Spiked gates.--Old King's.--=University Library=, Origin, Growth,
Codex Bezae.--=Trinity Hall=, Colours, Library.--=Clare College=,
"Poison Cup," Court, Bridge, Avenue.--The Backs, Sirdar Bonfire,
College Gardens.--=Trinity College=, Michaelhouse, King's Hall,
Henry the Eighth, Boat-clubs, Avenue, College Livings, Bridge,
Library, Byron, Nevile's Court, Cloisters, Echo, "Freshman's
Pillar," Prince Edward, Royal Ball, Goodhart, Buttery, College
Plate, Grace-cup, Kitchen, Hall, Combination Room, Marquis of
Granby, Tutors, Old Court, Fountain, Gate Towers, Clock, Lodge,
Chapel, Newton, Organ, Bentley, Windows, Macaulay.
On leaving King's Chapel we should give a glance to the marked line of
demarcation between the whitish stone of which the lower courses are
built and that employed in the upper.[21] It is of historical interest
as showing how far the work had progressed before the long break
caused by the Founder's death. Then, passing round the West Front, and
noting the exquisitely delicate tracery of the canopies over the empty
niches on either side of the door (wherein the two saints Mary and
Nicolas to whom the building is dedicated were destined to stand) we
leave the College by the iron gate on the North.
[Footnote 21: The former is from Huddleston in Yorkshire, the latter
from Weldon in Northamptonshire.]
The formidable chevaux-de-frise which crown this gate are supposed at
once to figure and to emphasise the danger run by such presumptuous
students as dare to contemplate illicit exit from or entrance into the
College during prohibited hours. It has already been said that between
10 p.m. and 7 a.m. no undergraduate resident in College may leave its
precincts, and no outsider may enter, under divers pains and
penalties. Every College supplements this moral pressure by more or
less effectual and awe-inspiring physical barriers. None however are
more fearsome to see, and less effective in fact, than these. For not
only can the College be entered or left with comparative ease by way
of the Backs, but even this ghastly array of spikes is not unscalable
to those who know the trick of it. Tennyson, as will be remembered,
has referred to this exploit in his "Princess."
Passing beneath them we find ourselves again in that same ancient
street of Cambridge, here again now a wholly Academic byway, by which
we entered King's. But though we have left the College behind us we
have not yet quite got clear of its associations. The fine modern
Gothic pile to our right embeds, as we see, an ancient gateway. For
more than three and a half centuries this was the entrance to the one
small Court which alone represented the magnificent design of Henry
the Sixth for his Royal Foundation. Not till the nineteenth century
dawned were the students moved to the other side of the Chapel. The
old precincts were then mostly destroyed, and the site made over to
the University Library; for the growth of that magnificent institution
has long taxed to the utmost all the accommodation that can be
provided for it.
The mediaeval Library of the University was a collection of
manuscripts, requiring only one small room. Of its eighteen
book-cases, eight were devoted to Theology, four to Law, and one
apiece to Classics, Mathematics, Medicine, Logic, Moral Philosophy,
and Scholasticism. This original Library was utterly swept away at the
Reformation: Dr. Perne of Peterhouse, when Vice-Chancellor in the
reign of Edward the Sixth, thus signalising his new-born zeal for
Protestantism. A few years later, however, we find him amongst the
first founders of the present Library, which now ranks third amongst
the great Libraries of England; that of the British Museum standing
first, and the Bodleian Library at Oxford second. All three are
entitled to a free copy of every book published in the kingdom; so
that their growth is now-a-days portentously rapid. One of the most
striking features in this Library is the tableful of new books, scores
in number, which is cleared every Friday.
This rapid growth however is modern. The one ancient room sufficed
for the Library, till George the First rewarded the Whig loyalty of
the University by a gift of 30,000 volumes.[22] The expansion thus
begun has continued with accelerated speed. One by one the various
ancient "Schools" which, with the old Library room, formed a small
quadrangle, have been absorbed by its growth; until now the whole
block belongs to it, as well as the old site of King's College, the
main edifice on which, known as "Cockerell's Building," was erected
1837, where the College Hall once stood.
[Footnote 22: This gift called forth a satirical epigram from Oxford;
where the prevalent Toryism was made the pretext for quartering a
regiment of cavalry in the city to suppress Jacobite demonstrations:
"King George, observing with judicious eyes
The state of both his Universities,
To Oxford sent a troop of horse;--and why?
That Learned Body wanted Loyalty.
To Cambridge books he sent; as well discerning
How much that Loyal Body wanted Learning."
A retort (in which the humour is a trifle less spontaneous) was
speedily penned by Sir William Browne, who specialised on epigrams and
left prizes for their encouragement which are still annually awarded:
"The King to Oxford sent a troop of horse,
For Tories own no argument but Force.
With equal skill to Cambridge books he sent;
For Whigs admit no force but Argument."]
The Library is open only to Members of the University (Masters of Arts
having the privilege of taking out not more than ten books at a time)
and such ladies as are fortunate enough to find a place on the
admission list. For this it is needful that two Masters of Arts should
certify that the lady is, to their personal knowledge, seriously
engaged in some branch of study or research. And even when admitted,
she finds herself under disabilities, being forbidden to occupy any
seat except in one room (the oriel window of which is visible from our
standpoint at the gate of King's). Ordinary visitors may only enter
under the escort of an M.A., who may take in six at a time.
[Illustration: _Old Gate of King's College._]
Those who have the good hap to be thus inducted, will, besides the new
books, probably be most impressed by the long range of volumes forming
the catalogue, and by the densely packed shelves of long-forgotten
fiction in the "Novel Room." But the real treasures of the Library are
to be found in Cockerell's Building. Here, in a range of cases, are to
be seen our best Manuscripts, including a Thirteenth Century life of
Edward the Confessor, the illustrations in which were found useful as
a precedent even at the coronation of his latest namesake on the
British Throne. At the extreme end, in a separate case, is the crown
of all, one of the earliest manuscripts of the Gospels, dating from
the Fifth Century. Only four others of equal authority are known, one
in the British Museum, one in the Vatican Library, one at Paris, and
one at St. Petersburg. Ours is known as "D" or "Codex Bezae," from
being the gift of the celebrated Calvinist divine Theodore Beza, who
procured it from a soldier after the sack of its early home, the
Monastery of St. Irenaeus at Lyons, in the Sixteenth Century. It is
noteworthy for containing passages not found in any other Codex, one
of which may be read (in Greek and Latin) on the single leaf here
exposed to view. It narrates how our Lord, "seeing a certain man
working on the Sabbath, said unto him: Man, if thou art doing this
with Knowledge thou art blessed, but if without Knowledge thou art
cursed."
