YALE
UNIVERSITY LIBRARY

HISTORICAL SKETCHES.

HISTORICAL SKETCHES

RISE AND PROGRESS OF UNIVERSITIES
NORTHMEN AND NORMANS tN ENGLAND AND IRELAND
MEDIEVAL OXFORD
CONVOCATION OF CANTERBURY

JOHN HENRY NEWMAN.
OF THE ORATORY
SOMETIME FELLOW OF ORIEL COLLEGE

LONDON
BASIL MONTAGU PICKERING
196 PICCADILLY 1872

I.
RISE AND PROGRESS OF UNIVERSITIES.

TO

JAMES R. HOPE SCOTT, ESQ., Q.C,
ETC., ETC.
A NAME EVER TO BE HAD IN HONOUR,
WHEN UNIVERSITIES ARE MENTIONED,
FOR THE ZEAL OF HIS EARLY RESEARCHES,
AND THE MUNIFICENCE OF HIS LATER DEEDS,
THIS VOLUME IS INSCRIBED,
A TARDY AND UNWORTHY MEMORIAL,
ON THE PART OF ITS AUTHOR,
OF THE LOVE AND ADMIRATION
OF MANY EVENTFUL YEARS.
Dublin, Oct. 28, 1856.

ADVERTISEMENT.
THE following illustrations of the* idea pf a Univer
sity originally appeared in 1854, in the columns- of the
Dublin " Catholic University Gazette."
In 1856 they were published in one volume, under the
title of " Office and Work of Universities."
Though the Author 'then put his name in the title-
page, he thought it best to retain both the profession of
incognito and the conversational tone in which he origi
nally wrote ; for the obvious reason, that, to have
dropped either would have been to recast his work.
For such a task he could not promise himself leisure ;
and, had he effected it, he might after all only have
made himself more exact and solid at the price of be
coming less readable, at least in the judgment of a day,
which keenly appreciates the proverb, that "a great book
is a great evil." In saying this, however, he has no in
tention of implying that he has spared thought or pains
in his composition, or of apologising for its matter.
P.S. In the present edition (1872) he has exchanged
its original title for one which he considers more appro
priate to its contents.

UNIVERSITIES.
CHAP. PAGE.
I. INTRODUCTORY  .1
II. WHAT IS A UNIVERSITY?  6
III. SITE OF A UNIVERSITY  . 1 8
IV. UNIVERSITY LIFE : ATHENS  33
V. FREE TRADE IN KNOWLEDGE : THE SOPHISTS . . .47
VI. DISCIPLINE AND INFLUENCE . . . _ . . . 60
VII. INFLUENCE : ATHENIAN SCHOOLS  v 77
VIII. DISCIPLINE : MACEDONIAN AND ROMAN SCHOOLS . . 90
IX. DOWNFALL AND REFUGE OF ANCIENT CIVILIZATION. THE
LOMBARDS .  I05
X. THE* TRADITION OF CIVILIZATION : THE ISLES OF THE
NORTH  Il6
XI. A CHARACTERISTIC OF THE POPES : ST. GREGORY THE
GREAT  I30
XII. MORAL OF THAT CHARACTERISTIC OF THE POPES : PIUS
THE NINTH  I42
XIII. SCHOOLS OF CHARLEMAGNE : PARIS  150
XIV. SUPPLY AND DEMAND : THE SCHOOLMEN . . . . 163
XV. PROFESSORS AND TUTORS  179
XVI. THE STRENGTH AND WEAKNESS OF UNIVERSITIES : ABELARD I92
XVII. THE ANCIENT UNIVERSITY OF DUBLIN .... 203
XVIII. COLLEGES THE CORRECTIVE OF UNIVERSITIES : OXFORD 213
XIX. ABUSES OF THE COLLEGES : OXFORD  228
XX. UNIVERSITIES AND SEMINARIES : L'ECOLE DES HAUTES
ETUDES  24O

UNIVERSITIES- chapter i.
INTRODUCTOR Y...
I HAVE it in purpose to commit to paper, time" after
time, various thoughts of my own, seasonable, as I
conceive, when a Catholic University is under formation,
and apposite in a publication, which is- to be the record
and organ of its proceedings. An anonymous person,
indeed, like mys'elf, can claim no authority for anything
he advances ; nor have I any intention of introducing
or sheltering myself underthe sanction of the Institution
which I wish to serve. My remarks will stand amid
weightier matters like the non-official portion of certain
government journals in foreign parts ; and I trust they
will have their use, though they are but individual in
their origin, and unmethodical in their execution:
When I say anything to the purpose, the gain is the
University's ; • when I am mistaken or unsuccessful, the
failure is my own.
The Prelates of the Irish Church are at present en
gaged in an anxious and momentous task, which has the
inconvenience of being strange to us, if it be not novel.
A University is not founded every day ; and seldom
indeed has it been founded under the peculiar circum
stances which will now attend its establishment in
I

2 Introductory.
Catholic Ireland. Generally speaking, it has grown up
out of schools, or colleges, or seminaries, or monastic
bodies, which had already lasted for centuries ; and,
different as it is from them all, has been little else than
their natural result' and completion. While then it has
been expanding into its peculiar and perfect form, it has '
at the same time been by anticipation educating subjects
for its service, and has been creating and carrying along
with it the national sympathy. Here, however, as the
world is not slow to object, this great institution is to
take its place among us without antecedent or precedent,
whether to recommend or explain it. It receives, we
are told, neither illustration nor augury from the history
of the past, and requires' to be brought into existence as
well as into shape. It has to force its way abruptly into
an existing state of society which has never duly felt
its absence; and it finds its most formidable obsta
cles, not in anything inherent in the' undertaking itself,
but in the circumambient atmosphere of misapprehen
sion and prejudice into which it is received. Neces
sary as it really is, it has to be carried into effect in the
presence of a reluctant or perplexed public opinion, and
that, without any counterbalancing assistance whatever,
as has commonly been the case with Universities, from
royal favour or civil sanction.
This is what many a man will urge, who is favourable
to the project itself, viewed apart from the difficulties of
the time ; nor can the force of such representations be
denied. On the other hand, such difficulties must be
taken, for what they are really worth ; they exist, not so.
much in adverse facts, as in the opinion of the world
about the facts. That opinion is the adyerse fact. It
would be absurd to deny, that grave and good men,
zealous for religion, and experienced in the state of the

Introductory. 3
. country, have had serious misgivings on the subject, and
have thought the vision of a Catholic University too
noble, too desirable, to be possible. Still, making every
admission on this score which can be required of me,
I think it is true, after all, that our iriain adversary is to
be found, not in the unfavourable judgments of particu
lar persons, though such there are,- but in the vague and
diffusive influence of what is called Public Opinion.
T am not so irrational as to despise Public Opinion ; I
have no thought of making light of a tribunal estab
lished in the conditions and necessities of human nature.
It has its place in the very constitution of society ; it
ever has existed, it ever will exist, whether in the com
monwealth of nations, or in the humble and secluded
village. But wholesome as it is as a principle, it has, in
common with all things human, great imperfections, and
makes many mistakes. Too often it is nothing else
than what the whole world opines, and no one in parti
cular. Your neighbour assures you that every one is
of one way of thinking ; that there is but one opinion
on the subject ; and while he claims not to be answer
able for it, he does not hesitate to propound and spread
it. In such cases, every one is appealing to every one
else ; and the constituent members of a community one
by one think it their duty to defer and succumb to the
voice of that same community as a whole.
It would be 'extravagant to maintain that this is the
adequate account of the sentiments which have for some
time prevailed among us as to the establishment of our
University ; but, so far as it holds good, this follows, viz~. :
that the despondency, with which the project is regarded
by so many persons, is the offspring, not of their judg
ment, but mainly (I say it, as will be seen directly, with-.
out any disrespect) of their imagination. Public Opinion

4 Introductory.
especially acts upon the imagination ; it does not con
vince, but it impresses ; it has the force of authority,
rather than of reason ; and concurrence in it is, not an
intelligent decision, but a submission or belief. This
circumstance at once suggests to us how we are to pro
ceed in the case under consideration. Arguments are:
the fit weapons with which to assail an erroneous judg
ment, but assertions and actions must be brought to
bear upon a false imagination. The mind in that case
has been misled by representations ; it must be set right
by representations. What it asks of us is, not reasoning,
but discussion. In works on Logic, we meet with a so
phistical argument, the object of which is to prove that
motion is impossible ; and it is not uncommon, before
scientifically handling it, to submit it to a practical refu
tation ; — Solvitur ambulando. Such is the sort of reply
which I think it may be useful just now to make to
public opinion, which is so indisposed to allow that a
Catholic University of the English tongue can be set in
motion. I will neither directly prove that it is possible,
nor answer the allegations in behalf of its impossibility ;
I shall attempt a humbler, but perhaps a not less effica
cious service, in employing myself to the best of my
ability, and according to the patience of the reader, in
setting forth what a University is. I will leave the con
troversy to others ; I -will confine myself to description
and statement, concerning the nature, the character, the
work, the peculiarities of a University, the aims with
which it is established, the wants it may supply, the
methods it adopts, what it involves and requires, what
are its relations to other institutions, and what has been
its history. I am sanguine that my labour will not be
thrown away, though it aims at nothing very learned,
nothing very systematic ; though it should wander from

Introdtictory. 5
one subject to another, as each happens to arise, and
gives no promise whatever of terminating in the produc
tion of a treatise.
And in attempting as much as this, while I hope I
shall gain instruction from criticisms of whatever sort, I
do not mean to be put out by them, whether they come
from those who know more, or those who know less than
myself; — from those who take exacter, broader, more
erudite, more sagacious, more philosophical views than
my own ; or those who have yet to attain such measure
of truth and of judgment as I may myself claim. I must
not be disturbed at the animadversions of those who
have a right to feel superior to me, nor at the complaints
of others who think I do not enter into or satisfy their
difficulties. If I am charged with being shallow on the
one part, or off-hand on the other, if I myself feel that
fastidiousness at my own attempts, which grows upon an
author as he multiplies his compositions, I shall console
myself with the reflection, that life is not long enough to
do more than our best, whatever that may be ; that they
who are ever taking aim, make no hits ; that they who
never venture, never gain ; that to. be ever safe, is to be
ever feeble ; and that to do some substantial good, is
the compensation for much incidental imperfection.
With thoughts like these, which, such as they are,
have been the companions and the fdod of my life
hitherto, I address myself to my undertaking.

CHAPTER II.
WHAT IS A UNIVERSITY ?
IF I were asked to describe as briefly and popularly as
I could, what a University was, I should draw my
answer from its ancient designation of a Studium Gene-
rale, or " School of Universal Learning." This descrip
tion implies the assemblage of strangers from all parts
in one spot ; — from all parts ; else, how will you find
professors and students for every department of know
ledge ? and in one spot ; else, how can there be any
school at all ? Accordingly, in its simple and rudimental
form, it is a school of knowledge of every kind, con
sisting of teachers and learners from every quarter. Many
things are requisite to complete and satisfy the idea em
bodied in this description ; but such as this a University
seems to be in its essence, a place for the communication
and circulation of thought, by means of personal inter
course, through a wide extent of country.
.There is nothing far-fetched or unreasonable in the .
idea thus presented to us ; and if this be a University,
then a University does but contemplate a necessity of
our nature, and is but one specimen in a particular
medium, out of many which might be adduced in others,
of a provision for that necessity. Mutual education, in
a large sense of the word, is one of the great and inces
sant occupations of human society, carried on partly with
set purpose, and partly not: One generation forms

What is a University1} 7
another ; and the existing generation is ever acting and
reacting upon itself in the persons of its individual mem
bers. Now, in this process, books, I need scarcely say,
that is, the litera scripta, are one special instrument. It
is true ; and emphatically so in. this age. Considering
the prodigious powers of the press,- and how they are
developed at this time in the never-intermitting issue of
periodicals, tracts, pamphlets, works in series, and light
literature, we must allow there never was a time which
promised fairer for dispensing with every other means of
information and instruction. What can we want more,
you will say, for the intellectual education of the whole
man, and for every man, than so exuberant and diversi
fied and persistent a promulgation of all kinds of
knowledge ? Why, you will ask, need we go up to
knowledge, when knowledge comes down to us ? The
Sibyl wrote her prophecies upon the leaves of the forest,
and wasted them ; but here such careless profusion might
be prudently indulged, for it can be afforded without
loss, in consequence of the almost fabulous fecundity of
the instrument which these latter ages have invented.
We have sermons in stones, and books in the running
brooks ; works larger and more comprehensive than
- those which have "gained for ancients an immortality,
issue forth every morning, and are projected onwards to
the ends of the earth at the rate of hundreds of miles a
day. Our seats are strewed, our pavements are pow
dered, with swarms of little tracts ; and the very bricks
of our city walls preach wisdom, by informing us by
their placards where we can at once cheaply purchase it.
I allow all this, and much more; such certainly is
our popular education, and its effects are remarkable.
Nevertheless, after all, even in this age, whenever men
are really serious about getting what, in the language of

8 What is a University ?
trade, is called "a good article," when they aim at some-"
thing precise, something refined, something really lumi
nous, something really large, something choice, they go
to another market ; they avail themselves, in some shape
or other, of the rival method, the ancient method, of oral
instruction, -of present communication between man and
man, of teachers instead of learning, of the personal
influence of a master, and the humble initiation of a
¦ disciple, and, in consequence, of great centres of pil
grimage and throng, which such a method of education
necessarily involves. This, I think, will be found to hold
good in all those departments or aspects of society, which
possess an interest sufficient to bind men together; or to
constitute what is called "a world." It holds in the
political world, and in the high world, and in the reli
gious world ; and it holds also in the literary and
scientific world.
If. the actions of men may be taken as any test of
their convictions, then we have reason for saying this,
viz. : — that the province and the inestimable benefit of
the litera scripta is that of being a record of truth, and
an authority of appeal, and an instrument of teaching in
the hands of a teacher ; but that, if we wish to become
exact and fully furnished in any branch of knowledge
which is diversified and complicated, we must consult
the living man and listen to his living voice. I am not
bound to investigate the cause of this, and anything I
may say will, I am conscious, be short of its full analy
sis ;— perhaps we may suggest, that no books can get
through the number of minute questions which it is
possible to ask on any extended subject, or can hit upon
the very difficulties which are severally felt by each
reader in succession. Or again, that no book can con
vey the special spirit and delicate peculiarities of its

What is a University ? 9
subject with that rapidity and certainty which attend on
the sympathy of mind with mind, through the eyes, the
look, the accent, and the manner, in casual expressions
thrown off at the moment, and the 'unstudied turns of
'familiar conversation. But I am already dwelling too
long on what is but an incidental portion of my main
subject. Whatever be the cause, the fact is undeniable.
The general principles of any study you may learn by
books at home ; but the detail, the colour, the tone, the
air, the life which makes it live in us, you must catch all
' these from those in whom it lives already. You must
imitate the student in French or German, who is not
content with his grammar, but goes to Paris or Dresden:
you must take example from the young artist, who
aspires to visit the great Masters in Florence and in
Rome. Till we have discovered some intellectual da
guerreotype, which takes off the course of thought, and
the form, lineaments, and features of truth, as completely
and minutely, as the optical instrument reproduces the
sensible object, we must come to the teachers of wisdom
to learn wisdom, we must repair to the fountain, and
drink there. Portions of it may go from thence to the
ends of the earth by means of books ; but the fulness is
in one place alone. It is in such assemblages and con
gregations- of intellect that books themselves, the master
pieces of human genius, are written, or at least originated.
The principle on which I have been insisting is so
obvious, and instances in point are so ready, that I should
think it tiresome to proceed with the subject, except
that one or two illustrations may serve to explain my
own language about'it, which may not have done justice
to the doctrine which it has been intended to enforce.
For instance, the polished manners and high-bred
bearing which are so difficult of attainment, and so .

10 What is a University?
strictly personal when attained, — which are so much
admired in society, from society are acquired. All that
goes to constitute a gentleman, — the carriage, gait,
address, gestures, voice ; the ease, the self-possession,
the courtesy, the power of conversing, the talent of npt
offending ; the lofty principle, the delicacy of thought,
the happiness of expression, the taste and propriety, the
generosity and forbearance, the candour and considera
tion, the openness of hand ; — these qualities, some of
them come by nature, some of them may be found
in any rank, .some of them are a direct precept of
Christianity ; but the full assemblage of them, bound
up in the unity of an individual character, do we expect
they can be learned from books ? are they not necessarily
acquired, where they are to be found, "in high society ?
The very nature of the case leads us to say so ; you
cannot fence without an 'antagonist, nor challenge all
comers in disputation before you have supported a the7
sis ; and in like manner, it stands to reason, you cannot
learn to converse till you have the world to converse
with; you cannot unlearn your natural bashfulness, or
awkwardness, or stiffness, or other besetting deformity,
till you serve your time in some school of manners.
Well, and is it not so in matter of fact ? The metropolis,
the court, the great houses of the land, are the centres
to which at stated times the country comes up, as to
shrines of refinement and good taste ; and then in due
time the country goes back again home, enriched with a
portion of the social accomplishments, which those very
visits serve to call out and heighten in the gracious dis
pensers of them. We are unable to conceive how the
" gentlemanlike " can otherwise be maintained ; and
maintained in this way it is.
And now a second instance : and here too I am going

What is a University ? 1 1
to speak without personal experience of the subject I am
introducing. I admit I have not been in Parliament,
any more than I have figured in the beau monde ; yet I
cannot but think that statesmanship, as well as high
breeding, is learned, not by books,, but in certain cen
tres of education. If.it be not presumption to say so,
Parliament puts a clever man au courant with politics
and affairs of state in a way surprising to himself. A
member of the Legislature, if tolerably observant, be
gins to see things with new eyes, even though his views
undergo no change. Words have a meaning now, and
ideas a reality, such as they had not before. He hears
a vast deal in public speeches and private conversation,
which is never put into print. The bearings of measures
and events, the action of parties, and the persons of
friends and enemies, are brought out to the man who is
in the midst of them with a distinctness, which the most
diligent perusal of newspapers will fail to impart to
them. It is access to the fountain-heads of political
wisdom and experience, it is daily intercourse, of one
kind or another, with the multitude who go up to-
them, it is familiarity with business, it is access to the
contributions of fact and opinion thrown together by
many witnesses from many quarters, which does this for
him. . However, I need not account for a fact, to which
it is sufficient to appeal ; that the Houses of Parliament
and the atmosphere around them are a sort of Univer
sity of politics.
As regards the world of science, we find a remark
able instance of the principle which I am illustrating, in
the periodical meetings for its advance, which have
arisen in the course of the last twenty years, such as
the British Association. Such gatherings would to many
persons appear at first sight simply preposterous.

12 What is a University?
Above all subjects of study, Science is conveyed, is
propagated, by books, or by private teaching ; experi
ments and investigations are conducted in silence ; dis
coveries are made in solitude. What have philosophers
to do with festive celebrities, and panegyrical solemni
ties with mathematical and physical truth ? Yet on a
closer attention to the subject, 'it is found that not even
scientific thought can dispense with the suggestions, the
instruction, the stimulus, the sympathy, the intercourse
with, mankind on a large scale, which such meetings
secure. A fine time of year is chosen, when days are
long, skies are bright, the earth smiles, and all
nature rejoices ; a city or town is taken by turns, of
ancient name or modern opulence, where buildings are
spacious and hospitality hearty. The novelty of place
and circumstance, the excitement of strange, or the re
freshment of well-known faces, the majesty of rank or
of genius, the amiable charities of men pleased both
with themselves and with each other; the elevated
spirits, the circulation of thought, the curiosity ; the
morning sections, the outdoor exercise, the well-fur
nished, well-earned board, the not ungraceful hilarity,
the evening circle ; the- brilliant lecture, the discussions
or collisions or guesses of great men one with another,
the narratives of scientific processes, of hopes, disap
pointments, conflicts, and successes, the splendid eulo
gistic orations ; these and the like constituents of the
annual celebration, are considered to do something real
and substantial for the advance of knowledge 'which can
be done in no other way. Of course they can but be
occasional ; they answer to the annual Act, or Com
mencement, or Commemoration of a University, not to
its ordinary condition ; but they are of a University
nature ; and I can well believe in their utility. They

yynat is a University? 13
issue in the promotion of a certain living and, as it were,
bodily communication, of knowledge from one to an
other, of a general interchange of ideas, and a comparison
and adjustment of science with science, of an enlarge
ment of mind, intellectual and social, of an ardent love
of the particular study, which may be chosen by each
individual, and a noble devotion to its interests.
Such meetings, I repeat, are but periodical, and only
partially represent the idea of a University. The bustle
arid whirl which are their usual concomitants, are in ill
keeping with the order and gravity of earnest intellectual
education. We desiderate means of instruction which
involve no interruption of our ordinary habits ; nor
need we seek it long, for the natural- course of things
brings it about, while we debate over it. In every great
country, the metropolis itself becomes a sort of necessary
University, whether we will or no. As the chief city is
the seat of the court, of high society, of politics, and of
law, so as a matter of course is it the seat of letters
• also ; and at this time, for a long term of years, London
and Paris are in fact and in operation Universities,
though in Paris its famous University is no more, and in
London a University scarcely exists except as a board
of administration. The newspapers, magazines, reviews,
journals, and periodicals of all kinds, the publishing
trad.e, the libraries, museums, and academies there found,
the learned and scientific societies, necessarily invest it
with the functions of a University ; and that atmosphere
of intellect, which in a former age hung over Oxford or
Bologna or Salamanca, has, with the change of times,
moved away to the centre of civil government. Thither
come up youths from all parts of the country, the
students of law, medicine, and the fine arts, and the
gmployh and attache's of literature. There they live, as

14 What is a University ?
chance determines ; and they are satisfied with their
temporary home, for they find in it all that was promised
to them there. They have not come in vain, as far as
their own object in coming is concerned. They have not
learned any particular religion, but they have learned
their own particular profession well. They' have, more
over, become acquainted with the habits, manners, and
opinions of their place of sojourn, and done their part in
maintaining the tradition of them. We cannot then be
without virtual Universities ; a metropolis is such : the
simple question is,, whether the education sought and
given should be based on principle, formed upon rule,
directed to the highest ends, or left to the random suc
cession of masters and schools, one after another, with a
melancholy waste of thought and an extreme hazard of
truth. Religious teaching itself affords us an illustration of
our subject to a certain point. It does not indeed seat
itself merely in centres of the world ; this is impossible
from the nature ofthe case. It is intended for the many
not the few ; its subject matter is truth necessary for us,
not truth recondite and rare ; but it concurs in the prin
ciple of a University so far as this, that its great instru
ment, or rather organ, has ever been that which nature
prescribes in all education, the personal presence of a
teacher, or, in theological language, "Oral Tradition. It
is the living voice, the breathing form, the expressive
countenance, which preaches, which catechises. Truth,
a subtle, invisible, manifold spirit, is poured into the
mind of the scholar by his eyes and ears, through his
affections, imagination, and reason ; it is poured into his
mind and is sealed up there in perpetuity, by propound
ing and repeating it, by questioning and requestioning,
by correcting and explaining, by progressing and then

What is a University ? k
recurring to first principles, by all those ways which are
implied in the word " catechising." In the first ages, it
was a work of long time ; months, sometimes years, were
devoted to the arduous task of disabusing the mind of
the incipient Christian of its pagan errors, and of mould
ing it upon the Christian faith. The Scriptures indeed
were at hand for the study of those who could avail
themselves of them ; but St. Irenaeus does not hesitate
to speak of whole races, who had been converted to
Christianity, without being able to read them. To be
unable to read or write was in those times no evidence
of want of learning : the hermits of the deserts were,- in
this sense of the word, illiterate ; yet the great St.
Anthony, though he knew not letters, was a match in
disputation for the learned philosophers who came to try
him. Didymus again, the great Alexandrian theologian;
was blind. The ancient discipline, called the Disciplina
Arcani, involved the same principle. The more sacred
doctrines of Revelation were not committed to books
but passed on by successive tradition. The teaching on
the Blessed Trinity and the Eucharist appears to have
been so handed down for some hundred years ; and
when at length reduced to writing) it has filled many
folios, yet has not been exhausted.
But I have said more than enough in illustration ; I
end as I began ; — a University is a place of concourse,
whither students come from every quarter for every kind
of knowledge. You cannot have the best of every kind
everywhere; you must go to some great city or em
porium for it. There you have all the choicest pro
ductions of nature and art all together, which you
find each in its own separate place elsewhere. All
the riches of the land, and of the earth, are carried
up thither ; there are the best markets, and there the

1 6 What is -a University?
best workmen. It is the- centre of trade, the supreme
court of fashion, the umpire of rival talents, and the
standard of things rare and precious. . It is the place
for seeing galleries of first-rate pictures, and for -hearing
wonderful voices and performers of transcendent skill. It
is the place for great preachers, great orators, great nobles,
great statesmen. In the nature of things, greatness, and
unity go together ; excellence implies a centre. And
such, for the third or fourth time, is a University ; I hope
I do not weary out the reader by repeating it. It is the
place to which a thousand schools . make contributions ;
in which the intellect may safely range and speculate,
sure to find its equal in some antagonist activity, and its
judge in the tribunal of truth. It is a place where in
quiry is pushed forward, and discoveries verified and
perfected, and rashness rendered innocuous, and error
exposed, by the collision <of mind with mind, and
knowledge with- knowledge.. It is the place where the
professor becomes eloquent, and is a missionary and
a preacher, displaying his science in its most complete
and most winning form, pouring it forth with the zeal
of enthusiasm, and lighting up his own love of it in the
breasts of his hearers. It is the place where the catechist
makes good his ground as he goes, treading in the truth
day by day into the ready memory, and wedging and
tightening it into the expanding reason. It is a place
which wins the admiration of the young by its celebrity, '
kindles the affections of the middle-aged by its beauty,
and rivets the fidelity of the old by its associations.
It is a seat of wisdom, a light of the world, a minister of
the faith, an Alma Mater of the rising generation. It is
this and a great deal more, and demands a somewhat
better head and hand than mine to describe it well.
Such is a University in its idea and in its purpose ;

What is a University ? 1 7
such in good measure has it before now been in fact.
Shall it ever be again ? We are going forward in the
strength of the Cross, under the patronage of the Blessed
Virgin, in the name of St. Patrick, to attempt it.

i8

CHAPTER III.
SITE OF A UNIVERSITY.
IF we would know what a University is, considered in
its elementary idea, we must betake ourselves to the
first and most celebrated home of European literature
and source of European civilization, to the bright and
beautiful Athens,' — Athens, whose schools drew to her
bosom, and then sent back again to the business of life,
the youth of the Western World for a long thousand
years. Seated on the verge of the continent, the city
seemed hardly suited for the duties of a central me
tropolis of knowledge ; yet, what it lost in convenience
of approach, it gained in its neighbourhood to the tra
ditions of the mysterious East, and in the loveliness of
the region in which it lay. Hither, then, as to a sort of
ideal land, where all archetypes of the great and the fair
were found in substantial being, and all departments of
truth explored, and all diversities of intellectual power
exhibited, where taste and philosophy were majestically
enthroned as in a royal court, where there was no so
vereignty but that of mind, and no nobility but that of
genius, where professors were rulers, and princes did
homage, hither flocked continually from the very corners
of the orbis terrarum, the many-tongued generation, just
rising, or just risen into manhood, in order to gain
wisdom. Pisistratus had in an early age discovered and nursed
the infant genius of his people, and Cimon, after the.

