THE DON--(_continued_)
The examiners--Perjury and bribery--Method of examining--College
Fellows--Election to Fellowships--Gibbon and the Magdalen Dons--Heads
of colleges--Their domestic and public character--Golgotha and Ben
Numps--St John’s Head pays homage to Christ Church--Drs Marlowe and
Randolph.
After the lecture comes the examination, so the examiner shall be the next
in line. Now the examiners were appointed by the senior Proctor, who
administered to them the following oath: “That they will either examine,
or hear examined, all candidates that fall to their lot, in those arts and
sciences, and in such manner as the statute requires. Likewise that they
will not be prevailed upon by entreaties, or bribes, or hatred or
friendship, or hope or fear, to grant any one a _testimonium_, who does
not deserve it, or to deny it to any one that does.” The examiners were,
however, in the same parlous condition as the lecturers and tutors.
The most mild of all the adverse criticisms was that of Henry Fynes
Cliton, who was at the House in 1799. He said that the examiners
discouraged Undergraduates from making a wide choice of authors for their
schools, and that if any one anxious for first-class honours took an
author not included in the abbreviated list as given out by them, they
would find a way to stop him from obtaining the coveted class.
This entirely bears out the statement of Amhurst, who said that the
examiners were entirely ignorant of the subjects in which they examined,
and that the whole system was a farce and a scandal.
“How well the examiners perform their duty,” he wrote with almost
apathetic resignation, “I leave to God and their own consciences; tho’ my
shallow apprehension cannot reconcile their taking a solemn oath, that
they will not be prevail’d upon by entreaties or bribes, or friendship,
etc., with their actually receiving bribes, and frequently granting
_testimoniums_ to unworthy candidates, out of personal friendship and
bottle acquaintance. It is a notorious truth, that most candidates get
leave of the proctor, by paying his man a crown (which is called his
perquisite) to choose their own examiners, who never fail to be their old
cronies and toping companions. The question therefore is, whether it may
not be strongly presumed from hence, that the candidates expect more
favour from these men, than from strangers; because otherwise it would be
throwing away a crown to no purpose; and if they do meet with a favour
from them, _quaere_ whether the examiner is not prevail’d upon by
intreaties or friendship.”
Another method of procedure then very popular was for the examiner to
receive “a piece of gold” or an “handsome entertainment” from each of the
candidates, or else to be made drunk by him the night before the
examination. The candidate took care to provide sufficient drink to keep
his man occupied busily till morning, and then they adjourned, “cheek by
joul,” from their drinking room to the school. “_Quaere_” demanded Terrae
Filius again, “whether it would not be very ungrateful of the examiner to
refuse any candidate a _testimonium_, who has treated him so splendidly
over night? and whether he is not, in this case, prevail’d upon by
bribes?”
Vicesimus Knox of St John’s made very much the same statements about the
examiners, and added that during the time when they were closeted with the
candidates in the schools they did nothing but discuss the latest drinking
bout (which took place the night before), or talk horses, or read
newspapers and novels till the clock struck eleven--when they all
descended, and the _testimonium_ was signed without a twinge of
conscience.
But college Fellowship was, perhaps, one of the most abused offices in
existence. Once nominated to a Fellowship, however unfit to occupy the
position, a Don was settled for life. He had a fixed income, did no work,
and worried about nothing but to retain his own particular corner chair at
the King’s Head tavern or elsewhere. He stagnated for the rest of his
natural life, and became gross by dint of perpetual drinking. On the sad
subject of college Fellows T. J. Hogg, writing of Shelley at Oxford, told
us that at the end of the eighteenth century,
“If a few gentlemen were admitted to Fellowships, they were always absent;
they were not persons of literary pretensions, or distinguished by
scholarship; and they had no more share in the government of the college
than the overgrown guardsman....
“A total neglect of all learning, an unseemly turbulence, the most
monstrous irregularities, open and habitual drunkenness, vice, and
violence, were tolerated or encouraged, with the basest sycophancy, that
the prospect of perpetual licentiousness might fill the colleges with
young men of fortune; whenever the rarely exercised power of coercion was
exerted, it demonstrated the utter incapacity of our unworthy rulers by
coarseness, ignorance, and injustice.”
