“The Library of Trinity Hall is thoroughly mediæval in plan, being a long narrow room on the first floor of the north side of the second court, 65 feet long by 20 feet wide, with eight equi-distant windows in each side wall, and a window of four lights in the western gable. It was built about 1600, but the fittings are even later, having been added between 1626 and 1645 during the mastership of Thomas Eden, LL.D. They are therefore a deliberate return to ancient forms at a time when a different type had been adopted elsewhere.
“There are four desks and six seats on each side of the room, placed as usual, at right angles to the side walls, in the interspaces of the windows, respectively.
“These lecterns are of oak, 6 feet 7 inches long, and 7 feet high, measured to the top of the ornamental finial. There is a sloping desk at the top, beneath which is a single shelf. The bar for the chains passes under the desk, through the two vertical ends of the case. At the end furthest from the wall, the hasp of the lock is hinged to the bar and secured by two keys. Beneath the shelf there is at either end a slip of wood which indicates that there was once a movable desk which could be pulled out when required. The reader could therefore consult his convenience, and work either sitting or standing. For both these positions the heights are very suitable, and at the bottom of the case was a plinth on which he could set his feet. The seats between each pair of desks were of course put up at the same time as the desks themselves. They show an advance in comfort, being divided into two so as to allow of support to the readers’ backs.”[62]
The garden of the Hall was laid out early in the last century, with formal walks and yew hedges and a raised terrace overlooking the river. The well-known epigram quoted by Gunning in his “Reminiscences”[63] has for its topic not this garden but the small triangular plot next to Trinity Hall Lane, which was planted and surrounded by a paling in 1793, by Dr. Joseph Jowett, the then tutor.
Gateway in Great Court St Catharine’s College
It has usually been attributed to Archdeacon Wrangham. There are several versions of it, and a translation into Latin, which runs as follows:—
At the end of the fifteenth century, just twenty years after the fall of Constantinople, Dr. Robert Woodlark, third Provost of King’s College and some time Chancellor of the University, founded the small “House of Learning,” which he called S. Catherine’s Hall, possibly because Henry VI., whose mother was a Catherine, was his patron, or possibly because at this time S. Catherine of Alexandria, the patron saint of scholars, was a popular saint. In the statutes he says, “I have founded and established a college or hall to the praise, glory, and honour of our Lord Jesus Christ, of the most glorious Virgin Mary, His mother, and of the Holy Virgin Katerine, for the exaltation of the Christian faith, for the defence and furtherance of the Holy Church, and growth of science and faculties of philosophy and sacred theology.” In the autumn of 1473 a Master and three Fellows took up their residence in the small court which had just been built on a site in Milne Street, close to the Bull Inn. The chapel and library, however, do not appear to have been completed until a few years later. In 1520 a second court was added, and a century later, in 1634, some new buildings were commenced to the north of the principal court, and adjacent to Queen’s Street. These buildings, which are the only old buildings that still remain, were completed two years later. Between 1673-97 all the rest of the old buildings were pulled down and the College rebuilt. In 1704 the new chapel was built on the site of the stables of Thomas Hobson, whose just but despotic method of dealing with his customers gave rise to the phrase “Hobson’s Choice.” In 1757, the houses which hitherto had concealed the College from the High Street were removed.
The New Learning in Italy and Germany—The English “Pilgrim Scholars”: Grey, Tiptoft, Linacre, Grocyn—The practical Genius of England—Bishops Rotherham, Alcock, and Fisher—Alcock, diplomatist, financier, architect—The Founder of Jesus College—He takes as his model Jesus College, Rotherham—His Object the Training of a Preaching Clergy—The Story of the Nunnery of S. Rhadegund—Its Dissolution—Conversion of the Conventual Church into a College Chapel—The Monastic Buildings, Gateway, Cloister, Chapter House—The Founder a Better Architect than an Educational Reformer—The Jesus Roll of eminent Men from Cranmer to Coleridge.