Space does not permit us to enlarge further on the Library; and we
return to our station at the old gate of King's College. As we look
along the lane our view is bounded by the College whose name it now
bears, Trinity Hall. This must not be confounded with the larger and
later Foundation of Trinity College, next door to it beyond. Trinity
Hall was founded in 1350, by Bishop Bateman of Norwich, specially for
the education of Clergy. It has, however, actually, become especially
given to the study of Law, and is yet more widely known by its prowess
in aquatics. Its boat, for the last half century, has never been far
from the Headship of the River, and has oftener attained that coveted
position than any other. The colours of the College, white and black,
are thus of wide renown. They are derived from the College Shield,
which in heraldic language is sable a crescent ermines with a bordure
ermines. Visitors who approach Cambridge by the London road see this
device upon the milestones near the town, which were set up by the
College in the eighteenth century, and were the first milestones
erected in Britain since the days of the Roman occupation.
The Library here (which is open to visitors from noon to 1 P.M. in
Full Term) is the best example left us of what libraries were of old
in Cambridge. It was built about 1560, and still retains its original
book-cases, the tops of which form desks for reading the folios in the
shelves beneath. These were in old days chained to rings sliding on a
locked bar which ran the whole length of each desk. Some of the books
are so chained still, but not in the ancient fashion; for of old books
were shelved with the backs inward, the title being written across the
closed leaves of the front.
Otherwise the College has little to show us; and, instead of seeking
it, we shall do better if we turn westwards through the specially
beautiful iron gate which leads us into Clare College. The coat of
arms beneath which we pass as we enter has its tale to tell concerning
the foundation of the College. They are those of the noble lady who,
in 1338, thus commemorated her widowhood, an example followed, as we
have seen, in the next decade, by Marie de Valence at Pembroke. But
Lady Elizabeth, daughter of Gilbert de Clare (the "Red Earl" mentioned
in _Marmion_), had gone through no fewer than three of these
lamentable experiences. She therefore not only charged her College
Shield with the golden chevronels of Clare impaled with the golden
cross of De Burgh (her latest husband), but surrounded the whole with
a sable bordure besprinkled with golden heraldic tears, bearing
perennial witness to her repeated sorrows. Hence it comes that the
Clare "colours" are to this day black and gold.
Few College edifices convey such a sense of unity as these of Clare.
"Their uniform and harmonious character gives them, at first sight,
the appearance of having been built from one design, and carried out
at one time."[23] As a matter of fact, however, the existing buildings
are of no fewer than five separate dates, each separated by decades,
and extending altogether over nearly a century and a half (1638-1768);
while of the original fourteenth century structure no trace whatever
is left. The eastern and northern sides of the Court are the earliest,
built between 1638 and 1643, when the work was stopped, five years
after its commencement, by the outbreak of the Civil War; while the
stones and beams made ready for its continuance were commandeered by
the Roundheads for the new works which they were then throwing up to
strengthen the defences of Cambridge Castle. Not till 1669 did the
College finances so far recover from this blow as to permit the
resumption of the building. The western side was then built, followed
by the northern (1683-93), while the Chapel was not added till 1768.
But the result of all this patchwork is an exquisite little gem of a
Court, its balustraded walls overshadowed by the towering pinnacles of
King's College, and giving, as we have said, a wonderful sense of
unity, which is partly owing to older work having been altered to
harmonise with the newer.
[Footnote 23: Atkinson and Clark, _Cambridge Described_.]
The College treasury contains some most interesting and beautiful
specimens of sixteenth-century plate. One tankard is known as the
"Poison Cup," because, mounted in the cover, it has a conical fragment
of crystal, such as was supposed, in the pharmacy of the day, to
change colour if poison were poured into the vessel. This cup is of
glass enclosed in exquisitely wrought filigree work. The thumb-piece
is an angel with outspread wings. Another tankard is the "Serpentine
Cup," the bowl being of that stone. This too is enclosed in most
beautiful silver-gilt work, adorned with flowers and fruit and birds
and arabesques. Yet another is the "Falcon Cup," a receptacle in the
shape of that bird, originally intended, it would seem, for holding
sweetmeats. All these were presented to the College by Dr. Butler,
Court Physician to King James the First, of whom Fuller says that "he
was better pleased with presents than money, and ever preferred
rarities before riches."[24]
[Footnote 24: Foster and Atkinson, _Old Cambridge Plate_.]
Passing through the court, we come to the beautiful bridge, already
familiar to us from the river. Its balustraded parapet is surmounted
by fourteen large balls of stone, thirteen of them whole, and one out
of which a cantle of nearly a quarter of its bulk has, for some
unknown reason and at some unknown date, been cut. A cheap laugh may
thus be obtained by challenging a stranger to count these balls
accurately; for the missing cantle, being turned towards the river, is
quite invisible from the bridge itself. Another feature in connection
with these balls is that one of them is visibly much newer than the
rest (which, like the bridge, date from the middle of the seventeenth
century). This is due to a not very far off feud between Clare and St.
John's, when a piratical Johnian crew came up the river after dark and
stormed the bridge. Before the enraged Clare men could open the iron
gate under the College archway and pour out to the rescue, the enemy
had begun throwing the balls into the water, where one sank so deep
into the muddy bottom that it could never be recovered.
From the bridge we get a lovely view of the College "Backs." To the
south the single slender arch of King's Bridge flings itself over the
river in the graceful curve which is all its own; to the north we see
the iron span of Garret Hostel Bridge, hiding from us the beauties of
Trinity Bridge beyond. But, if there be no ripple upon the water, the
three graceful arches of this invisible bridge are seen reflected upon
the glassy surface with a specially charming effect. The whole view is
amongst the world's loveliest, especially in the May term, when the
Master's little garden to our right glows with bright colour, answered
across the stream by that of the Fellows; when the water is alive with
gay little craft, gigs, punts, and canoes; and when the "ambrosial
dark" of the Avenue before us beckons us on to explore the delights of
its umbrageous depths. It was planted in 1691, and is carried for 150
yards on a wide embankment, dense with shrubs and closed with
jealously-spiked gates at either end, across what was once an island
in the river (known as Butts Close), till it debouches on to the
elm-shaded length of greensward described in our opening page, and
named, in old maps of Cambridge, "King's College Back-sides." The
whole does, in fact, belong to King's, but the many rights of way
which traverse it make it practically an open park.
