_Cambridge.—Republican Tendency of Schools counteracted at
College.—College a useful Place for the debauched Students, a
melancholy one for others.—Fellowships.—Advantage of a University
Education.—Not so necessary as it once was._
Wednesday.
From Alconbury-Hill to Cambridge is two short stages,—we passed through
Huntingdon, the birth-place of Oliver Cromwell, and travelled over a
dismal flat, the country northward being one great fen. The whole of
these extensive fens is said once to have been dry and productive ground
reduced to this state by some earthquake or deluge, unremembered in
history. Tools found beneath the soil, and submersed forests, are the
proofs. A century and half ago they began to drain them, and the
draining still proceeds. In old times they were the favourite retreat of
the religious: the waters were at that time carried off by great rivers
through the level, above twenty leagues long, which formed innumerable
lakes, many of them of considerable size, and on the islands in these a
hermitage or a convent was placed in safety from the sudden attack of
the Northern Sea Kings, and in that solitude which its holy inhabitants
desired. The greater number of the old English saints flourished in this
district.
A singular custom prevailed here about fourscore years ago, and perhaps
may not yet be wholly discontinued. The corpse was put into the ground a
few hours after death, and about a week afterwards they buried an empty
coffin with funeral ceremonies. Possibly this strange peculiarity may
have been introduced upon occasion of some pestilence, when it would
have been dangerous to keep the body longer. The body is always kept
some days in England, usually till signs of decay appear.
At length we came in sight of Cambridge:—How inferior to the first view
of Oxford! yet its lofty buildings and old trees gave it a
characteristic appearance, and were more beautiful because in the midst
of such a dreary land. The streets are narrow, and the greater number of
the colleges mean brick buildings; there is, however, one edifice, the
Chapel of King's College, which exceeds any thing in Oxford, and
probably in the world. This unrivalled edifice is dedicated to Mary the
most pure and to St Nicholas. It was finished by the arch-apostate
Henry VIII., when he had just effected his adulterous marriage with Anne
Boleyn, and here their names appear twined together with true lovers'
knots, the only place where his initials remain joined with hers.
In this university are sixteen colleges.[11] The principal one is
dedicated to the most holy Trinity; it consists of two handsome squares,
or quadrangles as they are called, the larger of which the Cantabrigians
would fain believe to be finer than the great quadrangle of Christ
Church at Oxford, of which they may perhaps persuade those who have
never been at Oxford. The Library, the Chapel, and the Refectory were
shown to us; the two latter are little curious, but in the anti-chapel
is a statue of the great Newton by Roubiliac, a name of great eminence
in this country. It is a good example of Vandyke in marble, and that
will give you the best idea of its style and excellence. The sculptor
has endeavoured to make it picturesque, by representing the texture and
the light and shade of silk in the drapery; and as the vulgar can always
comprehend dexterity of hand, and can seldom comprehend any thing above
it, the statue has obtained much admiration for its faults.
The Library is a most magnificent room about an hundred paces in length,
with a painted window at the end, of which it would not be easy to say
whether the design or the execution be most faulty: in this, Minerva,
Bacon, George III., and Newton are all brought together in their
respective costumes. Besides a splendid collection of books, there is a
cabinet of medals here, but they are seldom shown lest they should be
stolen, as books frequently have been. It is singular that in the public
libraries and collections of England there are more precautions taken
against thieves than in any other country in Europe. It is not often I
understand when an offender is discovered that the law is enforced
against him; but now and then, the librarian said, they were obliged to
make an example; and he turned to a MS. Catalogue, and showed us a
record that a member of the University had been degraded for seven years
for this offence. In the University library we were shown several books
which had been stolen, and the title-pages nearly cut out, in order to
avoid detection. Offences of this kind, though in their consequences so
truly abominable, seem to be little thought of. Indeed, it should appear
that the English scarcely think it any crime to plunder the public in
any way.