Site of a University. I g
Persian^ war, had given it a home. That war had esta7
blished the naval supremacy of Athens ; she had become
an imperial state; and the lonians, bound to her by
the double chain of kindred and of subjection, were
importing into her both their merchandize and their
civilization. The arts and philosophy of the Asiatic
coast were easily carried across the sea, and there was
Cimon, as I have said, with hjs ample fortune, ready to
receive them with due honours. Not content with
patronizing their professors, he built the first of those
noble porticos, of which we hear so much in Athens, and
he formed the groves, which in process of time became
the- celebrated Academy. Planting is one of the most
graceful, as in Athens it was one of the most beneficent,
of employments. Cimon took in hand the wild wood,
pruned and dressed it, and laid it out with handsome
walks and welcome fountains. Nor, while hospitable'
to the authors of the city's civilization, was he ungrateful
to the instruments of her prosperity. His trees extended
their cool, umbrageous branches oyer the merchants,
who assembled in the Ag°ra» f°r many generations. .
Those merchants certainly had deserved that act of
bounty ; for all the while their ships had been carrying
forth the intellectual fame of Athens to the western
world. Then commenced what may be called her Uni
versity existence. Pericles, who succeeded Cimon both
in the government and in the patronage of art, is said
by Plutarch to have entertained the idea of making
Athens the capital of federated Greece : in this he
failed, but his encouragement of such men as Phidias
and Anaxagoras led the way -to her acquiring a far more
lasting sovereignty oyer a far wider empire. Little
understanding the sources of her own greatness, Athens
would go to war : peace is the interest of a seat of com-

20 Site of a University.
i
rrterce and the arts ; but to war she went ; yet to her,
whether peace or war, it mattered not. The political
power of Athens waned and disappeared ; kingdoms
rose and fell; centuries rolled away, — they did but
bring fresh triumphs to the city of the poet and the
sage. There at length the swarthy Moor and Spaniard
were seen to meet the blue-eyed Gaul ; and the Cappa-
docian, late subject of Mithridates, gazed without alarm
at the haughty conquering Roman. Revolution after
revolution passed over the face of Europe, as well as of
Greece, but still she was; there, — Athens, the city of
mind, — as radiant, as splendid, as delicate, as young, as
ever she had been.
Many a more fruitful coast or isle is washed by the blue
^Egean, many a spot is there more beautiful or sublime
to see, many a territory more ample ; but there was
one charm in Attica, which in the same perfection was
nowhere else. The deep pastures of Arcadia, the plain
of Argos, the Thessalian vale, these had not the gift ;
Bceotia, which lay to its immediate north, was notorious
for its' very want of it. The heavy atmosphere of that
Bceotia might be good for vegetation, but it was asso
ciated in popular belief with the dulness of the Boeotian
intellect : on the contrary, the special purity, elasticity,
clearness, and salubrity of the air of Attica, fit con
comitant and emblem of its genius, did that for it which
earth did not ; — it brought out every bright hue and
tender shade of the landscape over which it was spread,
and would have illuminated the face even of a more
bare and rugged country.
A confined triangle, perhaps fifty miles its greatest
length, and thirty its greatest breadth ; two elevated
rocky barriers, meeting at an angle ; three prominent
mountains, commanding the plain, — Parnes, Pentelicus;

i Site of a University. 2 1
and Hymettus ; an unsatisfactory soil ; some streams,
not always full ; — such is about the report which the
agent of a London company would have made of Attica.
He would report that the climate was mild ; the hills
were limestone ; there was plenty of good marble ;
more pasture land than at first survey might have been
expected, sufficient certainly for sheep and goats ; fish
eries productive ; silver mines once, .but long since
worked out ; figs fair ; oil first-rate ; olives in profusion.
But what he would not think of noting down, was, that
that olive tree was so choice in nature and so noble in
shape, that it excited a religious veneration ; and that
it took so kindly to the light soil, as to expand into
woods upon the open plain, and to climb up and fringe
the hills. He would not think of writing word to his
employers, how that clear air, of which I have spoken,
brought out, yet blended and subdued, the colours on
the marble, till they had a softness and harmony, for
all their richness, which in a picture looks exaggerated,
yet is after all .within the truth. He would not tell,
how that same delicate and brilliant atmosphere fresh
ened up the pale olive, till the olive forgot its mono
tony, and its cheek glowed like the arbutus or beech
of the Umbrian hills. He would say nothing of the
thyme and thousand fragrant herbs which carpeted
Hymettus ; he woulrd hear nothing of the hum of its
bees ; nor take much account of the rare flavour of its
honey, since Gozo and Minorca were sufficient for the
English demand. He would look over the ^Egean
from the height he had ascended ; he would follow
with his eye the chain of islands, which, starting from
the Sunian headland, seemed to offer the fabled divi
nities of Attica, when they would visit their Ionian
cousins, a sort of viaduct thereto across the sea : but

2 2 Site of a University.
that fancy would not occur to him, nor any admiration
of the dark violet billows with their white edges down
below ; nor of those graceful; fan-like jets of silver Upon
the rocks, which slowly rise aloft like water spirits frorri
the deep, then shiver, and break, and spread, and shroud
themselves, and disappear, in a soft mist of foam ; nor
of the gentle, incessant heaving and panting of the
whole liquid plain ; nor of the long waves, keepirig
steady time, like at line of soldiery, as they resound
upon the hollow shore, — he would riot deign to notice
that restless living element at all, except to bless his
stars that he was not upon it. Nor the distinct detail,
nor the refined colouring, nor the graceful outline and
roseate golden hue of the jutting crags, nor the bold
shadows cast from Otus or Lauriufn by the "declining
sun ; — our agent of a mercantile firm would not value
these matters even at a low figure. Rather we must
turn for the syfnpathy We seek to yon pilgrim student,
come from a semi-bafbafous land to that small corner of
the earth, as to a shrine, where he might take his fill of
gazing on those' emblems and coruscations of invisible
unoriginate perfection. It was the stranger from a
remote province, from Britain or from Mauritania,
who in a scene so different frorii that bf his chilly, woody
swamps, or of his fiery choking sands, learned, at once
what a real University must be, b*y cbming to Under
stand the sort of country, which was its suitable home.
Nor was this all that a University required, and found
in Athens. . No dne, even there, could live oh poetry. If
the students at that fariious place had nothing better
than bright hues arid soothing sounds, fhey would not
have been able or disposed to turn their residence there
to much account. Of course they must have the means

Site of a University. 23
of living, nay, in a certain sense, of enjoyment, if
Athens was to be an Alma Mater at the time, or to
remain afterwards a pleasant thought in their memory.
And so they had : be it recollected Athens was a port,
and a mart of trade, perhaps the first in Greece ; and
this was very much to the point, when a number of
strangers were ever flocking to it, whose combat was to
be with intellectual, not physical difficulties, and who
claimed to have their bodily wants supplied, that they
might be at leisure to set about furnishing their minds.
Now, barren as was the soil of Attica, and bare the face
of the country, yet it had only too many resources for
an elegant, nay luxurious abode there. So abundant
were the imports of the place, that it was a common
saying, that the productions, which were found singly
elsewhere, were brought all together in Athens. Corn
and wine, the staple of subsistence in such a climate,
came from the isles of the ^Egean ; fine wool and car
peting from Asia Minor ; slaves, as now, from the
Euxine, and timber too ; and iron and brass from the
coasts of the Mediterranean. The Athenian did not
condescend to manufactures himself, but encouraged
them in others ; and a population of foreigners caught
at the lucrative occupation both for home consumption
and for exportation. Their cloth, and other textures for
dress and furniture, and their hardware — for instance,
armour. — were in great request. Labour was cheap ;
stone and marble in plenty ; and the taste and skill,
which at first were devoted to public buildings, as tem
ples and porticos, were in course of time applied to the
mansions of public men. If nature did much for
Athens, it is undeniable that art did much more.
Here some one will interrupt me with the remark :
" By the bye, where are we, and whither are we going ? —

24 Site of a University.
what has all this to do with a University ? at least what,
has it to do with education? It is instructive doubtless ;
but still how much has it to do with your subject ? "
Now I beg to assure the reader that I am most con
scientiously employed upon my subject ; and I should
have thought every one would have seen this : however,
since the objection is made, I may be allowed to pause
awhile, and show distinctly the drift of what I have been
saying, before I go farther. What has this to do with
my subject ! why, the question of the site is the very
first that comes into consideration, when a Studium
Generate is contemplated ; for that site should be a
liberal and noble one ; who will deny it ? All authori
ties agree in this, and very little reflection .will be suffi
cient to make it clear. I recollect a conversation I once
had on this very subject with a very eminent man. I
was a youth of eighteen, and was leaving my University
for the Long Vacation, when I found myself in company
in a public conveyance with a middle-aged person, whose
face was strange to me. However, it was the great aca
demical luminary of the day, whom afterwards- 1 knew
very well. Luckily for me, I did not suspect it ; and
luckily too, it was a fancy of his, as his friends knew, to
make himself on easy terms especially with stage-coach ,
companions. So, what with my flippancy and his con- '
descension, I managed to hear many things which were
novel to me at the time ; and one point which he was
strong upon, and was evidently fond of urging, was the
material pomp and circumstance which should environ a
great seat of learning. He considered it was worth the
consideration of the government, whether Oxford should
not stand in a domain of its own. An ample range, say
four miles in diameter, should be turned into wood and
meadow, and the University should be approached on

Site of a University. 25
all sides by a magnificent park, with fine trees in groups
and groves and avenues, and with glimpses and views of
the fair city, as the traveller drew near it. There is
nothing surely absurd in the idea, though it would cost
a round sum to realise it. What has a better claim to
the purest and fairest possessions of nature, than the
seat of wisdom ? So thought my coach companion ; and
he did but express the tradition of ages and the instinct
of mankind.
For* instance, take the great University of Paris. That
famous school engrossed as its territory the whole south
bank of the Seine, and occupied one half, and that the
pleasanter half, of the city. King Louis had the island
pretty well as his own, — it was scarcely more than a for
tification ; and the north of the river was given over to
the nobles and citizens to do what they could with its
marshes ; but the eligible south, rising from the stream,
which swept around its base, to the fair summit of St.
Genevieve, with its broad meadows, its vineyards and its
gardens, and with the sacred elevation of Montmartre
confronting it, all this was the inheritance of the Uni
versity. There was that pleasant Pratum, stretching
along the river's bank, in which the students for centuries
took their recreation, which Alcuin seems to mention in
his farewell verses to Paris, and which has given a name
to the great Abbey of St Germain-des-Pres. For long
years it was devoted to the purposes of innocent and
healthy enjoyment ; but eyil times came on the Univer
sity; disorder arose within its precincts, and the fair
meadow became the scene of party brawls ; heresy
stalked through Europe, and Germany and England no
longer sending their contingent of students, a heavy
debt was the consequence to the academical body. To
let their land was the only resource left to them:

26 Site of a University.
buildings rose upon it, and spread along the green sdd,
and the country at length became town. Great was the
grief and indignation of the doctors and masters, wheil
this catastrophe occurred. " A wretched sight," said the
Proctor of the German nation, " a wretched sight, to
witness the sale of that ancient manor, whither the Muses
were wont to wander for retirerhent and pleasure.
Whither shall the youthful student now betake himself,
what relief will he find for his eyes, wearied with intense
reading, now that the pleasant stream is taken from
him ?" Two centuries and more have passed since this
complaint was uttered ; and time has shown that the
outward calamity, which it recorded, was but the emblem
Of the great moral revolution, which was to follow ; till
the institution itself has followed its green meadows, into
the region of things which once were and now are not.
And in like manner, when they were first contemplating
a University in Belgiufti, some centuries ago, " Many,"
says Lipsius, " suggested Mechlin, as an abode salubrious
and clean, but Louvain was preferred, as for other
reasons, so because no city seemed, from the disposition
of place and people,, more suitable for learned leisure.
Who will not approve the decision ? Can a site be
healthier or more pleasant ? The atmosphere pure and
cheerful ; the spaces open and delightful ; meadows,
fields, vines, groves, nay, I may say, a rus in urbe,
Ascertd and walk round the walls ; what do you look
dowrt upon ? Does not the wonderful and delightful •
variety smooth the brow and soothe the mind ? You
have corn, and apples, and grapes ; sheep and oxen ; and
birds chirping or singing. Now carry your feet or your
eyes beyond the Walls ; there are streamlets, the river
meandering along ; country-houses, convents; the superb
fortress; copses or woods fill up the scene, and spot*

Site of a University. 2 7
for simple enjoyment." " And then he breaks out into
poetry : Salvete Athena nostras', Athenae Belgicse,
Te Gallus, te Germanus* et te Sarmata
Invisit, et Britannus, et te duplicis
Hispaniae alumnus, etc.
Extravagant, then, and wayward as might be the
thought of my learned coach companion, when, in the
nineteenth century, he imagined, Norman-wise, to turn
a score of villages into a park or pleasaunce, still, the
waywardness of his fancy is excused by the justness of
his principle ; for certainly, such as he would have made
it, a' University ought to be. Old Antony-a-Wood, dis
coursing on the demands of a University, had expressed
the same sentiment long before him ; as Horace in
ancient times, with reference to Athens itself, when he
spoke of seeking truth "in the groves of Academe."
And to Athens, as will be seen, Wood himself appeals,
when he would discourse of Oxford. Among " those
things which are required to make a University," he
puts down, —
"First, a good and pleasant site, where there is a
wholesome and temperate constitution of the air ; com
posed with waters, springs or wells, woods and pleasant
fields ; which being obtained; those commodities are
enough to invite students to stay and abide there. As
the Athenians in ancient times were happy for their
conveniences, so also were the Britons, when by a rem
nant of the Grecians that came amongst them, they or
their successors selected such a place in Britain to plant
a school or schools therein, which for its pleasant situa
tion was afterwards called xBellositum or Bellosite, now
Oxford, privileged with all those conveniences before
mentioned."

28 Site of a, University.
, By others the local advantages of that University
have been more philosophically analyzed ; — for instance,
with a reference to its position in the middle of southern
England ; its situation on several islands in a broad
plain, , through which many streams flowed ; the sur
rounding marshes, which, in times when it was needed,
protected the city from invaders ; its own strength as a
military position ; its easy communication with London,
nay with the sea, by means of the Thames; while the
London fortifications hindered pirates from ascending
the stream, which all the time was so ready and ' con
venient for a descent.
Alas ! for centuries past that city has lost its prime
honour and boast, as a servant and soldier of the Truth.
Once named the second school of the Church, second
only to Paris,- the foster-mother of St. Edmund, St.
Richard, St. Thomas Cantilupe, the theatre of great
intellects, of Scotus the subtle Doctor, of Hales the
irrefragible, of Occam the special, of Bacon the admir
able, of Middleton the solid,- and of Bradwardine the
profound, Oxford has now lapsed to that level of mere
human loveliness, which in its highest perfection we
admire in Athens. Nor would it have a place, now or
hereafter, in these pages, nor would it occur to me to
speak its name, except'that, even in its sorrowful deprfc-:
vation, it still retains so much of that outward lustre,
which, like the brightness on the prophet's face, ought to
be a ray from an illumination within, as to afford- me
an illustration of the point on which I am engaged, viz.,
what should be the material dwelling-place and appear*
ance, the local circumstances, and the secular concomi
tants of a great University. Pictures are drawn in tales
of romance, of spirits seemingly too beautiful in their
fall to be really fallen, and the holy Pope at Rome,

Site qf a University. 29
Gregory, in fact, and not in fiction, looked upon the
blue eyes and golden hair of the fierce Saxon youth in
the, slave market, and pronounced them Angels, not
Angles ; and the spell which this once loyal daughter of
the Church still exercises upon the foreign visitor, even
now when her true glory is departed, suggests to us how
far more majestic and more touching, how brimfull of
indescribable influence would be the presence of a Uni
versity, which was planted within, not without Jerusalem,
— an influence, potent as her truth is strong, wide as her
sway is world-wide, and growing, not lessening, by the
extent of space over which its attraction would be
exerted. Let the reader then listen to the words of the last
learned German, who has. treated of Oxford, and judge
for himself if they do not bear me out, in what I have
said of the fascination which the very face and smile of
a University possess over those who. come within its
range. " There is scarce a spot in the world," says Huber,
" that bears an historical stamp so deep and varied as
Oxford ; where so many noble memorials of moral and
material power, cooperating to an honourable end, meet
the eye all at once. He who can be proof against the
strong emotions which the whole aspect and genius of
the place tend to inspire, must -be dull, thoughtless,
uneducated, or of very perverted views. Others will
bear us witness, that, even side by side with the Eternal
Rome, the Alma Mater of Oxford may be fitly named,
as producing a deep, a lasting, and peculiar impression.
" In one of the most fertile districts of the Queen of
the Seas, whom nature has so richly blessed, whom for
centuries past no footstep of foreign armies has dese
crated, lies a broad green vale, where the Cherwell and

30 Site of a University.
the Isis mingle their full, dear waters. Here and ther
primeval elms and oaks overshadow them ; while i
their various windings they encircle gardens, meadow:
and fields, villages, cottages, farm-houses, and countrj
seats, in motley mixture. In the midst rises a mass c
mighty buildings, the general character of which yark
between convent, palace, and castle. Some few Gothi
church-towers and Romaic domes, it is true, brea
through the horizontal lines ; yet the general impressio;
at a distance and at first sight, is essentially differerj
from that of any of the towns pf the middle ages. Th
outlines are far from being so sharp, so angular, so irre
gular, so fantastical ; a certain softness, a peculiar re
pose, reigns in those broader, terrace-like rising masse;
Only in the creations of Claude Lorraine or Poussii
could we expect to find a spot to .compare with th
prevailing character pf this picture, especially when li
up. by a favourable light. The principal masses consis
of College's, the University buildings, and the tit;
churches ; and by the side of these the city itself is . los
on distant view. But on entering the streets, we fin<
around us all the signs of an actiye and prosperou
trade. Rich and elegant shops in profusion afford i
sight to be found nowhere-but in England ; but with al
this glitter and show, they sink into a modest, and, as i
were, a menial attitude, by the side of the grandly seven
memorials of the higher intellectual life, memorials whicj
have been growing out of that life from almost the begin
ning of Christianity itself. Those rich and elegant shop:
are, as it were, the domestic offices of these palaces o
learning, which ever rivet the eye of the observer, whili
all besides seems perforce to be subservient to them
Each of the larger and more ancient -Colleges looks lik<
a separate whole — an entire town, whpse walls and monu-

bite of a University. 31
ments proclaim the vigorous growth of many centuries ;
and the town itself has happily escaped the lot of
modern beautifying, and in this respect harmonizes with
the Colleges." *
There are those who, having felt the influence of this
ancient School, and being smit with its splendour and
its sweetness, ask wistfully, if never again it is to be
Catholic, or whether at least some footing for Catholicity
may not be found there. All honour and merit to the
charitable and zealous hearts who so inquire ! Nor can
we dare to tell what in» time to come may be 'the in
scrutable purposes of that grace, which is ever more
comprehensive than human hope and aspiration. But
for me, from the day I left its walls, I never, for good
or bad, have had anticipation of its future ; and never
for a moment have I had a wish to see again a place,
which I have , never ceased to love, and where I lived
for nearly thirty years. Nay, looking at the gene
ral state of things at this day, I desiderate for a
School of the Church, if an additional School is to be
granted to us, a more central position than Oxford has
to show. Since the age of Alfred and of the first
Henry, the world has grown, from the west and south
of Europe, into four or five continents ; and I look for
a city less inland than that old sanctuary, and a country
closer upon .the highway of the seas. I look towards a
land both old and young ; old in its Christianity, young
in the promise of its future ; a nation, which received
grace before the Saxon came to Britain, and which has
never quenched it ; a Church, which comprehends in
its history the rise and fall of Canterbury and York,
which Augustine and Paulinus found, and Pole and
* Huber on English Universities. F. W. Newman's translation.

32. Site of a University.
Fisher left behind them. I contemplate a people which
has had a long night, and will have an inevitable day.
I am turning my eyes towards a hundred years to come,
and I dimly see the island I am gazing on, become the
road of passage and union between "two hemispheres,
and the centre of the world. I see its -inhabitants rival
Belgium in populousness, France in vigour, and Spain
in enthusiasm ; and I see England taught by advancing
years to exercise in its behalf that good sense which is
her characteristic towards every one else. The capital
of that prosperous and hopeful land is situate in a
beautiful bay and near a romantic region ; and in it I
see a flourishing University, which for a while had to
struggle with fortune, but which, when its first founders
arid servants were dead and gone, had successes far
exceeding their anxieties. Thither, as to a sacred soil,
the home of their fathers, and the fountain-head of their
Christianity, students are flocking from East, West, and
South', , from America and Australia and India, from
Egypt and Asia Minor, with the ease and rapidity of a
locomotion not yet discovered, and last, though not
least, from England, — all speaking one tongue, all
owning one faith, all eager for one large true wisdom ;
and thence, when their stay is over, going back again to
carry over all the earth "peace to men pf good will."

00

CHAPTER IV.
UNIVERSITY LIFE. •
ATHENS.
HOWEVER apposite may have been the digression
into which I was led when I had got about half
through the foregoing Chapter, it has had the inconve
nience of what may be called running me off the rails ;
and now that I wish to proceed from the point at which
it took place, I shall find some trouble, if I may con
tinue' the metaphor, in getting up the steam again, or. if
I may change it, in getting into the swing of my
subject. It has been my desire, were I able, to bring before the
reader what Athens may have been, viewed as what we
have since called a University ; and to do this, not with
any purpose of writing a panegyric on a heathen city, or
of denying its many deformities, or of concealing what
was morally base in what was intellectually great, but
just the contrary, of representing things as they really
were ; so far, that is, as to enable him to see what a Uni
versity is) in the very constitution of society and in it's
own idea, what is its nature and object, and what it
needs of aid and support external to itself to complete
that nature and to secure that object.
So now let us fancy our Scythian, or Armenian, or
African, or Italian, or Gallic student, after tossing'on the
Saronic waves, which would be his more ordinary course
to Athens, at last casting anchor at Piraeus. He is
3

34 University Life.
of any' condition or rank of life you please, and may
be made to order, from' a prince to a peasant. Per
haps he is some Cleanthes, who has been a boxer in
the public games. How did it (ever cross his brain to
betake himself to Athens in search of wisdom ? or, if
he came thither by accident, how did the love> of it
ever touch his heart ? But so it was, to Athens he
came with three drachms in . his girdle, and he got his
livelihood by drawing water, carrying loads, and the'
like servile occupations.. He attached himself, of all
philosophers, to ' Zeno the Stoic, — to Zeno, the most
high-minded, the. most haughty of speculators ; and
out of his daily earnings the poor scholar brought -hisx
master the daily sum of an obolus, in payment for at
tending his lectures. Such progress did he make, that
on Zeno's death he actually was his successor in his
school ; and, if my memory does not play me false,
he is the author of a hymn to the Supreme Being,'
which is one of the noblest effusions of the kind in •.
classical poetry. Yet, even when he was the head of a-
school, he continued in his illiberal toil as if he had
been a monk ; and, it is said, that once, when the wind
took his pallium, and blew it aside, he was discovered
to have no other garment at all ; — something like the
German student who came up to Heidelberg with no-
• thing. upon him but a great coat and a pair of pistols.
Or it is another disciple of the Porch, — Stoic by na
ture, earlier than by profession, — who is entering the city;
but in what different fashion he comes ! It is no other
than Marcus, Emperor of Rome and philosopher. Pro
fessors long since were summoned from Athens for his
service, when he was a youth, and now he comes, after
his victories in the battle field, to make his acknowledg-
- ments at the end of life, to the city of wisdom, and to

Athens. 3 5
submit himself to an initiation into the Eleusinian
mysteries. Or it is a young man of great promise as an orator,
were it not for his weakness of chest, which renders it
necessary that he should acquire the art of speaking
without over-exertion, and should adopt a delivery suffi
cient for the display of his rhetorical talents on the one.
hand, yet merciful to his physical resources on the
other. He is called Cicero ; he will stop but a short
time, and will pass over to Asia Minor and its cities,
before he returns to continue a career which will render
his name immortal ; and he will like his short sojourn
at Athens sd well, .that he will take good care to send
his son thither at an earlier age than he visited it him
self. But see where comes from Alexandria (for we need
not be very solicitous about anachronisms), a young
man from twenty to twenty-two, who has narrowly es
caped drowning on his voyage, and is to remain at
Athens as many as eight or ten -years, 'yet in the course
of that'time will not learn a line of Latin, thinking it
enough to become accomplished in Greek composition,
and in that he will succeed. He is a grave person, and
difficult to make out ; some say he is a Christian, some
thing or other in the Christian line his father is for certain.
His name is Gregory, he is by country a Cappadocian,
and will in time become preeminently a theologian, and
one of the principal Doctors of the Greek Church.
Or it is one Horace, a youth of low stature and black
hair, whose father has given him an education at Rome
above his rank in life, and now is sending him to finish
it at Athens ; he' is said to have a turn for poetry : a
hero he is not, and it were well if he knew it ; but he is
caught by the enthusiasm of the hour, and goes' off

36 , University Life.
campaigning with Brutus and Cassius, and will leave his
shield behind him on the field of Philippi.
Or it is a mere boy pf fifteen :. his name Eunapius ;
though the voyage was not long, sea sickness, or confine
ment, or bad living on board the vessel, threw him into
a fever, and, when the passengers landed in the evening
at Piraeus, he could not stand. His countrymen who
accompanied him, took him up among them and carried
him to the house of the great teacher pf the day, Proae-
resius, who was a friend of the captain's, and whose fame
it was which drew the enthusiastic youth to Athens.
His companions understand the sort of place they are
in, and, with the licence of academic students, they break
into the philosopher's house, though' he appears to have
retired for the night, and proceed to- make themselves
free of it, with an absence of ceremony, which is only
riot impudence, because 'Proaeresius -takes it so easily.
Strange introduction for our stranger to a seat of learn
ing, but not out of keeping with Athens ; for what could
you expect of a place where there was a mob of youths
and not even the pretence of control ; where the poorer
lived any how, and got on as they could, and the teachers
themselves had no protection from the humours and'
caprices of the students who filled their lecture-halls ?
However, as to this Eunapius, Proaeresius took a fancy
to the boy, and told him curious stories about Athenian
life. He himself had come up to the University with
one Hephsestion, and they were even worse off than
Cleanthes the Stoic ; for they had only one cloak be
tween them, and nothing whatever besides, except some
old bedding ; so when Proaeresius went abroad, Hephaes-;;
tion lay in bed, and practised himself in oratory ; and
then Hephaestion put on the cloak, and Proaeresius crept
under the coverlet. At another time there was so fierce^

Athens:

37

a feud between what would be called " town and gown"
in an English University, that the Professors did not dare
lecture in public, for fear of ill treatment.
But a freshman like Eunapius soon got experience for
himself of the ways and manners prevalent in Athens.
Such a one as he had hardly entered the city, when he
was caught hold of by a party of the academic youth,
who proceeded to practise on his awkwardness and his
ignorance. At first sight one wonders at their childish
ness ; but the like conduct obtained in the medieval
Universities; and not many months have. passed away
since the journals have told us of sober Englishmen,
given, to matter-of-fact calculations, and to the anxieties
of money-making, pelting each other with snow^-balls on
•their own sacred territory, and defying the magistracy,
when they would interfere with their privilege of becoming
boys. So I suppose we must attribute it to something
or other in human nature. Meanwhile, there stands the
new-comer, surrounded by a circle of his new associates,
who forthwith proceed to frighten, and to banter, and to
make a fool of him, to the extent of their wit. Some
address him with mock politeness, others with fierceness;
and so they conduct him in solemn procession across the
Agora to the Baths ; and as they approach, they dance
about him like madmen. But this was to be the end of
his trial, for the Bath was a sort of initiation ; he there
upon received the' pallium, or University gown; and was
suffered by his tormentors to depart in peace. One
alone is recorded as having been exempted from this
persecution ; it was a youth graver and loftier than even
St. Gregory himself: but it was not from his force of
character, but at the instance of Gregory, that he es
caped. Gregory was his bosom-friend, and was ready in
Athens to shelter him when he came. It was another

3 8 University Life. ,
Saint and another Doctor; the great Basil, then, (it
'would appear,) as Gregory, but a catechumen of the
Church. But to return to our freshman. His troubles are not
at an end, though he has - got his gown upon him.
Where is he to lodge ? whom is he to attend ? He finds
himself • seized, before he well knows where he is, , by
another party of men, or three or four parties at once,
like foreign porters at a landing, who seize on the
baggage of the perplexed stranger, and thrust half a
dozen cards into his .unwilling hands. Our youth is
plied by the hangers-on of professor this, or sophist
that, each, of whom wishes the fame or the profit of
having a housefull. We will say that he escapes from,
their hands, — but then he will have to choose for him
self where he will put up ; -and, to tell the truth; with
all the praise. I have already given, and the praise I
shall have to give, to the city of mind, nevertheless,
between ourselves, the. brick and wood whigh formed it,
the actual tenements, where flesh and blood had to
lodge (always excepting the mansions of great men of
the place), do not seem to have been much better than
those of. Greek or Turkish towns, which are at this
moment a topic of' interest and ridicul'e, in the public,
prints. . A lively picture has lately been set before us
of Gallipoli. Take, says the writer,* a multitude of the"
dilapidated outhouses found in farm-yards in England;
of the rickety old wooden tenements, the cracked, shut-
terless structures of planks and tiles, the sheds and stalls,
which our bye lanes, or fish-markets, or river-sides can
supply ; tumble them dawn on the declivity of a bare
bald hill ; let the spaces between house and house, thus
accidentally determined, be understood to form streets,
* Mr. Russell's Letters in the Times newspaper (1854).