Terrae Filius devoted one chapter, peculiarly conspicuous for its lack of
satirical venom, to the dissection of Fellows. His article was occasioned
by a report in all the papers of the death of Dr Pudsey, one of the senior
Fellows of “Maudlin College (who) died there last week aged near an
hundred years.” “This,” said Amhurst, “gives me an opportunity of
discoursing upon what I have always thought one great error in the
constitution of most colleges; which I will do with only this preface,
that I hope no body will think I design, in what I shall say, to reflect
on the deceas’d old gentleman before mention’d. The original design of
endowing colleges was undoubtedly this, to support such persons as could
not bear the charges of a learned education themselves, till they were
able to shift in the world, and become serviceable to their country; for
this reason all scholars and fellows (of most colleges at least) are
obliged to take an oath, that they are not worth so much per annum _de
proprio_, in some colleges more, and in some less; but in all colleges the
meaning of the oath is the same, that no person shall benefit of the
foundation who can live without it; but this oath, like other oaths, is
commented away, and interpreted so loosely, that, at present it does not
exclude persons of four or five hundred pounds a year.... When any person
is chosen fellow of a college, he immediately becomes a freeholder, and is
settled for life in ease and plenty; provided only that he conforms
himself to the ceremonies and caprices of the place, which very few will
stick at, who delight in such an indolent and recluse state; at first,
indeed, he is obliged to perform some insignificant, superficial
exercises, and to get a few questions and answers in the sciences by rote,
to qualify him for his degrees; but when these are obtain’d, he wastes the
rest of his days in luxury and idleness; he enjoys himself, and is dead to
the world; for a senior fellow of a college lives and moulders away in a
supine and regular course of eating, drinking, sleeping, and cheating the
juniors.... In many colleges the fellowships are so considerable, that no
preferment can tempt some persons to leave them; they prefer this
monastic, and (as they call it) retired life to any employment, in which
they would be obliged to take some pains, and do some good.”
Such remarks from the mouth of Terrae Filius are indeed quiet, but
however lacking in sparkle, they are filled with the truth. Turn where we
may, on every hand, the Fellows of colleges are written down and left
without one saving quality.
The state of Magdalen, as related by Gibbon, was no better and no worse
than that of any other college. “The fellows or monks of my time,”
according to him, “were decent, easy men, who supinely enjoyed the gifts
of the founder; their days were filled by a series of uniform employments;
the chapel and the hall, the coffee-house and the common room, till they
retired, weary and well satisfied, to a long slumber. From the toil of
reading, or thinking, or writing, they had absolved their conscience; and
the first shoots of learning and ingenuity withered on the ground, without
yielding any fruits to the owners or the public. As a gentleman commoner,
I was admitted to the society of the fellows, and fondly expected that
some questions of literature would be the amusing and instructive topics
of their discourse. Their conversation stagnated in a round of college
business, Tory politics, personal anecdotes, and private scandal; their
dull and deep potations excused the brisk intemperance of youth; and their
constitutional toasts were not expressive of the most lively loyalty for
the house of Hanover.... The example of the senior fellows could not
inspire the undergraduates with a liberal spirit or studious
emulation.”[27]
The common room, with its accompaniments of tobacco and liquor, formed the
scene in which the greater portion of their parts was acted by the
Fellows; for the rest, the taverns and coffee-houses, where the meetings
of jovial societies, of which they were members, were held. By way of
exercise, an occasional horse ride; nothing more. Their other chief hobby
was, in the language of the time, “wenching.” Amazingly enough, they
still had sufficient energy, after living such a life, to array themselves
in all their glory, and sally forth to pay homage at the feet of the toast
of the day. In their attempts to cut out the Smarts in the affections of
the reigning queen, Merton Wall and Paradise Gardens saw them daily.
_Liaisons_ with their neighbour’s wives, bedmakers, and bedmaker’s
daughters were everyday occurrences; so openly, indeed, were these things
done, that songs were composed in various clubs of the doings of certain
Fellows mentioned by name, and satirical poems were written about them;
but there the matter ended.
The character of a Head of a college, taken “in a more private view,
amongst their fellows in their respective colleges,” was thus delineated
by Amhurst. “A director or scull of a college is a lordly strutting
creature, who thinks all beneath him created to gratify his ambition and
exalt his glory; he commands their homage by using them very ill; and
thinks the best way to gain their admiration is to pinch their bellies and
call them names, as the most tyrannical princes have always the most loyal
subjects; he is very vicious and immoral himself, and therefore will not
pardon the least trip or miscarriage in another; he is a great profligate,
and consequently a great disciplinarian; he petrifies in fraud and
shamelessness, and is never properly in his element but when he is either
committing wickedness himself, or punishing the commission of it in
others.” So much for his domestic character. In the exercise of his public
functions he was one of a gang who “have as persidiously broken as great a
trust reposed in them by the Government, the nobility, gentry, and
commonality of England; that, under pretence of advancing national
religion and learning, they have introduced national irreligion and
ignorance; and instead of promoting loyalty and peace have encouraged
treason and disturbance; that they have debauched the principles of youth
instead of reforming them; that they have been guilty of wicked and
infamous practices of all sorts; ought they not, likewise, to be punish’d
in the most rigorous manner?”
