterloo and 11 months after the publication of the ‘Thanksgiving Ode.’ (For a more allusively textured lament on Napoleon’s defeat, see Hazlitt’s two Round Table contributions of August 1815 on Milton, later collected as ‘On Milton’s “Lycidas”’ [WH 4.31–6] and ‘On Milton’s Versification’ [WH 4.36–41]). The complicated significance of Notes 239

Napoleon for both Hazlitt’s and the romantic imagination generally is lost in Paulin’s reductive psychological readings of the ‘radical style’ of ‘Hazlitt Agonistes’ (46). 27. I disagree, in this regard, with Galperin’s assessment of the Coriolanus review as characterized by ‘precious little overdetermination’ and amongst Hazlitt’s ‘most searing and unambiguous works of criticism’ (151). ‘Searing,’ indeed, but it is precisely the uncontrollable ambiguity and, furthermore, overdetermination of such prevalent terms as ‘poetry’ and ‘power’ that necessitate Hazlitt’s repeated reappraisal of the crucial issues raised here – how best to characterize the relation between the language of poetry and the forms of power? how to understand the theatricality of the romantic imagination? – in the fourth of the ‘Illustrations of the Times Newspapers’ (‘On the Connexion Between Toad-Eaters and Tyrants’), ‘Mr. Kemble’s Retirement,’ and, most importantly, the Letter to William Gifford, Esq. 28. Hazlitt’s analysis of Wordsworth’s ‘Jacobin poetics’ (cited here) ran in the Examiner exactly one week after his review of Coriolanus and is, in its invective against Jacobin poetics as an ideology whereby a poetics based on the love of power passes itself off as a poetics founded on sheer humanity (WH 7.144), significantly indebted to the examination of power in the Coriolanus review. 29. See, for example, Hazlitt’s treatment of Julius Caesar, in which he observes of Brutus’ vulnerability as a ‘friend of liberty’ that the design to ‘liberate their country fails from the generous temper and overweening confidence of Brutus in the goodness of their case and the assistance of others’ (WH 4.198). 30. Pope, Dunciad, 4.188; cited by Hazlitt as an apposite commentary on Henry V (WH 4.285). 31. Sneering at the citizens in the salutation, ‘What’s the matter, you dis- sentious rogues?’ before dispatching them as ‘fragments,’ then condemning their exhausted proverbs as ‘shreds,’ Martius tramples without hesitation on the spirit of humanity which the citizens ‘vent’ and ‘sigh forth’ in their supplication. 32. In a stanza in which he would establish the endorsement of martial service by God, Wordsworth apostrophizes the ‘God of peace and love’ thus: ‘But thy most dreaded instrument, / In working out a pure intent, / Is Man – arrayed for mutual slaughter, – / Yea, Carnage is thy daughter!’ (SP 188). As Paulin notes, ‘By alluding to this passage, Hazlitt is recognizing just how completely Wordsworth has rejected his earlier commitment to the people’s cause. The poet has followed the “logic” of the imagination and the passions, which seek to “aggrandize what excites admiration and to heap contempt on misery”’ (Day-Star of Liberty 40). Hazlitt regularly deploys Wordsworth’s unfortunate couplet (dropped after 1832) at the expense of both the Lake poets and their defenders. See, for example, his disingenuous inquiry at this time into the political consistency of ‘the fictions and the forms of poetry,’ where he notes that ‘“Carnage”’ was every bit as much the ‘“daughter of Humanity”’ under Robespierre as under Wellington: ‘It is true, these men have changed sides, but not parted with their principles, that is, with their presumption and egotism’ (WH 7.142). 33. As we saw earlier, it is habitually with reference to the disparity between ‘the tone of his former thinking’ in his poetry and that of his current language that ‘Mr. Examiner’ Hunt defines Southey’s apostasy in terms of a 240 Notes

rhetorical inconsistency which results in not simply an expedient desertion but a fall into dependence: ‘Formerly Mr. Southey was all ardent aspiration after principle and public virtue; now he is content to fall in with expedience and muster up arguments for apostacy’ (‘New Poet–Laureat’ 609; emphasis added). 34. See also Hunt’s notice of the Characters in the Examiner, in which he remarks ‘the very striking susceptibility with which [Hazlitt] changes his own humour and manner according to the nature of the play he comes upon; like a specta- tor in a theatre, who accompanies the turns of the actor’s face with his own’ (rev. of Characters 682). Far from ‘obtruding’ his political sentiments on the plays, Hazlitt’s critical sympathy is represented here as such that he writes in response to the manner and nature of the play in question. 35. While all three reviews appeared anonymously, I base these attributions not only on Hazlitt’s suppositions but also on the evidence compiled by Shine in The Quarterly Review Under Gifford. 36. As Hazlitt himself observes in the Letter to Gifford, not only have both of them appropriated Coriolanus as an allegory of arbitrary power, but that is what Gifford, after all, would want to read in Shakespeare (WH 9.36). 37. Laws which can be seen to be not merely those of England but also, in a decidedly proprietorial fashion, those of the Quarterly: see Southey, ‘Parliamentary Reform’ and ‘Rise and Progess of Popular Disaffection.’ 38. The Characters was the only book of Hazlitt’s that ever sold well. It quickly went into a second printing, was reviewed favorably by Jeffrey in The Edinburgh Review, and was, according to Hazlitt, headed for a third printing before Gifford’s article killed its sales (WH 9.33; 8.99n). 39. Likely from the seventh sermon of Latimer (1549, before Edward IV), ‘gutta cavat lapidem non vi sed saepe cadendo.’ For Latimer’s possible sources, see Ovid, ‘gutta cavat lapidem, consumitur annulus usu’ (Ex Ponto IV.x.5) and Lucretius, ‘nonne vides etiam guttas in saxa cadentis’ (De Rerum Natura IV.1286). (With thanks to Nicholas Halmi.) 40. Aside from those occasions on which he cites this explosive line from Coriolanus apposite Kemble, Hazlitt reserves it as a sign of his abiding fasci- nation with two men: Burke and Coleridge. See ‘My First Acquaintance with Poets,’ where he describes Coleridge’s homiletic power in Shrewsbury as a matter of ‘“ﬂuttering the proud Salopians like an eagle in a dove-cote”’ (WH 17.107).