Athens. 39 ' 1
.winding of course for no reason, and with no meaning,
up and down the town ; the roadway always narrow,
the breadth never uniform, the separate houses bulging
or retiring below, as circumstances may have deter
mined, and leaning forward till they meet overhead ; —
and you have a good idea of Gallipoli. I question
whether this picture would not nearly correspond to
"the, special seat of the Muses in ancient times. Learned
writers assure us distinctly that the houses of Athens
were for the most part small and mean ; that the streets
were crooked and narrow ; that the upper stories pro
jected over the roadway; and that staircases, balus
trades, and d-oqrs that. opened outwards, obstructed it;
— a remarkable coincidence of description. J do riot
doubt at all, though history, is silent, that that roadway
was jolting to carriages, and all but impassable ; and
that it was traversed by drains, as freely as any Turkish
'town now. Athens seems in these. respects to have been
belpw the average cities of its time. " A stranger," says
an ancient, " might doubt, on the sudden view, if really
he saw Athens."
I grant all this, arid much more, if you will ; but,
recollect, Athens was the home of the intellectual" and
beautiful ; not of low mechanical contrivances, and ma
terial organization. Why stop within your lodgings,
counting the rents in your wall or the holes in your
tiling, when nature and art call you away ? You must
put up with such a chamber, and a table, and a stool, and a
sleeping board, any where else in the three continents ;
one place does not differ from another indoors ; your-
magalia in Africa, or your grottos in Syria are not per
fection. I suppose you did not come to Athens ,to
swarm up a la-dder, or to grope about a closet : you
came to see and to hear, what hear and see you could

40 University Life.
not elsewhere. What food for the intellect is it possible
to procure indoors, that you stay there looking about
you ? do you think to read there ? where are your
books ? do you expect to purchase books at Athens—
' you are much out in your calculations. True it is, we at
this day, who live in the nineteenth century, have the
books of Greece as a perpetual memorial ; and copies
there have been, since the time that they were written ;
but you need not go to Athens to procure them, nor
would you find them in Athens. Strange to say, strange
to the nineteenth century, that in the age of Plato and
Thucydides, there was not, it is said, a bookshop in the
whole place: nor was the book trade in existence till,
the very time of Augustus. Libraries, I suspect, were
the bright invention of Attalus or the Ptolemies ; * I
doubt whether Athens had a library till the reign of
Hadrian. It was what the student gazed on, what
he heard, what he caught by the magic of sympathy)
not what' he read, which was the education furnished by
Athens. He leaves his narrow lodging early in the morning ;
and not till night, if even then, will he return. It is but
a crib or kennel, — in which he sleeps when the weather
is inclement or the ground damp ; in no respect a home.
And he goes out of doors, not to read the day's news-'
paper, or to buy the gay shilling volume, but to imbibe
the invisible atmosphere of genius, and to learn by heart
the oral traditions of taste. Out he goes ; and, leaving
the tumble-down town behind him, he mounts the
Acropolis to the right, or he turns to the Areopagus on '
* I do not go into controversy on the subject, for which the
reader must have recourse to Lipsius, Morhof, Boeckh, Bekker,
etc. ; and this of course applies to whatever historical matter I
introduce,, or shall introduce.

Athens. 4 r
the left. ' He goes to the Parthenon to study the sculp
tures of Phidias ; to the temple of the Dioscuri to see
the paintings of Polygnotus. We indeed take ,our
Sophocles or ^Eschylus out of our coat-pocket ; but, if
our sojourner at Athens would understand how a tragic
poet can write, he must betake himself to the theatre on
the south, and see and hear the drama literally in action.
Or let him go westward to the Agora, and there he will
hear Lysias or Andocides pleading, or Demosthenes
haranguing. He goes farther west still, along the shade
of those rioble planes, which Cimon has planted there;
and, he looks around him at the statues and porticos
and vestibules, each by itself a work of genius and skill,
enough to be the making of another city. He passes
through - the city gate, and then he is at the famous
Ceramicus ; here are the tombs of the mighty dead ;
and here, we will suppose, is Pericles himself, the most
elevated, the most thrilling of orators, converting a
funeral oration over the slain into a philosophical pane^
gyric of the living.
Onwards he proceeds still ; and now he has come to
,that still more celebrated Academe, which has bestowed
its own name on Universities down to this day ; and
there he sees a sight which will be graven on his memory
till he dies! Many are the beauties of the place, the
groves, and the statues, and the temple, and the stream
of the Cephissus flowing by ; many are the lessons
which will be taught him day after day by teacher or by
companion; but his eye is just now arrested by one
object ; it is the very presence of Plato. He does not.
hear a word that he says ;. he does not care to hear ; he
asks neither for discourse nor disputation ; what he sees
is a whole, complete in itself, not to be increased by
addition, -and greater than anything else. It will be a

42 University Life.
point in the history of his life ; a stay for his memory' to
rest on, a burning thought in his heart, a bond of union
with men of like mind, ever afterwards. Such is the
spell which the living man exerts on his fellows, for
good or for evil. How nature impels us to lean upon
others, making virtue, or genius, or name, the qualifica
tion for our doing so ! , A Spaniard is said to. have tra
velled to Italy, simply to see Livy ; he had his fill of
gazing, and' then went back again home. Had our
young stranger got nothing by his voyage but the sight
•of the breathing and moving Plato, had he entered no
lecture-room to hear, no gymnasium to converse, he had
got some measure of education, and something to tell of
to his grandchildren.
But Plato is not the only sage, nor the sight of 'him
the only lesson to be learned -in this wonderful suburb.
It is the region and the realm of philosophy. Colleges
were the inventions of many centuries later ; and they
imply a soi;t of cloistered life, or at least a life of rule,
scarcely natural to an Athenian, It was the boast of the
philosophic statesman of Athens, that his countrymen
achieved by the mere force of nature and the love of the
noble and the great, what other people aimed at by
laborious discipline; and all who1 came among them,
were submitted to the same method of education. We
have traced our student on his wanderings from the
Acropolis to the Sacred Way ; and now he is in the
region of the schools. No awful arch, no window of many-
coloured lights marks the seats of learning there or else
where; philosophy lives out of doors. No close atmos
phere oppresses the brain or inflames the eyelid; no
long session stiffens the limbs. Epicurus is reclining in
his garden ; Zeno looks like a divinity in his porch ; the
restless Aristotle, on the other side of the city, as if in

Athens, 43
antagonism to Plato, is walking his pupils off their legs
in his Lyceum by the Ilyssus. Our student has deter
mined on entering himself as a disciple of Theophrastus,
a teacher of marvellous popularity, who has brought
together two thousand pupils from all parts ofthe world.
He himself is of Lesbos ; for masters, as well as
students, come hither from all regions of the earth, — as
befits a University. How could Athens have collected
hearers in such numbers, unless she had selected
teachers of such power ? it was the range of territory,
which the notion of a University implies, which fur
nished both the quantity of the one, and the quality of
the other. Anaxagoras was from Ionia, Carneades from
Africa, Zeno from Cyprus, Protagoras from Thrace, and
Gorgias from Sicily. Andromachus was a Syrian,
Proaeresius'an Armenian, Hilarius a Bithynian, Philiscus
a Thessalian, Hadriari a Syrian. Rome is celebrated
for her liberality in civil matters ; Athens was as liberal
in intellectual. There was no narrow jealousy, directed
against a Professpr, because he was not an Athenian ;
genius and talent were the qualifications ; and to bring
them to Athens, was to do homage to it as a University.
There was a brotherhood and a citizenship of mind.
Mind came first, and was the foundation of the
academical polity ; but it soon brought along with it,
and. gathered round itself, the gifts of fortune and the
prizes of life. As time went on, wisdom was not always
sentenced to the bare cloak of Cleanthes ; but, begin
ning in rags, it _ ended in fine linen. The Professors be
came honourable and rich ; and the students ranged
themselves under their names, and were proud of calling
themselves their countrymen. The University was
divided into four great nations, as the medieval anti
quarian would style them ; and in the middle of the

44 University Life.
fourth century,. Proaeresius was the leader' or proctor of
the Attic, Hephasstion of the Oriental, Epiphanius of
the Arabic, and Diophantus of the Pontic. Thus the
Professors were both patrons of clients, and hosts and
proxeni of strangers and visitors, as well as masters
of the schools : and the Cappadocian, Syrian, or Sicilian
youth who came to one or other of them, would be
encouraged to study by his protection, and to aspire
by his- example.
Even Plato, when the schools of Athens were not a
hundred years old, was in circumstances to enjoy the
otium cum dignitate. He had a villa out at Heraclea ;
and he left his patrimony' to his school;, in whose hands
it remainedj not only safe, but fructifying, a marvellous
phenomenon in tumultuous Greece, for the long space of
eight hundred years. Epicurus too had the property of
the Gardens where he lectured ; and these too became
the property of his sect. But in Roman times the chairs
of grammar, rhetoric, politics, and the four philosophies*-..
were handsomely endowed by the State ; some of the
Professors were themselves statesmen or high function
aries, and brought to their favourite study senatorial
rank or Asiatic opulence.
Patrons such as these can compensate to the freshman,
in whoiri we have interested ourselves, for the poorness
of his lodging .and the turbulence of his companions. In
every thing there is a better side and a worse ; in every
place a disreputable set and a respectable, and the one
is hardly known at all to the other. Men come away
from the safne University at this day, with contradic
tory impressions and contradictory statements, accord
ing to the society they have found there ; if you believe
the one, nothing goes on there as it should be : if you
believe the other, nothing goes on as it should not. Virtue,

Athens.

45

however, and decency are at least in the minority every
where, and under some sort of a cloud or disadvantage ;
and this being the case, it is so much gain whenever an
Herodes Atticus is found, to throw the influence of
wealth and station on the side even of a decorous phi
losophy. A consular, man,, and the heir of an ample
fortune, triis Herod was content to devote his life to
a professorship, and his fortune to the patronage of
literature. He gave the sophist Polemo_ about eight
thousand pounds, as the sum is calculated, for three
declamations. . He built at Athens a stadium six hun
dred 'feet long, entirely of white marble, and capable of
admitting the whole population. His theatre, erected^
to the . memory of his wife, was made of cedar wood
curiously carved. He had two villas; one at Marathon,
the place of his birth, about ten miles from Athens, the
other at Cephissia, at the distance of six ; and thither
he drew to him the ilite^ and at times the whole body of
the students. Long arcades, groves of trees, clear pools'
for the bath, delighted and recruited the summer yisitor.
Never was so 'brilliant a lecture-room as his evening
banqueting- hall ;, highly connected students from Rome
mixed with the sharp-witted provincial of Greece or
Asia Minor ; and the flippant sciolist, and the nonde
script visitor, half philosopher, half tramp, met with a
reception, courteous always, but suitable to his deserts.
Herod was noted for his repartees ; and we have in
stances on record of his setting down, according to the
emergency, both the one and the, other.
A higher line, though a rarer one, was that allotted
to the youthful Basil. He was one of those men who
seem by a sort of fascination to draw others around them
even without wishing it. One might have deemed that
his gravity and his reserve would have kept them at ' a ,

46 University Life.
distance ; but, almost in spite of himself, he was the*
centre of a knot of youths, who, pagans as most of them
were, used Athens honestly for the purpose for which
they professed to seek it ; and, disappointed arid dis
pleased with the place himself, he seems nevertheless to
have; been the means of their profiting by its advantages.
One of these was Sophronius, who afterwards held a
high office in the State : Eusebius was another, at that
time the bosom-friend of Sophronius, and afterwards a
Bishop. Celsus too is named, who afterwards was
raised to i the government of Cilicia by the Emperor
Julian. Julian himself, in the sequel of unhappy me
mory, was then at Athens, and known at least to St.
Gregory. Another Julian is also mentioned, who was
afterwards commissioner of the land tax. Here we have
a glimpse ofthe better kind of society among the stu
dents of Athens ; and it is to the credit of the parties
composing it, that such young men as Gregory and
Basil, men as intimately connected with Christianity, as
they-were well known in the world, should hold so high '
a place in their esteem and love. When the two saints
were departing, their companions came around them
with the hope of changing their purpose. Basil perse
vered ; but Gregory relented, and turned back to Athens'"
for a season.

47

CHAPTER V.
FREE TRADE IN KNOWLEDGE.
THE SOPHISTS.
WHEN the Catholic University is mentioned, we
hear. people saying on all sides of us,^-" Impos
sible ! how can you give degrees ? what will your degrees
be worth ? where are your endowments ? where are your
edifices ? where will you find students ? what will govern
ment have to say to you ? who wants you ? who will ac
knowledge you ?• what do you expect? what is left for
you?" Now, I hope I may say without offence, that this sur
prise on the part of so many excellent men, is itself not
a little surprising. When I look around at what the
Catholic Church now is in this country of Ireland, and
am told what it was twenty or thirty years ago ; when I
see the hundreds of good works, which in that interval
have been done, and now stand as monuments of the
zeal and charity ofthe living- and the dead ; when I find
that in those years new religious orders have~been intro
duced, and that the country is now covered with con
vents ; when I gaze upon the sacred edifices, spacious
and fair, which during that time have been built out of
the pence of the poor ; when I reckon up the multitude
of schools now at work, and the sacrifices which gave
them birth ; when I reflect upon the great political exer
tions and successes which have made the same period
memorable in all history to come ; when I contrast what

48 Free Trade in Knowledge^
was then almost a nation of bondsmen, with the intelli
gence, and freedom of thought, and hope for the future,
which is its present characteristic ; when I meditate on
the wonderful sight of a people springing again fresh
and vigorous from the sepulchre of farnine and pestilence ;
and when I consider that those bonds of death which they
have burst, are but the specimen and image of the ada
mantine obstacles, political, social, and municipal, which
have all along stood iri the way of their triumphs, and -
how they have been carried on to victory by the simple
energy of a courageous faith ; it sets me marvelling to
find some of those very men, who have been heroically
achieving impossibilities all their lives long, now begin-'
ning to scruple about adding one little sneaking impos
sibility to the list, and I feel it to be a great escape for
the Church that they did not insert the word " impos
sible" into their dictionaries and encyclopedias at a
sohiewhat. earlier date.
However, this by the way : as to the objection itself,
which has led to this not unnatural reflection, perhaps
the reader may have observed, if he has taken the
trouble to. follow me, that in what I have said above I
have already been covertly aiming at it ; and now I
propose to handle it avowedly, at least as far as my
limits will allow in one Chapter.
He will recollect, perhaps, that in former Chapters I
have already been maintaining, that a University con- .1
sists, and has ever/ consisted, in demand and, supply, in
wants which it alone can satisfy and which it does satisfy,
in the communication of knowledge, and the relation and
bond which exists between the teacher and the taught, fj
Its constituting, animating principle is this moral attrac
tion of one class of persons to another ; which is prior in
its nature, nay commonly in its history, to any other tie

The Sophists. 49
whatever ; so that, where this is wanting, a University is
alive only in name, and has lost its true essence, what
ever be the advantages, whether of position or of afflu
ence, with which the civil power or private benefactors
contrive to encircle it. I am far indeed from undervalu
ing those external advantages ; a certain share of them
is necessary to its well-being : but on the whole, as it is
with the individual, so will it be with the body : — :it is
talents and attainments which cofnmand success. Con
sideration, dignity, wealth, and power, are all very
proper things in the territory of literature ; but they
ought to know their place ; they come second, not first ;
they must not presume, or make too much of themselves,
or they had better be away. First intellect, then secular
advantages, as its instruments and as its rewards ; I say
no more than this, but I say no less.
Nor am -I denying, as I shall directly show, that,
under any circumstances, professors will ordinarily lec
ture, and students ordinarily attend them, with a view, in
some shape or other, to secular advantage. . Certainly ;
few persons pursue knowledge simply for its own sake.
But though remuneration of some sort, both to the
teachers and to the taught, may be inseparable from
the fact of a University, still it may be separable from
its idea. Much less am I forgetting (to view the subject
on another side), that intellect is helpless, because
ungovernable and self-destructive, unless it be regu
lated by a moral rule and by revealed truth. Nor am
I saying anything in disparagement of the principle,
that establishments of literature and science should be
in subordination to ecclesiastical authority.
I would not riiake light of any of these consideratipns ;
some I shall even assume at once, as necessary for my
purpose ; of some I shall say mpre hereafter ; here,
4

50 Free Trade in Knowledge.
however, I am merely suggesting to the reader's better
judgment what constitutes a University, what is just
enough to constitute it, or what a University consists
in, viewed in its essence. What this is, seems to me
most simply explained and ascertained, as I noticed
in a former Chapter, by the instance of metropolitan .:
centres. It would appear as if the very same kinds of
need, social and moral, which give rise to a > metropolis,
give rise also to a University ; nay, that every metro
polis is a University, as far as the rudiments of a
University are concerned. Youths come up thither'
from all parts, in order to better themselves gene
rally ;->— not as if they necessarily looked for degrees in
their own several pursuits, and degrees recognized by
the law ; not as if there were to be any competition for
fellowships in chemistry, for instance, or engineering, —
but they come to gain that instruction which will turn
most to their account in after life, and to form good and
serviceable • connexions, and that, as regards the fine
arts, literature, and science, as well as in trade and the,
professions. I do not see why it should be more diffi
cult for Ireland to trade, if I may use the term, upon the
field of knowledge, than for the inhabitants of San Fran^
cisco or of Melbourne to make a fortune by their gold
fields, or tor the North of England by its coal. If gold
is power, wealth, influence ; and if coal is power, wealth,
influence ; so is knowledge.
" When house and lands are gone and spent,
. Then learning is most excellent" ;
and, as some men go tp the Antippdes for the gold, so
others may come to us here for the knowledge. And it
is as reasonable tp expect students, though we have no
charter from the State, provided we hpld out the in-

The Sophists. 51
ducement pf gopd teachers, as to expect a crowd of
Britishers, Yankees, Spaniards, and Chinamen at the
diggings, though there are no degrees for the successful
use of the pickaxe, sieve, and shovel.
And history, I think, corroborates this view of the
matter. In all times there have been Universities ; and
in all times they have flourished by means of this pro
fession of teaching and this desire of learning. They
have needed nothing else but this fPr their existence.
There has been a demand, and there has been a supply ;
and there has been the supply necessarily before the de
mand, though not before the need. This is how the
University, in every age, has made progress. Teachers
have set up their tent, and opened their school, and
students and disciples have 'flocked around them, in
spite of the want of every advantage, or 'even of the
presence of every conceivable discouragement. Years,
nay, centuries perhaps, passed along of discomfort and
disorder : and these, though they showed plainly enough
that, for the well-being , and perfection of a University,
something more than the desire for knowledge is re
quired, yet they showed also how irrepressible, was that
desire, how reviviscent, how indestructible, how ade
quate to the duties of a vital principle, in the midst of
enemies within and without, amid plague, famine, desti
tution, war, dissension, and tyranny, evils physical and
social, which would have been fatal to any other but a
really natural principle naturally developed.
Do not let the reader suppose, however, that I am
anticipating for Dublin at this day such dreary periods
or such ruinpus commotions, as befel the schools of the
medieval period. Such miseries were the accidents of
the times ; and this is why we hear so much then of pro
tectors of learning — the Charlemagnes and Alfreds, — as

52 Free Trade in Knowledge.
the compensation of those miseries. It may be asked,
whether royal protectors do not tell against the inherent
vitality, on which I have been insisting, of Universities *
but in truth, powerful sovereigns, such as they, did but
clear and keep the ground, on which Universities were to
build. Learning'in the middle ages had great foes and
great friends ; we too, were we setting up a school of
learning in a rude period of society, should have to expect
perils on the one hand, and to court protectors on the
other ; as it is, however, we can afford to treat with com
parative unconcern the prospect both of the one and of
the other. We may hope, and we may be content, to
be just let alone; or, if we must be anxious about the
future, we may reasonably use the words of the proverb,
" Save me from my friends." Charlemagne was indeed a
patron of learning, but he was its protector far more ; it
is our happiness, for which we cannot be too thankful to
the Author of all good, that we need no protector ; for it
is our privilege just now, whatever comes of the morrow,
to live in the midst of a civilization, the like of which the
world never saw before. The descent of enemies on our
coasts,-- the forays of indigenous marauders, the sudden ;
rise of town mobs, the unbridled cruelty of rulers, the
resistless sweep of pestilence, the utter insecurity of life
and property, and the recklessness which is its conse
quence, all that deforms the annals of the medieval
Universities, is to us for the present but a matter of
history. The statesman, the lawyer, the soldier, the
policeman, the reformer, [the economist, have most of
them seriously wronged and afflicted us Catholics in
other ways, national, social, anil religious ; but, on the
side on which I have here to view them, they are acting
in our behalf as a blessing from heaven. They are giving
us that tranquillity for which the. Church sp variously .

The Sophists. 53
and so anxiously prays ; that real freedom, which en
ables us to consult her interests, to edify her holy
house, to adorn her sanctuary, to perfect her discipline,
to inculcate her doctrines, and to enlighten and form
her children, " with all confidence," as Scripture speaks,
" without prohibition." We are able to set up a Studium
Generate, without its concomitant dangers and incon
veniences ; and the history of the past, while it adum
brates for us the pattern of a University, and supplies
us with a specimen of its good fruits, conveys to us no
presage of the recurrence of those melancholy conflicts,
in which the cultivated intellect was in. those times en
gaged, sometimes with brute force, and sometimes, alas !
with Revealed Religion.
Charlemagne then was necessary, but not so much for
the University, as against its enemies ; he was con
fessedly a patron of letters, effectual as well as munifi
cent, but he could not any how have dispensed with his
celebrated professors, and they, as the history of litera
ture, both before and after him, shows, could probably
have dispensed with him. Whether we turn to the
ancient world or to the modern, in either case we have
evidence in behalf of this position : we have the spec
tacle of the thirst of knowledge acting for and by itself,
and making its own way.
Here I shall confine myself to ancient history :. both
in Athens and in Rome, we find it pushing forward, in
independence of the civil power. The professors of
literature seated themselves in Athens without the
favour of the government ; and they 'opened their
mission in Rome in spite of its state traditions. It was
the rising generation, it was the mind of youth un
fettered by the conventional ideas of the ruling politics,
which in either instance became their followers. The ex-

54 Free. Trade in Knowledge.
citement they created in Athens is described by Plato
in one of his Dialogues, and has often been quoted.
Protagoras came to the bright city with the profession
of teaching " the political art" ; and the, young flocked
around him. They flocked to him, be it observed; not
because he promised them entertainment or novelty,
such as the theatre might promise, and a people pro
verbially fickle and curious might exact ; nor, on the
other hand, had he any definite recompense to hold
out, — a degree, for instance, or a snug fellowship, or
an India writership, or a place in the civil service. He
offered them just the sort of inducement, which carries
off a man now to a conveyancer, pr a medical prac
titioner, or an engineer, — he engaged to prepare them
for the line of life which they had chosen as their own,
and to prepare them better than Hippias or Prodicus,
who were at Athens with him. Whether he was really
able to do this, is another thing altogether ;, or rather
it makes the argument stronger, if he were unable ; for,
if the very promise of knowledge was so potent a spell,
what would have been its real possession ?
But now let us hear the state of the case from the
mouth of Hippocrates himself, — the youth, who in his
eagerness woke Socrates, himself a young man at the
time, while it was yet dark, to tell him that Protagoras
was come to Athens. " When we had supped, and were
going to bed," * he says, " then my brother told me that
Protagoras was arrived, and my first thought was. to
come and see you immediately ; but afterwards it
• appeared to me too late at night. As soon, however,
as sleep had refreshed me, up I, got, and came here."
" And I," continued Socrates, giving an account of the
conversation, '•' knowing his earnestness and excitability,
* Carey's translation is followed almost verbatim.

The Sophists. 55
said: 'What is that to you ? 'does Protagpras do you
any harm?' He laughed and' said: 'That he does,
Socrates ; because he alone is wise, and does not make
me so.' ' Nay,' said I, ' do you give him money enough,
and he will make you wise too.' * O Jupiter and ye
gods,' he made answer, 'that it depended upon that,
for I would spare nothing of my own, pr of my friends'
property either ; and I have now come to you for this
very purpose, to get you to speak to him in my behalf.
For, besides that I am too young, I have never yet seen
Protagoras, or heard him speak ; for I was but a boy
when he came before. However, all praise him, Socrates,
and say that he has the greatest skill in speaking. But
why do we not go to him, that we may find him at
home ?'"
They went on talking till the light ; and then they
set out for the house of Callias, where Protagoras, with
others of his own calling, was lodged. There they
found him pacing up and down the portico, with his
host and others, among whom, on one side of him, was
a son of Pericles (his father being at this time in power),
while another son of Pericles, with another party, was
on the other. A party, followed, chiefly of foreigners,
whom Protagoras had " bewitched, like Orpheus; by his
voice." Ori the opposite side of the portico' sat Hippias,
with a bench of youths before him, who were asking him
questions in physics and astronomy. Prodicus was still in
bed, with some listeners on sofas round him. The house is
described as quite full of guests. Such is the sketch
given us of this school of Athens, as there represented.
I do not enter on the question, as I have already said,
whether the doctrine of these Sophists, as they are called,
was true or false ; more than very partially true it could
not be, whether in morals or in physics, from the cir-

56 Free Trade in Knowledge.
cumstances of the age ; it is sufficient that it powerfully
interested the hearers. We see what it was that filled
the Athenian lecture-halls and porticos ; not the fashion
. of the day, not the patronage of the great, not pecuniary
prizes, but the reputation of talent and the desire of
knowledge, — ambition, if you will, personal attachment,
but not an influence, political or other, external to the
School. " Such Sophists," says Mr. Grote, referring to
the passage in Plato, " had nothing to recommend them
except superior knowledge and intellectual fame, combined
with an imposing personality, making itself felt in the
lectures and conversation.''
So much for Athens, where Protagoras had at least
this advantage, that Pericles was his private friend, if he
was not publicly his patron ; but now when we turn to
Rome, in what is almost a parallel page in her history,
we shall find that literature, or at least philosophy, had
to encounter there the direct opposition of the ruling
party in the state, and of the hereditary and popular
sentiment. The story goes, that when the Greek trea
tises which Numa had had buried with him, were acci
dentally brought to light, the Romans had burned them,,
from the dread of such knowledge coming into fashion.
At a later date decrees passed the Senate for the expul
sion from the city, first of philosophers, then of rheto
ricians, who were gaining the attention of the rising
generation. A second decree was passed some time
afterwards to the same effect, assigning, in its vindica-:
tion, the danger, which existed, of young men losing, by
means pf these new studies, their taste for the military
profession. Such was the nascent conflict between the old rule
and policy of Rome, and the awakening intellect, at the
time of that celebrated embassy of the three philoso-;

The Sophists. 57
phers, Diogenes the Stoic, Carneades the Academic,
and Critolaus the Peripatetic, sent to Rome from Athens
on a political affair. Whether they were as skilful in
diplomacy as they were zealous in their own particular
line, need not here be determined ; any how, they
lengthened out their stay at Rome, and employed them
selves in giving lectures. "Those among the youth,"
says Plutarch, " who had a taste for literature went to
them, and became their constant and enthusiastic
hearers. Especially, the graceful eloquence of Car
neades, which had a reputation equal to its talent,
secured large and favourable audiences, and was noised
about the city. It was reported that a Greek, with a
perfectly astounding power both of interesting and of
commanding the feelings, was kindling in the youth a
most ardent erhotion, which possessed them, . to the
neglect of their ordinary indulgences and amusements,
with a sort of rage for philosophy." Upon this, Cato
took up the matter upon the traditionary ground ; he
represented that the civil and military interests of Rome
were sure to suffer, if such tastes became popular ; and
he exerted himself with such effect, that the three philo
sophers were sent off with the least possible delay, " to
return home to their own schools, and in future to con
fine their lessons to Greek boys, leaving the youth of
Rome, as heretofore, to listen to the magistrates and
the laws." The pressure of the government was suc
cessful at the moment ; but ultimately the cause of
education prevailed. Schools were gradually founded ;
first of grammar, in the large sense of the word, then of
rhetoric, then of mathematics, then of philosophy, and
then of medicine, though the order of their introduction,
one with another, is not altogether clear. At length
the Eniperors secured the interests of letters by an estab-

58 Free Trade in Knowledge. .
lishment, which has lasted to this day in the Roman
'University, now called Sapienza.
Here are "two striking instances in | very different
countries, to prove that it is the thirst for knowledge,
and not the patronage of the great, which carries on the
cause of literature and science to its ultimate victory;
and all that can be said against them is, that I have
gone back a great way- to find them. But a general
truth is made up of particular instances, which cannot
be brought forward all at once, nor crowded into half a
dozen pages of a work like this. I shall continue the
subject some future time ; meanwhile I will but observe
that, while these ancient instances teach us that a Uni
versity is founded on principles' sui generis and proper to
itself, so do they coincidently suggest thait it may
boldly appeal to those principles before they are yet
broughtinto exercise, and may, or rather 'must, take the
initiative in- its own success. It must be set up before it
can be sought; and it must offer a supply, in order to
create a demand. Protagoras and Carneades needed
nothing" more than to advertise themselves in order to
gain disciples; if we have a confiderice that we have
that to offer to Irishmen, to„ Catholics, which is good and
great, and which at present they have not, our success
may be tedious and slow in coming, but ultimately
come it must.
Therefore, I say, let us set up our University ; let us'
only set it up, and it will teach the world its value by
the fact of its existence. What ventures are made, what
risks incurred by private persons in matters of trade!.
What speculations are entered on in the departments of
building' or engineering! What boldness in innovation
or improvement has been manifested by statesmen dur
ing the last twenty years ! Mercantile undertakings

The Sophists. 59
indeed may be ill-advised, and political measures may
be censurable in themselves, or fatal in their results. • I
am not considering them here in their motive or their
object, in their expedience or their justice, but in the
manner in which they have been carried out. What
largeness then of view, what intrepidity, vigour, and re-'
solution are implied in the Reform Bill, in the Emanci
pation of the Blacks, in the finance changes, in the
Useful Knowledge movement, in the organization of the
Free Kirk, in the introduction of the penny postage, and
in the railroads ! This is an age, if not of great men, at
least of great works ; are Catholics alone to refuse to act
on faith ? England has- faith in her skill, in her deter
mination, in her resources in war, in the genius of her
people ; is Ireland alone to fail in confidence iri her chil
dren and her God ? Fortes fortuna adjuvat; so says the
proverb. If the chance concurrence of half a dozen of
sophists, or the embassy of three philosophers, could do
so much of old to excite the enthusiasm of the young,"
and to awaken the intellect irito activity, is it very pre
sumptuous, or very imprudent, in us at this time, to enter
upon an undertaking, which comes to us with the autho
rity of St. Peter, the blessing of St. Patrick, the coopera
tion of the faithful, the prayers of the poor, and all the
ordinary materials of success, resources, intellect, pure
intention, and self devotion, to bring it into effect ?
Shall it be said in future times, that the work needed
nought but good and gallant hearts, and found them
not ?

