Why all the English poets, with a barely decent number of exceptions,
have been Cambridge men, has always struck me, as did the abstinence of
the Greeks from malt Mr. Calverley, 'as extremely curious.' But in this
age of detail, one must, however reluctantly, submit to prove one's
facts, and I, therefore, propose to institute a 'Modest Inquiry' into
this subject. Imaginatively, I shall don proctorial robes, and armed
with a duster, saunter up and down the library, putting to each poet as I
meet him the once dreaded question, 'Sir, are you a member of this
University?'
But whilst I am arranging myself for this function, let me utilize the
time by making two preliminary observations--the first one being that, as
to-day is Sunday, only such free libraries are open as may happen to be
attached to public-houses, and I am consequently confined to my own poor
shelves, and must be forgiven even though I make some palpable omissions.
The second is that I exclude from my survey living authors. I must do
so; their very names would excite controversy about a subject which, when
wisely handled, admits of none.
I now pursue my inquiry. That Chaucer was a Cambridge man cannot be
proved. It is the better opinion that he was (how else should he have
known anything about the Trumpington Road?), but it is only an opinion,
and as no one has ever been found reckless enough to assert that he was
an Oxford man, he must be content to 'sit out' this inquiry along with
Shakspeare, Webster, Ford, Pope, Cowper, Burns, and Keats, no one of whom
ever kept his terms at either University. Spenser is, of course, the
glory of the Cambridge Pembroke, though were the fellowships of that
college made to depend upon passing a yearly examination in the _Faerie
Queen_, to be conducted by Dean Church, there would be wailing and
lamentation within her rubicund walls. Sir Thomas Wyatt was at St.
John's, Fulke Greville Lord Brooke at Jesus, Giles and Phineas Fletcher
were at King's, Herrick was first at St. John's, but migrated to the
Hall, where he is still reckoned very pretty reading, even by boating
men. Cowley, most precocious of poets, and Suckling were at Trinity,
Waller at King's, Francis Quarles was of Christ's. The Herbert family
were divided, some going to Oxford and some to Cambridge, George, of
course, falling to the lot of Cambridge. John Milton's name alone would
deify the University where he pursued his almost sacred studies. Andrew
Marvell, a pleasant poet and savage satirist, was of Trinity. The author
of _Hudibras_ is frequently attributed to Cambridge, but, on being
interrogated, he declined to name his college--always a suspicious
circumstance.
I must not forget Richard Crashaw, of Peterhouse. Willingly would I
relieve the intolerable tedium of this dry inquiry by transcribing the
few lines of his now beneath my eye. But I forbear, and 'steer right
on.'
Of dramatists we find Marlowe (untimelier death than his was never any)
at Corpus; Greene (I do not lay much stress on Greene) was both at St.
John's and Clare. Ben Jonson was at St. John's, so was Nash. John
Fletcher (whose claims to be considered the senior partner in his well-
known firm are simply paramount) was at Corpus. James Shirley, the
author of _The Maid's Revenge_ and of the beautiful lyric beginning 'The
glories of our birth and state,' in the innocence of his heart first went
to St. John's College, Oxford, from whence he was speedily sent down, for
reasons which the delightful author of _Athenae Oxonienses_ must really
be allowed to state for himself. 'At the same time (1612) Dr. William
Laud presiding at that house, he had a very great affection for Shirley,
especially for the pregnant parts that were visible in him, but then,
having a broad or large mole upon his left cheek, which some esteemed a
deformity, that worthy doctor would often tell him that he was an unfit
person to take the sacred function upon him, and should never have his
consent to do so.' Thus treated, Shirley left Oxford, that 'home of lost
causes,' but not apparently of large moles, and came to Cambridge, and
entered at St. Catharine's Hall, where, either because the authorities
were not amongst those who esteemed a broad or large mole upon the left
cheek to be a deformity, or because a mole, more or less, made no sort of
difference in the personal appearance of the college, or for other good
and sufficient reasons, poor Shirley was allowed, without, I trust, being
often told of his mole, to proceed to his degree and to Holy Orders.
