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Matthew Arnold: the early years Akrigg, George Philip Vernon 1940

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Matithew Arnold: The Early Years by George P h i l i p Vernon Akrigg A Thesis submitted i n P a r t i a l Fulfilment the Requirements for the Degree of MASTER OF ARTS i n the Department of English The University of B r i t i s h Columbia A p r i l , 1940. Table of Contents Chapter Page Introduction i 1 The Character of Dr. Arnold 1 2 Rugby 16 3 Dr. Arnold and the Populace 35 4 Dr. Arnold and the State 59 5 Dr. Arnold and the C h r i s t i a n F a i t h 66 6 Dr. Arnold and the Arts 87 7 Matthew Arnold Leaves Home 98 8 "The Strayed Reveller and Other Poems" 106 9 Dr. Arnold and "The Strayed Reveller" 132 Appendix I 143 II 145 III 146 Bibliography 147 Matthew Arnold: The Early Years Introduction It i s the general purpose of this essay to attempt a survey of the world that Matthew Arnold knew during his boyhood and early manhood. It i s hoped i n i t s more detailed passages to show how certain influences determined the attitude of the young poet. This essay w i l l not follow the career of Arnold beyond 1849. I have selected t h i s year as a suitable stopping point, because i t i s by reference to the poems printed at that time that I hope to establish ultimately the v a l i d i t y of any argument I may advance. . It i s necessary to emphasize the paucity of materials r e l a t i n g to the youth of Arnold. Few of the published l e t t e r s are dated p r i o r to 1849. Arnold's own reminiscences are rare and i n c i d e n t a l . His ban on a biography has e f f e c t u a l l y prevented any one connected with the family from casting l i g h t on the poet's formative years. The general conspiracy to present Arnold to even the world of c r i t i c a l scholarship as a male Minerva, springing f u l l - f l e d g e d into the world, complete with a f i r s t publication, wife, and post i n the Education O f f i c e , has been doubly unfortunate. Either i t has l e f t the study of Arnold's youth to such an imaginative l i t e r a r y free-lance as Hugh Kingsmill, i i i or i t has resulted i n cursory treatment,, by such an orthodox biographer as Lionel T r i l l i n g . It i s a fortunate chance that Professor Lowry, of Yale, has i n recent years, by his study of the correspondence with Glough, added a good amount to our knowledge of Matt, the undergraduate, and the secretary to Lansdowne. It i s the prime purpose of t h i s essay, however, to penetrate into a f i e l d which, though an obvious one, has not yet been made the subject of any serious study, - the influence uponuMatthew Arnold of his father, the famous and redoubtable Dr. Arnold of Rugby. One acknowledgment must be made, and that a very sincere one, to Dr.. G. G. Sedgwick, Head of the Department of English, the University of B r i t i s h Columbia, under whose surveillance t h i s essay was written. He has shown rare understanding and patience over a rather protracted period of time, and i f the essay i t s e l f remains s t i l l inadequate, the f a u l t i s assuredly the author's own. Chapter One The Character of Dr . Arnold "He was naturally i n extremes. Whatever i t was on which he was engaged, he threw himself headlong into i t , almost bodily, as into "a volcano; from whose depths forth he came again - argument and sentiment, emotion and burning words - r o l l i n g and thundering, and fused together l i k e lava down a mountain side." - Edinburgh Review ^ 1 Dr.Arnold was born i n 1795 and died i n 1842. His father was a customs c o l l e c t o r on the Is l e of Wight, and i t was there that Thomas Arnold spent his boyhood, except when he was attending school, f i r s t at Warminster, later at Winchester. At Winchester he acquired f a c i l i t y i n the c l a s s i c a l languages, and his son, Matthew, was la t e r to say that his La t i n verse was sound, and h i s Greek prose the equal 2 of Thuoydides. At the age of sixteen, Thomas Arnold began attending Corpus C h r i s t i College, Oxford, His p o l i t i c a l sympathies at Winchester had been r a d i c a l , but here, under the influence of J. D. Coleridge, he returned to the conservative t r a d i t i o n of his parents, and "spoke strong Toryism i n the old A t t i c 1 1*he Edinburgh Review or C r i t i c a l Journal, Edinburgh,' Archibald Constable and Co., 1845, Vo l . LXXXI, p. 191. 2 Russell, G. V/. E., Matthew Arnold, New York, Charles Scribner's Sons, 1904, p. 93. 1 2 Society." This, however, proved to be only a passing phase, and after his e l e c t i o n as a Fellow of O r i e l College, he adopted the pr e v a i l i n g Liberalism of h i s associates, Copleston, Whately, and Hampden. It i s s i g n i f i c a n t , i n connection with t h i s O r i e l fellowship, that a crudity of s t y l e made Arnold's papers i n f e r i o r to those of certain other competitors; but an underlying energy, taken f o r c a p a b i l i t y of growth, secured his e l e c t i o n . In 1820, Arnold married Mary Penrose. In the course of his wooing he presented her with Herbert's Divine Songs, and John Keble, long a personal fr i e n d , celebrated the marriage by the writing and dedication of a poem. In the following years, Arnold v/as to become the father of four sons and f i v e daughters. Subsequent to t h i s marriage, Arnold r e t i r e d to the l i t t l e Thames v i l l a g e of Laleham, and under-took the l i g h t duties of private t u i t i o n . From th i s early retirement Arnold was- summoned, i n 1827, to become head-master of Rugby. He was at that time an unknown man, but the school i t s e l f lacked status and was i n decline. Arnold's appointment v/as probably due to the prophecy of Dr. Hawkins, Provost of O r i e l , who said, " i f Mr. Arnold v/ere elected to the headmaster ship of Rugby, he would change the face of education a l l through the public 4 schools of England." In 1828, Arnold was ordained by the 2 Stanley, A.P., The L i f e and Correspondence of Thomas  Arnold D.D., London, John Murray, 1877 (2 vols.) Vol.II, p. 167. 4 Ibid., Vol. I, p.49. 3 Bishop of London, given the degrees of B.D. and D.D., and i n s t a l l e d i n h i s headmastership. At Rugby, Arnold introduced certain reforms. He 5 was at f i r s t unpopular with his boys, and was v i c i o u s l y attacked by Theodore Hook, editor of John B u l l . This attack, 6 however, was almost c e r t a i n l y inspired by p o l i t i c a l motives. Such r e t a l i a t i o n s were to be expected from Dr. Arnold's busy a c t i v i t y i n the world of e c c l e s i a s t i c a l and p o l i t i c a l con-troversy. It i s necessary to appreciate, from the outset of any study of Dr. Arnold, that his a c t i v i t i e s v/ere never exclusively pedagogic. His p a r t i c i p a t i o n i n church a f f a i r s alone was so notable that, a f t e r the Reform Government of 1832 took power, many people expected that Arnold would be given a bishopric, and.indeed Lord Melbourne did a c t u a l l y 7 consider giving him one. Dr. Arnold's interests extended f a r beyond Rugby. As Lionel T r i l l i n g has said, "Rugby was only the scene and Rugby College was only the d e t a i l - even though the most loved and intimate d e t a i l - of Arnold^s f a r broader a c t i v i t y . Throughout the Rugby years, Thomas Arnold was a leader g i n the r e l i g i o u s and p o l i t i c a l c o n f l i c t of England...." Hughes, Thomas, Tom Brown's Sohool Days, New York, The American News Co., no date, p. 149. Whitridge, Arnold, Dr. Arnold of Rugby, New York, Henry Holt and Co., 1928, pp.189-190. Hook saw Rugby as "the cradle of Radical reform". John B u l l , Feb. 1, 1835. G r e v i l l e , Charles, A Journal of the Reigns of King George IV, King Yfilliam IV, and Queen V i c t o r i a , London, Longmans j Green, and Co., 1896, 8 vols., Vol. I l l , p.332. T r i l l i n g , L, Matthew Arnold, W.W.Norton and Co., New York, (1939) p.46. 4 Dr. Arnold c h i e f l y expressed h i s opinions through the media of sermons, pamphlets, and magazine a r t i c l e s . His f i r s t c o l l e c t i o n of sermons was published in 1829, and other selections were printed i n 1831, 1834, 1838, 1841,- and 1845. Pamphlets were published i n favour of Roman Catholic Emancipa-tion, Church Reform, and National Education. Besides these works, Arnold published i n the years 1830-1841 his e d i t i o n of Thucydides, and, commencing i n 1838, he published some volumes of a history of Rome. In 1841, Arnold was called to Oxford as Regius Professor of Modern History. He gave his inaugural lecture i n the same year, but before he could r e a l l y make his inSlae fluence f e l t against the new Toryism of Newman, he died. On his death-bed he said to his son, "Thank God, Tom, for giving me this pain; I have suffered so l i t t l e pain in my l i f e , that I f e e l i t i s very good for me; now God has given i t to me, and I do so thank Him for i t . " ' ' " 0 2 In the preceding section, there has been given In barest outline the biography of Dr. Arnold. Now l e t us t r y to get back of these conventional statements of the common-place happenings-and par t i c u l a r accidents of human l i f e , to the in d i v i d u a l character of Arnold. Stanley, op.cit., Vol.11, p.245. i b i d . , Vol.II, p. 285. 5 Our f i r s t record of him, as a schoolboy, i s complete-l y unexceptional. The Dictionary of National Biography, paraphrasing Stanley's biography, speaks of him as being r'a shy and r e t i r i n g boy, somewhat s t i f f and angular i n char-11 acter and manners." Matthew. Arnold, reading in l a t e r in l i f e one of his father's schoolboy l e t t e r s , found i t "prim, i f not IS priggish". .Our most important description of Thomas at Oxford comes from J . D. Coleridge, and appears to foreshadow the mature Arnold, "... a casual or unkind observer might have pronounced him somewhat too pugnacious in conversation and too 13 p o s i t i v e . " Now for Arnold i n his prime. There i s abundant evidence of the impression he made upon his contemporaries. The picture that we get from them i s of a tremendously v i t a l , f o r c e f u l personality, of "one wholly absorbed or rather • inspired by the ideas of duty, labour, earnestnessj and s e l f -14 devotion." The man i s a whirlwind of energy, caught up f i r s t i n one issue, then in another. In everything he does there 15 i s to be seen "an intense earnestness i n l i f e " , an earnest-ness that springs r e a l l y from a controlled but tremendously 1 1 The Dictionary of National Biography, ed. by L e s l i e Stephen, London, Smith, Elder, and Co., 1908, Vol.I, p.585. 1 2 Letters of Matthew Arnold 1848-1888, collected and arranged by George W. E. Russell, London, Macmillan and Co., 1895, 2 vols., Vol.1, p. 32. 13 Stanley, op.cit., Vol.1, p. 21. 1 4 The Quarterly Review, London, John Murray, 1844, Vol.74, p. 508. 15 Stanley, op.cit., Vol.1, p. 37. 6 16 fervent emotionality. "He loved and hated well", said the Quarterly, making what was r e a l l y a wonder of understatement. 17 Lytton Strachey, although i n many ways unjust to Arnold, has l e f t a word picture of him, based upon the P h i l l i p ' s p o r t r a i t , which does agree v/ith what his contempo-r a r i e s appear to have seen. "His outward appearance was the index of his inward character; everything about him denoted energy, earnestness, and the best intentions. His legs perhaps were shorter than they should have been; but the sturdy a t h l e t i c frame, es p e c i a l l y when i t v/as swathed (as i t usually was) i n the flowing robes of a Doctor of D i v i n i t y , v/as f u l l of vigour; and his head, set d e c i s i v e l y upon the c o l l a r , stock, and bands of e c c l e s i a s t i c a l t r a d i t i o n , c l e a r l y belonged to a person of eminence." 18 To the early V i c t o r i a n s , t h i s ardent proponent of C h r i s t i a n i t y and the active l i f e had a status that put him among the leaders of national l i f e and thought. The Edinburgh 19 Review saw him as "our modern Wycliffe"J while The Quarterly SO thought of him as "a very Luther i n his zeal and vehemence". Even when i t disagreed with him, the former journal paid him the most elaborate homage. The Quarterly Review, Vo l . 70, p. .492. An instance i s his comment upon Dr. Arnold's I t a l i a n tours. Letters printed i n Stanley's L i f e give abundant proof that Arnold was moved by the beauty of the country, yet Strachey cannot r e s i s t making a gibe and says that the landscape of I t a l y only served to remind him of moral e v i l . Eminent Victorians, Garden City Publishing Co., no date, p. 253. i b i d . , p 210. Edinburgh Review, Vo l . LXXXI, p. 203. 2 0 Quarterly Review, Vol. 74, p. 481. 7 "We may d i f f e r with Arnold i n the view he took of this or that subject from the height.to which he soared. But the height i t s e l f appears to us to be the most per-fect point to which mortal man can safely venture- tq^j_. aspire." * J 1 ^ A This i s , of course, the (bloated^anguage of mid-century j o u r n a l i s t r h e t o r i c ; but sub s t a n t i a l l y i t v/as the view taken by most of the reviewers of hi s biography. Blackwood's paid tribute to his nature - "so sensitive and enthusiastic 22 a d i s p o s i t i o n " and, since i t could not endorse his p o l i t i c s , contented i t s e l f with c a l l i n g him "one of the brightest jewels from the l i t e r a r y crown of England." It i s not suggested, i n quoting this panegyric, that the "Victorians, even after his death, saw Arnold as f a u l t l e s s . One defect, at least, i n Arnold's nature was noted by his fellows. It was t h i s : a l l his l i f e , Arnold was an i n d i v i d u a l i s t , taking an isola t e d i n almost every con-troversy. He himself readily admitted t h i s , sadly noting that the Chevalier Bunsen alone seemed to share his attitudes. The reason for Arnold's f a i l u r e to work with other men i s not hard to f i n d . He was so carried away by his own feelings and impulses that he could not be troubled to modify them or constrain them so that he might become a member of any group. Hugh Kingsmill has made a very just statement about Dr. Arnold. "He was interested...neither i n men nor i n i n s t i t u t i o n s for t h e i r own sakes, but only as material to be 2 1 Edinburgh Review, Vol. LXKXI, p. 201. 2 2 Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, William Blackwood and Sons, Edinburgh and London, 1845, Vol-. LVI I, p. 766. 2 3 i b i d . , p. 76&. 8 2& reshaped according to h i s private ideas of what was required." It was t h i s weakness that the Quarterly recognized when i t spoke, unequivocably, of Arnold's "very scanty knowledge of mankind". 2 5 There was another serious flaw i n Arnold. Even i n journals of L i b e r a l i n c l i n a t i o n there was a readiness to admit that a super-abundant energy occasionally usurped the place of reason. The Quarterly Review gives the most delicate possible statement of t h i s deficiency, when i t says, "Dr. Arnold i s , i n our view an o r i g i n a l rather than a profound thinker - with a vigorous and clear, rather than a subtle or comprehensive mind." Bradby has recently given very e f f e c t i v e statement of t h i s aspect of Arnold's character, saying that "though his attempts to r a t i o n a l i z e his i n t u i t i v e convictions v/ere not always very happy, he was a dynamic s p i r i t u a l force of immense power." The thing, indeed, that most impressed contemporaries about Dr. Arnold was his energy. To-day we do not necessarily think of energy as a virtue i n i t s e l f . The Victorians were inclined to see lit i h that l i g h t . In point of f a c t , only from one small, dissident, but very persistent voice, does there come any very different account of the v i r i l i t y of Dr. Arnold. Samuel Butler provides us, i n The Way of A l l Flesh 24 Kingsmill, Hugh, Matthew Arnold, New York, Lincoln Maeyeagh, The Dial.Press, 1928, p. 34. 25 The Quarterly Review, Vol. 74, p. 501. 2 6 i b i d * i V o l . 74, p. 488. 27 " Bradby, G-. F., The Brontes and Other Essays, London, Oxford University Press, 1932, p. 53. 9 with a remarkable portrayal of t h i s V i c t o r i a n hero, under the guise of "the great Dr. Skinner of Roughborough - the h i s t o r -28 ian of Athens, and editor of Demosthenes". To Butler's hero, Ernest Pontifex, l i f e i n Dr. Skinner's form seemed " l i k e l i v i n g 29 on the crater of Vesuvius". The doctor himself i s presented 30 to us as "a passionate half turkey-cock, half gander of a man." How just these phrases are, i t Is impossible to t e l l . One r e c a l l s , however, that even in Tom Brown's School-Days, the Doctor in the class-room i s , on cert a i n occasions, a terrifying spectacle. "Tom couldn't hear a word which passed, and never l i f t e d his eyes from his book; but he knew by a sort of magnetic i n s t i n c t that the Doctor's underlip was coming out, and his eye beginning to burn, and his gown getting gathered up more and more t i g h t l y i n his l e f t hand. The suspense was agonizing, and Tom knew that he was sure on such occasions to make an example of the school-house boys. 'If he would only begin,' thought Tom, 'I shouldn't mind.'" 32 Even the devoted Stanley speaks of "that awful frown" and ain "extreme severity i n his voice and countenance beyond 33 anything he was himself at a l l aware of." 3 Besides the evidence of contemporaries and the Butler, Samuel, The Way of A l l Flesh, New York, Grosset and Dunlop, (no date), pp. 135-136. i b i d . , p. 153. i b i d . , p. 138. Hughes, op.cit., p 188. ' 33 Stanley, op.cit., Vol.1, p.158. 1 i b i d . , Vol.1, p.157. 10 opinions of l a t e r biographers, there i s a th i r d and a fourth source from which v/e may secure l i g h t on the character of Dr. Arnold. The f i r s t of these l a t t e r i s the testimony of his son Matthew, and the second i s Dr.v Arnold's own comments upon himself and his work. Matthew was, no doubt, unfortunate i n being dogged a l l his l i f e by the shadow of his father. Proof of the continuous presence of that i l l u s t r i o u s phantom i s abundant. When Matthew became an inspector of schools, he was greeted 34 everywhere as the son of Dr. Arnold. It was the same when 35 he went on c i r c u i t with Lord Wightman, h i s father-in-law. At i n t e r v a l s he was pestered by requests for his father's 36 autograph. When he v i s i t e d France, proud parents told him how thei r c h i l d had been christened "Arnold" for the great 37 schoolmaster. When he published Culture and Anarchy, Stanley's way of showing his delight v/ith the preface v/as to 38 say how f u l l y Dr. Arnold would have agreed with i t . When, late i n l i f e , Matthew Arnold v i s i t e d America, i t v/as to find New England, e s p e c i a l l y Boston, s t i l l f a i t h f u l to the worship 39 of his papa, now f o r t y years dead. In the l i g h t of a l l t h i s , i t i s perhaps understand-able that Matthew's own references to h i s father are rather rare. When, i n the Letters, they do occur, they appear to be ° 4 Letters, Y o l . I, pp.25-26. 3 5 i b i d . , Vol. I, p. 139. 3 6 i b i d . , Vol. I, p 323. 3 7 i b i d . , Yol. I, p . 260. 38 i b i d . , Yol. I I , p. 3. 3 9 i b i d . , Yol. I I , p. 227. 11 given a l i t t l e under constraint - c h i e f l y to please his mother or s i s t e r . In 1865, f o r instance, being on the Continent, he writes to his mother d u t i f u l l y noting that he had stayed at the same inn at Fontainebleau, with dear papa, nearly twenty-40 four years xoreviously. . On the same t r i p , he writes from Rome, hoping the l e t t e r w i l l arrive just around "dearest 41 papa's birthday". Most of Matthew Arnold's references to his father have a curious current of q u a l i f i c a t i o n running through them. Writing i n 1861, for example, he says, "I find the memory and mention of dear papa every-where - f a r oftener than I t e l l you - among the variety of people I see. This variety i s nowhere greater than on c i r c u i t . I f i n d people beginning to know something about me myself, but I am s t i l l far oftener an object of interest as his son than on my own account." 42 This passage may help to account for the almost perfunctory references to "dear papa" i n the l e t t e r s . One seems to detect a l i t t l e b itterness against the man v/hose fame so long eclipsed the son. In one of his l e t t e r s , to his s i s t e r Fan, Arnold confesses, while reporting on h i s inaugural Oxford lecture on poetry, "I should not have l i k e d papa to hear me 43 l e c t u r e . " The attitude i s a l i t t l e strange. Again one suspects that he was a l i t t l e uncomfortable i n the presence of this imposing father. Nowhere i n Matthew Arnold's published works do we 4 0 Letters, Vol.1, p. 263. 4 1 i b i d . , Vol. I, p. 274. 4 2 i t i i d . , Vol. I, p. 139. 4 3 i b i d . , Vol. I, p. 329. 12 come across any glowing personal love f o r his father. The man who, i n his essays, gave l i f e to little-known French mystics and poets, withheld that g i f t from his father. Everything i s decorous and r e s t r a i n e d . Matthew, speaking of his father, has a l i t t l e of the a i r of a well-bred agnostic joining i n the creed. The greatest tribute that he pays him i s the following o r a t o r i c a l analogue to Rugby Chapel, given i n a l e t t e r to his mother. " . . . t h i s i s just what makes him great - that he was not only a good man saving his own soul by righteousness, but that he carried so many others with him i n his hand,44 and saved them, i f they would l e t him, along with himself." As a source of information, then, about the type of man Dr. Arnold r e a l l y was, Matthew i s n e g l i g i b l e . There are d u t i f u l expressions of admiration to be found, but very l i t t l e e l s e . 4 The l a s t quarter to which one can look for i n -formation about Dr. Arnold, i s the biography written by one of his early pupils, Arthur Penrhyn Stanley. The Victorians, possiblcy because they preferred to suppress the more intimate phases of a man's l i f e , did not produce many great biographies; but Stanley's L i f e of Arnold must be included i n any count of the best half dozen biographies of Its age. From our point of view, espe c i a l l y , the book i s valuable. Since Stanley followed the sensible plan of allowing Dr., Arnold, Letters, V o l . I, p. 42. 13 through, his l e t t e r s , to speak for himself, and since Arnold l e f t the imprint of his very potent personality on everything that he wrote, a good deal may be learned from these l e t t e r s . The man who emerges for us, as we read, is a person of tremendous s i n c e r i t y and purpose, i f small sense of humour. He has i t i s true an annoying habit of making a major issue of even the smallest point that can be made to re l a t e to his central Christian b e l i e f . His dogmatism i s at times a l i t t l e wearing; the manliness a l i t t l e too akin to an exultant Tarzanism.' The ef f e c t of the biography i s , however, powerful and cumulative. Even through the medium of the book, Arnold ' s personality makes i t s e l f f e l t . A modern reader may want to cry out, at times, at the seeming crassness of some of the attitudes, but he finds i t hard to bring any very grave charge against the man himself. His s i n c e r i t y and power are patent. Indeed, Arnold so comes to dominate the reader that one leaves the book with the conviction that, despite his obstinacy, intellectual(muddiness\, and conventionality of outlook, thTs'5 r e a l l y was a great man. In his l e t t e r s , Thomas Arnold i s completely candid about his attitudes and motives, probably because in his own eyes, they were never wrong. This i s not to say that another would always have approved of them. Consider the matter of ambition. T r a d i t i o n a l l y this has been rather a questionable t r a i t i n a churchman. Arnold, however, frankly avowed himself one of the most ambitious of men. Writing in the days of h i s early r e t i r e -14 merit at Lalehara, he said, "I have always thought ... that I should l i k e to he aut Caesar aut nullus, and as i t is pretty well- settled for me I s h a l l not be Caesar, I am quite content 45 to l i v e i n peace as n u l l u s . " When Arnold was c a l l e d to be a- petty Caesar at Rugby, th i s impulse to d i r e c t , to use others, became apparent. He himself wrote, "The work here i s more and more engrossing con-t i n u a l l y ; but I li k e i t better and better; i t has a l l the interest of a great game of chess, with l i v i n g creatures for pawns and pieces." 4 6 Such statements as these begin to bear out Kingsmill's accusa-t i o n , that Arnold was c h i e f l y i n t e r e s t e d i i n others as things upon which to exert his own tremendous energies i n ordeir to d i r e c t them to ends which he considered good. Arnold himself said, apparently without any misgivings, "My love for any place, or person, or i n s t i t u t i o n i s exactly the measure of my 47 desire to reform them." This r e a l l y provides us with the key to Arnold's character. He was troubled by a constant pedac-.\ ic gogic i t c h . Equipped with a pattern f o r what he considered I i d e a l conduct, and provided with i n f i n i t e energy for imposing i t upon others, he proceeded about his work of convoying the community to Heaven. Of Arnold's pupils at Rugby, some - the Stanleys and the Lakes, accepted the Doctor's pattern, and allowed themselves to be moulded by i t . Clough spent his whole l i f e being of two mines - at once finding f a u l t s i n the pattern 45 Stanley, op . c i t. , Vol. I, .p. 32. 4 6 i b i d . , Vol. I, p. 235. 4-7 i b i d . , Vol. I, p. 353. and longing to be i n conformity with. i t . Lastly, there was Matthew Arnold. In the coming chapters, we s h a l l study the form of the pattern according to which h i s father was inspired to reform places, persons, and i n s t i t u t i o n s ; and we s h a l l see to what degree, by the end of his youth, Matthew had come to accept i t . Chapter Two Rugby "What a sight i t i s , " broke i n the master, "the Doctor as r u l e r . Perhaps ours i s the only l i t t l e cor-ner of the B r i t i s h Smpire which i s thoroughly, wisely, and strongly ruled just now." - Tom Brown's School-Days 1 Matthew Arnold's e a r l i e s t education was received at Laleham, where his uncle, the Rev. John Buckland, con-tinued the cramming-school i n which Thomas Arnold was o r i g i n -a l l y his partner. It i s impossible to say how much the young boy learned from t h i s uncle, whose chief pursuit was pre-paring young men for university matriculation. At any event, 2 in October, 1833, a cousin of Southey's, Herbert H i l l , was engaged to prapare Matthew and his brother Tom for entrance to Winchester. Three years l a t e r , at the age of fourteen, Matthew was f i n a l l y sent there, but for some unexplained' reason he was withdrawn at the end of a single year, and enrolled i n the f i f t h form at.Rugby. His next four years were spend at his father's school. ' Hughes, Thomas, Tom Brown's School-Days, New York, The American News Co., no date, p. 395. ' The appointment was apparently a happy one. Matthew Arnold said l a t e r , " H i l l ' s c r i t i c i s m i s always delicate and good -and his style i n prose has something of the beauty of his father-in-law's." The Letters of Matthew Arnold to Arthur Hugh Clough,ed. by H.F.Lowry, London and New York,Oxford University Press, 1932, p. 145. 16 17 2 The English public schools were so f a r i n decline, when Arnold came to Rugby, that respectable middle-class opinion had turned against them, and force of t r a d i t i o n alone gave the n o b i l i t y any reason f o r continuing their patronage of them. " I f schools are what they were i n my time," said Tom Brown's father, i n sending his boy to Rugby, " y o u ' l l see a great many cruel, blackguard things done, and hear a deal 3 of f o u l bad t a l k . " He had reason f o r these gloomy pre-d i c t i o n s . For over a century the public schools had been, for the most part, ill-managed bear-gardens, where packs of callow youths were given a taste f o r gaming, drinking, and the practice of s a d i s t i c tendencies. D i s c i p l i n e had long been a matter of corporal punishment, and at times student insurrection got out of cont r o l . "Eton and Westminster were notorious i n t h i s respect; open r e b e l l i o n occurred at Eton, i n the years 1728, 1743, 1678, 1783, 1810, 1832. The Riot Act was read at Winchester i n 1770; and the same school "rebelled" i n 1774, 1793, 1818. Similar disorders took place at Harrow i n 1771 and 1818, and at Rugby i n 1797 and 1822.* 4 School management had been l i t t l e improved by the t h i r d decade of the 19th Century. Eton was foremost i n maintaining the old t r a d i t i o n . Despite Dr. Keate's herculean 3 Hughes, op.cit., p. 90. 4 Adamson, J . , A Short History of Education, Cambridge, The University Press, 1§©2, p. 220. 18 achievements i n flogging, that college maintained a remark-able standard of drinking, f i g h t i n g and betting. In 1825 the school received a good deal of attention, when one of the boys was k i l l e d i n a f i s t f i g h t . "The young men continued f i g h t i n g from four t i l l "nearly six o'clock, and when they were i n a state of exhaustion, they v/ere p l i e d between the rounds with brandy. They fought about sixty rounds; and at the end of the l a s t round, Mr. Cooper f e l l heavily upon his head, and never spoke afterwards." 6 Mr. Cooper was fourteen years old, and his opponent, Mr. Wood, sixteen. The schools being so conducted, i t was l i t t l e wonder that the standard of education, was low. The Eton text-books were standard, as might be expected from the status of that school, but the Edinburgh Review, admittedly h y p e r - c r i t i c a l of so Tory an establishment, did not hesitate to proclaim, 7 in 1830, that these books contained almost every possible flaw. Indeed, speaking i n general of Eton, the Review stated: "...when an Etonian goes either to Cambridge or Oxford, and i s questioned as to the extent of his studies, he can only answer, that besides Horace, and part of Y i r g i l and the I l i a d , he has read nothing .... he i s u t t e r l y ignorant of mathematical or physical science, and even of arithmetic; - the very names of l o g i c a l , moral a n d p p o l i t i c a l science are unknown to him." 8 Eton provides an extravagant example of the current abuses, but they were so widespread as to be almost Whitridge, Dr. Arnold of Rugby, p. 64. 6 The Annual Register for 1825, London, Balwin, Cradock and Joy, 1826, Chronicle, p. 20. 7 The Edinburgh Review, Yol. LI, p. 68. 8 i b i d . , Yol. LI, p. 73. 