Chapter 6: Criticism on the Verge

1. See, for example, Cook, ‘Hazlitt: Criticism and Ideology,’ and his Introduction to William Hazlitt: Selected Writings, where, in selecting such habitually overlooked Hazlitt texts as ‘Illustrations of The Times Newspaper,’ and excerpting the Letter to William Gifford, Esq. as well as the biography of Napoleon, Cook attempts to correct the ‘strangely lop-sided view of Hazlitt’ that emerges from those anthologies (nearly all) which omit the political writing. 2. In The Tempest (I.ii), Caliban addresses his rebuke – ‘You taught me language …’ – to Miranda. In the context of the citation as it appears in the Notes 241

Monthly Review, however, it is clearly constructed as a rejoinder to Hazlitt- as-Prospero: the Lake poets will ‘in their turn … rack him [Hazlitt] with old cramps and fill all his bones with aches.’ 3. Coleridge lectured on the Tempest on both February 6, 1818 and December 17, 1818. In his response to Coleridge’s February lecture (‘Mr. Coleridge’s Lectures’ [WH 19.206–10]), Hazlitt draws on the report of the lecture in the Courier (Feb. 9, 1818), which, as R.A. Foakes notes, reflects the degree to which Coleridge had superseded his own notes (Lectures 2.124n). Given the fragmentary nature of the notes for the February lecture (Lectures 2.108–24), I draw primarily on the notes for and accounts of the December lecture (Lectures 2.260–80) in compiling a composite account here of Coleridge’s reading of the play. 4. Coleridge’s comments here are worth citing at length, given their resonance with his pronouncements elsewhere on Shakespeare’s ‘good-humoured laugh at mobs’ in Coriolanus: ‘If [Shakespeare] must have any name, he should be styled a philosophical aristocrat, delighting in those hereditary institutions which have a tendency to bind one age to another, and in that distinction of ranks, of which, although few may be in possession, all enjoy the advantages. Hence, again, you will observe the good nature with which he seems always to make sport with the passions and follies of a mob, as with an irrational animal. He is never angry with it, but hugely content with holding up its absurdities to its face …’ (Lectures 2.272–3). In a similar vein, see Coleridge’s earlier clarification, that ‘Least of all poets colored in any particulars by the spirit or custom of his Age … [Shakespeare had] the spirit of all that it had pronounced intrinsically and permanently good … concentrated and perfected … in his mind. Thus … in an age of religious and political Heats nothing sectarian in religion or Politics’ (Lectures 2.114). It is characteristic of Coleridge’s Shakespeare criticism to careen precipitously between the topical and the atemporal. As Jonathan Bate notes, ‘Coleridge was especially adept at claiming, on the one hand, that Shakespeare had no politics but, on the other, that he was right-thinking in his politics’ (Romantics on Shakespeare 19). 5. A further complication of the engagement between Hazlitt’s Caliban and Coleridge’s Prospero may be found in a later essay of Hazlitt’s, ‘On Effeminacy of Character’ (collected in Table-Talk, 1821), where, in remarkably similar terms, Hazlitt does not curse Coleridge but would summon him with his own incantatory address, ‘oh thou! who didst lend me speech when I was dumb … start up in thy promised likeness and shake the pil- lared rottenness of the world!’ (WH 8.251). See also ‘My First Acquaintance with Poets’ for a similarly fond construction of Coleridge as Prospero to Hazlitt’s Caliban: ‘… but that my understanding also did not remain dumb and brutish, or at length found a language to express itself, I owe to Coleridge’ (WH 17.107). 6. Rev. of Hazlitt, Table Talk in the Literary Museum (13 July 1822) 177; cited in Hayden 206. 7. It should be noted that, especially in the Characters, much of the political force of Hazlitt’s criticism lies not in the topical relevance he would adum- brate, but in the critical sympathy around which he organizes his revolutionary character analysis (for example, Caliban). In the Letter to William 242 Notes

Gifford, Esq. (1819), it is significant that, having clarified for Gifford that ‘Jacobin sentiments sprout from the commonest sympathy, and are even unavoidable in a government critic, when the common claims of humanity touch his pity or his self-love’ (WH 9:24n), he should then conclude his rebuttal of Gifford’s critical rationale with a lengthy and impassioned exe- gesis of his own Essay on the Principles of Human Action (1805). As Bate notes, ‘It was as much the implied politics of Hazlitt’s principle of sympathy as any overt political statement that led the British Critic reviewer to ful- minate that Characters was “stuffed with dull common place, Jacobin declamation … tirades of democratic trash”’ (British Critic 9 [1818]: 15–22; cited in Romantics on Shakespeare 24). 8. See Hazlitt’s Letter to William Gifford (WH 9.11–59; see above, Chapter 5), for Hazlitt’s most sustained denunciation of Gifford, the ‘Government Critic … the invisible link that connects literature and the police’ (WH 9.13), whose servile role as editor of the Quarterly Review is to counteract any knowledge of the English language and its literature ‘except on the minister’s side of the question,’ in order to ‘restore the taste of the public to its legitimate tone’ (WH 9.33). 9. Hazlitt’s formulation here occurs in a chapter from Notes of a Journey Through France and Italy (1826) originally conceived of as a separate essay entitled ‘English and Foreign Manners.’ In it, Hazlitt reprises an exchange between himself and an old acquaintance, ‘Dr. E——,’ regarding the state of the periodical press in England: ‘He was particularly mortified at the degraded state of our public press – at the systematic organization of a corps of government-critics to decry every liberal sentiment, and proscribe every liberal writer as an enemy to the person of the reigning sovereign, only because he did not avow the principles of the Stuarts. I had some difficulty in making him understand the full lengths of the malice, the lying, the hypocrisy, the sleek adulation, the meanness, equivocation, and skulking concealment, of a Quarterly Reviewer, the reckless blackguardism of Mr. Blackwood, and the obtuse drivelling profligacy of the John Bull’ (WH 10.246–7). 10. In ‘On Criticism’ (included in the 1821 edition of Table-Talk), Hazlitt clarifies that the basis of what he derides as ‘political criticism’ is first-and- foremost the ‘virulence of party spirit,’ for ‘the basis of this style of writing is a caput mortuum of impotent spite and dulness, till it is varnished over with the slime of servility, and thrown into a state of unnatural activity by the venom of the most rancorous bigotry’ (WH 8.220). Hazlitt continues, in a voice reminiscent of his contemptuous denunciation of Gifford two years earlier, ‘It is not a question of literary discussion, but of political proscrip- tion. It is a mark of loyalty and patriotism to extend no quarter to those of the opposite party. Instead of replying to your arguments, they call you names, put words and opinions into your mouth which you have never uttered, and consider it a species of misprision of treason to admit that a Whig author knows any thing of common sense or English’ (WH 8.221). 11. Intriguingly, although Hazlitt feminizes criticism as a ‘coquette,’ in Liber Amoris (which he had submitted for publication the same year he under- took to write ‘The Periodical Press’), he insistently characterizes Sarah Walker as a ‘coquet,’ an ostensibly obsolete masculine usage which testifies Notes 243