Not so long ago oaken railings (still to be seen in places) ran
between it and the road, till a visit from Lord Kitchener (then Sirdar
of Egypt, fresh from his Ethiopian victories) was made the occasion of
a gigantic bonfire in the Market Place, to feed which the whole were
torn up and carried away by gangs of enthusiastic undergraduates. A
like fate befell the wooden palings and gates of the College gardens
across the road, now replaced by iron, and altogether the damage done
ran into hundreds of pounds; while the town police and the University
proctors waited for each other to act until too late. There are three
of these College gardens on end--King's, Clare, and Trinity; and
rarely lovely they are, with their wide "smooth-shaven" lawns, broken
into glades by clumps of ornamental trees. But each can only be
entered under the aegis of a Fellow of its own respective College, and
they are so carefully planted out from the road that scarcely even a
glimpse can be gained of the delights within, "where no profaner eye
may look."
Leaving these on our left we proceed along the northward-leading path
till we reach the fine iron gate which bears the escutcheon of
Cambridge's mightiest College, Trinity, a College more than twice as
large as any other, numbering something like 700 residents, students
and teachers together. Like London, which an Indian visitor once
described as "not a city, but a herd of cities," Trinity may be
described as a conjoined herd of colleges, for it was created by the
amalgamation of no fewer than nine earlier institutions. Two of these,
Michaelhouse[25] and King's Hall, were amongst the most noteworthy
colleges in Cambridge. The former was founded by Henry de Stanton,
Chancellor to King Edward the Second, in 1323, and was thus, next to
Peterhouse, the oldest college in Cambridge. And King's Hall was but a
few years younger, being founded by King Edward the Third in 1336.
Indeed, it may claim to be actually the elder in embryonic existence,
for Edward the Second, in 1317, was already maintaining
scholars--"children of our Chapel" as his writ calls them--in
Cambridge. And that these "children" (who were required to be at least
fourteen years of age on coming into residence) were quartered
hereabouts is evident from King's Hall having been built across the
line of an ancient street running down to the river and known as
"King's Childer Lane." The town agreed to the expropriation of this
lane in consideration of one red rose annually to be paid by the
College to the Corporation on Midsummer Day. The remaining seven
foundations incorporated in Trinity College were hostels (institutions
for lodging students, more or less organised in college fashion, but
not recognised by the University as colleges). These were St.
Catharine's Hostel, Physwick Hostel, Crutched Hostel, Gregory's
Hostel, Tyled Hostel, Oving's Inn, and St. Gerard's or "Garret"
Hostel; which last, as we have seen, is still kept in memory by the
name of the public bridge crossing the river between Trinity and
Clare.
[Footnote 25: Michaelhouse (like Peterhouse) derived its name from the
neighbouring church which was used for worship by the Scholars till
they got a chapel of their own.]
[Illustration: _Old Schools' Quadrangle._]
All these, Colleges and Hostels alike, were seized upon by Henry the
Eighth, when that rapacious and unprincipled monarch desired to pose
(in 1546, a year before his death) as a Pious Founder, and go down to
posterity as a benefactor. He gained this credit cheaply; for not only
did he thus get his edifices ready made, but their endowments also;
while such additional endowments as he bestowed on his new College
were almost wholly derived from the spoil of the Abbeys suppressed by
him. Nor did he fail to take toll of each transfer of this stolen
property for the benefit of his exchequer. His professed object,
meanwhile, was "to educate Youth in piety, virtue, self-restraint,
charity towards the poor, and relief of the distressed." His alumni,
in short, were to be made as opposite to himself in character as
possible.
From the very first, Trinity thus became almost the largest and
wealthiest College in Cambridge. For a century it disputed the
headship of the University with its neighbour, St. John's College, and
for another century and more sang second to that great rival. But in
1785 it drew ahead, and since that date has improved its lead without
a check, till now it stands not only first but without a second. So
large is it that it cannot, for very sportsmanship, row as a whole in
the bumping races, but has to be divided for that purpose into two
boat clubs, denominated respectively "First Trinity" and "Third
Trinity,"--or, in common speech, "First" and "Third" simply. The
former is the original "Trinity Boat Club" and this is still its
official name, whence it is also known as the "T.B.C." It wears the
original Trinity colours,--dark blue,[26] with the badge of a golden
lion and three crowns, the device of King Edward the Third. The latter
consists of Trinity men from the two great rowing schools, Eton and
Westminster. It is, of course, a very much smaller body than "First,"
but, as its members come up ready-made oarsmen, it has been almost as
frequently Head of the River. Both boats are always in the first
flight. Once there existed a "Second Trinity" club, which has long
since ceased to maintain its existence.
[Footnote 26: The T.B.C. boat was one of the two first boats to appear
on the river. The other was the "Lady Margaret" or St. John's boat,
whose colours were (and are) bright red. These two boats used to row
along, challenging each other, by sound of bugle, to extempore bursts
of racing. This was in the Twenties. The first regular College races
began in the year 1827; but only five Colleges rowed (Trinity, St.
John's, Caius, Jesus and Emmanuel). Not till 1859 were all
represented.]
We enter the precincts of this great College by "that long walk of
limes," up which Tennyson passed, as he tells us in "In Memoriam,"
when he re-visited Cambridge, "to view the rooms" once inhabited by
his friend and hero, Arthur Hallam.[27] This avenue was planted in
1672,[28] and leads us to the fine cycloidal[29] bridge, built at the
same period. After crossing this, we should not keep straight, which
would bring us into the "New Court" where Hallam dwelt (a poor bit of
architecture erected 1825), but rather turn to the left, by the path
that sweeps along the bank of the river, with its fine weeping
willows. Looking back, as we leave the bridge behind us, we may admire
the climbing agility which frequently enables undergraduates to
descend to the projecting piers just above the water, and find their
way back again, without a ducking.
[Footnote 27: Hallam's rooms were on the southern side of the New
Court, in the central staircase (letter G), and were the western set
on the first floor. Tennyson himself never "kept" in College, but had
lodgings, first in Rose Crescent, and afterwards opposite the Bull
Hotel.]
[Footnote 28: Its line was determined by the distant spire of Coton
Church which for two centuries closed the vista. (It is now hidden by
these trees.) A current witticism was that the view symbolised a
Trinity Fellowship--a long, straight-forward prospect, closed by a
village church. Till the year 1878 every Fellow had to become a Priest
of the Established Church within seven years, on pain of forfeiting
his Fellowship. After this he was a Fellow for life, unless he
married. And each Fellow in turn had a right to any College living
that fell vacant. All this is altered now. Fellows are elected
unconditionally for a limited period (which may be renewed), and
College livings are assigned to the best men to be had, whether of
Trinity or not.]
[Footnote 29: A cycloid is the curve described by any single point on
the rim of a rolling wheel.]
