AN OXFORD SUNDAY.
On Sunday morning he woke to the words that, without the slightest
variation in time or tone of delivery, called him daily for the three
years that he resided in college--“Half-past seven, sir! Do you
breakfast in?”
This was the scout’s gentle hint that chapel service was within half
an hour, and his form of inquiry whether his young master intended
breakfasting in his own rooms or was going elsewhere for the meal.
Frank, when he fully realized the meaning, answered “Yes,” and with a
freshman’s energy jumped out of bed, and was dressed before the chapel
bell began to ring. Hurrying down-stairs, in fear of being late, he was
stopped by William, with the suggestion that there was “no call to go
yet, till the bell began to swear!”
This elegant expression, Frank learnt, is applied to the quickened and
louder ringing of the bell for the five minutes immediately preceding
service. He found, not many days after, that it was quite possible, by
the aid of an Ulster, and postponement of ablutions, to get to chapel
in time if he slept till the “swearing” began.
There were not so many men present as on the previous evening. The
Master and Fellows wore surplices and hoods; the Scholars, being
undergraduates, surplices and no hoods; the commoners, black gowns. The
few--apparently senior men--who wore black gowns of longer and ampler
make than the commoners, were the Bachelors and Masters of Arts, still
“in residence,” but not on the foundation--_i.e._, neither Fellows nor
Scholars, and therefore not entitled to wear surplices. This was the
strict order for Sundays, and other high days; on other days every one
wore the black gown of his respective degree, with the single exception
of the Fellow who did chaplain’s duty for the week; for at Paul’s
there was no permanent chaplain. The first lesson was read by one of
the Scholars, the second by one of the Fellows, the prayers by the
chaplain, the Communion Service by the Master. There was no sermon; the
intention being that each undergraduate should attend “prayers” in his
own particular college-chapel, and afterwards hear a sermon preached in
the University-church to the members of the University in common. The
list of those who attend chapel is kept at Paul’s by the Bible-clerk,
at some colleges by the chapel-porter. The Bible-clerk’s further duties
are to find the lessons, to read them in the possible absence of the
proper person, and to say grace in Hall.
A man may lose caste by becoming a Bible-clerk, but it is by no
means necessary that he should. A cad (and there are many at Oxford)
distinctly degrades the post, and makes it shunned. A man wavering
between good sets and bad sets may possibly lose what little footing he
has in the former. But a thorough gentleman (it seems hardly necessary
to say so, except to disabuse many of their prejudices) need not,
and does not in the slightest degree, lower himself by holding such
a position. The emoluments amount (in money and allowances) often
to 80_l._ per annum; at Paul’s, 75_l._; but what makes the post so
especially valuable, from a pecuniary point of view, is that it can be
held with a Scholarship and an Exhibition. The Bible-clerk at Paul’s
during Frank’s first two years was holding a Scholarship of the value
of 60_l._, an Exhibition from his school of the value of 50_l._; so
that, with his clerkship of 75_l._, his income amounted to 185_l._, for
the academical year of six months. And he was one of the most popular
men in the college.
From him Frank learnt that he would have to read the first lesson
in chapel for six consecutive days in his turn; but that, being a
freshman, his turn would not come for some time yet.
On returning to his rooms he found his breakfast laid, the kettle
simmering, and letters lying on the table; one from home; the rest,
the circulars that flatter the freshman’s dignity, and coax him into
becoming a customer.
The foundation breakfast consists of bread, butter, and milk, and
in some colleges two eggs. These articles are brought by the scouts
from the buttery, and entered by the buttery-clerk to the respective
undergraduates. The bread, butter, and milk are distributed in
“commons,” the rate charged being above that of tradesmen outside
college, and the quantity being, in the case of most men, certainly too
much for one meal. The remains belong to the scout.
Fish, poultry, meat (and for luncheon, pastry), are supplied from
the kitchen. For some items the charges are reasonable, for others
exorbitant. Naturally, therefore, it is in “kitchen-orders” that the
careful student can economize, if only he can stand against the Oxford
custom, fostered by the scouts, of ordering too much. For at least
three days in the week the two customary eggs, with bread and butter,
are surely enough for breakfast, a kitchen-order being thereby avoided.
The too common habit, however, is to discard the eggs (paid for, it
must be remembered, whether eaten or not), and eat meat. It is quite
conceivable that, after one breakfast on one staircase where eight men
live, the scout may put into his basket sixteen eggs.
Tea, coffee, chocolate, cocoa, sugar, and so on, are in some colleges
procurable from the Common-room-stores, an establishment resembling an
Italian warehouse and wine-and-spirit-vault combined. Custom, if not
college regulations, will compel the undergraduate to deal with the
Common-room-man.
At Paul’s there is no such establishment, but William very kindly
supplied the deficiency by ordering in, from one of the nearest--and
dearest--grocers, a good stock of tea (at 4_s._ 6_d._ per pound,
of course), coffee, candles, matches, scented soap, biscuits, jam,
marmalade, till Frank was quite bewildered at the thought of the room
necessary for storing these delicacies. However, they did not last long.
