“Una bella creatura di Dio!”
Thus I do think that if this celibacy is to be continued, it would be a great improvement to enjoin the study of pure mathematics on college Fellows, with examinations at intervals to prove that their time is only taken up in contemplating the affinities of triangles, and the love of the angles (not of the angels). The whole series of classical literature ought to be forbidden them for the time; ditto all galleries, pictures, and statues, all music and poetry; and they ought, as a final measure, to be relegated to that monastery mentioned by Mr Curzon, somewhere in the Acroceraunian mountains, where there were some Greek monks who had never seen a female face, and had even forgotten their mothers. One of them asked him whether women were like the Madonna. The poor fellow had better not have seen that Madonna. Even now, some men in their undergraduate life grow tired of the exclusively masculine aspect of the University, and some very good lines on that subject, of which I only recollect the end, were written by a now eminent poet, when he was an undergraduate—
“As I am one who feels the full divinity
Of a fair face in woman, I protest
I’m sick of this unvaried regularity
Of whiskered cheeks and chins of black barbarity.”
And one painful consequence of the present system is, the violation of the good old adage, “Happy’s the wooing that’s not long a-doing:” the notorious evil of long engagements becomes, in this case, exaggerated to a painful degree. There being no absolute, but only a conditional prohibition, and the prospect of a living, certain though distant, appearing to justify the formation of such ties, engagements are formed in early life, the ratification of which seems ever near, but never actually comes, till both parties have passed their meridian, and the fulfilment takes place, if it is thought worth while that it should take place at all, rather as a matter of course, than because the parties really now desire it. The hope deferred which “maketh the heart sick,” embitters the masculine temper, and withers the feminine frame, even before their natural bloom would have disappeared. The courage which, in earlier life, would have taken a bold step, and dared the world to do its worst, becomes irresolution and timidity; and as it often happens that those who have been kept without food too long, only know the sensation of hunger through a general faintness of the system, so the vacuum of the affections too long kept up by circumstances, becomes at last a chronic disease, which, to the end of life, remains irremediable. At the same time, the life of the common-room, and the extreme ease with which material wants are provided for, acts on the mind as opium acts on the system, till at last it ceases to care for anything but the drug which has become a habit. It may be with some of those who have felt the enduring influence of this soporific regime, as with the lotos-eaters of Tennyson; they even come to dread a change, and cling to the indolence from which at first they would have fled:
“Our island home
Is far beyond the sea, we will no longer roam.”
But, on the other hand, it may be urged that the immediate happiness of those concerned is not so much contemplated in the foundations as their usefulness, and that they must be content to cull the flowers which grow beside the path of duty. This may be answered by urging that, in certain cases, a man’s usefulness is diminished instead of being increased by his being denied certain sources of happiness. The best workman is ever the man who is best fed and clothed, and made most generally comfortable; even so in the great work of human life is that individual most efficient whose legitimate wants, both of body and soul, are satisfied. The motives which actuated the founders of the Roman Catholic colleges were no doubt, as most human motives are, of a mixed nature. On the one hand, they wished their money to fructify and do as much good as possible; on the other hand, they wished it to fructify in such a way as to redeem their own souls from purgatory, by providing a succession of those who should sing masses for them for all time; at the same time, it was the prevailing notion in these times, and is now, among Romanists, that celibacy, if not the happiest, is the holiest state of man.[[4]] If there be any truth in this, even to the most limited extent, there is something to be said for the system; but if the poor founders have been cheated out of their masses, and may remain, for all the present generation care, boiling and broiling in purgatory to the end of time, it seems purely hypocritical to lean on a notion which has no better foundation than the ruling opinions of founders. All the great and imposing faith is gone which would support a heavy burden with the supernatural sinews of religion, and the burden remains still to be borne as it best may by human muscle alone. But it may be also said, the fellowships of colleges are in themselves eleemosynary institutions, and poverty was in most cases made a condition of the enjoyment of them; and just as, under the new poor-law system, we imagine that a man, though he has a right to existence, has no right to encumbrances which others must support, so some would argue that the charity of the founders ought to be thankfully accepted under all its conditions. But in the first place, the question may be asked, whether apparent necessity, rather than humanity, did not suggest the new poor-law system? In the next place, whether that can strictly be called eleemosynary of which merit is made a condition? We give to a beggar sometimes, although we know him to be utterly worthless, merely because he is destitute; and even the utterly worthless have a certain claim, in right of their Maker’s image; but we give to a good man as a tribute to his virtue, and the application of these foundations to proficiency in knowledge is to those who accept them usually accounted peculiarly honourable, just as a national pension is to the wounded soldier. Besides, it might be said that all bequests are in a manner eleemosynary, because the legacy is not a payment for labour