to her abilities to un-man him. See also ‘Coquets’ (WH 20.218–20), where Hazlitt identifies as the ‘secret’ of coquetry the ‘dictate of extreme vanity or extreme boldness’ whereby the coquette disarms her object with the sud- denness of her transition from modesty to impudence (WH 20.218). 12. Compare Burke’s assessment of Richard Price’s ‘Discourse on the Love of Our Country’ (1789) as ‘a very extraordinary miscellaneous sermon, in which there are some good moral and religious sentiments, and not ill expressed, mixed up in a sort of porridge of various political opinions and reflections’ (Reflections 93; emphasis added). 13. Antagonism toward the political Hazlitt is particularly acute in contemporary romantic assessments of his writing, where if the political Hazlitt is tol- erated at all, it is in a tone of weary irritation with his excessive and embarrassing vehemence, and strictly out of deference to that other Hazlitt – either the ‘sprightly, debonair, essentially worldly’ Hazlitt (as David Bromwich characterizes the restrained, urbane Hazlitt of such occasional essays as ‘On Gusto,’ ‘The Indian Jugglers,’ ‘The Fight’ [3]), or, more often, the deeply sympathetic and reverent Hazlitt of the literary criticism. 14. The formulation is Michael Foot’s, in ‘The Shakespearean Prose Writer,’ his tribute to Hazlitt (Debts of Honour 93). 15. Justifying his splenetic bardolatry as a necessary exposition of the libelous and ‘concentrated venom’ of Hazlitt’s ‘malignity,’ Gifford would convict Hazlitt according to the ‘law’ of the Quarterly (espoused by Southey in such articles as ‘Parliamentary Reform’ and ‘Rise and Progress of Popular Disaffection’; see Chapter 4), according to which seditious libel is to be made punishable by transportation. 16. Talfourd here quotes from Goldsmith’s ‘epigraph’ for Burke in ‘Retaliation’: ‘Here lies our good Edmund, whose genius was such, / We scarcely can praise it or blame it too much; / Who, born for the universe, narrowed his mind, / And to party gave up what was meant for mankind’ (ll.29–32). 17. The disparagement of the political Hazlitt continues along similar lines in recent criticism as well. Following the anxiety of contemporary reviewers about both the violence and intrusiveness of Hazlitt’s politics, but with none of their admiration of Hazlitt’s critical acumen, John Hayden com- plains that Hazlitt ‘was constantly obtruding his political opinions into his works. In the Political Essays, such opinions would naturally hold a prominent place, but Hazlitt brought them into his otherwise nonpolitical essays and into his literary criticism, as in his treatment of Henry VIII and Coriolanus, where monarchy and nobility are attacked in gross generalizations (206; emphasis added). This blunt insistence that Hazlitt’s political writing belongs in a certain place (preferably in one volume, prominently titled, so as to warn potentially ingenuous, impressionable readers) is merely the most straightforward of a number of defenses against Hazlitt which con- tinue to impede a serious consideration of his writing. Anxious to separate the properly literary from the political, Hayden would maintain that not only did Hazlitt gratuitously import and impose his political opinions upon his literary criticism, but that such gestures always reveal themselves due to their obtrusiveness, their clear violation of the laws of genre. 18. Talfourd also voices a common misgiving when he inflects Hazlitt’s political opinions as not merely virulent but (the real assault on decorum) intru- 244 Notes

sive when they appear in writing where the reader thinks he will be spared such polemics. Literary criticism is precisely such a venue, an inquiry which, in Talfourd’s opinion, ‘should be sacred from all discordant emo- tions’ (rev. of Lectures 441) in order for the reader better to appreciate ‘those talents and feelings which [Hazlitt] has here brought to the contemplation of such beauty and grandeur, [which] none of the low passions of this “ignorant present time” should ever be permitted to overcloud’ (438–9). Compared with the majority of contemporary reviewers however, Talfourd is unusually generous in his suggestion that such political virulence doesn’t completely incapacitate Hazlitt’s appeal as a writer but merely precludes either the generous or thoughtfully critical reading which Talfourd argues is his due. 19. To the degree that Hazlitt’s rhetorical tyranny not only compromises his otherwise rigorously libertarian politics, but also renders him susceptible to appropriation by his Tory foes, the Hazlitt here indicted by the Monthly Review’s critic uncomfortably resembles the Shelley whom Hazlitt will indict in ‘On Paradox and Common-Place’ (WH 8.146–52) and ‘Shelley’s Posthumous Poems’ (WH 16.265–84) for the political dangers of his own rhetorical excesses. 20. Hazlitt’s ‘resistance’ remains legible in recent romantic criticism. In attempting to explain why he has not accorded Hazlitt a more prominent position in his consideration of the periodical press in the 1810s, Kevin Gilmartin underscores Hazlitt’s disconcerting sublimation of the political in the literary for the critic who would construct a ‘radical’ Hazlitt. (What finally makes Hazlitt’s writing ‘political’? The array of rhetorical functions and figures with which it resists – and unbinds – critical appropriation.) Noting that while the ‘tensions and contradictions’ of radical opposition were everywhere apparent in Hazlitt’s prose, they were nevertheless ‘almost entirely translated to the printed page’ and that this ‘shift from circulation and organization to language involved a corresponding shift … from politics to literature’ (228), Gilmartin implicitly denigrates Hazlitt’s critique as insufficiently materialist, when compared with that of such figures as John Wade, T.J. Wooler, or William Cobbett. Contrary to Gilmartin’s claims, however – that ‘Hazlitt avoided appealing directly to a popular reading audience, never edited or published a periodical, was not directly involved in radical organization, and neither courted nor experienced political prosecution for what he wrote’ (228) – Hazlitt did appeal to a radical reading audience (publishing the Political Essays under Hone’s imprint); did in fact both edit and publish a periodical (the Yellow Dwarf, with John Hunt in 1818); and did court political prosecution (continuing to write for the Examiner and other weekly newspapers throughout 1817, well after Cobbett’s hasty emigration to America). Finally, we should note that the sublimations and translations to which Gilmartin draws our attention are in fact precisely what make Hazlitt’s writing such a ‘radical critique of radical opposition’ (232). 21. As Jon Cook notes, ‘for Hazlitt a satisfactory refutation of Burke and the conservative ideology he represented was importantly a matter of discover- ing a style as powerful as his opponent’s’ (‘Hazlitt: Criticism and Ideology’ 144); see also Whale. For a fine consideration of Burke’s significance for Hazlitt as a figure of power, see Bromwich 288–313. Notes 245

