"It is always interesting," said my friend, Feedingspoon, "to consider
the various stages of the process by which knowledge is disseminated. An
inscription (we will say) or an important textual variation is
discovered: it is then misinterpreted to fit a preconceived theory; then
it is introduced into a cheap German edition, for the School-Use
explained. Subsequently, an English school-book is copied from the
German: the English commentary is imparted (by me) to undergraduates, in
the form of lectures; and the undergraduates' notes are presently
submitted to an examiner in the Schools, who marks them _a_--?, and says
they show evidence of some original research. By how many degrees, do
you suppose, is the examiner removed from the truth?"
"It depends," I said, "whether he be a D.D., an M.A., or a D.Litt. But I
do not understand the necessity of the lecturer. Cannot your
undergraduate read the English book for himself?"
"No," he replied, "he cannot. There are, of course, exceptional persons.
But the ordinary man's mind is so constructed that he is incapable of
comprehending that which is seen by the eyes unless it be also heard by
the ears. Moreover, when he is not safely shut up in a lecture-room, he
is almost always compelled to be either eating, or playing football, or
meeting his maternal uncle at the station. Lastly, if the student could
read for himself, there would be no need of a lecturer: which is absurd.
"Such being the admitted theory of education," continued Feedingspoon, "I
feel that I am necessary to the machinery of the Universe. The position
which I occupy is at the same time one of some labour. This morning, for
instance, I rose late (having been occupied till past midnight in reading
to my pupils selections from the _Poetics_ of Aristotle, in order that
they might sleep soundly and wake refreshed): hence, I was unable to
follow my usual practice, which is, to call my alumni at 6.30, to
accompany them in a walk before breakfast, and map out the scheme of
reading which they are to follow until luncheon. I only trust that this
isolated omission of a plain duty may not wreck their futures! As a
result of my somnolence, I had but ten minutes in which to prepare two
lectures on subjects of which I had previously been ignorant; but, thanks
to Mr. Gow's _Handbook to School Classics_--a work with which my pupils
are unfamiliar because I have not yet told them to read it--I succeeded
in displaying an erudition which, in the circumstances, was creditable.
Since the conclusion of my lectures, I have been employed in visiting the
candidates whom I am preparing for examination, and encouraging them to
continue their studies. Personal attention is indispensable to the true
educator. But I must confess that I am somewhat dashed and embarrassed
by the receipt of a request from Tomkins, a scholar of this College, that
I should discontinue my daily inspection of his reading, as he wishes to
have time to do some work: coupled with a letter from the Senior Tutor,
who wishes to know if I do not think that a little more individual
attention is advisable in the case of Tomkins. . . .
"I must now," he said, "ask you to excuse me. The representatives of my
College are about to play a football match in the Parks: and although the
game is one with the rules of which I have never been able to familiarize
myself, and in which, between ourselves, I take no interest whatever, I
conceive that my absence from the crowd of spectators might well loosen
that sympathy between myself and the junior members of the College,
without which they must infallibly meet the fate of the man who reads his
books for himself and neglects the dictation of his Tutor. Moreover, I
have to spend the later part of the afternoon in reading the Cr--, I
should say, the admirable and scholarly version of Professor Jebb--to
three Commoners who are taking up Sophocles for Honour Moderations."
"Your day," I said, "seems indeed to be somewhat occupied. Let me at
least hope that the work which you are doing will win you the applause of
the learned, and a place among the Educationists of the century."
* * * * *
On leaving Feedingspoon, it happened that the first man whom I met was
Fadmonger, _the_ Fadmonger, the one with a Continental reputation. He
had been ordered to play golf in the morning, and was returning from the
links. As we walked together towards the North of Oxford, I was about to
repeat to him the substance of my conversation with Feedingspoon. But on
my mentioning the latter's name, Fadmonger interposed, and said that he
really could not trust himself to speak on that subject. He then
discoursed upon it at great length, using the most violent language about
Obscurantism, Packed Boards, the Tutorial Profession, Sacrifice of
Research to Examination, Frivolous Aims and Obsolete Methods, and the
like.