THE historical importance of the New Learning depends ultimately on the fact that its influence on the Western world broadened out into a new capacity for culture in general, which took various forms according to the different local or national conditions with which it came into contact. In Italy, its land of origin, the Classical Revival was felt mainly as an æsthetic ideal, an instrument for the self-culture of the individual, expressing itself in delight for beauty of form and elegance of literary style, bringing to the life of the cultured classes a social charm and distinction of tone, which, however, it is difficult sometimes to distinguish from a merely refined paganism. In France and Spain too, where the basis of character was also Latin, the æsthetic spirit of classical antiquity was readily assimilated. To a French or a Spanish scholar sympathy with the pagan spirit was instinctive and innate. The Teutonic genius, however, both on the side of Literature and of Art, remained sturdily impervious to the more æsthetic side of the Italian Renaissance. In Germany the æsthetic influence was evident enough—we can trace it plainly in the writings of Erasmus and Melancthon, though with them Italian humanism was always a secondary aim subservient to a greater end—but it had a strongly marked character of its own, wholly different from the Italian. The Renaissance in Germany indeed we rightly know by the name of the Reformation, and the paramount task of the German scholars of the New Learning we recognise to have been the elucidation of the true meaning of the Bible. Similarly in England the scholarly mind was at first little affected by the æsthetic considerations which meant so much to a Frenchman or an Italian. A few chosen Englishmen, it is true, “pilgrim scholars” they were called—William Grey, Bishop of Ely, John Tiptoft, Earl of Worcester, Thomas Linacre, William Grocyn stand out perhaps most conspicuously—were drawn to Italy by the rumours of the marvellous treasures rescued from monastic lumber rooms, or conveyed over seas by fugitive Greeks, but they returned to England to find that there was little they could do except to bequeath the books and manuscripts they had collected to an Oxford or a Cambridge College, and hope for happier times when scholars would be found to read them. It was not indeed until the little group of Hellenists—Erasmus and Linacre and Grocyn and Colet—had shown the value of Greek thought as an interpreter of the New Testament, that any enthusiasm for the New Learning could be awakened in England. An increase of a knowledge of the Bible was worth working for, not the elegancies of an accurate Latin style. Englishmen in the fifteenth century were busy in the task of developing trade and commerce, and their intellectual tone took colour from their daily work. It became eminently utilitarian and practical. An English scholar was willing to accept the New Learning if you would prove to him that it was useful or was true, that it was only beautiful did not at first much affect him. It was only therefore with an eye to strictly practical results that at the universities the New Learning was welcomed, and even there tardily.
Nowhere perhaps is this practical tendency of English scholarship at this period more characteristically shown than in the Cambridge work of Thomas Alcock and John Fisher, the founders respectively of Jesus College and of the twin colleges of Christ’s and John’s. Alcock and Fisher were both of them Yorkshiremen, born and educated at Beverley in the Grammar School connected with the Minster there, and both proceeding from thence to Cambridge: Alcock in all likelihood, though there is some doubt about this, to Pembroke, where he took his LL.D. degree in or before 1461; Fisher to Michaelhouse, of which he became a Fellow in 1491.
Of Alcock, the historian Bale has said that “no one in England had a greater reputation for sanctity.” He was equally remarkable for his practical qualities, as a diplomatist, as a financier, as an architect. He had twice been a Royal Commissioner, under Richard III. and under Henry VII., to arrange treaties with Scotland. By an arrangement, of which no similar instance is known, he had conjointly held the office of Lord Chancellor with Bishop Rotherham of Lincoln, he himself at that time ruling the diocese of Rochester. As early as 1462 he had been made Master of the Rolls. In 1476 he was translated to Worcester, and at the same time became Lord President of Wales. On the accession of Henry VII., he was made Comptroller of the Royal Works and Buildings, an office for which he was especially fitted, it is said, by his skill as an architect. In 1486 he was translated to the See of Ely and again made Lord Chancellor.
It was as Bishop of Ely that he undertook the foundation of Jesus College. There can, I think, be little doubt that for the idea of his projected college he was indebted to his old Cambridge friend and co-chancellor, Thomas Rotherham, at this time Archbishop of York. At any rate, it is noteworthy that each of the friends founded in his Diocese—the Archbishop at his native place of Rotherham, the Bishop of Ely at Cambridge—a college dedicated to the name of Jesus. Jesus College, Rotherham, was founded in 1481; Jesus College, Cambridge, followed fifteen years later. The main object of the two prelates was probably the same. In the license for the foundation of Rotherham’s college its objects are stated to be twofold: “To preach the Word of God in the Parish of Rotherham and in other places in the Diocese of York; and to instruct gratuitously, in the rules of grammar and song, scholars from all parts of England, and especially from the Diocese of York.” There is no reason to suppose that the needs of the Diocese of Ely, even fifteen years later, were any different. For the fact that Jesus College, Rotherham, should consist of ten persons—a provost, six choristers, and three masters—who can teach respectively grammar, music, and writing, the Archbishop gave the fanciful reason, that as he, its founder, had offended God in His ten commandments, so he desired the benefit of the prayers of ten persons on his behalf. Alcock’s motive for fixing the number of his new Society of Jesus at Cambridge at thirteen seems to have been no less characteristic. Thirteen, the number of the original Christian Society of Our Lord and His Apostles, was the common complement of the professed members of a monastic society, and may in all likelihood have been the original number of the nuns of St. Rhadegund, whose house the Bishop was about to suppress to found his new college.