We have here in front of us the New Court of St. John's College, seen
across its lawn-tennis grounds; while to our left is the magnificent
range of horse-chestnuts along the boundary of the two Colleges.
Splendid at all times, these are seen at their very best when duly
touched by frost. To our right rises the fine mass of Trinity Library,
built by Sir Christopher Wren in 1675; whose walls of warm-coloured
stone have been already dwelt upon. The lower portion of the building
forms an open cloister, with grated windows and gates barring it from
the Backs where we stand.
Through one of these gates our path leads us, and we find ourselves
within the College, and at the door of the Library. At certain hours,
usually between three and four in the afternoon, this is open to
visitors; at others the escort of a Member of the College is needed.
Of all the College Libraries in Cambridge this is the most interesting
in its miscellaneous contents. Mounting the wide stone stair-way, we
enter the long, wide, lofty, vaulted gallery, with a series of wooden
book-cases projecting from either wall all along its course. The
carved wreaths of flowers and leaves and fruitage which adorn these
cases deserve careful notice. They are by Grinling Gibbons, probably
the most wonderful wood carver who ever lived, and their intricacies
bear striking testimony to his almost superhuman skill. In the
recesses between the cases are to be seen sundry curios, from the
College estates and other sources, while more are to be found in the
long ranges of glass-covered tables topping the smaller book-shelves
which line either side of the central passage way. Roman and
Anglo-Saxon antiquities, and a splendid series of coins and medals,
are here exhibited. Amongst the miscellaneous curios are a model of
Caesar's famous bridge across the Rhine and a globe of the planet Mars.
What will, however, first catch our eye on entering, will be the
window at the southern end of the room, with its painted glass so
unlike anything to be seen elsewhere. It is, in fact, unique, having
been made in the middle of the eighteenth century by the discoverer of
this particular method of staining glass, who kept the process
secret--a secret which died with him and has never been recovered. The
window cannot be called artistically beautiful, and the subject is
weird. The University of Cambridge, represented as a lady in a
somewhat scanty robe of yellow, is presenting Sir Isaac Newton to King
George the Third (who did not come to the Throne till 1760, many years
after the great philosopher died), while the transaction is being
recorded by Francis Bacon Lord Verulam of Elizabethan fame!
Beneath this window is Thorwaldsen's fine marble statue of Lord Byron,
one of Trinity's greatest poets. This was originally intended for
Poets' Corner in Westminster Abbey, but the Dean and Chapter of the
period so strongly disapproved of Byron's morality that they refused
it a place there. Apart from his poetical genius, he as little
deserved to be honoured in Trinity library; for, as an undergraduate,
he not only accomplished the apparently impossible feat of climbing by
night to the roof (which others have more than once done since)[30]
but abominably disfigured the statues upon it, in which he has had,
happily, no imitators. Other relics of him are preserved hard by,
which are supposed to bear upon the thrilling question as to how far
he had or had not a club foot.[31]
[Footnote 30: Nocturnal exploration of the College roofs has been so
favourite an amusement amongst undergraduates that not long ago a book
was actually published entitled _The Roof-Climber's Guide to Trinity
College_. Every eminence in the College has been scaled, save only the
Great Gate Tower. The Hon. C. S. Rolls, who was afterwards the first
man to fly from England to France and back, and who fell a martyr to
his zeal for aviation, was, in his day, the most daring and systematic
of all Trinity roof-climbers.]
[Footnote 31: Byron himself was morbidly sensitive on this point. Mr.
Clark (_Guide to Cambridge_, p. 140) tells how he abused a friend who
fell behind out of courtesy: "Ah! I see you wish to spy out my
deformity." He was in residence 1805-8.]
For these few will care; but this end of the library contains things
which few can fail to care about. Here is the death-mask of Sir Isaac
Newton, and a reflecting telescope, on the model invented by him. Here
is Thackeray's manuscript of "Esmond," and Tennyson's manuscript of
"In Memoriam." Here is Milton's manuscript of "Lycidas," and his first
design for "Paradise Lost," all cut and scored about with alterations
and corrections, showing that he originally designed his great poem to
be a drama, the characters of which (headed by Moses) are here listed.
Here, too, is a copy of the "Solemn League and Covenant" imposed on
all men by the Puritans at the time of the Great Rebellion.[32] This
was found hidden amongst the rafters of a village church near
Cambridge.
[Footnote 32: This instrument bound its subscribers to zealous
endeavour, far from any "detestable indifference and neutrality," for
the "extirpation of Popery, Prelacy, ... Archbishops, Bishops, Deans,
Chapters, Archdeacons, and all that Hierarchy." Every adult in the
kingdom had to sign this very thoroughgoing test, on pain of
imprisonment.]
And here is a copy of the famous Indulgence sold by Tetzel, Luther's
denunciation of which gave the signal for the earliest outburst of
Protestantism at the Reformation. When the crabbed old printing is
deciphered it proves to be a startlingly mild document, no licence to
commit sin, as is generally supposed, but merely granting to the
purchaser the privilege of confessing, once in his life, to a priest
of his own choice instead of to the parson in whose parish he dwelt.
The priest so chosen is given authority to absolve from nearly all
sins, but not from the heinous offence of buying alum from anyone
except the Pope, in whose territory it had, at that date (1515), been
recently discovered. Alum was in those days a most valuable substance,
and had hitherto been attainable only at the Turkish town of Roc, in
Syria, whence the name of "rock alum" still surviving in use amongst
pharmacopoeists. To buy it there was not only to take money out of the
pocket of the Pope, but to put it into those of the enemies of
Christendom. Hence the heinousness of the offence.
Trinity library forms the western side of one of the Courts of the
College, known as "Nevile's Court" (from Dr. Thomas Nevile, Master at
the close of the sixteenth century, who planned and began it in 1610),
and also as "Cloister Court," from the wide cloisters which surround
it on the north, south, and west. The eastern side is formed by the
Hall, raised four feet above the ground level, and reached by a
beautiful balustraded and terraced staircase of stone. It is the
finest college hall in either university, and was also the work of
Nevile.
In the northern cloister which leads us to it, there are sundry points
not to be overlooked. As we look along it from the library entrance we
perceive at the far end a door with a stalwart iron knocker. Now there
is a fine echo in this cloister, and a stamp of the foot at our end
will evoke a sound from the door precisely like that of a knocker. So
great a part does illusion play in human impressions, that five people
out of six, when they hear this sound, are ready to declare that they
have seen the knocker actually move. It was by timing this echo, we
may mention, that Sir Isaac Newton first measured the velocity of
sound. The echoing properties of these cloisters are referred to by
Tennyson in the "Princess":
"our cloisters echoed frosty feet."