22. Hazlitt’s remarks come from ‘On the Prose-Style of Poets’ (WH 12.5–17), one of three essays in The Plain Speaker in which he reflects on the dangerous attractions of Burke’s prose style; see also ‘On Reading Old Books’ (WH 12.220–9) and ‘On the Differences Between Writing and Speaking’ (WH 12.262–79). Two other important sites of interrogation are the ‘Character of Mr. Burke’ (WH 7.226–9) and the ‘Character of Mr. Burke, 1807’ (WH 7.301–12), the 1807 portrait having been written ‘in a fit of extravagant candour, at a time when I thought I could do justice, or more than justice, to an enemy, without betraying a cause’ (WH 7.301n). 23. As David Bromwich observes, ‘in all these places [“Coleridge’s Literary Life,” “On the Prose-Style of Poets,” “On Reading Old Books,” “Arguing in a Circle”], Hazlitt leaves no doubt that for him, Burke’s is the style of power, the whole figure of his prose darting out always abruptly, in its sudden flexions, and alternately towering above the reader’ (289). 24. See Hazlitt’s lecture on Shakespeare and Milton, where he characterizes Satan as the principle not of ‘the abstract love of evil – but of the abstract love of power, of pride, of self-will personified’ (WH 5.64). 25. See Longinus: ‘For in much the same way as dim lights vanish in the radiance of the sun, so does the all-pervading effluence of grandeur utterly obscure the artifices of rhetoric’ (127). A similar point might profitably be made apropos Hazlitt’s often disorienting appropriation and deployment of literary quotation, given the cumulative effect of radiance (and momentary blindness) to which the reader is subjected. For a consideration of Longinus’ rhetoric of the sublime (notably, its own artifice of interwoven quotation) which affords startling insight into Hazlitt’s use of Burke, see Hertz, ‘A Reading of Longinus’ (The End of the Line 1–20). 26. Talfourd attributes Hazlitt’s deficiencies as a logically coherent writer both to his training as a painter and to the fact that he failed in this pursuit:

A painter may acquire a fine insight into the nice distinctions of character, – he may copy manners in words as he does in colours, – but it may be apprehended that his course as a severe reasoner will be somewhat “troubled with thick-coming fancies.” And if the successful pursuit of art may thus disturb the process of abstract contemplation, how much more may an unsatisfied passion ruffle it, bid the dark threads of thought glitter with radiant fancies unrealized, and clothe its diagrams with the fragments of picture which the hand refused to execute! (xcii).

Formulating Hazlitt’s liability as a reasoner in terms of a susceptibility to ‘“thick-coming fancies,”’ Talfourd deploys against Hazlitt precisely the same quotation from Macbeth (5.3.38) which Hazlitt uses in castigating Coleridge’s habit of mistaking hallucinations for truths in the Lay Sermon: ‘Plain sense, and plain speaking would put an end to those “thick-coming fancies,” that lull him to repose’ (WH 16.101). 27. For detailed considerations of Hazlitt’s use of quotation, see Bromwich 275–87 and Bate, Shakespearean Constitutions 185–201. 28. Even de Quincey, however, concedes a certain degree of Longinian brillance to Hazlitt’s pyrotechnics when he writes, ‘Hazlitt’s brilliancy is seen chieﬂy in separate splinterings of phrase or image which throw upon the eye a 246 Notes

vitreous scintillation for a moment, but spread no deep suffusions of colour, and distribute no masses of mighty shadow. A flash, a solitary flash, and all is gone’ (5.231). 29. For a detailed examination of Burke’s exploitation and arousal of artificial feeling in the Reflections (specifically as a development of the pathos of eighteenth-century domestic tragedy), see Reid. 30. And the result is that the principle of liberty loses out (in the Reflections) to the ornaments of feeling: ‘Sensibility is the manie of the day, and compas- sion the virtue which is to cover a multitude of vices, whilst justice is left to mourn in sullen silence, and balance truth in vain’ (Works 5.8). 31. In a similar vein, see Talfourd’s formulation in the Final Memorials of Charles Lamb: ‘Although Mr. Hazlitt was thus staunch in his attachment to principles which he reverenced as true, he was by no means rigid in his mode of maintaining and illustrating them; but, on the contrary, frequently diminished the immediate effect of his reasonings by the prodigal- ity and richness of the allusions with which he embossed them’ (2.157). Bibliography

I: Primary sources

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Abrams, M.H., 201n3 prose style, Hazlitt on, 165–6, 167, on Hazlitt, 6, 201–2n3 184–97 idealist liberal position, 202n4 Reﬂections on the Revolution in on Wordsworth, 6–7, 89–94, 201n3, France, 192–3 201n5 Wollstonecraft on, 192–4 Addington, Henry, Viscount Byron, George Gordon, 6th Baron Sidmouth, 38, 229n4 Hunt on, 117 Addison, Joseph, 223n16 Laureateship, 23 Aeschylus, Agamemnon, 217n37 on Pye, 204n1 Agg, John (Humphrey Hedgehog), 206n5 Campbell, James Dykes, 211n8, Anti-Jacobin, 1 217n40 Archimedes, 47 Campbell, Thomas, 23, 24 Carnall, Geoffrey, 230n10 Baillie, Joanna, 235–6n11 Castlereagh, Robert Stewart, Viscount, Bainbridge, Simon, 228n51 124 Bataille, Georges, 201n1 Catherine the Great, 50 Bate, Jonathan, 153–4, 156, 235n10, Chandler, James, 201n3, 202n3, 241n4, 242n7 204–5n3 Beaumont, Sir George, 9, 120 ‘hot chronology’, 209–10n19 Benevolent Society of St. Patrick, 16 on Wordsworth, 221–2n8 Blackstone, William, 19 Christensen, Jerome, 36–7, 40–1, 73–8 Blackwood’s Edinburgh Magazine, Cibber, Colley, 204n1 223n15 Cobban, Alfred, 211n8 Blanchot, Maurice, 201n1 Cobbett, William, 125, 131, 244n20 Boaden, James, 234n1, 235n8 Coburn, Kathleen, 47, 220n63 Bonaparte, see Napoleon Bonaparte Coleridge, George, 9, 211n8, 214n16 Brinton, Crane, 211–12n8 Coleridge, Samuel Taylor, 1–2, 5 Bromwich, David, 203n11, 224n20, ‘A Character’, 216n30 243n13, 245n23 apostasy Brougham, Henry, 19–20, 125–6, heroic, 71–2, 135–6 204n2 multeity of metaphysical Burke, Edmund apostasy, 71–9 Christensen on, 74 riddle of romantic apostasy, Coriolanus, 156, 165–6, 184 33–42, 141 as Coriolanus, 165–6, 184 ‘commanding genius’, 238n22 Goldsmith’s epitaph, 243n16 on Coriolanus, 234n1 inﬂuence on Hazlitt’s style, 156, Courier, 30, 32, 126 193–4, 203n11 ‘Destiny of Nations’, 49 Letter to a Noble Lord, 165–6, 184 ‘Errors of Party Spirit’, 68 Milton, appropriation of, 86 ‘Fears in Solitude’, 38, 44, 57–63, Opposition politics, 220n6 218n48 on Price, 243n12 ‘Fire, Famine, and Slaughter’, 81