6o

CHAPTER VI.
DISCIPLINE AND INFLUENCE.
I HAVE had some debate with myself, whether what
are called myths and parables, and similar com
positions of a representative nature, are in keeping
with this work ; yet, considering that the early Chris
tians recognized the Logi of the classical writers as
not inconsistent with the gravity of their own litera
ture, not to mention the precedent afforded by the
sacred text, I think I may proceed, without apology:
to myself or others, to impart to the reader in confi
dence, while it is fresh on my mind, a conversation
which I have just had with an intimate English friend,
on the general subject to which these columns are de
voted. I do not say that it was of a very important
nature ; still to those who choose to reflect, it may
suggest more than it expresses. It took place only a
day, or two ago, on occasion of my paying him a fly
ing visit.
My friend lives in a spot as convenient as it is de
lightful. The neighbouring hamlet is the first station
out of London of a railroad ; while not above a quarter
of a mile from his boundary wall flows the magnifi
cent river,, which moves towards the metropolis through
a richness of grove and meadow of its own creation.
After a liberal education, he entered a lucrative business;
and, making a competency in a few years, exchanged

Discipline and Influence. 61
New Broad Street for the " fallentis semita vitae." Soon
after his marriage, which followed this retirement, his
wife died, and left him solitary. Instead of returning to
the world, or seeking to supply her place, he gave him
self to his garden and his books ; and with these com
panions he has passed the last twenty years. He has
lived in a largish house, the "monarch of all he surveyed;"
the sorrows of the past, his creed, and the humble chapel
not a stone's throw from his carriage-gate, have saved
him from the selfishness of such a sovereignty, and the
oppressiveness of such a solitude ; yet not, if I may speak
candidly, from some of the inconveniences of a bachelor
life. He has his own fixed views, from which it is diffi
cult to move him, and some people say that he discourses
rather than converses, though, somehow, when I am with
him, from long familiarity, I manage to get through as
many words as he.
I do not know that such peculiarities can in any case
be called moral defects ; certainly not, when contrasted
with the great mischiefs which a life so enjoyable as his
might have done to him, and has not. He has indeed
been in possession of the very perfection of earthly
happiness, at least as I view things ; — mind, I say of
"earthly;" and I do not say that earthly happiness is
desirable. On the contrary, man is born for labour, not
for self; what right has any one to retire from the world
and profit no one ? He who takes his ease in this world,
will have none in the world to come. All this rings in
my friend's ears quite as distinctly as I may fancy it does
in mine, and has a corresponding effect upon his con
duct ; who would not exchange consciences with him ?
but still the fact remains, that a life such as his is, in
itself dangerous, and that, in proportion to its attractive
ness. If indeed there were no country beypnd the grave,

62 Discipline and Influence.
it would be our wisdom to make of our present dwelling-
place as much as ever we could ; and this wpuld be done
by the Very life which my friend has chosen, not by any
absurd excesses, not by tumult, dissipation, excitement,
but by the " moderate and rational use," as Protestant
sermons say, " of the gifts of Providence."
Easy circumstances, books, friends, literary connexions,
the fine arts, presents from abroad, foreign correspon
dents, handsome appointments, elegant simplicity, .
gravel walks, lawns, flower beds, trees and t shrubberies,
summer houses, strawberry beds, a greenhouse, a wall
for peaches, "hoc erat in votis ";— nothing out ofthe
way, no hot-houses, graperies, pineries, — " Persicos odi,
puer, apparatus," — no mansions, no parks, no deer, no
preserves ; these things are not worth the cost, they
involve the bother of dependents, they interfere with
enjoyment. One or two faithful servants, who last on
as the trees do, and cannot change their place': — the
ancients had slaves, a sort of dumb waiter, and the real
article ; alas ! they are impossible now. We must have
no one with claims upon us, or with rights ; no incum
brances ; no wife and children ; they would hurt our
dignity. We must' have acquaintance within reach, yet
not in the way ; ready, not troublesome or intrusive.
We must have- something of name, or of rank, or of
ancestry, or of past official life, to raise us from the dead
level of mankind, to afford fpod for the imaginatipn of
our neighbours, to bring us from time to time strange1
visitors, and to invest our home with mystery. In con
sequence we shall be loyal subjects, good conservatives,
fond of old times, averse to change, suspicious of novelty,
because we know perfectly when we are well off,
and that in our case " progredi est regredi." To a life
such as this, a man is more attached, the longer he lives;

Discipline and Influence. 63
and he would be more and more happy in it too, were it
not for the memento within him, that books and gardens
do not make a man immortal ; that, though they do not
leave him, he at least must leave them, all but " the
hateful cypresses," and must go where the only , book is
the book of doom, and the only garden the Paradise of
the just.
All this has nothing to do with our University, but
nevertheless they are some ofthe reflections which came
into my mind, as I left the station I have spoken of, and
turned my face towards my friend's abode. As I went
along, on the lovely afternoon of last Monday, which
had dried up the traces of a wet morning, and as I fed
upon the soothing scents and sounds which filled the
air, I began to reflect how the most energetic and war
like race among the descendants of Adam, had made, by
contrast, this Epicurean life, the " otium cum dignitate,"
the very type of human happiness. A life .in the country
in the midst of orie's own people, was the dream of
Roman poets from Virgil to Juvenal, and the reward of
Roman statesmen from Cincinnatus to Pliny. I called to
mind the Corycian old man, so beautifully sketched in
the fourth Georgic, and then my own fantastic protesta
tion in years long dead and gone, that, if I were free to
choose my own line of life, it should be that of a gardener
in some great family, a life without care, without excite
ment, in which the gifts of the Creator screened off
man's evil doings, and the romance of the past coloured
and illuminated the matter-of-fact present.
" Otium divos," I suppose the reader will say. Smiling
myself at the recollection of my own absurdity, I passed
along the silent avenues of solemn elms, which, belong
ing to a nobleman's domain, led the way towards the
humbler dwelling for which I was bound ; and then I

64 Discipline and Influence.
recurred to the Romans, wandering in thought, as in a
time of relaxation one is wont ; and I contrasted, or
rather investigated, the respective aspects, one with
another, under which a country life, so dear to that
conquering -people nationally, presented itself severally
to Cicero, to Virgil, to Horace, and to Juvenal, and I
asked myself under which of .them all was my friend's
home to be regarded. Then suddenly the scene changed,
and I was viewing it in my own way; for I had known
him since I was a schoolboy, in his father's time ; and I
recollected with a sigh how I had once passed a week
there of my summer holidays, and what I then thought
of persons and things I met there, of its various inmates,
father, mother, brothers, and sisters, all of them, except
himself and me, now numbered with the departed. Thus
Cicero and Horace glided off from my field of view, like
the circles of a magic lantern ; and my ears, no longer ,
open to the preludes of the nightingales around me,
which were preparing for their nightly concert, heard
nothing but
The voices of the dead, and songs of other years.
Thus, deep in sad thoughts, I reached the well-known
garden gate, and unconsciously opened it, and was upon
the lower lawn, advancing towards the house, before I
apprehended shrubberies and beds, which were sensibly
before me, otherwise than through my memory. Then
suddenly the vivid past gave way, and the actual present
flowed in upon me, and I saw my friend pacing up and
down on the side furthest from me, with his hands be
hind him, and a newspaper or some such, publication in
their grasp.
It is an old-fashioned place ; the house may be of the
date of Geprge the Secpnd ; a square hall in the middle,

Discipline and Influence. 65
and in the centre of it a pillar, and rooms all around.
The servants' rooms and offices run ' off on the right ; a
rookery covers the left flank, and the drawing-room
opens upon the lawn. There a large plane tree, with
its massive branches, whilome sustained a swing, when
there were children on that lawn, blithely to undergo an
exercise of head, at the very thought of which tlie grown
man sickens. Three formal terraces gradually conduct
down to one of the majestic avenues, of which I have
^already spoken ; the second and third, intersected by
grass walks, constitute the kitchen-garden. As a boy, I
used to stare at the magnificent cauliflowers and large
apricots which it furnished for the table ; and how diffi
cult it was to leave off, when once one got among the
gooseberry bushes in the idle morning !
I had now got close upon my friend ; and, in return
for the schoolboy reminiscences and tranquil influences
of the place, was ungrateful enough to begin attacking
him for his epicurean life. " Here you are, you old
pagan," I said, " as usual, fit for nothing so much as to
be one of the interlocutors in a dialogue of Cicero's."
"You are a pretty fellow," he made answer, "to ac
cuse me of paganism, who have yourself been so busily
engaged just now in writing up Athens ;" and then I saw
that it was several numbers ofthe Gazette, which he had in
his hand, and which perhaps had given energy to his step.
After giving utterance to some general expressions of
his satisfaction at the publication, and the great interest
he took in .the undertaking to which it was devoted, 'he
suddenly stopped, turned round upon me, looked hard
in my face, and taking, hold of a button of my coat, said
abruptly : " But what on earth possessed you, my good
friend, to have anything to do with this Irish University?
what was it" to you ? how did it fall in your way ?"
5

66 Discipline and Influence.
I could not help laughing out; "O I see," I cried,
" you consider me a person who cannot keep quiet, and
must ever be in one scrape or another."
" Yes, but seriously, tell me," he urged, "what had you
to do with it ? what was Ireland to you? you had your
own line and your own work ; was not that enough ?"
"Well, my dear Richard," I retorted, "better do too
much than too little."
" A tu quoque is quite unworthy of you," he replied ;
" answer me, charissime, what had you to do with an
Irish undertaking ? do- you think they have not clever
men enough there to work it, but you must meddle ?"-
" Well," I said, " I do not think it is an Irish under
taking, that is, in such a sense that it is not a Catholic
undertaking, and one which intimately arid directly*
interests other countries besides Ireland."
" Say England," he interposed.
" Well, I say and mean England : I think it most.
intimately concerns England ; unless it was an affair of
England, as well as of Irelarid, I should have sympa
thized in so grand a conception, I should have done what
I could to aid it, but I should have had no call, as you
well say, I should have considered it presumption in me,
to take an active part in its execution."
He looked at me with a laughing expression in his
eye, and was for a moment silent ; then he began again:
" You must think yourself a great genius," he said,
" to fancy that place is not a condition of capacity. You
are an Englishman; your mind, your habits are English;
you have'hitherto been acting only upon Englishmen,
with Englishmen ; do you really anticipate that you will
be able to walk 'into a new world, and to do any good
service there, because you have done it here ? Ne sutor
ultra crepidam. I would as soon believe that you could

Discipline and Influence. 67
shoot your soul into a new body, according to the
Eastern tale, and make it your own."
I made him a bow ; " I thank you heartily," I said,
" for the seasonable encouragement you give me in a
difficult undertaking ; you are determined, Richard,
that I shall not get too much refreshment . from your
shrubberies." " I beg your pardon," he made answer, " do not mis
take me ; I am only trying to draw you out ; I am
curious to know how you came to make this engage
ment ; you know we have not had any talk together for
some time."
," It may be as you say," I answered ; " that is, I may
be found quite unequal to what I have attempted ; but,
I assure you, not for want of zealous and able assistance,
of sympathizing friends,— not because it is in Ireland,
instead of England, that I have to work."
" They tell me," he replied, " that they don't mean to
let you have any Englishmen about you if they can
help it."
" You seem to know a great deal more about it here
than I do in Ireland," I ' answered : " I have not heard
this ; but still, I suppose, in former times,- when men
were called from one country to another for a similar
purpose, as Peter from Ireland to Naples, and John of
Melrose to Paris, they, did in fact go alone."
" Modest man !" he cried, " to compare yourself to the
sages and doctors of the Middle Age ! But still the
fact is not so : far from going alone, the very number
they could and did spare from home is the most remark
able evidence of the education of the Irish in those
times. Moore, I recollect, emphatically states, that it
was abroad that the Irish sought, and abroad that they
found, the rewards of their genius. If any people ought

68 Discipline and Influence.
to suffer foreigners to come to them, it is they who have,
with so much glory to -themselves, so often gone to
foreigners. In the passage I have in my eye, Moore
calls it ' the peculiar fortune of Ireland, that both in
talent and in fame her sons have prospered more signally
abroad than at home ; that not so much those who con
fined their labours to their native land, as those who
carried their talents and zeal to other lands, won for
their country the high title of the Island of the Holy
and the Learned.' But, not to insist on the principle of
reciprocity, jealousy of foreigners among them is little
in keeping with that ancient hospitality of theirs, of
which history speaks as distinctly."
" Really," I made answer, " begging your pardon, you
do not" quite know what you are talking about. You
never were in Ireland, I believe ; am I likely to know
less thari you ? If there be a nation, which in matters
of intellect does not want* ' protection,' to use the
political word, it is the Irish. A stupid people would ,
have a right to claim it, when they would set up a Uni
versity ; but, if I were you, I would think twice before :
I paid so bad a compliment to one of the most gifted
nations of Europe, as to suppose that it could not keep
its ground, that it would not take the lead; in the intel
lectual arena, though competition was perfectly open.'
If their 'grex philosophorum ' spread in the medieval
" time over Europe, in spite of the perils of sea and land,
will they not be sure to fill the majority of chairs in
their own University in an age like this, from the sheet;
claims of talent, though those chairs were open to the
world ? No ; a inonopoly would make the cleverest
people idle ; it would sink the character of their under
taking, and Ireland herself would be the first to exclaim
against the places of a great school of learning" becoming

Discipline and Influence. 69
mere pieces of patronage and occasions for jobbing, like
the sees of the Irish Establishment."
My friend did not reply, but looked grave ; at length
he said that .he was not stating what ought to be, but
what would be; Irishmen boasted, and justly, that in
ancient times they went to Melrose, to Malmesbury, to
Glastonbury, to East Anglia, to Oxford ; that they
established themselves in Paris, Ratisbon, Padua, Pavia,
Naples, and other continental schools ; but there was in
fact no reciprocity now ; Paris had not been simply for
Frenchmen, nor Oxford simply for Englishmen, but
Ireland must be solely for the Irish.
" Really, in truth," I made answer, " to speak most
seriously, I think you are prejudiced and unjust, and I
should be very sorry indeed to have to believe that you
expressed an English sentiment. I am sure you do not.
However, you speak of what you simply do not know.
In Ireland, as in every country, there is of course a
wholesome jealousy towards persons placed in important
posts, such as my own, lest they. should exercise their
power unfairly ; there is a fear of jobs, not a jealousy of
English ; and I don't suppose you think I am likely to
turn out a jobber. This is all I can grant you at the)
utmost, and perhaps I grant too much. But I do most
solemnly assure you, that, as far as I have had the means
of bearing witness, there is an earnest wish in the pro
moters and advocates of this great undertaking to get
the best men for its execution, wherever they are to be
found, in England, or in France, or in Belgium, or in
Germany, or in Italy, or in the United States ; though
there is an anticipation too, which is far from unreason
able, that for most of the Professorships of the University
the best men will be ' found in Ireland. Of course in
particular cases, there ever will be a difference of opinion

70 Discipline and Itifluence.
who is the best man ; but this does not interfere at all,
as is evident, with the honest desire on all sides, to make
the Institution a real honour to Ireland and a defence
of Ireland's faith."
My companion again kept silence, and so we walked
on-; then he suddenly said: "Come let us have some
tea, since you tell me," (I had told him by letter,) " that
you cannot take a bed ; the last train is not over-
late." As we walked towards the house, " The truth is," he
continued, speaking slowly, " I had another solution of
my own difficulty myself. I cannot help thinking
that your Gazette makes more of persons than is just,
and does not lay stress enough upon order, system, and
rule, in conducting a University. This is what I have
said to myself. ' After all, suppose there be an exclusive
system,, it does not much matter ; a great, institution, if
well organized, moves of itself, independently of the
accident of its particular functionaries.' . . . Well now,
is it not so ? " he added briskly ; " you have been laying
too miich stress npon persons f "
I hesitated how best I should begin to answer him,.
and he went on : — " Look at the Church herself ; how
little she depends on individuals ; in proportion as she
can develop her system, she dispenses with them. In
times pf great confusion, in countries under conversion,
great men are given to her, great Popes, great Evan
gelists ; but there is no call for Hildebrands or Ghislieris-
in the nineteenth century, or for Winfrids or Xaviers in
rhodern Europe. It is so with states ; despotisms re
quire great monarchs, Turkish or Russian ; constitutions
manage to jog on without them ; this is the meaning
of the famous saying, * Quantula sapiential regitur mun-
dus ! ' What a great idea again, to use Guizot's ex-

Discipline and Influence. 71
pression, is the Society of Jesus! what a creation of
¦genius is its organization; but so we'll adapted is the
institution to its object, that for that very reason it can
afford to crush individualities, however gifted ; so much
so, that, in spite of the rare talents of its members, it
has even become an objection to it in the mouth of its
enemies, that it has not produced a thinker like Scotus
or Malebranche. Now, I consider your papers make
too much of persons, and put system out of sight ; and
this is the sort of consolation which occurs to me, in
answer to the misgivings which come upon me, about
the exclusiveness with which the University seems to me
to be threatened."
"You know," I answered, "these papers have not got
half through their subject yet. I assure you I do not at
all forget, that something more than able Professors are
necessary to make a University."
" Still," said he, " I should like to be certain you were
sufficiently alive to the evils which spring from over
valuing them. You have talked to us a great deal about
Platos, Hephaestions, Herods, and the rest of them,
sophists one and all, and very little about a constitution.
All that you have said has gone one way. You have
professed a high and mighty independence of state
patronage, and a conviction that the demand and supply
of knowledge is all in all ; that the supply must be pro
vided before the demand in order to create, it ; and that
great minds are the instruments of that supply. You
have founded your ideal. University on individuals.
Then, I say, on this hypothesis, be sure you have for
your purpose the largest selection possible ; do not pro
claim that you mean to have the tip-top men of the age,
and then refuse to look out beyond one country for
them, as if any country, though it be Ireland, had a,

72 Discipline and Influence.
monppoly of talent. Observe, I say this on your hypo
thesis ; but I confess I ' am disposed to question its
soundness, and it is in that way I get over my own mis
giving about you. I *say that, may be, your University
need not have the best men ; it may fall back on a jog- :
trot system, a routine, and perhaps itought to do so."
" Forbid it ! " said I ; " you cannot suppose that what
you have said is new to me, or that I do not give it due
weight. Indeed I could almost write a dissertation on
the subject which you have started, that is, on the functions
and mutual relations, in the conduct of human affairs, of
Influence and Law. I should begin by saying that these •
are the two moving powers which carry on the world,
and that in the supernatural order they are absolutely
united in the Source of all perfection. I should observe
that the Supreme Being is both, — a living, individual'
Agent, as sovereign as if an Eternal Law were not ; and
a Rule of right and wrong, and an Order fixed and
irreversible, as if He had no will, or supremacy, or
characteristics of personality. Then I should say that
here below the two principles are separated, that each'
has1 its own function, that each .is necessary for the .
other, and that they ought to act together ; yet that it
too often happens that they become rivals of one an
other, that this or that acts of itself, and will encroach
upon the province, or usurp the rights of the other ; and
that then every thing goes wrong. Thus I should start,
and would you not concur with me ? Would it not be
sufficient to give you hope that I am not taking a one
sided view of the subject of University education ? "
He answered, as one so partial to me was sure to
answer; that he had no sort of suspicion that I was-
acting without deliberation, or wjfhout viewing the
matter as a whole; but still he could not help saying

Discipline and Influence. 73
that he thought he saw a bias in me which he had not
expected, and he would be truly glad to find himself
mistaken. " Do you know," he said, " I am surprised to
find that you, of all men in the world, should be taking
the intellectual line, and should be advocating the pro
fessorial system. Surely it was once far otherwise ; I
thought our line used to be, that knowledge without
principle was simply mischievous, and that Professors
did but represent and promote that mischievous know
ledge. This used to be our language : and, beyond all
doubt, a great deal may be said in justification of it. What
is heresy in ecclesiastical history but the action of per
sonal influence agaiftst law and precedent ? and what
were such heterodox teachers as the Arian leaders in
primitive times, or Abelard in the middle ages, but the
eloquent and attractive masters of philosophical schools ?
And what again were Arius and Abelard but the fore
runners of modern German professors, a set of clever
charlatans, or subtle sophists, who aim at originality,
show, and popularity, at the expense of truth ? Such
men are the 'nucleus of a system, if system it may be
called, of which disorder is the outward manifestation,
and scepticism the secret life. This you used to think ;
but now you tell us that demand and supply are all in
all, and that supply must precede demand ; — and that
this is a University iri a nutshell."
I laughed, and said he was unfair to me, and rather
had not understood me at all. " We are neither of us
theologians or metaphysicians," said I ; "yet I suppose
we know the difference between a direct cause and a sine
qua non, and between the essence of a thing and its
integrity. Things are not content to be in fact just
what we contemplate them in the abstract, and nothing
more ; they require something more than themselves,

74 Discipline and Influence.
sometimes as necessary conditions of their being, some
times for their well-being. Breath is not part of man ; it
comes to him from without ; it is merely the surround7
ing air, inhaled, and then exhaled ; yet no one can live
without breathing. Place an animal under an exhausted
receiver, and, it dies : yet the air does not enter into its
definition. When then I say, that a Great School or
University consists in the communication of knowledge,
in lecturers and hearers, that is, in the Professorial
system, you must not run away with the notion that
I consider personal influence enough for its well-being.
It is indeed its essence, but something more is necessary
than barely to get on from day to day ; for its sure and
comfortable existence we must look to law, rule, order;
to religion, from which law proceeds ; to the collegiate
system, in which it is embodied; and to endowments,
by which it is protected and perpetuated. This is the
part, of the subject which my papers have not yet
touched upon ; nor could they well treat of what comes
second, till they had done justice to what comes first."
I thought that here he seemed disposed to interrupt
me, so I interposed : " Now, please, let me bring out
what I want to say, while I am full of it. I say then,
' that the personal influence of the teacher is able in some
sort to dispense with an academical system, but that the
System cannot in any sort dispense with personal in
fluence. With influence there is life, without it there
is none ; if influence is. deprived of its due position, it
will not by those means be got rid of, it will only break '.
out irregularly, dangerously. An academical system
without the personal influence of teachers upon pupils,
is an arctic winter ; it will create an ice-bound, petrified,
cast-iron University, and nothing else. You will not
call this any new notion of mine ; and. you will not

Discipline and Influence. 75
suspect, after what happened to me a long twenty-five
years ago, that I can ever be induced to think otherwise.
No ! I have known a time in a great School of Letters,
when things went on for the most part by mere routine,
and form took the place of earnestness. I have experi
enced a state of things, in which teachers were cut off
from the taught as by an insurmountable barrier; when
neither party entered into the thoughts of the other ;
when each lived by and in itself; when the tutor was
supposed to fulfil his duty, if he trotted on like a squirrel
in his cage, if at a certain hour he was in a certain room,
or in hall, or in chapel, as it might be ; and the pupil
did his duty too, if he was careful to meet his tutor in
that same room, or hall, or chapel, at the same certain
hour ; and when neither the one nor the other dreamed
of seeing each other out of lecture, out of chapel, out of
academical gown. 'I have known places where a stift
manner, a pompous voice, coldness and condescension,
were the' teacher's attributes, and where he neither knew,
nor wished to know, and avowed he did not wish to
know, the private irregularities of the youths committed
1 to his charge.
" This was the reign of Law without Influence, System
without Personality. And then again, I have seen in
this dreary state of things, as you yourself well know,
while the many went their way and rejoiced in their
liberty, how that such as were better disposed arid
aimed at higher things, looked to the right and to the
left, as sheep without a shepherd, to find those who
would exert that influence upon them which its legiti
mate owners made light of; and how, wherever they saw
a little more profession of strictness and distinctness of
creed, a little more intellect, principle, and devotion,
than was ordinary, thither they went, poor youths, like

76 Discipline and Influence.
St. Anthony when he first turned to God, for counsel
and encouragement ; and how, as this feeling, without
visible cause, mysteriously increased in the subjects of
that seat of learning, a whole class of teachers gradually
arose,- unrecognised by its authorities, and rivals to the
teachers whom it furnished, and gained the. hearts and
became the guides of the youthful generation, who found
no sympathy were they had a claim for it. And then
moreover, you recollect, as well as I, how, as time went
on and that generation grew up and came into University
office themselves, then, from the memory of their own past
discomfort, they tried to mend matters, arid to unite Rule
and Influence together, which Jiad been so long severed,
and how they claimed from their pupils for themselves
that personal attachment which in their own pupillage
they were not invited to bestow ; and then, how in con
sequence a struggle began between the dry old' red-
tapists, as in politics they are called, and—"
Here my friend, who had been unaccountably im
patient for some time, fairly interrupted me. " It seems
very rude," he said, "very inhospitable; it is against
my interest ; perhaps you will stay the night ; but if.
you must go, go at once you must, or you will lose the
train." An announcement like this turned the current
of my thoughts, and I started up. In a few seconds we
were walking, as briskly as elderly men walk, towards
the garden entrance. Sorry was I to leave so abruptly
so sweet a place, so old and so dear to, me; sorry to
have disturbed it with controversy instead of drinking
in its calm. When we reached the lofty avenue, from
which I entered, Richard shook my hand, and wished
me God-speed, " portaque emittit eburni."

77

CHAPTER VII.
ATHENIAN SCHOOLS:
INFLUENCE.
TAKING Influence and Law to be the two great
principles of Government, it is plain that, histori
cally speaking, Influence comes first, and then Law:
Thus Orpheus preceded Lycurgus and Solon. Thus
Deioces the Mede laid the foundations of his power in
his personal reputation for justice, and then established
it in the seven walls by which he surrounded himself in1
Ecbatana. First we have the " virum pietate gravem,"
whose word " rules the spirits and soothes the breasts "
of the multitude; — or the warrior; — or the mythologist
and bard ; — then follow at length the dynasty and con
stitution. Such is the history of society : it begins in
the poet, and ends in the policeman.
Universities are instances of the same course : they
begin in Influence, they end in System. At first, what
ever good they may have done, has been the work of
persons, of personal exertions ; of faith in persons, of
personal attachments. Their Professors have been a sort
of preachers and missionaries, and have not only taught,
but have won over or inflamed their hearers. As time
has gone on, it has been found out that personal in
fluence does not last for ever ; that individuals get past
their work, that they die, that they cannot always be
depended on, that they change ; that, if they are to be

78 Athenian Schools.
the exponents of a University, it will have no abidance,
no steadiness ; that it will be great and small'again, and'
will inspire no trust. Accprdingly, system has of neces
sity been superadded to individual action ; a University
has been em'bodied in a constitution, it has, exerted
authority, it has been protected by rights and privileges,
it has enforced discipline, it has developed itself into
Colleges, and has admitted Monasteries into its territory.
The details of this advance and consummation are of
course different in different instances ; each University
has a career of its own ; I have been stating the process
in the logical, rather than in the historical order ; but
such it has been on the whole, whether in ancient or
medieval times. Zeal began, power and wisdom com
pleted : private enterprise came first, national or govern
mental recognition followed ; first the Greek, then the
Macedonian and Roman ; the Athenian created, the
Imperialist organized and consolidated. This is the sub
ject I am going to enter upon to-day.
Now as to Athens, I have already shown what it did,
and implied what it did not do ; and I shall proceed to
say something more about it. I have another reason
for dwelling on the subject ; it will lead me to direct
attention to certain characteristics of Athenian opinion,
which are not only to my immediate purpose, but will
form an introduction to something I should like to say
on a future occasion, if I could grasp my own thoughts,
about the philosophical sentiments of the present age,
their drift, artd their bearing on a University. This is
another matter ; but I mention it because it is one out
of several reasons which will set me on a course, in
which I shall seem to be ranging very wide of my mark,
while all the time I shall have a meaning in my
wanderings.