One of the most iniquitous and yet plausible practices is that pursued
at some colleges--Paul’s among the number--of compelling undergraduates
to deal at certain shops.
Anything in the way of paper, paint, or furniture, has to be procured
at one of the shops attached to the college. These are invariably the
dearest, charging for their goods 25 and 30 per cent. more than the
many other establishments which struggle against these monopolies.
The reason given by the college authorities for this system is that
they are obliged to exercise some principle of selection of the workmen
allowed within the college walls, indiscriminate admission being open
to risk. The reason is plausible enough, but it is based entirely on
the supposition that the workmen employed by expensive firms alone are
honest. Further, what risk could there be in the conveyance of a piece
of furniture to the college gates, when its removal to the rooms of the
purchaser would be the work of the college servants?
The only method of avoiding the tyranny of the system is to employ one
of the railway carriers. The college porter, on the presumption that
the article has come by rail from the undergraduate’s home, is obliged
to admit it.
Anything like opposition to the regulation appears at present to
be useless. One daring undergraduate at Paul’s, who ventured to
remonstrate with his college dean (the authority in such matters),
was met with this characteristic answer:--“It is our system. If you
don’t like it, the college gates are open. You can remove your name
from the college books. We won’t detain you.”--an answer perfectly
admissible from the proprietor of any establishment, but insolent and
unwarrantable from one who, after all, is but an administrator in a
corporate institution.
And so it would be possible to go on and enumerate many instances in
which not only custom among his companions, but college regulations
compel the undergraduate to be extravagant and wasteful. Homes are
crippled, younger brothers and sisters deprived of the education which
is their due, and the much-vaunted University extension limited by
the very administration of the bodies that ought, and do profess, to
foster it. Questions of domestic economy are ignored by the various
commissions, though they lie at the very root of University extension.
Let additional Scholarships be founded to enable more students to
come to the University; let additional teaching power be endowed with
professorships, lectureships, and readerships, by all means; but let
perquisites be pruned down; let the enormous profits of catering cooks
and butlers be decreased; let room-rent be lowered; let “servants’
dues” pay the servants, and not need to be supplemented by charges
which never appear in the college accounts; let trade be free in the
town; let every man buy where he pleases; that is the way to extend
the benefits of University education--that is the way to enable those
to profit by it who are at present debarred--that is the way to enable
families, which now struggle to send one son to the University, to send
two for an equivalent outlay. There can be no doubt of the unnecessary
waste and extravagance in the domestic economy of the colleges when
it is remembered that though collegiate life, based as it is on
communistic principles, ought to be cheaper than any other form of
student life, as a matter of fact it is considerably more expensive.
To return to Frank’s breakfast. He found some difficulty in boiling his
eggs and making his tea. But he concealed his ignorance and ate the
eggs, and drank his tea like dish-water.
About a quarter to ten some one banged at his door, and entered with
the bang. The visitor was Crawford, of Brasenose, an old school-fellow
of Frank’s, who had gone up about three years previously.
“Hullo, young man! not finished breakfast yet!”
His cheery greeting was delightful to Frank, who felt he had in him a
true friend.
A man about three years senior to a freshman--what a power, for good or
evil, he has! His seniority inspires reverence and commands imitation.
Luckily, Crawford was a thoroughly sterling fellow. He had come to
Oxford in earnest. When he worked he worked; when he played he played.
There was the same vigour in his work as in his “stroke” on the river
or “rush” at football. He kept chapels regularly; he said, because
morning-chapel gave him a long day. There was a more earnest reason
concealed behind this; but he had a horror of the dangers of cant.
He knew what lectures were worth attending, and attended them. He
ridiculed and cut the worthless. He knew who were the best “coaches,”
and said so. He abused the charlatans. In all matters of social
etiquette he was an old-fashioned Conservative; for example, he always
wore a black coat and tall hat on Sundays, and roundly abused those who
loafed in light suits; and he never carried an umbrella or wore gloves
when attired in cap and gown--a rather silly custom, perhaps; but its
observance in the face of innovations marks the man.
After a little chat on school matters, Crawford told Frank he was
going to the University sermon; and without any compunction told
him--not asked him--to accompany him.
Frank, nothing loth, took his cap and gown, and they went together.
St. Mary’s does double duty: as a parish church and as the University
church; and here the University sermons are preached at 10.30 a.m.
and 2 p.m. on each Sunday in full term, except those of the Dean of
Christ-Church, or the Fellows of New College, Magdalen, and Merton,
which are or may be preached in the cathedral and in the chapels of
those colleges respectively.
The nave--the part appropriated to the University--was crowded when
Frank and his companion entered, for the preacher was a popular one. In
the gallery, facing that by the west window assigned to undergraduates,
the University organist, Mr. Taylor, was already seated at the organ,
with six or eight chorister boys round him. One of these hung a board,
with the number of the selected hymn, over the gallery, and then the
voluntary commenced.
