duty of seeing that no Colleger got out at night. Strict fidelity
to this duty made him highly unpopular, for he would never consent
to be bribed. Principal and only locker-up and gaoler to the boys,
birch collector, and rod distributor, he was generally known by the
mythological appellation of Cerberus.
Life in Long Chamber, like most unpleasant ordeals, had its
alleviations. Once a year, for instance, there was an impromptu
masquerade, concluded by a march round, for which Jobey Joel, an Eton
character who survived till a few years ago, supplied the music, and,
extraordinary as it may seem, theatricals flourished unchecked. Such
performances dated back to the early eighteenth century, since which
time they had been given with the full knowledge of the authorities.
In 1762, it is true, Dr. Barnard, who was then Headmaster, had tried
to stop them, bursting in upon a representation of _Cato_, and, much
to his disgust, finding that a long wig which he tore from one of the
actor’s heads belonged to the Vice-Provost; but no drastic measures
were taken, and theatricals continued to take place as before. Out
of Long Chamber, however, the drama was tabooed. Both Drs. Keate and
Hawtrey connived at the performances in Long Chamber, the latter
especially ignoring all theatrical preparations even when they were
right under his nose. Favourite pieces were _A Midsummer Night’s
Dream_, _High Life below Stairs_, and _Orlando Furioso_. For the
purposes of this last play, Anson--a powerful Colleger--once actually
smuggled a donkey into College, where it was stabled and fed till
brought out to carry Bombastes. The last play ever given in Long
Chamber was _A Night in China_, written by a Colleger named King, and
played in 1845. After this, however, some Collegers, amongst whom was
Frank Tarver, afterwards well known to several generations of Etonians
as French Master, indulged in theatricals at the back of Turnock’s
tailor’s shop in the town.
[SN: MR. BOURCHIER’S ETON DAYS]
Eton has furnished some capital recruits to the London stage--Charles
Kean, the brothers Hawtrey, Mr. Willie Elliot, and others, including
that excellent actor, Mr. Arthur Bourchier, who even as an Eton boy
was celebrated for his dramatic zeal. About 1882, with Bogle Smith,
Collet, Gilmor, and a few more, he organised the “Eton Strollers,” the
prologue for whose first play was written by the Hon. Arthur Bligh, a
boy of considerable literary and poetic taste, who, in collaboration
with Bourchier, wrote a drama which was sent to Irving for production.
“Do these boys play cricket?” inquired the great actor when he received
the manuscript; as a matter of fact both were very fair cricketers,
Bourchier being a good wicket-keep.
Mr. Bourchier’s first theatrical _entrepreneur_ was Lord Kenyon, in
whose room at Cameron’s he made his _début_ in _Uncle’s Will_, in which
he acted with Johnson and Berkeley-Levett. When Mr. Cameron, who was
not sympathetic to theatricals, left Eton, Bourchier went to the Rev.
T. Dalton’s, where his aspirations received far greater encouragement;
indeed his Housemaster became imbued with such enthusiasm for
theatricals that a colleague once chaffingly inquired of him, “Is it
true that young Bourchier is going to bring you out on the Music Hall
stage?” Regular performances were now given in Pupil Room, for which a
small charge--generally a penny a seat--was made, the proceeds going to
the Eton Mission, for the benefit of which the whole company, including
Mr. Dalton (who gave a humorous recitation), gave an entertainment at
Hackney Wick.
The exigences of the drama, however, occasionally clashed with
discipline. When, for instance, in _Still Waters Run Deep_, after the
lines, “Do you smoke?” “Yes, I’ll have a cigar,” two of the actors lit
up, Mr. Dalton from his place amongst the audience shouted out, “No,
you don’t,” and was only appeased by an examination of the cigars,
which proved to be dummies. On another occasion when a careless or
mischievous Lower boy had manufactured snow for the duel scene in the
_Corsican Brothers_ by tearing up a pile of “extra-works” which had
been lying on Mr. Dalton’s desk for correction, the latter became so
scandalised at seeing the duellists enveloped in a “cloud of equations”
that, after ejaculating, “One minute! This performance now ceases,” he
set actors and audience to the uncongenial task of putting the pieces
together. The most ambitious effort of the company was an elaborate
performance of _The Merchant of Venice_, in which Reggie Lucas (see
Chapter X.) took part.