19 universal. The narrowness of the' curriculum was so much a matter of custom as seldom to c a l l for active c r i t i c i s m . The. 9 viciousness of student l i f e was also general. Dr. Arnold took for the text of one of his school sermons, a statement from the Remains of Mr. John Bowdler, "Public Schools are the very seats and nurseries of vice . It may be avoidable or it 10 may not; but the fact i s indisputable." Even at Arnold's Rugby, Old Brooke found i t necessary to caution Tom Brown. "Then there's fuddling about i n the public-house, and drinking bad s p i r i t s , and punch, and such rot-gut s t u f f . That won't make good drop-kicks or chargers of you, take my word for i t . " H Rugby, although In eclipse when Dr. Arnold came into the headmastership, had a long and f a i r l y honourable descent. It had been founded i n 1567, under the terms of the w i l l of a London merchant, who had required that i t should always bear the t i t l e of "The Free School of Lawrence Sheriffe of London, Grocer". A major re-organization occurred i n 1777 and f o r some period subsequently, under Dr. Thomas James, the school had enjoyed a f i r s t - c l a s s reputation. In 1797, Rugby had i t s "Great Rebellion"; at that time a soldier with a drawn 12 bayonet had'stood guard over the headmaster's study. When 9 Stanley, op . c i t . , Vol.1, p. 85. • L 0 Bowdler, J., Remains, Third E d i t i o n , Vol.11, p. 153. Quoted i n - Arnold, Thomas, Sermons, Second Series, London, Reeves and Turner, 1874, p. 83. 1 1 Hughes, op . c i t . , p. 145. -1-2 Whitridge, op . c i t . , p. 85. 20 Arnold came to the school conditions were s t i l l unsatisfactory. A high standard of scholarship was maintained i n a small group of senior students, hut the enrollment of the school was down to 123. 1 3 The new head had special q u a l i f i c a t i o n s as a teacher. We have seen that his whole outlook upon l i f e was pedagogic. 14 He saw t h i s world as "a school for heaven". In addition to his extraordinary energy, he had a p o s i t i v e love for i n s t r u c t -ing others. Stanley reports that "he declared sometimes that 15 he could hardly l i v e without such employment." Arnold had a d e f i n i t e power of i n s i g h t into boy nature. He recognized, for instance, the proper source of motivation. "Generally speaking, we can understand and do well what we are fond of; however d u l l we may be about things that we d i s l i k e . You know how common i t i s to see a boy very d u l l about his lessons, yet very quick and active i n other things. No?; he i s d u l l about his lessons, because he does not l i k e them; because his mind i s , as i t were, asleep to them, and wakes for things which he l i k e s better." 1 6 When i t came to the administration of a school, rather than the work of i n s t r u c t i o n , Arnold again had a g i f t of perception. "... at no place, or time of l i f e , are people so much the slaves of custom, as boys at school. If a thing has been an old practice, be i t ever so unworthy, i t i s continued without scruple; i f a thing i s new, be i t ever so useful and ever so excellent, i t i s apt to be regarded as a grievance." 1? Unfortunately there were other aspects to the new 1 3 Whitridge, o p . c i t . , p. 138. 14 Senamons, Series I, p.24. 15 Stanley, op.cit., Vol.1, p. 86. 16 "17 Sermons, Series II, p. 40. "' i b i d . , p. 27. 21 headmaster's thought. At times his dogmas and b e l i e f s got the better of his sound cormuon-sense. Despite his own excellent comment upon the necessity of pupils being interested i n what they are doing, Arnold could, i n speaking of young boys, make such strange statements as the following. "It i s a great mistake to think they should under- stand a l l they learn; for God has ordered that i n youth the memory should act vigorously, independently of the understanding." 18 Temperamentally, Dr. Arnold was not altogether suited f o r the trade to which he was so anxious to devote himself. The manner i n which he expressed himself when impatient, or angered, appears to have been devastating. In Tom Brown's School-Days we are told of a boy sent f a l l i n g backwards 19 with a box on the ear, for mistranslating. Whitridge, drawing.upon an uncited source, says of Dr. Arnold, "Apparently he had a t r i c k of thrusting out his l i p and tossing his head, whenever a boy made a mis-take, quite as i f he was suffering pain, It must have been agony for a nervous boy to r e c i t e to him." Arnold himself confessed, "I have seen great boys, six feet high, shed tears when I have sent for them up into my room 21 and spoken to them quietly, for not knowing the i r lesson." A graver f a u l t than t h i s excessive severity of outward manner was the positive morbidity with which Dr. 1 o Stanley, o p . c i t . , Vol.1, p. 123. 19 Hughes, op . c i t . , p. 189. But note, "never again while Tom v/as at school did the doctor s t r i k e a boy in lesson." i b i d . , p. 189. 2 0"Whitridge, op.cit., p. 96. 21 Stanley, op.cit., Vol.I, p.218. 22 Arnold viewed the imperfections of his. boys. Arnold bound every d e t a i l of education to C h r i s t i a n i t y . His fanaticism on t h i s point v/as unfortunate. Pie could not bear to see boys i d l e , f o r instance. "At the very sight of vicious or careless boys gathered together round the great schoolhouse f i r e , 'It makes me think,' he would say, 'that I see the Devil i n the 22 midst of them.'" In any consideration of Rugby, i t i s necessary to remember t h i s severity and morbidity of Dr.Arnold. 23 There were other t r a i t s which allowed him to become, fo r the 24 Victorians, "the prince of schoolmasters", but his early unpopularity i s quite understandable. Tom Brown found that when Arnold f i r s t came to Rugby, "... he was looked upon v/ith great fear and d i s l i k e by the great majority even of his own 25 house." 4 Dr. Arnold came to Rugby v/ith a very d e f i n i t e philosophy of education. He was determined to reform the old ab'OJsts and secure a respectable name f o r h i s school. He v/as Stanley, op.c i t . , Vol.1, p.103. Reference must be made to the tenderness which Arnold displayed to the younger boys (Stanley, Vol.1, p.157); to his habit of treating the boys as gentlemen ( i b i d . , V o l . I , p.100); his encouragement of good work (ibid.,Vol.l,p.125); hi s personal interest i n older pupils and his readiness to a s s i s t them after leaving school (ibid.,Vol.I,pp.160Q161); and generally to what Stanley c a l l e d h i s "youthfulness of temperament"(ibid., Vol.1, p.162). The Edinburgh Review, Vol. LXXXI, p.191. Hughes, op.cit., p.149. 23 bound, above a l l else, to endeavour to bring his boys up as C h r i s t i a n gentlemen. The old squire sent Tom Brown to Rugby, hoping he would become "a brave, h e l p f u l l ( s i c ) , t r u t h - t e l l i n g 26 Englishman, and a gentleman, and a Christian."' Dr. Arnold would not have amended that as a statement of h i s own i d e a l . In order to secure the reform that he desired, the new head-master had to take energetic measures. Parents were asked to 27, withdraw boys whom Arnold found an obstacle to his program. He issued an ultimatum. "It i s not necessary that t h i s should be a school of three, or of one hundred, or of f i f t y boys; but i t i_s_ necessary that i t should be a school of 28 Chr i s t i a n gentlemen." Having set his school i n order, Arnold never re-linquished his p o l i c y of putting prime emphasis upon the pro-gress his pupils made in the application of Christian p r i n t r i l c i p l e s . "...he held that his work as a schoolmaster was f i r s t and foremost a r e l i g i o u s work, the cure of souls, not merely or c h i e f l y the giving of i n s t r u c t i o n in the subjects necessary to what i s termed a l i b e r a l educa-t i o n . " 2 9 It i s because Arnold saw things thus, that, soon after h i s appointment, he took upon himself the functions-of school 30 chaplain. Every Sunday afternoon during the school year, a ^ 6 Hughes, op.cit., p. 91. 27 Whitridge, op.cit. , p. 139. 28 Stanley, op.cit., Vol.1, p.101 29 Campbell, R.J., Thomas Arnold, London, Macmillan and Co;, 1927, (Great English Churchmen Series) pp.60-61. 30 Stanley, op.cit., Vol.1, p.143. b r i e f but f o r c e f u l sermon was delivered to pews of s i l e n t school-boys. This weekly homily by t h e i r headmaster bulked 31 large i n the minds of the boys. The smaller f r y of the school probably sat bewildered and frightened, cowed by the dreary somberness of the chapel i n t e r i o r , hot comprehending the r o l l i n g s y l l a b l e s v/hich descended from the black robed figure i n the p u l p i t . The older boys, however, were affected by the t o r r e n t i a l energy and the immense conviction of the speaker. Week a f t e r week, they went, to be chastised, en-couraged, reprobated, bribed with promises of everlasting 32 b l i s s , and threatened v/ith the actual flames of an actual h e l l . Dr. Arnold was i n his element. No one could oppose or c r i t i -c i z e - no one could escape him as he preached the way to salvation, set his pattern of l i f e before his charges. And the r e s u l t of t h i s constant pressure was what was to have been expected. "He moulded the i r minds after the model of h i s own, and stamped an impression upon them which was indelible i n after l i f e ; whatever else a Eoughborough man might be he was sure to make everyone f e e l that he was a God-fearing earnest Chr i s t i a n , and a L i b e r a l , i f not a Radical, i n p o l i t i c s . " ° 3 What did Arnold's pupils actually hear on these occasions, when brought most d i r e c t l y under their master's influence? Volumes of published sermons preserve the message for us - and at times i t i s s u f f i c i e n t l y b i z a r r e . There were occasions when Arnold dv/elt upon the fearfulness of physical 31 Hughes, op.cit., pp.164-165. 32 Sermons, Series I, p.91. Butler, Samuel, op.cit., p. 134. 25 34 decay and death, on others he reminded them of th e i r immortal souls, and c a l l e d them to the l i f e hereafter, "to the marriage supper of the Lamb, to the rest reserved for the people of 35 God." And there were times when the boys had to be cautioned that they had not f u l l y embraced the o f f e r of salvation through Christ, and that accordingly "the threatenings addressed to the unconverted sinner, are at present a l l i n t h e i r f u l l force 36 addressed to you." Of course, the headmaster did not allow himself always to be given to such gloomy pronouncements. The a r r i v a l of the Christmas holidays offered some ray of hope. "Would that you would use the precious i n t e r v a l that i s now granted to youl Would that some of you, whose p r i n c i p l e s have been somewhat stained and t h e i r practice corrupted during the l a s t f i v e months, may p u r i f y yourselves from these s o i l s ; may refresh and strengthen your f a i n t i n g s p i r i t s with a new draught of the well of everlasting l i f e . " 37 It i s hoped that the boys had a merry Christmas. One of Dr. Arnold's more curious pieces of B i b l i c a l exegesis was devoted to the trouble caused to the prophet E l i s h a by some unruly boys. The subject, indeed, was one well calculated to warm the heart of a school-master. "It was Elisha's baldness which they laughed at, in the very s p i r i t of i d l e boys, at a l l times, and i n a l l countries. They laughed at him too as a prophet; just i n the way that congregations of Methodists, f o r example, have been sometimes laughed at and disturbed among us, and t h e i r singing and preaching, made a jest of. 34 See Appendix I. 55 Sermons, Series I, p. 140. ^ i b i d ., p. 57. 57 i b i d . , Series I I , pp.112-113. 26 But for t h i s offence, we are told that the prophet cursed them i n the name of the Lord, and that 'there came f o r t h two bears out of the wood ana tare fo r t y and two children of them.' The point f o r you to observe i s , that God i s angry v/ith the f a u l t s of young persons as with those of grown-up men, and that he punishes them as heavily." 3<3 In justice to. Dr. Arnold, i t i s necessary to point out that i n contrast, to these so d i r e f u l passages are other, equally e f f e c t i v e ones setting before his boys ideals of l i f e and future blessedness, which captivated the attention of certai n of his youthful hearers - and made of them precocious committed s p i r i t s . To these, Arnold spoke d i f f e r e n t l y , portraying "...God opening his arras to receive us, fo r g i v i n g a l l our sins, and c a l l i n g us no longer servants but children, - he i r s of his own kingdom, of his own immortality, of his 39 own holiness." Rugby was one of the few schools where a boy, newly entrusted v/ith the editorship of the school paper, could 40 f e e l moved by that r e s p o n s i b i l i t y to v/rite a prayer. People usually think of Dr. Arnold as a great educational Reformer, and they tend to class him with Gomenius, Herbart, P e s t a l o z z i , and Thring. Such a c l a s s i f i c a t i o n , 38 Sermons, Series I I , pp.44-45. This sort of thing was i n no way uncommon at the time. Of.Isaac Watts, Divine and Moral Songs for Children. •"God quickly stopped t h e i r wicked breath; And sent tv/o raging bears, That tore them limb from limb to death With blood and groans and tears." 39 Sermons, Series I, p. 111. 40 Lowry, op.cit., p.12. 27 however, i s u n j u s t i f i e d . Arnold was not a reformer i n the sense of being an innovator, or the propounder of a new philosophy. He launched no movements. He accepted the English public school as he found i t ; only by his sincere and f o r c e f u l action he re-animated the old ideals which had become deadened. He introduced l i t t l e that was new. This l a t t e r fact i s obvious to us when we study the Rugby 41 curriculum, a document almost completely orthodox. Speaking of the t r a d i t i o n a l nature of the course of studies at Rugby, Lytton Strachey made a v a l i d c r i t i c i s m . "Under him, the public school remained, i n essentials, a conventual establishment, devoted to the teaching of Greek and L a t i n grammer. Had he set on foot reforms i n these d i r e c t i o n s , i t seems probable he might have succeeded i n carrying the parents of England with him. The moment was r i p e ; there was a general desire for educational changes; and Dr. Arnold's great reputation could hardly have been r e s i s t e d . As i t was, he threw the whole of his influence into the opposite scale, and the ancient system became more fi r m l y established than ever."42 A study of the actual Rugby schedules bears out t h i s c r i t i c i s m . There i s no provision for the study of chemistry, physics, or any of the other sciences. There i s no i n s t r u c t i o n i n a r t , music or any of the manual a r t s . No time i s given, 43 d i r e c t l y for the study of English. The normal week at Rugby provided for twenty hours of i n s t r u c t i o n , - sixteen of these being given to the cl a s s i c a l d i v i s i o n of L a t i n , Greek, S c r i p t u r a l i n s t r u c t i o n , and History. Two hours a'week were available for mathematics, and two hours for French. Some credit has been claimed for Arnold See Appendix I I . 4 2 Strachey, op.cit., p.240. 43 Whitridge, op.cit., p. 118. 28 because he placed French on the o f f i c i a l curriculum. The language had long been an "extra" i n almost every school, however, and i t s inclusion i n the school's own program was a 44 minor reform. Other extras ?;ere not incorporated. Eut i f there was t h i s one step taken forward., another was taken i n ret r e a t . The new headmaster introduced the moribund form of daily exercise i n Latin prosody, t r a d i t i o n a l at Winchester , 45 known as the "vulgus". It w i l l be seen that the picture, dear to un-scholarly professors of education, of Dr. Arnold as a great V i c t o r i a n reformer of pedagogy fades into nothing, when one studies the f a c t s . The curriculum at Rugby was substantially that which had been used f o r the past century. This, of course, i s not to say that Dr. Arnold did not have his i n d i v i d u a l achievement within the limited f i e l d that he accepted. His own experience as an h i s t o r i a n , and h i s profound interest i n 46 the moral lessons which he believed could be deduced from .history, no doubt enlivened his presentation of that subject. An example i s a r t . This subject was taught, before Arnold's time, by an art s p e c i a l i s t , though i t i s extremely u n l i k e l y he was a member of the school's own s t a f f . The Quarterly Review i n 1829 l i s t e d a text-book "An i n t r o -duction to the Study of Painting, arranged under three Heads, - Geometry, Perspective, and Light and Shadow. • By E.Rudge, Teacher of Painting &c. to Rugby School." Quarterly  Review, Vol. XLI, p.' 284. "A subject being given out, and a f i x e d number of eight otr ten l i n e s being required to be produced and recided i n class next morning." S i r Joshua F i t c h , Thomas and Matthew  Arnold, New York, Charles Scribner's Sons, 1899, p. 41. 4 Dr. Arnold, as we s h a l l have occasion to see, had a philosophy of Providence i n h i s t o r y . His p r a c t i c a l bent of mind showed i t s e l f , moreover, i n the 47 inclu s i o n o f a small amount o f modern h i s t o r y . A certain l i v e l i n e s s was undoubtedly contributed to his treatment of Roman history, by h i s first-hand knowledge of the topography 48 of I t a l y . Indeed, he l a i d continual stress upon the necessity of seeing h i s t o r y against a c l e a r l y perceived geo-graphical background. In his presentation of the c l a s s i c s , Dr. Arnold's richness of imagination apparently had a v i v i f y i n g effect.. Mr. Whitridge, rather audaciously, speaks of him "inoculating 49 them with old conception of humanism", and then, moving to safer ground^extols him as: "... the f i r s t great Englishman of his time to comprehend that the c l a s s i c s were the gateway to a l l e t h i c a l , p hilosophical, and p o l i t i c a l problems, and to teach them as such." 5 u Now, having shown Dr. Arnold's r e a l p o l i c y i n framing the school curriculum, one may well consider for.a moment another commonly misunderstood matter. The English cu l t of o f f i c i a l l y inspired school at h l e t i c i s m has comnionly been attributed to Dr. Arnold. Now Dr. Arnold was a healthy, v i r i l e male - even i f a doctor of d i v i n i t y . He had a physical need of a c t i v i t y , and accordingly we f i n d him running up the 51 s p i r a l s t a i r s to h i s class-room, hurling the j a v e l i n , going See Appendix I I . The Sixth Form did parts of Russell's Modern Europe. This stopped with the Battle of Waterloo. He f i r s t v i s i t e d Rome i n 1827. Stanley, Vol.1, p.41. Whitridge, Qp.cit., p. 71. ibi d . , p . 71. 51. Stanley, op.cit., Vol.1, p.149. 30 hiking - "skirmishing", he c a l l e d i t - and taking afternoon 52 swims with elder p u p i l s . But there i s no r e a l evidence that he ever sought to make physical exercise or organized games a part of the regimen of the school. Strachey makes a point i n t h i s connection: "The modern reader of Tom Brown's School-Days searches i n vain f o r any reference to compulsory games, 53 house colours, or cricket averages." Sports had, of course, always had a place i n English school l i f e . Before Arnold ever came to Rugby, the ba t t l e of Yfaterloo had been won on the playing f i e l d s of Eton. Dr. Arnold v/ould have been b i t t e r l y opposed to the "school colours" d e i f i c a t i o n of physical prowess. It i s i r o n i c that his name should have come to be associated at a l l v/ith i t . The general error on t h i s point appears to spring from misimpressions gained from the reading of Tom Brown, and that 54 these are misimpressions, we have the word of Matthew Arnold. 6 The one great innovation Dr. Arnold made at Rugby v/as the creation of a system of delegated authority, which employed the senior boys as agents of law. We have seen how Arnold yearned to be a Caesar, and have seen how he created Stanley, op.cit., Yol.II, p.277. Strachey, op.cit., p. 291. "But as Matthew Arnold once said to me, i t (Tom Brown's  School-Days) has been praised quite enough, f o r i t gives only one side and that not the best side, of Rugby school l i f e , or of Arnolds character. It leaves out of view, a l -most wholly, the i n t e l l e c t u a l purpose of a school. F i t c h , op.cit., p. 105. 31 for himself an autocracy at Rugby School. But no Caesar i s 55 complete without his consuls and pro-consuls through whom the governed may be minutely supervised. Accordingly, to supplement h i s house-masters, Arnold appointed monitors,or, as he ca l l e d them, "praepostors". A cer t a i n enthusiasm f o r martial d i s c i p l i n e animated the headmaster when he appointed these deputies. They were entrusted with considerable powers, 56 including that of flogging. Only the F i f t h Form was exempt from t h e i r j u r i s d i c t i o n . On the other hand, their own sub-ordination to him was absolute. Tom Hughes, a school hero, an outstanding athlete, and already a contributor to Bentley's 57 Magazine, was expelled f o r f a i l u r e to report an offender. Strachey, speaking of Dr. Arnold and his inception of the p r e f e c t o r i a l system, likened the head ±0 Jehovah, and sniggered 58 that "there were to be judges in I s r a e l " . S i r Michael 5 It i s interesting to note that one oi his prefects, i n -s t a l l e d to tame a rowdy "house" was a certai n Y/illiam Hodson, destined to become a famous figure i n the Indian Mutiny. I t i s inte r e s t i n g , also, to note the reference to Hodson's schooling, given in a memoir by a f r i e n d . "Of course he was in the Sixth, where i t became an honour to have studied under Arnold. W i l l i e Hodson used to refer to his pupilage v/ith pride. But he was never r e a l l y an Arnold man - lime an as was Stanley (Dean of Westminster) , Tom Hughes, or Seton-Karr." Trotter, L.., Hodson of Hodson's Horse, London, J.M. Dent, no date, p.5 .' Whitridge, op.cit., p.144. The Northampton Herald, January 2, 1836, attacked the b r u t a l i t y oif the praepostors. Whit-ridge makes the point that no boy was bound to accept puniishment from a praepostor, and could appeal to the head-master. It would be a brave boy, however, who would dare to invoke t h i s p r i v i l e g e . C ^ ^ \ ^ r ^ *•**-*i ^ ^ M J ^ X ^ } j 7 i b i d . , p. 138. Subsequently Hughes was invited to Fox How, and went snipe-hunting with Matt. (p.139) 8 Strachey, op.cit., p. 214. 32 Sadler has observed, "He turned the Sixth form into a corps of young commissioned o f f i c e r s for a campaign against offences 59 i n the school." 7 This rather detailed study of Rugby may properly conclude with a comment upon the type of graduate the school produced during Arnold's time. The accounts we receive vary with the prejudices of the reporters. We have already noted that offered by the acidulated Mr. Butler. Hughes, b r i e f l y summing up the comments of the reviewers of Tom Brown upon Rugby men, declared: "They have stated that the Rugby undergraduates they remember at the u n i v e r s i t i e s were 'a solemn array', 'boys turned into men before t h e i r time', 'a s e m i - p o l i t i c a l , semi-sacerdotal f r a t e r n i t y ' , etc., giving the idea that Arnold turned out a set of yound square-toes, who wore fi long-fingered black gloves, and, talked with a snu f f l e . " Against t h i s we may set what i s probably a f a r f a i r e r state-ment, that of John Henry Newman. "The (Liberal) party grew, a l l the time that I was in Oxford, even In numbers, c e r t a i n l y in breadth and definiteness of doctrine, and i n power. And, what was a far higher consideration, by the accession of Dr. Arnold's pupils, i t v/as invested v/ith an elevation of 61 character which claimed the respect even of i t s opponents." Newman, leader of what Arnold termed "the Oxford Malignants", had no cause to love the man who sent his pupils to Oxford forewarned against him. A good deal of v/eight must be attached to such a tribute, paid under such circumstances. : . Sadler, introduction to Whitridge *s Dr.Arnold of Ruigby ,p.xxi . Q 0 Hughes, op.clt., p. 10. x Newman, J.H., Apologia Pro Y i t a Sua, London, Longmans Green and Co., 1890, p.292. 33 8 It should not, now, be very d i f f i c u l t to get some sort of a picture of Matthew Arnold's school-days. As the son-of the headmaster, he held, no doubt, a s l i g h t l y isolated p o s i t i o n , which was probably the more marked because of his late entry into the school. He l i v e d i n a highly domesticized setting, his father being constantly present, for he preferred to pursue his studies i n the midst of the bustle of family 62 a c t i v i t y . Perhaps the contact with his father i n h i s informal moments led to an occasional lack of respect, though th i s i s indeed hard to imagine. There i s , however, an apocryphal story of Matthew standing behind his father, p u l l i n g faCes at 63 the Sixth Form. It i s , of course, possible that continual submission and deference to Dr. Arnold induced a wild desire to r e b e l , and that i t was a desperate impulse to assert himself that led to t h i s performance. Actually, i t i s impossible to say what Matthew Arnold's feelings were towards his father during his school-days. Stanley spoke of the 64 "almost awful happiness" of Dr. Arnold's family l i f e . Hughes saw i t as warm and v i t a l i z i n g - but nobody can bear witness to Matthew's r e a l f e e l i n g s - whether j o y f u l , oppressed, or 65 resigned. 62 Stanley, op.cit., V o l . I, p.203. 63 Woods, Margaret, Matthew Arnold, Essays and Studies by  members of the English Association, the Clarendon Press, 1929, Vol.XV, p.8. 3 4 Stanley, op.cit, Vol.1., p.203. 6 5 Hughes, op.cit., p.178. 34 Matthew Arnold's studies were not especiallj^ calculated to f i t him for l i f e i n the Nineteenth Century. He was saturated with c l a s s i c s - but given only a small dose of the modern languages. He was brought up without any s c i e n t i f i c background in l i n g u i s t i c s , anthropology, comparative r e l i g i o n , or the physical sciences. His schooling had been received i n an establishment where a premium was placed upon d i s c i p l i n e , and that d i s c i p l i n e v/as imposed from above. He had, moreover, been brought up i n a school which had a certain fundamental snobbishness - the superiority of the good Chris t i a n over any one else, the pre-eminence of the "Arnold mSn" over the rest of the school. Chapter Three Dr. Arnold and the Populace "Two nations; between whom there i s no intercourse and no sympathy; who are as ignorant of each other's habits, thoughts, and f e e l i n g s , as i f they were dwellers i n two di f f e r e n t zones, or inhabitants of d i f f e r e n t planets; who are formed by d i f f e r e n t breeding, are fed by d i f f e r e n t food, are ordered by d i f f e r e n t manners, and are not governed by the same laws." "You speak of " said Egreraont h e s i t a t i n g l y . "The Rich and the Poor." 1 - D i s r a e l i (Sybil) 1 Matthew Arnold came close to witnessing an English Revolution. The spectre of revolution was constantly lurking i n the minds of h i s contemporaries. The f i r s t quarter century of h is l i f e was spent i n a world where people, of his clas s , regarded the p r o l e t a r i a t with something of the trepidation with which a soldier regards a s h e l l that may, af t e r a l l , be only a "dud", but likewise may, at the s l i g h t e s t touch, blow him into nothingness. In order to understand Matthew Arnold's attitude to the great masses of common people, one must r e a l i z e the foreboding atmosphere of English i n d u s t r i a l r e l a t i o n s a l l through his youth. The trouble began i n 1816, when not prosperity, but depression followed the Battle of Waterloo and the second D i s r a e l i , B., S y b i l or The Two Nations, London, M.Walter Dunne, 1904, Vol.1, p. 93. 35 36 Peace of P a r i s . A g r i c u l t u r a l prices collapsed, banks were ruined; the heavy industries, losing their wartime markets, 2 l a i d off scores of thousands of workers. The s i t u a t i o n became desperate. The following years saw l i t t l e improvement. The working classes grew increasingly famished, truculent, and d i s r e s p e c t f u l . I l l e g a l combinations were formed, r i c k s were burned, l o c a l magnates were mobbed, republicanism was preached, and assassination advocated. In 1819 there were serious demonstrations at Birmingham and Manchester, the one at the l a t t e r r e s u l t i n g i n the "massacre" of Peterloo when the hussars' charged the r i o t e r s . The number of l i v e s l o s t was small. Certain happenings, however, have a psychological importance fa r transcending t h e i r physical magnitude; and the shadow of Peterloo l i e s athwart the s o c i a l l i f e of early Nineteenth Century England. Blood had been shed; undeclared war had begun between D i s r a e l i ' s two nations. The post-war depression had ended by 1822, but the prosperity that followed quickly developed into an unwarranted boom, which collapsed on December 5, 1825, when Pole's Bank went into bankruptcy. "As they kept the accounts of forty-four county banks the shock thus given to cre d i t was tremendous. In the next few weeks seventy-eight banks, including f i v e great London houses, closed their doors." 3 The r e s u l t i n g c r i s i s saw the Bank of England i t s e l f on the verge of f a i l u r e . 1826 and 1827 v/ere poor years with both a g r i c u l t u r a l and i n d u s t r i a l d i s t r e s s and unrest. In a single 2 Marriott, J.A.R., England Since Waterloo, London, Methuen and Co., Ltd.,(1913) p. 25. 2 i b i d . , p.76. 37 week more than 1000 power-looms were smashed i n the neighbour-4 hood of Blackburn. Improvement set i n late in 1827, and 1828 proved to be a highly prosperous year. This, however, was not the beginning of the long looked for era of peace and plenty. In 1829, the Annual Register comments upon "depression i n 5 every branch of trade", and notes the prevalence of r i c k 6 burning, As f o r the wrecking of machinery, the Register observed "The mischief done had not been equalled for sixty 7 years." The cause of th i s turmoil was not only unemployment, but the heinously lo?/ rate of v/ages. The Annual Register quotes the report of an unspecified "committee of masters" as saying that, i n the neighbourhood of Huddersfield, "there are 13,000 indi v i d u a l s , who have not more than 2-^ -d. per day 8 to l i v e upon and f i n d wear and tear f o r looms &c." D i s r a e l i has given a r e a l i s t i c picture of the l i v i n g quarters of people e x i s t i n g under such a wage scheme. The town he describes i s 9 a small one, "a metropolis of a g r i c u l t u r a l labour." Rugby was just such a town. "The s i t u a t i o n of the r u r a l tov/n of Marney v/as one of the most d e l i g h t f u l e a s i l y to be imagined. In a spreading dale, contiguous to the margin of a clear and 4 Marriott, op . c i t . , p. 77. 5 Annual Register f o r 1850, London, Baldwin and Cradock, J.G. and F. Rivington, 1831, pp.149-150. 6 Annual Register for 1829, p. 131. 7 i b i d . , p. 131. 8 i b i d . , p. 133. 9 D i s r a e l i , op. c i t . , p. 73. 