Amhurst found this a very sore subject, for, later on, he bore out the
theory of the promotion of ignorance, and said that they did their utmost
to prevent learning. “Whatever portion of commonsense they possess
themselves, they take especial care to keep it from those under their
tuition, having innumerable large volumes by them, written on purpose to
obscure the understanding of their pupils, and to obliterate or confound
all those impressions of right or wrong which they bring with them to the
universities; their several systems of logic, metaphysics, ethics, and
divinity are calculated for this design, being fill’d up with inconsistent
notions, dark cloudy terms, and unintelligible definitions, which tend not
to instruct, but to perplex, to put out the light of reason, not to assist
or strengthen it; and to palliate falsehood, not to discover truth.”
As further evidence of the amazing egoism and brutality of “Sculls,” it is
worth while to quote the story of a Head of Balliol who held office in
these times. “A young fellow of Balliol College having, upon some
discontent, cut his throat very dangerously, the master of the college
sent his servitor to the buttery book to sconce (that is, fine) him five
shillings, and, says the doctor, tell him that the next time he cuts his
throat I’ll sconce him ten!”
Whenever there was important academical business afoot the Vice-Chancellor
and Sculls met in solemn conclave in Golgotha, the state room in the
Clarendon building. The room was handsomely decorated and wainscotted. The
wainscot was said to have been put up by order of a man of humour who went
up to Oxford for a degree without “any claim or recommendation.” He
promised, however, in exchange for the degree to become a benefactor of
the university. The Sculls thereupon hurriedly engaged workmen who began
running up the wainscot, and they “clapp’d a degree upon his back.” But as
soon as the degree had been granted, the benefactor disappeared, and the
Sculls were left to pay the workmen with money out of their own
pockets--which, of course, had been previously plundered from the
university.
It was in this room that all the weighty business of the university was
conducted. In the amusing words of Amhurst, “if any sermon is preach’d, if
any public speech or oration is deliver’d in derogation of the church, or
the university, or in vindication of the Protestant succession, or the
Bishop of Bangor, hither the delinquent is summon’d to answer for his
offence, and receive condign punishment. In short, all matters of
importance are cognisable before this tribunal: I will instance only one,
but that very remarkable. A day or two before the late Queen died, a
letter was brought to the post-office at Oxford, with these words upon the
outside of it, _we hear the queen is dead_; which, being suspected to
contain something equally mischievous within, was stopt, and carried to
the Vice-Chancellor, who immediately summon’d his brethren to meet him at
Golgotha about a matter of the utmost consequence: when they were
assembled together he produced the letter before them; and having open’d
it, read the contents of it in an audible voice; which were as follow:--
“‘ST JOHN’S COLLEGE, _July 30, 1714_.
“‘HONOURED MOTHER,--I receaved the Cheshear chease you sent ma by
Roben Joulthead, our waggoner, and itt is a vary gud one, and I thanck
you for itt, mother, with all my hart and soale, and I promis to be a
gud boy, and mind my boock, as yow dezired ma. I am a rising lad,
mother, and have gott prefarment in college allready; for our sextoun
beeing gonn intoo Heryfoordshear to see his frends, he has left mee
his depoty, which is a vary good pleace. I have nothing to complayne
off, onely that John Fulkes the tailor scores me upp a penny strong a
moost everyday; but I’ll put a stopp to it shortly, I worrant ye: I
beleave I shall do vary well, if you wull but send me t’other crowne;
for I have spent all my mony at my fresh treat (as they caul itt)
which is an abominable ecstortion, but I coud not help itt; when I cum
intoo the country, I’le tell you all how it is. So no more att this
present: but my sairvice to our parson, and my love to brother Nick
and sister Kate; and so I rest.--Your ever dutiful and obedient son,
“‘BENJAMIN NUMPS.’
“When he had done reading, the Sculls look’d very gravely upon one another
for some time, till at length Dr Faustus, late of New college, got up and
spoke to them in the following manner:--
“‘GENTLEMEN,--The words of this letter are so very plain and
intelligible in themselves, that I wish there is no latent and
mysterious meaning in them. How do we know what he means by the
cheese, which he thanks his mother for? or how do we know that he
means nothing else by it, but a cheese? Then, he desires his mother to
send him t’other crown; now what, I conjure you all tell me, can he
mean by that other crown but the elector of Hanover; especially as he
tells us on the outside of his letter that the _queen is dead_? These
rebels and roundheads are very fly in everything they do; they know we
have a strict eye over them; and therefore if this Benjamin Numps
should be one of them, and have any such ill designs in his head, to
be sure, if he expected to succeed, he would not express himself to be
understood. So that, with all submission to my reverend brethren, I
think that we ought to sift this matter thoroughly, for fear of the
worst;’ and sat down.”