I had an introduction to a resident member of ——; it proved a very
valuable one, and there are few of my English friends from whose
conversation I have derived so much instruction. The objects of
curiosity in Cambridge were soon seen, but we remained a few days there,
for the pleasure of his society. The University was almost empty, it
being now the vacation time. There is a greater variety of dresses here
than at Oxford, the colleges not dressing all alike, and some wearing
purple instead of black. The privileged class also wear a hat instead of
the academical cap. A round church of the Templars, built after the Holy
Sepulchre, is one of the most remarkable things in this university.—I
was pleased too with the sight of a huge concave celestial globe, in the
midst of which you stand, and it revolves round you. The Cam, a lazy
stream, winds behind the town and through the college walks, collecting
filth as it goes. "Yonder," said our friend, "are the Gogmagog
Hills;"—in spite of their gigantic appellation they are so very like a
plain, that I looked all around to see where they were.
* * * * *
"What a happy life," said I to our Cambridge friend, "must you lead in
your English universities! You have the advantages of a monastery
without its restrictions, the enjoyments of the world without its
cares,—the true _otium cum dignitate_." He shook his head and answered,
"It is a joyous place for the young, and a convenient place for all of
us,—but for none is it a happy one—and he soon convinced me that I was
mistaken in the favourable judgment which I had formed. I will endeavour
to retrace the substance of a long and interesting evening's
conversation.
It is a joyous place for the young,—joy and happiness however are not
synonymous. They come hither from school, no longer to be treated as
children; their studies and their amusement are almost at their own
discretion, and they have money at command. But as at college they first
assume the character of man, it is there also that they are first made
to feel their relative situation in society. Schools in England,
especially those public ones from which the universities are chiefly
supplied, are truly republican. The master perhaps will pay as much
deference to rank as he possibly can, and more than he honestly
ought:—it is, however, but little that he can pay the institutions have
been too wisely framed to be counteracted, and titles and families are
not regarded by the boys. The distinctions which they make are in the
spirit of a barbarous, not of a commercial calculating people; bodily
endowments hold the first, mental the second place. The best bruiser
enjoys the highest reputation; next to him, but after a long interval,
comes the best cricket-player, the third place, at a still more
respectful distance, is allowed to the cleverest, who, in the opinion of
his fellows, always takes place of the best scholar. In the world,—and
the college is not out of it like the cloister,—all this is reversed
into its right order; but the gifts of fortune are placed above all.
Whatever habits and feelings of equality may have been generated at
school, are to be got rid of at college,—and this is soon done. The
first thing which the new student perceives on his arrival, is, that his
school-fellows, who are there before him, pass him in the streets as if
they knew him not, and perhaps stare him full in the face, that he may
be sure it is not done through inadvertency. The ceremony of
introduction must take place before two young men who for years have
eaten at the same table, studied in the same class, and perhaps slept in
the same chamber,—can possibly know each other when they meet at
college.
There is to be found every where a great number of those persons whom we
cannot prove to be human beings by any rational characteristic which
they possess; but who must be admitted to be so, by a sort of _reductio
ad absurdum_, because they cannot possibly be any thing else. They pass
for men, in the world, because it has pleased God for wise purposes,
however inscrutable to us, to set them upon two legs instead of four; to
give them smooth skins and no tail, and to enable them to speak without
having their tongues slit. They are like those weeds which will spring
up and thrive in every soil and every climate, and which no favourable
circumstances can ever improve into utility. It is of little consequence
whether they shoot water-fowl, attend horse-races, frequent the brothel,
and encourage the wine trade in one place or another; but as a few years
of this kind of life usually satisfy a man for the rest of it, it is
convenient that there should be a place appointed where one of this
description can pass through this course of studies out of sight of his
relations, and without injuring his character; and from whence he can
come with the advantage of having been at the University, and a
qualification which enables him to undertake the cure of souls. The
heretical bishops never enquire into the moral conduct of those upon
whom they lay their unhallowed hands,—and as for the quantity of
learning which is required,—M. Maillardet, who exhibits his Androeides
in London, could put enough into an automaton.
Such men as these enjoy more happiness, such as their happiness is, at
the University than during any other part of their lives. It is a
pleasant place also for the lilies of the world, they who have neither
to toil nor to spin; but for those who have the world before them, there
is perhaps no place in their whole journey where they feel less at ease.
It is the port from whence they are to embark,—and who can stand upon
the beach and look upon the sea whereon he is about to trust himself and
his fortunes, without feeling his heart sink at the uncertainty of the
adventure? True it is that these reflections do not continue long upon a
young man's mind, yet they occur so often as insensibly to affect its
whole feelings. The way of life is like the prospect from his window,—he
beholds it not while he is employed, but in the intervals of employment,
when he lifts up his eyes, the prospect is before him. The frequent
change of his associates is another melancholy circumstance. A sort of
periodical and premature mortality takes place among his friends: term
after term they drop off to their respective allotments, which are
perhaps so distant from his own, that years may elapse, or the whole
lease of life be run out, before he ever again meets with the man whom
habits of daily and intimate intercourse had endeared to him.