38 l i v e l y stream, surrounded by meadows and gardens, and backed by l o f t y h i l l s , undulating and r i c h l y wooded, the t r a v e l l e r on the opposite heights of the dale would often stop to admire the merry prospect that r e c a l l e d to him the t r a d i t i o n a l epithet of his country. "Beautiful i l l u s i o n I For behind that laughing landscape, penury and disease fed upon the v i t a l s of a miserable population. "The contrast between the i n t e r i o r of the town and i t s external aspect was as s t r i k i n g as i t was f u l l of pain. With the exception of the d u l l high street, v/hich had the usual c h a r a c t e r i s t i c s of a small a g r i c u l t u r a l market town, some sombre mansions, a dingy inn, and a petty bourse, Marney mainly consisted of a variety of narrow and crowded lanes formed by cottages b u i l t of rubble, or unhewn stones without cement, and, from age or badness of the material, looking as i f they could scarcely hold together. The gaping chinks admitted every b l a s t ; the leaning chimneys had l o s t h a l f t h e i r o r i g i n a l height; the rotten r a f t e r s were evidently misplaced; while i n many instances the thatch, yawning i n some parts to admit the wind and wet, and i n a l l u t t e r l y Unfit for i t s o r i g i n a l purpose of giving protec-t i o n from theveather, looked more l i k e the top of a dunghill than a cottage. Before the doors of these dwellings, and often surrounding them, ran open drains f u l l of animal and vegetable refuse, decomposing into disease, or sometimes i n their imperfect course f i l l i n g f o u l p i t s or spreading into stagnant pools, while a concentrated solution of every species of d i s s o l v i n g f i l t h was allowed to soak through, and thoroughly im-pregnate, the walls and ground adjoining. "These wretched tenements seldom consisted of more than two rooms, in one of which the whole family, however numerous, v/ere obliged to sleep, without d i s t i n c t i o n of age, or sex, or s u f f e r i n g . With the water streaming down the walls, the l i g h t distinguished through the roof, with no hearth even i n winter, the virtuous mother i n the sacred pangs of c h i l d b i r t h gives f o r t h another v i c t i m to our thoughtless c i v i l i z a t i o n ; surrounded by three generations whose inevitable presence i s more pai n f u l than her sufferings i n that hour of t r a v a i l ; v/hile the father of her coming c h i l d , in another corner of the sordid chamber, l i e s stricken by that typhus which his contaminating dwelling has breathed into his veins, and f o r whose next prey i s perhaps destined his new-born c h i l d . These swarming chambers have neither windows nor doors s u f f i c i e n t to keep out the weather, or admit the sun, or supply the means of v e n t i l a t i o n ; the humid and putrid roof of thatch exhaling malaria l i k e a l l other decaying vegetable matter. The dwelling-rooms were neither boarded nor paved; and, whether i t 59 were that some were situate i n low and damp places, occasionally flooded by the r i v e r ; and usually much below the l e v e l of the road; or that the springs, as was often the case, would burst through the mud f l o o r , the ground was at no time better than so much clay, while sometimes you might see l i t t l e channels cut from the centre under the doorways to carry o f f the water, the door i t s e l f removed from i t s hinges; a rest i n g -place for infancy i n i t s deluged home. These hovels v/ere i n many instances not provided with the commonest conveniences of the rudest p o l i c e ; contiguous to every door might be observed the dung-heap on which every kind of f i l t h was accumulated, for the purpose of being disposed of fo r manure, so that, when the poor man opened his narrow habitation i n the hope of refreshing i t v/ith the breeze of summer, he v/as met with a mixture of gases from reeking dunghills." 10 The people's attention was distracted from the misery of the i r existence, during the continued depression of 1830, 1831, and 1832, by the struggle for e l e c t o r a l reform. Reform was declared, by i t s middle-class proponents,, to hold the key to a l l s o c i a l and economic improvement. The proleta-r i a t , taking these leaders at their word, showed disquieting 11 enthusiasm for the cause of Reform, sacking Nottingham 12 13 castl e , breaking the windows af Aspley House; and f i n a l l y , i n open insurrection i n B r i s t o l , freeing the prisoners, burning the j a i l s , episcopal palace, mansion house, customs 14 and excise buildings. Both V/higs and Tories deprecated the 15 violence, but i n 1832 the Reform B i l l was passed. D i s r a e l i , op.cit., pp.73075. 1 1 Annual Register for 1831, p.152. 12 i b i d . , p. 281. 1 3 Grenvilie Memoirs, Vol.11, p.57. !4 Annual Register for 1832, p. 294. 15 • i b i d . , p. 295. 40 The Reform B i l l of 1832 was a -victory for the middle-class, and a disaster for the Tory aristocracy and land-holding gentry, who from that time have fought successive rearguard actions. To the masses, i l l i t e r a t e , unprivileged, and exploited, i t gave nothing. The consequences of this inadequacy were not immediately apparent. Commerce and trade happened to improve, and agriculture flourished during the years immediately following the election'of the Reform Parliament. The p r o l e t a r i a t , having i t s b e l l y f u l l , was r e l a t i v e l y well behaved. The cotton industry which, i n 1832, had consumed 257,985,000 pounds of raw cotton, used 16 330,750,000 pounds i n 1835. Moreover, there was a buoyancy 17 springing from the boom iha> railway construction. The r u l e r s of England with unusual prescience seized upon t h i s interlude of prosperity to pass a new Poor Law. This measure was extremely harsh. The underlying p r i n c i p l e was that the receipt of r e l i e f was to be so unpleasant as to give every possible incentive to the able-bodied to seek employment even at the lowest wage. Under the provisions of this act, England was dotted with poorhouses, where the unemployed or aged were to be segregated as i f they were s o c i a l lepers. Halevy, E., A History of The English People,(1830-1841), London, T.Fisher Unwin Ltd. 1927, p. 278. 17 "In 1837 there v/ere nearly 400 miles of railway i n actual use and nearly 450 under construction, and the l i s t of new companies sanctioned every year by special acts of Parliament f i l l e d the b i l l sheet." i b i d . , p.280. 41 When the short span of good times ended in 1838, aft e r two successive bad harvests and hard winters, the new Poor Law was at once singled out for attack. The poorhouses were lab e l l e d "Bastilles*?. Mobs wrecked them, and hooted t h e i r admini stra t o r s • "The l o c a l authorities requested that the discon-tent of the lower classes should be met by a return to the practice of outdoor r e l i e f * The Poor Law Com-missioners returned a c a t e g o r i c a l r e f u s a l to t h e i r request. I f the c r i s i s could not be surmounted without v i o l a t i n g the fundamental p r i n c i p l e of the Poor Law t h e i r work was a complete f a i l u r e . But t h i s r e f u s a l was the s i g n a l f o r the storm which had been gathering f o r the past two years to break i n f u l l fury over t h e i r heads. Nothing short of an insurrection was 18 organized against the three •tyrants', the three 'Pashas*. Parliamentary reform was supposed to have brought i n a golden era. The p r o l e t a r i a t , confronted by the depression of 1838, began to suspect the Reform Act had not gone f a r enough. But, when the masses began to chafe at the new dispensation, i t became apparent that the middle-class Whigs were not prepared to see the act tampered with. Power now resided where i t best suited them, with themselves. The middle c l a s s had not evicted a r i s t o c r a t s from, the seat of government to hand i t over to the rabble. In 1837, Lord John Russell, former i d o l of the working masses, told them they 19 must regard the Reform Act as a f i n a l settlement. The middle classes had at hand a new nostrum f o r curing the economic woes of England, - repeal of the Corn Laws. It was the fond hope of Cobden, and h i s fellow manufacturers, Halevy, op.c i t . , p. 127. Marriott, o p . c l t . . p. 137. 42 that by supplying cheap food to the workers they could recon-c i l e them to small wages. Surprisingly enough, the workers 20 showed no great enthusiasm for t h i s enlightened scheme. Pa r t l y , no doubt, there was a perception that the measure would only mean a s l i g h t amelioration of conditions f o r the i n d u s t r i a l worker, at the expense of the a g r i c u l t u r a l labourer. Also, the unenfranchised classes were now suspicious of the Whigs, f e e l i n g themselves duped by the Reform B i l l . Accordingly the p r o l e t a r i a t took the r i g h t i n g of i t s wrongs into i t s own hands, and we have the r i s e of Chartism. The People's Charter was drawn up on May 8, 1838. "It was a long and d e t a i l e d Reform B i l l drawn up by Lovett, revised and corrected by Francis Place and approved by Roebuck. It demanded s i x a l t e r a t i o n s to the e x i s t i n g system - Manhood Suffrage - the Ballo t -Payment of Members of Parliament - A b o l i t i o n of property q u a l i f i c a t i o n f o r members - Equal constitu-encies - Annual e l e c t i o n s . " 2 1 I t does not concern us here to* trace the v i c i s s i -tudes of the C h a r t i s t s , t h e i r schisms and r e c o n c i l i a t i o n s , the prevalence of "moral force" or "physical f o r c e " f a c t i o n s . Neither need we follow the adventures of the enormous national p e t i t i o n from i t s inception to i t s t h i r d and f i n a l r e j e c t i o n by the House of Commons i n 1848. What we must have i s a f e e l i n g of the bitterness and the desperation of s p i r i t that animates the early V i c t o r i a n a r t i s a n s and farm labourers. We must r e a l i z e that at Rugby the Arnolds, father and son, must often have seen the night sky reddened with the glare of burning r i c k s . In t h e i r newspapers they read of such things 2 0 Morley, J . The L i f e of Richard Cobden. London, Chapman and H a l l , 2 v o l s . , 1881, Vol.1, p.156. 2 1 Halevy, o p . c i t . . p. 302. 43 as the Birmingham Convention, whick intended to maroh on London with h a l f a m i l l i o n armed men. Birmingham i s only t h i r t y - f i v e miles from Rugby. Other d i s t u r b i n g reports were abroad during t h i s same year, 1839. "At Norwich pikes were being d i s t r i b u t e d . At Middleton i n Lancashire, shots were f i r e d every night by way of demonstration. At Rochdale the Radical Association had decided to furnish i t s members with pikes, guns, powder and b u l l e t s . There were, i t was reported, 4,000 armed men at Rochdale, 6,000 at Oldham, 30,000 i n the four towns of Hyde, Ashton, Newton Moore and Staleybridge. Henry Vincent toured the south-west, urging the revolutionary labourers to march to London eia masse. In the mining d i s t r i c t s of Wales h i s v i s i t produced a disquieting state of unrest. On May 3 the news reached London that the small Welsh town of Llanidloes had been occupied by armed revolu-t i o n a r i e s . " 23 The next instance of open r e b e l l i o n was the attempt of the miners to take over the town of Newport, where Vincent, "the Chartist Demosthenes", had been imprisoned. This time, however, the m i l i t a r y were prepared and the miners were driven back a f t e r t h i r t y of them had been k i l l e d . 2 4 This signal defeat of the "physical force" Chartists was fortunate^ followed by an improvement i n trade, and there was, i n consequence, a general calming down of public f e e l i n g . Attention began to move to a quarter more acceptable to the manufacturing moguls - repeal of the Corn Laws. It i s impossible to gauge how close England came to revolution i n 1819, 1829, 1839; on the l a s t of these occasions, at l e a s t , i t was, i n the Duke's phrase a f t e r Waterloo, "a Halevy, o p . c i t . , p. 326. i b i d . , pp.319-320. 24 Marriott, o p . c i t . , p.137. 44 damned near thing". Each of these c r i s e s found the gentry and manufacturers panicky, barricading t h e i r houses, c a l l i n g out hussars and dragoons to enforce t h e i r supremacy and protect their wealth. Even i n the good years there were occasional flare-ups and r i o t s . The peasants, under an exterior of sullen respect, hated the land-owners. The clergy were r e -garded, r i g h t l y , as toadies to the class i n power, Matthew Arnold's contemporaries, p r i o r to 1850 when 25 the great period of English i n d u s t r i a l expansion began, l i v e d i n a world l i k e that of the Russian land-owners of three decades ago, or that of the French a r i s t o c r a t s of the Eighteenth Century. There was a tenseness and a suspicion between the "two nations", the r i c h and the poor. What e f f e c t did t h i s atmosphere have on Dr. Arnold? Did i t a f f e c t h i s son Matthew? 2 Dr. Arnold did not come into close or frequent contact with the lower classes. He never was a parish p r i e s t , and h i s labours as a teacher l e f t him l i t t l e time i n which to cu l t i v a t e the acquaintanceship of the p r o l e t a r i a t . Of course, Wingfield-Stratford has pointed out that though the exports of the United Kingdom i n the year of Waterloo were worth £51,500,000, i n 1842 they were s t i l l below the 1816 figures, being worth only £47,000,000. He states, "The enormous, the sensational advance, when figures doubled and quadrupled, and attained to such fa n t a s t i c proportions that John B u l l was able to proclaim himself the world's shopkeeper, banker and paragon of success - these were to come i n the generation following the repeal of the Corn Laws." .lingfle.ld-Stratford, E., The Vict o r i a n Tragedy. London, G. Routledge and Sons, Ltd., 1930, p.43. 45 i t was part of the duty of a C h r i s t i a n to care f o r the poor, and Dr. Arnold, r e a l i z i n g t h i s , made a point of seeking out a few old cottagers, and occasionally going to the Rugby alms-26 houses. His pupils were reminded of t h e i r duty to the poor, though here the headmaster's experience with hoys suggested a q u a l i f i c a t i o n . "We must, i f we could keep ourselves unspotted from the world, acquaint ourselves with the dwellings of the poor. I do not say that a l l of us, and especi-a l l y the very young, are to go to them always with s p i r i t u a l addresses." 2 7 It i s s i g n i f i c a n t that Arnold's ministrations were li m i t e d 28 to "the good poor", those presumably who were pleased to serve God i n that s t a t i o n to which He had c a l l e d them. Strachey was quite r i g h t when he said of Arnold, "he c l e a r l y perceived that the lower orders f e l l into two classes, and that i t was necessary to d i s t i n g u i s h between them. There were the "good 29 poor" - and there were the others." The poor were, apparently, appreciative i n c e r t a i n instances of these attentions. Stanley t e l l s us of one o l d crone, who died a l i t t l e while a f t e r Arnold, "up to the l a s t moments of consciousness never ceasing to think of h i s v i s i t s 30 to her.** On the other hand, the biographer has to admit that even the "good poor" must have occasionally bamboozled 26 Stanley, o p . c i t . . Yol.I., p.209. 27 Arnold, Sermons, Series I I , p.185. 2 8 Stanley, o p . c i t . . Yol.I, p. 209. go Strachey, o p * o i t p . 223. 30 Stanley, op.c i t . , Y o l . I , p.209. 46 the reverend gentleman. "It i s sa i d , " he reports, "that he was l i a b l e to be imposed upon by them, and greatly to over-31 irate t h e i r p r o f i c i e n c y i n moral and r e l i g i o u s excellence." Some of the poor, moreover, did not appreciate being v i s i t e d , and we are to l d that the Rugby boys, with the usual g i f t of youth f o r ascribing bad motives f o r what they do not under-stand, regarded with suspicion t h e i r headmasterfs overtures 32 to the poor. In a l i f e as busy as Dr. Arnold's, d i r e c t ministra-tion to:..the poor was no doubt very l i m i t e d . His persistence i n seeking them out, i n the face of d i f f i c u l t i e s , r e f l e c t s c r e d i t upon the conscientious manner i n which he sought to discharge h i s C h r i s t i a n r e s p o n s i b i l i t i e s - but h i s v i s i t i n g s must have had a l i t t l e of the r i t u a l i s m and infrequency of the Popes' washing of the feet of beggars.. Arnold never became i n any sense an apostle to the poor. He never found himself 33 able to discuss r e l i g i o u s matters with them with any ease. The diffidence with which Dr. Arnold approached the lower orders sprang, i n part, from a r e a l i z a t i o n of the gulf that separated him from them.. It ©lso sprang from h i s own feeli n g s of uncertainty concerning them. Dr. Arnold could sympathize to an extent with the lower classes, but he never f e l t very happy about them. He had no r e a l b e l i e f i n them; no b e l i e f , that i s , such as a Lincoln or a Sandburg has, in the goodness of the common people. Instead, Dr. Arnold 31 Stanley, op . c i t . . Vol.1, p.209. 32 i b i d . . V o l . I . p.208. 5 5 i b i d . . Vol.1, p.208. 47 was possessed by a f e e l i n g of d i s t r u s t , and that f e e l i n g , we s h a l l see, was shared by h i s son Matthew. Many of Arnold*s contemporaries regarded him as a Hadical. They spread rumours about him assigning revolutionary 34 themes to his pu p i l s , and suspected him of Jacobinism. Yet, Arnold himself i m p l i c i t l y denied the t i t l e of "Radical". He was a n t i - a r i s t o c r a t i c , c r i t i c i z i n g the English peerage f o r i t s conservatism, much as Matthew Arnold c r i t i c i z e d i t f o r being 35 ••inaccessible to ideas", but he was not pro-democratic. There can be no doubt on t h i s point, we have h i s own word for i t . "Nor do I f e e l that I am i n any ... danger of becoming Radical, I f by that term he meant one who follows popular p r i n c i p l e s , as opposed to or d i s t i n c t from l i b e r a l ones." 36 Dr. Arnold regarded "democracy" with the same degree of enthusiasm that a Catholic prelate shows today f o r Communism. The anti-democratic s p i r i t i n Arnold i s e a s i l y detected. I t i s true, of course, that he r e a l i z e d as D i s r a e l i did, as every thinking man did, that the r i c h and poor had become alienated, that the p o s i t i o n of the p r o l e t a r i a t was desperate. As early as 1825, he stated, "I have long had a suspicion that Cobbett's complaints of the degradation and 37 sufferings of the poor i n England oontain much tr u t h , . . . . " 34 r~ Stanley, o p . c i t . . Vol.1, p.£2M. 3 5 Arnold, M., Culture and Anarohy, an essay i n p o l i t i c a l and s o c i a l c r i t i c i s m , London, Thomas Nelson and Sons, No date, p. 149. °< 36 Stanley, o p . c i t . , Vol.1, p. 354. 37 i b i d . . Vol.1, p. 68. 48 And he continues with saying, f fI am sure that we have too much 37 of the o l i g a r c h i c a l s p i r i t i n England. M His conclusion, how-ever, i s i n s t r u c t i v e , T o u t e f o i s , there i s much good i n the 37 o l i g a r c h i c a l s p i r i t as i t exists i n England." Dr* Arnold's p o s i t i o n , i n respect to the masses, was r e a l l y that of an orthodox Nineteenth Century L i b e r a l . He was suspicious of aristocracy, and f o r that reason h e a r t i l y endorsed the July Revolution. "I do admire the Revolution i n France - admire i t as h e a r t i l y and e n t i r e l y as any event recorded i n his t o r y . " 5 8 He did not deceive himself about the state of a f f a i r s i n England. " I t seems to me that people are not enough aware of the monstrous state of society, absolutely without a p a r a l l e l i n the hi s t o r y of the world, - with a popula-tio n , poor, miserable, and degraded i n hody and mind as i f they were slaves, and yet oalled freemen, and have a power as such of concerting and combining plans of r i s i n g s , Which makes them ten times more dangerous than slaves." 6 9 He knew that revolution might be expected as the consequence of the conditions that r u l e r s of England had allowed. This idea, however, appalled him, and he supported the Reform B i l l 40 p a r t l y beoause i t would help thwart the "demaeratical s p i r i t " . I t i s to Dr. Arnold's cre d i t that, though he was f e a r f u l of revolution and what i t would mean to h i s own 41 family, he refused to use C h r i s t i a n i t y as a bulwark for the 37 Stanley, op.cit., Vol.1, p.68. i b i d . . Vol.1, p.239. 3 9 i b i d . . Vol.11, pp.153-154. 4 0 i b i d . , Vol.1, p.256. 41 " I t i s r e a l l y too great a f o l l y to be talked of as a r e v o l u t i o n i s t , with a family of seven young children, e x i s t i n g order. His attitude to those who would do so i s set f o r t h i n one of h i s l e t t e r s . "One good man, who sent a l e t t e r to The Times the other day, recommends that the clergy should preach subordination and obedience. I seriously say, God fo r b i d that they should; f o r i f any e a r t h l y thing could r u i n C h r i s t i a n i t y i n England, i t would be t h i s . " 4 2 Dr. Arnold's behaviour during the cri s e s of 1829-30 and 1839-40 i s i n t e r e s t i n g , because a d i s t i n c t change occurs during the decade i n t e r v a l . In 1829, Arnold was c h i e f l y concerned with the lower olasses. He recognized the justice of t h e i r cause, but f e l t the inadequacy of t h e i r leaders. Accordingly, he f e l t impelled to i n s t r u c t them i n t h e i r proper course. I t was t h i s motive that led him to undertake the pub l i c a t i o n of a journal, "The Englishman's Register". "There are," said Arnold, "publications enough to excite the people to p o l i t i c a l reform, my object i s moral and i n t e l l e c t u a l 43 reform." E a r l i e r , Arnold had intended " c i r c u l a t i n g small t r a c t s a l a Cobbett i n point of style to show the people the 44 r e a l state of things and t h e i r causes." Apparently t h i s project was l a i d aside i n favour of the Register. This paper, intended to be a C h r i s t i a n counterpart (bo the Penny Magazine , brought out several numbers, "those a r t i c l e s on the labourers being read with great i n t e r e s t by the mechanics and people of and a house and income that I should be rather puzzled to match i n America, i f I were obliged to change my quarters." Stanley, op.Cit., Vol.1, p.249. 4 2 Ibid.. V o l . I, p. 249. 43 i b i d . , V o l . I, p. 258. 4 4 i b i d . , V o l . I, p. 250. 50 45 that c l a s s . " However, a f t e r a few months the Register ceased pu b l i c a t i o n | Dr. Arnold having to pay f o r a £200 d e f i c i t . A l l things considered, Dr. Arnold deserves a good deal of c r e d i t for h i s attitude during the Reform c r i s i s . V/ith h i s usual sense of the necessity of p r a c t i c a l action, he t r i e d , s i n c e r e l y , to give the oppressed classes what help and guidance he oould. The references we have noted to Cobbett are i n t e r -esting. I t i s a p i t y that Arnold never met Cobbett, for temperamentally he was nearer to him than to almost any other of h i s English contemporaries. I f they had met, the r e s u l t s would no doubt have heen far-reaching. It i s i n t e r e s t i n g to speculate what would have happened i f , i n 1830, Dr. Arnold had become a popular" leader. The prosperity of the middle 1830's, as we have seen, brought a l u l l i n England's i n d u s t r i a l and agrarian s t t i f e , and Dr. Arnold's l e t t e r s f o r these years contain no references to the problems of the working classes. However, "... i n 1839-40, h i s attention was again c a l l e d to the s o c i a l e v i l s of the country, as betraying themselves i n the disturbances of Chartism, and the alarm which had possessed him i n 1831-32 46 returned, though i n a more chastened form, never to leave him." In t h i s second c r i s i s , Dr. Arnold's attitude was quite d i f f -erent from what i t had been only ten years before. Then his interest had been primarily i n the people. True, he had not considered them f i t t e d to r u l e themselves, but he knew they 45 Stanley, ffp.oit.. Y o l . I, p.264. 4 6 i b i d . . Vol.11, p.115. 51 had been misgoverned and had wanted to help them secure better government. In 1839, there was no thought of r e v i v i n g the Register, or undertaking anything s i m i l a r to i t . Dr. Arnold's views had been modified. He brought forward only one con-47 structive idea. Now his appeal was no longer to the lower classes, i t was to those i n power to recognize the magnitude of the danger they faced. He was heartened by repressive measures such as the t r i a l f o r high treason of the Newport 48 r i o t e r s . This s t r a i n of harshness i s hardly proper i n a clergyman, but i t was present i n Arnold, and was r e f l e c t e d , about t h i s same time, i n Arnold's comment upon New Zealand, a possible haven during the revolution which he considered to be in e v i t a b l e . "I have a c t u a l l y 200 acres i n New Zealand, and I confess that my thoughts often turn thitherwards but that v i l e population of runaway convicts and others who in f e s t the country, deter me as the days of the Roman Proconsuls are over, who knew so well how to clear a country of such nuisances." 4 * It i s a platitude i n psychology that fear i s the oause of cruelty. This i s c e r t a i n l y the case with Dr. Arnold. Namely the founding of a sort of S o c i a l Service Research Bureau. In a l e t t e r to C a r l y l e , at t h i s time, he said, "I have been t r y i n g , hitherto with no suoeess, to form a Society, the object of which should be to c o l l e c t i n -formation as to every point i n the condition of the poor throughout the kingdom, and to c a l l public attention to i t by every possible means, whether by press or by yearly or quarterly meetings." i b i d . , Vol.II, p. 159. Stanley, op.cit.. Vol*II, p.158. i b i d . , Vol,II, p.164 52 •The thought of the s o c i a l i n s t a b i l i t y of England so affected him that he sought to avoid i t whenever he could. n I f e e l the state of public a f f a i r s so deeply, that I cannot bear e i t h e r to read, or hear, or speak, or write about them. Only I would commend them to God's care and deliverance, i f the judgment i s not now as surely f i x e d as that of Babylon." 5 0 With hissstrong sense of his t o r y , he saw how h i s England t a l l i e d with Arthur Young's description of pre-revolutionary France. I t seemed to him things had gone too f a r f o r cure. He endeavoured to reconcile himself to the worst. Even i n 1832 he was making such foreboding statements as t h i s , written to a c e r t a i n r u r a l dean. "Would that we might ever meet, before perhaps we meet i n America or at sea after the Revolution." 5* where the sufferings of the lower classes were recognized and an attitude of C h r i s t i a n charity required towards the "good poor". He l i v e d i n a home where the f e e l i n g towards the great masses of the people, aloof, dist a n t , s u l l e n , and l i t t l e * -known, was one of hopeless foreboding. The Arnolds grimly awaited an inevitable Revolution. Matthew grew up i n a household which was, i f anything, re-actionary; where the 51 Matthew Arnold, then, grew to mankind i n a home 53 father spoke of Chartism as a "deadly u l c e r " . 4 Matthew Arnold's god-father, John Keble, at one time 50 Stanley, o p . c i t . . Vol.11, p.139. 51 Ibid Vol.1, p.251. 52 i b i d . . Vol.1, p.277. 53 i b i d . . Vol.11, p.191. 53 proudly took f o r himself the name of Misoneologus, "Hater of New Ideas", But though Matthew was brought into the Ch r i s t i a n communion under so d i r e a sponsor, he was not fated to show any antipathy to new ideas himself and, rather, made "inaccess-i b i l i t y to ideas" a charge against others. In h i s attitude to the masses, for example, Matthew Arnold showed a Liberalism i n advance of that of most of h i s contemporaries. When English L i b e r a l s and English Conservatives both found the i d e a l cf 54 s o c i a l equality abhorrent, Arnold boldly championed i t . His reason was clea r to him, though h i s father would almost c e r t a i n l y have challenged i t s v a l i d i t y . " . . . i n France, that very equality, which i s by us so impetuously decried, while i t has by no means improved ( i t i s said) the upper olasses of French society, has undoubtedly given to the lower classes, to the body of the common people, a self-respect, an enlargement of s p i r i t , a consciousness of counting for something i n th e i r country's action, which has raised them i n the scale of humanity." Notwithstanding t h i s statement, Matthew Arnold's attitude towards the masses was not e n t i r e l y one of sympathy. There was also an element of antipathy, and i n either emotion we may see the e f f e c t s of h i s father's teachings. The masses during the greater part of Matthew Arnold's l i f e , were of l i t t l e i n t e r e s t to him. He probably saw s u f f i c i e n t of them during h i s inspections of schools. More-over, the masses did not appear s i g n i f i c a n t to him. He was ^ Arnold, M., Mixed Essays. London, Smith, Elder, and Co., 1879, p. 51. 5 5 i b i d . . p* 13. 54 aware of "that f i x e d resolve of the working c l a s s to count for 56 something and l i v e " , but he was also aware that the hour of p r o l e t a r i a n freedom was s t i l l remote, that i t was the middle-class whioh during h i s time would set the ideals f o r s o c i e t y . Accordingly, he c h i e f l y addressed himself to t h i s l a t t e r class, and references to the masses, i n h i s books on s o c i a l ethios, are almost e n t i r e l y incidental or secondary. Only at one time, during 1848, when i t appeared that the lower classes might seize power prematurely, did Arnold intere s t himself d i r e c t l y i n them. At that time he attended the C h a r t i s t s ' demonstration i n Trafalgar Square, and even went to one of their meetings. He wrote to h i s s i s t e r : "I was at the Chartist convention the other night, and was much struck with the a b i l i t y of the speakers. However, I should be sorry to l i v e under t h e i r govern-ment - nor do I intend to - though Nemesis would rej o i c e at their triumph. The r i d i c u l o u s t e r r o r of people here i s beyond B e l i e f g and yet i s not l i k e l y , I fear, to lead to any good r e s u l t s . " 5 7 Now t h i s quotation i s i n t e r e s t i n g for several reasons. F i r s t , i t shows how Matthew d i f f e r e d from h i s father i n h i s cool self-possession of manner. Remembering Dr.Arnold's obsession with revolution and his comment on the "ulcer of Chartism", one f e e l s that the father, had he been l i v i n g , would have been among those moved by t e r r o r at the demonstra-tions of the C h a r t i s t s . This coolness with which Matthew Arnold appears to contemplate the approaching end of the e x i s t i n g order may, of course, be only a s u p e r f i c i a l appear-56 Arnold, M., Letters, Vol.11, p.57. i b i d . , Vol*I, p.7. 