258 Index 259

‘France: An Ode’, 37–8, 41–4, 49, ‘Once a Jacobin Always a Jacobin’, 53–8, 60–3 33–4, 38, 44, 61–71, 72, 132, The Friend, 38, 68, 69, 71 220n62 ‘Frost at Midnight’, 57 public debate on romantic Hazlitt on, 30, 31, 36, 66, 144, 158, apostasy, 131 208n15, 209n17, 240n40 public perception, 32 Biographia Literaria, 185 ‘Reflections on Having Left a Place ‘A Character’, 216n30 of Retirement’, 49 gait, 215n25 ‘Religious Musings’, 49 ‘jacobinical leaven’, 39, 65, 75 Remorse, 32 Lay Sermon, 154 ‘sequacious’, use of, 191 periodical criticism, 172–3, 176, signature, 4, 36, 48 179, 182 Smith, William, 126 Political Essays, 168 ‘Sonnets on Eminent Characters’, ‘power of art’, 154 81, 96–7 romantic apostasy, 36, 37, 75, on Southey, 218n43 212n11 Southey on, 69, 70, 218n43 Shakespeare, 170–1 Southey’s Wat Tyler, 127, 133, style of Hazlitt, 195, 196 134–7, 231n21, 232–3n27 Hunt on, 118 Statesman’s Manual, 1, 131 influence on Wordsworth, 96–7, ‘System of Credenda’, 72 101–2 Thompson on, 8, 9, 36, influences on 202–3nn7–8, 212n11 Frend, 202–3nn6–7 compass image, 213n12 Milton, 49, 62 multeity of metaphysical Laureateship, 23 apostasy, 74 letters Wordsworth to Cottle, 51 influence of Coleridge, 96–7, to Fox, 64, 218n48 101–2 to Poole, 51 ‘poem to Coleridge’, 99, 108 to Southey, 66, 214–15n21, ‘Written in London’, 106 219n54 Coleridge, Sara (daughter), 46, to Street, 1, 221n6 211n8 to Thelwall, 66 Coleridge, Sara (wife), 211n8 on Milton, 218n43 Collins, William, 51 Morning Post, 37–8, 41, 42, 96, 102 Committee on Secrecy, 124, 125 ‘France: An Ode’, 54 Cook, Jon, 240n1, 244n21 Liu on, 39 Corn Law (1815), 156 Napoleonic fulcrum, 42–3, 44, 46 Cottle, Joseph, 211n8 ‘Once a Jacobin Always a Courier Jacobin’, 61 Coleridge, 30, 32, 126 on Pitt, 210n1 Hazlitt’s attacks on, 27, 29–30 Napoleonic fulcrum, 42–8, 238n22 Southey, 27, 126, 133, 209n18 ‘Ode on the Departing Year’, 49–53, Spa Fields meetings, 123 56, 58, 60–1, 217n38 Cowley, Abraham, 216n30 odes as palinodes, 48–61, 148 Cox, Jeffrey, 229n57 ode as test of vocation, 49 Croker, John Wilson, 24, 27, ‘On Love, the Holy Spirit, and the 209n18 Divine Will’, 72 Cromwell, Oliver, 87, 103 260 Index

Curran, Stuart Galperin, William, 152, 239n27 on Coleridge, 51, 53, 216n30, George III, 17, 18, 122 216n32 attack on carriage, 124 ‘Fears in Solitude’, 58 Burke’s speeches, 192 inﬂuence on Wordsworth, 96 Wordsworth’s ‘November, 1813’, on Wordsworth, 96–7, 106, 115, 81, 84, 109, 117 226n32 George IV, earlier Prince Regent attempted murder of, 124, 128 de Man, Paul Examiner, 204n2 autobiographical discourse, 142, Hunt, 13, 14–15, 16, 18–21, 31 232n26 Southey, 27, 125 irony, 210n4, 210nn5–6 Spa Fields meetings, 123 de Quincey, Thomas, 188, 191–2, Gibbon, Edward, 2 204–5n3 Gifford, William, 154–65, 168, 174, Derrida, Jacques, 204n3 179–80, 183, 196, 223n15, Donohue, Joseph, 234–5n7 242n7, 242n10 Dryden, John, 22 Gill, Stephen, 84, 227n47 Gilmartin, Kevin, 20, 207n11, 244n20 Eastwood, David, 205n4 Godwin, William, 230n12 Edinburgh Review Goldsmith, Oliver, 243n16 Brougham, 125–6 Gray, Thomas, ‘The Bard’, 51–2, 53, 57 Hazlitt, 173 Green, T.H., 72, 220n63 Talfourd, 180 Griggs, 215n29 Eldon, Lord, 126, 133 Guillory, John, 221n5 Ellenborough, Lord, 19, 20 Erdman, David, on Coleridge, 36, 37 Habeas Corpus Suspension Act compass image, 213n12 (1817), 124, 164 Morning Post, 37, 210n2 Hamilton, Walter, 204n1 Napoleonic fulcrum, 46, 47, 48, Harrington, James, 105 215n26 Hazlitt on, 223n17 ‘Once a Jacobin Always a Jacobin’, 62 Hunt on, 118 palinode, 217n38 Woodring on, 96 Eusden, Laurence, 204n1 Havens, Raymond Dexter, 107, Examiner 226n38 Hazlitt, 152, 154, 181, 244n20 Hayden, John, 243n17 Laureateship, 13, 14 Haydon, Benjamin, 229n59 Southey, 24–6, 125, 126 Hazlitt, William 1–2, 5–6, 10–11, 32 libel, 16, 19, 204n2, 207–12 Abrams on, 6, 201–2n3 Milton, 86 apostasy of, 167–8 Wordsworth, 81, 116, 117–18, 120 Burke, 184–97 periodical criticism, 172–84 Ferguson, Frances, 5, 201n3 Shakespearean interrogations, Foakes, R.A., 241n3 168–72 Foot, Michael, 243n14 on apostasy in general, 123, 232n23 Fox, Charles James, 64, 206n7, 218n48 ‘Arguing in a Circle’, 165, 186 Frend, William, 202n6 ‘Character of Mr. Burke’, 185, 188, Friend, The, 38, 68, 69, 71 192, 194 Fry, Paul, 49, 217n42 ‘Character of Mr. Burke, 1807’, 186, Frye, Northop, 201n2 187–8, 191–2, 193–4 Index 261