"What," he cried indignantly, "are we to think of a curriculum--so
called--which includes the _Republic_ of Plato and excludes the
_Onomasticon_ of Julius Pollux?"
"Assuredly," I replied, "there can be only one opinion about it."
"Exactly," he said; "you are one of the few sensible men I know. Our
methods, I can tell you, are getting us into serious discredit abroad. I
should just like you to hear the things which are said about Literae
Humaniores by Professor Jahaleel Q. Potsherds of Johns Hopkins, and
Doctor Grabenrauber of Weissnichtwo. They think very little of this
University at Johns Hopkins."
"Indeed," I said; "I am pained to hear it."
"Yes," replied Fadmonger; "it worries me a good deal. I have almost
resolved to give up the rest of my lectures for the Term, and go to the
Riviera for a complete change. . . .
"No," he continued, after a pause, "there is nothing to be hoped from the
College Tutor. Obscurantist he is, and obscurantist he will remain: he
is our great impediment to serious study--study, that is, of anything
except so-called classical texts. It is to the young student that we
must look for salvation. Do you know young Frawde of my College? I have
had most interesting talks with him--a really able man, but of course
quite misunderstood by his tutors: able men always are."
"He is, I suppose," said I, "reading for a Final Honour School."
"Of course he is doing nothing of the kind," Fadmonger replied with some
warmth. "In the present degraded condition of Honour Greats it is quite
unworthy of a serious student. He is at present preparing to take a pass
degree: and after that he thinks of going abroad to devote himself
seriously to a course of Tymborychology. A most interesting young man,
with admirably sound ideas on the present state of the Schools. . . ."
* * * * *
It happens that I know Frawde: and when I next met him I commented with
some surprise on his new departure. Frawde was quite candid, and said it
had been necessary to do something in order to patch up his much-ploughed
character before Collections. He had been plausible, and Fadmonger
credulous.
"And really, you know, the Fadder wasn't half a bad chap"--he had given
Frawde a recommendation to read in the Bodder--"and I am going there
too," said the serious student, "as soon as I can find out where it is:
but nobody seems to know. After all, lots of chaps go abroad after their
degraggers: why shouldn't I have a spade and dig in Egypt or Mesopotamia
or somewhere, same as anybody else? Eh?"
And, upon my word, I really don't see why he shouldn't.
THE TORTURED TUTOR:
A DIALOGUE OF THE DEAD
"The question is," said Pluto to the deceased Tutor, "which of our
penalties we can assign to you. Something you must have, you know: it's
the rule of the place."
"Sorry to hear you say so," replied the Tutor. "I _had_ hoped that
perhaps I might be allowed a little quiet to enjoy the pleasant
warmth--my doctor really sent me here as an alternative to Algiers--and
possibly throw in a little journalistic work which would advertise you in
the evening papers. You're not known enough up there."
"Not known? Why, surely you yourself must often have been recommended
to--"
"Of course, of course," the Tutor hastily interrupted,--"but not by any
one whose opinion or advice I at all respected. Whereas if I might just
have leisure to look round and jot things down, now that I am here, I
could put you in touch with specialists who--"
"Now, look here," said the Monarch, "if you're going to stay here at all,
you must please to remember that this isn't a University. I simply won't
have idlers loafing round wasting their own time and demoralizing society
with their lazy habits. Pardon my abruptness" (he continued, more
mildly), "but with all the exclusiveness in the world I can't prevent our
getting a little mixed now and then, and if people come here with
academic ideas I really couldn't be responsible for order and morality.
We should be as Anglo-Indian as Olympus in no time."
"Very true! very true!" said the Shade. "I quite see. Satan finds some
mischief still--eh? as I used to say when I was a Dean. Since you really
insist on it, I suppose there _had_ better be some trifling torture by
way of occupation. Only look here--it mustn't be any of the things I
used to do up above. Quite absurd, you know, to go on reading the same
books you did at school--no, I mean, to be made to continue on the same
old lines I followed before I came up--down, I should say. It's so
monotonous, and it isn't improving."