55 ance, r e s u l t i n g from an inner determination not to give way to conscious feelings of panic. On the other hand, i t seems far more l i k e l y that t h i s coolness sprang from that personal 58 d i s s o c i a t i o n of himself from any class which was already becoming evident. Echoes of Dr. Arnold are to be heard, how-ever, i n t h i s account of the v i s i t to the Chartist meeting, both i n the suggestion that there i s a measure of j u s t i c e on the side of the people, and that the triumph of t h e i r cause would be a just punishment upon the classes that have mis-governed them. We have seen how Dr. Arnold, f i l l e d with fear of revolution, i n his l a t e r years tended to become more r e -aationary, but he never denied that the lower classes had a measure of j u s t i f i c a t i o n f o r seeking to throw o f f the rule of the classes that had misgoverned them. Matthew Arnold agreed with h i s father on t h i s l a s t point, and he further agreed with him that what was wrong was not the basic cause of the people, but the crassness of th e i r i deals and the lack of moral standards in t h e i r leadership. Accordingly, Matthew was not against the Chartists because they were breaking any law or committing any i n j u s t i o e , but simply because he did not Consider them yet f i t t e d to govern any nation. 58 "...I have,for the most part, broken with the ideas and the tea-meetings of my cl a s s , yet I have not, on that account, been brought much nearer to the ideas and works of the Barbarians or of the Populace." Arnold, M., Culture and Anarchy, an essay i n p o l i t i c a l and s o c i a l c r i t i c i s m , London, Thomas Nelson and Sons, (no date), p.193. 56 "... such i s the state of our masses that t h e i r movements now can only be brutal blundering and destroying. And i f they wait, there i s no one, as f a r as one sees, to t r a i n them to conquer by t h e i r attitude and superior conviction." 5 9 This l a s t statement does not mean Arnold believed the masses had no future f i t n e s s to govern. Quite to the contrary, he was a keen enough p o l i t i c a l observer to see how the masses are swept by ideas, and i t was t h i s a c c e s s i b i l i t y to ideas that seemed, to Arnold, to be the hope of the lonser classes. He admired France because i t was i n that country that the masses were most open to ideas, and hence exerted the most power. "You must by t h i s time begin to see what people mean by placing France p o l i t i c a l l y i n the van of Europe: i t i s the i n t e l l i g e n c e of t h e i r idea-moved masses which makes them, p o l i t i c a l l y , as f a r superior to the insens- i b l e masses of England as to the Russian s e r f s . " t>u This emphasis on the importance of ideas upon the masses may not be an o r i g i n a l thought with Matthew Arnold, but i t has no p a r a l l e l i n the thinking of his f a t h e r . With sentiments such as these, Arnold, one might expect, would have f e l t that i f the masses were exposed to education, i f reason and the w i l l of God were allowed to p r e v a i l , the lower orders would soon order the world a r i g h t . But Arnold did not so pursue the l i n e h i s argument l o g i g a l l y suggested. It has, of course, long beem a standing quarrel between Arnold and h i s c r i t i c s that he w i l l not always follow Letters, V o l . I, p. 5. 6 0 ibid.,pp.5-6. 57 out the implications of h i s own premises. Here we have an example of t h i s f a i l i n g . No sooner i n h i s writings does Matthew Arnold pat the masses upon t h e i r c o l l e c t i v e back, fo r t h e i r a c c e s s i b i l i t y to ideas, than he hastens to assert that certain ideas are best withheld from them. I t i s t h i s attitude that Arnold took, f o r instance, i n h i s writings upon Colenso. He does not deny the v a l i d i t y of the Bishop's B i b l i c a l c r i t i c i s m ; but he quarrels with him f o r making h i s findings public, because these ideas w i l l disturb the masses. "He had said that democracy i s moved by ideas, now he says that the vast majority of the members of a democracy must be protected from a c e r t a i n set of ideas, those about r e l i g i o n . " 6 1 Arnold has no r e a l reason why the masses should not be allowed to be disturbed by these ideas. He quotes the precedent afforded by Spinoza who kept his corrosive ideas from the masses; but to quote precedent i s not to give a reason. On the basis of a general reading of Arnold, one may, however, assign a probable cause for t h i s attitude* It i s t h i s : the masses are not to be exposed to c e r t a i n ideas because the masses cannot be trusted. Arnold, beneath his show of p h i l -osophical detachment, had i t would seem a deep, personal f e e l i n g of uncertainty about the masses. The masses might be allowed to come into power - eventually, not now - but they were not to be allowed to choose t h e i r own time and place. Arnold, as we know, had a rooted aversion to the labouring 62 Englishman doing as he l i k e d . He must learn to conform to 6 1 T r i l l i n g , o p . c i t . . p. 212. 6 2 See the chapter i n Culture and Anarchy e n t i t l e d "On Doing as One Pleases". 58 the e t h i c a l s o c i a l pattern set by Matthew Arnold, andoohly then could he undertake h i s own self-government. This f e e l i n g of s o c i a l i n s t a b i l i t y which, when we come to examine i t , i s found to l i e , together with a kindred f e e l i n g of r e l i g i o u s i n s t a b i l i t y , at the base of much of Arnold's writing, we may attr i b u t e to the suspicion and un-easiness with which the lower classes were regarded by h i s cla s s and family during h i s boyhiaod. He, l i k e Lord Beacons^-f i e l d and h i s own father, grew up with an awareness that he was l i v i n g i n a country of two nations. "But you know how often i t happens i n England that a cultivated person...talking to one of the lower cla s s , f e e l s , and cannot but f e e l , that there i s somehow a wail of p a r t i t i o n between himself and the other, that they seem to belong to two d i f f e r e n t worlds. Thought, fe e l i n g s , everything i s d i f f e r e n t . " 6 3 63 Arnold, M., Mixed Essays, pp.71-72. Chapter Four Dr. Arnold and the State "Society i s indeed a contract. Subordinate con-tr a c t s f o r objects of mere occasional interest may be dissolved at pleasure - but the state ought not to be considered nothing better than a partnership agreement i n a trade of pepper and cofee, c a l i c o or tobacoo, or some such low concern, to be taken up f o r a l i t t l e temporary i n t e r e s t , and be dissolved by the fancy of the par t i e s . I t i s to be looked on with other reverence, because i t i s not a partnership i n things subservient only to the gross animal existence of a temporary and perishable nature. I t i s a partnership i n a l l soience, a partnership i n a l l a r t ; a partnership i n every vi r t u e , and i n a l l p e r f e c t i o n . " - Burke 1 Dr.Arnold l i v e d i n an age before B r i t i s h Israelism had been born at home, or supercilious Americans, abroad, had taken to uttering, with unpleasant i n f l e c t i o n , the phrase "God's own Englishman". But he himself f e l t a c e r t a i n holy joy i n the contemplation of the Englishman, for to Thomas Arnold he seemed somehow the l a t e s t and best of God's creations. "... he never modified or deviated from h i s per-suasion that England had been d i v i n e l y chosen to show the rest of the world how to behave." 2 Burke, Edmund, Reflections on the Revolution i n France, Volume V, The Works of the Right Honourable Edmund Burke, London, F. and C. Rivington ( 8 vols.) 1803. Vol.V, pp. 183-184. 2 Campbell, op.ci t . , p.30. 59 60 He himself had no h e s i t a t i o n about proclaiming that the English were not as other men. In 1829, while touring i n Switzerland and I t a l y , fir. Arnold sagely observed i n his diary, "England has other destinies than these countries,-I use the word i n no f o o l i s h or unchristian sense, - but she has other destinies, her people have more required of them; with her f u l l i n t e l l i g e n c e , her r e s t l e s s ; a c t i v i t y ^ her enormous means, and enormous d i f f i c u l t i e s ; her pure r e l i g i o n and unchecked freedom; the form of society, with so much of e v i l , yet so much of good i n i t , and such immense power conferred by i t ; . . . . " 3 This exalted concept of England and the task con-fronting Englishmen gave, fo r Dr. Arnold, a special importance to the p o l i t i c a l c onstitution of the English nation. Now, what i s the e s s e n t i a l nature of a nation? Is i t a handy organization for providing public u t i l i t i e s ? The L i b e r a l s of Dr. Arnold's own day f e l t that i t was just that. Is i t something more than i t s constituents, a mystic e n t i t y with a soul and destiny of i t s own? The worship of the state, which Nietzsche foresaw would follow the decay of the worship of God, had not yet come during Dr. Arnold's time. His attitude, in point of f a c t , lay mid-way between these two extremes. His view r e f l e c t s the influence of the c l a s s i c a l theory of the state. He f e l t that the state was an instrument f o r the making of man's perfec t i o n . What isman's perfection? For Arnold there could be only one answer, - the leading of a completely C h r i s t i a n l i f e . But i s i t not the function of the C h r i s t i a n chflrch thus to educate and influence man? Indeed i t i s , Arnold would reply, and he loved to dwell upon what he 3 Stanley, o p . c l t . , Vol.11, p.327. 61 ca l l e d "...the true and grand idea of a Church, that i s a society f o r the purpose of making man l i k e C h r i s t , - earth 4 l i k e heaven,- the kingdoms of the world the kingdom of ChristV The necessary outcome of these premises i s that since the Church and the State serve the same purpose, they are e s s e n t i a l l y the same. This conclusion Dr. Arnold gladly accepted, and a l l h i s l i f e he preached the i d e n t i t y of the 5 perfect Church and perfect State. Mr. Arnold Whitridge, f o r reasons best known to 6 himself, has l a b e l l e d this philosophy as a "strange doctrine", and suggests i t was an e c c e n t r i c i t y i n Arnold that he should have accepted i t . Actually, of course, there i s nothing eccentric or strange about t h i s doctrine, untimely though i t may have been. I t i s the doctrine upon which the Church of England was founded. Stanley noticed that Arnold had a 7 p a r t i c u l a r weakness f o r Hooker, That i s not hard to account for , because the l a s t books of the E c c l e s i a s t i c a l Polity, were written to maintain the very thesis that Arnold championed. Stanley, op.c i t. , Vol.11, p.13. Note Arnold's comments upon a c e r t a i n German Erastian. "Connected with t h i s i s Rothe's book, which I have read with great i n t e r e s t . His f i r s t p o s i t i o n , - that the State and not the Church ( i n the common and corrupt sense of the term), i s the perfect form under which C h r i s t i a n i t y i s to be developed - e n t i r e l y agrees with my notions." Stanley, o p . c i t . . Vol.11, p.92, Whiteidge, op.cit.. p.175. Stanley, op . c l t. . Vol.11, p.58. 62 Besides the authority of the great Elizabethan and Caroline divines, the fathers of his church, Dr. Arnold oould f i n d other support f o r h i s doctrine. I t had the assent of Burke. 8 It had, as the Quarterly Review noted, the sanction of Grotius. With such an a t t i t u d e as t h i s , Arnold might have been expected to j o i n i n p o l i t i c s with the high Tories. Certainly h i s philosophy e f f e c t i v e l y kept him from joining the L i b e r a l s whose whole p o l i c y was to discount the State as being only a necessary nuisance. But Arnold oould not j o i n with the Tories, f o r he saw that, regardless of what p h i l o -sophy they might profess to have inherited from Clarendon, Bolingbroke, 6r Burke, they were concerned r e a l l y with only one thing, maintaining the e x i s t i n g order, so that they might preserve t h e i r p r i v i l e g e s and prerogatives, and t h e i r power to exploit the other classes. This conservative element i n the Tories, t h i s opposition to change as such, gained Arnold's hate. In a l l history he saw t h i s anti-progressive s p i r i t at work, and i n a l l i t s manifestations he hated i t profoundly as being "the greatest source of e v i l throughout the world, 9 because i t has been the most universal and the most enduring." I t should now be clear how Arnold came to f i n d himself i s o l a t e d from both the p o l i t i c a l parties of h i s day. He himself, indeed, l i k e d to think that he was a Whig, but he can hardly be taken to have been one in the ordinary sense of the word. Arthur Stanley r e a l i z e d t h i s when he came to write i n Arnold's biography. Q The Quarterly Review, Votfc. 74, p. 47. 9 Stanley, o p . c i t . . Vol.11, p.104. 63 " P o l i t i c a l l y , indeed, he held himself to be a strong Whig: but as a matter of f a c t , he found that i n cases of p r a c t i c a l co-operation with that party, he d i f f e r e d almost as much from them as from their opponents, and would often confess with sorrow, that there were none among them who r e a l i z e d what seemed to him t h e i r true p r i n c i p l e s . " 1 0 The Edinburgh Review likewise recognised that Arnold was i s o l a t e d from h i s contemporaries i n h i s p o l i t i c a l thinking; 11 i t said, "Dr. Arnold belonged to no party i n Church or State." In concluding t h i s very b r i e f survey of Dr.Arnold's p o l i t i c a l philosophy, one cannot do better than to quote what has been said by one of h i s more recent biographers. "His ooncept of p o l i t i e s was that of A r i s t o t l e and the Greece of the golden age, suffused with the ethios of C h r i s t i a n i t y ; but modern in d u s t r i a l i s m has brought into existence a world which neither Greek sages nor the men who wrote the New Testament had any conception of. The utmost that can be said of Arnold's brave and u n s e l f i s h attempt to apply the "idea" of a C h r i s t i a n i z e d Greek c i t y - s t a t e to nineteenth-century English i n d u s t r i a l l i f e i s that i t emphasized a constituent without which l g no sound and healthy s o c i a l system can ever be developed." "In my notions about the St^te I am quite Papa's son 13 and his continuator." Matthew Arnold never spoke truer words than these. His father, we have seen, thought of the State as "the perfect form under which C h r i s t i a n i t y i s to be developed.'' Matthew Arnold, l i v i n g i n a d i f f e r e n t age, one that was becoming increasingly agnostic and c r i t i c a l , could no 10 Stanley, o p . c i t . . Vol.1, p.74. 1 1 The Edinburgh Review. Vo l . LXXVI, p.263. 1 2 Campbell, op.clt.. p.225. 1 3 Arnold, M., Letters, Vol.1, p. 226. 64 longer c a l l man's perfected state C h r i s t i a n i t y , but he did c a l l i t culture. I f we allow for t h i s single but all-important progression of view, we may say that Matthew Arnold's attitude was that of h i s father. He might well have defined the state as "the perfect form under which Culture i s to be developed." As i t was, he spoke of "the State or organ of our c o l l e c t i v e 14 best s e l f , of our national right reason." Matthew's message of the state as the embodiment of man's best s e l f was to remain as f a r from p r a c t i c a l acceptance as had h i s father's teachings of three decades e a r l i e r . I f Dr. Arnold's p o l i t i c s were to appear "strange" to Mr. ?/hitridge, who seems to have preserved intact the mentality of the l a s t mid-century, Matthew Arnold's 15 p o l i t i c s were "rather f a n t a s t i c " to his biographer, R u s s e l l . £ln the world of p r a c t i c a l p o l i t i e s , Matthew's attitude was just what might have been expected. Like his father,, he opposed the Tories, and f o r exactly the same reason, t h e i r f i x e d antipathy to any measure f o r changeT^ Arnold, M., Culture and Anarchy, p. 175. It may be well to note here that Matthew Arnold, l i k e his father, i s going down a t r a i l already blazed i n advance by Burke. Compare t h i s foregoing quotation with t h i s from Burke: "Society requires not only that the passions of i n d i v i -duals should be subjected, but that even i n the mass and body as well as i n i n d i v i d u a l s the i n c l i n a t i o n s of men should frequently be thwarted, their w i l l controlled, and their passions brought into subjection. This can only be done by ja power out of themselves: and not, i n the exercise of i t s function, subject to that w i l l and to those passions which i t i s i t s o f f i c e to b r i d l e and subdue." Burke, op.cit., Vol.V, p.123. (The i t a l i c s are Burke's own.) Russell, o p . c i t . , p.11 65 "The L i b e r a l party, i t seemed to me, had no body of j u s t , . c l e a r , well-ordered thought upon p o l i t i c s , and Were only superior to the Conservative i n not having for t h e i r r u l e of conduct merely the negative i n s t i n c t against change." 1 6 He, then, preserved untarnished the Arnold t r a d i t i o n against Toryism. He did become a f r i e n d of the Rothschilds, but to 17 the l a s t he said, " . . . I should nevert myself vote f o r a Tory." As f a r as the Whigs were conoerned, Matthew Arnold, l i k e his father professed to be one of them. "At the General E l e c t i o n of 1868 he urbanely informed a Tory Committee which asked f o r the advantage of h i s name, that he was 'an old Whig', nurtured i n the t r a d i -t i on of Lansdowne House." 18 Like h i s father again, Matthew had a philosophy d i f f e r e n t from that of the L i b e r a l party. When he analyzed Liberalism heofound many things i n i t repugnant to him, "...unrestricted competition, and the making of large i n d u s t r i a l fortunes; i n the r e l i g i o u s sphere, the Dissidence of Dissent and the 19 Protestantism of the Protestant r e l i g i o n . " Thus i t was that Matthew Arnold came to say, "I am a L i b e r a l , yet I am a L i b e r a l tempered by experience, r e f l e x i o n and renouncement, and 20 I am, above a l l , a believer i n c u l t u r e . " 16 Arnold, M., L e t t e r s . Yol.II, p. 112. 1 7 i b i d . . Vol.11, p. 304. 18 R u s s e l l , o p . c i t . , p. 113. 19 Arnold, M., Culture and Anarchy, p. I l l , 2 0 i b i d . , p. 73. Chapter Five Dr. Arnold and the C h r i s t i a n F a i t h "Reason can, and i t ought to judge, not only of the meaning, hut also of the morality and the evidence of re v e l a t i o n . " 1 - Bishop Butler 1 The roots of a man's r e l i g i o u s b e l i e f are often hard to f i n d , and frequently the i n d i v i d u a l himself would be amazed to know into what strange provinces they may extend. It i s i n s t r u c t i v e to know that, as a boy., Newman wished for b e l i e f i n the "Arabian Nights", but who s h a l l trace to i t s o r i g i n the f a i t h of a T o l s t o i , an Augustine, or a Fox? Fortunately no groping i n t u i t i o n s into the hinterland of the mind are necessary i n order to find the foundations of the b e l i e f of Dr. Arnold. He was aware of the grounds f o r h i s f a i t h , as he was aware of grounds f o r everything else i n his l i f e . He did not show any reticence i n expounding h i s reasons f o r b e l i e f - he believed they were the only reasonable causes why any man should take a r e l i g i o u s a t t i t u d e . Dr. Arnold's view was this* We look about us i n the world and become aware of c e r t a i n things which would seem to indicate the existence of a god, would seem, indeed, 1 Butler, J . , The Analogy of R e l i g i o n Natural and Revealed. London, J.M.Dent and Co."Tl906) p.153. 66 67 p a r t i c u l a r l y to guarantee the truth of the C h r i s t i a n r e l i g i o n . On the other hand, there are other elements which, i n t e l l e c t -u a l l y , cannot he reconciled with any r e l i g i o u s theory of the universe. Dr. Arnold never sought to deny the existence of those evidences that are i r r e c o n c i l a b l e with r e l i g i o u s b e l i e f . Next, having admitted the existence of these two bodies of evidence, Dr. Arnold proceeds to weigh them, and finds they e s t a b l i s h a general balance. There i s no decisive evidence to j u s t i f y either atheism or conversion. This, however, does not mean that one should then withdraw from the issue, r e t r e a t i n g into agnosticism. One cannot remain i n d i f f e r e n t to the tru t h or f a l s i t y of r e l i g i o n . "But how f o o l i s h , " he exclaims, "on every c a l c u l a t i o n , i s such indecisive be-2 haviour as t h i s ? " A choice must be made; but - on what grounds? Dr. Arnold had a sol u t i o n - since i n t e l l e c t u a l l y we are free to make either choice, we must then base our decision upon i t s own consequences. The one choice affords us a world moral, meaningful, assessable; the other gives us a chaos i n which to flounder for an indeterminate span of years. Faced with such al t e r n a t i v e s , we accept the o r i g i n a l hypothesis of a meaningful universe, make the act of f a i t h , and receive at once the comforts of the C h r i s t i a n f a i t h . "For f a i t h does no violence to our understanding; but the i n t e l l e c t u a l d i f f i c u l t i e s haing balanced, aid i t being necessary to act on the onecsideclor the other, f a i t h determines a man to embrace that side which leads to moral and p r a c t i c a l perfection; and unbelief leads him to embrace the opposite, or what I may c a l l the Sermons, Series I, p.159. 68 Devil's r e l i g i o n , which i s , a f t e r a l l , quite as much beset with i n t e l l e c t u a l d i f f i c u l t i e s as God's r e l i g i o n i s , and morally i s nothing but one mass of d i f f i c u l t i e s and monstrosities." Hhis l a s t quotation i s one that should hold our attention; f o r not only i s i t a f a i r statement of Arnold's po s i t i o n , i t i s an instance of two serious flaws i n his thinking. The f i r s t of these flaws i s what we have already found a contemporary reviewer so accurately analysing as Dr. Arnold's habit of assuming just that point that he ought to prove. The morality of the choice i s made the sanction for deciding that t h i s i s a moral universe. The other flaw i s what we may c a l l r e tro-activism of choice. Once a person has chosen the Ch r i s t i a n r e l i g i o n , the o r i g i n a l choice i s viewed i n terms of C h r i s t i a n i t y , and the contrary choice becomes, at once, not an equally reputable i n t e l l e c t u a l a l ternative but "the Devil's r e l i g i o n " . Wheels within wheels! P h i l o -sophically the o r i g i n a l argument i s demolished, and the whole specious exposition assumes the sign i f i c a n c e of a k i t t e n chasing i t s t a i l . §r. Arnold's r e l i g i o u s p o s i t i o n may now be summed up i n a phrase. I t was a combination of rationalism and inherent e t h i c a l prejudice. Dr. Arnold himself was aware of t t n l y o i t h j B r a t i o n a l element. He seems to have been quite 3 Stanley, o p . c i t . . Vol. I, p.273. Note that Arnold i s not quite certain about the e q u i l i -brium of the r a t i o n a l evidence. He proceeds to add, "we only contend that even i n t e l l e c t u a l l y unbelief i s the more unreasonable of the two." i b i d . , Vol.1, p.273. 69 unaware of his own native bias. One thing i s c e r t a i n , - he had no f e e l i n g for mysticism or r e l i g i o u s experience. "He was not a f r a i d of the name of r a t i o n a l i s t . He would trust no man who had turned f a n a t i c . He f o r c i b l y reproved the tyranny of opposing f a i t h to reason." 4 He was, or course, aware of the d i f f i c u l t i e s attendant on the purely r a t i o n a l a t t i t u d e . Early i n hi s career, he found i t neeessary to affirm, "We must brace our minds to the f u l l extent of that great truth - that 'no man hath seen God at 5 any time *." 2 It i s worth one's while to trace back to i t s source t h i s Arnoldian method of dealing with the problem of ontology. In point of f a c t , Dr. Arnold was a d i s c i p l e of Bishop Butler, a curious creation of the Eighteenth Century, who set himself, i n his Analogy. the t y p i c a l l y Eighteenth Century task of reducing r e l i g i o n to a matter of reason. In h i s work t h i s worthy bishop endeavoured to deduce, from the available science of h i s day, evidence to support the C h r i s t i a n f a i t h . The emergence of a b u t t e r f l y from a c h r y s a l i s , for example, was taken to lend p r o b a b i l i t y to the emergence of an immortal soul from the human body* Thoroughly r a t i o n a l i s t by temperament, the bishop proceeded to affirm that, i n the event of a c o n f l i c t between, f a i t h and reason, reason must be accorded . 4 Edinburgh Review, Vol.LXXXIj p.221. 5 Stanley, o p . c i t . , Vol.1, p. 177. 70 6 the award. Suoh an attitude as t h i s of course, i s anathema to the r e l i g i o u s mystic, and would never be tolerated i n any church making a dogma of re v e l a t i o n . Small wonder that Newman, considering i n h i s mind the c a t h o l i c i t y of the Church of England found "the mere production of a man l i k e Butler, a 7 pregnant fa c t mueh to be meditated on." And i t becomes clearer why Newman, speaking of Arnold, the chief proponent i n his day of the Butlerian thesis, should ask "But i s he a 8 C h r i s t i a n ? " It i s not to be thought that Thomas firnold was unusual i n his admiration of Butler. That divine enjoyed a Certain r e v i v a l of fame during the ear l y Nineteenth Century. He was highly regarded at O r i e l , where Arnold i n his youth held a fellowship. The Quarterly Review noting, i n 1828, a new e d i t i o n of the Analogy, affirmed "... we look upon the Analogy of Bishop Butler As the work above a l l others on which the mind can repose with the most entire s a t i s f a c t i o n , and f a i t h found i t s e l f a s ourackeck.""9 ".*.suppose two standing precepts gmjolned by the same authority, that, i n cer t a i n conjunctures, i t i s impossible to obey both; that the former i s moral, i . e . , a precept of which we see the reasons, and that they hold i n the par-t i c u l a r case before us; but that the l a t t e r i s p o s i t i v e , i . e . a precept of which we do not see the reasons; i t i s indisputable that our obligations are to obey the former, because there i s an apparent reason f o r t h i s preference, and none against i t . " Butler, op.ojt., p. 132. Church, R. W., The Oxford Movement, Twelve Years, 1833r-1845, London, Macmillan and Co., 1891, p.67. Newman, Apologia Pro V i t a Sua, p.54. Quarterly Review. Vol. XXXVIII, p.308. 71 The influence of Butler upon Dr. Arnold and d i r e c t l y upon Matthew Arnold, witness the sonneife Written i n Butler's Sermons, i s s i g n i f i c a n t i n the hist o r y of thought. Through i t we may l i n k the rationalism of the early Eighteenth Century with the agnosticism of the l a t e Nineteenth. 3 Dr. Arnold's f a i t h having now been traced to i t s immediate source, we may proceed to a study of i t s q u a l i t i e s and aspects f We have already noted a r a t i o n a l element, curiously at odds with his fervent emotionalism, and su f f e r -ing some abuse from i t . It i s necessary f o r us to keep t h i s constantly i n mind. Arnold, through his association with Whately, Copplestone, Hawkins, and the other O r i e l Noetics, was attached to the extreme r a t i o n a l i s t wing of the broad-fronted Anglican communion, men who pushed the claims of reason against revelation so f a r as to make many dubious of their orthodoxy, and f i n a l l y to provoke a furious controversy when one of t h e i r number was appointed Regius Professor of D i v i n i t y at Oxford. The unqualified rationalism of the , Noetics impressed their contemporaries. Newman was associated with them a f t e r he took over Arnold's fellowship at O r i e l . Like Arnold, he came under the influence of Y/hately, the leader 10 of the group, and was set to reading Bishop Butler. Newman was only voicing the general estimate when he said these men 1 0 ?ford. W i l f r i d . The L i f e of John Henry Cardinal Newman, based on his private journals and correspondence, London, Longmans, Green and Co.,Ltd., 1927, Vol.1, p.38. 72 11 " c a l l e d everything into question"* Having decided that he had reasonable grounds for b e l i e f , Dr. Arnold proceeded to embrace the orthodox funda-12 mentalist C h r i s t i a n i t y of h i s day. The p o s s i b i l i t y that any r e l i g i o n other than the Christian might appeal to a gentleman who reaches f a i t h through reason never occurred to him. The simple fundamentalism and l i t e r a l i s m of Dr. Arnold's f a i t h i s c l e a r l y shown i n hi s sermons. He accepted Archbishop Us^her's chronology, and accordingly, preaching on the text "And God saw every thing that he had made; and, behold i t was very good," he proceeded to expound: "Let us go on about sixteen hundred years from the time when a l l had been declared thus good and happy. ... we s h a l l f i n d the world i n r u i n , the sun hidden by perpetual clouds, the sea burst from i t s l i m i t s , and covering the whole face of the land, plants and trees destroyed, l i v i n g creatures overwhelmed i n the waters, or leading an unnatural l i f e i n the close prison of the ark." 13 Besides h i s stalwart f a i t h i n the r e a l i t y of Noah and the flood, Dr. Arnold had the other concomitants of Anglican theological orthodoxy. A second coming was to be 14 expected i n the not too distant future, and during the Ward, W., op . c i t . , Vol.I, p.37, Note, however, that he was unable to accept the T h i r t y ^ Nine A r t i c l e s , when at Oxford (Stanley, Vol.1, p.18), apparently having some scruples about the T r i n i t y , and that throughout his l i f e he had a warm f e e l i n g f o r the-Apostle Thomas ( i b i d . , V o l l , p.27). Sermons, Series I I , p. 248. i b i d . . Series I, p. 190. 73 interim, good Christians were to be "closely knit together, and to d i r e c t t h e i r joint e f f o r t s towards the overthrow of the 15 power of Satan over mankind." This fundamentalism i s a l i t t l e strange when we remember that t h i s was the period when the Germans were f i r s t revealing the anomalies i n B i b l i c a l h i s t o r y . Apparently T&omas Arnold did not f e e l concerned with the researches of these scholars - i t i s doubtful whether i n his busy l i f e he ever took thought of the r e a l implications of t h e i r f i n d i n g s . "...he was comparatively untouched by any c r i t i c a l theories as to the h i s t o r i c i t y of the New Testament portraiture of the personality and work of C h r i s t . Strauss made no impression upon him except that of r e -pulsion; any suggestion towards impairing the authority and s u f f i c i e n c y of the gospel accounts of the sayings and doings of the divine founder and object of the C h r i s t i a n f a i t h he f e l t to be incompatible with h i s s p i r i t u a l experience." 