Bourchier was celebrated for his imitations of Masters, about the
most amusing of which was an impersonation of a certain squeaky-voiced
tutor after he had been cut over by an imaginary cricket ball. As luck
would have it, the latter, whilst playing in an eleven of Masters
against boys, one of whom was Bourchier, did happen to sustain a
painful injury, with the result that he proceeded to give an almost
exact reproduction of himself as portrayed by his imitator, who could
not help being convulsed with laughter as he led the sufferer off the
ground. Later on, the victim, who, of course, had no idea of the real
cause of this merriment, said to a colleague, “What hurt me more than
the pain was the brutality of the boy Bourchier.”
[SN: “UNDER THE CLOCK”]
In course of time Bourchier formed his imitations into a sketch,
entitled _Under the Clock_, which depicted a number of Eton Masters
at Lord’s, and before he left the late Mr. R. A. H. Mitchell arranged
that this should be heard by the individuals concerned, whom he posted
behind trees in Poet’s Walk whilst the author gave his performance
close by. They were all very much amused, and when it was over came
forward to congratulate the youthful aspirant to dramatic fame, whom
they shook warmly by the hand and wished him all success in his future
career.
To return to the story of College--the pleasures as well as the trials
of Long Chamber came to an end in 1845, for in September of that year
the new buildings were opened and the old days of College became mere
memories of an obsolete age. The discomforts and hardships of Long
Chamber were then forgotten by most of the boys who had slept there. In
spite of the far better conditions they chafed at the lack of freedom
and the end of “Fire-place” with its suppers and choruses. The Chamber
itself, though not pulled down, was entirely remodelled, cubicles for
a limited number of boys being constructed and the whole place made
habitable and clean.
Election Saturday, the glories of which have now departed for ever, was
a great day not only for those in College, whom it more immediately
concerned, but for the whole school. At two o’clock the Provost of
King’s College, Cambridge, attended by two examiners called “Posers,”
drove into Weston’s Yard. The arrival of his yellow coach, drawn by
four smoking horses, always produced great excitement. Meeting the
Provost of Eton, a kiss of peace was exchanged (abandoned in Dr.
Hawtrey’s days for a handshake). A speech was then made in Latin by
the captain of the school under the archway of Lupton’s Tower, its
main purport being the offering of congratulations to the Provost
on his arrival at the College. The rest of the programme was much
the same as that still gone through on the 4th of June--speeches in
the Upper School at eleven, banquet of dons in the College Hall at
two, processions of the boats in the evening to Surly Hall, with
fireworks off the Eyot on the return, and finally, sock suppers in
all the houses. The fun on Election Saturday, however, was always
more fast and furious than on the 4th of June, because the school was
to break up on the following Monday, and the boys who were going to
leave looked upon themselves as already emancipated. For this reason
turbulent spirits did not scruple to commit all sorts of extravagances,
being pretty sure that just preceding the holidays they would escape
unpunished.
[SN: THE POSERS]
On the Tuesday and Wednesday following, candidates for College were
examined, as well as scholars seeking election to King’s. The “Posers,”
or examining chaplains, were terrific gentlemen in the eyes of the
boys; whilst examination took place, Election-chamber was to most an
awful room, then rendered somewhat weird and uncanny by the light
filtering through an immense red curtain, let down at the large oriel
window, which imparted a sort of devilish appearance to the “Posers.”
A very quaint old usage existed in connection with these “Posers,”
each of them being attended by a Colleger, who waited upon him in Hall
and elsewhere if required, for which the boy--quaintly called the
“Poser’s child”--received a fee of a guinea, selection for the office
by the Headmaster being regarded as being a sort of minor honour.
The existence of this curious custom, which of course died a natural
death with the “Posers” themselves, has generally, I think, escaped
mention in books dealing with Eton. It was brought to my notice by my
old tutor, Mr. H. W. Mozley (Newcastle Scholar, 1860), who in this and
other ways has given me valuable information which I here acknowledge;
he himself had been “Poser’s child” in 1859.