The massive block which pillars the angle of the cloister is known as
the "Freshman's Pillar"; a favourite old-time amusement of the junior
students (not yet wholly disremembered) having been to traverse the
very narrow base-top right round, without setting foot to the ground.
In old times, indeed until the last quarter of the nineteenth century,
these cloisters played a notable part in undergraduate life. Athletic
pursuits were far less general than now, and exercise was largely
pedestrian. On a wet day, accordingly, when the roads were uninviting,
the cloisters used to be crowded with a veritable swarm of trampers,
doing "quarter-deck" from end to end of the three covered sides of the
court.
[Illustration: _Clare College from Bridge._]
The stair-case entrances here lead to specially delightsome sets of
rooms, with oak panels and beautiful plaster ceilings. One of these
was occupied by the late Duke of Clarence, when, as "Prince Edward,"
he was an undergraduate of Trinity, mingling freely with the college
life around him, and making himself generally beloved by his simple
unaffected pleasantness.[33] His royal father, when Prince of Wales,
was also an undergraduate of Trinity; but Court etiquette was stricter
in those days, and, instead of being in College, he was quartered at
Madingley Hall, four miles away. A few months after his wedding, in
June, 1864, he brought his beautiful bride to visit Cambridge and take
all hearts by storm. In their honour the whole area of Nevile's Court
was tented in and floored over and made into one vast ball-room, which
included the cloisters and the hall stairway. The former were used for
promenading, all the best settees and arm-chairs to be found in
College being commandeered to be placed in them; the Hall served for
supper; while the band was housed beneath the Library. All was
beautifully decorated and lighted (though it was before the days even
of paraffin lamps), and the whole scene was one of unforgettable
brilliance.[34] The cost was, naturally, something portentous; but
those were the times of academic prosperity, before the great
agricultural depression of the following decade brought down rents,
and with them college incomes, almost (sometimes altogether) from
pounds to shillings.[35]
[Footnote 33: These same rooms (on the south-westernmost staircase)
were probably those occupied by Lord Byron.]
[Footnote 34: The entrance was from the New Court, which communicates
with Nevile's Court by an arcade in the southern cloister of the
latter.]
[Footnote 35: All the Colleges have thus suffered severely; King's
being hit hardest of all. Trinity was less seriously affected, owing
to the fact that much of its land lies in the North of England.]
The beautiful rooms of Nevile's Court are mostly held by Fellows of
the College whose names may be known in the doorway lists by the "Mr."
prefixed to them. Over one doorway we see a small bronze bust, set up
as a memorial to Mr. Goodhart who once "kept" there and was an object
of special admiration to all who knew him. He was, in fact, a kind of
Admirable Crichton; not only a man of great intellectual power (as
Fellows of Trinity must needs be, for these fellowships are the "blue
riband" of the University), but excellent at all athletic pursuits,
and able to do successfully whatever thing he set his hand to. It is
recorded that on one occasion a bet was laid that he could not make
himself an entire suit of clothes, and wear them for a month without
their amateur origin being detected. Goodhart won the bet.
Beautiful as Nevile's Court is, it was originally yet more beautiful,
with transomed windows, and gabled dormers instead of the present
eighteenth century parapet. These are shown in a view "after Logan,"
given by Atkinson,[36] from the terrace before the Hall, by which we
leave the court, passing through a low and massive wicket gate of
black oak. This admits us into the "screens," a short and narrow
passage having the Hall on one side, and, on the other, the kitchen
and the Buttery. This last word has no connection with butter (though
butter is here issued), but is derived from _butler_, as being the
place where the ale for the hall dinners is served out. Its door, as
is universal in such places, is a "hatch," the upper and lower halves
of the door opening independently, and a broad sill on the top of the
latter forming a sort of counter across which the business of the
place is transacted. Of old the buttery served as an office, where
much of the clerical work of the College was done; but this branch of
its usefulness is now transferred to a special department.
[Footnote 36: _Cambridge Described_, p. 444.]
When each College brewed its own ale and baked its own bread, as was
the case till some half-century ago, the Buttery was a really
important place. Even now the daily ration of bread and butter to
which each Collegian in residence has a right, is here booked to him.
This ration is called his "Commons." If for any approved reason he
does not desire to draw it in any given week he is said to be "out of
Commons"; and if, as sometimes happens, he is deprived of the right
for misconduct, he is said to be "discommonsed" for such or such a
period. (The equivalent phrase at Oxford is "to be crossed at the
Buttery.") The Buttery officials also have charge of the adjoining
strong-room in which the magnificent store of the College plate is
secured; mighty salvers and bowls and "grace-cups,"[37] besides
dishes, and the hundreds of spoons and forks, all the gifts of
benefactor after benefactor since the College was first founded. A
visitor may sometimes be fortunate enough to get a sight of these
resplendent piles.
[Footnote 37: A "Grace-cup" is a large silver tankard which at College
feasts is solemnly passed down the High Table, each guest in turn
standing up to drink it. Three, indeed, must always be so standing,
the drinker, the last man, and the next man; whence the cup has
sometimes three handles. At each potation the three concerned formally
bow to each other.]
A sight of the kitchen, which adjoins the Buttery, can almost always
be had, and is worth having; though the glory of the place has largely
departed with the substitution of gas stoves for the old open ranges,
six feet high and twelve feet long, before which scores of joints and
fowls might be seen simultaneously twisting on huge spits. If less
picturesque, the cooking is now more scientific, and the kitchen is a
splendid chamber, the finest of all College kitchens, with an open
pitched roof, and an oriel window, having been traditionally the
ancient Hall of Michaelhouse. The walls are adorned with the shells of
turtles, emblazoned with the dates of the great occasions on which
they were immolated for soup. It is not only the dinners in Hall which
are here cooked. Members of the College may order dishes to be sent to
their own rooms, in reason; though any very extra expenditure in this
respect would need to be authorised by your Tutor. This extraneous
fare may constantly be seen being carried about the Courts, in large
flat blue boxes, on the heads of the kitchen servants.