1 6 What led Arnold to ignore Strauss was, actually, not a b e l i e f i n r e l i g i o u s experience, but his own prejudice against him which he chose to disguise under a few euphemisms. This prejudice was obvious to W. G. Ward, who turned against Arnold a f t e r he had discovered that he was c r i t i c i z i n g Strauss with-17 out having even read him. The fundamentalist Christian f i n d s himself faced by a moral problem i n the reported savagery of some of Jehovah's dealings. One possible solution to t h i s problem 15 Sermons, Series I, p.190. 16 Campbell, Thomas Arnold, pp.32-33. Note, however, that Campbell i s unwarranted i n h i s use of the phrase " s p i r i t u a l experience". Dr. Arnold never l a i d claim to t h i s . 17 Strachey, op.pit.. p. 229. 74 i s that of Euripides, to say that God i s not God i f he behaves i n such a manner. Dr. Arnold was not forced to any such extremity, neatly e x t r i c a t i n g himself from t h i s dilemma by a doctrine o f "accommodation". This teaching was a favourite one with Dr. Arnold, but i t was Stanley who gave i t i t s aptest statement: "... he (Dr. Arnold) vindicated God's command to Abraham to s a c r i f i c e his son, and to the Jews to exter-minate the nations of Ganaan, by explaining the p r i n -c i p l e s on which these commands were given and t h e i r reference to the moral state of those to whom they were addressed." 1 8 I t i s important to note t h i s philosophy of accommodation f o r i t i s one which must have been frequently and f o r c i b l y presented to Matthew Arnold, and l a t e r i t was to re-emerge i n h i s own writings r- not as a p r i n c i p l e i n theology, but one upon which could be raised a philosophy of poetic c r i t i c i s m . The poet i s concerned with providing a people with a c r i t i c i s m of l i f e - and his work i s to be judged, not by l i t e r a r y absolutes, but by the needs and l i m i t a t i o n s of h i s pu b l i c . Matthew's i d e a l man of l e t t e r s , l i k e Dr. Arnold's God, accommodated himself to the s p i r i t u a l darkness of h i s 19 age. Despite the body of Old and New Testament theology Stanley, o p . c i t . , Vol.1, p.192. 19 Credit f o r esta b l i s h i n g t h i s point must be given to Mr. L i o n e l T r i l l i n g . I t i s he who f i r s t showed that Dr. Arnold's "accommodation" was " . . . i n essence the h i s t o r i c a l Irelativism which was to.play so important a part i n Matthew Arnold's c r i t i c i s m of l i t e r a t u r e , p o l i t i c s and r e l i g i o n . " Matthew Arnold, p. 4£. 75 whioh Dr. Arnold inherited and without reservation accepted, he showed a singular tolerance, urging that dogma was secondary and instrumental. He was prepared to have the Church of England find a common ground for union with the Non-conformists, though he could not bring himself to make terms with the Unitarians. The doctrine of the Trinity, after a l l , pertained to the very nature of the godhead and, besides, was a subject 20 " f u l l of the deepest practical benefit". But in other matters, Thomas Arnold allowed considerable latitude. "Christians, he said, became more Christian in proportion as they were less theological; the revela-tion of God in Christ should ever be sufficient, not merely as a statement of b e l i e f s but s t i l l more as a guiding principle in conduct." Matthew Arnold was only giving a wider application to this same general temper of mind, when he stated " A l l forms of . 22 religion are but approximations to the truth." Religions had the same meaning for Matthew that sects had for his father, both men were impatient of distinctions of form. The progression in point of view i s immense, but a continuity has been preserved. There was one notable exception to Dr. Arnold's tolerance of sects of Christians - his violent h o s t i l i t y to the Anglo-Catholics and, to a lesser degree, the Catholics. In part this sprang simply from a Protestant, anti-Roman prejudice, and found expression in the hyperbolical language 20 Sermons. Series II, p. 74. 2 1 Campbell, op.cit., p. 132. 2 2 Arnold, M., A French Eton or Middle-Class Education and  the State, London, Macmillan and Co., 1S92, p. 173. 76 o f e m o t i o n a l i s m upon s u c h o c c a s i o n s a s t h a t when he spoke o f " t h e c a r n a l and l y i n g s a c r i f i c e o f t h e M a s s " . I n p a r t a l s o i t s p r a n g f r o m a r a t i o n a l i s t ' s contempt f o r a n y t h i n g s m a c k i n g o f t h e e s o t e r i c o r m y s t i c . And i n p a r t i t was d e r i v e d f r o m h o s t i l i t y t o a c u l t w h i c h p u t e m p h a s i s upon s u c h s e c o n d a r y t h i n g s a s r i t e s and c e r e m o n i e s , dogma and s a c r a m e n t s , t h i n g s w h i c h , i n t h e e y e s o f a P r o t e s t a n t , p u t t h e s o u l one remove f r o m t h o u g h t s o f God, w h i l e p r o v i d i n g a b r e e d i n g - g r o u n d f o r s c h i s m and d i s s e n s i o n . T h e r e i s no n e e d t o t r a c e i n t h i s e s s a y t h e c o u r s e o f A r n o l d ' s c a m p a i g n i n g s a g a i n s t t h e Newmanites, f r o m t h e t i m e o f h i s p u b l i c a t i o n o f t h e b r o a d s i d e on "The O x f o r d  M a l i g n a n t s " t o t h a t o f h i s own a r r i v a l a t the u n i v e r s i t y , a s R e g i u s P r o f e s s o r o f H i s t o r y , t o r a l l y t h e f o r c e s o f P u r i t a n and R a t i o n a l r e l i g i o n a g a i n s t t h e s u b t l e i n c u m b e n t o f S t . M a r y ' s . One q u o t a t i o n , f r o m t h e famous a r t i c l e j u s t r e f e r r e d t o , may w e l l be g i v e n t o show how D r . A r n o l d , i n t h e f o u r -t e e n t h y e a r o f h i s e l d e s t s o n ' s l i f e , r e g a r d e d Newman a n d t h e H i g h C h u r c h p a r t y . "A. d r e s s , a r i t u a l , a name, a oeremony; a t e c h n i c a l p h r a s e o l o g y ; t h e s u p e r s t i t i o n o f a p r i e s t h o o d , w i t h o u t i t s power; t h e f o r m o f E p i s c o p a l g o v e r n m e n t , w i t h o u t t h e s u b s t a n c e ; - a s y s t e m i m p e r f e c t and p a r a l y s e d , n o t independent, n o t s o v e r e i g n , - a f r a i d t o c a s t o f f t h e s u b j e c t i o n a g a i n s t w h i c h i t i s p e r p e t u a l l y m u r m u r i n g . S u c h a r e t h e o b j e c t s o f High C h u r c h f a n a t i c i s m - o b j e c t s so p i t i f u l , t h a t , i f g a i n e d e v e r s o c o m p l e t e l y , t h e y would make no man t h e w i s e r o r t h e b e t t e r , - t h e y w o u l d l e a d t o no good, i n t e l l e c t u a l , m o r a l o r s p i r i t u a l - t o no e f f e c t , s o c i a l o r r e l i g i o u s , e x c e p t t o t h e c h a n g i n g o f s e n s e i n t o s i l l i n e s s , and h o l i n e s s o f h e a r t and l i f e i n t o f o r m a l i t y and h y p o c r i s y . " 2 3 E d i n b u r g h R e v i e w . V o l . L X I I I , p . 235. 77 4 Now that a l i t t l e has been said on the q u a l i t y of Dr. Arnold's b e l i e f , i t i s possible to begin to study the growth of Matthew's attitude towards r e l i g i o n . In h i s sermons, Dr. Arnold set f o r t h a number of ideas on r e l i g i o u s education which, synthesized, give an i n t e l l i g i b l e system or sequence. F i r s t , the c h i l d i s taught to desire the approval of his parents. Second, he i s taught to desire the approval of C h r i s t . T h i rd, he reaches a period of mature thought which marks the end of c h i l d i s h f a i t h . Fourth, he comes to a recognition of the equal i n t e l l e c t u a l arguments fo r and against f a i t h . F i f t h , he r e a l i z e s that f a i t h i s the more f r u i t f u l a l t e r n a t i v e . Sixth, he accepts the national church, and becomes a f a i t h f u l C h r i s t i a n . We have no reason to suspect Matthew Arnold of a precocious agnosticism - a d i s i n c l i n a t i o n i n childhood to believe that God sees the l i t t l e sparrow f a l l . Of the six stages Dr. Arnold found i n the growth of mature b e l i e f , i t was undoubtedly i n the fourth that h i s eldest son came to g r i e f . When he came to look upon the world, he eould not fi n d the same neat balance of evidences that h i s father, and Bishop Butler, had found. This i s not e n t i r e l y surprising. Matthew Arnold, to state a truism, l i v e d i n a world that was d i f f e r e n t from that h i s father had known i n 3iis youth. Matthew's formative years witnessed the coming-in of a period of s c i e n t i f i c advancement, in which many of the trusted old 78 proofs of teleology were to become disproven. Consider, f o r instance, geology. Bishop Butler had found Eighteenth Century geologists quite prepared to support b e l i e f i n Noah's flood. And as f o r Dr. Arnold, he was himself a student of geology, fi n d i n g i t a sturdy prop f o r f a i t h . "When Professor Buckland, then one of our Fellows, began his career i n that science, to the advancement of which he has contributed so much, Arnold became one of h i s most earnest and i n t e l l i g e n t p u p i l s , and you know how f a m i l i a r l y and p r a c t i c a l l y he applied geological f a c t s i n a l l his l a t e r years." 2 4 It was i n 1823 that Dr. Buckland published h i s magnum opus. He e n t i t l e d i t , encouragingly, "Reliquiae Diluvianae: or Observations on the Organic Remains contained i n caves, Fissures, and D i l u v i a l Gravel, and on other Geological Phenomena, a t t e s t i n g the Action of an Universal Deluge". Buckland wrote with a l l the authority attached to the pro-fessorship of geology at Oxford. In 1830, however, a p u p i l of Buckland, Charles L y e l l , began pub l i c a t i o n of h i s P r i n - c i p l e s of Geology, a book which, wiping out the old comfort-able B i b l i c a l chronology, set i n i t s stead vistas of hundreds of-thousands, nay m i l l i o n s , of years of geological development. It i s d i f f i c u l t to assess the consequences;ot6iithe; C h r i s t i a n F a i t h Gf L y e l l * s geological text-book. It was destined to make the old f a i t h of Arohbishop Ussher and Dr. Arnold one that would be smiled out of existence i n any eduoated gather-ing. It was one of those things that threw hopelessly out of balance the scales wherein Dr. Arnold had weighed the evidi-Stanley, op . c i t . . Vol.1, p. 17 79 ences for and against C h r i s t i a n b e l i e f . In the faoe of the discoveries of Nineteenth Century Science, discoveries which, though s t i l l p a r t i a l , held obvious m a t e r i a l i s t implications, unbelief was bound to increase among gentlemen of the Butlerian temper. Whitridge, indeed, has maintained that even the p r i n c i p l e s of the Noetics, i f pushed to the i r l o g i c a l conclusions, would have resulted i n 25 scepticism. Reason, then, having resulted i n a b e d e v i l l i n g of the old balance of evidences, the only sure road l e f t f o r r e l i g i o n was to repudiate reason and found i t s pretensions upon d i r e c t experience. Though few of Newman's adherents would have openly admitted as muoh, i t was probably a general i n t u i t i o n of the new i n t e l l e c t u a l i n s e c u r i t y of r e l i g i o n that led them to turn to the mysticism of High Church Anglicanism. Newman himself was highly aware of how, i n his day, the current of s c i e n t i f i c thought carried the i n t e l l e c t u a l towards scepticism. "'I thank God,* he wrote to Dr. Pusey i n 1845, •that He has shielded me morally from what i n t e l l e c t u a l l y might e a s i l y come to me - general scepticism/" 2 6 Newman was giving h i s famous sermons when Matthew Arnold f i r s t came t o Oxford, and the young man went to hear him. In l a t e r l i f e he wcote to the car d i n a l , r e c a l l i n g the impression he had then made upon him. "I cannot forbear adding, what I have often wished to t e l l you, that no words can be too strong to express the interest with which I used to hear you at Oxford, 25 Whitridge, op.cit.. p.167. 26 Ward, op . c i t . , p. 31. 80 and the pleasure with which I continue to read your waitings now." 27 Matthew would probably have been glad i f he could have found a solution f o r h i s own gathering doubts i n conversion to Catholicism, but f o r the son of Dr. Arnold there could be no such easy escape. The voice of h i s upbringing was s t i l l strong i n his ears. The r a t i o n a l i s t Dr. Arnold had taught him that he must trust to h i s reason: "I t i s vain for such a man to envy the peace of ignorance; Godocalls him to the p a i n f u l pursuit of •knowledge, and he must not disobey the c a l l . Nor may he, as some do, s t r i v e to do violence to his under-standing, and to the very nature of things, by trying to combine knowledge with an undisturbed t r a n q u i l l i t y of b e l i e f , to enjoy the pieasures of a clear and active mind, without being subject to i t s pains.** 2 8 I f Matthew were to remain true to his father*s teachings he could not j o i n with Newman. Newman did not regard reason with the f e e l i n g Dr. Arnold did. Newman spoke with abhorrence of l i b e r a l i s m , as a "f a l s e l i b e r t y of thought, or the exercise of thought upon matters, i n which, from the con-s t i t u t i o n of the human mind, thought cannot be brought to any 29 suecessful issue, and therefore i s out of place." Dr. Arnold, the champion of Liberalism i n theology had bet everything on reason. "The f i r s t rule with him was, to. follow the truth at a l l hazards - regardless i n what apparent d i f f i c u l t i e s i t may involve us - regardless i n what bad company i t may lead us. The absolute r i g h t and duty of the mind to judge for i t s e l f , the t o t a l negation of any Arnold, M., Unpublished Letters of Matthew Arnold, edited by Arnold Whitridge, New Haven, Yale University Press, 1923, p. 56. u Sermons, Series I, p . x x i i . Newman, op. c i t . , p. 288. 82 human authority binding i n matters of f a i t h - these are the points on which he i n s i s t e d i n season and out of season...." At Oxford, Matthew Arnold probably reached the f i r s t cross-roads i n h i s l i f e . He became r e a l l y aware of the i n t e l l e c t u a l problems attached to b e l i e f (as h i s father had intended). He rejected Newmanism and mysticism (as h i s father had intended). He took the road that led to agnosticism (as h i s f a t h e r had most emphatically not intended). The moral would seem to be that a once-tried method cannot be trusted to secure the same r e s u l t s as before when applied i n a new mental m i l i e u . 5 The sequel to the disastrous employment of the Butlerian method i n the Nineteenth Century i s i n t e r e s t i n g . Certain of the young men Thomas Arnold had trained i n i t s appl i c a t i o n were l e f t i n a sad way. Their master, never doubt-ing that reason led to f a i t h , had exhorted them to trust to thought. At the same time, he had l a b e l l e d the r a t i o n a l choice of scepticism ^the Devil's r e l i g i o n " . What were Rugby men to do when reason appeared to lead away from fait h ? True, Dr. Arnold had said c e r t a i n words of comfort: "I w i l l ... say that many who have doubted the fact (of the Resurrection) even i n the very moment of t h e i r doubting, have shown more of Ch r i s t i a n f a i t h than many who never douhted i t at a l l . " 31 30 Edinburgh Review. Vol.LXXvT, p.359. 31 Sermons. Series I I , p.134. 83 But he had more often spoken i n a very d i f f e r e n t vein: "... neither has i t entered the heart of man to conceive the things which God has prepared for them that love him; nor yet, I may add, the wrath which he has prepared f o r those who do not love him." 32 As the young d i s c i p l e s of Dr. Arnold f e l t themselves being borne o f f by currents of scepticism, they could not help shivering with a f e e l i n g of s i n . Dr. Arnold had always said they would be damned i f they did not believe in God and love him. And yet he had said that they must follow t h e i r reason at a l l costs. Caught i n t h i s dilemma, Matthew Arnold o s c i l l a t e d for a decade and a h a l f between a tentative acceptance of -God, and a despairing f e e l i n g that there was none. "God bless you," he wrote to Clough i n 1848, "there i s a God, but he i s 33 not well-conceived by a l l . " But i n In Utrumque Paratus, published i n the following year, he looks upon the earth undecided whether God created i t or "...the wild unfather*d mass no b i r t h In divine seats hath known." 3 4 During t h i s period of i r r e s o l u t i o n he fastened h i s hopes upon that reason which his father had so e x t o l l e d . In 1850 he wrote, "I go to read Locke on the Conduct of the Understand-ing: my respect f o r reason as the rock of refuge to t h i s poor 35 exaggerated susEexcited humanity increases and increases." 32 Sermons, Series I I , p.5. 33 Lowry, H. P. (ed.), The Letters of Matthew Arnold To  Arthur Hugh Clough. London, Oxford U n i v e r s i t y Press, 1932, p.87. 34 Arnold, M., Points a London, Oxford University Press, (1937) 3 5 p.85. Lowry, op.cit * , p.116. 84 In Utrumque Paratus i s a perfect statement f o r a balanced agnosticism - but agnosticism, as J u l i a n Huxley has recently pointed out, i s "an i n t e l l e c t u a l tight-rope which 36 most people cannot tread f o r long." Matthew Arnold, f o r one, found that he could not i n d e f i n i t e l y continue h i s balancing act, and by 1863 he had turned towards r e l i g i o n , repudiating at l a s t the rule of reason: " S t i l l the r e l i g i o u s l i f e maintains i t s indefeasible claims, and i n i t s own sphere inexorably refuses to be s a t i s f i e d with the new thought, to admit i t to be of any truth or s i g n i f i c a n c e , u n t i l i t has imparted to i t i t s own divine power of refreshing souls." 3 7 The statement i s an admission of the v a l i d i t y of the central 38 thesis of Newman and the Oxford Movement, but though Matthew Arnold could by 1863 f i n a l l y deny the sovereignty of the reason, his whole temper of mind had become so r a t i o n a l that he could not hope to accept the o l d C h r i s t i a n dogmas which were obviously at odds with the new science. Instead, he started to erect h i s own new r e l i g i o n which, while non-rational, would nowhere take issue with the r a t i o n a l i s t , We say that Matthew's cu l t of the "power not ourselves" was non^-rational, fo r the f i n a l ground Arnold advanced f o r b e l i e f i n i t was not reason but experience. There was always a s l i g h t vein of mysticism i n him. F i n a l l y i t emerged, weak, anaemic, d i l u t e d , 36 Huxley, J . , The Inequality of Man, Harmondsworth Penguin Books Limited, (1937), p. 36. 37 Arnold, M., Essays by Matthew Arnold. Oxford, Oxford University Press, 1914, p.443. 38 Note that Thomas Arnold, the younger, ultimatelyeentered the Roman Catholic Church. 85 but recognizable: "... i f on the other hand, they ask: 'How are we to v e r i f y that there rules an enduring Bower, not ourselves, which makes f o r righteousness?' - we may answer at once:'How? why as v e r i f y that f i r e burns -by experience!'" 3 9 The answer i s the stock one of a l l r e l i g i o n i s t s . Even the choice of analogy i s revealing; Catholic mystics have long spoken of C h r i s t as the "burning babe". I t i s i n t e r e s t i n g to notice the fate of another of Dr. Arnold's p u p i l s , Arthur Hugh Clough. At Rugby, Clough's nervous and emotional charaoter proved very d u c t i l e i n the hands of the resolute headmaster, and "Yankee" Clough became 40 fervently pious. He, too, followed the path of reason, and by 1841 - Dr. Arnold was s t i l l a l i v e , and Clough just turned twenty-one - was writing such sad verses at these, from a poem he e n t i t l e d Blank Misgivings of a Creature moving i n Worlds not r e a l i z e d . Arnold, M., Literature and Dogma, p. 304. 40 In one of Clough's Rugby journals i s to be foundaa prayer, written when he was entrusted with the editorship of the school paper. "0 all-wise God whose Providence has ordained t h i s undertaking, and l a i d i t s weight on me, grant that i t be not a snare unto me. Let i t not i n t e r f e r e with those more especial duties which I am placed here to perform - with my e f f o r t s to improve myself i n know-ledge and i n t e l l e c t u a l power so as to be better f i t f o r the duties of my future l i f e , - far l e s s With those I should ever be making for my own s p i r i t u a l improvement, and that of my companions." Lowry, op.cit . , p. 12. 86 "Here am I yet, another twelvemonth spent, One-third departed of the mortal span, Carrying on the c h i l d into the man, Nothing into r e a l i t y . S a i l s rent, And rudder broken, - reason impotent, -Affections a l l unfixed; so f o r t h I fare On the mid seas unheedingly." 4 1 We have seen Matthew Arnold writing to Clough, say-ing i n the manner of one whistling to keep h i s courage up, "There i s a God, but he i s not well-conceived by a l l . " Clough adopted an equally lugubrious tone, and addressed himself to t h i s unsatisfactory deity i n the following vein: "I w i l l not prate of 'thus' and 'so' And be profane with 'yes* and 'no 1, Enough that i n our soul and heart Thou, whatsoe'er Thou may'st be, a r t . " 4 2 In point of conviction, the prayer i s l i t t l e better than that of V o l t a i r e ' s s o l d i e r , "My God, i f there i s a God, save my soul, i f I have a soul." F i n a l l y poor Clough could not keep h i s troubles to himself any longer. In 1846 h i s doubts led him to resign h i s O r i e l fellowship. A l l h i s emotions and upbringing shrank from scepticism - but the voice of reason was c a l l i n g , and he must not close h i s ears to i t . At l a s t he summoned his f u l l powers of resolution, made his decision, and shouted i t 43 h y s t e r i c a l l y , "Christ i s not r i s e n ! " and he repeated i t with 44 h a l f sob i n Dipsychus - "Christ has not r i s e n ! " 41 plough, Poems, London, Macmillan and Co., Ltd. 42 * i b i d . , p. 87. 43 i b i d . , p. 100 (Easter Day, Naples 1849) 4 4 i b i d . , p. 109. "I cannot," he said, "enter f u l l y into those l i n e s of Wordsworth -•To me the meanest flower that blows can give Thoughts that do often l i e too deep fo r tears.* There i s to me something i n them of a morbid f e e l i n g -l i f e i s not long enough to take such an intense interest i n objects themselves so l i t t l e . " - Dr. Arnold"*" 1 Arthur Stanley said of Dr.Arnold that " i n works 2 of art he took l i t t l e i n t e r e s t " , and t h i s i s ifcrjue as a general statement. Although he did have a f e e l i n g for Gothic 3 4 cathedrals, admiring Sens and Ghartres, there was only one art i n which Dr. Arnold had any intense i n t e r e s t , - that of historiography. Stanley probably was not thinking of the writing of history as an art"when he made the statement just given, but G. M. Trevelyan has reminded us that C l i o i s a Muse, and there i s no r e a l reason why one should not discuss Thomas Arnold, i n h i s role of h i s t o r i a n , i n a chapter devoted to his relationship to the arts. C e r t a i n l y , i f power of f a s c i n a t i o n and the presentation of a problem i n communica-t i o n are the marks of an art, historiography was an art to L Stanley, L i f e of Dr. Arnold. Vol.1, p, 168. 2 i b i d . , Vol.11, p.310. 3 i b i d . , Vol.11, p.315. 4 i b i d . , Vol.11, p.344. 87 88 Dr. Arnold. Only hear the language i n which he described i t . "There f l o a t s before me an image of power and beauty i n History, which I cannot i n any way r e a l i z e , and which often tempts me to throw a l l that I have written clean into the f i r e . " 5 We are t o l d that, as a boy, Thomas Arnold was a fervent reader of the his t o r i a n s , Gibbon and Burke, Mitford, 6 Rus s e l l , and P r i e s t l y , and Livy, Herodotus and Xenophon. In mature l i f e , h i s idol, was Barthold Niebuhr, a contemporary German, who had begun writing i n 1812 h i s Romisohe Geschichte, a work which marks a new ere i n h i s t o r i c a l ! studies, being the f i r s t to make c r i t i c a l use of l i t e r a r y sources. Dr. Arnold with h i s customary zest and enthusiasm, was whole-hearted i n his reverence of Niebuhr. He extolled him as greater than 7 Scaliger, and referred to his history as "... that immortal work of Niebuhr, which has l e f t other writers notbing to do, 8 except eit h e r to copy or abridge i t . " Guided by these b e l i e f s , Dr. Arnold set himself i n his own History of Rome to provide an English counterpart f o r Niebuhr's history, some-thing other than a str a i g h t t r a n s l a t i o n . Although Niebuhr occupies a respectable place i n the hi s t o r y of history, he does not stand with the f i r s t -r a t e r s , Xenophon, Tacitus, Vico, Gibbon, Yon Ranke. The 0 Stanley, op.clt., Vol.II, p. 195. F i t c h , S i r Joshua, Thomas and Matthew Arnold, New York, Charles Scribner's Sons, 1899, p. 7. 7 Stanley, op . c i t . . Vol.11, p. 388 (Appendix D). 8 Arnold, T., History of Rome. London, B. Fellows etc., Vols. I and I I , 1840; Y o l . I l l , 1843. Vol.I, p. 20. 89 praises which Dr. Arnold heaped upon him were inordinate. They made t h e i r impression upon the young Matthew, however, and we f i n d him, i n 1853, speaking of Niebuhr as the man of Q "widest c u l t u r e " produced by the age, and he li n k s him with Goethe, Today, Niebuhr i s not considered the best even of the h i s t o r i a n s of hi s own day. He attached, for instance, too much credence to Livy, whereas Ferguson, with whom Arnold and h i s master were i n disagreement, has been vindicated i n hi s suspicions of t h i s source. Arnold, following Niebuhr, was betrayed into whatever inaccuracies of fact were to be found i n the l a t t e r . Dr. Arnold was, i n f a c t , a l i t e r a r y or interpretative h i s t o r i a n rather than a s c i e n t i f i c , research worker. This admission he himself was prepared to make, openly confessing that he had "but l i t t l e acquaintance with 10 manuscripts." In l a t e r years Matthew Arnold was to some degree to follow i n his father's foot-steps, l i k e him venturing into a f i e l d where s c i e n t i f i c workers were to eye askance his l i g h t l y deduced f i n d i n g s . Only to a complete unawareness of the scope and v a l i d i t y of s c i e n t i f i c study of philology and B i b l i c a l h i story, can we at t r i b u t e Matthew A r n o l d ^ "romantic 11 reconstructions of imaginary Jewish h i s t o r y and r e l i g i o n . " Let us consider a single instance of t h i s amiable f o i b l e i n Matthew Arnold. I t was i n 1875 that he published L i t e r a - ture and Doggoa i n which he boldly affirmed that the worship Q Arnold, M,, Poems, p. 14. 1 0 Arnold, Thomas, op.cit., Vol.1, p. x i v . 1 1 Saintsbury, George, Matthew Arnold. Edinburgh, William Blackwood and Sons, 190*5, p. 139. 90 of Jehovah i n the Old Testament was a p o e t i c a l concept, equi-12 valent to what he himself c a l l s "delight i n the Eternal", meaning thereby "the happiness we a l l f e e l to spring from 12 conduct". Now a l l t h i s was i n 1875, even though as early as 1862, Ghillany had linked Jehovah with Yahweh, t r i b a l god of the Kenites, and o r i g i n a l l y a sandstorm god i n Arabia, - a 13 theory s t i l l accepted today. Matthew Arnold obviously had no business placing any private i n t e r p r e t a t i o n upon the meaning and significance of the term "Jehovah", without f i r s t s i f t i n g the s c i e n t i f i c p h i l o l o g i o a l and theological writings. Such a c a v a l i e r disregard for the s c i e n t i f i c works i s understandable i n the son of a h i s t o r i a n who r a r e l y consulted manuscripts. The chief reason f o r Dr. Arnold's devotion to his t o r y was h i s b e l i e f i n a divine Providence guiding mankind, a Providence whose workings could be distinguished by the devout h i s t o r i a n . Vico, i n h i s Soienza Nuova, had been the f i r s t to set f o r t h the study of Providence through history, \With Vico, "the study of human history ... becomes a means to 14 the understanding of God." It was with t h i s devout purpose that Thomas Arnold worked i n his h i s t o r i c a l writings. It i s true there were a few anomalies to be encountered, and he, with his usual honesty, admitted t h e i r existence. 12 Arnold, M., Li t e r a t u r e and Dogma, London, Thomas Nelson, no date, p. 77. 1 3 Meek, Theophile, Hebrew Origins. New York, Harper and Brothers, 1936, pp.86-87. 1 4 T r i l l i n g , Matthew Arnold, p. 51. 91 " I f we were to judge of God's moral government exclusively from the various earthly fortune of good and bad men, there would be few instances of success which would more disturb our f a i t h than that of the long and peaceful reign of Augustus Caesar." I 5 In the main, however, Dr. Arnold f e l t quite happy about t h i s theory of h i s t o r y . For one thing, i t was so tidy and thought-f u l of the Almighty to have decided upon "communicating a l l r e l i g i o u s knowledge to mankind through the Jewish people, and 16 a l l i n t e l l e c t u a l c i v i l i z a t i o n through the Greeks", aAnd so Dr. Arnold went happily ahead, showing why Sparta f e l l f o r being s t e r i l e and fin d i n g no place i n God's Providence, and why Rome had to be allowed to overcome Carthage in order to become a universal empire and SO' a d i s t r i b u t i n g system for C h r i s t i a n i t y . We smile today at philosophies of history, but there i s one contribution Dr. Arnold made, one of minor d e t a i l , but one for which we should be g r a t e f u l : he was the f i r s t h i s t o r i a n to do justice to Hannibal instead of accepting the 17 slanders of the Roman annalists. Samuel Butler, i t w i l l be r e c a l l e d , caricatured Dr. Arnold as Dr. Skinner of Roughborough, the h i s t o r i a n of Athens and editor of Demosthenes. Dr. Arnold was the 15 Arnold, T., History of the Later Roman Commonwealth, London, B. Fellows etc. 1845, Vo l . I I , p. 291. 1 6 Stanley, op.cit.. V o l . I, p. 355. 1 7 See the introduction by Archdeacon Hare to the t h i r d volume of the History of Rome, p. v i i . 