The introduction outlines the key themes of the book and offers brief summaries of individual chapters. It offers a brief overview of Keats’s letters and a summary of their publication history, their reception, and their place in his public reputation. The chapter proposes that Keats’s letters can be considered as a body of work in its own right, and that literary criticism needs to develop an epistolary poetics to enable and support a formal critical reading of his correspondence.

This chapter reflects on modern and contemporary narratives surrounding the modern ‘racing’ of the inhabitants of Hellenistic and Roman Egypt by focusing on two cases, each of which pertains to a local woman. Both of these women’s bodies have become, two millennia or so after their death, a racial canvas at best, and a battlefield at worst. The first woman is the one portrayed on a funerary portrait on display at the Louvre Museum in Paris. The second woman needs no introduction: She was Cleopatra VII, the last pharaoh of Macedonian-ruled Egypt.

The interwar era was a formative period in Elizabeth Maconchy’s development as a composer, and much can be gleaned through a cross section of British musical circles between the First and Second World Wars. The endemic misogyny of the time, which affected the prospects of both earlier and contemporaneous female composers, had a profound impact on what opportunities were available to her as well as how her works were received. Many of the connections she made at this time – such as those forged with her professors and fellow students at the Royal College of Music – would endure for the rest of her career. Maconchy was interested in both continental modernism and Irish and Welsh nationalism, involved in the Macnaghten and Lemare concert series – which provided much-needed performance opportunities for young composers – as well as the pageant Music for the People, which furthered left-wing political causes such as anti-fascism, anti-racism, and class consciousness.

This survey chapter considers the public reception of female composers across the UK, USA, France, Germany and Austria at four points during Elizabeth Maconchy’s life, taking three or four examples from each period: 1904–10, 1932–9, 1959–60 and 1994–5. Composers at the end of their careers, such as Pauline Viardot and Irène Wieniawska (Poldowski) are considered alongside younger talents including Errollyn Wallen, Ruth Gipps and Margaret Bonds. Changing attitudes to class, race, ‘appropriate’ musical genres for women to engage with, and the very question of how intellectual and emotionally profound female composers could be, are considered – both in terms of prevailing narratives, and notable exceptions. Consideration is also given to the question of how these composers might be reincorporated into the historical narrative; and how much work remains to be done to raise awareness of their creative efforts.

The Epilogue reflects on the ways that nineteenth-century texts consistently acknowledge the post-lapsarian state of human existence. The literary works discussed in this book all, to some extent, either recreate the events of Milton’s epic in a world that is fallen or tell the story of what happens after the expulsion. Drawing on Christopher Ricks, the Epilogue identifies a single word – ‘error’ – as emblematic of Milton’s nineteenth-century legacy. ‘Error’ points to its post-lapsarian meanings even when used to describe Eden before the Fall. After opening with the 1790 disinterment of Milton’s corpse, the Epilogue turns to another disturbing anecdote to illustrate the complexity of Milton’s nineteenth-century reception: the history of a Victorian edition of Milton’s poetry, bound in tanned human skin. The skin in question belonged to George Cudmore, executed for murder in the 1830s. This instance of anthropodermic bibliopegy reveals that Milton’s works, while revered and respected by the Victorians – his body parts were treated as relics – were also open to disruption and reinterpretation.

The Introduction outlines the intermedial method of this book, which brings together Milton with nineteenth-century writers and artists who engage with each other’s work at the same time as reading Milton directly. It provides an overview of Milton’s place in the visual and material culture of the long nineteenth century. This includes the literary galleries of the late eighteenth century, the development of proto-cinematic technologies and stage spectacles, illustration on canvas and the page, and interventions in books such as extra-illustration and marginalia. The Introduction also addresses the various metaphors drawn from Milton’s writing that scholars have used to explain his influence, comparing him to a ghost, a troll, a father, even God. It then proposes the epic simile as a useful model for the way Milton is understood in this book: just as Milton’s similes describing Satan suggest, a powerful figure can be like many disparate things at the same time.