"Well," said Pluto, "we'll see what can be done, on that assumption. It
does rather limit possibilities, though, doesn't it? You see I have to
confess that, considering it's the nineteenth century, we are a little
behind the times--no great variety in the matter of punishments."
"Why don't you bring them up to date?" asked the visitor.
"Practically," he replied, "it's a question of expense. With funds, I
could do much more. Roasting over a slow fire, for instance, is good:
they have that in another place: but just think of the coal bill! Then
viva-voceing and vivisecting without anaesthetics are of course
admirable; but the cost of expert labour involved would be ruinous.
Result is, that nearly all my penalties are self-acting and consequently
simple in design; and, on the whole, except in the case of _blases_
people who come here with a too varied experience, they answer tolerably
well."
"All right," said the Tutor, "suggest an occupation."
"Let me see," said the Ruler of the Shades, and he pondered a few
moments. "How would it be, now, if you were to take a turn with our
friend Sisyphus? He rolls a big stone up a hill, and just as he thinks
it's going to get to the top, down it comes again--most disappointing.
Quite inexpensive, and very healthy, _I_ should say, and really, as an
object-lesson in the force of gravity, not uninstructive."
"Won't do at all," replied the Tutor. "In the Vacations I was always
walking up hills and having to come down before I got to the top. Then
in the Term I used to teach Logic to passmen; and really, if you think--"
"Yes, yes," Pluto agreed; "the occupations would be practically
identical. Of course, that won't suit you. Well, then, there's Ixion,
who goes round on a wheel."
"I'm a bicyclist myself," objected the Tutor.
"Are you? Pity, too, because Ixion says his wheel's old-fashioned; he
wants a new one with pneumatic tyres warranted puncturable, which shows
that he is really entering into the spirit of the thing. You might have
had his old one for a song, I'm sure. However, what do you say to
calling on those Danaid girls, and getting them to teach you their little
industry? There, again, you have simplicity itself. Take a can with a
hole in the bottom, go on pouring water into it--"
"I thought I told you," murmured the deceased, wearily, "that I have
followed the profession of teaching."
"Very true; I had forgotten. Don't know what we can do to suit you,
really! Perhaps you'd like to imitate Theseus--_sedet aeternumque
sedebit_, as Virgil said. Astonishing how Virgil picked these details
up! There's old Theseus, sitting like a hen. They say he's as tired of
sitting as if he were a rowing-man."
"As an ex-member of the Board of the Faculty of Arts--" began the Tutor.
"Ah, dear me!" replied Pluto. "Then that won't do either? Those Boards
must be excellent from my point of view. I have often wished I had one
or two down here. But I'm really afraid we're getting to the end of the
list. And, you know, if we can't provide you with anything, back you'll
have to go. _I_ won't keep you, eating your head off. But, talk of
eating! shall I put you up beside Prometheus, and ask his eagle to do a
little overtime work by taking a turn at your liver? I am afraid we
could hardly stand you a private eagle all to yourself. It is said to be
quite painful; I really don't think you can have gone through that, with
all your experience."
"Oh yes I have," returned the Tutor; "a long course of Hall dinners has
familiarized me with every possibility in the way of liver trouble. The
eagle business would be the merest _crambe repetita_."
"Bless the man!" cried Pluto, justly provoked. "Very well; then you
can't stay here, that's all. I've given you all the alternatives Hades
has at its disposal, and you tell us you have been through them all in
your University! All I can say is, you had better go back to it, and
stay there."
"The Bursar," said the Tutor, "will not be best pleased to see me again.
He thinks he has got my Fellowship, and is going to use it for the
benefit of the College farms. I can tell you he won't like it one bit
when I reappear at the College Meeting."
"The Bursar and I shall have plenty of time for an explanation--later,"
said Pluto.