92 h i s t o r i a n of Home and editor of Thucydides. In his task of editorship he showed more of the s c i e n t i f i c s p i r i t than was manifested in h i s h i s t o r i c a l labours. He spent considerable labour i n research on Thucydides, and passed an entire summer at Venice, to c o l l a t e a new manuscript, found i n the l i b r a r y 18 of St. Mark. As we have previously noted, Dr. Arnold had a con-stant i n t e r e s t i n the c l a s s i c s , an Interest which he ca r r i e d to the length of t r a n s l a t i n g Herodotus, o r a l l y , for the 19 comfort of an i n v a l i d s i s t e r , Susannah. This devotion to the c l a s s i c s may appear to have been strange i n one whose int e r e s t s were so much i n the present; but i t was p r e c i s e l y because he was so interested i n the present that Dr. Arnold turned to the great writers of the past. From them he learned p r i n c i p l e s which, he believed to be u n i v e r s a l l y applicable, as h e l p f u l i n his own day as i n t h e i r own. Indeed, he believed there was a p a r t i c u l a r p a r a l l e l between the s i t u a t i o n of c e r t a i n of the great Roman and Athenian writers and that of his own contemporaries: "Thucydides and Xenophon, the orators of Athens, and the philosophers, speak a wisdom more applicable to us p o l i t i c a l l y than the wisdom of even our own 18 Thucydides, The History of the Peleponne s i an War, with notes c h i e f l y h i s t o r i c a l and geographical by Thomas Arnold D.D., Oxford, John Henry Parker, 1847, three gols., Vol.11, p . i i i . 19 Stanley, op.c i t . , Vol.1, p. 128. 93 countrymen who l i v e d i n the middle ages; and t h e i r p o s i t i o n , both i n t e l l e c t u a l and p o l i t i c a l , more nearly resembled our own." 2 0 In t h i s quotation we have, i n essence, the statement so often made by Matthew Arnold that c e r t a i n of the great Greeks were, in r e a l i t y , moderns. Matthew, i n writing of Empedocles, gave f o r his j u s t i f i c a t i o n the seeming modernity of Empedocles' times. "Into the feelings of a man so situated there entered much that we are accustomed to consider ex-c l u s i v e l y modern; how much the fragments of Empedocles himself wMChrremain to us are s u f f i c i e n t at least to indicate. What those who are f a m i l i a r only with the great monuments of early Greek genius suppose to be i t s exclusive c h a r a c t e r i s t i c s have disappeared; the calm, the cheerfulness, the disinterested o b j e c t i v i t y have disappeared: the dialogue of the mind with i t s e l f hasecommenoed; modern problems have presented them-selves; we hear already the doubts, we witness the discouragement, of Hamlet and of Faust." 2 1 A curious consequence of t h i s view, that the writers of c e r t a i n c l a s s i c a l periods were correspondent to contemp-orary thinkers, was Dr. Arnold's theory that translations of e a r l i e r c l a s s i c a l authors were to be made i n an archaic English which would strik e the ear of a subject of V i c t o r i a somewhat as the o r i g i n a l would have come to that of a subject of Caesar. In teaching t r a n s l a t i o n at Rugby, Arnold followed t h i s theory, somewhat to the amusement of the Quarterly*s reviewers: "... there i s something ludi c r o u s l y whimsical i n supposing that boys could be taught to translate Homer i n words exclusively Saxon; the tragedians, i n words p r i n c i p a l l y Saxon, but'mixed with many of French or foreign o r i g i n , l i k e the language od Shakespeare; Herodotus i n the style and language of the chroniclers; Thucydides. Vol.1, p. 522. Arnold, M., Poems» ffa l . 94 Thucydides i n that of Bacon and Hooker; while Demosthenes, Gioero, Caesar and Tacitus require a style completely modern.' Surely t h i s i s a pedantic dream." 22 This theory of tra n s l a t i o n was employed by Francis Newman when he made the version of Homer which so provoked Matthew Arnold. Yet Arnold's anger was not at the basic intention, but the means by which i t had been carried out. He, l i k e New-man, agreed that Homer should be presented to the Victorians i n English which would have the same e f f e c t s of antiquity that the Greek of Homer had for Athenians of the F i f t h Century BiCi In matters of t r a n s l a t i o n , he stood f i r m l y by what he had learned at Rugby. 3 There i s no p a r t i c u l a r reason why a man's l i t e r a r y style should resemble that of his father - unless, of course, hi s father chanced to be h i s school-master a l s o . It may be worth one's e f f o r t to see i f Matthew Arnold owed anything i n t h i s respect to h i s father. Dr. Arnold's prose s t y l e , though rather rough at times, was a good serviceable instrument. Arnold was himself aware of the s l i g h t unevenness of the s t y l e he used, and i n rather a Carlylean mood exploded with masculine violence against "elegance": "... I do not care one f a r t h i n g i f the readers think.me the most u n c l a s s i c a l writer i n the English language. It w i l l only remove me to a greater distance The Quarterly Review, Vol, U I , p.165 (n) 95 from the men of elegant minds with whom I s h a l l most loathe to be associated." 2 3 While reading t h i s too emphatic avowal, one seems to hear a l i g h t voice whispering "Sour grapes!C There can be no doubt that Dr* Arnold was rather p a i n f u l l y aware of h i s de f i c i e n c i e s i n s t y l e . In introducing h i s f i r s t series of published sermons, he f e l t moved to say, "In point of sty l e they are wholly devoid of pretention: fipr my main object was t o write i n t e l l i g -i b l y , and i f I have succeeded i n t h i s , I must be content to be censured for much homeliness, and perhaps awkwardness of expression, which I had not the s k i l l to "avoid." 2 4 A c t u a l l y , Dr. Arnold had l i t t l e cause f o r apology. His main end was right - "to write i n t e l l i g i b l y ' ! - and he r e a l i z e d t h i s purpose. His sty l e was l i k e himself - energetic, emphatic, just a l i t t l e uncouth or embarrassed at times, but always quite clear i n meaning. From h i s father, Matthew Arnold may well have learned clearness and s i m p l i c i t y of utterance. From some other source, possibly Herbert H i l l , he learned to write smoothly. In h i s youth, Dr. Arnold experienced some f l u t t e r -ings of poetic impulse. At Winchester he wrote enough to be 25 l a b e l l e d "poet Arnold'', and at Corpus C h r i s t i "he continued the practice 'on p r i n c i p l e ' , he thought i t a useful and 26 humanizing exercise''. The best that even the devoted Stanley Stanley, o p . c l t * . Vol. I, pp. 47948. 24 Sermons. Series I, p . i i i . 25 Stanley, o p . c i t . . Vol.1, p. 3. 26 i b i d . , Vol.1, p. 14. 96 could say of these early e f f o r t s was: "They are remarkable 25? rather as proofs of industry than of power." Matthew Arnold l a t e r , when referred to f o r an opinion, could only sadly shake h i s head and sigh, "Ah, my poor fatherI he had many 28 excellencies but he was not a poet." One of the things which must have cramped the devel-opment of poetic f e e l i n g i n Dr. Arnold was h i s intense morality. Before he could allow himself to enter into the s p i r i t of a poem, he had to be s a t i s f i e d that i t was whole-heartedly moral and e t h i c a l : "\.. he was quite incapable of enjoying any book or poem i f he disapproved of the author's p r i n c i p l e s or even i f he thought that the author was half-hearted i n his support of righteousness. Moliere gave him no pleasure and he was troubled by Shakesp>eare's apparent i n a b i l i t y to create good men." 2 9 When Thomas Arnold encountered a good passage, by an author whose p r i n c i p l e s were not suspeet, he was able to f i n d pure l i t e r a r y pleasure i n the words. Both Matthew Arnold and Arthur Stanley have l e f t t r i b u t e s to Dr. Arnold's power to kindle enthusiasm by his teaching of l i t e r a t u r e . Matthew speaks to h i s mother of h i s father's "profound l i t e r a r y 30 sense", and Stanley affirms that, 27 Stanley, op.cit., Vol.1, p. 24. g o Whitridge, op.cit., p. 15. 2 9 i b i d . , p. 42. Dr.Arnold regarded Dickens only as a writer of "exciting books of amusement" (Stanley, Vol.11, p.137) and i t was not u n t i l 1880 that Matthew Arnold read David Gopperfield (Letters. Vol.11, p. 184). 30 Letters, Vol.1, p.218. 97 **In poetry i t was almost impossible not to catch something of the de l i g h t , almost fervour, with which, as he came to any s t r i k i n g passage, he would hang over i t , reading i t over and over again, and dwelling upon i t f o r the mere pleasure which every word seemed to give him.1* 3 1 So much for Dr. Arnold's f e e l i n g f o r l i t e r a t u r e . There were other art s to which he was apparently quite un-responsive. In his l e t t e r s we f i n d not a single referenoe to any musical composer or work, and only one or two to the p i c t o r i a l a r t s . When we sum a l l the a v a i l a b l e evidence up, the only statements that we can make are very general ones indeed. Matthew Arnold grew up i n a home where l i t e r a t u r e was highly regarded, I f we except the inherited love of the c l a s s i c s , we cannot f i n d i n Dr. Arnold any notable influence upon Matthew's l i t e r a r y style or Interests. The senior Arnold's preference was early given to S i r Walter Scott and 32 Ballad verse; the only l i t e r a r y c r i t i c i s m contained i n the school text-books was uncorrupted admiration for Pope and 33 the Ne o - o l a s s i c i s t s . 31 Stanley, op.cit., Vol.1, p.126. 32 i b i d . , Vol. I, p. 3. 33 See appendix I I I . Chapter Seven Matthew Arnold Leaves Home "The more I see of the world the more I f e e l thank-f u l f or the bringing up we had, so unworldly, so sound and so pure. n 1 - Matthew Arnold 1 One day, when Dr. Arnold was taking a class i n Rhetoric, he suddenly r e a l i z e d v/hat a l o s s i t would be to Matthew i f he were to send him to Cambridge where A r i s t o t l e and Thucydides were deprived of the just honours paid them at 2 Oxford. Accordingly, thoughts of Cambridge were l a i d aside f o r once and a l l , and the boy was groomed for a career at Oxford. On November 28, 1840, he was matriculated at B a l l i o l . Oxford, dear home of l o s t causes, had won her f i r s t great poet. The Cumner Range had found i t s laureate. The f e e l i n g of venturing f o r t h on strange seas alone which i s the normal accompaniment of entry into u n i v e r s i t y l i f e , was probably i n t e n s i f i e d for Matthew Arnold. Unlike most of h i s contemporaries, he had not l i v e d away from home when attending school - that i s , i f we except the b r i e f period at Winchester. Moveover, the Arnolds were a p a r t i c u l a r l y 1 Letters, V o l . I, p. 19. 2 Stanley, op.cit., V o l . I I , p. 224. 98 99 clannish family, one which had seldom suffered separation since that day when a whole coach had been booked to bring them, fourteen souls, to Rugby. The Arnold children, too, had been carefully taught to regard the family as the central i n s t i t u t i o n i n human l i f e * Even i n h i s sermons, Dr. Arnold had driven home t h i s point that the centre of human aff e c t i o n s must be the home. "Your f a u l t then i s by so much the greater i f you make yourselves strangers to domestic feelings and a f f e c t i o n s , through your own f a u l t ; i f you think you have any dearer friendships, or any that can better become either youth or manhood, than those which God himself has marked out for you i n your own homes. '* 3 I t would be useless to surmise the degree of f e e l i n g Matthew Arnold f e l t when he l e f t home, saying farewell to the warm, noisy, v i t a l i z i n g c i r c l e Hughes presents to us i n Tom Brown, the home to which Stanley, Clough and Lake had so valued t h e i r p r i v i l e g e of admission* In h i s f i r s t days at Oxford, the great vacuum i n his l i f e must, of course, have* been the absence of h i s loud, impetuous, domineering father. Others would be missed also, h i s mother for one. Mary Arnold had a character l e s s tremendous than that of her husband, but i n i t s own quiet way i t too was i n s i s t e n t , sure, and capable. Mrs. Arnold was no cipher, During her husband's l i f e t i m e she played the role expected of her, providing his 4 home, supervising the household economy of the school, play-3 Sermons, Series I I , p. 64. 4 Guedalla, Bonnet and Shawl. London, Hodder and Stoughton, (1930) p, 92. ing the occasional part of Lady Bountiful to frightened or t e a r f u l new boys. After her husband died, she withdrew to Fox How, the "mountain nest" between Ambleside and Rydal which 5 they had purchased i n 1832. But even at Fox How she con-tinued to hold together her Rugby c i r c l e . "Advancing years increased her charm and a c t i v i t y and when her husband died t h e i r home was scarcely l e s s the i n t e l l e c t u a l centre i t had been during the Doctor's l i f e . Whately and J u l i u s Hare continued to visi<fc Mrs. Arnold; the young men of the Church were devoted to her...." 6 Matthew Arnold had an abundant swarm of brothers and s i s t e r s provided for him by his parents. Of these the one whom he probably missed most, when he l e f t home, was h i s si s t e r "K", the Jane Arnold who l a t e r married Forster, the famous V i c t o r i a n Minister of Education. Matthew Arnold has told us that h i s s i s t e r s were among M s f i r s t l i t e r a r y 7 8 admirers, but h i s "darling K" always stood closest i n his 8 sympathies. Of h i s brothers, the nearest i n age to him was Tom, but there was no intense love between them, though they contrived a s u f f i c i e n t l y pleasant f r i e n d s h i p . Tom, for one thing, had a l i t t l e too much of h i s father's impetuosity; i t did not take the maturing Matthew long to discover that h i s 9 brother lacked the " s t i l l , considerate mind". 5 Stanley, o p . c i t . , Vol.1, p. 211. 6 T r i l l i n g , o p . c i t . . p. 44. 7 Letters, Vol. I I , p. 148. 8 ibid., V o l . I, p. 156. 9 Lowry, op.cit . , p. 110. 101 At Oxford, Matthew Arnold proceeded to make an instant impression by inveighing against the Thirty-Nine A r t i c l e s and the Athanadian Greed, while waiting i n the Yiee^-Chancellor's anteroom to be formally admitted to the univer-10 s i t y . Apparently the young matriculant was already taking a s l i g h t l y recusant a t t i t u d e , not of course that his father had ever been p a r t i c u l a r l y enamoured by either the A r t i c l e s or the Athanasian Greed. These objections s t a r t l i n g enough to a fellow freshman - had long had the sanction of Thomas 11 Arnold. Once safely admitted to the University, Matthew proceeded to f i t snugly into a congenial l i t t l e crowd who lab e l l e d themselves "The Decade". "The two brothers (Matthew and Tom) together with Clough and Theodore Walrond proceeded to form 'a l i t t l e i n t e r i o r company'. They go s k i f f i n g up the Cherwell and i n the l i t t l e network of streams that lace the meadows by I f f l e y and Sandford. F i n a l l y i t i s arranged that the four s h a l l breakfast each Sunday morning i n Clough's rooms. There they talk of S i r Robert Peel, Carlyle and Emerson; they grow heated about the I r i s h problem; and hold long discussions over the leading a r t i c l e s i n the Spectator. George Sand seems, i n her novels, the incarnation of the new s p i r i t of revold; and renovation; and i n addition there i s the subtle pleasure of f e e l i n g just a t r i f l e wicked i n reading her. The Decade, a small society that meets i n the members' rooms to debate a l l things past and new, takes also a large share of their time. Gradually i n the evening discussions of t h i s l i t t l e group Clough begins to reveal the power that h i s contemporaries were to remember for,the r e s t of t h e i r l i v e s . " 1 2 To-l l 12 Lowry, op.cit., pp. 22-24. Stanley, o p . c i t . t Y o l . I I , p. 106. Lowry, op.clt., pp. 20-21. 102 This i s the picture Professor Lowry has drawn of Matthew Arnold's early days at Oxford, and i t would be an impertinence to recast the description given by a man who has studied t h i s period so ms t i c u l o u s l y . Perhaps, indeed, Matthew f e l t something more than a t r i f l e wicked when he commenced reading George Sand. He might be sure h i s father would never approve the study of what the Quarterly unblushinly l a b e l l e d 13 the "semivir obscoenus of France". Perhaps i t was this very fact that had something to do with the gusto with which he applied himself to the study of George Sand's f r a i l and un-happy women, the struggle of the heart against the trammels of convention. Matthew Arnold developed the t r i c k of r e e l i n g o f f whole pages of "Indiana" from memory. The young man had apparently found an antidote to Dr. Arnold and Rugby. There were, indeed, many ways i n which Oxford was i n contrast to his old school. In point of morals alone, there were more serious things than the romanticizings of the tender-hearted George Sand. The police seized half a ton of pornographic pictures i n a single r a i d on an enterprising merchant of 14 Oxford. Matthew apparently escaped the worst temptations of Oxford, conversion to Aphrodite or Newman, and contented himself with keeping h i s thoughts l a r g e l y to himself and acquiring an outward sop h i s t i c a t i o n of manner. There was considerable writing of verse both on the part of Arnold and 1 3 The Quarterly Review, Vo l . 81, p. 533. 14 Young, G. M., Early V i c t o r i a n England 1850-1865, London, Oxford University Press, 1934, 2 vo l s . V o l . I I , p. 68. 103 Clough, but Matthew confined himself to nonsense d i t t i e s and the admiration of h i s fellow undergraduates was directed to 15 Clough, who was f e l t to be profound. The nonsense verse was only one symptom of a general ebullience i n Matthew's nature, a gaiety understandable i n a young soul liberated from the omnipresence of the great Dr. Arnold. A f t e r years of conscious morality, f r i v o l i t y had i t s charm. The youthful Arnold blossomed f o r t h i n v i v i d , breath-taking waistcoats, and the Fox How Magazine, the family journal, took cognizance of a new elegance of manner and an i n c i p i e n t superciliousness 16 towards the rest of his clan. There i s a remarkable l i t t l e sketch that Arthur Clough has l e f t us of Matthew Arnold at the height of h i s glory at Oxford. "Matt i s f u l l of Parisianism: Theatres in general, and Rachel i n s p e c i a l ; he enters the room with a chanson of Beranger's on his l i p s - for the sake of Erench words almost conscious of tune: his carriage shows him i n fancy parading the Rue de R i v o l i ; and his hair i s g u i l t l e s s of English s c i s s o r s : he breakfasts at 12, and never dines i n H a l l , and i n the week or 8 days rather (for 2 Sundays must be included) he has been to Chapel once." 17 In 1843, the young man condescended to apply his v e r s i f y i n g talents to serious matter, and took the Newdigate Prize with his "Cromwell". The poem i t s e l f i s unexceptional, written i n rhymed couplets. In i t s general movement i t has a f f i n i t y with Pope's Essay on Man and Wordsworth's Prelude -c h i e f l y with ¥/ordsworth. In content, the poem begins with echoes of the Wordsworthian sonnet "Two voices are there", Woods, M., Matthew Arnold, i n Essays and Studies by Members  of the English Association, Oxford: the Clarendon Press, 1929, Vol.XV, p. 10. T r i l l i n g , op.cit., p. 18. 1 7 Lowry, op.cit . , p. 25. 104 and ends with reminiscences of the Morte d'Arthur, At way-points one i s reminded of S i r Walter Scott and Lord Macaulay. The Lays of Ancient Rome had been published the previous year. In spite of the f l a s h of glory of having taken the Newdigate, Matthew's scholastic p o s i t i o n was precarious. In 1844 he decided upon a reading period i n the north with Glough. fjemesis, however, was close upon the heels of the young dandy. Tom Arnold had taken his " f i r s t " and, a l i t t l e l a t e r , Walrond took h i s , but i n the i n t e r v a l Matthew Arnold came out with only a"second". The word was flashed round to a dismayed c i r c l e . Up at Fox How, Mrs. Arnold took the news without too much anguish, and the aged Wordsworth extended h i s sym-pathy. Friends were approached and, despite his "disaster of November", Matthew, somewhat sobered by his experience, was 18 given a probationary fellowship at O r i e l . While the O r i e l appointment was being engineered, he v/as taken on at Rugby to teach c l a s s i c s and help the new head, T a i t , with the f i f t h form. Matthew, with a certain ingenuousness, seized the opportunity to exhibit himself i n h i s new character of man of the world. Apparently he found the Rugby atmosphere a t r i f l e oppressive, and took a malicious delight i n discon-ce r t i n g worthy souls who approached the son of Dr. Arnold with 19 hero-worship chastely sparkling i n t h e i r eyes. In the summer of 1846 Matthew Arnold was touring 1 8 Lowry, op.cit., pp. 29030. 19 Woods, op.cit., p. 9. 105 i n Europe, and made h i s famous v i s i t to George Sand, who l a t e r confided to Renan, that the impression he had made was 20 that of "un Milton jeune et voyagean*?. The O r i e l fellowship proved of as b r i e f a tenure as the Rugby mastership, being relinquished f o r a more congenial post i n 1847, when Matthew became secretary to the great Whig potentate, Lord Lansdowne. In t h i s p o s i t i o n , Arnold found himself i n the world of modish elegance, culture and wit for which he was a l l his l i f e to cherish a hankering. In 1848 our hero was once more touring on the Continent, t h i s time confiding to Clough: "Tomorrow I repass the Gemini and get to Thun; li n g e r one day at the Hotel Bellevue for the sake of the blue eyes of one of i t s inmates* and then proceed by slow stages down the Rhine...." 2 ^ Matthew had met Marguerite. The stage was set f o r the young man^ f i r s t p u blication of poetry. Letters, Vol. I I , p. 131. Lowry, op . c i t . . p. 91. Chapter Eight "The Strayed Reveller, and Other Poems" "I t i s one of the heaviest indictments against the c r i t i c i s m of the mid-nineteenth oentury that t h i s remark-able book - the most remarkable f i r s t book of verse that appeared between Tennyson's and Browning's i n the early t h i r t i e s and The Defence of Guenevere i n 1858 - seems to have attracted next to no attention at a l l . " - George Saintsbury 1 1 In 1849, Matthew Arnold made a tentative bid for poetic honours by publishing h i s f i r s t c o l l e c t i o n of verse, The Strayed Reveller, and Other Poems. Impelled by mis-givings or modesty, he withheld his name from his c h i l d , and the general public i f i t was aware of the volume at a l l , knew only that i t s author was a c e r t a i n "A". The poems were not received with any enthusiasm and after a couple of years Arnold withdrew them, together with a subsequent publication, from p u b l i c a t i o n . In point of t e c h n i c a l excellence, the 1849 poems need not have caused their author any qualms. Certain of the pieces were , no doubt, jejune, forced, self-conscious, but they were compensated for by such undoubted masterpieces as the Shakespeare sonnet and The Forsaken Merman. In matter of 1~ : ' ~~ Saintsbury, G., Matthew Arnold, Edinburgh, William Black-wood and Sons, 1902, pp. 21-22. 107 content, the poems were f a r from d e f i c i e n t . "Myoerinus", the Fragment of An 'Antigone*, Resignation grappled with real problems. True, the manner of the treatment may not always have been i n harmony with the ideals of Dr. Arnold and Rugby College, but they could not on that account be considered n e g l i g i b l e . Writing to Clough, i n the year when he published t h i s f i r s t c o l l e c t i o n of poems, Matthew Arnold said, "...there are two o f f i c e s of Poetry - one to add to one's store of thoughts and f e e l i n g - another to gompose and elevate the mind by a sustained tone, numerous al l u s i o n s , and a grand s t y l e . " 2 Judged by these c r i t e r i a , the poems of 1849 rank high; indeed few f i r s t publications of verse w i l l be found to sur-pass them. This i s not to elaim f o r them any uniform e x c e l l -ence. Indeed, a cert a i n unevenness of tone i s to be noted i n the poems we have here under study, and probably th e i r greatest defect i s an occasional break i n the "sustained tone", and an occasional failing-r-away from the "grand s t y l e " whioh Arnold had already begun to eulogize. This i s not surprising, for a constant f e e l i n g f o r what .is r i g h t i n tone i s probably the hardest requirement that can be made of a young poet. Energy, f e e l i n g , and power of expression he ma^ y have i n abundance, but only experience w i l l keep him from s l i p p i n g into the occasional contorted l i n e or s l i c k , c o l l o q u i a l phrase. Certainly t h i s statement appears to be true of Matthew Arnold. Consider, f o r instance, the roughness, s u f f i c i e n t to set one's teeth of edge, of the opening l i n e 2 Lowry, op.c l t . . p. 100. 108 of the famous Sophocles sonnet, -3 BWho prop, thou ask'st, i n these bad dajs, my mind?" Examine the unlicked shape of the whole of that muscle-bound creation To_ the Duke of Wellington, on Hearing Him Mispraised. Consider the melodramatic violence of the sonnet To An Independent Preacher* Note the clumsy repetitions i n the f i r s t sonnet To_ A Republican Friend: "God knows i t , I am with you, i f to prize Those v i r t u e s , p r i z ' d and practised by too few. But p r i z ' d , but lov'd, but eminent i n you...." 4 Consider, i n t h i s same sonnet, the let-down from the grand style of the sophomoric phrase, "The barren optimistic sophostries Of comfortable moles." 5 Consider also the t e r r i b l e anti-climax of the genteel subur-6 ban "Oh! your pardon" that s t a r t s o ff the second section of The New Sirens, and the sad taint given to Desire, a noble and highly conceived poem, by the passage, "Changing the pure emotion Of her high devotion To a skin-deep sense Of her own eloquence:" 7 But enough of such f a u l t - p i c k i n g . A l l that i s intended i s to est a b l i s h the fact that though Arnold i n his early poems often does achieve the grand s t y l e , giving us noble and memorable l i n e s , he i s s t i l l not e n t i r e l y capable of the "Sustained tone" he himself desired. 3 Arnold, M., The Poems of Matthew Arnold 1840-1867, London, Oxford Univ e r s i t y Press, (1937) p.40. 4 i b i d . , p.61. " 5 i b i d . , p. 61. 6 7 i b i d . , p. 67. i b i d . . p. 76. 109 It i s one of the glo r i e s o f being a young poet that one i s mightily impressed by one's own contemporaries and the great men of the preceding age who have not yet been toppled from t h e i r pedestals by the subtle saboteurs of a new school of c r i t i c i s m . I t i s one of the misfortunes that, i n one's admiration f o r them, the i r work, incompletely assimilated, re-appears disconcertingly i n one's own writings. It i s a truism that i t i s i n a man's ea r l y works that one most c l e a r l y distinguishes the influence of other w r i t e r s . A l l th i s holds true i n the oase of Matthew Arnold. No great l i t e r a r y perspicacity i s required to detect traces of the work of at le a s t three other poets i n the pieces of the '49 volume. F i r s t there i s Wordsworth, of whom we have abundant evidence; i n the worship of nature as a teacher, i n the opening sonnet; i n the condemnation of Reason fo r unravelling 8 "God's harmonious whole" (Written i n Butler *s Sermons); i n the echoes of parts of The Prelude i n The Hayswater Boat; i n the exaltation of childhood and the studied s i m p l i c i t y of d i c t i o n i n To A Gipsy C h i l d . The Gjtpsy Child was, of course, an early poem; Arnold himself l a b e l l e d i t "a very youthful production". Accordingly, though by 1849 he had turned against Byron, c a l l i n g him "that f u r i o u s l y g l a r i n g bethiefed rushlight, 9 the vulgar Byron", we can i n t h i s poem at least f i n d traces 8 Compare with Wordsworth's famous attack on "the fa l s e secondary sense by which we multiply d i s t i n c t i o n s . " q L wry, op.cit., p. 92. 110 of the manner of h i s e a r l i e r hero. What could be more Byronic than such l i n e s as, "Thy sorrow and thy calmness are thine own: 10 Glooms that enhance and g l o r i f y t h i s earth." Other influences show themselves i n other poems. That of Tennyson, the early Keatsian Tennyson, the Tennyson of Recollections of the Arabian Nights, i s found i n Myoerinus, e s p e c i a l l y i n the description of the f e a s t . "Here came the king, holding high feast, at morn, Ro se-crown 'cb; and ever, when the sun went down, A hundred lamps beam'd i n the t r a n q u i l gloom. From tree to tree, a l l through the twinkling grove, Revealing a l l the tumult of the feast, Flush's guests, and golden goblets, foam'd with wine; While the deep-burnish'd f o l i a g e overhead Splintered the s i l v e r arrows of the moon." Im-pure echoes of Keats are to be found i n the c l a s s i c a l sensuousness of The Strayed Reveller i t s e l f , and Saintsbury maintained he found the influence of Shelley i n The Voice, To Fausta. and Desire. Perhaps most i n t e r e s t i n g of a l l , i n any s e l e c t i o n of Arnold's derived l i n e s , would be a cert a i n excerpt from one o f the sonnets. Here we have pure Pope, an echo of the l i t e r a r y style admired by the dominies of Matthew's childhood. 12 "France^famed i n allggreat arts, i n none supreme." 2 It i s possible now to enter upon the penultimate stage of t h i s essay, to study the themes of Arnold's 1849 1 0 Poems, p. 77. 1 1 i b i d . , p. 39. 1 2 To A Republican Friend, Poems,p.62. I l l poems and h i s treatment of them, having i n mind the nature of h i s upbringing, and the thoughts h i s father had sought to indoctrinate i n him. It i s d i f f i c u l t to f i n d any very r i g i d basis of arrangement of the *49 poems, as they are presented to us. An opening sonnet i s followed by the more ambitious poems; then follows a s o l i d sequence of rather second-rate sonnets. The second halit of the volume consists of poems i n a d i v e r s i t y of forms which, with several exceptions, are devoted to the theme of passionate but frustrated love , and the feelings of general d i s i l l u s i o n which r e s u l t from the lover's f a i l u r e . Departing from Arnold's own arrangement of h i s poems, though not to the degree of completely r e s h u f f l i n g them, one may divide them into f i v e categories, according to subject matter. (1) Religious poems ( i i ) P h i l o s o p h i c a l poems ( i i i ) Poems treating of love (iv) Poems of p o l i t i c a l or s o c i a l implication (v) Poems treating of the poetic function. Let us now consider the poems aooording to t h i s somewhat draconic imposing of categories. Let us regard them not from any aesthetic view-point, but from that of int e r e s t i n the ideas they express, f o r t h i s essay has from the begin-ning been c h i e f l y devoted to the study of ideasj p a r t i c u l a r l y i n t h e i r transmission from father to son. 112 The r e l i g i o u s poems to which we now refer are not to be understood as " r e l i g i o u s " i n the sense of being mystic or metaphysical. The term i s applied merely to those poems which contain d e f i n i t e comment upon the existence or the nature of a god. When we bring together these poems, a wide f l u c t u a t i o n of view becomes apparent. Matthew Arnold at one 13 time observed to one of his s i s t e r s that he was " a l l pieces". Certainly t h i s estimate i s borne out by any a n a l y t i c a l study of the c o n f l i c t i n g attitudes and opinions of h i s early poems. In his opening sonnet, for instance, he prays that he may learn from_ Nature a course of calm though industrious l i f e . In a l a t e r one, To An Independent Preacher, he says with some vehemence, id "Manvamust begin, know t h i s , where Nature ends;" But to return to our theme, we have here, f i r s t , examples of completely orthodox C h r i s t i a n b e l i e f . This we f i n d particular-l y i n the sonnets - which appear, on the whole, to be early work. In the sonnet To George Cruikshank Esq> , for example, we have a d i s t i n c t i o n made between man's w i l l or intention and h i s Soul, which s i g n i f i c a n t l y i s c a p i t a l i z e d and thought of as a pure absolute. 