“Rotherham’s College, according to its measure, was intended to meet two pressing needs of his time, and especially of northern England—a preaching clergy, and boys trained for the service of the church. At the end of the fifteenth century ‘both theology and the art of preaching seemed in danger of general neglect. At the English universities, and consequently throughout the whole country, the sermon was falling into almost complete disuse.’ The disfavour with which it was regarded by the heads of the Church was largely due to fear of the activity of the Lollards, which had brought all popular harangues and discourses under suspicion. When the embers of heresy had been extinguished, here and there a reforming churchman sought to restore among the parish clergy the old preaching activity. In the wide unmanageable dioceses of the north the lack of an educated, preaching priesthood was most apparent. Bishop Stanley is probably only echoing the language of Alcock when he begins and closes his statutes with an exhortation to the society, whom he addresses as ‘scholars of Jesus,’ so to conduct themselves ‘that the name of our Lord Jesus Christ may be honoured, the clergy multiplied, and the people called to the praise of God.’ He enacts that of the five Foundation Fellows (one of Alcock’s having been suppressed) four shall be devoted to the study of theology, and he requires that they shall be chosen from natives of five counties, which, owing to the imperfections of the single existing copy of his statutes, are unspecified. If, as is likely, this county restriction was re-introduced by Stanley from the provisions made by Alcock, it is natural to surmise that the founder’s native county was one of those preferred. Certain it is that his small society had a Yorkshireman, Chubbes of Whitby, for its first master. He had been a Fellow of Pembroke, and probably from the same society and county came one of the original Fellows of Jesus, William Atkynson.
“The same fear of Lollardism which had stifled preaching had caused the teaching profession to be regarded with jealousy by the authorities of the Church. In a limited part of north-eastern England, William Byngham, about the year 1439, found seventy schools void for ‘grete scarstie of Maistres of Gramar’ which fifty years previously had been in active use. His foundation of God’s House at Cambridge was designed to supply trained masters to these derelict schools. The boys’ schools attached to Rotherham’s and Alcock’s Foundations were intended to meet the same deficiency. Presumably Alcock meant that one or other of his Fellows should supply the teaching, for his foundation did not include a schoolmaster. The linking of a grammar school with a house of university students was of course no novelty; the connection of Winchester with New College had been copied by Henry VI. in the association of Eton and King’s. But Alcock’s plan of including boys and ‘dons’ within the same walls, and making them mix in the common life and discipline of hall and chapel, if not absolutely a new thing, had no nearer prototype in an English university than Walter de Merton’s provisions in the statutes of his College for a Grammaticus and Pueri. Though the school was meant to supply a practical need, the pattern of it seems to have been suggested by Alcock’s mediæval sentiment. There is indeed no evidence or likelihood that S. Rhadegund’s Nunnery maintained a school, but the same monastic precedent which Alcock apparently followed in fixing the number of his society prescribed the type of his school. It stood in the quarter where monastic schools were always placed, next the gate, in the old building which had served the nuns as their almonry.”[64]
The story of the nunnery of S. Rhadegund, which, under the auspices of Bishop Alcock, became Jesus College, is an interesting one. Luckily, the material for that history is fairly complete. The nuns bequeathed a large mass of miscellaneous documents—charters, wills, account rolls—to the College, and the scrupulous care with which they were originally housed, and not less, perhaps, the wholesome neglect which has since respected their repose in the College muniment room, have fortunately preserved them intact to the present time, and have enabled the present tutor of the College, Mr. Arthur Gray, to reconstruct a fairly complete picture of this isolated woman’s community in an alien world of men in pre-Academic Cambridge, and of the depravation and decay which came of that isolation, and which ended in the first suppression in England of an independent House of Religion. I am indebted for the following particulars to Mr. Gray’s monograph on the priory of S. Rhadegund, published a year or two ago by the Cambridge Antiquarian Society, and to the first chapter of his lately published College History.