Influence. 79
Beginning then the subject very far back, I observe
that the guide of life, implanted in our nature, discrimi
nating right from wrong, and investing right with
authority and sway, is our Conscience, which Revelation
does but enlighten, strengthen, and refine. Coming from
one and the same Author, these internal and external
monitors of course recognize and bear witness to each
other ; Nature warrants without anticipating the Super
natural, and the-Supernatural completes without supersed
ing Nature. Such is the divine order of things ; but man, —
not being divine, nor over partial to so stern a reprover with
in his breast, yet seeing too the necessity of some rule or
other, some common standard of conduct, if Society is to
be kept together, and^the children of Adam to be saved
from setting up each for himself with every one else his foe,
— as soon as he has secured for himself some little cultiva
tion of intellect, looks about him how he can manage to
dispense with Conscience, and find some other principle to
do its work. The most plausible and obvious and ordinary
of these expedients, is the Law of the State, human law;
the more plausible and ordinary, because it really Comes
to us with a divine sanction, , and necessarily has a place
in every society or community of men. Accordingly it
is very widely used instead of Conscience, as but a little
experience of life will show us ; " the law says this ; "
"would you, have me go against the law?" is considered
an unanswerable argument in every case ; and, when the
two come into collision, it follows of course that Con
science is to give way, and the Law to prevail.
Another substitute for Conscience is the rule of Ex
pediency : Conscience is pronounced superannuated and
retires on a pension, whenever a people is so far advanced
in illumination, as to perceive that right and wrong can
to a certain extent be measured and determined by the

80 Athenian Schools.
useful on the one hand, and by the hurtful on the other;,
according to the maxim, which embodies this principle,
that " honesty is the best policy."
Another substitute of a more refined character is, the
principle of Beauty : — it is maintained that the Beautiful
and the Virtuous mean the same thing, and are converti- '¦
bie terms. Accordingly Coriscience is found out to be
but slavish ; and a fine taste, an exquisite sense of the
decorous, the graceful, and the appropriate, this is to be
our true guide for ordering our mind and our conduct,!?
and bringing the whole man into shape. These are
great sophisms, it is plain ; for, true though it be, that'
virtue is always expedient, always fair, it does not there-
fore follow that every thing which is expedient, and
every thing which is fair, is virtuous. A pestilence is an
evil, yet may have its undeniable uses ; and war,
" glorious war," is an evil, yet an army is a very beauti- ;
ful object to look upon ; and what holds in these cases, ;
may hold in others ; so that it is not very safe or logical
to say that Utility and Beauty are guarantees for '.-
Virtue. However, there are these three principles of conduct,
which may be plausibly made use of in order to dispense
with Conscience; viz., Law, Expedience, and Propriety;
and (at length to come to our point) the Athenians chose
the last of them, as became so exquisite a people, and
professed to practise virtue on no inferior consideration,
but simply because it was so praiseworthy, so,noble, and
so fair. Not that they discarded Law, not that they had ,
not an eye to their interest ; but they boasted that " grass
hoppers " like them, old of race and pure of blood, could
be influenced in their conduct by nothing short of a fine
and delicate taste, a sense of honour, and an elevated,
aspiring spirit. Their model man, like the pattern of

Influence. 8 1
chivalry, was a gentleman, Ka\oKaya96<; ; — a word which
has hardly its equivalent in the sterner language of
Rome, where, on the contrary, Vir bonus est quis ?
Qui consulta patrum, qui leges juraque servat.
For the Romans deified Law, as the Athenians deified
the Beautiful.
This being the state of the case, Athens was in truth
a ready-made University. The preserit age, indeed,
with that solidity of mind for which it is indebted to
Christianity, and that practical character which has ever
been the peculiarity of .the West, would bargain that the
True and Serviceable as well as the Beautiful should be
made the aim of the Academic intellect and the business
of a University ; — of course, — but the present age, and
every age, will bargain for many things in its schools
which Athens had not, when once we set about summing
up her desiderata. Let us take heras she was, and I say,
that a people so speculative, so imaginative, who throve
upon mental activity as other races upon mental repose,
and to whom it came as natural to think, as to a barbarian
to smoke or to sleep, such a people were in a true sense
born teachers, and merely to live among them was a
cultivation of mind. Hence they took their place in
this capacity forthwith, from the time that they eman
cipated themselves from the aristocratic families, with
which their history opens. We talk of the " republic of
letters," because thought is free, and minds of whatever
rank in life are on a level. The Athenians felt that a
democracy was but the political expression of an inteK
lectual isonomy, and, when they had obtained it, and
taken the Beautiful for their Sovereign, instead of king or
tyrant, they came forth as the civilizers, npt of Greece
pnly, but pf the European wprld. 6

82 Athenian Schools.
A century^had not passed from the expulsipn of the
Pisistratidae, wh'en Pericles was able to call Athens the
" schoolmistress " of Greece. And ere it had well run out,
the old Syracusan, who, upori her misfortunes in Sicily/
pleaded in behalf of her citizens, conjured 'his fellow-
citizens, " in that they had the gift of Reason," to have
mercy upon those, who had opened their land, as "a
common school," to all men; and he asks, "To what
foreign land will men betake themselves for liberal
education, if Athens be destroyed?" -And the story is
well known, when, in spite of his generous attempt, the
Athenian prisoners were set to work in the stone-quarries,
how that those who could recite passages from Euripides,
found this accomplishment serve them instead of ransom,
for their liberation. Such was Athens on the coast of
the "./Egean and in the Mediterranean ; and it was hardly
more than the next generation, when her civilization was
conveyed by means of the conquests of Alexander into
the very heart of further Asia, and was the life of the
Greek kingdom which he founded in Bactriana. ,She
became the centre of a vast intellectual propagandism,
and had in her hands the spell of a more wonderful
influence than that semi-barbarous power which first
conquered and then usedher. Wherever the Macedonian
phalanx held its ground, thither came a colony of her
philosophers ; Asia Minor and Syria were covered with
her schools, while in Alexandria her children,' Theo-
phrastus .and Demetrius, became the life of the great
literary undertakings which have immortalized the name
of the Ptolemies.
Such was the effect of that- peculiar derriocracy^ in
which Pericles glories in his celebrated Funeral Oration*
It made Athens in the event politically weak, but it was
her strength as an ecumenical teacher and civilizer. The

Influence. 83
love of the Beautiful will not conquer the world, but
like the voice pf Orpheus, it may for a while carry it
away captive. Such is that " divine Philosophy," in the
poet's words, " Not harsh and crabbed, as dull fools suppose,
But musical, as is Apollo's lute,
And a perpetual feast of nectared sweets,
Where no crude surfeit reigns."
The Athenians then exercised Influence by discarding
Law. It was their boast that they had found out the
art of living well and happily, without working, for it.
They professed to do right, not from servile feeling, not
because they were obliged, not from fear of command,
not from belief of the unseen, but because it was their
nature, because it was so truly pleasant, because it was
such a luxury to do it. Their political bond was good
will and generous sentiment. They were loyal citizens,
active, hardy, brave, munificent, from their very love of
what was high, and because the virtuous was the enjoy
able, and the enjoyable was the virtuous. They regulated
themselves by music, and so danced through life.
Thus, according to Pericles, . while, in private and
personal matters, each Athenian was suffered to. please
himself, without any tyrannous public opinion to make
him feel uncomfortable, the same freedom of will did but
unite the people, one and all, in concerns of national
interest, because obedience to the magistrates and the
laws was with them a sort of passion, to shrink from
dishonour an instinct, and to repress injustice an indul
gence. They could bp splendid in their feasts and
spectacles v without extravagance, because the crowds
whom they ¦ attracted from abroad, repaid them for the-
outlay ; and such large hospitality did but cherish in
them a frank, unsuspicious, and cburagepus spirit, which

84 Athenian Schools.
better protected them than a pile pf state secrets and
exclusive laws. Nor did this joyous mode of life relax
them, as it might relax a less noble race, for they were
warlike without effort, and expert without training, and
rich in resource 'by the gift of nature, and, aften their
fill of pleasure, they were only more gallant in the field,
and more patient and enduring on the march. They
cultivated the fine arts with too much taste to be expen-
¦ sive, and they studied the sciences with too much point
to become effeminate ; debate did not blunt their energy,
npr foresight of danger chill their daring ; but, as their
tragic poet expresses it, "the loves were the attendants
upon wisdom, and had a share in the acts of every
virtue." Such was the Athenian according to his own account
of himself, and very beautiful is the picture; very
original and attractive ; very suitable, certainly,' to a
personage, who was to be the world-wide Professor of
the humanities and the .philosophic Missionary of
mankind. Suitable, if he could be just what' I have
been depicting him, and nothing besides ; but, alas !
when we attentively consider what the above conception
was likely in fact to turn out, as soon as it came to be
carried into execution, we shall feel no surprise, » on
passing from panegyric to experience, that he looks so
different in history, from what he promised to be in the
glowing periods of the oratpr. The case, as I have
already remarked, is very simple : if beautifulness was
all that was needed tp make a thing right, then nothing
graceful and pleasant could be wrong ; and, since there
is no abstract idea but admits pf being embellished and
dressed up, .and made pleasant and graceful, it followed
as a matter of course that any thing whatever is per
missible. One sees at pnce, that, taking men as they

Influence. 85
are, the love of the Beautiful would be nothing short of
the love of the Sensual ; nor was the anticipation falsi
fied by the event : for in Athens genius and voluptuous
ness ever went hand in hand, and their literature, as it
has come down to us, is no sample or measure of their
actual mode of living.
Their literature indeed is. of that serene and severe
beauty, which has ever been, associated with the word
" classical ; " and it is grave and profound enough for
ancient Fathers to have considered it a preparation for the
gospel ; but we are concerned here, not with the writings,
but with the social life of Athens. I have been speaking
of her as a living body, as an intellectual home, as the
pattern school of the Professorial system ; and we now
see where the hitch lay. She was of far too fine and
dainty a nature for the wear and tear of life ; — she
needed to be " of sterner stuff," if she was to aspire
to the charge of the young and inexperienced. Not
all the zeal of the teacher and devotion of the pupil,
the thirst of giving and receiving, the , exuberance of
demand and supply, will avail for a University, unless
some provision is made for the maintenance of authority
and of discipline, unless the terrors of the Law are added
to the persuasives of the Beautiful. Influence was not
enough without command. This too is the reason why
Athens, with all her high gifts, was at fault, not only as a
University, but as an Empire. She was proud, indeed,
of her imperial sway, in the season of her power, and
ambitious of its extension ; but, in -matter of fact, she
was as ill adapted to rejgn in the cities of the earth, as
to rule in its schools. In this world no one rules by
mere love ; if you are but amiable, you are no hero ; to
be powerful, you must be strong, and to have dominion
you must have a genius for prganizing. Macedon and

86 Athenian Schools.
Rome were, as in politics, so in literature, the necessary
cpmplement pf Athens.
Yet there is something so winning in the idea of
Athenian life, which Pericles sets before us, that, acknow
ledging, as, alas ! I must acknowledge, that that life
was inseparable from the gravest disorders, in the world
as it is, and much more in the pagan world, and that at
best it is only ephemeral, if attempted, still, since I am
now going to bid farewell to Athens and her schools, I
am not sorry to be able to pay her some sort of compli
ment in parting. I think, then, her great orators have
put to her credit a beautiful idea, which, ' though not
really fulfilled in her, has literally and unequivocally
been realized within the territory of Christianity. I am
not speaking of course of the genius of the Athenians,
which was peculiar to themselves, nor of those manifold
gifts in detail, which have made them the wonder of the
world, but of that profession of philosophical democracy,
so original and so refined in its idea, of that grace,
freedom, nobleness, and liberality of daily life, of which
Pericles, in his oration, is specially enamoured; and,
with my tenderness, on the one hand, for Athens (little
as I love the radical Greek character), and my devotion
to a particular Catholic Institution on the other, I have
ever thought I could trace a certain resemblance between
Athens, as contrasted with Rome, and the Oratory of
St. Philip, as viewed in contrast with the Religious
Orders. AH the creations pf Hply Church have their own
excellence and do their own service ; each is perfect in
ts kind, nor can any one be measured against another in
the way of, rivalry or antagonism. We may admire one
of them without disparaging the rest ; again, we may
specify its characteristic gift, without implying thereby

Influence. 87
that it has not other gifts also. Whereas then, to take
up the language which my friend Richard has put into
my mouth, there are twp great principles of action in
human affairs, Influence and System, some ecclesiastical
institutions are based upon System, and others upon
Influence. Which are those which flourish and fulfil
their mission by means of System ? Evidently the
Regular Bodies, as the very word "regular" implies;
they are great, they are famous, they spread, they do
exploits, in the strength of their Rule. They are of the
nature of imperial states. Ancient Rome, for instance,
had the talent of organization ; and she formed a
political framework to uriite to herself and to each other
the countries which she successively conquered. She
sent out her legions all over the earth to secure and to
govern it. ¦ She created establishments which were fitted
to last for ever ; she brought together a hundred nations
into one, and she moulded Europe on a model, which it
retains even now ; — and this not by a sentiment pr an
imagination, but by wisdom of policy, and the iron hand
of Law. Establishment is the very idea, which the
name of Iriiperial Rome suggests. Athens, on the other
hand, was as fertile, indeed, in schools, as Rome in mili
tary successes and political institutions ; she was as
metropolitan a city, and as frequented a capital, as
.Rome ; she drew the world to her, she sent her!literature
into the world ; but still men came and went, in and out,
without constraint ; and her preachers went to and fro,
as they pleased ; she sent out her missions by reason of
her energy of intellect, and men came on pilgrimage to
her from their love for philosophy.
« Observe, I am all along directing attention, not to the
mental gifts of Athens, which belonged to her nature, but
to what is separable from her, her method and her instru-

88 Athenian Schools.
ments. I repeat, that, contrariwise to Rpme, it was the
method of Influence : it was the absence of rule, it was the
actiori of personality, the intercourse of soul with soul;
the play of mind upon mind, it was an admirable
spontaneous force, which kept the schools of Athens
going, and made the pulses of foreign intellects keep
time with hers.
Now, I say, if there be an Institution in the Catholic
Church, which in this point of view has caught the idea
of this great heathen precursor of the Truth, and has
made the idea Christian,— if it proceeds from one who
has even gained for himself the title of the " Amabile
Santo," — who has placed the noblest aims before his
children, yet withal the freest course ; who always drew
them to their duty, instead of commanding, and brought ,
them on to perform before they had yet promised ; who
made it a man's praise that he " potuit transgredi,.et non
est transgressus, facere mala, et non fecit ; " who iri his
humility had no intention of forming any Congregation
at all, but had formed it before he knew of it, from the
beauty and the fascination of his own saintliness ; and
then, when he was obliged to recognize it and put it in
to shapej shrank from the severity of the Regular, would
have nothing to, say to vows, and forbade propagation
and dominion ; whose houses stand, like Greek colonies,
independent of each other and complete in themselves';,
whose subjects in those several houses are allowed, like
Athenian citizens, freely to cultivate their respective
gifts and to follow out their own mission ; whose one
rule is Love, and whose own weapon Influence ; — I say,
if all this is true of a certain Congregation in the Church,
and if it so happens that that Congregation, in the per
son of one of its members, finds itself at the present
moment in contact with the preparatory movements of

Influence. 89
the establishment of a great University, then surely I
may trust, without fancifulness and without impertinence,
that there is a providential fitness discernible in the cir
cumstance of the traditions of that Congregation flowing
in upon the first agitation of that design ; and, though
to frame, to organize, and to consolidate, be the imperial
gift of St. Dominic or St. Ignatius, and beyond his
range; yet a son of St. Philip Neri may aspire without
presumption to the preliminary task of breaking the
ground and clearing the foundations ofthe Future, of in
troducing the great idea into men's minds, and making
them understand it, and love it, and have hope in it, and
have faith in it, and show zeal for it ; — of bringing many
intellects to work together for it, and of teaching them to
understand each other, and bear with each other, a.nd go on
together, not so much by rule, as by mutual kind feeling
and a common devotion, — after the conception and in
the spirit of that memorable people, who, though they
could bring nothing to perfection, were great (over and
above their supreme originality) in exciting a general in
terest, and in creating an elevated taste, in the various
subject-matters of art, science, and philosophy.
But here I am only in the middle of my subject, and
at the end of my paper ; so I must reserve the rest of
what I have to say for the next Chapter.

1 9°

CHAPTER VIII.
MACEDONIAN AND ROMAN SCHOOLS.:
, DISCIPLINE.
LOOKING at Athens as the preacher and missionary
of Letters, and as enlisting the whole Greek race in
her work, who is not struck with admiration at the range
and multiplicity of Her operations ? , At first, the Ionian
and .<Eolian cities are the principal scene of her activity ;
but, if we look on a century or two, we shall find that
she forms the intellect of the colonies of Sicily and
Magna Graecia, has penetrated Italy,- and is shedding
the light of philosophy and awakening thought in the
cities of Gaul by means of Marseilles, and along the
coast of Africa by means of Cyrene. She has sailed up
both sides of the Euxine, and deposited her literary
wares where she stopped, as traders nowadays leave
samples of foreign merchandize, or as war steamers, land
muskets and ammunition, or as agents for religious so
cieties drop their tracts or scatter their versions. The
whole of Asia Minor and Syria resounds with her teach
ing ; the barbarians pf Parthia are quoting fragments of
her tragedians ; Greek mariners are introduced and per
petuated on the Hydaspes and Acesines ; Greek coins,
lately come to light, are struck in the capital of Bactriana;
and so charged is the moral atmosphere of the East with
Greek civilization, that, down to this day, those tribes
are said to show tp most advantage, which can claim re-

Discipline. g i
Iation pf place or kin with Greek colonies established
there above two thousand years ago. But there is one
city, which, though Greece and Athens have no longer
any memorial in it, has in this point of view a claim,
beyond the rest, upon our attention ; and that, not only
from its Greek origin, and the memorable name which it
bears, but because it introduces us to a new state of
things, and is the record of an advance in the history of
the education of the intellect ; — I mean, Alexandria.
Alexander, if we must call him a Greek, which the
Greeks themselves would not permit, did that which no
Greek had done before ; or rather, because he was no
thorough Greek, though so nearly a Greek by descent
and birthplace and by tastes, he was able, without, sacri
ficing what Greece was, to show himself to be what Greece
was not. The creator of a wide empire, he had talents
for organization and administration, which were foreign
to the Athenian, mind, and which were absolutely neces
sary if its mission was to be carried out. The picture,
which history presents.of Alexander, is- as beautiful as it
is romantic. It is not only the history of a youth of
twenty, pursuing conquests so vast, that at the end of a
few ".years he had to weep that there was no second world
to subjugate, but it is that of a beneficent prince, civi
lizing, as he went along, both by his political institutions
and by his patronage of science. It is this union of an
energetic devotion to letters with a genius for sovereignty,
which places him in contrast- both to Greek and Roman.
Caesar, with all his cultivation of mind, did not conquer
in order to civilize, any more than Hannibal; he must add
Augustus to himself, before he can be an Alexander.
The royal pupil of Aristotle and Callisthenes started,
where aspiring statesmen or generals end ; he professed
to be more ambitious of a name for knpwledge than for

92 Macedonian and Roman Schools^
power, and he paid a graceful homage to the city of in
tellect by confessing, when he was in India, that he was
doing his great acts to gain the immortal praise of the
Athenians. The classic poets and philosophers were his
recreation ; he preferred the contest of song to the palaes
tra ; of medicine he had more than a theoretical know
ledge ; and his ear for music was so fine, that Dryden's
celebrated Ode, legendary as may be its subject, only does
justice to its sensitiveness. He was either expert in
fostering, or quick in detecting, the literary tastes of those
around him; and two of his generals have left behind them
a literary fame. Eumenes and Ptolemy, after his death,
engaged in the honourable rivalry, the one in Asia Minor,
the other in Egypt, of investing the dynasties which they
respectively founded, with the patronage of learning and
of its professors.
Ptolemy, upon whom, on Alexander's death, devolved
the kingdom of Egypt, supplies us with the first great
instance of what may be called the establishment of
Letters. He and Eumenes may be considered the first
founders of public libraries. Some authors indeed allude
to the Egyptian king, Osymanduas, and others point to
Pisistratus, as having created a precedent for their imita
tion. It is difficult to say what these pretensions are
exactly worth : or how far those personages are entitled
to more than the merit of a conception, which obviously
would occur to various minds before it was actually
accomplished. There is more reason for referring it to
Aristotle, who, from his relation to Alexander, may be
considered as the head of the Macedonian literary, move
ment, and whose books, together with those of his wealthy
disciple, Theophrastus, ultimately came into the posses
sion of the Ptolemies ; but Aristotle's idea,, to whatever
extent he realized it, was carried out by the two Mace-

Discipline. 93
donian dynasties with a magnificence of execution, which
kings alone cpuld project, and a succession of ages secure.
For the first time, a great system was set on foot .for
collecting together in one, and handing down to posterity,
the oracles of the world's wisdom In the reign of the
second Ptolemy the number of volumes rescued from
destruction, and housed in the Alexandrian Library,
amounted to 100,000, as volumes were then formed ; in
course of time it grew to 400,000 ; and a second collection
was commenced, which at length rose to 300,000, making,
with the former, a sum total of 700,000 volumes. During
Caesar's military defence of Alexandria, the former of
these collections was unfortunately burned ; but, in com
pensation, the library received the 200,000 volumes of
the rival collection of the kings of Pergamus, the gift of
.Antony to Cleopatra. After lasting nearly a thousand
years, this noblest of dynastic monuments was de
liberately burned, as all the world knows, by the Sara
cens, on their becoming masters of Alexandria.
A library, however, was only one of two great con
ceptions brought into execution by the first Ptolemy ;
and as the first was the embalming of dead genius, so
the second was the endowment of living. Here again
the Egyptian priests may be said in a certain sense to
have preceded him ; moreover, in Athens itself there had
grown up a custom of maintaining in the Prytaneum at
the public cost, or of pensioning, those who had de
served well of the state, nay, their children also. This
had been the privilege, for instance, conferred on the
family of the physician Hippocrates, for his medical ser
vices at the time of the plague ; yet I suppose the pro-t
vision of a home or residence was never cpntemplated in
its idea. But as regards literature itself, tp receive money
for teaching, was considered tp degrade it tp an illiberal

94 Macedonian and Roman Schools.
purpose, as had been felt in the instance of the Spphists;
even the Pythian prize for verse, though at first gold or
silver, became nothing more than a crown of leaves, as
soon as a sufficient competition was secured. Kings,
indeed, might lavish precious gifts upon the philosophers
or poets whom they kept about them ; but such practices
did not proceed on rule or by engagement, nor imply any
salary settled on the objects of their bounty. Ptolemy,
however, prompted, or at least encouraged, by the cele
brated Demetrius of Phalerus, put into execution a plan
for the formal endowment of literature and science.
The fact indeed of the possession of an immense library
seemed sufficient to render Alexandria a University; for
what could be a greater attraction to the students, of all
lands, than the opportunity afforded them of intellectual
converse, not only with the living, but with the dead,
with all who had any where at any time thrown light
upon any subject of inquiry ? But Ptolemy determined
that his teachers of knowledge should be as stationary
and as permanent as his books ; so, resolving to make
Alexandria the seat of a Studium Generate, he founded a
College for its domicile, and endowed that College with
ample revenues.
Here, I consider, he did more than has been com
monly done, till modern times. It requires considerable
knowledge of medieval Universities to be entitled to give
an opinion; as regards Germany, forinstance, or Poland, or
Spain ; but, as far as I have a right to speak, such an en
dowment has been rare down to the sixteenth century, as
weir as before Ptolemy. The University of Toulouse, I
think, was founded in a College ; so was Orleans ; so
has been the Protestant University of Dublin ; other
Universities have yearly, salaries from the Government ;
but even the University of Oxford to this day, viewed as

Discipline. 95
a University, is a pqor body. Its Professors have for the
most part a scanty endowment and no house of residence ;
and it subsists mainly on fees received from year to year
from its members. Such too', I believe, is the case with
the University of Cambridge. The University founded
in Dublin in John the Twenty-second's time, fell for lack
of funds. The .University of Paris could not be very
wealthy, even in the ninth century of its existence, or it
would not have found it necessary to sell its beautiful Park
or Pratum. As for ourselves at present, it is commonly
understood, that we are starting with ample means
' already, while large contributions are still expected ; a
sum equal perhaps to a third of what has already been
collected is to be added to it from the United States ;
as to Ireland herself, the overflowing, almost miraculous
liberality of her poorest classes makes no anticipation of
their prospective, contributions extravagant. Well,. any
how, if money made a University, we might expect ours
to last as long as the Ptolemies'; and, I suppose, any
one of us would be content that an institution, which
he helped to found, should live through, a thousand
years. But to return to the Alexandrian College. It was
called the Museum, — a name since appropriated to an
other institution connected with the seats of science.
Its situation affords an additional instance in corrobora
tion of remarks I have already made upon the sites of
Universities. There was a quarter of the city so dis
tinct from the rest in Alexandria, that it is sometimes
spoken of as a suburb. It was pleasantly situated on
the water's edge, and had been set aside for ornamental
buildings, and was traversed by groves of trees. Here
stood the royal palace, here the theatre and amphi
theatre ; here the gymnasia and stadium ; here the

96 Macedonian and Roman Schools.
famous Serapeum. And here it was, close upon the
Port, that Ptolemy placed his Library and College. As
might be supposed, the building was worthy of its pur
pose ; a noble portico stretched along its front, for
exercise or conversation, and opened upon the public'
rooms devoted to disputations and lectures. A certain
number of Professors were lodged within the precincts,
and a handsome hall, or refectpry, was provided for the
common meal. The Prefect of the house was a priest,
whose appointment lay with the government. Over the
Library a dignified person presided, who, if his jurisdic
tion extended to the Museum also, might somewhat an
swer to a medieval or modern Chancellor ; the first of
these functionaries being the celebrated Athenian who
had so much to do with the original design. As to the
Professors, so liberal was their maintenance, that a philo
sopher of the very age of the first foundation, called the
place a "bread basket," or a "bird coop;" yet, in spite
of accidental exceptions, so careful on the whole was
their selection, that even six hundred years afterwards,
Ammianus describes the Museum under the title of "the
lasting abode of distinguished men." Philostratus, too,
about a century before, calls it " a table gathering to
gether celebrated men :" a phrase which merits attention,
as testifying both to the high character of the Professors,
and to the means by which they were secured. In some
cases, at least, they were chosen by concursus or com
petition, in which- the native Egyptians are said some
times to have surpassed the Greeks. We read too- of
literary games or contests, apparently of the. same
nature. As time went on, .new Colleges were added to
the original Museum ; of which one was a foundation of
the Emperor Claudius, and called after his name'.
It cannot be thought that the high reputation of these

Discipline. gj
foundations would have been maintained, uriless Ptolemy
had looked beyond Egypt for occupants of his chairs ;
and indeed he got together the best men, wherever he
could find them. On these he heaped wealth and privi
leges.; and so complete was their naturalization in their
adopted country, that they lost their usual surnames,
drawn from their place of birth, and, instead of being
called, for instance, Apion of Oasis, or Aristarchus of
Samothracia, or Dionysius of Thrace, received each
simply the title of " the Alexandrian." Thus Clement
of Alexandria, the learned father of the Church, was a
native of Athens.
A diversity of teachers secured an abundance of
students, " Hither," says Cave, " as to a public em
porium - of polite literature, congregated, from every
part of the world, youthful students, and attended the
lectures in Grammar, Rhetoric, Poetry, Philosophy,
Astronomy, Music, Medicine, and other arts and
sciences ; " and hence proceeded, as it would appear,
the great Christian writers and doctors, Clement, whom
I have just been mentioning^ Origen, Anatolius, and
Athanasius. St. Gregory Thaumiaturgus, in the third
century, may be added ; he came across Asia Minor
arid Syria from Pontus, as to a place, says his name
sake of Nyssa, "to which young men from all parts
"gathered together, who were applying themselves to
philosophy." '
As to the subjects taught in the Museum, Cave has
already enumerated the principal ; but he has not done
justice to the peculiar character of the Alexandrian
school. From the time that science got out of the
hands of the pure Greeks, into those of a power which
had a talent for administration, it became less theore
tical, and bore more distinctly upon definite and
7

98 Macedonian and Roman Schools.
tangible objects. The very conception of an endow
ment is a specimen of this change. Without yielding
the palm of subtle speculation to the Greeks, philosophy
assumed a more masculine and vigorous character.
Dreamy theorists, indeed, they could also show in still
higher perfection than Athens, where there was the
guarantee of genius that abstract investigation would
never become ridiculous. The Alexandrian' Neo-plato-
nists certainly have incurred the risk of this imputation;
yet, Potamo, Ammonius, Plotinus, and Hierocles, who
are to be numbered among therri, with the addition
perhaps of Proclus, in spite of the ^frivolousness and
feebleness of their system, have a weight of character,,
taken together, which would do honour to any school.
And the very circumstance that they originated a new
philosophy is no ordinary distinction. in the intellectual
world : and that it was directly intended to be a rival and
refutation of Christianity, while no great recommendation
to it certainly in a religious judgment, marks the practical
character of the Museum even amid its subtleties. So
much for their philosophers : among their poets was
ApoUonius of Rhode's, whose poem on. .the Argonauts
carries with it, In the very fact -of its being still extant,
the testiiriony of succeeding ages either to its merit,' or
to its antiquarian importance. Egyptian Antiquities were
investigated, at least by the disciples of the Egyptian
Manetho, fragments of whose history are considered to
rernain ;" while Carthaginian and Etruscan had a place
in the studies of the Claudian College. The Museum
was celebrated, moreover, for its grammarians ; the
work of Hephasstion de Metris 'still affords matter of
thought to a living Professor of Oxford ; * and Aris-
*Dr. Gaisford, since dead. For the Alexandrian Grammarians, Jvid.
Fabric. Bibl. Grsec, t. vi., p. 353. ' ' M