1 3 Arnold, M., Letters, Yol.I, p. 51. ^ Poems, p. 61. This p a r t i c u l a r instance of s e l f - c o n t r a d i c t i o n has been well presented by Mr. Lionel T r i l l i n g . Vide Matthew  Arnold t p. 89. 113 "The Soul Breasts her own g r i e f s : and, urg'd too f i e r c e l y , says: *Why tremble? True, the nobleness of man May be by man effac'd: man can control To pain, to death, the bent of h i s own days. 15 Know thou the worst. So much, not more, he can.™ Completely orthodox, likewise, i s the sonnet Written In Butler's Sermons with i t s unqualified acceptance of the basis of the celebrated "Analogy"- b e l i e f i n "Godrs harmonious 16 whole". The in t e r e s t i n g point i n t h i s poem i s the repudia-t i o n of reason as a guide to understanding of the universe. The poem may well be an early one, in which event the influence of Newman may account for t h i s non-Arnoldian streak i n a s t i l l unbroken f a i t h ; or, as hassalreadynbeen suggested, the poem may represent a mutilated piece of Wordsworthianism. The sonnet, Tp_ An Independent Preacher, to which we have already made passing reference, i s orthodox i n i t s regard of man as being i n some sense a sp e c i a l creation. The statement that, 17 "Nature i s stubborn; man would f a i n adore" . 18 would seem to imply that man i s innately r e l i g i o u s . The force of this sonnet l i e s , of course, i n the strength of i t s Poems, p. 61. 1 ft Poems, p. 59. Arnold, l i k e h i s father, had a great respect for Bishop Butler; i n addition to the evidence of this aonnet i s the incidental t r i p u t e , paid much l a t e r , when he spoke_of "a weighty and noble s i m p l i c i t y worthy of Butler". Literature and joroia, p. 334. 1 7 Poems; p. 60. 18 Proof that Arnold held t h i s attitude at some tirae during his composition of the 1849 poems i s to be found i n a frag-mentary entry i n the Yale Manusoript Book, which dates back to Arnold's college days. Here the outline for a projected poem concludes "... the r e l i g i o u s longing never quenched." Tinker and Lowry, The Poetry of Matthew Arnold, London, The Oxford University Press, 1940, p. 12. 114 attack on natural r e l i g i o n , a thing repugnant to Dr. Arnold, whose prejudices i n a l l t h e i r vigour are transmitted i n t h i s poem. "For the Gospel i s always thoroughly hated by everyone that i s e v i l , because i t i s truth and r i g h t -eousness, and reproves the deeds of the wicked; nor i s there any better proof that what i s c a l l e d natural r e l i g i o n i s of an i n f i n i t e l y lower kind, than the pretended respect shown for i t by those who cannot bear the perfect p u r i t y of the law of God." 1 9 The implications of The Forsaken Merman are many, but not the le a s t of them i s t h i s : Margaret leaves her husband because of the Church. The Church i s , then, f o r the merman, a f r u s t r a t i n g power. I f we take the merman's Margaret, to be Matthew's Marguerite - the woman he loved i n Switzerland, but did not marry - and r e a l i z e that there i s a good chance that the Church of England attitude of h i s own family was the probable reason f o r h i s decision to leave her* we can see how, by an i n d i r e c t method, Matthew Arnold may be s h i f t i n g to God the onus f o r the f a i l u r e of his love a f f a i r . Certainly, i n h i s second c o l l e c t i o n of poems, the Empedocles volume of 1852, he develops the theme of a God h o s t i l e to love, "A God, a God th e i r severance r u l ' d And bade between t h e i r shores to be Q The unplumb'd, s a l t , estranging sea." Last of the " r e l i g i o u s " poems i s In Utrumque Paratus. This single poem, unrelated to any other i n the volume, f o r e -shadows the Dover Beach of l a t e r years. Matthew Arnold weighs 19 Arnold, T., Sermons. Series I, p. 155. 20 «To Marguerite, In Returning a Volume of the Letters of O r t i s " , Poems, p. 135. 115 the evidence for and against a divine scheme for the world, and find s that men may well he born i n a world, i t s e l f the creation of accident, where he himself i s without meaning. Indecision i s here the note, even as i n the sonnedt Written In Emerson* s Essays. There he sets f o r t h with the optimistic cry: "The seeds of godlike power are i n us s t i l l : Gods are we, Bards, Saints, Heroes, i f we w i l l . " But then comes the misgiving - a question/ 21 "Dumb judges, answer, truth or mockery?" To sum up, we may say the '49 poems reveal three discrete views of r e l i g i o n - one of orthodox C h r i s t i a n i t y , b e l i e f in the power and goodness of God - one a b e l i e f i n a strange, unreasonable, f r u s t r a t i n g Fate - and one a simple agnosticism. 4 The second d i v i s i o n we have made fo r the 1849 poems i s that devoted to those of philosophical content. Into t h i s we place those poems which deal with the problem of conduct during l i f e . The f i r s t poem here to be considered i s Myoerinus. Mycerinus, a young and i d e a l i s t i c king, learns that for no f a u l t of his own, but by the "stern sentence of the Powers of 22 Destiny", he i s allowed only six more years of l i f e . His 22 father, by contrast, had "lov*d i n j u s t i c e and l i v * d long". Poems, p. 70. 22 Poems, p. 37. The problem i s one which has confronted a l l r e l i g i o n s . Dr. Arnold took cognisance of Its existence when he observed that nothing was more calculated to undes-116 Seeing, then, that there i s no justice to he shown him, the king abandons his people and plunges i n t o a l i f e of r e v e l r y . "And one loud cry of g r i e f and of amaze Broke from his sorrowing people; so he spake: And turning, l e f t them there; and with b r i e f pause, G i r t with a throng of r e v e l l e r s , bent his way To the cool region of the groves he lov'd. There by the r i v e r banks he wander'd on, From palm-grove on to palm-grove, happy trees, Their smooth tops shining sunwards, and beneath Burying their unsunn'd stems i n grass and flowers: Where i n one dream the f e v e r i s h time of Youth Might fade i n slumber, and the feet of Joy 2 3 Might wander a l l day long and never t i r e : " The pleasures of sensualism are sought not f o r t h e i r -own sake so much as for a d i s t r a c t i o n from the contemplation of the i n j u s t i c e of the world. Arnold suggests, however, that t h i s d i s t r a c t i o n may not be so e a s i l y secured: "I t may be that sometimes hi s wondering soul From the loud j o y f u l laughter of his l i p s Might shrink h a l f s t a r t l e d , l i k e a g u i l t y man Who wrestles with his dream;.*." But there i s one sure source of comfort, and Arnold suggests that the young king may have been fortunate enough to f i n d i t : "It may be that on that joyless feast M s eye Dwelt v/ith mere outward seeming; he, within, Took measure of h i s soul, and knew i t s strength, And by that s i l e n t knowledge, day bydday, Was calmed, ennobled, comforted, s u s t a i n ' d . " 2 5 In any event, the king spends the rest of his days i n revelry and mdrth. Myoerinus i s an i n t e r e s t i n g poem. The solution put mine f a i t h than the spectacle of the long and glorious reign of Augustus Caesar. History of the Later Roman Commonwealth. Yol.II, p.291. 23 Poems., p. 39. 24 25 i b i d . . p. 39. i b i d . . p.39. 117 to the distracted king i s a l i f e of a c t i v i t y - not useful a c t i v i t y but pleasant, s e l f indulgent a c t i v i t y . The point to be grasped, however, i s t t h a t the cure proposed for the mental anguish at the i n j u s t i c e of h i s l o t i s loss of consciousness of h i s problem through plunging into a c t i v i t y . This, of course, was the cure Keble proposed for Dr. Arnold when he was a f f l i c t e d by doubts, and i t was probably the cure Dr. Arnold himself advised for his young men. It would be in t e r e s t i n g to have seen Dr. Arnold's response to the in t r i g u i n g thesis that a l i f e of debauchery affords the necessary a c t i v i t y to be a refuge from the problem of i n -explicable i n j u s t i c e . Matthew Arnold, however, even i n Mycerinus suggests that the l i f e of rev e l r y does not have the e f f e c t sought, that there i s a hunger of the soul which cannot be ignored. In a la t e r poem, The New Sirens, he resumes the problem of Myoerinus, t h i s time presenting a d e f i n i t e thesis that sensual joys do not bring e s s e n t i a l happiness. This poem Arnold himself was prepared to la b e l "a mumble" but, i n spite of i t s general obscurity, several points do emerge. Moreover, with the help of Arnold's own prose int e r p r e t a t i o n of the poem, i t i s not d i f f i c u l t to come to c e r t a i n conclusions. The Sirens are exponents of a sensualist philosophy -26 27 28 "Only, what we f e e l , we know." 26 Stanley, op.cit Lowry, op.cit.. •, Vol.1, p. 20. 27 p. 104. 28 Poems, p. 68. 118 The speaker r e a l i z e s that these "pale maidens" f i n d no r e a l content i n such joys as they o f f e r , having been at one time, l i k e himself, f i l l e d with idealism, "Watchers f o r a purer f i r e But you droop'd i n expectation And you wearied i n desire," 2 9 I t was t h i s disappointment that led them to snatch "an earthly i n s p i r a t i o n " . The r e a l point of the poem l i e s i n the close, i n the f o r t h r i g h t statement that happiness cannot be found 30 i n "earthbound devotion". The sensuous l i f e i s repudiated as consisting only of "Linking i n a mad succession „, F i t s of joy and f i t s of pain."' 5 The poem closes i n an atmosphere of weariness, t a i n t , and d i s i l l u s i o n . The speaker's attitude throughout i s , i n Arnold's 32 own words "conscientious regrets af t e r the s p i r i t u a l l i f e . " Confronted with inexplicable problems, man, says Matthew Arnold - by implication, i n Mycerinus, by d i r e c t statement i n The New Sirens - finds no rest or comfort i n sensuous pleasure. There i s a thwarted desire for something higher. The conditionings of Matthew Arnold's youth s t i l l have t h e i r e f f e c t , he retains an e t h i c a l bias. I t i s th i s s t i l l persistent b e l i e f i n man's higher aspirations that l i e s back of the poem variously e n t i t l e d Stagyrus or Desire. This poem i n i t s declaration of the hollowness of worldly delights, i n i t s desperate desire to reach something beyond, might be the work of a Catholic mystic, the meditations of a Newman. i b i d . , p. 70. Tinker and Lowry,op.Mt., p. 48. Poems, p. 70. 51 i b i d . , p. 71. 119 The form of the poem, the steady, ehant-like rhythm, the i n s i s t e n t r e p e t i t i o n s , make i t e s s e n t i a l l y a prayer. "Oh* set us fr e e . 0 l e t the f a l s e dream f l y Where our sick souls do l i e Tossing continually. 0 where thy voice doth come Let a l l doubts be dumb: Let a l l words be mild: A l l s t r i f e s be reco n c i l ' d : A l l pains beguil'd." 33-Yet though the poem appears a desperate affirmation of the existence of a Godf we cannot help f e e l i n g that the poet, i n h i s own he a i t ' s core, more than hal f suspects there i s noxsem-wWhen the Soul, growing clearer, Sees God no nearer: When the Soul, mounting higher. To God comes no n i g h e r . . . . 1 , 3 4 There i s no reason, then, to believe that Arnold found any r e l i g i o u s explanation for the strange workings of the world. His problem remains unchanged. He only knows that he cannot f i n d r e l i e f i n the l i f e of the senses - i t i s incredible that any son of Dr. Arnold ever should. What solution remains? There i s always that of a c t i v i t y that i s i s beneficient. Accordingly, we have the energist philosophy which inspires Arnold to praise the Duke of Wellington, eulogizing him as one who has .,.labour'd with the foremost, hast become Laborious, persevering, serious, f i r m . " 5 But, i f only by the accident of his c o n s t i t u t i o n , Matthew Arnold himself was unable to take the energetic attitude 33 Poems, p. 76 3 4 35 i b i d . , p. 75. i b i d . , p. 59. 120 which had stood his father i n such good stead, and which he himself admired i n Wellington. "Do not l e t us forsake one another," he wrote to Clough, i n 1848, "we have the common quality, now rare, of being unambitious, I think, 36 Some must be contented not to be at the top." We f i n d Matthew Arnold, at l a s t , unable to deny the presence of a problem of e v i l , and unable to disregard i t through emersion i n a c t i v i t y , s e l f i s h or beneficent, f i n a l l y tending to a passive dispassionate attitude towards l i f e , -accepting the present status of things, and seeking to excuse hi s own i f i e f f e c t u a l i t y by the development of a theory of Fate. With th i s mention of "Fate", we come to consideration of the predominant philosophical note of the 1849 poems, praise of the man who sees things as they are, and finds h i s strength i n c a r e f u l l y founded calmness of soul. This note i s sounded at the very f i r s t , i n the opening sonnet. Here the poet 37 37 disparages "Man's senseless uproar", and "our vain turmoil", 38 and extols the l i f e of " t o i l unsever'd from T r a n q u i l l i t y " . One f e e l s that, of the two, Arnold already values Tranquil-l i t y above T o i l . Mycerinus i s given the highest praise i f he can i s o l a t e himself completely from his world, and rest i n contemplation of h i s strength of s o u l . Sophocles i s praised as an "even-balanc'd soul" beyond the influence of external 39 things. The Fragment of An Antigone although i t gives praise to the man who has strength to hew h i s own way through l i f e , 36 Lowry, op . c i t . , p. 76. 37 38 39 Poems, p. 36. i b i d , p. 36 i b i d . , p. 40. 121 also praises the man who submits to Fate, seeking what comfort 40 he can from i n s t i t u t i o n a l l i f e and obedience to "primal law". The Sick King of Bokhara deals with the f o l l y of seeking s a t i s f a c t i o n of earthly desire when an overruling Law keeps even kings from complete happiness. Shakespeare i s praised fo r h i s s e l f - s u f f i c i e n c y * The key-note of the Emerson sonnet 41 i s "Strong i s the Soul, and wise and b e a u t i f u l . " The sonnet To_ An Independent Preacher presents man as "sick of blood", d e s i r i n g mildness and "safe conscience". Religious I s o l a t i o n preaches again the virtues of self-dependence -42 "Live by thy l i g h t , and Earth w i l l l i v e by hers." To Fausta regrets the departing of "the tr a n q u i l strength of men", finds l i t t l e good i n the world, and affirms "Our vaunted 43 l i f e i s one long funeral." In The World and the Quiet i s t , an important poem, there i s praise f o r the man that keeps aloof from the world and " i t s credulous z e a l " . Somewhat su p e r c i l i o u s l y , the poet smiles upon the labourer's f a l s e sense of omnipotence as he works his material. The Qu l e t i s t 44 i s presented as a momento mori. The powerful language here employed to state the sacred nature of family t i e s conforms with the Greek concept of family l o y a l t i e s . It also echoes Dr. Arnold's teaching that our f i r s t earthly r e s p o n s i b i l i t y i s to members of our own family. The Arnolds, as has been suggested e a r l i e r i n t h i s essay, were intensely clannish. 4 1 Poems. p. 60. AP i b i d . , p. 62. 4 3 i b i d . , p. 75. i b i d . , p. 84. 122 Resignation, the l a s t poem i n the 1849 volume, gives f i n a l and best expression to the Arnoldian philosophy. Here the poet i s presented as i s o l a t i n g himself, though not self-conseiously, from l i f e , seeing i t i n broad perspective: "Before him he sees L i f e u n r o l l , A p l a c i d and continuous whole: That general l i f e , which does not cease, Whose secret i s not joy, but peace;" 4 5 46 Fausta i s asked to admire her brother on the remarkable ground that he i s divorced from such unmeaning things as love and l i f e . Such i s the only deduction that can be made from the account of the poet -"Whose natural insight can discern What through experience others learn. Who needs not love and power to know Love transient, power an unreal show." 4 7 At the age, then, of twenty-seven, when h i s f i r s t poems appeared, Matthew Arnold had taken an attitude very d i f f e r e n t from what might have been expected from one who was s t i l l a young man. The e x i s t i n g order of things had been accepted and been given the sanction of a tremendous Fate. Love, power, the things men value and st r i v e f o r , were repudiated, and the sole good found i n an inner i n t e g r i t y of soul. If the outside world, h o s t i l e and overwhelming, had become d e i f i e d into a h o s t i l e Fate, the inner world of s e l f bad been given equally divine status as Soul. What had happened to turn the young man to so dismal and so b i t t e r a philosophy? Why had he, l i k e 48 his own Zeus, ended by preferring "Fate to h i s strong desire"? 45 ' ' ~"~ Boems, p. 91. 4 6 i b i d . , p. 92. 4 7 i b i d . , p. 92. 4 8 i b i d . , p.51. 183 5 For the answer to the question which has now been raised, we turn to a consideration of the t h i r d category of poems i n the 1849 volume, those dealing with the love theme. I t i s now generally accepted that these poems are, f o r the most part, founded upon actual experience, though to just what degree, i t i s impossible to say. The frequent reference to "Marguerite", the d e f i n i t e characterization of the lady, the s p e c i f i c a l l u s i o n s to Swiss topography, do allow us to i d e n t i f y Marguerite with the blue-eyed charmer who, so Matthew Arnold t o l d Clough i n 1847, drew him to the Hotel 49 Bellevue at Thun. Various hypotheses e x i s t concerning the i d e n t i t y of Marguerite, the most s p r i g h t l y and detailed being that of Hugh Kingsmill, who deduces, upon somewhat slender premises, that she was a governess or companion, of some experience of the world, whose s o c i a l p o s i t i o n caused Matthew 50 a c e r t a i n unhappiness. Such hypotheses are i n t e r e s t i n g ; but, now that i t i s known that the Thun hot e l - r e g i s t e r s have been destroyed, i t appears that we can hope fo r l i t t l e r e l i a b l e material concerning the i d e n t i t y or station of Marguerite. Let us then l i m i t ourselves to what we can deduce from the poems i n the 1849 volume. Probably the most revealing single poem i s that 49 Lowry, op.cit., p. 91. 50 Kingsmill, o p . c i t . . p. 75. 124 e n t i t l e d To My_ Friends. Here we are given a picture of Marguerite which bears every sign of having been drawn from l i f e : "Paint that l i l a c kerchief, bound Her soft face, her h a i r around: Tied under the archest chin Mockery ever ambush'd i n . Let the f l u t t e r i n g fringes streak A l l her pale, sweet-rounded cheek. Ere the parting hour go by, Quick, thy ta b l e t s , Memory*" 5 1 Various d e t a i l s are added to the picture, including - most s i g n i f i c a n t -"Tit.those eyes, so blue, so kind. -Eager t e l l - t a l e s of her mind." 5 2 The background of the poem i s curiously obscured. Apparently the speaker i s r e c a l l i n g h i s recent youth, his love f o r Marguerite, and her f e e l i n g for him. For some reason, never divulged, he f e e l s bound to leave her, obviously knowing he would never return. Marguerite almost won him from t h i s intention, but i n the end the parting v/as made: "Paint that figure's p l i a n t grace As she towards me lean'd her face, Half refus'd and halfi resign'd, Murmuring, 'Art thou s t i l l unkind?' Many a broken promise then Was new made - to break again." 5 3 As one reads, the question must r i s e "Why this parting?" And one cannot help r e c a l l i n g the epigram of a c e r t a i n other young Englishman, Gibbon, who went wooing i n Switzerland, and who summed up his parting, saying "I wept as a lover, but obeyed as a son." It may very well be that Arnold did surrender to 5 1 Poems. pi 64. 5 2 i b i d . , p. 64. 5 3 i b i d . , p. 64, 125 family prejudices, and leave his love because of her unsuit-a b i l i t y for the c i r c l e his father had created at Fox How. That, at any rate, i s the hypothesis of Mr. Kingsmill: "His spring of emotion, as I have shown was clogged at i t s souroe; and h i s love fbr Marguerite was not strong enough to force a passage for i t through the rubble of h i s father's moral and r e l i g i o u s t r a i n i n g . Hence the peculiar note of h i s melancholy, as of an e x i l e tamed by his captor, remembering with regret 54 but without r e b e l l i o n the land to which he once belonged." The note of the love poems i s , indeed, one o f f r u s t r a -t i o n rather than passion. Only one set of verses, A Modern  Sappho, a curious female counter-part to Locksley H a l l , possesses t h i s l a s t q u a l i t y . Even here there i s obvious f r u s t r a t i o n - the woman has l o s t her lover. The Forsaken  Merman.is, of course, the Marguerite story i n reverse, the woman leaving the man because of the sanctions of the church i n which she was bred. The theme of the poem i s , i n con-sequence, the n u l l i f i c a t i o n of love: "And alone dwell forever The kings of the sea." 5 5 The Voice i s a fine poem, whose mood i s well summed up i n Kingomill's phrase of "regret...without r e b e l l i o n " . The emptiness of l i f e without love i s described, with con-Kingsmill, o p . c i t . . p. 105. Mr* Kingsmill*s work i s one of the most carefree adventures i n c r i t i c i s m of recent years. A good deal of c a r e f u l research i s v i t i a t e d by the impulse to say anything that i s clever or sensational. Mr.Kingsmill admits (p.70) that his deductions about Marguerite are based e n t i r e l y on the i n t e r n a l evidence of his poems. On such scanty evidence he comes to the conclusion "she may have been a teacher of French l i v i n g i n apartments." p.74. Poems, p. 83 126 siderable pathos, and consolation i s found i n knowledge of endurance and inner i n t e g r i t y , which we have already found to he Arnold's refuge: "Those l u t e - l i k e tones which i n long distant years Did steal into mine ears: Blew such ,a t h r i l l i n g summons to my w i l l Yet could not shake i t : Drained a l l the l i f e my f u l l heart had to s p i l l : Yet could not break i t . " 5 6 The poem i s curious. There i s apparent regret, s e l f - p i t y , yet also an obvious s e l f congratulation upon his powers of endurance and su f f e r i n g . Arnold would appear to be approach-ing the unhealthy state of valuing renunciation for i t s own sake. Other poems reveal a new progression i n thought or rather i n r a t i o n a l i z a t i o n . Since love has been denied i n the interests of something else - something presumably external -Arnold attempts to disparage love as something i n I t s e l f uncertain, t r a n s i t o r y , i l l u s i o n a r y . Thus we f i n d pessimism such as that expressed i n To Fausta: "Love lends l i f e a l i t t l e grace, A few sad smiles; and then Both are l a i d i n one cold place, In the grave." 5 7 So we come to the ultimate phase, i n which the world i s viewed as h o s t i l e , over-powering, treacherous because i t has brought f r u s t r a t i o n to Arnold's love. Love i t s e l f remains deprecated, b e l i t t l e d , and deliberately spurned as a thing of small account. We come again to Desire with i t s intense bitterness, the f e e l i n g , as we have noted, of the medieval Catholic who 5 6 Poems, p. 73. 5 7 i b i d . , p. 74. 127 sees the world as e v i l . "From doubt, where a l l i s double: Where wise men are not strong: Where comfort turns to trouble: Where just men suffer wrong: Where sorrow treads on joy: Where sweet things soonest cloy: Where love i s half mistrust, Hungry, and barren, and sharp as the sea; Oh, set us f r e e . " 58 Two categories s t i l l await our examination - the poems of p o l i t i c a l or s o c i a l implication, and those t r e a t i n g of the function of the poet. Our treatment of these may be more cursory than that given to the other poems, f o r these are few i n number, and their themes, at thi s time, obviously held a secondary interest f o r Arnold. F i r s t l e t us consider the poems of p o l i t i c a l implication. In e f f e c t , t h i s means only the two sonnets addressed "To A Republican Friend" - 1848. The date i s s i g n i f i c a n t . I t i s the time of the continental upheavals and the spread of Chartism, These were the days when Moncton Milnes was expected to become president. These two sonnets were written during a period of acute p o l i t i c a l disturbance. When we consider that they are the work of a poet i n his twenties, i t i s hard to keep from impatience with the lassitude they r e v e a l . The f i r s t sonnet i'S an elaborate announcement of sympathy with the republican friend's i d e a l s ; i t pays a Rousseauitic-Wordsworthian regard to man's "fundamental l i f e " . The second poem i s a sad disclaimer of the p o s s i b i l i t y of speedy reform. The reason for refusing here to undertake any 58 Poems, p. 76. 128 task i s the same as inspired him to renounce e f f o r t i n love the presence of a h o s t i l e Fate: "Seeing t h i s Vale, t h i s Earth, whereon we dream, Is on a l l sides o'ershadow'd by the high TJno'erleaped Mountains of Necessity, 5 g Sparing us narrower margin than we deem." Matthew Arnold»s d i s s o c i a t i o n of himself from energetic reform sprang from an inherent pessimism. The world of men, to him, does resemble an i d i o t ' s t a l e , " f u l l of sound and fury, s i g n i f y i n g nothing". The post he reserves for himself, at l a s t , i s that of a s o c i a l c r i t i c who w i l l i n t e r -vene at times to point out to the labourer, caught up i n his a c t i v i t y , that the world i s not as sure or c e r t a i n a place as he would have i t . This i s the theme of The World and the  Quietist - and here again Arnold declines to come to grips with the Fate he believes to be arraigned against him: " C r i t i a s , long since, I know (For Fate decreed i t so,) Long since the World hath set i t s heart to l i v e , Eong since with credulous zeal It turns Li£'s mighty wheel; S t i l l doth f o r labourers send, Who s t i l l t h e i r labour give; And s t i l l expects an end." 6 0 These l i n e s might better have been written by a son of Schopenhauer than by a son of Dr. Arnold. A poet, i n publishing his f i r s t c o l l e c t i o n of verses, i s somewhat l i k e a young journeyman-worker producing h i s "masterpiece", seeking admission to a g u i l d , - i n the poet's case the select Parnassian guild of Poetry. In h i s f i r s t work he does, i n some sense, produce h i s credentials. Perhaps Poems, p. 62. i b i d . , p. 84. 129 i t i s because our poets have f e l t t h i s to be the case, that they have not infrequently f e l t c a l l e d upon to devote a set of verses or so declaring t h e i r own concept of the poetic function. A c l a s s i c example i s Tennyson, with h i s l i n e s "The poet i n a golden clime was born". In h i s 1849 c o l l e c t i o n , Matthew Arnold devoted two poems to developing his theory of what the poet should do and be. The f i r s t of these was the poem from which the volume took i t s name, "The Strayed Reveller". Here the young poet, Ampelus, the r e v e l l e r who has wandered to the palace of Circe, expounds the thesis that the poet must experience, v i c a r i o u s l y , every sight that i s to supply him with the substance of poetry. In fine passages, Ampelus t e l l s how the "wise bards" see a l l that the Gods see - the Centaurs and the Lajpithae, the Indian on the mountain lake, the Scythians on the steppes, the caravan r i s k i n g the Oxus crossing, the labours of the Argonauts or of the Ithicans who s a i l e d with Ulysses. But a price must be paid f o r this breadth of v i s i o n . "But oh, what labour! g , 0 Prince, what pain!" The reason f o r t h i s pain, of course, i s the complete i d e n t i t y of f e e l i n g which the poet must have with the persons and objects which are being described. "St... such a price The Gods exact f o r song; To become what we sing."62 Shades of Dr. Arnold and the morbid s e n s i t i v i t y he found i n 61 Poems, p. 46. i b i d . , p. 47 130 the cl o s i n g l i n e s of the Ode on Intimations of Immortality I In Resignation, the l a s t poem i n the '49 volume, Arnold elaborated upon the views he had set fo r t h i n the e a r l i e r poems The poet s t i l l r e t a i n s a p a r t i a l i d e n t i t y with those he describes, but now remains a l l the while at a remove from them: "He sees i n some great-historied land, A r u l e r of the people stand, Sees h i s strong thought i n f i e r y f l o o d R o l l through the heaving multitude; Exults; yet f o r no moment's space Envies the a l l regarded place." 6 3 The p a r t i c u l a r power of the poet l i e s j indeed, i n his con-stantly f e l t , but never acknowledged, detachment. This power gives him a breadth of v i s i o n that others, caught up in the business of l i f e , cannot have. "Before him he sees L i f e u n r o l l , A p l a c i d and continuous whole; That general L i f e , which does not cease, Whose secret i s not joy, but peace." ° 4 In the i n t e r v a l preceding Resignation, Arnold had entered into l i f e , suffered f a i l u r e as a student and as a lover, and swung into an attitude of iso l a t i o n i s m . Resignation i s at once a f i n e poem and a remarkable piece of r a t i o n a l i z i n g . Back of i t l i e s the eastern f a t a l i s m of the Bhagavad Gita 65 which at t h i s time had become so congenial to Arnold. Here the poet's retreat from the world that has beaten him i s made the sign of his super i o r i t y , - he need not be in the 63 64 Poems, p. 90 i b i d . , p. 91. 65 Tinker and Lowry, op.cit., p. 65, 131 world to judge of i t s f u t i l i t y . "Blame thou not therefore him, who dares Judge vain beforehand human cares. Whose natural insight can discern What through experience others l e a r n . Who needs not love and power to know Love transient, power an unreal show." Poems, p. 92. Chapter Nine Dr. Arnold and "The Strayed Re v e l l e r " "There seems to me to be a sort of atmosphere of unrest and paradox hanging around many of our ablest young men of the present day, which makes me very uneasy." 