Who the nuns were that first settled on the Green-Croft by the river bank below Cambridge, and whence they came thither, and by what title they became possessed of their original site, the documents they have handed down to us across the centuries apparently do not record. It is true that in the letters patent of Henry VII. for the dissolution of the nunnery and the erection of a college in its room it is asserted—evidently on the representation of Bishop Alcock—that S. Rhadegund’s Priory was “of the foundation and patronage of the Bishop, as in right of his Cathedral Church of Ely.” The nun’s “original cell” was no doubt of the Benedictine Order, and the great Priory of Ely, fifteen miles away down the river, was also Benedictine, and the good Bishop may have been right in his assertion of the connection between the two, but it is a little doubtful whether he could have given chapter and verse for his assertion. What is certain is this, that Nigel, the second Bishop of Ely, in the opening years of Stephen’s reign, gave to the nuns their earliest charter. It is addressed with Norman magnificence “to all barons and men of S. Etheldrytha, cleric or lay, French or English,” and it grants for a rent of twelve pence, “to the nuns of the cell lately established without the vill of Cantebruge,” certain land lying near to other land belonging to the same cell. To the friendly interest of the same Bishop it seems probable that the nuns owed their first considerable benefaction. This was a parcel of ground, consisting of two virgates and six acres of meadow and four cottars with their tenure in the neighbouring village of Shelford, granted to them by a certain William the Monk. The fact that after seven centuries and a half the successors of the nuns of S. Rhadegund, the Master and Fellow of Jesus College, still hold possession of the same property is not only a remarkable instance of continuity of title, but also, let us hope, is sufficient proof that the original donor had come by his title honestly—a fact about which there might otherwise have been some suspicion, when we read such a record as this of this same William the Monk in the Historia Eliensis of Thomas of Ely: “With axes and hammers, and every implement of masonry, he profanely assailed the shrine (of S. Etheldreda, the Foundress Saint in the Church of Ely), and with his own hand robbed it of its metal.” However, it is something that further on in the same record we may read: “He lived to repent it bitterly. He, who had once been extraordinarily rich and had lacked for nothing, was reduced to such extreme poverty as not even to have the necessaries of life. At last when he had lost all and knew not whither to turn himself, by urgent entreaty he prevailed on the Ely brethren to receive him into their order, and there with unceasing lamentation, tears, vigils, and prayers deploring his guilt, he ended his days in sincere penitence.”
Other benefactions followed that of William the Monk, lands, customs, tithes, fishing rights, advowsons of churches. At some time in the reign of Henry II. the nuns acquired the advowson of All Saints Church—All Saints in the Jewry—a living which still belongs to the Masters and Fellows of Jesus, although the old church standing in the open space opposite the gate of John’s was removed in the middle of the last century, and is now represented by the memorial cross placed on the vacant spot and by the fine new church of All Saints facing Jesus College. The advowson of S. Clements followed in the year 1215, given to the nuns by an Alderman of the Cambridge Guild Merchants. Altogether the nunnery, though never a large house, seems to have acquired a comfortable patrimony.
ST. JOHN’S AND DIVINITY SCHOOLS
“The Account Rolls which the departing sisters left behind them in 1496 reveal pretty fully the routine of their lives. Books—save for the casual mention of the binding of the lives of the saints—were none of their business, and works of charity, excepting the customary dole to the poor on Maundy Thursday, and occasional relief to ‘poor soldiers disabled in the wars of Our Lord the King,’ scarcely concerned them more. The duties of hospitality in the Guest House make the Cellaress a busy woman. They cost a good deal, but are not unprofitable; the nuns take in ‘paying guests,’ daughters of tradesmen and others. Being ladies, the sisters neither toil nor spin; but the Prioress and the Grangeress have an army of servants, whose daily duties have to be assigned to them; carters and ploughmen have to be sent out to the scattered plots owned by the Nunnery in the open fields about Cambridge; the neatherd has to drive the cattle to distant Willingham fen; the brewer has instructions for malting and brewing the ‘peny-ale’ which serves the nuns for ‘bevers’; and the women servants are dispatched to work in the dairy, to weed the garden, or to weave and to make candles in the hospice. Once in a while a party of the nuns, accompanied by their maid-servants, takes boat as far as to Lynn, there to buy stock-fish and Norway timber, and to fetch a letter for the Prioress.”[65]
There is not much sign, alas! in all the record of any great devotion to religion, such as we might have expected to find in regard to such a House. Indeed, it would seem that there was seldom a time in the history of the Nunnery when a visit from the Bishop of the Diocese or from one of his commissioners on a round of inspection was other than a much resented occurrence. Discipline, indeed, appears to have been generally lax in the Nunnery, and the sisters or some of them easily got permission to gad outside the cloister. Scandal is a key which generally unlocks the cloister gate and permits a glance into the interior shadows. Bene vixit quæ bene latuit.