‘Character of Mr. Wordsworth’s ‘On the Living Poets’, 88, 90, 94, 95 New Poem, The Excursion’, 94, Letter to William Gifford, Esq., A, 95, 116 147, 154–7, 159–64, 166, 168 Characters of Shakespear’s Plays, 159, on Milton, 80–1, 86–7, 89, 114, 165 163–4, 169–70, 172, 179–82 ‘Mr. Coleridge’s Lay Sermon’, 36, ‘Coriolanus’ 32, 143, 153, 154–8, 66, 73, 75–6, 154 159, 160, 163–4, 165 ‘Mr. Coleridge’s Lectures’, 170 ‘The Tempest’, 169–72 ‘Mr. Kemble’s King John’, 146 on Coleridge, 30, 31, 36, 66, 144, ‘Mr. Kemble’s Retirement’, 146–7, 158, 208n15, 209n17, 240n40 149, 150–1, 152 Biographia Literaria, 185 ‘Mr. Southey, Poet Laureate’, 25, 26–7 ‘A Character’, 216n29 ‘Mr. Southey’s Letter to William gait, 215n25 Smith, Esq.’, 154, 232n24 ‘jacobinical leaven’, 39, 65, 75 ‘Mr. Southey’s New-Year’s Ode’, 31 Lay Sermon, 154 ‘Mr. Wordsworth and the multeity of metaphysical Westmoreland Election’, 88 apostasy, 73, 74–7, 78 ‘My First Acquaintance with Poets’, periodical criticism, 172–3, 176, 208n15, 212n11, 215n25, 179, 182 240n40 Political Essays, 168 Notes of a Journey Through France ‘power of art’, 154 and Italy, ‘English and Foreign romantic apostasy, 36, 37, 212n11 Manners’, 174 Shakespeare, 170–1 ‘Once an Apostate and always an style of Hazlitt, 195, 196 Apostate’, 8, 34–5, 71 ‘Coleridge’s Lay Sermon’, 172–3 ‘On Consistency of Opinion’, 9, ‘Coleridge’s Literary Life’, 185 88–9, 95, 232n23 ‘“Comus”’, 80–1, 84, 116, 121 ‘On Criticism’, 174 ‘Coriolanus’, 32, 143, 153, 154–8, ‘On Milton’s Sonnets’, 114 159, 160, 163–4, 165 ‘On Milton’s Versiﬁcation’, 86–7 critical ideology, 29–30 on political power, 208n14 ‘English and Foreign Manners’, 174 ‘On Reading Old Books’, 165–6, 191 ‘Illustrations of the Times ‘On the Living Poets’ 88, 90, 94, 95 Newspaper (On Modern ‘On the Prose-Style of Poets’, 165, Apostates)’ 8, 34–5, 71, 74–5, 184, 185, 186, 187, 194 123, 152, 154, 194–5 Plain Speaker, The ‘Illustrations of the Times ‘On Reading Old Books’, 165–6, Newspaper (On Modern 191 Lawyers and Poets)’ 83, 154, ‘On the Prose-Style of Poets’, 165, 155, 238n23, 239n28 184, 185, 186, 187, 194 ‘jacobinical leaven’, 39, 65, 75 Political Essays, 168–9, 179, 181–3, on Kemble’s ‘Coriolanus’, 143–4, 209n17 146–66 ‘Character of Mr. Burke’, 185, Laureateship, 15 188, 192, 194 Lectures on the Dramatic Literature of ‘Character of Mr. Burke, 1807’, the Age of Elizabeth, 179, 180 186, 187–8, 191–2, 193–4 Lectures on the English Comic Writers, ‘Illustrations of the Times 181 Newspaper (On Modern Lectures on the English Poets, 90, 160, Apostates)’ 8, 34–5, 71, 74–5, 181, 182 123, 152, 154, 194–5 262 Index

‘Illustrations of the Times ‘“Comus”’, 80–1, 84, 116, 121 Newspaper (On Modern ‘Coriolanus’ 32, 143, 153, 154–8, Lawyers and Poets)’ 83, 154, 159, 160, 163–4, 165 155, 238n23, 239n28 ‘Mr. Kemble’s King John’, 146 ‘Mr. Coleridge’s Lay Sermon’, 36, ‘Mr. Kemble’s Retirement’, 146–7, 66, 73, 75–6, 154 149, 150–1, 152 ‘Mr. Southey, Poet Laureate’, 25, ‘Wat Tyler and the Quarterly Review, 26–7 132, 154, 231n14 ‘Mr. Southey’s Letter to William on Wordsworth, 1–2, 30, 31, 81–4, Smith, Esq.’, 154, 232n24 116–19, 154, 158, 201–2n3, ‘Mr. Southey’s New-Year’s Ode’, 31 208n15 Preface 11, 30, 188 Abrams’s reading of, 89–90, 92–3, ‘The Courier and Wat Tyler’, 133, 224n20 154, 231–2n21 Jacobin poetics, 82–3, 87–90, ‘The Lay of the Laureate’, 25, 132, 94–6, 144, 238n23, 239n28 154, 231n15 Miltonic aspirations, 114, 121–2 ‘Wat Tyler and the Quarterly ‘November, 1813’, 84, 109 Review, 132, 154, 231n14 periodical criticism, 173, 182 Round Table, The, 86–7, 159–60 Political Essays, 168 skeptical liberalist position, 202n4 ‘power of art’, 154 on Southey, 25, 26–8, 31, 114, 125, ‘spirit of the age’, 6, 93–4 144, 158, 209n17 style of Hazlitt, 195, 196 ‘Lay of the Laureate’, 132, 154, Waterloo sonnets, 113–14 231n15 Hegehog, Humphrey (John Agg), periodical criticism, 173, 182 206n5 Political Essays, 168 Hoadley, Frank T., 231n13, 231n18 ‘power of art’, 154 Hollander, John, 226n37 style of Hazlitt, 195, 196 Hone, William, 125, 126, 209n17, Wat Tyler, 126, 132, 133, 231n14, 230n6, 230n11, 244n20 231–2n21, 232n24 Horace, 49, 57–8, 60, 61, 216n29 Spirit of the Age, The, 6, 90 Hunt, Henry ‘Orator’, 123 ‘Mr. Coleridge’, 216n29 Hunt, John, 14, 18, 170, 207n12, ‘Mr. Wordsworth’, 87, 90, 91, 244n20 93–4, 95, 201–2n3 Hunt, Leigh, 29 standing- and falling-away, 4 Autobiography, 16, 81, 116, 117, Table-Talk 206n10 ‘On Criticism’, 174 on Coleridge, 118 ‘On Milton’s Sonnets’, 114 Feast of the Poets, 116–21, 224n24, Tempest, The, 169–72 227n46, 228n52, 229n58 ‘The Courier and Wat Tyler’, 133, and Hazlitt, comparisons between, 154, 231–2n21 153 ‘The Laureat’, 27–8 on Hazlitt, 159–60, 240n34 ‘The Lay of the Laureate’, 25, 132, idealist liberal position, 202n4 154, 231n15 on Laureateship, 13–15, 17, 19, ‘The Periodical Press’, 173–9 20–4, 209n18, 231n15 ‘The Press – coleridge, Southey, Southey, 24–7, 30–1, 112, Wordsworth, and Bentham’, 154 117–18, 125–33, 158 Thompson on, 9–10 libel trial, 16, 18–21 View of the English Stage, A on Milton, 112, 113, 114, 119 Index 263