The doors of the Hall may usually be found open, or a request at the
Buttery may open them; though there is a certain amount of luck in the
matter, as the Hall is not only used for meals but for College
examinations also, which, of course, must not be disturbed by
intruders. A common lunch is served during Full Term, from 12 till 2,
at which such as list sit where they will, Dons and undergraduates,
cheek by jowl. The three daily dinners which the size of the College
makes necessary are more formal affairs, especially the latest at
7.45, which the authorities of the College attend, sitting at the two
High Tables on the dais, and faring more sumptuously than the students
in the body of the Hall. Of these only the "Senior Sophs"[38] may be
present, the "Junior Sophs" and Freshmen being relegated to the
earlier hours. The westernmost range of tables is sacred to Bachelors
of Arts and to the Scholars of the College. The rest may sit where
they please at the remaining tables, and diners may enter and leave at
their pleasure during the meal, but any course missed by lateness is
missed for good. Ordinary morning dress is worn, except on special
Feasts. Conversation may be freely indulged in, though it hardly,
nowadays, rises to the height of Tennyson's heroic phrase in "In
Memoriam," "the thunder of the Halls." The Master of the College
himself does not dine in Hall except at great Feasts, but in his own
adjacent Lodge, to the north, which communicates directly with the
Hall by a door in the panelling between, and also by a sliding panel
above, whence he (and his ladies) can, unobserved, overlook, and more
or less overhear, what passes.
[Footnote 38: For the first year of his residence the student is
called a Freshman, in the next he is a "Junior Soph," and in the third
a "Senior Soph." The origin of the word "Soph" is doubtful. It is
presumably short for Sophist; but all Americans will recognise it as
the origin of their "Sophomore." And American University nomenclature
is largely derived from Cambridge. The word, however, has of late gone
out of general use, and practically survives scarcely anywhere but in
Trinity.]
The high-pitched roof with its elaborate beams is copied, as are the
other features (and the dimensions) of the Hall, from the Hall of the
Middle Temple in London. Its ridge is broken in the centre by a
"Lantern," or small openwork spire of wood (the openings being now
glazed). This once served as a ventilating shaft, through which might
escape the fumes of the great brazier (a yard in depth and two yards
across) standing beneath it, and, till this generation, the only means
used to warm the Hall. Over the doors is a "Music Gallery," usually
closed in by quaintly carved shutters, whence, on Feast days, the
College Choristers still discourse melody. The armorial bearings in
the windows are those of eminent members of the College; while
pictures of its more prominent Worthies (or Unworthies) hang on the
walls. Conspicuous amongst these is Holbein's great portrait of Henry
the Eighth, who stands "straddled over the whole breadth of the way,"
above the centre of the High Table, in all his underbred
self-assertion, looking indeed "all our fancy painted him." His
unhappy daughter Mary (who built the College Chapel) hangs near him,
her full dourness and wretchedness in her face. Thackeray (a
singularly powerful presentation) is also here, so is Clerk-Maxwell,
so is Bishop Lightfoot, and many another light of literature, science,
and theology; for the great size of Trinity has given it as great a
proportion in the rolls of Fame.
On the other side of the Screens, in the "Combination Room," whither
the High Table adjourns for dessert, may be seen other famous Trinity
men, the most conspicuous being the celebrated Marquis of Granby,
standing by his war-horse, with the bare bald head which won him his
renown. He was in the act of charging the enemy[39] at the head of his
regiment when the wind of a cannon ball carried away his hat and wig;
and he did _not_ halt his soldiery that they might be picked up. This
unexampled pitch of heroism awoke the wildest enthusiasm throughout
the length and breadth of England and made "The Marquis of Granby," as
readers of Pickwick will remember, a favourite sign for inns
throughout many years. Entrance to the Combination Room is only
obtained through favour. There is little else to notice in it except
the beautiful polish of the mahogany tables.
[Footnote 39: At the battle of Minden, 1759.]
In the Screens are posted up the current College Notices--the hours
and subjects of the lectures, the dates and results of the College
examinations,[40] and the various tutorial admonishments of the Term.
There is usually only one Tutor in a College, but the great size of
Trinity requires the services of four; each being responsible for his
own "Side," as it is called, consisting of some 150 students, to whom
he is supposed (and the supposition is no unfounded one) to be "guide,
philosopher, and friend," keeping a wise eye to their progress, moral,
social, and intellectual.
[Footnote 40: Besides the University Examinations needed to obtain a
Degree, every College keeps its students up to the mark by extra
examinations of its own, held usually twice a year. There are also
competitive examinations for the College Scholarships, and (at
Trinity) for the Fellowships. About seventy per cent. of Trinity
students are "Honour men"; reading, not for the ordinary (or "Poll")
Degree, but for one or other of the various Triposes. And of these
"Honour" candidates of Trinity, over thirty per cent. attain a First
Class; which is thus gained by nearly twenty-five per cent. of Trinity
students, the highest College average in the University.]
[Illustration: _Trinity Bridge._]
Passing through the eastern doorway of the Screens we meet what is
perhaps the most ideal academic view in the world. From our feet
descends a semicircular stairway with steps of worn stone leading down
to a vast enclosure of greensward, surrounded and traversed by broad
walks of flags and pebbles, and enclosed on all sides by venerable
Collegiate buildings with battlemented parapets. These buildings are
not very lofty; which makes the court look even larger than it is, and
gives the greater effect to the three grand gate towers, one of which
adorns each of the three sides before us. In the midst of the Court
(which is not far from square but delightfully irregular in shape)
rises the inspired gracefulness of the fountain--with its octagonal
base of broad steps (surrounded by bright flowerbeds) and its
crocketed canopy upborne upon slender pillars with beautifully
proportioned arches.[41] The whole is a veritable miracle of design,
and would hold its own with any fountain even in Italy. It is, indeed,
the work of Italian craftsmen of the best period,[42] brought over
specially by Dr. Nevile, to whose genius we owe this most splendid of
all College quadrangles, the "Old Court" (sometimes called the "Great
Court") of Trinity.
[Footnote 41: The water is from an ancient conduit made originally to
supply the Franciscan Convent, and comes from a spring some two miles
to the west. Till recently this was the only supply for Trinity, and
(by a charitable tap outside the Great Gate) for many neighbours also.
Now it is supplemented by an artesian well behind the chapel, bored to
a depth of 120 feet into the Greensand.]
[Footnote 42: These same craftsmen probably made the beautiful
ceilings in the Combination Room at St. John's College (which is
copied from that in one of the rooms in this Court), and in the
University Library.]
To appreciate the greatness of this debt, we must bear in mind that,
when he became Master of the College, Nevile found the ground occupied
by heterogeneous ranges of old buildings, the remains of the
suppressed Colleges and Hostels, running chaotically in all sorts of
directions. These are shown in the earliest map of Cambridge,[43] made
in 1592, just before he began his great work of pulling down, setting
back, building and rebuilding. He thus remodelled almost the whole;
the Chapel alone (built fifty years earlier) and the great eastern
gate-tower remaining as they were before his reconstructions. In
reality this Court, far more than the Cloister Court, deserves to be
called by his name, and to remind us of his motto _Ne vile velis_
("Nothing cheap and nasty").