Discipline. gg
tarchus,'like the Athenian Priscian, has almost become
the nick-name for a critic.
Yet, eminent as is the Alexandrian school iri these
departments of science, its fame rests still more se
curely upon its proficiency in medicine and mathe
matics. Among its physicians is the celebrated Galen,
who "was attracted thither from Pergamus ; and we are
told by a writer of the fourth century,* that in his time
the very fact of a physician having studied at Alexan
dria, was an evidence of his science which superseded
further testimonial. As to mathematics, it is suffi
cient to say, that, of four great ancient names, on whom
the modern science is founded, three came from
Alexandria. Archimedes indeed was a Syracusan^but
the Museum may boast of ApoUonius of Perga,
Diophantus, a native Alexandrian,, and Euclid, whose
country is unknown. Of these three, Euclid's services
to Geometry are known, if not appreciated, by every-
school-boy; ApoUonius is the first writer on Conic
Sections, ; and. Diophantus the first writer on Algebra.
To these illustrious names, may be added, Eratosthenes
of Cyrene, to whom astronomy has obligations so con
siderable ; Pappus ; Theon ; and Ptolemy, said to be of
Pelusium, whose celebrated system, called after him the
Ptolemaic, reigned in the schools till the time of
Copernicus, and whose Geography, dealing with facts,
not theories, is in repute still.
Such was the celebrated Studium or University of
Alexandria ; for a while, in the course of the third and
fourth centuries, it was subject to reverses, principally
from war. The whole of the Bruchion, the quarter of
the city in which it was situated, was given to the
flames; and, when Hilarion came to Alexandria, the
* Ammianus.

ioo Macedonian and Roman Schools:
holy hermit, whose rule of life did riot suffer him to
lodge in cities, took up his lodgment with a few soli
taries among the ruins of its edifices. The schools,
however, and the library continued ; the library was
reserved for the Caliph Omar's famous judgment; as
to the schools, even as late as the twelfth century, the
Jew, Benjamin of Tudela, gives us a surprising report of
what he found in Alexandria. " Outside the city," he,
says, a mode of speaking which agrees with what has
been above said about the locality of the Museum, " is
the Academy of Aristotle, Alexander's preceptor ;; a
handsome pile of buildings, which has twenty Colleges,
whither students betake themselves from all parts of
the world to learn his philosophy. The marble columns
divide one College from another."
Though the Roman schools have more direct bearing
on the subsequent rise of the medieval Universities, they
are not so exact an anticipation of its type, as the
Alexandrian Museum. They differ from the Museum,
as being for the most part, as it would appear, devoted
to the education of the very young, without any reference
to the advancement of science. No list of writers or
of discoveries, no local or historical authorities, can be
adduced, from the date of Augustus to that of Justinian,
to rival the fame of Alexandria ; we hear on the con
trary much of the elements of knowledge, the Trivium
and Quadrivium ; and the Law of the Empire provided,
and the Theodosian Code has recorded, the discipline
necessary for the students. Teaching and learning was
a department of government ; and schools were set up
and professors endowed, just as soldiers were stationed
or courts opened, in every great city of the East and
West. In Rome itself the seat of education was placed

, Discipline. 101
in the Capitol ; ten chairs were apppinted for Latin
Grammar, ten for Greek ; three for Latin Rhetoric, five
for Greek ; one, some say three, for Philosophy ; two or
four for Roman Law. Professorships of Medicine were
afterwards added. Under Grammar (if St. Gregory's
account of Athens in Roman times may be applied to
the Roman schools generally),, were included knowledge
of language and metre, criticism, and history. Rome,
as might be expected, and Carthage, were- celebrated for
their Latin teaching ; Roman Law is said to have been
taught in three cities only, Rome itself, Constantinople,
and Berytus ; but this probably was the restriction of a
later age.
The study of grammar and geography was commenced
at the age of twelve, and apparently at the private school,
and was continued till- the age of fourteen. Then the
youths were sent to the public academy for oratory,
philosophy, mathematics, and law. .The course lasted
five years ; and, on entering on their twentieth year,
their education was considered complete, and they were
sent home. If they studied the law, they were allowed
to stay, (for instance, in Berytus,) till their twenty-fifth
year ; a. permission, indeed, which was extended:in that
city to the students, in polite literature, or, as we should
now say, in Arts.
The number of youths> who went up to Rome for the
study of the Law, was considerable ; chiefly from Africa
and Gaul. Originally the Government had discouraged
foreigners in repairing to the metropolis, from, the
dangers it naturally presented to youth ; when their resi
dence there became a necessary evil, it contented itself
with imposing strict rules of discipline upon them., No
youth could obtain admission intp the Roman schools,
without a certificate signed by the magistracy of his

T02 Macedonian and Roman Schools.
province. Next, he presented himself before the
Magister Census, an official who was in the department'
ofthe Praefectus Urt)is, and who, besides his ordinary
duties, acted as Rector of the Academy. Next, his
name, city, age, and qualifications were entered in a
public register ; and a specification, moreover, of the
studies he proposed to pursue, and of the lodging-house
where he proposed to reside. He was amenable for his ,
conduct to the Censuales, as if they had been Proctors ;
and he was reminded that the eyes of the world were
upon him, that he had a character to maintain, and that
it was his duty to avoid clubs, of which the Govern
ment was jealous, riotous parties, and the 'public shows,
which were of daily occurrence and of most corrupting ,
nature. If he was refractory and disgraced himself,
he was to be publicly flogged, and shipped off at once
to his country. ThPse who acquitted themselves well,
were reported to the Government, and received public
appointments. The Professors were under the same
jurisdiction as the students, and were sometimes made to
feel it.
Of the schools planted through the Empire, the most
considerable were the Gallic and the African, of which
the latter had no good reputation, while the Gallic '
name stood especially high. Marseilles, ©ne of the
oldest of the Greek colonies, was' the most celebrated
of tlie schools of Gaul for learning and discipline. For
this reason, and from its position, it drew off numbers,
under the Empire, who otherwise would have repaired
to Athens. ' It was here that Agricola received his edu
cation ; " a school," says his biographer, " in which
Greek politeness was happily blended and tempered
with provincial strictness." The schools of Bourdeaux
and Autun also had a high name ; and Rheims received

Discipline. 103
the title of a new Athens. This appellation was also
bestowed upon the school of Milan. Besides these
countries, respectful mention is made of the schools of
Britain. As to Spain, the colonies there established are
even called, by one commentator on the Theodosian
code, " literary colonies ; " a singular title when Roriie is
concerned ; and, in fact, a considerable number of writers
of reputation came from Spain. Lucan, the Senecas,
Martial, perhaps Quintilian, Mela, Columella, and Hy-
ginuS1, are its contribution in the course of a century.
It will be seen that the Roman schools, as little as
Athens itself, answer to the precise idea of a modern
University. The Roman schools were for boys, or, at
least, adolescentuli : Agricola came to Marseilles when a
child, " parvulus." On the other hand, a residence at
Athens corresponded, rather to seeing the world, as in
touring and travelling, and was often delayed till the
season of education was over. Cicero went thither,
after his public career had begun, with a view to his
health, as well as to his pratory. St. Basil had already
studied at the schools of Caesarea and Cappadocia.
Sometimes young rnen on campaign, when quartered
near Athens, took the opportunity of attending her
schools. However, the case "was the same with Rome
so far as regards the departments of jurisprudence, and
general cultivation. We read both of Rusticus, the
correspondent of St. Jerome, and of St. Germanus of
Auxerre, coming to Rome, after attending -the Gallic
schools ;— the latter expressly in order to study the law ;
the former, for the same general purpose as might take
a student to Athens, to polish and perfect his style of
conversation and writing.
All this suggests to us, what of course must ever be
borne in mind, that, while the necessities of human

104 Macedonian and Roman Schools.
society and the nature of the case are guarantees to us
that such Schools of general education will ever be in
requisition, still they will be modified in detail by the
circumstances, and marked by the peculiarities, of the
age to which they severally belong.

i<>5

CHAPTER IX.
DOWNFALL AND REFUGE OF ANCIENT CIVILIZATION.
THE LOMBARDS.
THERE never was, perhaps, in the history of this
tumultuous world, prosperity so great, so far-
spreading, so lasting, as that which began throughout
the vast Empire of Rome, at the time when the Prince
of Peace was barn into it. Preternatural as was the
tyranhy of certain of the Caesars, it did not reach the
mass of the papulation ; and the reigns of the Five
good Emperors, who succeeded them, are proverbs of
wise and gentle government. The sale great exception
to this universal happiness was the cruel persecution of
the Christians ; the sufferings of a whole world fell and
were concentrated on them, and the children of heaven
were tormented, that the sons of men might enjoy their
revel. Their Lord, while His shadow brought peace
"upon earth, foretold that in the event He came to send
" not peace but a sword ; " and that sword was first let
loose upon His own people. "Judgment commenced
with the HouSe of God;" and though, as time went on, it
left Jerusalem behind, and began to. career round the world
and sweep the nations as it travelled on, nevertheless, as
if by some paradox of Providence, it seemed at first,
that truth and wretchedness had " met together," and sin
and prosperity had " kissed one another." The more the
heathens enjoyed themselves, the more they scorned,

1 06 Fall and Refuge of Ancient Civilization^.
hated, and persecuted their true Light and true Peace.
They persecuted Him, for the very reason that they had
little else to do ; happy and haughty', they saw in Him
the sole drawback, the sole exception, the sole hinder-
ance, to a universal, a continual sunshine ; they called
Him "the enemy of the human race:" and they felt
themselves bound, by their loyalty to , the glorious and
immortal memory of their forefathers, by their traditions
of state, and their duties towards their children, tD
trample upon, and, if they could, to stifld that teach
ing, which was destined to be the life and mould of a
new world.
But our immediate subject here is, not . Christianity,
but the world that passed away ; and before it passed, it
had, I say, a tranquillity great in proportion to its former;
commotions. Ages of trouble terminated in two cen
turies of peace. The present crust of the earth is said
to be the result of a long war of elements, and to have
been made so beautiful, so various, so rich, and so useful,
by the discipline of revolutions, by earthquake and
lightning, by mountains of water and seas of fire ; and
so in like manner, it required the events of two thou
sand years, the multiform fortunes of tribes and popu
lations, the rise and fall of kings, the mutual collision of
states, the 'spread of colonies, the vicissitudes and the
succession of conquests, and .the gradual adjustment and
settlement of innumerous discordant ideas and interests,
to carry on. the human race to unity, and to shape and
consolidate the great Roman Power. ,
And when once those unwieldy materials were welded
together into one mass, what human force could split
them up again? what "hammer of the earth" could
shiver at a stroke a solidity which it had taken ages to
form? Who can estimate the strength pf a political,

The Lombards. 107
establishment, which has been the slow birth of time ?
and what establishment ever equalled pagan Rome ?
Hence has come the proverb, "Rome was not built in a
day:" it was the portentous solidity of its power that
forced the gazer back upon an exclamation, which was
the relief of his astonishment, as being his solution of
the prodigy. And, when at length1 it was built, Rome,
so long in building, was " Eternal Rome : " it had been
done once for all; its being was inconceivable before
hand, and its not being was inconceivable afterwards.
It had been a miracle that it was brought to be; it
would take a second miracle that it should cease to be.
To remove it from its place was to cast a mountain into
the sea. Look at the Palatine Hill, penetrated, tra
versed, cased with brickwork, till it appears a work
of man, not of nature ; run your eye along the cliffs
from Ostia to Terracina, covered with the debris of
masonry ; gaze around the bay of Bais, whose rocks
have been made to serve as the foundations and the
walls of palaces ; and in those mere remains, lasting to
this day, you will have a type of the moral and political
strength of the establishments of Rome. Think of the
aqueducts making for th'e imperial city, for miles across
the plain ; think of the straight roads stretching off
again from that one centre to, the ends of the earth ;
consider 'the vast territory round about it strewn to this
day with countless ruins ; follow in your imagination its
suburbs, extending along its roads, for as much, at least
in some directions, as forty miles ; and number up its
continuous mass of population, amounting, ;as grave
authors say, to almost v six million ; and answer the
question, jiow was Rome ever to be got rid of? why
was it not to progress ? why was it not to progress for
ever ? where was that ancient civilization to end-? Such

1 08 Fall and Refuge of Ancient Civilization.
were the questionings and anticipations of thoughtful
minds,not specially proud or fond of Rome. "The world,"
says Tertullian, "has. more of cultivation everyday, and
is better furnished than in times of old. All places are
opened up now ; all are familiarly known ; all are scenes
of business. Smiling farms have obliterated the notori
ous wilderness ; tillage has tamed the forest land; flocks
have put to flight the beasts of prey. Sandy tracts are
sown ; rocks are put into shape ; marshes are drained.
There are more cities now, than there were cottages at
one time. Islands are no longer wild ; the crag is no
longer frightful ; everywhere there is a home, a popula
tion, a state, and a livelihood." Such was the prosperity,
such the promise of progress and permanence, in which
the Assyrian, the Persian, the Greek, the Macedonian ;
conquests had terminated.
Education had gone through a similar course of diffi
culties, and had a place in the prosperous result. First, ,
carried forth upon the wings of genius, and disseminated
by the energy of individual minds, or by the colonizing
missions of single cities, Knowledge was irregularly
extended to and fro over the spacious regions, of which
the Mediterranean is the common basin. Introduced,
in course of time, to a more intimate alliance with
political power, it received the means, at the date of
Alexander and his successors, both of its cultivation and
its propagation. It was formally recognized and en
dowed under the Ptolemies, and at length became a
direct object Of the solicitude of the government
under the Caesars. It was honoured and dispensed in
every considerable city of tlie Empire ; it temperedthe
political administration of the conquering people ; it
civilized the manners of a hundred barbarian conquests;
it gradually reconciled uncongenial, and associated dis-

The Lombards. 109
tant countries, with each other ; while it had ever
ministered to the fine arts, it now proceeded to subserve
the useful. It took in hand the reformation of the
world's religion ; it began to harmonize the legends of
discordant worships ; it purified the mythology by mak
ing it symbolical ; it interpreted it, and gave it a moral,
and explained away its idolatry. It began to develope
a system of ethics, it framed a code of laws: what might
not be expected of it, as time went on, ,were it not for
that illiberal, unintelligible, fanatical, abominable sect of
Galileans ? If they were allowed to make play, and
get power, what might not happen ? There again Chris
tians were in the way, as hateful to the philosopher, as
to the statesman. Yet in truth it was not in this quarter
that the peril of civilization lay : it lay in a very different
direction, over against the Empire to the North and
North-East, in a black cloud of inexhaustible barbarian
populations : and when the storm mounted overhead
and broke upon the earth, it was those scorned and
detested Galileans, and none but they, the men-haters
and God-despisers, who, returning good for evil, housed
and lodged the scattered remnants of that old world's wis
dom, which had so persecuted them, went forth valiantly
to meet the savage destroyer, tamed him without arms,
and became the founders of a new and higher civilization.
Not a man in Europe now, who talks bravely against
the Church, but owes it to the Church, that he can- talk
at all.
But what was to be the process, what the method,
what the instruments, what the place, for sheltering the
treasures of ancient intellect during the convulsion, of
bridging over the abyss, and of linking the old world to
the new ? In spite of the consolidation of its power,
Rome was to go, as all things human go, and vanish for

no Fall and Refuge of Ancient Civilization.
ever. In the words of inspiration, "Great Babylon came
in remembrance before God, and every island fled away,
and, the mountains were not found." All the fury of the
elements was directed against it ; and, as a continual'
dropping wears away the stone, so blow after blow, and
revolution after revolution, sufficed at last to heave up,
and hurl down, and smash into fragments, the noblest
earthly power that ever was. First came the Goth, thep
the Hun, and then the Lombard. The Goth took pos
session, but he was of noble nature, and soon lost his
barbarism. The Hun came next ; he was irreclaimable,
but did not stay. The Lombard kept both his savage-
ness and his ground ; he appropriated to himself the
territory, not the civilization of Italy, fierce as the Hun,
and powerful as the Goth, the most tremendous scourge
of -Heaven. In his dark presence the poor remains of
Greek and Roman splendour died away, and the world
went more rapidly to ruin, material and moral, than it
was advancing from triumph to triumph in the time of
Tertullian. Alas ! the change between Rome in the
hey-day of her pride, and in the agony of her judgment h*
Tertullian writes while she is exalted ; Tope Gregory
when she is in humiliation. He ,was delivering homilies
upon the Prophet Ezekiel, when the news came to Rome
of the advance of the Lpmbards uppn the city, and in the
course of them he several times burst out into lamenta^
tions at the news of miseries, which eventually obliged?"
him to cut short his exposition.
"Sights and sounds of war," he says, "meet us on
every side. The cities are destroyed ; the military
stations brpken up ; the land devastated ; the , earth
depopulated. No one remains in the country ; scarcely
any inhabitants in the tawns ; yet even the poor remains
of human kind are still smitten daily and without inter-

The Lombards. 1 1 1
mission. Before our eyes some are carried away captive,
some mutilated, some murdered. She herself, who once
was mistress of the world, we behold how Rome fares :
worn down by riianifold and incalculable distresses, the
bereavement of citizens, the attack of foes, the reiteration
of overthrows, where is her senate ? where are her
people ? We, the few survivors, are still the daily prey
of the sword and ' of other innumerable tribulations.
Where are they who in a former day revelled in her
glory ? where is their pomp, their pride, their frequent
and immoderate joy ? — youngsters, young men of the
world, congregated here from every quarter, where they
aimed at a secular advancement. Now no one hastens
up to her for preferment ; and so it is with other cities
also ; some places are laid waste by pestilence, others
are depopulated by the sword, others are tormented by
famine, and others are swallowed up by earthquakes." v
These words, far from being a rhetorical lam'ent, are
but a meagre statement of some of the circumstances of
a desolation, in which the elements themselves, as St.
Gregory intimates, as well as the barbarians, took a
principal part. In the dreadful age of that great Pope,
a plague spread from the lowlands of Egypt to the Indies
on the one hand, along Africa across to Spain on the
other, till, reversing its course, it reached the eastern
extremity of Europe. For fifty -two years did it retain
possession of the infected atmosphere, and, in Con
stantinople, during three months, five thousand, and at
length ten thousand, persons, are said to have died daily.
Many cities of the East were left without inhabitants ;
and in several districts of Italy there were no labourers
to gather either harvest or vintage. A succession of
earthquakes accompanied for years this heavy calamity.
Constantinople was shaken for ahove forty days. Two

112 Fall and Refuge of Ancient Civilization.
hundred and fifty thousand persons are said to have
perished .in the earthquake of. Antioch, crowded,,, as the.
city was, with strangers for the festival of the Ascension,
Berytus, the Eastern school of Roman jurisprudence,
called, from its literary and scientific importance, the eye
of Phoenicia, shared a similar fate. These, however,
were but local visitations. Cities are indeed the homes
of civilization, but -the wide earth, with her hill and dale,
open plain and winding valley, is its refuge. The bar
barian invaders, spreading over the country, like a flight
of locusts, did their best to destroy every fragment of
the old world, and every element of revival. Twenty-
nine public libraries had been founded at Rome ; but,
had these been destroyed, as in Antioch/ or Berytus, by
earthquakes or by conflagration, yet a large aggregate
of books would have still survived. Such collections,-!
had become a fashion and a luxury in the latter Empire>
and every colony and municipium, every larger temple,
every praetorium, the baths, and the private villas, had
their respective libraries, When the ruin swept across
the country, and these various libraries were destroyed,
then the patient monks had begun again, in their quiet
dwellings, to bring together, to arrange, to transcribe
and to catalogue ; but then again the new visitation of
the Lombards fell, and Monte Cassino, the famous
metropolis of the Benedictines, not to. mention monas
teries of lesser note, Was sacked and destroyed.
Truly was Christianity revenged on that ancient civi
lization for the persecutions which it had inflicted on
Christianity, Man ceased from the earth, and his works
with him. The arts of life, architecture, engineering,
agriculture, were alike brought to npughh The waters
were let out over the face of the country ; arable and
pasture lands were drowned ;. landmarks disappeared,

The Lombards. m^
Pools and lakes intercepted the thoroughfares ; whole
districts became pestilential marshes; the strong stream,
or the abiding morass, sapped and obliterated the very
site of cities. Here the' mountain torrent cut a channel
in the plain ; there it elevated ridges across it ; elsewhere
it disengaged masses of rock and earth in its precipitous
passage, and, hurrying them on, left them as islands in
the midst of the flood. Forests overspread the land, in
rivalry of the waters, and became the habitation of wild
animals, of wolves, and even bears. The dwindled race
of man lived in scattered huts, of mud, where best they
might avoid marauder, and pestilence, and inundation ;
or clung together for mutual defence in cities, where
wretched cottages, on the ruins of marble palaces, over
balanced the security of numbers by the frequency of
conflagration. In such a state of things, the very mention of educa
tion was a mockery, the very aim and effort to exist was
occupatiori enough for mind and body. The heads of
the Church bewailed a universal ignorance, which they
could not remedy ; it was a great thing that schools re
mained sufficient for clerical education, and this educa
tion was only sufficient, as Pope Agatho informs us, to
enable them to hand on the traditions of the Fathers,.
without" scientific exposition or polemical defence. In
that Pbpe's time, the great Council of Rome, in its letter
to the Emperor ofthe East, who had asked for Episcopal.
legates of correct life and scientific knowledge of the
Scriptures, made answer, that, if by science was meant
knowledge of revealed truth, the demand could be sup
plied ; not, if more was required ; "since," continue the
Fathers, " in these parts, the fury of our various heathen
foes is ever breaking out, whether in conflicts, or in in
roads and " rapine. Hence our life is simply one of

H4 F11^ and Refuge of Ancient Civilization.
anxiety of soul and labpur of body ; of anxiety, because
we are in the midst of the heathen ; of labour, because the
maintenance, which used to come to us as ecclesiastics,
is at an end ; so that faith is our only substance, to live
in its possession our highest glory, to die for it our
eternal gain." The" very profession of the clergy is the
knowledge of letters : if even these lost it, would others
retain it in their miseries, to ,whom it was no duty ?
And what then was the hope and prospect of the world
in the generations which were to follow ?
"What is coming ? what is to be the end?" Such was
the question, that weighed so heavily upon the august
line of Pontiffs, upon whom rested " the solicitude of all
the churches," and whose failure in vigilance and de
cision in that miserable time would had been the loss of
ancient learning, and the. indefinite postponement of new
civilization. What could be done for art, -science, and
philosophy, when towns had been burned up, and country,.
devastated ? ,In such distress, islands, or deserts, or the
mountain-top have commonly been the retreat, to which
in the last instance the hopes of humanity have been
conveyed. Thus the monks of the fourth century had
preserved the Catholic faith from the tyranny of Arianism .-;*
in the Egyptian desert ; and so the inhabitants of Lom-
bardy had taken refuge from the Huns in the shallows
¦ of the Adriatic ; so too just then the Christian Goths
were biding their time to revenge themselves on the
Saracens, in the mountains of Asturias. Where should
the Steward of the Household deposit the riches, which »
his predecessors had inherited from Jew and heathen, th<
things old as well as new, in an age, in which each suc
ceeding century threatened therii with woes worse than
the centuries which had gone before ! Pontiff after Pontiff
looked out from the ruins of the Imperial City, which i

The Lombards. 1 1 5
were to be his ever-lasting, ever-restless throne, if per
chance some place was to be found, more tranquil than
his own, where the hope of the future might be lodged.
They looked over the Earth, towards great cities and
far provinces, and whether it was Gregory, or Vitalian,
or Agatho, or Leo, their eyes had all been drawn in one
directiPn, and fixed upon one quarter for that purpose, —
not to the East, from which the light of knowledge had
arisen, not to the West, whither it had spread, — but to
the North.
High in the region, of the North, beyond the just
limits of the Roman world, though partly included in
its range, so secluded and secure in their sea-encircled
domain, that they have been thought to be the fabulous
Hesperides, where heroes dwelt in' peace, lay two sister
islands, — whose names and histories, warned by my
diminished space, I must, reserve for another Chapter.

n6

• CHAPTER X.
i
THE TRADITION OF CIVILIZATION.
THE ISLES OF THE NORTH.
WHATEVER were the real causes of'thevdownfall
of the ancient civilization, its immediate instru
ment was the fury of the barbarian invasions, directed
again and again against the institutions in which it was •
embodied. First one came down upon the devoted
Empire, and then another ; and " that which the palmar
worm left, the locust ate ; and what the locust, left, the
mildew destroyed." Nay, this succession of assaults did
not merely carry on and finish the process of destruction,
but rather undid the promise and actual prospect of
recovery. In the interval between blow and blowy there
was a direct tendency to a revival of what had been
trodden down, and a restoration of what had been de
faced ; and that, not only from any such reaction as
might take place in the afflicted population itself, when
the crisis was over, but frofri the incipient domestication
of the conqueror, and the introduction of a new and
vigorous element into theparty and cause of civilization.
The fierce soldier was vanquished by the captive of his
sword and bow. The beauty of the southern climate,
the richness of its productions, the material splendour of
its cities, the majesty of the imperial organization, the
spontaneous precision pf a routine administration, the
influence of religion upon the imagination and the affec-

The Isles ofthe North.. 117
tions, antiquity, rule, name, prescription, and territory,
presented to him in visible and recognized forms, — in a
word, the conservative power proper to establishments, —
awed, overcame, and won, the sensitive and noble savage.
" Order is heaven's first law," and bears upon it the
impress of divinity ; and it has an especial power over
those minds which have had least experience of it. The
Goth not only took pay, and sought refuge, from the
Empire, but, still more, when, instead of dependent, he
was lord and master, he' found himself absorbed into and
assimilated with the civilization, upon which he had
violently thrust himself. Had he been left in possession,
great revolutions certainly, but not dissolution, would
have been the destiny of the social framework ; and the
tradition of science and of the arts of life would have
been unbroken.
Thus, in the midst of the awful events which were
then in progress, "there were intervals of respite and of
hope. The day of wrath seemed to be passing away.;
things began to look up, and the sun was on the point
of coming out again. Statesmen, who watched the
signs of the times, perhaps began to say, that at last
they did think that the worst was over, and that there
were good grounds for looking hopefully at the state of
affairs. Addlphus, the successor of Alaric, took on him
self the obligations of a Roman general, assumed the
Roman dress, 'accepted the Emperor's sister in marriage,
and opposed in arms the fiercer barbarians who had
overrun Spain. The sons of Theodoric the Visigoth
were taught Virgil and Roman Law in the schools of
Gaul. Theodoric, the Ostrogoth, anxiously preserved
the ancient monuments of Rome, and ornamented the
cities of Italy with new edifices ; he revived agriculture,
promoted commerce, and patronized literature. But the

1 1 8 The Tradition of Civilization.
Goth was not to retain the booty which the Roman had
been obliged to relinquish ; he had soon, in company
with his former foe, to repel the Vandal, the Hun, or the
Frank ; or, weakened from within, to yield, to the
younger assailants who were to succeed' him. Then the
whole work of civilization had to begin again — if indeed
there was to be a new begining ; or rather there was not
life enough left in its poor remains, to vivify the fresh
mass of barbarism which fell heavily upon it, or even to
save itself from a final extinction. As great' Caesar fell,
not under one, but under twenty strokes ; so it was only
by many a cleaving, riiany a shattering blow, "scalpri
frequentis ictibus et tunsione plurima," that the existing
fabric of the old world, to which Caesar, more than any
other, had given name and form, Was battered down. It
was the accumulation, the reiteration of calamities, in
every quarter and through a long, period, by " the rain
falling, and the floods; coming, and the winds blowing .
and breaking upon that house," that it fell, "and great
was the fall thereof."
The judgments of God were upon the earth, and " the
clouds returned after the rain ; " and as a thunder cloud
careers arbund the sky, and condenses suddenly here or
there, and repeats its - violence when it seems to have
been spent, so was it with the descent of the North upon
the South. There was scarcely a province of the great
Empire, but twice or thrice had to sustain attack, invasion, J
or occupation, from the barbarian. Till the termination
of the reign of the Antonines, for a hundred and fifty
years, the long peace continued, which the Prince, of
Peace brought with Him ;, then a fitful century of cloud
and sunshine, hope and fear, suspense and affliction; till
at length, just at the middle of the third century of our
era, the trumpet sounded, and the time of visitation f;

