One might say that Clare is almost by virtue of that label alone a political poet. “Peasant poet” is a contradiction in terms from the perspective of English literary history, or of the longer history of the literary pastoral. The phrase must refer to two different social locations, and as such makes social place an explicit, problematic concern for the middle-class readers of that poet’s work. To Clare’s publisher and patrons in the 1820s, as to his editors in the 1980s, (...) the language, the forms, the sentiments, and even the punctuation of his poetry are further markers of class difference for an audience invited to read him as a peasant poet. In recent collections concerned to recover the politics of English poetry these signs of difference are highly valued.2 They seem to mark Clare’s work as what Fredric Jameson terms “strong” political art, that is, “authentic cultural creation … dependent for its existence on authentic collective life, on the vitality of the ‘organic’ social group.”3At the time his poems were published class difference in English rural life was a political issue sufficiently charged to make publisher and patrons wish to minimize its marks in Clare’s poetry. On the one hand, a clearly understood hierarchy was the form of social stability that rural scenes staged for their urban middle-class audiences. Evidence of class difference confirmed the survival of this hierarchy and the reader’s position in it. Clare’s poetry of place affirmed a system of social as well as geographical differences felt as a traditional—and essential—aspect of English national identity. On the other hand, however, the countryside was precisely where the erosion of the hierarchical relations of deference and responsibility was particularly noticeable, and disturbing, in the years after 1815. Sporadic outbreaks of protest against low wages and unemployment in 1816, 1822, and 1830 realized dramatically for the middle and upper classes what one might call a rural version of the process Marx was later to term alienation: the known and familiar inhabitants of the rural scene—laborers, village artisans—were suddenly made strange to their middle- and upper-class neighbors, so much so that many observers were convinced that they must be strangers, intruders from another pace .4 The elements of difference, or strangeness, in Clare’s poetry—the marks of his identity as rural laborer—thus also risked awaking specific anxieties among his early readers. Clare’s editor and publisher, John Taylor, punctuated, regularized meter, and replaced some of Clare’s unfamiliar local vocabulary. Nonetheless, his two most important early patrons, the evangelical aristocrat Lord Radstock and the middle-class Mrs. Emmerson, objected to some lines as “radical slang” and others as “vulgar.” The language of class risked rejection as politically subversive. Especially in an already politicized rural scene, the peasant poet could not be a neutral figure. 2. Both A Book of English Pastoral Verse, ed. John Barrell and John Bull and The Faber Book of Political Verse, ed. Tom Paulin restore Clare’s original orthography and lack of punctuation to support the label “peasant poet.”3. Fredric Jameson, “Reification and Utopia in Mass Culture,” Social Text 1 : 140. Elizabeth Helsinger is associate professor of English and general studies at the University of Chicago and a coeditor of Critical Inquiry. Her Ruskin and the Art of the Beholder was published in 1982. The present essay is part of a book in progress on representations of the rural scene in Victorian England. (shrink)

John Constable is one of England’s best-known landscape painters and greatest artists. While few will object to this statement, what it means will depend on when it was made. In the 150 years since his death in 1837, the terms of Constable’s greatness have shifted several times. In the nineteenth century his scenes of the Stour Valley in Suffolk were valued as images of a particularly English countryside: the placid river with its locks and barges, great overhanging trees, and distant (...) green water-meadows beneath massive cloudy skies. In this century, though the popular conviction of his Englishness persists, Constable is better known as “The Natural Painter.”1 As modernism rewrote the history of art, Constable was rediscovered as the man who excited Eugène Delacroix and other French artists in the 1820s: the natural painter whose freedom of technique, color, and chiaroscuro suggested a new way of representing the truth of landscape. The happy accident of his reception in France in the 1820s anchors English claims to participate in the development of an international style that moves through impressionism toward the more purely painterly and formal values of modernism. This Constable probably still dominates contemporary critical discussions of his work: the truthful student of nature who is also a painter’s painter.2 There is more than a little chauvinism in this view of Constable, but it is the national feeling of a less confident age, always looking over its shoulder to other countries like France. 1. This is the title of Graham Reynolds’ seminal book, Constable, the Natural Painter .2. See, for example, Malcolm Cormack’s recent book, Constable ; hereafter abbreviated C. Elizabeth Helsinger is professor of English at the University of Chicago and coeditor of Critical Inquiry. Her Ruskin and the Art of the Beholder was published in 1982. This essay is part of a book in progress on representations of the rural scene in Victorian England. (shrink)