The introduction situates political writing and publishing as vital tools in articulating, disseminating, and shaping political movements and ideas in modern Britain. It explores the diversity of political genres, from elite forms such as parliamentary novels and newspaper obituaries to grassroots expressions such as punk fanzines and coalfield women’s writing. It highlights how ‘high political’ and subaltern voices respectively engaged with political writing, sometimes to reinforce dominant narratives and at other times to challenge or subvert them. It examines the gendered politics of authorship, particularly how women and marginalised groups used writing to claim authority and reshape the boundaries of political discourse. Attention is given to the role of literature and publishing in mediating the intersections of culture and politics, from fascist propaganda and socialist poetry to the intellectual infrastructure of devolved Scotland and Northern Ireland. By contextualizing political writing within broader historical and cultural transformations, the introduction positions the chapters of the book as a series of ‘core samples’ that reveal the relationships between genre, ideology, and activism.

This chapter discusses modern approaches to understanding Hensel’s music and future scholarly challenges for its interpretation. Nowadays Hensel’s music is written about and performed widely and she has become one of the best-known woman composers. Yet this was not always the case. What had to happen to transform Hensel – in the eyes of scholars, performers, students and lay listeners – from an overlooked and sometimes maligned figure into someone now regarded as one of the most gifted composers of her generation? What lessons can we learn from considering how she moved from the margins toward the centre of the canon? And what challenges lie ahead? Looking back on the past forty years of Hensel studies reveals three main, interlinked developments that have shaped our understanding of her music: a greater awareness of the relationship and differences between her and her brother’s musical styles; a more sophisticated analytical understanding of her music; and a drastic increase in the amount of her music available for study.

Mendelssohn’s ten visits to England made the country easily his most important foreign destination. Although he was consistently feted by British audiences both as composer and performer, he privately expressed dissatisfaction with the state of music making he encountered, which compared unfavourably in many respects with that in Germany, especially with regard to rehearsals. Nevertheless, he kept on returning, in part because it provided a truly international shop window for his major new works. He was also honest enough to admit enjoying his reception, while he was also able to renew the many personal friendships he formed over the years. At the same time, his early death can be attributed in part to the exhaustion caused by his incessant activity during his final visits to the country, which was posthumously set to honour him publicly more than Germany.

Today, the Treatise is Hume’s most well-known work. But that was not so in the eighteenth century. Hume could even famously claim that his Treatise “fell dead-born from the press.” Still, modern scholarship has shown that the Treatise had a more significant early reception than Hume’s comment suggests. This chapter sheds new light on the reception of Hume’s Treatise in eighteenth-century Britian. It surveys the existing historiography and considers Hume’s relevant surviving correspondence. But it also explores overlooked dimensions of the Treatise’s early reception, partly by employing data mining in electronic databases, particularly Eighteenth Century Collections Online (ECCO). Analyzing that data in various ways, we illuminate new dimensions of this topic. They include unpacking close engagements by familiar figures, like Lord Kames; casting light on the many who invoked, critiqued, anthologized, or otherwise absorbed and broadcast the Treatise; and identifying the larger trends of eighteenth-century reuse to which all of those individual stories contributed.

A preoccupation with the music of Johann Sebastian Bach was one of the constants in the lives of the Mendelssohn family, especially Fanny and Felix. Bach was one of the few composers who were considered exemplary in the Mendelssohn family. The special chorale and fugue-orientated training with Zelter, their membership of the Singakademie and the cultivation of Bach among their family and friends make it clear in which traditions the siblings Fanny and Felix grew up and undertook their first musical steps and expressions. Bach’s works are always present in the musical performances of both of them. In Fanny’s ’Sunday musicales’, works by Bach were just as much a part of the repertoire as in the concerts that Felix conducted or played on the piano or organ. Their lifelong engagement with Bach’s music is reflected in the compositions of Fanny and Felix and includes details of content, form and compositional technique.