The days following Election Saturday were always particularly
depressing and gloomy, and the poor King’s scholars had a melancholy
time. The gentlemen, as the tradespeople had the impertinence to call
the Oppidans, went home on the Monday, whilst Collegers had to wait
until the Thursday. All the shops were shut up, and scarcely any one
about.
Collegers, like Oppidans, then remained at Eton longer than at
present--as late as 1874 there was a King’s Scholar, Tuck by name,
who was said to have been nine years at the school. In the days when
such a close connection existed between Eton and King’s, a Colleger
leaving to go to Cambridge used to go through the old form known as
“Ripping.” This was performed at the Provost’s Lodge. The two folds of
the Colleger’s serge gown were sewn together in front, and the Provost
“ripped” them asunder, pronouncing some Latin formula, after which he
congratulated the embryo scholar of King’s, and gave him good advice
as to his future career. The gown, it must be remembered, was then an
essential part of the Colleger’s equipment out of as well as in school.
Although the rule was not strictly adhered to, they were even supposed
to wear their gowns whilst playing games.
[SN: ETON’S DIVORCE FROM KINGS]
All the picturesque features of Election disappeared in the sixties,
when new statutes were substituted for those of the Founder, and
the relations between King’s College, Cambridge, and Eton entirely
changed. In 1861 William Austen Leigh and Felix Cobbold were elected to
King’s. With them ended the ancient succession of Eton scholars after
it had continued, with few if any interruptions, under the statutes of
Henry VI., for the period of four hundred and nineteen years, William
Hatecliffe (1443), afterwards Secretary to King Edward IV., and Felix
Thornley Cobbold (1862) being the first and last scholars. The right
of the latter to a scholarship at King’s was, it should be added,
disputed, as was that of William Austen Leigh, the Provost and Fellows
of the Cambridge College urging that the new statutes were already
in operation. This question, which never ought to have been raised,
inasmuch as the names of these boys were on the indenture before the
existence of the new statutes, was submitted to legal opinion and then
to the “Visitor.” It was eventually justly decided that the two Eton
scholars were entitled to scholarships at King’s College, with all
their rights, emoluments, and consequences, and with this terminated
the ancient and sisterly connection between the two Foundations.
The new statutes provided that four scholarships at King’s should be
annually offered for competition to the scholars of Eton, tenable for
six years, value £80 per annum, with tuition, rooms, and commons free.
The injury done to the interests of Eton by the new arrangements was
very great, for four scholarships per annum did not amount to the
average of the old succession, which ranged from four and a half to
five, while the difference between a scholarship of six years’ tenure
and one which led to a Fellowship that might be held for life was so
great as to be difficult to calculate. The remarkable features in these
iniquitous changes were the earnestness with which they were pressed
by King’s, which seemingly was anxious to rid itself of its connection
with Eton--that is, as far as it could--and the weakness of Eton and
its dereliction of duty to itself and its scholars in acquiescing in
them without any attempt to obtain any mitigation or revision which
might certainly have been effected. Henry Norris Churton, the first
Colleger to be affected by the new state of affairs, declined to accept
the scholarship at King’s to which he was elected in July, but Richard
Durnford, elected in the same month, did accept, and thus became the
first Eton scholar who went to King’s under the new statutes.
A few years later--in 1871--the repeal of the entire code of statutes
which had regulated Eton since the 21st December, 1443, did a good
deal more towards nullifying the wishes of Henry VI. The old statutes
laid down that there should be seventy _poor_ scholars--an important
clause which the new ones abolished. At present, directly contrary
to the Founder’s intention, there is nothing to prevent the son of a
multi-millionaire from competing for an Eton scholarship.
[Illustration: Sixth-Form Bench. _Lithograph lent by the Earl of
Rosebery, K.G._]
FOOTNOTE:
[9] This appeared in the _Illustrated London News_ during the forties
of the last century.