At 10.30 precisely the procession entered at the north door: the
vice-chancellor, preceded by his mace-bearers, the esquire bedels and
marshals, and followed by the heads of houses, the preacher, and the
proctors. Then the whole congregation rose and, led by the choristers,
sang the hymn appointed. Afterwards came the quaint “bidding prayer,”
still used in most cathedrals, but made especially quaint in a
University city by the long lists of founders and benefactors; and then
the sermon. At a quarter to twelve all was over, and Frank was sitting
in the window of Crawford’s rooms in Brasenose; and as he looked out
on the sunny Radcliffe Square, with St. Mary’s graceful spire, the
black frowning “schools,” and the pepper-box towers of All Souls, he
heard with reverent admiration (for he was, in his way, somewhat of
a poet) that these were Bishop Heber’s rooms, that here he must have
sat, and here he must have written that famous Newdigate prize-poem,
“Palestine,” by which he will always be remembered.
Over the chimney looking-glass hung a gilded face, with an enormous
nose, the emblem of the college. The pictures on the panelled walls
Frank soon became more intimately acquainted with, for he found copies
in most of his friends’ rooms. There were “The Huguenots,” “The Black
Brunswicker,” Landseer’s “Challenge,” “Retreat,” and “Monarch of the
Glen,” of course, and many others of a more recent date. Three or
four pairs of boxing-gloves lay in one corner, dumb-bells in another.
Against the wall, in racks, pipes of various descriptions, from the
short briar-root to the china bowl of the German student (for Crawford
had spent six months once upon a time in Heidelberg), racket-bats,
and an oar, fondly cherished, that had helped to bring victory to the
Brasenose “four” a few years back at Henley.
At one o’clock Crawford’s scout appeared, and almost at the same moment
three invited friends, strangers to Frank. At Oxford luncheon or
breakfast parties, etiquette does not require that the guests should
arrive late. The lunch was as follows:--
Leg of lamb.
Couple of chicken.
Ham cut in huge slices.
Salad.
Lumps of bread.
Lumps of butter.
Lumps of cheese.
Celery.
Three pots of jam.
“French pastry” (in reality, English tarts).
Cyder cup.
Sherry and claret.
Fish, meat, and marmalade at nine that morning, and a prospective
dinner in Hall at six that evening, did not prevent Frank’s four
companions from doing ample justice to the fare. He himself was as yet
unused to these meals, by which circumstance Crawford’s scout profited.
After lunch, pipes. At three the guests dropped off; and the two
school-fellows walked to Cumnor--as a result of which Frank wasted
three hours on Monday evening, writing a poem about Amy Robsart’s tomb.
At five they got back to Oxford, and the freshman was introduced to
the reading and writing rooms of the Union Society, Crawford entering
his name as a probationary member, and telling him to call on Monday
to pay the fee--25_s._ There was hardly time to do more than glance at
the telegrams in the hall, and just look in at the numerous readers
and writers in the different rooms; but the view was quite enough to
enchant Frank. And then the friends parted for their respective chapels.
At dinner that evening he made friends with some freshmen, with one
of whom he proposed to go to St. Philip’s and St. James’ Church, for
evening service. Dinner being prolonged rather beyond the usual time,
they had to run pretty sharp, and even then were too late to get a
seat. They accordingly began to retrace their steps, determining
on future occasions, when they meant to go to either of the parish
churches, to make their dinner at lunch-time, and “take their names off
Hall”--_i.e._ remove their names from the list of those for whom dinner
in Hall was provided--and have supper in their rooms on their return
from service.
As they were walking on, they were suddenly stopped by a man having the
appearance of a policeman in plain clothes, who said,--
“The Proctor wants to speak to you, gentlemen.”
The next moment they saw a gentleman in black gown and large velvet
sleeves, who with formal politeness raised his cap and said,--
“Are you members of this University?”
Frank and his friend murmured that they were.
“Your names and colleges, if you please.”
“Ross, of Paul’s.”
“Mordaunt, of Paul’s.”
“Call on me to-morrow morning at nine, if you please.”
And the Proctor walked on, leaving Frank and Mordaunt rather
bewildered, and totally ignorant where they were to call in the
morning--for though they knew they had been “proctorized,” they did not
know either the Proctor’s name or his college.
The marshal (the Proctor’s head attendant; the rest being called
“bull-dogs”), seeing them standing in the road in evident uncertainty,
said to them,--
“You’d best go back to college, gentlemen;” and then, instinctively
gathering that they were freshmen, added,--
“Where’s your caps and gowns? You’ll find the Proctor at Christ-Church,
gentlemen,” and vanished with his bull-dogs after other unwary
undergraduates.
The interview somewhat damped their spirits: not that any fearful
punishment was hanging over their heads. Even the statutable fine of
five shillings for being without cap and gown would, they believed, be
remitted in consideration of their being freshmen. But Frank had hoped
to keep out of the way of the Proctors; and this was indeed an early
beginning.