[Footnote 43: See _Cambridge Described_, p. 443.]
Since his day, indeed, surprisingly little alteration has been made.
Plaster has been put on (and stripped off) here and there, stonework
has been touched up, the Master's Lodge has been altered and
re-altered, but the only radical change has been in the south-west
corner beyond the Hall, which was rebuilt in 1775, with results as
artistically deplorable as may well be, especially in comparison with
the older work. Nevile had left in this corner a beautiful oriel
window, still to be seen in Logan's view of the College (1680).
Of the three gate towers only one is of Nevile's own building, that on
the southern side of the Court, known as the Queen's Gate from the
statue of Anne of Denmark, the Queen Consort of James the First,
which stands above its inner archway. The gate of this tower is used
only on occasions. The other two both belonged to King's Hall; the
eastern being still in its original place, the northern, which
formerly aligned with it, having been moved back by Nevile to align
with the Chapel. Both set forth the glories of Edward the Third; the
former displaying over its entrance gate the armorial bearings of his
seven sons, while over the archway of the latter he stands himself,
with his three crowns (of England, France and Scotland) spitted on the
long naked sword which he holds erect in front of him, and the proud
motto "_Fama super aethera notus_" ("Known by Fame beyond the skies").
From his like niche in the eastern tower he has been displaced by
Henry the Eighth. The statues on the inside of this tower are James
the First, with his wife and son (afterwards Charles the First).
The northern tower is commonly known as the Clock Tower; being the
dwelling place of the famous timepiece referred to by Wordsworth in
the "Prelude" as breaking the silence of his rooms at St. John's
College, which were not many yards away:
"Near me hung Trinity's loquacious clock,
Who never let the quarters, night or day,
Slip by him unproclaimed, and told the hours
Twice over, with a male and female voice."
The clock actually does repeat the hour, striking it first on the
biggest of the three bells in the tower, whose note is A flat, and
then on the second, E flat, a fifth above. The quarters are notified
by two, four, six and eight strokes respectively on the first and
second bells, F and E flat, a tone apart.[44]
[Footnote 44: Both clock and bells are due to Dr. Bentley, the famous
Master who bullied the College into so many happy and undesired
expenses during his tenure of office (1700-1742). The repeating is
solely for convenience; one often fails to note the first stroke or
two of an hour.]
To complete the round of the Court outside the grass-plots while
midnight strikes is a favourite test of running powers amongst the
Undergraduates. It is a fairly severe one; for the distance is 383
yards, with four sharp corners to negotiate, on somewhat pronounced
pebbling, and the time occupied by the 32 strokes (8 for the 4
quarters and a double 12 for the hour) is only 43 seconds. An easier
performance is to make a standing jump from top to bottom of the
steps before the Hall; this is chiefly a trial of nerve. There are 8
steps, each 6 inches high and 15 wide, so that the drop is only 4 feet
and the distance under 10; but it is a fearsome thought, looking down,
to contemplate the result should one's heel catch on a step. To jump
clear _up_ the flight is a real feat, which only two men are known to
have accomplished: even with the preliminary run which is possible
below though not above the stairway.
On our way through the Court towards the Chapel, we have on our left
hand the Master's Lodge, the front of which is an exceptionally happy
piece of early Victorian restoration. A poor classical facade had
(under Bentley) replaced Nevile's original front. But this front was
still to be seen in Logan's print, and was thus (in 1842)
reconstructed with little alteration. The Lodge contains splendid
reception rooms, worthy of a palace. The Chapel, though by no means of
the first rank as regards artistic beauty, is well worth seeing, for
it contains what high authorities consider the very finest statue ever
made since the palmy days of Greek art, Roubillac's wonderful
presentation of Sir Isaac Newton.[45] There he stands at the west end
of the Chapel, prism in hand, the king of all scientists, gazing with
rapt eyes into Infinity, and a smile full of hope and illumination
upon his lips.[46] The story goes that the expression on these lips
did not wholly satisfy the sculptor at his first sight of his creation
on its pedestal, and that he climbed up, then and there, chisel in
hand, to give the effect he desired with a few exquisitely directed
blows.
[Footnote 45: This was given to the College in 1755 by the then
Master, Dr. Robert Smith.]
[Footnote 46: Wordsworth in "The Prelude" tells us how he loved
"The antechapel, where the statue stood
Of Newton, with his prism and silent face,
The marble index of a mind for ever
Voyaging through strange seas of Thought, alone."]
Other heroic figures are grouped around, Francis Bacon, (Tennyson's
"Large-browed Verulam
The first of those that know,")
[Illustration: _The Fountain, Trinity College._]
Tennyson himself, Macaulay, Dr. Barrow, the Master to whom the
College owes its Library,[47] and the massive virility of his
omniscient successor, Dr. Whewell.[48] Brasses affixed to the walls
commemorate many another great inmate of the College, who, "having
served his own generation according to the will of God," is here laid
to rest:
"Trinity's full tide of life flooding o'er him
Morning and evening as he lies dead."
[Footnote 47: Barrow's great wish was that the University should build
a theatre (like the Sheldonian at Oxford), instead of having its
dramas performed, as they then were, in the University Church. When
the Senate boggled at the expense, he declared that Trinity should
shame them by erecting unaided a yet finer building than he proposed,
and "that very afternoon" himself staked out the foundations of the
Library. (_Clark's Guide_, p. 123.)]
[Footnote 48: Of the astonishingly wide sweep of Whewell's knowledge
many tales are yet told. There was no subject on which he could not
talk with authority. It is related how an impertinent Fellow once
hoped to puzzle him by getting up an article on Chinese music in a
back number of the _Edinburgh Review_, and introducing the subject in
Hall. "Ah," replied Whewell, "it is a long time since I thought of
that. But you will find an article of mine about it in the
_Edinburgh_, some ten or fifteen years ago."]
These lines were written to commemorate Dr. Thompson, the late Master
(renowned for his sarcastic humour), and refer to the fact that
undergraduates are expected to put in every week a certain number of
attendances at the morning and evening Services held daily in the
Chapel.[49] This obligation is now very leniently construed by the
Senior and Junior "Deans," under whose cognisance offences against it
come; but not so very long ago it was exceedingly strict, and the
Chapel Lists, on which the attendances were recorded, were objects of
real dread to the slothful. In 1838 the Senior Fellows (then the
Governing Body of the College),[50] decreed that every student must be
present twice on Sunday and once on every other day of the week. This
ukase brought about something like a rebellion. A secret "Society for
the Prevention of Cruelty to Undergraduates" was formed, and avenged
their wrongs by publishing every week regular lists exposing the far
from adequate attendance of the Senior Fellows themselves (Thompson
being one), to the intense annoyance of these dignitaries. Finally,
they actually had the assurance to give a prize to the Fellow who had
been most regular, Mr. Perry, who afterwards became the first Bishop
of Melbourne, and who cherished the Bible thus won to the end of his
life. The Society kept their secret for a whole Term, and, when
finally discovered, were able to escape punishment by promising that
the publication of their Lists, which made the Seniors the weekly
laughing-stock of the University, should be brought to an end.