“Not such was Margaret Cailly, whose sad story was the gossip of the nuns’ parlour in 1389. She came of an old and reputable family which had furnished mayors and bailiffs to Cambridge and had endowed the nuns with land at Trumpington. For reasons sufficiently moving her, which we may only surmise, she escaped from the cloister, discarded her religious garb, and sought hiding in the alien diocese of Lincoln. But it so happened that Archbishop Courtenay that year was making metropolitical visitation of that diocese, and it was the ill-fortune of Margaret, ‘a sheep wandering from the fold among thorns,’ to come under his notice. The Archbishop, solicitous that ‘her blood be not required at our hands,’ handed her over to the keeping of our brother of Ely. The Bishop in turn passed her on to the custody of her own Prioress, with injunctions that she should be kept in close confinement, under exercise of salutary penance, until she showed signs of contrition for her ‘excesses’; and further that when the said Margaret first entered the chapter-house she should humbly implore pardon of the Prioress and her sisters for her offences. The story ends for us at Margaret’s prison-door.”[66]
Norman Work in Church of Jesus College
Such a story, more or less typical, I fear, of much and long continued lax discipline, prepares us for the end. When Bishop Alcock visited the House in 1497, we are not surprised perhaps at the evidence which is set forth in the Letters Patent authorising the foundation of his College in the place of the Nunnery. The buildings and properties of the house are said to be dilapidated and wasted “owing to the improvidence, extravagance, and incontinence of the nuns resulting from their proximity to the University.” Two nuns only remain; one of them is professed elsewhere, the other is infamis. They are in abject want, utterly unable to maintain Divine service or the works of mercy and piety required of them, and are ready to depart, leaving the home desolate.
From the nuns of S. Rhadegund then Jesus College received no heritage of noble ideal. Two things only they have left behind them for which they merit gratitude. Firstly, a bundle of deeds and manuscripts, inconsiderable to them, very valuable to the scholars and historians of the future; and secondly, their fine old church and monastic buildings.
In writing in a previous chapter of the buildings of Queens’ we drew attention to the fact that the general plan of the College followed in the main the lines of a large country house such as Haddon Hall. And in degree this is true of the other college buildings in Cambridge. A mere glance at a ground-plan of Jesus will show at once that the arrangement of the buildings is entirely different from that of any other college at Cambridge, and it is clearly derived from that of a monastery. This accords with what we know of its history. However dilapidated the old nunnery may have become through the poverty and neglect of the nuns, the outward walls of solid clunch, which under a facing of later brick, still testify to the durability of the Nunnery builders, were still practically intact, and Bishop Alcock had too much practical skill as an architect to destroy buildings which he could so easily adapt to the needs of his college, and harmonise to fifteenth century fashions in architecture.
In his conversion of the Nunnery buildings to the purposes of his college, Bishop Alcock grouped the buildings he required round the original cloister of the nuns, increasing the size of that cloister by the breadth of the north aisle of the Conventual Church which he pulled down. The hall was placed on the north side, the library on the west. The kitchens and offices were in the angle of the cloister between the hall and library. The master’s lodge at the south-west corner was partly constructed out of the altered nave of the church, and partly out of new buildings connecting this south-western corner of the cloister with the gate of entrance. This gateway, approached by a long gravelled path between high walls, known popularly as “the chimney,” is one of the most picturesque features of the College. It is usually ascribed to Bishop Alcock, but on architectural evidence only. It is thus described by Professor Willis:—
“The picturesque red-brick gateway tower of Jesus College (1497), although destitute of angle-turrets, is yet distinguished from the ground upwards by a slight relief, by stone quoins, and by having its string courses designedly placed at different levels from those of the chambers on each side of it. The general disposition of the ornamentation of its arch and of the wall above it furnished the model for the more elaborate gate-houses at Christ’s College and St. John’s College. The ogee hood-mould rises upwards, and the stem of its finial terminates under the base of a handsome tabernacle which occupies the centre of the upper stage, with a window on each side of it. Each of the spandrel spaces contains a shield, and a larger shield is to be found in the triangular field between the hood-mould and the arch.”