VIII SCHOOL WORK
Whilst Eton has occasionally produced some very fine scholars--the
Marquis Wellesley was a case in point--it cannot be said that the
traditions of the school are very favourable to learning, which to a
large proportion of Etonians has seemed of less importance than the
acquisition of worldly wisdom. More than a hundred years ago De Quincey
noted the peculiar tone which prevailed amongst Eton boys, who showed
a premature knowledge of the world far exceeding that possessed by the
scholars at any other school. The graceful self-possession of the boys
attracted his attention, but he thought them lacking in self-restraint.
Such an accusation, however, could not justly be made in more modern
days, when a sort of genial unconcern has come to be regarded as one of
the principal characteristics of the typical Etonian, who, preferring
anecdote to argument, is profoundly convinced that amongst human
institutions his school stands easily first.
With respect to most modern criticisms which have been levelled against
the system of education, it must be remembered that in their efforts
to teach, the masters are handicapped by one or two fundamental
difficulties not easy to surmount.
Eton, in a much larger proportion than any other school, has contained,
and does contain, the children of rich parents, boys of good birth
and large expectations, most of whom realise very early in life that
there is no absolute necessity for them to work; consequently something
like a leaven of indolence permeates the school, the tone of which
it is, perhaps unjustly, said has of late years been impaired by an
increasing number of sons of millionaire parvenus, who are allowed
extravagant sums by parents anxious to forward the social success
of their offspring by any kind of means. Such parents for the most
part have no real wish that their boys should be educated at all,
and send them to Eton simply to form friendships and to be turned
into gentlemen; or perhaps merely because Eton enjoys the reputation
of being a fashionable school. Be this as it may, the number of
rich boys sprung from the commercial, or rather financial, classes
has undoubtedly increased, whilst foreigners now flock to Eton in
ever-swelling numbers. As a result tales, probably untrue, have been
circulated of wealthy boys achieving a spurious popularity owing to
their pockets being constantly replenished from home, whilst, according
to one incredible rumour, the sons of certain rich speculators, imbued
with an hereditary faculty for money-making, have, on occasions, not
hesitated to loan portions of their abundant funds at an extravagant
rate of interest. The writer, be it understood, does not for a moment
say that such a state of affairs really exists, but the fact remains
that such things have been whispered, of course with no increase to
the prestige of the school. It is not healthy for boys to be allowed
unlimited pocket-money, and men of moderate means--belonging to what
may be called “old Eton families”--do not care to expose their sons
to the contamination of mingling with schoolmates of alien blood
whose sole claim to consideration lies in their parent’s enormous
wealth. In addition to this, quite a number of foreign boys are sent
to be educated at Eton, which has occasionally not proved altogether
advantageous to the best interests of the school.
[SN: MODERN ETON]
Modern Eton as it is to-day may be said to have originated from the
recommendations of the Public School Commission, which began its work
in 1861, at which time a wind of change was blowing about old places
in England, with the result that many a weather-worn relic went down
before it. As a result of the labours of this body, the charm of the
school’s celestial quiet was broken, some of the evidence taken having
revealed an unsatisfactory state of affairs which seemed to call for
drastic change. It was, for instance, conclusively shown that the
masters had more on their hands than they could do, and some did not
make any scruple about complaining. “We are enormously overworked,”
said one. “There is no time,” said another, “for society, for meeting
each other, for relaxation, and no time, I may say, for private
reading, and I consider that prejudicial to the school.” In fact, as
Mr. Commissioner Vaughan put it, it seemed a characteristic of the
Eton system that “the masters did too much for the boys, and the boys
did too little for themselves.” The real state of affairs at Eton at
that time was that an immense deal of work was got out of the masters,
and little out of the boys. Since those days the number of masters has
swelled to the very adequate number of sixty-five or more, exclusive
of the Head and Lower Master, but the tutorial system, which has
at various times aroused a good deal of adverse criticism, remains
unchanged, and in all probability will continue to flourish as long as
Eton lasts.