A gentleman referred to as Father William then rose to reply. The grave Dr
Faustus did not overawe him as he overawed the rest. Father William, in
scathingly sarcastic language, told him that he was a fool, a John o’
dreams, always suspecting mischief where none was meant. “Who but you,” he
said, “would ever have suspected treason in a Cheshire cheese?” The man
Numps, he explained to the reverend Sculls, was simply a poor servitor but
lately entered into his own college, who had not the brains necessary to
think out any plot. Therefore the fellow was sent for. He entered,
trembling in every limb at the sight of all these learned authorities
sitting in solemn conclave, and acknowledged his fault “full of sorrow and
contrition,” and humbly asked their pardon.
* * * * *
Such was the characteristic manner in which the Heads ruled the
university, and the above incident is a typical instance of the weighty
business which arose from day to day. They were the counterpart of the
Pharisees, who strained at gnats and swallowed camels. In connection with
the headship of St John’s College there existed a rather curious custom.
The Don elected to the Presidentship led the whole college, arrayed in
fullest academical garb, down to Christ Church, where they did homage.
Dibdin related that when Dr Marlowe succeeded to the President’s Chair of
St John’s College they were received at the “House” by Dr Cyril Jackson,
then Dean of Christ Church. After the performance of what Dibdin calls a
“humbling piece of vassalage” which was conducted with great pomp and
formality, the members of St John’s returned, and were duly regaled with a
sumptuous repast by the newly-elected President who went to the various
common rooms--the masters by themselves, the bachelors by themselves, and
the scholars and commoners each in their particular banqueting room. There
he drank wine with them, and was loudly toasted. “I remember one forward
freshman,” said Dibdin, “shouting aloud on this memorable occasion as the
new President retreated--
“‘Nunc est bibendum; nunc pede libero
Pulsanda tellus!’
“The stars of midnight twinkled upon our orgies; but this was a day never
to come again. Dr Marlowe sat for thirty-three years in the Presidental
Chair.”[28]
Having read accounts of all the pompous, evil-living and unpopular Heads
for whom nobody had a good word, it is refreshing to come across records
of thoroughly-liked men like Dr Marlowe of St John’s and Dr Randolph of
Corpus, of whom R. L. Edgeworth sang the praises. “Dr Randolph,” he said,
“was at that time (1761) president of Corpus Christi College. With great
learning, and many excellent qualities, he had some singularities, which
produced nothing more injurious from his friends than a smile. He had the
habit of muttering upon the most trivial occasions, _mors omnibus
communis!_ One day his horse stumbled upon Maudlin bridge, and the
resigned president let his bridle go, and drawing up the waistband of his
breeches as he sat bolt upright, he exclaimed before a crowded audience,
_mors omnibus communis!_ The same simplicity of character appeared in
various instances, and it was mixed with a mildness of temper, that made
him generally beloved by the young students. The worthy doctor was
indulgent to us all, but to me in particular upon one occasion, where I
fear that I tried his temper more than I ought to have done. The gentlemen
commoners were not obliged to attend chapel on any days but Sunday and
Thursday; I had been too frequently absent, and the president was
determined to rebuke me before my companions. ‘Sir,’ said he to me as we
came out of chapel one Sunday, ‘you _never_ attend Thursday prayers!’ ‘I
do _sometimes_, sir,’ I replied. ‘I did not see you last Thursday. And,
sir,’ cried the president, rising into anger, ‘I will have nobody in my
college’ (ejaculating a certain customary noise, something between a cough
and the sound of a postman’s horn), ‘sir, I will have nobody in my college
that does not attend chapel. I did not see you at chapel last Thursday.’
‘Mr President,’ said I, with a most profound reverence, ‘it was impossible
that you should see me, for you were not there yourself.’ Instead of being
more exasperated by my answer, the anger of the good old man fell
immediately. He recollected and instantly acknowledged, that he had not
been in chapel on that day. It was the only Thursday on which he had been
absent for three years. Turning to me with great suavity, he invited me to
drink tea that evening with him and his daughter. This indulgent
president’s good humour made more salutary impression on the young men he
governed than has ever been effected by the morose manners of any
unrelenting disciplinarian.”[29]
Dr Randolph, Dr Marlowe, and the tutor of _The Loiterer_ are the only
three men whom I have been able to discover whose integrity was beyond
question. Three out of a whole century of Dons explains many things! It
proves the truth of the grave charges of vice, irreligion and perpetual
sloth brought against the Dons of the century, by every writer of the
time. It explains the bad government of colleges, general licentiousness,
and scholastic negligence which were the main characteristics of Georgian
Oxford.