'I he Isles of the North. 119
began. The tremendous period opened in a great
pestilence, and in an eruption of the barbarians both on
the East and on the West. The pestilence lasted for
fifteen years ; and, though sooner brought to an end than
that more awful pestilence in St. Gregory's day with
which the season of judgment closed, yet in that fifteen
years it made its way into every region and city ofthe
Empire. Many cities were emptied ; Rome at one time
lost 5,000 inhabitants, daily, Alexandria lost half her
population. As to the barbarians, the Franks on the
West descended into Spain ; and the Goths on the East
into Asia Minor.
Asia Minor had had a long peace of three hundred
years, a phenomenon almost solitary in the history of the
world, and difficult for the imagination to- realize. Its
cities were unwalled ; military duties had been abolished ;
the taxes were employed on the public buildings and the
well-being and enjoyments of life; the face of the coun
try was decorated and diversified by the long growth and
development of vegetation, by the successive accumula
tions of art, and by the social memorials and reminis
cences of nine peaceful generations. Its parks and groves,
its palaces and temples, were removed further by a hun
dred years from the injuries of warfare, than England is
now from the ravages of the Great Rebellion. Down
came the Goths from Prussia, Poland, and the Crimea ;
they sailed along the Euxine, ravaged Pontus and
Bithynia, sacked the wealthy Trebizond arid Chalcedon,
and burned the imperial Nicaea and Nicomedia, and other
great cities of the country ; then they fell upon Cyzicus
and the cities on the. coast, and finally demolished the
famous temple- of Diana; at Ephesus, the wonder of the
world. Then they passed over to the opposite continent,
sacked Athens, and spread dismay and confusion, if not

120 The Tradition of Civilization.
conflagration, through both upper Greece and the
Peloponnese. At the same solemn era, the Franks fell
upon Spain, and ran through the whole of it, destroying
flourishing cities, whose ruins lay on the- ground for
centuries, nor stopped till they had crossed into Africa. ,
A second 'time, at a later date, was Spain laid waste
by the Vandals and their confederates, with an utter
desolation of its territory. Famine became so urgent,
that human flesh was eaten ; pestilence so rampant, that
the wild beasts multiplied among the works of man..
Passing on to Africa, these detestable savages cut down
the very fruit-trees, as they went, in the wantonness of
their fury ; and the inhabitants of the plundered cities
fled away with such property as they could save beyond
sea. A new desolation of Africa took place two centuries
later, when the Saracens passed in a contrary direction
from Egypt into Spain.
Nor were the Greek and Asiatic provinces, more than
the West, destined to be protected against successive in
vasions. Scarcely a hundred years had passed since the
barbarian Goth had swept so fiercely each side of the
Egean, when additional blows fell upon Europe and Asia
from fresh enemies. In Asia the Huns poured down
.upon Cappadocia, Cilicia, and Syria, scaring the pagans
of Antioch, and the monks and pilgrims of Palestine,
silencing at once the melody of immodest song and of
holy chant, till they came to the entrance of Egypt. In
Europe it was the Goths again, who descended with fire
and sword into Greece, desolated the rich lands of Phocis
and Bceotia, destroyed Eleusis and its time-honoured
superstitions; and passing into the Peloponnese, burned *
its cities and enslaved its population. About the same
time the fertile and cultivated tract, stretching from the
Euxine to the Adriatic, was devastated by the same

The Isles of the North. 1 2 1
reckless invaders, even to the destruction ofthe brute
creation. Sixty years afterwards the same region was
overrun by the still more terrible Huns, who sacked as
many as seventy cities, and carried off their inhabitants.
This double scourge, of which Alaric and Attila are the
earlier and later representatives, travelled up the country
northwards, and thence into Lombardy, pillaging, burn
ing, exterminating, as it went along.
What Huns and Goths were to the South, such were
Germans, Huns, and Franks tp Gaul. That famous
country, though in a less favoured climate, was as culti
vated and happy as Asia Minor after its three centuries
of peace. The banks of the Rhine are said to have been
lined with villas and farms ; the schools of Marseilles,
Autun, and Bordeaux, vied with those of the East, and
even with that of Athens ; opulence had had its civilizing
effect upon their manners, and familiarity with the
Latin classics upon their native dialect. At the time
that Alaric was carrying his ravages from Greece into
Lombardy, the fierce Burgundians and other Germans,
to the number of 200,000 fighting men, fell upon Gaul ;
and, to use the words of a well-known historian, "the
scene of peace and plenty was suddenly changed into a
desert, and the prospect of the smoking ruins could alone
distinguish the solitude of nature from the 'work of man."
The barbarian torrent, sweeping away cities and in
habitants, spread frbm the banks of the Rhine to the
Atlantic and the Pyrenees. Fifty years later a great
portion ofthe same region was devastated with like ex
cesses by the H uns ; and in the intervals between the
two visitations, -destructive inroads, or rather permanent
occupations, were effected by the Franks and Burgun
dians. As to Italy, with Rome as a centre, its multiplied

122 , The Tradition of Civilization.
miseries are too familiarly known to require illustration.
I need not enlarge upon the punishments inflicted on it
by German, Goth, Vandal, Hun, and Byzantine, who in
those same centuries overspread the country, or upon the
destruction of cities, villas, monasteries, of every place
where literature might be stored, or civilization trans
mitted to posterity. Barbarians occupied the broad
lands of nobles and senators ; mercenary bands infested
its roads, and tyrannized in its towns and its farins;
even the, useful arts were gradually forgotten, and the
ruins of its cities sufficed for the remnant of its citizens..
Such was the state of things, when, after the gleam of
prosperity and hope which accompanied the Gothic
ascendency, at length the Lombards came down in the
age of St. Gregory, a more fatal foe than any before, to
complete the desolation of the garden of Europe.
Encompassed then by such calamities, present and
hereditary,, through such a succession of centuries and in
such a multitude of countries, where should. the Roman
Pontiff look for a refuge- of learning, sacred arid profane,
when the waters were out all over the earth ? What
place shall he prepare, what people shall he choose, with
a view to a service, the more necessary in proportion as
'it was difficult ? I know where it must be ; doubtless
in the old citadel of science, which hitherto had been
safe frorn the spoiler, — in Alexandria. The city and
country Pf the Ptolemies was inviolate as yet ; the Huns
had stopped on its eastern, the Vandals at. its western
boundary ; and though Athens and Rhodes, Carthage
and Madaura, Cordova and Lerida, Marseilles, and
Bordeaux, Rheims and Milan, had been overrun by the
barbarian, yet the Museum,, the greatest of all schools,,
and the Serapeum,. the largest of all libraries, had re
covered from the civil calamities which had pressed upon:

The Isles of the North. 123
them in a past century, and were now far away from the
Lombard, who was the terror of the age. It would have
been a plausible representation in the age of St. Gregory
and his immediate successors, if human wisdom had been
their rule of judgment, that they must strengthen their
alliance, since they could not with ambitious and
schismatical Constantinople, at least with Alexandria.
Yet to Alexandria they did not turn, and in fact, before
another century had passed, Alexandria itself was taken,
and her library burned by an enemy, more hostile to re
ligion, if not to philosophy,, even than the Lombard.
The instinctive sagacity of Popes, when troubled about
the prospective fortunes of the human race, did not look
for a place of refuge to a city which' had done great
services to science and literature in its day, but was soon
to fall for ever, - ' ,
The" weak and contemptible things of this world are
destined to bring to nought and to confound the strong
and noble. High up in the North,, above the continent
of Europe, lay two sister islands, ample in size, happy in
soil and climate, and beautiful in the face of the country.
Alas ! that the passions of man should alienate from one
another; those whom nature- and religion had bound to
gether! So far away were they from foreign foes, that
one of them the barbarians had never reached, and though
a solitary wave of their invasion has passed over the
other, it was not destined tp be followed by a second for _
some centuries. In those days the larger of the two
was called Britannia, the lesser Hibernia. The latter
was then the seat of a flourishing Church, abounding
in the fruits of sanctity, learning, and zeal ; the for
mer, at least its southern half, had formed part of the
Empire, had partaken both of its civilization and its
Christianity, but had lately been occupied, with the ex-

1 24 The Tradition of Civilization.
termination of its population, by the right wing of the
great barbaric host which was overrunning Europe. I
need but allude to a well-known history ; we all recollect
how some of those pagan invaders of Britain were brought
for sale in the slave-market at Rome, and were taken as
samples of their brethren by the great Saint so often
mentioned in these pages, who succeeded at length in
buying the whole race, not for any human- master, but
for Christ.
St. Gregory, who, amid his troubles at Rome, engaged
in this sacred negotiation, was led by his charity towards
a particular people, to do a deed which resulted in sur
passing benefits on the whole of Christendom. Here
lay the answer to the prayers and questionings of him
self and other holy Popes, and the solution of the great
problem which had so anxiously perplexed their minds."
The old world was to .pass away, and its wealth .and
wisdom with it ; but these two islands were to be the
storehouse of the past and the birthplace of the future.
A diyine purpose ruled his act of love towards the
Anglo-Saxon race ; or, if we ascribe it to the- special
prescience proper to Popes, then we may say that it was
inspired by what he saw already realized in his own day,
in the instance of the remarkable people planted from
. time immemorial on the sister island. For the Celt, it
cannot be denied, preceded the Anglo-Saxon, not only
in his Christianity, but in his cultivation and custody of
learning, religious and secular, and again in "his special
zeal for its propagation ; and St. Gregory, in evangelizs-
ing England, was but following the example of St.
Celestine. Let us on this point hear the words of an
historian, who has high claims on the respect and grati
tude of this generation :¦ —
" During the sixth and seventh centuries," says Dr.

I he Isles of the North. 125
Ddllinger, "the Church "of Ireland stood in the full
beauty of its bloom. The spirit of the gospel operated
amongst the people with a vigorous and vivifying
power ; troops of holy men, from the highest to the
lowest ranks of society, obeyed the counsel of Christ,
and forsook all things, that they might follow Him.
There was not a country of the world, during this
peripd, which could boast of pious foundations or of
religious communities equal to those that adorned this
far distant island. Ampng the Irish,, the doctrines of
the Christian Religion were preserved pure and entire ;
the names of heresy or of schism were not known to
them ; and in the Bishop of Rome they acknowledged
and venerated the Supreme Head of the Church on
earth,- and continued with him, and through him with
the whole Church, in a never interrupted communion^
The schools in the Irish cloisters were at this time the
most celebrated in all the West ; and in addition to
thpse which have been already mentioned, there
flourished the Schools of St. Finian of Clonard, founded
in 530, and those of Cataldus, founded in 640. Whilst
almost the whole of Europe was desolated by war,
peaceful Ireland, free from the invasions of external
foes, -opened to the lovers of learning and piety a wel
come asylum. The strangers, who visited the island,
not only from the neighbouring shores of Britain, but
also from the most remote nations of the Continent,
received from the Irish people the most hospitable re
ception, a gratuitous entertainment, free instruction,
and even the books that were necessary for their
studies.' Thus in the year 536, in the time of St.
^Senanus, there arrived at Cork, from the Continent,
fifteen monks, who were led thither by their desire to
perfect themselves in the practices of an ascetic life

126 , The Tradition of Civilization.
under Irish directors, and to study the Sacred Scrip
tures in the school established near that city. At a
- later period, after the year 650, the Anglo-Saxons in
particular passed over to Ireland in great numbers for
the same laudable purposes. On the other hand, many
holy and learned Irishmen left their own country to
proclaim the faith, to .establish or to reform monasteries
in distant lands, and thus to become the benefactors of
almost every nation in Europe."'
Such was St. Columba, who is the Apostle of the
Northern Picts in the sixth century; such St. Fridolin
in the beginning of the same century, who, after long
labours in France, established himself on the Rhine;
such the far-famed Columbanus, who, at its' end, was
sent with twelve of his brethren to preach in France,
Burgundy, Switzerland, and Lombardy, where he died.'
All these great acts and encouraging events had taken
place, ere yet the Anglo-Saxon race was converted to
the faith, or at least while, it was still under education
for its own part in extending it ; and thus in the con
temporary or previous labours of the Irish the Pope
found, an encouragement, as time went on,- boldly to
prosecute that conversion and education of the English^
which was beginning with such good promise, — and not"
only in the labours of the Irish missionaries elsewhere, for
in England itself, as the writer I have quoted intimates,
they had already commenced their evangelical work.
"The foundation of many of the English sees;". he
says, " is due to Irishmen ; the Northumbrian diocese
was for many years governed by them, and the abbey
of Lindisfarne, which was peopled by Irish monks and
their Saxon disciples, spread far around it its all-bless
ing influence. These holy men served God and not
the world ; they possessed neither gold nor silver, and

The Isles of the North. 127
all that they received from the rich, passed through
their hands into the hands of the poor. Kings and
nobles visited them from time to time, only to pray in
their churches, or to listen to their sermons ; and as
long as they remained in the cloisters, they were con
tent with the humble food of the brethren. Wherever
one of these ecclesiastics or monks came, he was re
ceived by all with joy; and whenever he was seen
journeying across the country, the people streamed
around him to implore his benedictiqn and to hearken
to his words. The priests entered the villages -only to
preach or to administer the sacraments ; and so free
were they from avarice, that it was only when com
pelled by the rich* and noble, that they would accept
lands for the erection of monasteries.. Thus has Bede
described the Irish bishops, priests, and monks of
Northumbria, although so displeased with their custom
of celebrating Easter. Many Anglo-Saxons passed
over to Ireland, where they received a most hospitable
reception in the monasteries and schools. In crowds,
numerous as bees, as Aldhelm writes, the English went
to Ireland, or the Irish visited England, where the
Archbishop Theodore was surrounded by Irish scholars.
Of the most celebrated Anglo-Saxon scholars and
saints, many had studied in Ireland ; among these were
St. Egbert, the author of the first Anglo-Saxon mission
to the pagan continent, and the blessed Willebrod, the
Apostle of the Frieslanders, who had resided twelve
years in Ireland. From the- same abode of virtue and
of learning, came forth two English priests, both named
Ewald, who in 690, went as messengers of the gospel
to the German, Saxons, and received from them the
crown of martyrdom; An Irishman, Mailduf, founded,
in the year 670, a school, which- afterwards grew into

128 The Tradition of Civilization.
the famed Abbey of Malmesbury ; among his scholars
was St. Aldhelm, afterwards Abbot of Malmesbury,
and first bishop of Sherburne or Salisbury, and whom,
after two centuries, Alfred pronounced to be the best
of the Anglo-Saxon poets."
The seventh and eighth centuries are the glory 'of the
Anglo-Saxon Church, as are the sixth, and seventh of
the Irish. As the Irish missionaries travelled down
through England, France, and Switzerland, to lower
Italy, and attempted Germany at the peril of their
lives," converting the barbarian, restoring the lapsed,
encouraging the desolate, collecting the scattered, and
founding churches, schools, and monasteries, as they
went along ; so, amid the deep pagan woods of Germany
and round about, the English Benedictine plied his axe
and drove his plough, planted his rude dwelling and
raised his rustic altar upon the ruins of idolatry, and
then settling down as a colonist upon the soil, began to'
sing his chants and to copy his old volumes, and thus to
lay the slow but sure foundations of the new civilization.
Distinct, nay antagonistic, in character and talent, the
one nation and the other, Irish and English, the one
more resembling the Greek, the other the Roman, open
from the first perhaps to jealousies as well as rivalries,
they consecrated their respective gifts to the Almighty
Giver, and, labouring together for the same great end,
they obliterated whatever there was pf human infirmity
in their mutual intercourse by the merit of their common
achievements. Each by turn could claim preeminence
in the contest of sanctity and of learning. In the schools
of science England has no name to rival Erigena in origin
ality, or St. Virgil in freedom of thought; nor among-
its canonized women any saintly virgin to compare' with
St. Bridget ; nor, although it has ISP saints in its calens

' The Isles of the Northi. 129
dar, can it pretend to equal that Irish multitude which the
Book of Life alone is large enough to contain. Nor can
Ireland, on the other hand, boast of a doctor such as St.
Bede, or of an Apostle equal to St. Boniface, or of a
Martyr like St. Thomas, — or of so long a catalogue of royal
devotees as that of the thirty male or female Saxons
who in the course of two centuries resigned their crowns,
or as the roll of twenty-three kings, and sixty queens
and princes, who,. between the seventh and the eleventh
centuries, gained a place among the saints. Yet, after
all, the Irish, whose brilliancy of genius has sometimes
been considered, like the Greek, to augur fickleness and
change, have managed to persevere to this day in the
science of the saints, long after their. ancient rivals have
lost the gift of faith.
But I am not writing a history of the Church, nor ot
England or Ireland; but tracing the fortunes of litera
ture. When Charlemagne arose upon the Continent,
the special mission of the two islands was at an end ;
and accordingly Ragnor Lodbrog with his Danes then.
began his -descents upon their coasts. Yet they were not
superseded, till they had formally handed over the tradi
tion of learning to the schools of France, and had written
their immortal names on one and the same page of
history. The Anglo-Saxon Alcuin;was the: first Rector,
and the Irish Clement the second, of the Studium of
Paris.. Iri the same age the Irish John was sent to found
the school of Pavia ; and, when the heretical Claudius
of Turin exulted over the ignorance of the devastated
Churches of the Continent, and called the Synod of
Bishops, who summoned him, " a congregation of asses,"
it was no other than the Irish Dungall, a monk of St.
Denis, who met and overthrew the presumptuous railer.

13°

CHAPTER XT.
A CHARACTERISTIC OF THE POPES.
ST. GREGORY THE GREAT.
DETACHMENT, as we know from spiritual books,
is a rare and high Christian virtue ; a great Saint,
St. Philip Neri, said that, if he had a dozen really de
tached men, he should be able to convert the world. To
be detached is to be loosened from every tie which binds
the soul to the earth, to be dependent on nothing sub
lunary, to lean on nothing temporal ; it is to care simply
nothing what other men choose to think or say of us, or
do to us .; to go about our own work, because it is our
duty, as soldiers go to battle, without a care for the con
sequences ; to account credit, honour, name, easy cir
cumstances, comfort, human affections, just nothing at
all, when any religious obligation involves the sacrifice
of them. It is to be as reckless of all these goods qf life
on such occasions, as under ordinary circumstances we
are lavish and wanton, if I must take an example, in our
use of water, — or as we make a present of our words
without grudging to friend or stranger, — or as we get rid
of wasps or flies or gnats, which trouble us, without any
sort of compunction, without hesitation before the act,
and without a second thought after it.
Now this " detachment " is one of the special ecclesie
astical virtues of the Popes. They are of all men most
exposed to the temptation of secular connections ; and,

Si. Gregory the Great. 131
as history tells us, they have been of all men least subject
to it. By their very office they are brought across every
form of earthly power ; for they have a mission to high
as well as low, and it is on the high, and not the low,
that their maintenance ordinarily depends. Caesar
ministers to Christ ; the framework of society, itself a
divine ordinance, receives such important aid from the
Sanction of religion, that it is its' interest in turn to uphold
religion, and to enrich it with temporal gifts and honours.
Ordinarily speaking, then, the Roman Pontiffs owe their
exaltation to the secular power, and have a great stake
in its stability and prosperity. Under such circumstances,
any men but they would have had a strong leaning to
wards what is called " Conservatism ; " and they have been,'
and are, of course Conservatives in the right sense of
the word ; that is, "they cannot bear anarchy, they think
revolution an evil, they pray for the peace of the world
and the prosperity of all Christian States, and they
effectively support the cause of order and good govern
ment. The name of Religion is but another name for
law on the one hand, freedom on the other ; and at this
very. time, who are its professed enemies, but Socialists,
Red Republicans, Anarchists, and Rebels ? But" a Con
servative, in the political sense of the word, commonly
signifies something else, which the Pope never is, and
cannot be. It means a man who is at the top ofthe tree,
and knows it, and means never to come down, whatever
it may cost him to keep his place there. It means a
man who upholds government and society and the exist
ing state of things, — not because it exists,— not because
it is good and desirable,.because it is established, because it
is a benefit to the population, because it is full of promise
for the future,— but rather because he himself is well off
in consequence of it, and because to take care of number

132 A Characteristic of the Popes'.
one is his .main political principle. It means a man who
defends religion, not for religion's salce, but for the sake
of its accidents and externals ; and in this sense Conser
vative a Pope can never be, without a simple betrayal
of the dispensation committed to him. „ Hence at this"
very moment the extreme violence against the Holy See,
of the British legislature and constituency and their
newspapers and other organs, mainly because it will not
identify the cause of civil government with its own, be
cause, while it ever benefits this world, it ever con
templates the world unseen.
So much, however,, is intelligible enough ; but there is
a. more subtle form of Conservatism, by which ecclesias
tical persons are much more likely to be tempted and
overcome, and to which also the Popes are shown in
history to be superior. l Temporal possessions and natural
gifts may rightly be dedicated to the service of religion;
however, since they do not lose their old nature by
being, invested by a new mission or quality, they still
possess the pabulum of temptation, and may be fatal to
ecclesiastical "detachment." To prefer the .establish
ment of religion to its purity, is Conservatism, though
in a plausible garb.. It was once of no uncommon
occurrence for saintly Bishops, in the time of famine or
war, to break up the Church plate and sell it, in order
to relieve the hungry or to redeem the- captives by the
sums which it brought them. Now this proceeding was
not unfrequently urged against them in their day as some ,
great offence; but the Church has always justified them."
Here we see, as in a typical instance, both the wrong
Conservatism, of which I am speakings and its righteous
repudiation. This fault is an over-attachment to the eccle
siastical establishment, as such ; — to the seats of its. power,
to its holy places, its sanctuaries, churches, and palaces, ,

St. Gregory the Great. 133
— to its various national hierarchies, with their several
prescriptions, privileges, and possessions, — to traditional
lines of policy, precedent, and discipline, — to rules and
customs of long standing. But a great Pontiff must be
detached' from everything save the deposit of faith, the
tradition of the Apostles, and the vital principles of the
divine polity. He may use, he may uphold, he may
and will be very slow to part with, a, hundred things
which have grown up, or taken shelter, or are stored,
under the shadow of the Church; but, at bottom, and
after all, he will be simply detached from pomp and
etiquette, secular rank, secular learning, schools and
libraries, Basilicas and Gothic cathedrals, old ways, old
alliances, and old friends. He will be rightly jealous of
their loss, but still he will " know nothing but " , Him
whose Vicar he is ; he will not stake his fortunes, he will
not rest his cause, upon any one else : — this is what he
will do, and what he will not do, as in fact the great
Popes of history have shown, in their own particular
instances, on so many and various occasions.
Take the early Martyr-Popes, or the Gregories and
the Leos ; whether .they were rich or poor, in power or
in persecution, they were simply detached from every
earthly thing save the Rock of Peter. This was their
adamantine foundation, their starting-point in every
enterprise, their refuge in every calamity, the point of
leverage by Which they moved the world. Secure in
this, they have let other things come and go, as they
would ; or haye deliberately made light of what they
had, in order that they might gain what they had not.
They have known, in the fulness of an heroic faith, that,
. while they were true to themselves and to their divinely
appointed position, they 'could not but "inherit the
earth," and that, if they lost ground here, it was only

134 / -A Characteristic of Ihe Popes.
to make progress elsewhere. Old men usually get fond
of old habits; they cannot imagine, understand,, relish
any thing to winch they are not accustomed. The
Popes have been old men ; but, wonderful to say, they
have never been slow to venture- out upon a new line,
when it was necessary, and had ever been looking about,
sounding, exploring, taking observations, reconnoitring,
attempting, even when there was no immediate reason
why they should not let well alone, as the world would
say, or even when they were hampered with difficulties
at their door so great, that you would think that they
had no time or thought to spare for anything in the
distance. It is but a few years ago that a man of eighty,
of humble origin, the most Conservative of Popes, as he
was considered, with disaffection and sedition upheaving
his throne, was found to be planning missions for the
, interior of Africa, and, when a moment's opportunity
was given him, made the most autocratical of Emperors,
the very hope of Conservatives, the very terror of
Catholics, quail beneath his glance. And, thus inde
pendent of times and places, the Popes have" never
found any difficulty, when the proper moment came, of
following out a new and daring line of policy (as their
astonished foes have called it), of leaving the old world
to shift for itself and to disappear from the scene in its
due season, and of fastening on and establishing them
selves in the new.
I am led to this line ' of thought by St. Gregory's be
haviour - to the Anglo-Saxon race, on the break-up of
the old civilization. I am not mentioning our people
for their own sake, but because they furnish an instance
of that remarkable trait in the . character of Popes, of
which I have been speaking. One would have thought
that in the age of St. Gregory, a Pope had enough to do

St. Gregory the Great. 13 c
in living on from day to day, without troubling, himself
about the future ; that, with the Lombard at his doors,
he would not have had spirit to set about converting the
English ; and that, if he was anxious about the preser
vation of learning, he would have looked- elsewhere than
to the Isles of the North, for its refuge in the evil day.
Why,T repeat, was it not easier, safer, and more feasi
ble for him to have made much of the prosperous,
secure, and long established schools of Alexandria,
when the enemy went about him. plundering.and burning ?
He was not indeed on the best terms with Constantino
ple ; Antioch was exposed to other enemies, and had
suffered from them already ; but Alexandria was not
only learned and protected, but was a special ally of the
Holy See ; yet Alexandria was put aside for England
and Ireland.
With what pertinacity of zeal does Gregory send his
missionaries to England! with what an appetite he
waits for the tidings of their progress ! with what a
relish he dwells over the good news, when they are able
to send it ! He wrote back to Augustine in words of
triumph: — "'Gloria in excelsis Deo,' "he says, '"et in
terra, pax hominibus bonae voluntatis ! ' for the Grain of
corn died and was buried in the earth, that It might
reign with a great company in Heaven, — by whose
death we live, by whose weakness we are strengthened,
by whose sufferings we escape suffering, by whose love
we are seeking in Britain brothers whom we know not
of, by whose gift we find those whom, not knowing, we
were seeking. Who can describe the joy, which was
caused in the hearts of all the faithful here, on the news
that the English nation, by the operation of the grace of
the Omnipotent God, and by your labours, my brother,
'had been rescued from the shades of error and over-

136 A Characteristic of the Popes.
spread with the light of holy faith ! If on one- penitent
.there is great .joy in heaven, what, think we, does it be-
'come, when a whole people has turned from its error,
and has betaken itself to faith, and condemned the evil
it has done by repenting of the doing ! Wherefore in
this joy of Heaven and Angels, let me say once more
the very Angels' words, ' Gloria in excelsis Deo, et in
terra pax hominibus bonae voluntatis.'"
What were these outer barbarians to Gregpry ? how
could they relieve him or profit him ? What compensa
tion could they make for what the Church was then
losing, or might lose in future ? Yet he corresponds
with their king and queen, urges them to complete
what they had so happily begun, reminds Bertha of St.
Helena, and what St. Helena did for the Romans, and
Ethelbert, of the great Constantine ; informs them of
the satisfaction which their conversion had given to the
Imperial Court at Constantinople, and sends them sacred
presents from the Apostle Peter. Nay he cannot keep
from talking of these savages, apropos of anything what
ever, for they have been running in his head from the
day he first saw them in the slave market ; and he makes
the learned Church of Alexandria, the special partner of
his joy upon this contemptible victory. Thp Patriarch
Eulogius had been telling him of his own success in re
claiming the heretics of Alexandria, and he sends him
a piece of good news in return : — " As I am well aware,"
he says, "that in the midst'of your own good deeds, you
rejoice in those of others, I will repay you for the kind
ness of your tidings by telling you something of the
same sort." And then he goes on to speak of the cort7 ,
version of- the English, " who are situated in a corner of
the world," as if their gain was comparable to that of
the educated and wealthy persons whom Eulogius had

St. Gregory the Great. 137
t been reconciling to the Church. Nay, lest he should take
too much credit for his own success, and grow vain upon
it, he attributes it to the prayers of the Alexandrians, or
at least of their Bishop, all that way off, as if the Angles
and Jutes were anything at all to the city of the Ptolemies!
"On Christmas Day," he says, "more than 10,000 of
them were baptized. I tell you of it, 'that you may
know, that, while your words avail for your own people,
your prayers avail for the ends of the earth. For you
are by prayer where you are not, while you manifest
yourself by holy labours where you are."
Time went on, and the Popes showed less and less
disposition to cling to past associations, or to confide in
existing establishments, or to embarrass themselves in
political engagements. When they were in trouble.their
old friends could not, or would not, help them. Rome
was almost deserted ; no throng of pilgrims mounted
to the threshold of the Apostles ; no students flocked to
the schools. The Pope sat in the Lateran desolate, till
at length news was brought him that one foreigner had
made his appearance. Whence did he come ? from the
north ;' from beyond the sea ; he was one of those bar
barians whom his Holiness's predecessor, Gregory of
blessed memory, had converted. The pilgrim came,
and he went- An interval, and then, I think, a second
pilgrim-student came : and who was he ? Why, he was
an Englishman too. A fact to remember ! one of these
young barbarians is worth a thousand of those, time-
servers of Constantinople. Our predecessor must have
acted under some special guidance, when, at the begin
ning of this century, he set his heart upon the worship
pers of Thor and Woden ! So, when a vacancy occurs
in the see of Canterbury, Pope Vitalian determines to
.place in it a man of his own choosing, one whom so*