Southey’s attack on, 131 London Magazine, 177, 178 ‘Surrey Jail, August 27, 1813’, 115 Longinus, 196, 245n25 ‘To —, M.D.’, 114, 115 Louis XVIII, 45 ‘To Hampstead’, 115 Lowther, Lord, 88 ‘To the Same’, 114 on Wordsworth, 81–3, 87, 94, Mackintosh, James, 213n12 112–22, 227n46 Macready, William Charles, 237n17 Madden, Lionel, 129, 130 Inchbald, Elizabeth, 143, 144 Malthus, Thomas, 182 Marten, Henry, 28 Jacobs, Carol, 11 Marvell, Andrew, 103 Jacobus, Mary, 237n19 Hazlitt on, 89 Jeffrey, Francis Hunt on, 118 on Hazlitt, 159, 168, 240n38 Woodring on, 96 on Wordsworth, 85, 94 Marx, Karl, 125 Jonson, Ben McFarland, Thomas, 36 Laureateship, 22 McGann, Jerome, 6, 201n3 ‘To the Immortal Memory and Miller, J. Hillis, 223n19 Friendship of That Noble Pair, Milton, John Sir Lucius Cary and Sir H. Coleridge on, 218n43 Morison’, 216n30 ‘Comus’, 80 Julian the Apostate, 2 Hazlitt on, 80–1, 86–7, 89, 114, 165 Kean, Edmund, 146, 234n6 Hunt on, 112, 113, 114, 119 Kemble, John Philip independence, 23 Coriolanus, 10, 131, 143–52, 154, inﬂuence 165–6, 240n40 on Coleridge, 49, 62 posture, 116 on Hazlitt 203n11 Kinnaird, John, 25 on Wordsworth, 81–7, 96–103, Klancher, Jon, 5, 7, 91, 94, 202n4 105–7, 109–13, 115–21, 208n13 Lacan, Jacques, 214n19 ‘Lycidas’, 222nn11, 14 Lamb, Charles, 206n10 ‘On the late Massacre in Piedmont’, Landor, William Savage, 97, 209n18 105 Latimer, Hugh, 240n39 ‘On the Morning of Christ’s Lawrence, Sir Thomas, 237n17 Nativity’, 49 Leaves of Laurel (ed. ‘Q.Q. and W.W.’ Paradise Lost, 3–4, 85, 86, 221n6 [John Hamilton Reynolds]), 206n5 The Reason of Church Government, Levinson, Marjorie, 224n23 33, 84, 85, 97, 107 Liu, Alan romantic appropriations of, 28 on Coleridge Shelley on, 3 ‘France: An Ode’, 57, 217n39 ‘To Sir Henry Vane the Younger’, metaphysical apostasy, multeity 103, 226n39 of, 220n60 Wordsworth’s ‘London, 1802’, 23 Napoleonic fulcrum, 48, 215n22, Wordsworth’s ‘Sonnet on Milton’, 80 215n26 Monthly Review, on Hazlitt, 168–9, romantic apostasy, riddle of, 36, 171, 181–2, 188 39–40, 41, 213n15, Moore, Thomas, 23, 24 214nn18–19 Moorman, Mary, 229n60 on Wordsworth, 96, 100–1, 105 Morning Chronicle 264 Index

Coleridge’s ‘Sonnets on Eminent Quarterly Review Characters’, 97 Gifford, 159, 180, 242n8 Hazlitt’s attacks on the Courier, on Hazlitt, 180, 223n15 29–30 Southey, 125, 127 Hazlitt’s exposure of Southey, 25, ‘Parliamentary Reform’, 125, 26–7 128–32 Morning Post Coleridge, 37–8, 41, 42, 96, 102 Rejected Odes (ed. Humphrey ‘France: An Ode’, 54 Hedgehog [John Agg]), 206n5 Liu on, 39 Reynolds, John Hamilton, 206n5 Napoleonic fulcrum, 42–3, 44, Richard II, 123 46 Richardson, Samuel, Clarissa Harlowe, ‘Once a Jacobin Always a 195–6 Jacobin’, 61 Ridgway (publisher), 230n5 on Pitt, 210n1 Robertson, Henry, ‘Sonnet on the eulogy of the Regent, 16, 18, 19–20 Poet’s Residence in the Surrey Wordsworth, 96, 98, 226n41 Jail’, 207–8n12 Robespierre, Maximilien, 239n32 Napoleon Bonaparte, 155 Robinson, Crabb, 82, 206n10 Coleridge on, 38, 42–8 Wat Tyler affair, 134 Hazlitt’s elegy, 222n14 posture, 116 Schelling, Friedrich Wilhelm Joseph Southey’s poetry, 209n17 von, 72, 77 Wordsworth on, 103, 104–6, 109 Schlegel, F.W., 211n5 New Monthly, 178 Scott, Sir Walter, 23, 27, 234n1, Newlyn, Lucy, 86 235n8, 237n20 North British Review, 191 Seditious Meetings Act (1817), 124, 126, 127, 131, 164 Paine, Thomas, 156 Shakespeare, William, 153–4, 159, Parr, Samuel, 230n12 162, 163–4 Paul, St., 203n11 Coriolanus, 10, 143–48, 159–60, Paulin, Tom, 203nn10–11, 222n13, 165–6 238–9n26, 239n32 Hazlitt’s apostasy, 167, 168–72 Peacock, Thomas Love, 175 Macbeth, 237n19 Pindar, 42, 48–9 Shelley, Percy Bysshe Pitt, William (‘the Younger’), 45 Hazlitt on, 244n19 Coleridge on, 38, 46, 62, 66, 68, Prometheus Unbound, Preface, 3, 4 210n1 Wordsworth’s sonnets to, 114 Poet Laureateship, 13–15, 17–24 Shuster, George N., 216n34 Pye, Henry James, 13, 14, 17–18, Sidmouth, Henry Addington, 22, 206n5 Viscount, 38, 229n4 Southey, 24–9 Sidney, Algernon, 96, 223n17 Poole, Thomas, 51, 211n8, 219n54 Smith, William, 126–34, 137–42 Pope, Alexander, 239n30 Southey, Charles Cuthbert, 233n29 Price, Richard, 243n12 Southey, Robert, 1–2 Priestley, J.B., 203n11 ‘Carmen Nuptiale’, 132 Probationary Odes, 205–6n5 ‘Carmen Triumphale, for the Pye, Henry James, 13, 14, 22, 206n5 Commencement of the Year ‘New Year’s Ode’, 17–18 1814’, 30, 32, 209n18 Index 265