in most cases, but a free gift from the testator to the legatee; nor is its character materially altered by the fact of its having been given under conditions. It appears to some that the college property is as much real property to those who have the use of it, as any property bequeathed subject to conditions; such as, for instance, the law of entail in England. Indeed, a case has been mentioned, in which, for some peculiar reason, a very rich man inherited his estates subject to this very condition of celibacy. And eleemosynary institutions, strictly so called, are commonly administered by trustees, not by those who reap the benefits of them, as is the case with college fellowships. I think I have now, as well as I can, stated the arguments, both pro and con, though perhaps it is easy for you to see to which side I lean. I confess that I should regard the repeal of celibacy as a conservative change, because it would give individuals a more enduring interest in their University. I dread innovation, and especially from profane hands; at the same time, I feel the necessity of such wholesome repairs in the constitution of Alma Mater as shall secure for her, as far as possible, a perpetuity of youth, or at least a green old age. How other changes, such as the admission of Dissenters, can be brought about without ignoring the entire history, associations, and character of the University, I do not well see. If Dissenters are admitted at all, Roman Catholics must be admitted with the rest; and they may perhaps lay claim to a participation in the good things of the University, seeing that the ancient foundations were undoubtedly made in their favour; and if this participation be allowed, the rights of the foundation will be again disturbed; and they may push their claim to the entire exclusion of all other communities, for, unless there be a reason for disfranchising them, they will ask why others should share advantages originally intended for them alone. They are not like the Jews, a sect who keep to themselves, and seek not to domineer over others; but universal dominion is as much the policy of pontifical as of imperial Rome. Thus they will be sure to take every advantage. Thus there is a primâ facie danger in mooting any integral question concerning the constitution of the University, lest an opening should be unwarily made which would destroy everything on which its existence depends; and this is, in my opinion, the most plausible argument in favour of continuing the celibacy of Fellows. But averse as all well-wishers to Oxford would be to any change in the way of subtraction or diminution of her privileges, no such one could look with coldness on any proposed additions to her area of efficiency, and especially on extensions which seem suggested by her natural aptitudes. As Cambridge seems to possess the soil in which everything connected, however remotely, with science, is destined especially to thrive, such as natural history in its various branches, so does Oxford appear to be that University which should assume a prominently artistic character. The foundations of a new museum have been laid, which is to be built on a grand and imposing scale. Is its chief attraction, when completed, to consist in a collection of dried beetles and stuffed humming-birds, or even a complete skeleton of the megatherium, if such a thing is to be had; or is an attempt to be made to bring together, by every possible means, a collection of works of art which would really do credit to the University? It must be remembered that we have in England no national gallery worthy of the name; not that the pictures composing the collection in Trafalgar Square are to be despised—far from it; but the building which contains them shows them to so little advantage, and is altogether so inadequate, that it presents few temptations to large additions, either by purchase, gift, or bequest. The very atmosphere of London is an argument against building a new national gallery in the neighbourhood of any of the centres of metropolitan life. Trees may be blackened, but flourish under the soot; but the purity of the marble, and the freshness of the canvass, are liable to be permanently discoloured by the constant action of an air impregnated with smoke, in a manner far other than that in which they receive the mere mellowness of age. This would be conclusive against a central situation, and if such a building is to be placed in the suburb, to arrive at it would cost a sacrifice of time and effort little short of that necessary to arrive at a site at a moderate railroad distance from the metropolis. As it is, Oxford is a great point of attraction to all strangers, and no Englishman who had not seen it, could pretend to an average knowledge of his own country. It is even placed within reach of the working-classes of London by excursion-trains, who are thus led in the pursuit of pure air to a place full of associations, which are in every way likely to do them good. It seems to me that it is worth considering whether the national gallery of England might not with advantage be placed at Oxford, and combined in some way with the scheme of the new museum. A school of art would probably spring up around it, to which the University would naturally present many advantages, and to which it might well extend peculiar privileges. The present is not the worst time to consider this matter, when the existence of a great war postpones the execution of all plans of subordinate importance. It is quite certain that everything cannot be concentrated in London; and this being the case, it is well to consider what other places are calculated, in their own way, to become capital cities. Oxford has already received some of the Muses as its inmates, and it is abundantly spacious to receive them all. With respect to the natural scenery of its environs, very much might be said in favour of its being suited as a residence for an artist. The banks of its rivers are especially fertile in subjects for the brush, and though its upland scenery is generally stamped with that mediocrity which seems peculiar to the central counties of England, there are spots