[SN: DEAD AND LIVING TONGUES]
Half a century ago it was urged that the main mistake in the Eton
system lay in the retention of the dead languages as the staple of
school work, whilst the panacea put forward for the admitted ignorance
of Young England was the adoption by the majority of boys of what is
known as a “special education.” With some justice it was urged that as
a boy when he goes out into the great world is unlikely to read much
Greek, and even less likely to write much Latin verse, his school days
had much better be occupied in learning something which is practical
and useful. Whilst the classics are still the main feature of the
school curriculum, a boy may now, on having reached a certain standard
(usually attained about the age of 16-1/2), learn modern languages,
science, history, mathematics, or continue to study Greek and Latin,
according as he, or rather his parents, may decide. In addition to
this, the Army class provides an alternative course of study for those
about to enter upon a military career.
An entirely new feature is that a number of boys going to Eton now
enter for the foundation examination, though without any idea of
becoming King’s scholars should they pass. In July 1910 three of the
nineteen scholars who passed into Eton entered as “Oppidan scholars.”
With regard to the modern languages mentioned above, it is to be
hoped that the old Eton method of teaching has been discarded. In the
past the time set apart for French was too often merely a farcical
interlude, during which boys devoted all their energies to teasing the
master! The old classical system would be preferable if anything of the
sort survives, for, after all, even a slight knowledge of the classics
is better than an imperfectly assimilated smattering of a modern
tongue. In old days very thorough methods were adopted in connection
with Latin and Greek. One luckless lad in Keate’s division construed
_Exegi_, I have eaten; _monumentum_, a monument; _perennius_, harder;
_aere_, than brass. “Oh, you have, have you?” said the Doctor; “then
you’ll stay afterwards, and I’ll give you something to help digest
it,” and he did. On the whole, educational authorities are still
loth to exclude Latin and Greek. The Commission of fifty years ago,
after hearing much evidence, were of this opinion. The Commissioners
reported:--
We believe that for the instruction of boys, especially when
collected in a large school, it is material that there should be
some one principal branch of study, invested with a recognised and,
if possible, a traditional importance, to which the principal weight
should be assigned and the largest share of time and attention given.
We believe that this is necessary in order to concentrate attention,
to stimulate industry, to supply to the whole school a common ground
of literary interest, and a common path of promotion.... We are of
opinion that the classical languages and literature should continue
to hold, as they do now, the principal place in public school
education.
There is certainly much to be said for Latin as an aid to the
acquirement of “exact expression,” but Greek is another matter
altogether. According to the writer’s own experience, the majority of
boys never obtained any real grip upon that defunct tongue, besides
which, for all but an infinitesimal number, in after life Greek, as Mr.
Andrew Carnegie has somewhat bluntly put it, “is of no more use than
Choctaw.”
The old Eton system was largely composed of paradoxical omissions,
and by an extraordinary fiction boys were supposed to be thoroughly
acquainted with subjects such as modern geography and arithmetic, of
which, in reality, they knew nothing at all.
[SN: MATHEMATICS]
Within comparatively recent years mathematics had no regular place in
the curriculum of the school. It is true that there was an “extra”
master or two who was allowed to take those who liked to be taught and
charged, but he had no means of enforcing discipline, and, however
irritated he might be, had no right to complain to the Headmaster. In
Mr. Gladstone’s Eton days Major Hexter, who kept a boarding-house,
and was styled the writing-master, taught mathematics. Only the Lower
boys, however, went to him, and when they were certified as proficient
in long division the Major troubled them no more. When in 1836 the
Rev. Stephen Hawtrey came to the school as mathematical master he was
only allowed to give his lessons as “extras,” and to the first thirty
boys in the school, because Major Hexter was supposed to have a vested
interest in the ignorance of the remainder. The whole thing ended in
Mr. Hawtrey paying the Major a pension of £200 a year, so that the
latter’s opposition to the teaching of Euclid and algebra might be
withdrawn.
Even after he had obtained a more or less regular position, Mr. Stephen
Hawtrey’s lot was none too happy, and this most kindly man passed many
irritating half-hours in the round theatrical-looking building which
some called the “Station House.” Those boys whose parents desired it
were entered on the books of this establishment, but the time spent
there was one rather of recreation than of study. Mischievous boys were
constantly turning off the gas or letting off squibs and crackers,
especially in November, which was a particularly merry season.
Besides this, the unfortunate master did not receive much sympathy or
commiseration from his classical superiors, being in a measure regarded
as an interloper and an enemy to versification.