Professor Willis thus describes also the Conventual Church and the changes which were made by the Bishop in his conversion of it into a college chapel.
Norman Work in N. Transept Jesus College Chapel
“The church ... presented an arrangement totally different from that of the chapel of Jesus College at the present day. It was planned in the form of a cross, with a tower in the centre, and had in addition to a north and south transept, aisles on the north and south sides of the eastern limb, flanking it along half the extent of its walls, and forming chapels which opened to the chancel by two pier arches in each wall. The structure was completed by a nave of seven piers with two side aisles.... (The church) was an admirable specimen of the architecture of its period, and two of the best preserved remaining portions, the series of lancet windows on the north and south aisles of the eastern limb, and the arcade that ornaments the inner surface of the tower walls, will always attract attention and admiration for the beauty of their composition.
“Under the direction of Bishop Alcock the side aisles, both of the chancel and of the nave, were entirely removed, the pier arches by which they had communicated with the remaining centre portion of the building were walled up, and the place of each arch was occupied by a perpendicular window of the plainest description. The walls were raised, a flat roof was substituted for the high-pitched roof of the original structure, large perpendicular windows were inserted in the gables of the chancel and south transept, and lastly, two-thirds of the nave were cut off from the church by a wall, and fitted up partly as a lodge for the master, partly as chambers for students.
“As for the portion set apart for the chapel of the college, the changes were so skilfully effected and so completely concealed by plaster within and without, that all trace and even knowledge of the old aisles was lost; but in the course of preparations for repairs in 1846 the removal of some of the plaster made known the fact that the present two south windows of the chancel were inserted in walls which were themselves merely the filling-up of a pair of pier-arches, and that these arches, together with the piers upon which they rested, and the responds whence they sprang, still existed in the walls. When this key to the secret of the church had been supplied, it was resolved to push the enquiry to the uttermost; all the plaster was stripped off the inner face of the walls; piers and arches were brought to light again in all directions; old foundations were sought for on the outside of the building, and a complete and systematic examination of the plan and structure of the original Church was set on foot, which led to very satisfactory results.”[67]
Entrance to Chapter-House Priory of S. Radegund now Jesus College, Herbert Railton
To-day the completely restored church, the work at varying intervals from 1849 to 1869 of Salvin and Pugin and Bodley, forms one of the most beautiful and interesting college chapels in Cambridge. An important series of stained glass windows were executed by Mr. William Morris from the designs of Burne-Jones between 1873-77. In 1893 the Rev. Osmund Fisher, a former Dean of the College, at this time elected an Honorary Fellow, remembering to have seen in his undergraduate days of fifty years before indications of old Gothic work in the wall of the cloister, during some repair of the plaster work, obtained leave of the Master to investigate the wall. This led to the discovery of the beautiful triple group of early English arches and doorway which formed the original entrance to the chapter house of the Nunnery, one of the most charming bits of thirteenth century architectural grouping in all Cambridge.
Bishop Alcock was probably a better architect than he was an educational reformer. He was successful enough in converting the fabric of the dissolved Nunnery into college buildings. It may be doubted whether he was equally successful in translating his friend Archbishop Rotherham’s ideal of a grammar school college into a working institution. In the constitution which he gave to his college there were to be places found for both Fellows and boys—Scholares and Pueri—but the Scholares were obviously to be men, and the Pueri simply schoolboys, for they were to be under fourteen years of age on admission; and Juvenes, undergraduate scholars, did not enter into his plan. The amended statutes of his successors, Bishops Stanley and West, gave some definition to the founder’s scheme, but they did not materially modify it. Within fifty years, in fact, from its foundation, Jesus College, as Alcock had conceived it, had become an anachronism, and the claustral community of student priests with their schoolboy acolytes, not seriously concerned with true education, and unvivified by contact with the real student scholar, came near to perishing, as a thing born out of due season. The dawn of what might seem to be a better state of things only began with the endowment of scholarships—scholarships, that is to say, in the modern sense—in the reign of Edward VI. It was only, however, with the university reforms of the nineteenth century that the proportion of college revenue allotted to such endowment fund was reasonably assessed.