[Footnote 49: On Sundays and Festivals all wear surplices, and the
throng then presents a very striking appearance. It suggested
Tennyson's vision of "Six hundred maidens clad in purest white," in
"The Princess."]
[Footnote 50: This is now the College Council, consisting of the
Master, the Tutors, and other Members elected for a certain period.]
All these statues and memorials are in the Ante-Chapel, which is
separated from the Chapel proper, as at King's, by the screen on which
stands the great organ. This organ is the largest and best-toned in
Cambridge,[51] but it is far from being as effective as the King's
organ, to which the magnificent acoustic properties of its Chapel lend
so wondrous a power. In Trinity there is always the sensation that the
harmonies are boxed in; indeed the shape of the Chapel does very much
suggest a box. In justice, however, to its designers, it must be
remembered that the box-like effect would be very much lessened by the
east and west windows with which it was originally provided. The
latter was closed by Nevile's putting back the clock tower to abut
upon it; the former still exists, as may be seen from the outside, but
is utterly shut off from the interior by a huge and far from beautiful
baldachino erected (not at his own cost but at that of the
impoverished Fellows) by Dr. Bentley. This famous scholar was one of
the few unpleasant Masters with whom the Crown (in which is here
vested the right, usually belonging to the Fellows, of appointing the
Head of the College) ever saddled Trinity. He passed his whole time as
Head in one long unceasing quarrel with his College. To begin with, he
was unpopular as being a member of the adjoining Foundation of St.
John's, between which and Trinity there existed an age-long rivalry.
Not many years before something like open war had been levied between
the Colleges on the occasion of a Trinity merry-making, the Johnian
onlookers being attacked with burning torches and using swords in
their defence; while an attempt which they made to rush the great
gates was beaten off by showers of stones and brickbats which had
been stored to that end on the roof of the Gate Tower.
[Footnote 51: It was made early in the eighteenth century by the
celebrated Father Smith, an organ-builder of world-wide fame.]
St. John's was at this time the largest College, and despised Trinity;
a sentiment which Bentley, who was a born bully,[52] expressed with
the utmost frankness, publicly calling the Fellows "asses," "dogs,"
"fools," "sots," and other scurrilous names, as they piteously set
forth in their complaints to their Visitor,[53] the Bishop of Ely.
Finally he was degraded by the Senate,[54] and reduced to the status
of "a bare Harry-Soph," as a contemporary diarist (quoted by Mr.
Clark)[55] puts it. But no Master, except Nevile and Barrow, has left
so enduring a mark upon the College; for the ruinous expenditure into
which he dragooned the unhappy Fellows has given the Chapel not only
the baldachino, but the stalls, the panelling, and the organ; to say
nothing of the clock, and the splendid oak staircase in the Lodge.
[Footnote 52: By his arrogance Bentley incurred the undying hatred of
Pope, who denounces him in the "Dunciad" as boasting himself (in
addressing Dullness)
"Thy mighty Scholiast, whose unwearied pains
Made Horace dull, and humbled Milton's strains;
Turn what they will to verse, their toil is vain;
Critics like me shall make it prose again."]
[Footnote 53: To every College is attached some high-placed personage
as Visitor, with a vague, but by no means unreal, power of
interference when appealed to. Bentley was only saved from deposition
by the sudden death of the Visitor.]
[Footnote 54: The Senate is the general assembly of Masters of Arts,
which is the supreme University authority.]
[Footnote 55: _Guide to Cambridge_, p. 129. The meaning of the curious
word "Harry-Soph" is apparently equivalent to a student unequal to a
Degree. Bentley was deprived of all his Degrees.]
The profuse gilding and painting which enriches walls and roof in the
Chapel is due to a restoration some forty years ago, when the outside
was also faced with stone, and the windows filled with stained glass,
commemorating ecclesiastical and other celebrities throughout all the
Christian centuries. The Apostles appear in the most easterly windows
on either side; whence the series progresses in chronological order
westwards. The figures are for the most part powerfully drawn, and
should be examined through an opera glass to appreciate their wealth
of detail. We can thus see that Hildebrand has driven his crosier
through the eagles of the Imperial Crown, that Dante, Matthew Paris,
and Roger Bacon, hold in their hands copies of their own greatest
works, that Giotto is studying an elevation of his Campanile; while
noted church-builders, like St. Hugh of Lincoln and William of
Wykeham, carry models of their edifices. The hapless Mary Tudor holds
one of this very Chapel, of which she was the Foundress. It is
appropriate that the beautiful silver cross over the Altar should be
Spanish work of her date, though only placed there a few years ago by
the generosity of some members of the College who met with it while
travelling in Spain. It was originally a processional cross, and has
been adapted for its new purpose with artistic skill of the first
order.
When we leave the Chapel, and proceed towards the Great Gate, we are
treading on classic ground. For it was along this flagged path that
Macaulay, while at Trinity, used to take his daily exercise, pacing
assiduously up and down, always the while devouring some author, whose
pages he turned over with incredible rapidity, and at the same pace
whether they were filled with the weightiest thought or the lightest
fancy. Yet whether the book were profound philosophy or exquisite
poetry or the trashiest of rhyme and fiction, he was ever afterwards
able to recall its whole scheme and even to quote lengthy portions of
it verbatim. His rooms were in the staircase facing us--the set on the
ground-floor to the left of the entrance. This particular staircase
has been the home of more great men than any other in the University.
The ground-floor rooms opposite Macaulay's were those of
Thackeray,[56] and the set above Thackeray's are hallowed as the
habitation of Sir Isaac Newton: for whom the College built an
observatory on the roof of the Gate Tower, and who also had the use of
a small bit of ground which we see outside the gate, now a railed-in
lawn, but then a pretty little garden, as Logan's view shows, with
trees and flower-beds, surrounded by a high wall.
[Footnote 56: Readers of _Esmond_ will remember that Thackeray
quarters that hero on this same staircase, "close by the gate, and
near to the famous Mr. Newton's lodgings." Thackeray was in residence
1829-31, Macaulay 1818-24, Newton 1662-1717.]