Let us now suppose the student to be successful in his collegiate
pursuits, he obtains a fellowship,—and is, in the opinion of his
friends, provided for for life. Settled for life he would indeed have
been according to the original institution, and it still is a provision
for him as long as he retains it,—but mark the consequences of the
schism,—of altering the parts of an establishment without considering
their relations to the whole. A certain number of benefices belong to
the college, to which, as they become vacant, the fellows succeed
according to seniority, vacating their fellowships by accepting a
benefice, or by marrying. Here one of the evils of a married clergy is
perceived. Where celibacy is never regarded as a virtue, it is naturally
considered as a misfortune. Attachments are formed more easily perhaps
in this country than in any other, because there is little restraint in
the intercourse between the sexes, and all persons go so much from home
into public. But the situation of the college-fellow who has engaged his
affections is truly pitiable. Looking with envious eyes at those above
him on the list, and counting the ages of those who hold the livings for
which he is to wait, he passes years after years in this disquieting and
wretched state of hope. The woman, in like manner, wears away her youth
in dependent expectation, and they meet at last, if they live to meet,
not till the fall of the leaf—not till the habits and tempers of both
are become fixt and constitutional, so as no longer to be capable of
assimilating each to the other.
I enquired what were the real advantages of these institutions to the
country at large, and to the individuals who study in them. "They are of
this service," he replied, "to the country at large, that they are the
great schools by which established opinions are inculcated and
perpetuated. I do not know that men gain much here, yet it is a regular
and essential part of our system of education, and they who have not
gone through it always feel that their education has been defective. A
knowledge of the world, that is to say, of our world and of the men in
it, is gained here, and that knowledge remains when Greek and geometry
are forgotten." I asked him which was the best of the two universities;
he answered that Cambridge was as much superior to Oxford, as Oxford was
to Salamanca. I could not forbear smiling at his scale of depreciation:
he perceived it, and begged my pardon, saying, that he as little
intended to undervalue the establishments of my country, as to overrate
the one of which he was himself a member. "We are bad enough," said he,
"Heaven knows, but not so bad as Oxford. They are now attempting to
imitate us in some of those points wherein the advantage on our part is
too notorious to be disputed. The effect may be seen in another
generation,—meantime the imitation is a confession of inferiority."
"Still," said I, "we may regard the universities as the seats of
learning and of the Muses." "As for the Muses, sir," said he, "you have
traversed the banks of the Cam, and must know whether you have seen any
nine ladies there who answer their description. We do certainly produce
verses both Greek and Latin which are worthy of gold medals, and English
ones also, after the newest and most approved receipt for verse-making.
Of leading, such as is required for the purposes of tuition there is
much,—beyond it, except in mathematics, none. In this we only share the
common degeneracy. The Mohammedans believe that when Gog and Magog are
to come, the race of men will have dwindled to such littleness, that a
shoe of one of the present generation will serve them for a house. If
this prophecy be typical of the intellectual diminution of the species,
Gog and Magog may soon be expected in the neighbourhood of their own
hills."
"The truth is, sir," he continued, "that the institutions of men grow
old like men themselves, and, like women, are always the last to
perceive their own decay. When universities were the only schools of
learning they were of great and important utility; as soon as there were
others, they ceased to be the best, because their forms were prescribed,
and they could adopt no improvement till long after it was generally
acknowledged. There are other causes of decline.—We educate for only one
profession: when colleges were founded that one was the most important;
it is now no longer so; they who are destined for the others find it
necessary to study elsewhere, and it begins to be perceived that this is
not a necessary stage upon the road. This might be remedied. We have
professors of every thing, who hold their situations and do nothing. In
Edinburgh the income of the professor depends upon his exertions, and in
consequence the reputation of that university is so high, that
Englishmen think it necessary to finish their education by passing a
year there. They learn shallow metaphysics there, and come back worse
than they went, inasmuch as it is better to be empty than flatulent."
[11] Accurately speaking, there are twelve colleges and four halls.—TR.