Coleridge on, 218n43 Tate, Nahum, 204n1 on Coleridge, 69, 70, 218n43 Thelwall, John, 70, 86 Hazlitt on, 25, 26–8, 31, 114, 125, Thompson, E.P., 7–9, 73 144, 158, 209n17 on Coleridge, 8, 9, 34, 36, 69, 73, ‘Lay of the Laureate’, 132, 154, 74, 202–3nn7–8, 212nn9,11, 231n15 213n12, 219n55 periodical criticism, 173, 182 compass image, 213n12 Political Essays, 168 on Hazlitt, 9–10 ‘power of art’, 154 on Wordsworth, 7, 8, 9, 202–3n7 style of Hazlitt, 195, 196 Todd, F.M., 226n34 Wat Tyler, 126, 132, 133, 231n14, Traill, H.D., 211n8 231–2n21, 232n24 Tyler, Wat, 123, 124, 126–7, 129 Hunt on, 24–7, 30–1, 112, 117–18, see also Southey, Robert, Wat Tyler 125–6, 133, 158 Laureateship, 15–16, 24–9, 81, 102 Vane, Henry, 103 ‘law’ of the Quarterly Review, 243n15 Wade, John, 244n20 Letter to William Smith, 126, 131, Walker, Sarah, 242–3n11 137–42, 230n10, 232nn23–5 Walworth, William, 123–4 letters Warton, Thomas, 204n1, 205n5 from Coleridge, 66, 214–15n21, Washington, George, 238n22 219n54 Watson, Dr and Junior (Spa Fields to King, 209n17 meeting), 123–4, 127 to Wynn, 13 Wellington, Arthur Wellesley, 1st patriotism, 205n4 Duke of, 104, 239n32 public perception, 32 Whale, John, 203n11 Rejected Odes (ed. Humphrey Whitehead, William, 204n1, 205n5 Hedgehog), 206n5 Winterbotham, William, 139, 230n5 Wat Tyler, 71–2, 125–33, 138–42 Wollstonecraft, Mary, 188, 190, Wordsworth’s ‘Thanksgiving Ode’, 192–4, 196 112 Woodring, Carl, 7 Spa Fields meetings, 123–4, 128, on Coleridge, 50, 212–10, 217n39, 129–30 218n46 Spenser, Edmund ‘Fears in Solitude’, 58, 59 Faerie Queene, 110–11 skeptical liberal position, 202n4 Hazlitt on, 31 on Wordsworth, 96, 97, 227n48 Hunt on, 118 Wooller, T.J., 125, 244n20 inﬂuence on Wordsworth, 84, Wordsworth, Dorothy, 98 110–11 Wordsworth, William, 1–2, 83–4 Street, T.G., 29–30 Abrams on, 6–7, 89–94, 201n2, Stuart, Daniel 202n5 and Coleridge, relationship ‘“Advance – come forth”’, 108 between, 210n2 ‘Calais, August 15, 1802’, 104–5, Coleridge’s ‘France: An Ode’, 54 109 Privy Council interview, 214n16 Coleridge’s walking tour of the Wordsworth’s sonnets, 225n29 Lakes with, 38 ‘Composed by the Sea-Side’, 105 Talfourd, Thomas Noon, 168, 180–1, ‘Composed upon Westminster 183, 188–92, 194–7 Bridge’, 113 266 Index

‘Composed While the Author Was to Dyce, 226n33 Writing a Tract Occasioned by to Lamb, 226n36 the Convention of Cintra’, 108 to Landor, 97–8 ‘Conclusion. 1811’, 84, 108–9, 117 to Miller, 227n45 ‘Consistency of Opinion’, 88 to Poole, 222n9 The Excursion, 83, 84, 94, 108, 111, to Wilson, 221n4 116, 228n55 ‘Lines on the Expected Invasion. ‘Female Vagrant’, 119, 121–2 1803’, 227n43 Germany, move to, 38 ‘London, 1802’, 23–4, 103, 105–7, ‘“Great Men”’, 82, 103, 105–6, 114, 111, 113, 225n30, 229n56 119 Lyrical Ballads, 7, 81, 88, 89–93 Hazlitt on, 1–2, 30, 31, 81–4, ‘November, 1813’, 32, 81, 84, 109, 116–19, 154, 158, 201–2n3, 117, 121, 122 208n15 ‘“Nuns fret not”’, 99–100 Abrams’s reading of, 89–90, 92–3, ‘Occasioned by the Same Battle’, 224n20 109–10, 112–13 Jacobin poetics, 82–3, 87–90, ‘poem to Coleridge’, 99, 108 94–6, 144, 238n23, 239n28 Poems, 83–4, 116–18 Miltonic aspirations, 114, 121–2 Prelude, 227n42 ‘November, 1813’, 84, 109 public perception, 32 periodical criticism, 173, 182 The Recluse, 85, 98 Political Essays, 168 ‘Siege of Vienna raised by John ‘power of art’, 154 Sobieski’, 112 ‘spirit of the age’, 6, 93–4 Smith, William, 126 style of Hazlitt, 195, 196 ‘Sonnet on Milton’, 80 Waterloo sonnets, 113–14 ‘Sonnets Dedicated to Liberty’, 84, Hunt on, 81–3, 87, 94, 112–22, 95–115, 117, 205n4 227n46 Southey’s Wat Tyler, 134 ‘“I griev’d for Buonaparte”’, 98, ‘Spanish Guerillas. 1811’, 108 102, 103–4, 115 Thanksgiving Ode, 83–4 inﬂuences on ‘Thanksgiving Ode’, 111–12, 155, Coleridge, 96–7, 101–2 158 Milton, 81–7, 96–103, 105–7, ‘The Pedlar’, 99 109–13, 115–21, 208n13 The Ruined Cottage, 103 Spenser, 84, 110–11 ‘“The world is too much with us”’, ‘Inscription for a National 113 Monument, in Commemoration Thompson on, 7, 8, 9, 202–3n7 of Waterloo’, 112 ‘To a Friend, Composed near ‘“It is not to be thought of that the Calais’, 105 Flood”’, 105–6 ‘Two Addresses to the Freeholders Laureateship, 23 of Westmoreland’, 88 ‘Letter to a Friend of Robert Burns’, The White Doe of Rylstone, 108 88, 223n15 letters Yellow Dwarf, 170, 244n20 to Beaumont, 221n4, 225n26 Young, Arthur, 217n38