Starting off again, we find John Dryden, whose very name is a tower of
strength (were he to come to life again he would, like Mr. Brown of
Calaveras, 'clean out half the town'), at Trinity. In this poet's later
life he said he liked Oxford better. His lines on this subject are well
known:
'Oxford to him a dearer name shall be
Than his own Mother-University.
Thebes did his rude, unknowing youth engage,
He chooses Athens in his riper age.'
But idle preferences of this sort are beyond the scope of my present
inquiry. After Dryden we find Garth at Peterhouse and charming Matthew
Prior at John's. Then comes the great name of Gray. Perhaps I ought not
to mention poor Christopher Smart, who was a Fellow of Pembroke; and yet
the author of _David_, under happier circumstances, might have conferred
additional poetic lustre even upon the college of Spenser. {255}
In the present century, we find Byron and his bear at Trinity, Coleridge
at Jesus, and Wordsworth at St. John's. The last-named poet was fully
alive to the honour of belonging to the same University as Milton. In
language not unworthy of Mr. Trumbull, the well-known auctioneer in
_Middlemarch_, he has recorded as follows:
'Among the band of my compeers was one
Whom chance had stationed in the very room
Honoured by Milton's name. O temperate Bard,
Be it confest that for the first time seated
Within thy innocent lodge and oratory,
One of a festive circle, I poured out
Libations, to thy memory drank, till pride
And gratitude grew dizzy in a brain
Never excited by the fumes of wine
Before that hour or since.' {256}
I know of no more amiable trait in the character of Cambridge men than
their willingness to admit having been drunk _once_.
After the great name of Wordsworth any other must seem small, but I must,
before concluding, place on record Praed, Macaulay, Kingsley, and
Calverley.
A glorious Roll-call indeed!
'Earth shows to Heaven the names by thousands told
That crown her fame.'
So may Cambridge.
Oxford leads off with one I could find it in my heart to grudge her,
beautiful as she is--Sir Philip Sidney. Why, I wonder, did he not
accompany his friend and future biographer, Fulke Greville, to Cambridge?
As Dr. Johnson once said to Boswell, 'Sir, you _may_ wonder!' Sidney
most indisputably was at Christchurch. Old George Chapman, who I suppose
was young once, was (I believe) at Oxford, though I have known Cambridge
to claim him. Lodge and Peele were at Oxford, so were Francis Beaumont
and his brother Sir John. Philip Massinger, Shakerley Marmion, and John
Marston are of Oxford, also Watson and Warner. Henry Vaughan the
Silurist, Sir John Davies, George Sandys, Samuel Daniel, Dr. Donne,
Lovelace, and Wither belong to the sister University, so did Dr.
Brady--but Oxford must not claim all the merit of the metrical version of
the Psalms, for Brady's colleague, Dr. Nahum Tate, was a Dublin man.
Otway and Collins, Young, Johnson, Charles Wesley, Southey, Landor,
Hartley Coleridge, Beddoes, Keble, Isaac Williams, Faber, and Clough are
names of which their University may well be proud. But surely, when
compared with the Cambridge list, a falling-off must be admitted.
A poet indeed once came into residence at University College, whose
single name--for, after all, poets must be weighed and not counted--would
have gone far to right the balance, but is Oxford bold enough to claim
Shelley as her own? She sent him down, not for riotous living, for no
purer soul than his ever haunted her courts, but for wanting to discuss
with those whose business it was to teach him questions of high
philosophy. Had Shelley only gone to Trinity in 1810, I feel sure wise
and witty old Dr. Mansel would never have sent him down. Spenser,
Milton, and Shelley! What a triad of immortal fames they would have
made. As it is, we expect Oxford, with her accustomed composure, will
insist upon adding Shelley to her score--but even when she has been
allowed to do so, she must own herself beaten both in men and metal.
But this being so--why was it so? It is now my turn to own myself
defeated. I cannot for the life of me tell how it happened.