1 - Dr. Arnold Rugby Chapel, November, 1849. My dear Matt, I know no very simple terms with which to begin thi s l e t t e r . The thought of persons a c t u a l l y re turning from the grave i s one that mankind has often entertained, but before the awful r e a l i t y of which even the most pious may well be a f f r i g h t e d . Let me say then only, my dear son, that through the agency of a Power i n f i n i t e l y wiser than our poor worldly, or s t e l l a r , conceiving can imagine, I have been enabled i n some sense to v i s i t again the scenes of my earthly labours. I have again been charged with the very serious r e s p o n s i b i l i t i e s of a father, r e s p o n s i b i l i t i e s which, as you know, I have always regarded as among the most onerous a wise Deity could well entrust to our mortal strength. I am grieved at the f a i l u r e of your academic labours. Yet, since progress i n the Ch r i s t i a n L i f e , and a cheerful 1 Stanley, V o l . I I , p. 110. 133 acceptance of the tasks which God has set us within the scope of our natural powers, are of f a r more account than any mere achievements of the i n t e l l e c t , I would wish that your non-success i n the l a t t e r may count as nothing when compared with your resolve to succeed i n the former. I do not think you were well advised to take up teaching at Rugby. Possibly a desire to follow i n the path of your father inspired you, a desire, i n i t s e l f commendable, to become a worker i n the vineyard. I cannot too strongly represent to you, however, the sheer f o l l y and even wickedness of choosing one's f i e l d of endeavour by acquiescence with custom, rather than the positive promptings of one's own soul. Moreover, Matthew, the vocation of schoolmaster c a l l s f o r a l i v e l i n e s s of temperament which I cannot but be sensible you lack. I wish now to speak of your l i t e r a r y endeavours. Your verses at Rugby appeared to me to an energetic rather than a poetic mind, and I w i l l not conceal my surprise that you have persevered i n an a c t i v i t y which for most i s not more than an exercise and a pleasing d i s c i p l i n e during periods of youthful enthusiasm. Before you again venture to print your verses, I think you would do well to put to yourself, very seriously, t h i s question. "What good do I intend? What good can eventuate from the steps I now propose f o r myself?" Surely of a l l people the man of l e t t e r s i s he who must most often so question himself. To what end would he ask h i s neighbour's attention and his time? I f he cannot surely answer that i t i s f o r the furtherance of h i s moral excellence, 134 for the more speedy accomplishing of the Kingdom, f o r which we know hy the amplest warrant a l l our labours must be ever directed, i f he cannot affi r m that he does seek these ends, then he must surely admit himself culpable of the most grievous offenses. For not only i s he f r i t t e r i n g away his own l i f e , but he i s g u i l t y of the even graver charge of causing the waste of his neighbour's time, even i f he has not turned him into ways p o s i t i v e l y dangerous. When I think on a l l t h i s , Matthew, and look upon your book, the d i r e s t apprehensions come upon me. To what good end oan i t be said to operate? For here are doubts, and wild sayings, and Heaven knows what foolishness, though mingled, I must say, with passages that tend to compose and elevate the mind. Do not think, my son, that I am unmindful of that which i s good. Your poem Desire possesses a fervour and in t e n s i t y that do tribute to your parents and your upbringing. I only wish that I might speak with equal approbation of the entire c o l l e c t i o n * I wish to speak d i r e c t l y of the poems, because c e r t a i n of them appear to me to reveal an attitude which I f i n d most disturbing, and others appear so devoid of coherent meaning, or any reasonable i n d i c a t i o n of meaning, that I am at utter los s to account for them. The f i r s t poem i n the book may possess technical excellencies - of these I pretend to no q u a l i f i c a t i o n to judge. Many w i l l not doubt agree h e a r t i l y in your assessing of the confusion which attends our poor human endeavours, but 155 what s h a l l be said of the l a s t l i n e , that Nature's "labourers s h a l l not f a i l , when man i s gone"? On almost any basis t h i s sentiment must be reprehensible - there i s here no proper f e e l i n g for the dignity of Man, a thing of f a r greater account than the endurance of lesser forms of creation. The poem Myoerinus, to which I next allude, i s one that can have singu-l a r l y l i t t l e point f o r us today. For the heathen Herodotus, there was a pathos i n man abandoned by those fal s e gods, the w i l f u l creation of h i s heart. But what purpose could inspire you to present t h i s theme to the men of a Ch r i s t i a n country, who have mastered the stern hut profound truth that whom the Lord Loves he chastises? I read t h i s poem with a t e r r i b l e f e e l i n g of apprehension - i t seems as i f you p o s i t i v e l y sympathized with the sentiments of the l o s t pagan rather than p i t i e d him for his ignorance* To what f r i e n d , may I ask, do you address your sonnet To A Friend? To what creature must you make the i n f i n i t e l y degrading confession that i t i s to the unenlight-ened writers of a heathen age you turn for the support your mind craves? A true C h r i s t i a n , Matt, needs only one support, and i n that he never finds any strength wanting. I know you w i l l not be so sunk i n f o l l y that I w i l l need to name to you who He was that l e f t It to us. From the circumstance that you lend i t s t i t l e to the entire book, I assume you to attach a s p e c i a l importance to The Strayed Reveller. Why yen should do th i s , I cannot imagine. The poem i s without point or s i g n i f i c a n c e . We look 136 to i t i n vain for any message, or incitement to further exertion for goodness. Such poems as these are t r i f l e s , and I f i n d a morbidity i n the contemplation of physical d e l i g h t s . God f o r b i d that ever I should be father to a sensualist I Your Fragment of an Antigone i s a tribute to your s k i l l i n using the Grecian forms. Yet how much nobler, instead of infusing into i t the s p i r i t of ancient superstition, to have sought to inform the d u l l and complacent of our own age with t i d i n g s of the C h r i s t i a n method. Why, Matt, t h i s continual bowing before the great names of Greece, who, though they may inspire our wonder and i n t e r e s t , can never serve us as patterns for conduct? Not once i n your poems do I f i n d the name of Christ - what poems, Matthew, are these? Let me commend to. you the verses of that great and good man -unhappily long divorced from me i n thought but not i n f e e l i n g -John Keble. Think of the great good that such a volume as The C h r i s t i a n Year does i n a single generation. Ask how much your own can a t t a i n to i n a hundred generations* The Sick King o f Bokhara impresses me as a singul-a r l y vapid and purposeless set of verses, and p o s i t i v e l y harmful in that, i n a person of weak conscience, i t might even inspire doubts concerning the goodness of God's Providence. Your trib u t e to Shakespeare evokes my admiration - though, as you know, I have always a l i t t l e mistrusted him. In a l l h i s plays he does not present a single character wholly good. He does not show us a single saint* Your sonnet To The  Duke of Wellington i s a strange mixture of sense and f o l l y . 137 How f u l l y one must concur with your reprobation of the "feeble sons of pleasure". Yet, when one r e c a l l s how I have in the past, not once but repeatedly, shown you that behind every happening i n man's history, however seemingly i n s i g n i f i c a n t , l i e s the Providence of God, informing and guiding i t ; when one remembers t h i s , what s h a l l be said of a man who, so instructed, can see only "the f r e t f u l foam Of vehement actions without scope or term, Galled History,"? I think you are incredibly w i l f u l to write thus. The poem Written i n Butler's Sermons allows me to believe that you have not e n t i r e l y forgotten the precepts by which you were brought up. That, Matt, i s a f i n e poem. Would that a l l your writings were even as i t ! What joy then to a father to perceive his son continually teaching the greatness and glory of the C h r i s t i a n Universe. Your three following poems, on Emerson, to an "Independent Preacher", and to Cruikshanks, appear to me to show a f e e l i n g of pessimism which i t i s your duty to f i g h t against* Your pride i n strength of w i l l i s manly, yet may Head you f a r from that humility inhich has been enjoined upon us. Let me warn you against the sin of pride, by which f e l l L u c i f e r , and the awful e f f e c t s of which are so clear to us to-day i n the i n j u s t i c e s the proud and wealthy of our own country impose upon those artisans add navigators God has suffered to be under them. Your sonnets to a Republican fr i e n d are wise and considered, though be-traying what I can only c a l l a t i m i d i t y of s p i r i t . Beware of 138 conservatism, which ever r e s i s t s change through purely nega-ti v e hate of change, and sinks into the repressions of chivalry* I am glad to be able to approve of your design i n writing "Religious I s o l a t i o n " , but could wish you had con-sidered i t well before writing the f i r s t poem i n your book. Tp_ My_ Friends shows a manly s p i r i t i n not being ashamed of a tender leave-taking when the heart was sincerely engaged. We must never l e t the thought of others misunderstanding us keep us from the proper expression of those feelings we know to be r i g h t and honest. I cannot say, Matthew, how much i t i s a source of regret to me that I could not l i v e to give you the advantages of my counsel when you came to the most important decidions a man i s ever c a l l e d upon to make. You may, however, consult with your dear mother, knowing well that one acceptable to her would never lack my approbation. The Greeks I have always f e l t to be very wise i n keeping from presentation, on the stage of women i n love; ahd your l i n e s A Modern Sappho I f i n d morbid, vulgar, and revealing a sensuality which I must regard ?/ith loathing. I was a f r a i d something of t h i s sort would happen when you began reading G. Sand. The Mew Sirens i s stranger- gibberish. After the years I have spent i n teaching the necessity, i n a l l writing, of being understood, I am at complete loss to explain what made you produce t h i s mass of incomprehensibilities You appear, however, to condemn the Sirens, and of t h i s I approve. I read with great concern your l i n e s The Voice and 139 To Fausta. Surely one of tne greatest sorrows that a man oan well endure i s f r u s t r a t i o n of the tender passion of the heart. And yet how fond a thing i t i s , by any account, to dwell upon thoughts of what i s l o s t irrevocably! And how wicked to make any human being, to whatever degree beloved, the centre of one's interest and f e e l i n g , devoting to a mortal being l i k e ourselves those thoughts and emotions which properly can be turned only toward our Creator, I f e e l that you are grievously at f a u l t here, Matthew, and you have suffered the punishment always exacted i n such cases; f o r , for g e t t i n g God i n the abandon of your fe e l i n g s , you see the world f o r l o r n and ugly, as i t must always appear to those who f o r any reason turn from Him, Your l i n e s To A GJpsy C h i l d I read with the greatest apprehension. They are so completely unchristian ^ t h e i r author seems to have no notion at a l l of the comforts of f a i t h . I have been aware that c e r t a i n bad men of great talents have, i n the past, whipped themselves into a frenzy at the unredeemed wrong t h e i r own badness makes them see i n the world; but, Matthew, th&s i s the Devil's gospel that you are preach-ing and i t alone undoes any good that other portions of your book might have accomplished. "The Hayswater Boat" I pass by as a s l i g h t thing, not meriting comment - though I wish you had learned Wordsworth's wisdom as well as hi® manner. The Forsaken Merman i s a pleasing and pathetic story, but even here I f i n d you p e r s i s t i n g i n placing your sympathy with a person who, however he may evoke our regrets at a union 140 e s s e n t i a l l y unnatural, s t i l l l i e s outside the pale of human rel a t i o n s h i p . You would have done well to dwell rather upon the goodness and unselfishness of the woman who, at what cost to h e r s e l f , returned to her duty of praising and magnify-ing God. The World and the Quietist represents an attitude I f i n d hard to understand. I f you have intended to represent a l l our human labours as f u t i l e , I can only hope that God i n His wisdom w i l l take p i t y upon you, for once admit that and L i f e i t s e l f becomes a thing of no account at a l l , not more than a chil d ' s plaything. The mere animal joys of exertion can never survive when once that f e e l i n g has entered the heart to paralyze the w i l l . In Utrumque Paratus I have read with close attention. It seems to me to reveal the r e a l f a u l t i n your character. In spite of some wild things you say i n various poems, I do not, Matt, think you are a bad man or even a w i l f u l man, but I do believe you have a flaw which has already been the cause of your straying f a r from the goal a l l C h r i s t i a n men must set for themselves. I r e f e r to your indecision, a t r a i t which I found i n you as a boy, but which I had trusted would disappear i n the strength of manhood. In t h i s poem you a f f i r m that either God created the world or He did not - but you proceed to no decision. How f o o l i s h must t h i s appear to any considerate person! What l i f e could pass without decision on t h i s matttr, the most fundamental, nay the only t r u l y fundamental one i n a l l our l i v e s . Think of the l i s t l e s s n e s s , the sorrow, the unending 141 questionings of a l i f e so spent I No, choose one must. Only a character e n t i r e l y devoid of courage and energy could f a i l to do so. Look at your book again, Matthew. On every page I f i n d written, "This man cannot decide!" Is that a book which i t i s well to put i n the hands of your fellow men? Your l a s t poem you e n t i t l e Resignation. How dismal a word that sounds! In that word you give the best the un-r e l i g i o u s man can look f o r . Need I say that t h i s poem, too, f i l l s me with misgivings which reach to the depths of my being. Some l i n e s are - I tremble to use the word - blasphemous: the heathen crouchings before a r u l i n g Fate, the s e r v i l e thought that death "wipes out man" instead of t r a n s l a t i n g him to f i e l d s of greater glory. Here, again, I f i n d the s i n of pride, against which I have already warned you. Your praises of the poet are inordinate, i l l - c o n s i d e r e d , showing a pride i n wrong-headedness which I w i l l never condone. You praise the poet f o r h i s being apart from h i s fellows. How f a r astray you go there, i n the blindness of your pride! What reproaches may we not f i t t i n g l y employ against the man who sets himself aside from his fellow-men, beings of the same forms, vision?, hopes and fears as himself, with whom the Almighty has intended he should labour to bring about the Kingdom of God on earth? What s h a l l we say of the man of natural parts, he who of a l l others i s c a l l e d to be leader, but refuses the r e s p o n s i b i l i t i e s that God has set him? Of such a man, may we not properly say, "Let him perish i n h i s pride! Let h i s name be blotted out from the r o l l s of the l i v i n g ! Let h i s very 142 place of habitation melt from the face of the world he rejected." Matt, you have strayed f a r , along ways that are dangerous to the s p i r i t . Learn humility and seek thy God. Write no more poems u n t i l you have approved yourself worthy to be a teacher. You need not mention t h i s l e t t e r to your mother, i t would only cause her needless a g i t a t i o n . Your loving father, Thomas Arnold. 143 Appendix I Dr. Arnold preaches on Death Let us then place before our minds for a l i t t l e while a picture of that state to which we must a l l come, and from which we know not how short a time may yet separate us. Probably some of those who now hear me have never seen any one a f t e r death, nor ever witnessed the changes which take place before i t . These l a s t , indeed, must i n many respects be often very d i f f e r e n t ; yet there are some circumstances s u f f i c i e n t l y common to be considered as part of that state which we must a l l one day experience. We must expect to f i n d our minds greatly altered; sometimes, indeed, by absolute delirium, but oftener by the weakness and restlessness atten-dant on disease. The mere confinement to a sick-room, and the sights of gloom and g r i e f by which we are surrounded when our condition becomes hopeless, are enough, when acting upon a weakened body, to u n f i t the mind f o r the calm and free exercise of i t s f a c u l t i e s . Repentance under such circumstances i s almost impossible; we may be frightened, confused, over-powered, with a multitude of various f e e l i n g s , but we are not enough masters of ourselves to gain then a true hatred of s i n , or to be able to form deliberate resolutions of turning to God i n s i n c e r e i t y and earnestness. Our prayers are the mere' prayers of fear, and are therefore of no value; as the time i s past when fear might have been the beginning 144 of wisdom.. Many times also we are altogether insensible before our death, or sensible only to the gradual sinking of the powers of l i f e within us. What i s f e l t i n the very l a s t struggle indeed, we cannot know t i l l we f e e l i t ; but, i f any consciousness s t i l l remains i n us, i t must then demand a l l the f a i t h of the firmest C h r i s t i a n not to shrink at the thought of being torn f o r ever from a l l that he has seen or known; and entering at once upon a new world of which no human experience can t e l l him anything. His body he knows w i l l be put into the ground, and changed into dust; and he cannot fancy any l i f e without the body. Sermons, Series I, pp. 92-93. Language Time CLASSICAL DIVISION S c r i p t u r a l Instruction,etc Sophocles* P h i l o c t . Aeschyl. Eumenid. St. John i n Greek Testament Upper Homer's I l i a d I,II Deuteronomy and E p i s t l e of Remove V i r g i l ' s AenilV,V St. Peter Parts of Horace" Selections from the Psalms. Odes I, I I , I I I Parts of Cicero's E p i s t l e s Aeschyl.Sept contra Theb Sopho c1.Ae d.Tyr. Lower Homer's I l i a d III,IV. FIFTH V i r g i l ' s Aen.VI,VII Extracts from Cicero's E p i s t l e s -Parts o f Horace St. John E s p i s t l e s to Timothy and T T i t u s Bible History from I Kings to Nehemiah, i n c l u s i v e Aeschyl.Agamemnon Homer's I l i a d V,VI FIFTH Odyssey, IX FORM Demosthenes* Leptines i n Aphobum,I. V i r g i l ' s Aen., VIII Parts of Horace Cicero i n Verrem E p i s t l e s to the Corinthians Paley's Horae Paulinae Various parts of V i r g i l and Homer Some one or more of the Greek tragedies One or more of the p r i v a t e Orations of Demosthenes. Cicero against Verres. Part of Aristotle's Ethics. One of the Prophets i n the Septuagint Version D i f f e r e n t parts of the New Testament. This table taken from Dr. Arnold's a r t i c l e "Rugby School" - Quarterly Journal of Education ( v o l . v i i , 1834) - as reprinted i n Whitridge as an insert between pp.112-113. 145 Appendix II, History Time MATHEMATICAL DIVISION FRENCH DIVISION Parts of A r r i a n Parts of Paterculus Book I I S i r J . Macintosh's England. Equation of payments, Discounts Simple equations. E u c l i d , Book I from XV to end. Translations from English into French La Fontaine's Fables Parts of Ar±ian Herodotus I I I , 1,38, 61, 67, 88, 116. Livy, Parts of I I & I I I . Hallam's Middle Ages, France, Spain, Kreeks, and Saracens. Physical & P o l i t i c a l Geography of a l l Europe Exchange, A l l i g a t i o n , Simple Equations with two unknown quantities and Problems. E u c l i d , Book I I I . Syntax and Idioms A Play of Moliere, to construe and then turn again from English into French. Parts of Herodotus and Thucydides Parts of Livy Hallam's Middle Ages State of Society Quadratic Equations, Trigonometry E u c l i d to the end of Book VI. Pensees de Pascal Translations from English into French Parts of Thpoydides and A r r i a n Parts of Tacitus Parts of Russell's Modern Europe E u c l i d I I I - VI Simple & Quadratic Equations, Plane Trigonometry, Conic Sections. Parts of Guinot's H i s t o i r e de l a Revolut. de 1'Angle-1 t e r r e , and Mignet's H i s t o i r e de l a i Revolute Franc* French - Wednesday only. Mathematics - Saturday only German l a t e r added. 146 Appendix I I I L i t e r a r y C r i t i c i s m i n a Rugby Text-Book (a) "No poet of our time can j u s t l y be pronounced equal to Pope. The c r i t i c who undervalued that admired author was himself a writer of pleasing verse, but did not ascend the heights of Parnassus: I mean Dr. Joseph Warton. His brother, the h i s t o r i a n of poetry, was a respectable and laureated bard. Cowper*s Task displays an i n t e r e s t i n g s i m p l i c i t y , not always destitute of strength. His biographer Hayley has produced both vapid verse and vigorous poetry. The effusions of Burns are natural and impressive, and make t h e i r way to the heart. Bloomfield, the untaught bard, treads f i r m l y i n the steps of Goldsmith. Southey's Joan of Arc r e f l e c t s credit on his genius; and the veteran Cumberland has not disgraced himself or the nation by the sacred poem of Calvary." 1 (b) "The n o v e l i s t s who succeeded Richardson produced few works of merit, before Miss Burney (now madame d'Arblay) arose, whose novels, without the coarseness of Fi e l d i n g or the cir c u m s t a n t i a l i t y of the author of Grandison, are both amusing and i n t e r e s t i n g . Charlotte Smith wrote with elegance and feeLing. The productions of Mrs. R a d c l i f f e are romantic without extravagance, and display an elevation of character and sentiment. Human nature i s well depicted by Dr. Moore, whose novels of Zeluco and Edward may be read with i n t e r e s t , while hi s views of society and manners i n d i f f e r e n t countries amuse and i n s t r u c t by a display of r e a l l i f e . The progress and agitations of love are not i l l represented by Miss Lee and her s i s t e r ; and Mrs. West combines sound morality with pleasing narration." 2 1 William Russel, The History of Modern Europe. i n a series of Letters from a Nobleman to his Son, a new e d i t i o n with a continuation terminating at the establishment of the Austrian power i n I t a l y , i n 1821, London, F.C. and J . Rivington etc., 1822, 7 vols. Vol.VI, p. 592. 2 i b i d . , Vol.VI, p. 594. 147 Bibliography Primary Sources Arnold, Matthew, Essays i n Criticism., London, Macmillan and Go. Limited, 1921. Essays by Matthew Arnold, Humphrey Milf o r d , Oxford University Press, 1914. A French Eton Or Middle-Class Education  and the State to which i s added Schools  and U n i v e r s i t i e s i n France, London, Macmillan and Co., 1892. God and the Bible, London, Smith Elder & Co., 1897. I r i s h Essays and Others, London, Smith Elder & Co., 1891. Letters of Matthew Arnold, c o l l e c t e d and arranged by George W. E. Russell, 2 vols., London, Macmillan and Co., 1895. The Letters of Matthew Arnold to Arthur  Hugh Clough. Howard Foster Lowry ed., London and New York, Oxford University Press, 1952. Literature and Dogma, Londonj Thomas Nelson & Sons (no date). Mixed Essays. London, Smith, Elder & Co., 1879. Matthew Arnold's Notebooks. London, Smith,Elder & CO., 1902. On the Study of C e l t i c Literature and  other Essays, New York, E. P. Dutton, 1910. The Poems of Matthew Arnold. London, Oxford University Press, Humphrey M i l f o r d , 1937. 148 Arnold, Matthew, St. Paul and Protestantism, with other essays, London, Smith, Elder & Co., 1906. Unpublished Letters of Matthew Arnoldj Arnold Whitridge, ed., New Haven, Yale University Press, MDCCCCXXIII. Arnold, Thomas, History of the Later Roman Commonwealth, 2 vols., London, B. Fellowes, F. & I. Rivington, E. Hodgson, G. Lawford, J.M.Richardson, J . Bain and S. Hodgson, 1845. History o f Rome, London, B. Fellowes and others, Vols. I & I I , 1840; Vol.Ill,1843. The Second Punic War, William T. Arnold, ed., London, Macmillan and Co., 1886. Sermons, F i r s t Series: Second Series, New Ed i t i o n , London, Reeves & Turner, 1874. Arnold, Thomas, ed., The History of the Peleponnesian War, by Thucydides, Third Ed., 3 vols., Oxford, John Henry Parker, MDCCCXLVII. Secondary Sources Adamson, J . , Bradby, G. F., Burke, Edmund, Butler, Bishop, Butler, Samuel, A Short History of Education, Cambridge University Press, 1922. n The Brontes and Other Essays, London, Oxford University Press, 1952. The Works of the Right Honourable Edmund  Burke, 8 volumes, London, F. and C. Rivington, 1803. ("Reflections on the Revolution i n France" and on the Pro-ceedings of c e r t a i n Societies in London Relative to that Event", i n Vol.V of Works.) The Analogy of R e l i g i o n Natural & Revealed London, J . M. Dent & Co., 1906. Erewhon'> or Over the Range, London, Jonathan Cape, (Travellers' Library),1926. 149 Butler, Samuel, The Cambridge History Campbell, The Rev. R. Church, R. W., Clough, A. H., E l i o t , T. S., F i t c h , S i r Joshua, Ore v i l l e , Charles C F . Guedalla, P h i l i p , Halevy, E l i e , The Way, of A l l Flesh. New York, Grossett & Dunlap (no date). of English Literature, ed. by S i r . A. W. Ward and A. R. Waller, Volume XIII, The Nineteenth Century I I , Cambridge, The University Press, 1932. J,D.D., Thomas Arnold. Macmillan and Co. Limited, London, 1927. (Great English Churchmen Series) The Oxford Movement, Twelve years 1853- 1845. London, Macmillan and Co., 1891. Poems of Arthur Hugh Clough, London, Macmillan and Co., Limited, 1909. Selected Essays 1917-1952. London, Faber & Faber, 1932. Thomas and Matthew Arnold and t h e i r  influence on English Education. New York, Charles Soribner's Sons, 1899. , A Journal of the Reigns of King George  IV, King William IV, and Queen V i c t o r i a . 8 vols., Longmans, Green, and Co., London, 1896. Bonnet and Shawl, London, Hodder and Stoughton (1930). A History of the English People,(1815- 1830). London, T. Fisher Unwin Ltd., 1926. Hughes, Thomas, Kingsmill, Hugh, Marriott, J.A.R., Massingham, Harold, A History of the English People (1830- 1841), translated by E. I. Watkin, London, T. Fisher Unwin Ltd., 1927. Tom Brown's School Days. New York, The American News Co. (no date). Matthew Arnold, New York, Lincoln MaoVeagh, The D i a l Press, 1928. England Since Waterloo, London, Methuen & Co.,Ltd., 1913. The Great V i c t o r i a n s . London, Nicholson & Watson, 1932. 150 Meek, Theophile James, Morley, J . , Newman, John Henry, Ormond, T. S., Paul, Herbert, P u r c e l l , Edmund S., Russell, G.W.E., Russell, William, Saintsbury, George, S e l l s , I r i s Esther, Sherman, Stuart P., Stanley, Arthur P., Stephen, L e s l i e , Strachey, Lytton, Hebrew Origins, the Haskell Lectures f o r 1953-34, New York, Harper & Brothers, 1936. The L i f e of Richard Cobden, London, Chapman and H a l l , 2 vols., 1881. Apologia Pro V i t a Sua, London, Long-mans, Green, and Co., 1890. Arnold and Homer, (Essays and Studies by members of the English Association), Oxford, The Clarendon Press, 1912. Matthew Arnold, New York, The Macmillan Co., 1907. L i f e of Cardinal Manning, Archbishop  of Westminster, 2 vols., London, Maomillan and Co., Ltd., 1896. Matthew Arnold, New York, Charles Scribner's Sons, 1904. The History of Modern Europe, London, P. C. and J . Rivington and others..., 1822. The History of Modern Europe, 7 vols., London, P. C. & J . Rivington, etc., 1822. Matthew Arnold, Edinburgh and London, William Blackwood & Sons, 1902. Matthew Arnold and France, Cambridge, The U n i v e r s i t y Press, 1935. Matthew Arnold, How to Know Him, Indianapolis, The Bobbs-Menill Company, 1917. The L i f e and Correspondence of Thomas  Arnold D.D.,2 vols., London, John Murray, 1881. Studies of a Biographer, 4 vols., London, Duckworth & Co., 1898. Eminent V i c t o r i a n s , Garden C i t y , N.Y., Garden City Publishing Co. (no date). 151 Strauss, Dr. David P., Trevelyan, Janet P., T r i l l i n g , L i o n e l , Ward, W i l f r i d , T r o t t e r , Captain L. J . Whitridge, Arnold, The L i f e of Jesus c r i t i c a l l y examined, trans, by George E l i o t , London, George A l l a n & Co. Ltd., 1913. The L i f e of Mrs. Humphry Ward, New York, Dodd Mead and Company, 1923. Matthew Arnold, New York, W.W.Norton & Co., 1939. The L i f e of John -Henry Cardinal  Newman, (2 vols, i n one), London, LongmansGreen and Co. Ltd., 1927. The L i f e of Hodson of Hodson's HOT se, London, J.M.Dent & Sons (Everyman's L i b r a r y ) , (no date). Dr. Arnold of Rugby, New York, Henry Hold & Co., 1928. Wingfield-Stratford, Esme, The V i c t o r i a n Sunset, London, George Routledge & Sons, 1932. Woods, Margaret, Young, C. M. (ed.), The V i c t o r i a n Tragedy, London, George Routledge & Sons,Ltd., 1930. Matthew Arnold, (Essays and Studies by Members of the English Association Vol.XV), Oxford, The Clarendon Press, 1929. Early V i c t o r i a n England, London, Oxford University Press, 1934. P e r i o d i c a l s The Annual Register or a view of the History, P o l i t i c s and Lite r a t u r e of the year 1833, London, Baldwin and Cradock, J . G. and P. Rivington, 1834. The Athenaeum.London. 1844, 1-2, Dec.21st, 1844, pp.1168-1170; Dec. 28th, 1844, pp.1194-1195. Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, William Blackwood & Sons, Edinburgh & London. Vol.LVII, Jan. - June, 1845. 152 The Edinburgh Review or C r i t i c a l Journal, Oct.1821 Oct.1848, Vol.XXXVI - Vol. LXXXVIII. Edinburgh, Archibald Constable & Company, Edinburgh; and Longman, Hurst, Rees, Orme and Brown, London; Longman, Brown, Green,and Longmans, London; and Adam and Charles Black, Edinburgh. The Edinburgh Review or C r i t i c a l Journal, for January, 1845 -A p r i l , 1845. Vol.LXXXI, Edinburgh: printed by Ballantyne and Hughes, for iongman, Brown, Green, & Longmans, London; and Adam and Charles Black, Edinburgh. 1845. Macmillan 1s Magazine, edited by David Masson, Vol. VII, November 1862-April 1863. Macmillan and Co., Cambridge and London, 1863. The Quarterly Review. Vol.XXVI (October & January 1821-22) Vol. LXXXIII (June & September 1848), London, John Murray, 1822-48. The Quarterly Review, Vol.LXXIV, published i n June and October, 1844; London, John Murray, 1844. 

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