And yet with this somewhat meagre scholarship equipment the roll of eminent men belonging to Jesus College is a worthy one. On the very first page of that roll we are confronted with the name of Cranmer. We do not know the name of any student whose admission to the College preceded his. Wary and sagacious then, as in later life, he had resisted the tempting offer of a Fellowship at Wolsey’s new college of Christ Church at Oxford to come to Cambridge, there, it is true at first, “to be nursed in the grossest kind of sophistry, logic, philosophy, moral and natural (not in the text of the old philosophers, but chiefly in the dark riddles of Duns and other subtle questionists), to his age of 22 years,” but shortly, having taken his B.A. degree in 1511, to receive from Erasmus, who in that year began to lecture at Cambridge as Lady Margaret Reader, his first bent towards those studies which led eventually to the publication of his “Short Instruction into Christian Religion,” which it had been better had he himself more closely followed, and possibly towards that opportunist policy, which in the event ended so sadly for himself, and meant so much, both of evil and of good, to the future of both Church and State in England. Closely associated with Cranmer were other Jesus men, noted theologians of the reforming party;—John Bale, afterwards Bishop of Ossory, called “bilious Bale” by Fuller because of the rancour of his attacks on his papal opponents, Geoffry Downs, Thomas Goodrich, afterwards Bishop of Ely, John Edmunds, Robert Okyng, and others. In the list of succeeding archbishops claimed by the College as Jesus men occur the names of Herring, Hutton, Sterne. The Sterne family indeed contribute not a few members through several generations to the College, not the least eminent being the author of “Tristram Shandy” and “The Sentimental Journey.” The portraits of both Laurence Sterne and his great grandfather the Archbishop hang on the walls of the dining-hall, the severe eyes of the Caroline divine looking across as if with much disfavour at the trim and smiling figure of his descendant, the young cleric so unlike his idea of what a priest and scholar should be. Other than “Shandean” influence in the College is, however, suggested by the name of Henry Venn among the admissions of 1742, when he migrated to Jesus after three months’ residence at S. John’s, and exercised an influence prophetic of the great movement of Cambridge evangelicalism, prolonged far into the next century by Venn’s pupil and friend, Charles Simeon. It is probable, however, that there is no more brilliant page in the history of Jesus College than that which tells the story of the last decade of the seventeenth century, and which contains the names of William Otter, E. D. Clarke, Robert Malthus, and Samuel Taylor Coleridge. Coleridge was elected a Rustat Scholar in 1791 and a Foundation Scholar in 1793, but he gained no academic distinction. There was no classical tripos in those days, and to obtain a Chancellor’s medal it was necessary that a candidate should have obtained honours in mathematics for which Coleridge had all a poet’s abhorrence. Among the poems of his college days may be remembered, “A Wish written in Jesus Wood, Feb. 10, 1792,” and the well-known “Monologue to a Young Jackass in Jesus Piece.” Another poem more worthy of record perhaps, though he scribbled it in one of the College chapel prayer-books, is one of regretful pathos on the neglected “hours of youth,” which finds a later echo in his “Lines on an Autumnal Evening,” where he alludes to his undergraduate days at Jesus:—
And with that quotation from the Jesus poet we may perhaps close this chapter, only adding one word of hearty agreement with that encomium which was passed upon the College by King James, who, because of the picturesqueness of its old buildings and the beauty and charm of its surroundings, spoke of Jesus College as Musarum Cantabrigiensium Museum, and also with that decision which on a second visit to Cambridge His Majesty wisely gave, that “Were he to choose, he would pray at King’s, dine at Trinity, and study and sleep at Jesus.”
The Lady Margaret Foundations—Bishop Fisher of Rochester—The Foundation of Christ’s—God’s House—The Buildings of the new College—College Worthies—John Milton—Henry More—Charles Darwin—The Hospital of the Brethren of S. John—Death of the Lady Margaret—Foundation of S. John’s College—Its Buildings—The Great Gateway—The New Library—The Bridge of Sighs—The Wilderness—Wordsworth’s “Prelude”—The Aims of Bishop Fisher—His Death.