Modern scholarship has in general portrayed Mendelssohn as a composer held in high regard during his lifetime but posthumously downgraded. This chapter presents a more complex picture, arguing that his reception during his life moves through three distinct phases. It examines the themes present in the earliest reviews of his works (1824–9) revealing how German reviewers emphasised the young composer’s dependence on models. In contrast, English reviewers from the start acclaimed him as one of the leading composers of the age. It then explores the upturn in Mendelssohn’s critical fortunes in the 1830s and responses to key works such as the Piano Concerto in G minor and St Paul. It concludes by exploring negative assessments by Hegelian critics such as Franz Brendel in the 1840s, comparing Mendelssohn’s mixed reception in Germany with the continuing effusive praise he received from English critics such as George Macfarren.

Nowadays Beethoven’s canonic status is taken for granted, but in the 1820s as the Mendelssohns were coming of age, his music was still controversial, and their advocacy of it was something that set them apart from many contemporaries. In their roles as composers, performers, and promoters of music, both Felix Mendelssohn and Fanny Hensel would play a fundamental part in the evolving story of early nineteenth-century Beethoven reception. Moreover, their activities intersected with some of the other leading figures in the nineteenth-century canonisation of Beethoven in ways that shed light on the already contested legacy of their forebear. Equally, the influence of Beethoven on Hensel and Mendelssohn has often been misunderstood, commonly being viewed through later 19th-century anxieties and ideologies that remain extraneous to their world. In short, their relationship with Beethoven is crucial for understanding their own music – and historically was no less crucial for understanding Beethoven’s.

The posthumous reception of the life and works of Felix Mendelssohn differs from that of any other composer of his generation. The unique esteem and admiration he experienced during his lifetime, especially in Germany and England, changed into a more ambivalent or critical evaluation, often tinged with anti-Semitic ressentiments. In a musical culture that valued progress, genius and nationalist narratives, he was increasingly sidelined by music writers and composers because of his stylistic choices, his perceived embodiment of bourgeois values and his cosmopolitanism, despite his continued popularity with performers and audiences. Mendelssohn’s reception reached its nadir when his works were banned in Nazi Germany between 1933 and 1945. Since then, interest in the composer has increased, supported by scholarly editions of his works and letters, and his symphonies, concert overtures and oratorios are performed consistently, although his choral music and piano pieces have suffered from the decline in amateur music-making.

This chapter establishes that the Gospel and Epistles of John do not share a common author, highlighting differences in their reception histories, linguistic features, and ideas.

Although little of her music appeared during her lifetime, Fanny Mendelssohn Hensel was well known due to the numerous publications about her brother Felix. With the rise of feminism in the late nineteenth century, she was frequently mentioned as part of the larger discourse about the problems that women composers faced. After the publication of Sebastian Hensel’s Die Familie Mendelssohn (1879), Hensel came to serve as a symbol for women’s societal restrictions, most notably for pro-suffrage writers in the United States and England. Hensel was frequently at the centre of published arguments about women’s creativity, and her music was sometimes programmed to rebut assertions of their inability to compose. Knowledge of Hensel was transmitted through American women’s organizations, and children’s music clubs were named for her. Although Hensel’s fame faded in the mid twentieth century, publications and recordings of her music were stimulated by second-wave feminism beginning in the 1970s and 1980s.

This section explains how 1 John, 2 John, and 3 John became attributed to John, the son of Zebedee, and how they were folded into the biblical canon.

Taking its cue from passages in the Mendelssohn family’s correspondence concerning aspects of Jewish tradition and Christian conversion, and drawing on the work of modern scholars, the chapter considers from a variety of angles the sense of Jewishness with which Fanny Hensel’s and Felix Mendelssohn’s lives were imbued. With reference to a range of literature on Jewish history, the question of the siblings’ Jewish identity is explored in the wider context of German Jewish social and religious life at the time, as well as its implications within the Mendelssohn family’s private circle, for example, inter-generational tensions. Attention is given to the reception history of the family’s Jewish identity in the context of anti-Jewish attitudes, reflected in a range of sources including the remarks of the siblings’ composition tutor, Carl Friedrich Zelter to Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, and the writings of Richard Wagner, while also identifying echoes in modern Mendelssohn scholarship.