‘He cannot speak, Sir,’ the woman replied with respectful seriousness.
‘Worse and worse!’ cried the eccentric undergraduate, shaking his long locks in a manner that must have heightened the woman’s perplexity and alarm. ‘But surely, Madam, the babe can speak if it will, for he is only a few weeks old. He may fancy, perhaps, that he cannot, but it is only a silly whim; he cannot have forgotten entirely the use of speech in so short a time; the thing is absolutely impossible.’
‘It is not for me,’ replied the woman, eyeing the two youthful gownsmen, with mingled deference and consternation, ‘to dispute with you, Gentlemen, but I can safely declare that I never heard him speak, nor any child, indeed, of his age.’
Having thus troubled and frightened the worthy woman, for no purpose, except that he might execute an awkward and feeble pleasantry, the gownsman, who liked to be talked about, pressed the baby’s cheeks with his fingers, and turned away saying to his companion, ‘How provokingly close are those new-born babes! But it is no less certain, notwithstanding their cunning attempts to conceal the truth, that all knowledge is reminiscence: the doctrine is far more ancient than the times of Plato, and as old as the venerable allegory, that the Muses are the daughters of Memory; not one of the Nine was ever said to be the child of Invention.’
Whilst the freshman amused himself at Oxford in ways glanced at in the foregoing pages, how did he get on with the tutors of his college, and the other academic authorities? That he had no cause to complain of their treatment of him during the earlier weeks of his brief time at Oxford, he admitted in clear and noteworthy terms, to the Etonian who inquired of him in Hogg’s hearing, ‘Do you mean to be an Atheist here, too, Shelley?’
To this inquiry, whether he meant to worry, harass, and defy the tutors of his college as he had worried, harassed, and defied the persons put in authority over him at Eton, the University College freshman answered decidedly, ‘No! certainly not. There is no motive for it; there would be no use in it; they are very civil to us here; they never interfere with us; it is not like Eton.’
For the precise words of this reply, represented by Hogg as having been made by Shelley, the biographer was doubtless indebted in some degree to his imagination. But even the ‘Shelleyan enthusiasts’ will admit that the tenor of the reply was something Hogg might have remembered. Bearing in mind also that Hogg disliked the University College ‘dons,’ and held them in bitter remembrance as the authors of his own academic disgrace, the same enthusiasts will admit that he was not likely to have invented such a piece of testimony to the general inoffensiveness of ‘the dons’ he detested. Even by them, therefore, it will be admitted that at this early point of his brief ‘residence’ in college, Shelley admitted that the ‘dons’ of University College treated him, as gentlemen in their position should treat a gentleman in his position; that they did not ‘interfere’ with him, that he had no grievance against them, or any grounds for worrying them. They were not like the Eton masters. They were gentlemen. This admission is the more noteworthy because Hogg (wildly wrong-headed and considerably less than historically truthful in matters touching his own and the poet’s expulsion from University College) in his bitterness against those same ‘dons,’ was at much pains to declare them no gentlemen.
If the ‘dons’ were civil to Shelley, it must be admitted that he was less than civil to them. One would like to be able to say otherwise; but the evidence is conclusive that the undergraduate was uncivil to the ‘dons’ of his college, and to ‘dons’ not of his college, both in his bearing towards them, and his speech of them.
On the very first evening of their acquaintance, Shelley withdrew from Hogg’s rooms at 6.45 p.m., immediately ‘after wine,’ in order to attend a lecture on mineralogy,—leaving his entertainer with a promise to return to tea. An hour later he reappeared, chilly and disappointed. The evening was raw and cold, and the lecture had ‘bored’ him. He would never listen to another lecture by the dull lecturer.
Coming close up to Hogg, and speaking in a shrill whisper, the young gentleman said with an arch look,—