here and there which, from their wildness or woodiness, are well adapted for the sketcher. I am sorry to see many of the wild places round Oxford either already enclosed, or in course of enclosure; but what I saw with most regret was, that Bagley Wood had been surrounded with a fence, and placed under a most rigorous taboo to the public in general. Now, there is some excuse for bringing land into cultivation which may be made available for the wants of the community, and can only become so if enclosed; but when the better preservation of game is the only object, to exclude the public from a place where they have been accustomed for years to expatiate and “recreate themselves,” and an intelligent public, such as that of the University;—to exclude them from one of the spots which Arnold mentioned as giving him especial delight on his return to Oxford, and as being one of its chief glories,—this, though perfectly justifiable according to law, is scarcely consistent with that Aristotelian equity which ought to be above law, especially in the neighbourhood of those brought up in his precepts, and whose philanthropy might naturally be expected to be more expansive than that of other men. It appears, however, that this mischief has been done for some time; and the only compensation the public gain is that a fine wide road has been made, which certainly makes the walk round the wood complete—a poor consolation, indeed, to those who, like myself, look upon walking along a road as one of the dreariest duties imaginable, and have an irreclaimable vein of the savage in their composition. Why, to me the sight of the stiff hedges and mathematical drains of Bagley Wood would spoil half the pleasure of shooting there; but, of course, those who have that privilege may say that the grapes are sour. I may mention that on the walk which crosses the railway, and cuts across into the Abingdon road, which leads through Bagley Wood, a large reservoir has lately been made, which in one place is crossed by a bridge, that seems as if it had been put there on purpose to give the best near view of the city. The best distant views I consider to be those about the Hinksey fields, near the spot where Turner, with singular ignorance of the customs of the University, painted gownsmen in their academicals among the haycocks; and at a place near Elstree, called Stow Wood, well known as a fox-cover. But perhaps the most characteristic view of all is that of the towers of Oxford, seen reflected in the flooded surface of Christchurch meadow under a red sky. This view is suggestive of Venice, especially if the boats are magnified by a slight effort of the imagination into sea-going ships, or softened into gondolas. I have mentioned the advantages which an artist might derive from residence in Oxford, alike from the models that might be placed there, the architectural beauties of the place, and the natural scenery. To the second of these advantages would belong the excellent studies of interiors that some of the rooms present. The rooms of one of my friends, which were those at first intended for the Head of the College, are quite a gem in the profuseness of decoration, especially as applied to the ceiling. The halls of many of the colleges are also remarkably fine, as presenting studies of interiors of peculiar magnificence. Occasionally the internal decoration of the rooms themselves, in which individual taste has perhaps taken a wider range than in any other place I know, would assist a painter in his composition. Pictures and engravings, profuse in quantity, if not always good in quality, decorate the rooms of most of the junior members, and a marked improvement has of late years taken place in this matter, engravings from good masters, and really good original pictures by modern artists, having taken the place of trumpery hunting-prints and portraits of the nymphs of the ballet. Other rooms are hung round “with pikes, and guns, and bows,” now obsolete, and seemingly made, at the time of their construction, for this ulterior object of ornamenting a room, which they fulfil so much better than any modern invention. But perhaps the most extraordinary rooms of all are those of a friend of mine, in one of the most picturesque colleges. The whole centre of his room is taken up by a kind of immense Christmas tree, formed by his own labour and ingenuity, on which is hung every imaginable article that would be chosen in an old curiosity-shop from mere oddness in form or nature. It is a rare collection of what the French call specimens of “bêtises,” ironically, as I suppose, considering the extreme cleverness which imagined them all. There are, if I rightly remember, gods from the Sandwich Islands and fetishes from Africa, clubs from New Zealand and bows from Tartary, stuffed birds, pipes of all kinds and sizes, skins of snakes and crocodiles, skulls of men and animals, and everything, in fact, that ever entered into a skull to devise. The walls are papered with engravings, and engravings are hung from the ceiling because there is no room for them on the walls. There is a collection of divers plants, native or exotic, flourishing in stands or trailing over the windows, in each of which is a kind of caravanserai for wild birds (not aviary), for the amiable proprietor does not detain them there longer than they wish to stay, but invites them in by abundant proffers of their peculiar kinds of food; and as he sits or reclines by his fire (for he has abundant facilities for assuming either position) by the motionless silence which he purposely observes—has constant opportunities of watching their flittings and hearing their twitterings, and studying their little habits with the gusto of a naturalist. That such an inventory, which entirely passes my memory to describe, should have been amassed in a single room by any amount of time and trouble, is a marvel to me, only to be explained by the perfect and lotos-eating repose of a college life. Long may our friend enjoy his quaint and instructive rooms! Travellers see strange things, but few can say that they have seen stranger than those that are enshrined in the colleges of Oxford.