WE may well in this chapter take together the twin foundations of Christ’s College and S. John’s which both had the Lady Margaret, Countess of Richmond and Derby, and mother of Henry VII. for their foundress. The father of this lady was John Beaufort, Duke of Somerset, and her mother was Margaret, daughter and heiress of Sir John Beauchamp, of Bletso. “So that,” says Fuller, punning on her parents’ names, “fairfort and fairfield met in this lady, who was fair body and fair soul, being the exactest pattern of the best devotion those days afforded, taxed for no personal faults but the errors of the age she lived in. John Fisher, Bishop of Rochester, preached her funeral sermon, wherein he resembled her to Martha in four respects: firstly, nobility of person; secondly, discipline of her body; thirdly, in ordering her soul to God; fourthly, in hospitality and charity.”
In that assemblage of noble lives, who from the earliest days of Cambridge history have laboured for the benefit of the University, and left it so rich a store of intellectual good, there are no more honoured names than these two:—the Lady Margaret, Countess of Richmond, and her friend and confessor, Bishop Fisher, under whose wise and cautious supervision Cambridge first tasted of the fruits of the Renaissance, and welcomed Erasmus, I fear with but a very tempered enthusiasm, to the newly-founded Lady Margaret chair, and yet, nevertheless, in that encouragement of the New Learning laid the foundation of that sound method and apparatus of criticism which has enabled the University in an after age to take all knowledge for its province, and to represent its conquest by the foundation of twenty-five professorial chairs.
John Fisher, who came, as we have seen in the last chapter, from the Abbey School at Beverley, where, some twenty years or so before, he had been preceded by Bishop Alcock, was Proctor of the University in 1494, and three years later, in 1497, was made Master of his College, Michaelhouse. The duties of the proctorial office necessitated at that time occasional attendance at Court, and it was on the occasion of his appearance in this capacity at Greenwich that Fisher first attracted the notice of the Lady Margaret, who in 1497 appointed him her confessor. It was an auspicious conjunction for the University. Under his inspiration the generosity of his powerful patron was readily extended to enrich academic resources. It was the laudable design of Fisher to raise Cambridge to the academic level which Oxford had already reached. Already students of the sister university had been to Italy, and had returned full of the New Learning. The fame of Colet, Grocyn, and Linacre made Oxford renowned, and drew to its lecture-rooms eager scholars from all the learned world. It hardly needed that such a man as Erasmus should sing the praises of the Oxford teachers. “When I listen to my friend Colet,” he wrote, “I seem to be listening to Plato himself. Who does not admire in Grocyn the perfection of training? What can be more acute, more profound, or more refined than the judgment of Linacre? What has nature ever fashioned gentler, sweeter, or pleasanter than the disposition of Thomas More?”[68]
It was natural therefore that Fisher should be ambitious in the same direction for his own university. He began wisely on a small scale, with an object of immediate practical usefulness, the foundation of a Divinity professorship, which should aim at teaching pulpit eloquence. On this point he rightly thought that the adherents of the Old and the New Learning might agree. And there was desperate need for the adventure. For with the close of the fifteenth century both theology and the art of preaching had sunk into general neglect. Times, for example, had greatly changed since the day when Bishop Grosseteste had declared that if a priest could not preach, there was one remedy, let him resign his benefice. But now the sermon itself had ceased to be considered necessary.
“Latimer tells us that in his own recollection, sermons might be omitted for twenty Sundays in succession without fear of complaint. Even the devout More, in that ingenious romance which he designed as a covert satire on many of the abuses of his age, while giving an admirably conceived description of a religious service, has left the sermon altogether unrecognised. In the universities, for one master of arts or doctor of divinity who could make a text of Scripture the basis of an earnest, simple, and effective homily, there were fifty who could discuss its moral, analogical, and figurative meaning, who could twist it into all kinds of unimagined significance, and give it a distorted, unnatural application. Rare as was the sermon, the theologian in the form of a modest, reverent expounder of Scripture was yet rarer. Bewildered audiences were called upon to admire the performances of intellectual acrobats. Skelton, who well knew the Cambridge of these days, not inaptly described its young scholars as men who when they had “once superciliously caught
It was to remedy this state of things that, in the first instance, Fisher set himself to work. The Divinity professorship was soon supplemented by the Lady Margaret preachership, the holder of which was to go from place to place and give a cogent example in pulpit oratory: one sermon in the course of every two years at each of the following twelve places:—