138 A Characteristic of the Popes.
faithful a people deserves. The Irish, says the Pope, have
done much for England, but teachers it still needs.
Moreover, local teaching, even the best, and though
saints be its organs, is apt to. have something in it of
local flavour, and needs from time to time to be refreshed
from the founts of apostolical tradition. We will pick
out, says he,the best specimens of learning and science,
which the length and breadth of southern Christendom
can furnish, and send them thither, uniting the excellence
of different lands, under the immediate sanction of Rome.
' In this eclecticism, he did but follow St. Gregory him
self, who, when- Augustine represented to him, that,
while faith was one, customs were so various, made
answer, " I wish that, wherever »you find anything espe
cially pleasing to Alriiighty God, whether in the Roman,
or Gallic, or any other Church, you would be at pains
to select it,, and introduce it into the English Church,
as yet new in the faith."
This line of proceeding in ecclesiastical matters was
carried on by Vitalian into the province of learning.
The. Greek colonies of Syria and Asia Minor, and the
Roman settlements upon the African coast, had been,-
almost from their first formation, flourishing schools of
education ; and now that they were perishing under the
barbarism of the Saracens, they were abandoned, by
such professors and students as remained, for the cities
of Italy. In a convent near Naples lived Adrian, an
African ; at Rome there was a monk, named Theodore,
from Tarsus in Cilicia ; both of them were distinguished
for their classical, as well as their ecclesiastical attain
ments ; and while Theodore had been educated in Greek
usages, Adrian represented the more congenial and
suitable traditions of the West. Of these two, Theo
dore, at the age of sixty-six, was made Primate of Eng:

St. Gregory the Great. 139
land, while Adrian was placed at the head of the
monastery of Canterbury. Passing through France, in
their way to their post of duty, they delayed there a
while at the command of the Pope, to accustom them-
selyes to the manners of the North ; and at length they
made their appearance in England, with a collection of
books, Greek classics, and Gregorian chants, and what
ever other subjects of study may be considered to fill
up the interval between those two. They then proceeded
to found schools of secular, as well as of sacred learning ,
throughout the south of the island ;. and we are assured
by St. Bede, that many of their scholars were as well
acqainted with Latin and Greek, as with their native
tongue. One of these schools in Wiltshire, as the legend
goes,- was, on that account, called " Greeklade," since
corrupted into Cricklade, and, migrating afterwards to
Oxford, was one of the first elements of its University.
Meanwhile, one of those Saxon pilgrims, who had been
so^busy at Rome, having paid, it is- said, as many as five
visits to the Apostles, went up to the north of the coun
try. Before the coming of the two fore'ign teachers, Bene
dict Biscop had been Abbot of Canterbury ; but, making
way for Adrian, he took himself and his valuable library,
the fruit of his travels, to Wearmouth in Northumber
land, where he founded a Church and monastery.
These details are not out of place in the history of
Universities ;. but I introduce them here as illustrating
a point, much to be remarked, in the character of the
Popes. It is a common observation of Protestants,
that, curiously enough, the Holy See is weakest- at
home when it is strongest abroad, and they derive some
consolation to themselves, I do not know what, from the
fact. So it is ; this weakness is an alleviation of the
annoyance, which they feel at the sight of a world sue-

140 A Characteristic of the Popes.
cumbing to the See of Peter. They say, that after all, if
the world has its mortifications, Peter, on the other hand,
has his discomforts too. True, the gates of hell do not
prevail against him, but then he is driven about from
place to place, thrown into prison, and, if he escapes the
sword of Herod, it is only that Nero may inflict upon
him the more cruel death of crucifixion. What then is
Peter's but a hollow power, which profits the possessor
nothing, though it be ecumenical ? Does it secure him
health, strength,, wealth, comfort, ease, that he is revered
by millions whom he never saw ? He inherits the earth,
but is not certain of a roof to sleep under, or a grave
to be buried in. How 'is he better off, because his name
is mentioned in Mass in the Brazils, and his briefs are
read in the Churches of Cochin China ?
This taunt does but supply a boast to the Catholic,
and has a moral for the philosopher. Certainly Popes
are unlike any other old and infirm men that ever were.
To clutch at what is within their reach, to keep tight
hold of what they have, to believe what they see^ to care
that things should last their own time, to let posterity
shift for itself, to hate disturbance and turmoil, to com
pound for present peace, to be sceptical about improve
ments, to be averse to new plans, in a word, to live in
sense, not in imagination, is the characterstic of old
statesmen, old lawyers, and old traders. They cannot
throw their minds intp new ideas.; they cannot realize
the views of others ; they cannot move out of their life
long positiPn, nor advance one .inch towards any other.
Were such a person, — sound, safe,, sensible, sagacious,
experienced, — at the elbow of Pope Gregory, or his suc
cessors of the seventh century, he would have advised
him to fall back upon Constantinople, to come to an
understanding with the Imperial Court, to link his

St. Gregory dhe Great. 141
fortunes with those of an effete civilization, and to allow
the encroachments of an ambitious, hierarchy ; as to
Franks,' and Frisons, and Westphalians, and Saxons,
and Burgundians, and Visigoths, and Scots, to leave
them to themselves. I need not take1 an imaginary in
stance ; not many years have passed since a Nuncio of
the Holy See passed through- England in his way from
Portugal to Rome, and had an interview with a great
warrior now no more, a man of preternatural sagacity
in his own sphere of thought, — which was not Catholic
and divine. When the ecclesiastic in. question asked the
great man's advice what the then Pope's policy should
be, the Duke abruptly replied, " Let him catch hold
of the coat-tail of Austria, and hang on as hard as he
can." Yes, and the able statesmen, of each age, would
have said the same to Gregory the First, to the Second,
the Third, and the Seventh, as well as to. Gregory the
Sixteenth, — to Julius, Silverian, and Martin; they would
have" counselled the Vicar of Christ a safe and pleasant
course, " fallentis semita vitas," which would have ended
in some uninhabitable desert, or some steep precipice, far
from the haunts of man..
When Pius the Ninth, foiled in his attempt to better
the civil condition of his states, frpm the worthlessness
both of his materials and. his instruments, was. a fugitive
and exile at Gaeta, the Protestant public jeered and
ftiocked at him, as one whose career was over and whose
candle was put out. Yet he has but supplied a fresh
and the latest instance, later there cannot be, of the
,heroic detachment of Popes, and has carried down tlie
tradition of St. Peter into the age of railroads andriews-
papers. But we are entering upon a new part of the
subject, which our present limits will not admit, and
which we' cannot perhaps treat without freedom.

142

CHAPTER XIL
MORAL OF THAT CHARACTERISTIC OF THE POPES.
PIUS THE NINTH.
A GREAT personage, within the last fifteen years,
sent his advice to the Pope " to make sure of the
coat-tail of Austria, and hold on." Austria is a great
and religious power ; she inherits the prerogatives of the
German Empire and the titles of the Caesars. There,
must ever be relations of a very peculiar kind between the
Holy See and the Holy Roman Empire. Nevertheless,
when the time came for taking advantage of his advice,
the Pope did just the reverse. He made light Pf this
master of political wisdom, and showed his independence
of Austria ; — not that he did not honour Austria, but
that he honoured the Rock of Peter more. And what
has been the consequence ? he has simply gained by his
fidelity to his position. Austria has been far more truly
the friend and protector, the child and servant of the
Pope than before ; she has repealed the Josephine
statutes, so injurious to the Church, and has opened her
territories to the full religious influences of the Holy
See. Here is an instance of what I have called " eccle
siastical detachment," and of its working.
Again, a revolution breaks out in Europe, and a deep
scheme is laid to mix up the Pope in secular politics of
a contrary character. He is to be the head of Italy, to
range himself against the sovereigns of Europe, and to

Pius the Ninth. 143
carry all things before him in the name of Religion.
He steadily refuses to accept the insidious proposal ;
and at'length he is driven out of his dominions, because,
While he would ameliorate .their condition, he would do
so as a Father and a Prince, and not as the tool, of a
conspiracy. However, not many months pass, and the
party of disorder is defeated, and he goes back to Rome
again. Rome is his place ; but it is little to him
whether he is there or away, compared with the duty of
fidelity to his Trust.
. Once more, the power which restores him to his
country, presumes ; and insists upon his modelling his
temporal polity upon the unecclesiastical principles of a
foreign code. France, too, as Austria, is a great Catholic
power ; the eldest-born of the Church ; the representa
tive of the coming civilization, as Austria is the heir of
the' past ; but France was not likely to gain for the
Code of a dead Emperor, what that Emperor, in the
plenitude of his living genius and authority, could not
compass for it. The Pope refuses to subject himself to
France, as he had refused to subject himself to Austria ;
and what is the consequence ? It is the old story ;
a, new Emperor arises, with the name, and without the
religious shortsightedness, of his great predecessor. He
has the wisdom to run a race with Austria in doing
honour to the Church, and France professes Catholicity
with an ardour unknown to her since the reign of Louis
the Fourteenth.
These are times of peculiar difficulty and delicacy for
the Church. It is not as in the middle ages, or as in
the ante-Nicene period, when right and wrong were
boldly marked out, and there was a broad line between
them, and little chance of mistaking one for the other.
In such times detachment was another name for faith ;

144 Moral of that Characteristic of the Popes.
it was scarcely a virtue, Substantive and sui generis ; for
attachment to any temporal possession or advantage
then was practically nothing else than a'postasy. Things
are otherwise now ;. it has not, therefore, fallen to the lot
of many Popes, to have such, opportunities as Pius the
Ninth, of resisting temptation, of resigning hiriiself to
the political weakness incident to the Holy See, of
falling back calmly upon its traditionary principles, of
rejecting the arguments for innovating upon its true
position, and in consequence of attaining so rapid a
triumph after deplorable reverses. When Pius was at
Gaeta and Portici, the world laughed on hearing that he
was giving his attention to the theological bearings of
the doctrine of the Immaculate Conception. Little
fancying what various subject-matters fall all at once
under a Pope's contemplation, and are successively car
ried out into- effect, as circumstances require ; Httle
dreaming of the intimate connexion of these matters
with each other,, even when they seem most heteroge
neous ; or that a belief touchirig the Blessed Virgin
might have any influence upon the fortunes ofthe Holy
See; the wise men ofthe day concluded from the Pope's
Encyclical about that doctrine, that he had, what they
called, given up; politics in disgust, and had become'a
harmless devotee or a trifling school-divine. But soon
they heard of other acts of the Holy Father ; they heard
of his interposition in the East ; of his success in Spain;
of his vigilant eye directed towards Sardinia and Switzer
land in his own neighbourhood, and towards North and
South America in another hemisphere ; of his preachers
spreading through Germany ; of his wonderful triumphs,
already noticed, in Austria and France ; of his children
rising as if out of the very earth in England ; and of
their increasing moral strength in Ireland, in proportion

Pius the Ninth. 14 c
to her past extraordinary sufferings ; pf the hierarchies of
England and Holland, and of the struggle going forward
on the Rhine ; and then they exchanged contempt for
astonishment and indignation, saying that it was intoler
able that a potentate who could not keep his own, and
whose ease and comfort at home were not worth a
month's purchase, should be so blind to his own interests
as to busy himself with the fortunes of Religion at the
ends of the earth.
And an additional feeling arose, which it is more to
our purpose to dwell upon, They were not only angry,
but they began to fear. It may strike one at first with
surprise, that, in the middle of the nineteenth century,
in an age of professed light and liberality, so determined
a spirit of persecution should have arisen, as we expe
rience it,, in these countries, against the professors of the
ancient faith. Catholics have been startled, irritated,
and depressed, at this unexpected occurrence ; they have
been frightened, and have wished to retrace their steps ;
but after all, far from suggesting matter for alarm v or
despondency, it is nothing more or less than a confession
on the part of our adversaries, how strong we are, and
how great our promise. It is the expression pf their
profound misgiving thatthe Religion which existed long
before theirs, is destined to live after it. This is no
mere deduction from their acts ; it is., their own avowal.
They have seen that Protestantism was all but extinct
abroad ; they have confessed that its last refuge and for
tress was in England ; ,they have proclaimed aloud, that,
if England was supine at this moment, Protestantism
was gone. Twenty years ago England could afford, as
much in contempt as in generosity, to grant to Catholics
political emancipation.* Forty or fifty years ago it was
* It is not meant that contempt was the feeling towards Ireland at the
IO

146 Moral of that Characteristic of the Popes.
a common belief- in her religious circles, that the great
Emperor, with whom she was at war, was raised up to
annihilate the Popedom. But from the very grave of
Pius the Sixth, and from the prison of Pius the Seventh,
from the very moment that they had an opportunity of
showing to the world their familiarity with that ecclesias
tical virtue of which I have said so much, the Catholic
movement began." In proportion to the weakness of
the Holy See at home, became its influence and. its
success in the world. The Apostles were told to be
prudent as serpents, and simple as doves. It has been
the simplicity of the Sovereign Pontiffs which has been
.their prudence. It is their fidelity to their commission,
and their detachment from all secular objects, which has
given them the possession of the earth.
I am not pursuing the line of thought which has en
gaged me in my last chapter and my present without a
drift. It bears directly upon the subject which leads me
to write at all ; and it has an important bearing, intelli
gible even to the historian and philosopher, so that
reason and experience would be able to extort from him
what faith could not obtain. Even a pagan ought to
be able to prophecy that our University is destined for
great things. I look back at the early combats of Popes
Victor and Stephen ; I go on to Julius and Celestine,
Leo and Gregory, Boniface and Nicholas ; I pass along
the Middle Ages, down to Paul the Third and Pius the
Fifth ; and thence to the two Popes of the same name,
who occupy the most eventful fifty years, since Christi
anity was ; and I cannot shut my eyes to the fact, that
the Sovereign Pontiffs have had a gift, proper to them-
time, which influenced Sir Robert Peel, or ofthe Government ofthe day, but
that it was the feeling ofthe Peelite and. Whig parties tqwards Catholicism
as such. Vide infr. ch. xix. p. 231.

Pius the Ninth. 147
selves, of understanding what is good for the Church,
and what Catholic interests require. And in the next
place, I find that this gift exercises itself in an abso
lute independence of secular politics, and a detachment
from every earthly and temporal advantage, and pur
sues its end by uncommon courses/and by unlikely
instruments, and by methods of its own. I see that
it shines the brightest, and is the most surprising in
its results, when its possessors are the weakest in
this world and the most despised ; that in them are most
vividly exemplified the Apostle's words, in the most
beautiful and most touching of his Epistles, " We have
this treasure in earthen vessels, that the excellency may
be of the power of God, and not of us ; as needy,
yet enriching many, as having nothing, and possessing
all things." -
I get these two points of history well into my mind ;
and then I shut my book, and look at the world before
my eyes. I see an age of transition, the breaking up of
the old and the coming in of the new ; an old system
shattered some sixty years ago, and a new state of things
scarcely in its rudiments as yet, to be settled perhaps
some centuries after our time. And it is a special cir
cumstance in these changes, that they extend beyond
the past historical platform of human affairs ; not only is
Europe broken up, but pther continents are thrown open,
and the new organization of society aims at embracing
the world. It is a day of colonists and emigrants ; —
and, what is another most pertinent consideration, the
language they parry with them is English, which conse
quently, as time goes on, is certain, humanly speaking,,
to extend itself into every part of the world. It is
already occupying the whole of North America, whence
it threatens to descend upon South ; already is it the .

148 Moral of that Characteristic of the Popes.
language of Australia, a country large enough in the
course of centuries to rival Europe in population ; already
it has become the speech of a hundred marts of com
merce, scattered over the East, and, even where not the
mother tongue, it is at least the medium of intercourse
between nations. And, lastly, though the people who
own that language is Protestant, a race preeminently
Catholic has adopted it, and has a share in its litera
ture; and this Catholic race is, at this very time, of all
tribes of the earth, the most, fertile' in .emigrants both
to the West and the South.' These are the manifest
facts of the day, which would be before our eyes, whether
the Pope had anything to say to them or no. The
English language and the Irish race are overrunning the
world. When then I consider what an eye the Sovereign,
Pontiffs have for the future ; and what an independence
in policy and vigour in action have been the character
istics of their present representative ; and what a flood
of success, mounting higher and higher, has lifted up the
Ark of God from the beginning of this century; and
then, that the Holy Father has definitely put His finger
upon Ireland, and selected her soil as the seat of a great
Catholic University, to spread religion, science, and
learning, wherever the English language is spoken ; when
I. take all these things together, — I care not what others
think, I care not what others do, God has no need of
men, — oppose who will, shrink who will, I know and
cannot doubt that a great work is begun. It is no great
imprudence to commit oneself to a guidance which never
yet has failed ; nor is it surely irrational' or fanatical to
believe, . that, whatever difficulties or disappointments,
reverses or delays, may be our lot in the prosecution of
the work, its ultiriiate success' is certain, even though it

. Pius the Ninth. 149
seemed at first to fail, — just as the greatest measures in
former times have been the most tardy in execution, as
Athanasius triumphed though he passed away before
Arianism, and Hildebrand died in exile, that his succes
sors might enter into his labours.

I5Q

CHAPTER XIII.
SCHOOLS OF CHARLEMAGNE.
PARIS.
AS nations are inscrutably brought within thei sacred
fold, and inscrutably cast without it, so are they.
used, while within it, in this way or that, according to the
'supreme will and. for the greater glory of Him, who has
brought them into being from some common ancestor,
and holds them together by unity of government or by
traditionary ideas. One Catholic nation is high in the
world, another low ; one rises and expands into, an Em
pire, another is ever in the position of subject or even
dependent. England and Ireland were, in the darkest
age of Christian history, the conservators of sacred and
profane knowledge : not, ^however, for any merit of their
own, but according to the good pleasure of their Maker :
and, when the time came, in His counsels, for the revival
of learning on the Continent, then He dispensed with
their ministry, and put them aside. It is a remarkable
fact, tp which I have already alluded, that the appear
ance of the Danes off the coasts of England and Ireland,
the destroyers in both islands of religion and science,
synchronizes with the rise of Charlemagne, the founder
of modern civilization.
Christianity, which hitherto might be considered as a
quality superinduced upon the face of society, now be
came the element, out of which society grew into shape

Paris. 1 5 1
and reached its stature. The Church had battled with
the Roman Empire, and had eventually vanquished it ;
but, while she succeeded in teaching it the new song of
the Saints, she did not demand of it that flexibility of
the organs of speech which only exists in the young. It
was the case of an old man learning a, foreign tongue;
its figure, gait, attitudes, and gestures, and in like man
ner its accent, belonged to an earlier time. Up to the
point at which a change was imperative, its institutions
were suffered to remain just as they had been in paganism ;
christianized just so far as to enable them to work
christian-wise, however cumbrously or circuitously. And
as to the system of education in particular, I suppose
the primary, or, as they may be better called, the grammar
schools, as far as they were not private speculations, were
from first to last in the hands of the State ; state-institu
tions, first of pagan, then of mixed education. I do not
mean to say that there are no traces in Christian antiquity
of a higher pattern of education, in which religion and
learning were brought together, — as in the method of
teaching which St. Basil and St. Gregory brought into
Asia Minor from Alexandria, and in the Benedictine
Schools of Italy ; but I am speaking of what the Chris
tian Empire did, "and again of what the Church exacted
from it. She for the most part confined herself to the
education of the clergy, and their ecclesiastical education ;
the laity and secular learning seem to have been still,
more or less, in the charge of the State ; — not, however,
as if this were the best way of doingthings, as the attempts
I have spoken of bore testimony, but, because she found
things in a certain state, and used themas best she could.
Her aim was to make the Empire Christian, not to
revolutionize it ; and, without a revolution of society, the
typical form of a Christian polity could not have been

152 Schools of Charlemagne.
given to the institutions of Rome. But, when society
was broken up, and had to be constructed over- again,
the case was different ; it would have been as preposterous,
under such circumstances, not to build it up upon Catho-
' licity, as it would have been to attempt to do so before.
Henceforth, as. all government, so all. education, was to
be founded on Revealed Truth. Secular teaching was
to be united to sacred ; and the Church had the super
vision both Pf lay students and of profane learning.
The new state of things began in the Frankish Empire;
but it is observable how Rome after all strikes the key note
of the movement. Charlemagne indeed betook himself
to the two Islands of the North for a tradition ; Alcuin,
an Englishman, was at the head of his educational estab
lishments ; he came to France, not with sacred learning
only, but with profane ; he set up schools for laity as
well as clergy ; but whence was it that he in turn got the
tradition which he brought ? His history takes us back
to that earlier age, when Theodore of Tarsus, Primate of
England, brought with him thither from Rome the ,
classics, and made Greek and Latin as familiar to the
Anglo-Saxons as their native tongue. Alcuin was the
scholar of Bede and Egbert ; Egbert was educated in
the York school of Theodore, and Bede in that of Bene
dict Biscop and of John precentor ofthe Vatican Basilica.
Here was the germ of the new civilization of Europe,
which was to join together what man had divided, to
adjust the claims of Reason and of Revelation, and to fit
men for this world while it trained them for another, ,
Charlemagne has the glory of commencing this noble
work ; and, whether his school at Paris be called a Uni
versity or not, he laid down principles of which a Uni
versity is the result, in that he aimed at educating all
classes, and undertook all subjects of teaching.

Pi

arts.

153

In the first place, however, he turned his attention to
the Episcopal Seminaries, -which seem to have been in
stitutions of the earliest times of Christianity, though they
had been ingreat measure interrupted amid the dissolution
of society consequent upon the barbarian inroads, as
various passages in these Essays have already suggested.
His restoration lasted for four centuries, till. Universities
rose in their turn, and indirectly interfered with the
efficiency ofthe Seminaries, by absorbing them into the
larger institution. This inconvenience was set right at a
later period by the Council of Trent, whose wise regula
tions were in turn the objects of the jealousy of the
Josephism ofthe last century, which used or rather abused
the University system to their prejudice. The present
policy of the Church in most places has been to return
to the model both of the first ages and of Charlemagne.
To these Seminaries he added, what I have spoken of
as his characteristic institution, grammar and public
schools,, as preparatory both to the Seminaries and to
secular professions. Not that they were confined to
grammar, for they recognized the trivium and quadrivium ;
but grammar, in the sense of literature, seems to have
been the principle subject of their teaching. These
schools were established in connexion with the Cathedral
or the Cloister ; and they received ecclesiastics and the
sons of the nobility, though not to the exclusion of the
poorer class.
Charlemagne probably did not do much more than
this; though it was once the custom to represent him as
the actual founder ofthe University of Paris. But great
creations a're not perfected in a day; without doing
everything which had to be done, he did many things,
and opened the way for more. It will throw light upon
his position in the history of Christian education, to

1 54 Schools of Charlemagne.
quote a passage from the elaborate work of Bulaeus, on
the University of ^aris, though he not unnaturally claims
the great Emperor as its founder, maintaining that he
established, not only the grammar or public schools
already mentioned, but the higher Studia Generalia.
This assumption, well founded or not, will not make his
account less instructive, if, as I have supposed, Charle
magne certainly introduced ideas and principles, of which
the University was the result.
"It is. observable," says Bulaeus, "that Charles, in
seeking out masters, had in view, not merely the edu
cation" of his own family, but of his subjects generally,
and of all lovers of the Christian Religion ; and wished
to be of service to all students and cultivators of the
liberal arts. It is indeed certain that he sought out
learned men and celebrated teachers from all parts ofthe
world, and induced them to accept his invitation by re
wards and honours, on which Alcuin lays great stress,
' I was well aware, my Lord David,' he says, ' that it has
been your praiseworthy solicitude t ever to love and to
extol wisdom ; and to exhort all men to cultivate it, nay,
to incite them by means of prizes and honours ; and out
of divers parts of the world to bring together its lovers
as the helpers of your good purpose ; among whom you
have, taken pains to secure even me, the meanest slave
of that holy wisdom, from the extremest boundaries of
Britain.' " It is evident hence, that Charles's intention was not
to found any common sort of schools, such, that is, as
would have required only a few instructors, but public
schools, open to all, and possessing all kinds of learning.
Hence the necessity of a multiplicity of Professors, who
from their number and the remoteness of their homes
might seem a formidable charge, not only to the court,

Paris. 155
or to one city, but even to his whole kingdom. Such is
the testimony of Eginhart, who says : ' Charles loved
foreigners and took great pains to support them ; so that
their number was a real charge, not to the Palace alone,
but even to the realm. Such, however, was his greatness
of soul, that the burden of them was no trouble to him,
because even of great inconveniences the praise of muni7
ficence is a compensation.'
" Charles had in mind to found two kinds of schools,
less and greater. The less he placed in Bishops' palaces,
canons' cloisters, monasteries, and elsewhere ; the greater,
. however, he established in places which were public, arid
suitable for public teaching ; and he intended them, not
only for ecclesiastics, but- for the nobility and their chil
dren, and on the other hand for poor scholars too ; in
short, for every rank, class, and race,
" He seems to have had two institutions before his
mind, when he contemplated this object; the first of them
was the ancient schools. Certainly, a man of so active
and inquiring a mind as Charles, with his intercourse
with learned persons arid his knowledge of mankind,
must have been well aware that in former ages these two-
kinds of schools were to be found everywhere ; the one
kind few in number, public, and of great reputation, pos
sessed moreover of privileges, and planted in certain con
spicuous and central sites. Such was the Alexandrian
in Egypt, the Athenian in Greece ; such under the Ro
man Emperors, the schools of Rome, of Constantinople,
of Berytus, which are known to have been attended by
multitudes, andamplyprivilegedby Theodosius, Justinian,
and other princes ; ' whereas the other kind of schools,
which were far more numerous, were to be found up and
down the country, in cities, towns, villages, and were re
markable neither in number of students nor in name.

156 Schools of Charlemagne.
" The other pattern which was open to Charles was to
be found in the practice of monasteries, if it really
existed there. The Benedictines, from the very begin
ning of their institution, had applied themselves to the
profession of literature, and- it has been their purpose
to have in their houses two kinds of school, a greater
or a less, according to the size of the house ; and the
greater they wished to throw open to all students,' at a
time when there were but few laymen at all who could
teach, so that externs, seculars, laymen, as well as clerics,
might be free to attend to 'them. However, true as it
was that boys, who were there from childhood intrusted
to the monks, bound themselves by no vow, but could
leave when they pleased, marry,- go to court, or enter
the army, still a great many of the- cleverest of them
were led, either by the habits which they acquired from
their intercourse with their teachers, or by their per
suasion, to embrace the monastic life. And thus, while
the Church in consequence gained her most powerful
supports, the State, on the other hand, was wanting in
men of judgment, learning, and experience, to conduct
its affairs. This led very frequently to kings choosing
monks for civil administration, because no others were
to be found capable of undertaking it.
" Charles then, consulting for the common good, made
literature in a certain sense secular, and transplanted
it from the convents to the royal palace ; in a word, he
established in Paris a Universal School like that at
Rome. ' . *
" Not that he deprived Monks of the license to teach
and profess, though he certainly limited it, from a clear
view that that variety of sciences, human and profane,
which secular academies require, is inconsistent with the
profession and devotion of ascetics ; and accordingly,

Paris. 157
in conformity to the spirit of their institute, it was his
wish that the lesser schools should be set up or retained
in. the Bishops' palaces and monasteries, while he pre
scribed the subjects which they were to teach. The
case was different with the schools which are higher
and public, which, instead of multiplying, he confined
to certain central and celebrated spots, not more than
to three in his whole empire — Paris, and in Italy, Pavia
and Bologna."
¦ Such certainly was the result, in which his reforms
ended, even though they did not reach it ; and they may
be said to have directly tended to it, considering that it was
their characteristic,, in contrast with the previous schools,
to undertake the education of laity as well as clergy,
and secular studies as well as religious. But, after all,
it was not in an Emperor's power, though he were
Charlemagne, to carry into effect in any case, by the
resources peculiar to himself, so great an idea as a
University. Benefactors and patrons may supply the
framework of a Studium Generale ; but there must be a
popular interest and sympathy, a spontaneous coopera
tion of the many, the concurrence of genius, and a
spreading thirst for knowledge, if it is to live. Cen
turies passed before these conditions were -supplied, and
then at length -about the year 1200 a remarkable in
tellectual movement took place in Christendom ; and to
it must be ascribed the development of Universities, out
of the public or grammar schools, which I have already
described. No such movement could happen, without
the rise of some deep and comprehensive philosophy ;
and/when it rose, then the existing Trivium and Quad-
rivium became the subjects, and the existing seats of
learning the scene, of its victories ; and next the curiosity
and enthusiasm, which it excited, attracted larger and

158 Schools of Charlemagne.
larger numbers to places which were hitherto' but local
centres of education. Such a gathering of students;
such a systematizing of knowledge,' are the notes of a
University. The increase of members and the multiplication of
sciences both involved changes in the organization of
the, Schools of Charlemagne; and of these the increase '
of members came first. Hitherto there had been but
one governor over the students, who were but few at the
most, arid came from the neighbourhood ; but now the
academic body was divided into Nations, according to
the part of Europe'- from which they joined it, and each
Nation had' a head of its own, under the title of Procu
rator or Proctor. There were traces of this division, as
we have seen in a former Chapter, in Athens ; where the'
students were arranged under the names of Attic;
Oriental, Arab, and Pontic, with a protector for each-
class. In like manner, in the University of, Paris, there-
were four nations, first, the French, which included the
middle and south of France, Spain, Italy, and Greece';
secondly, the English, which, besides the two British _
islands, comprehended Germany and Scandinavia;
thirdly, the Norman ; and fourthly, the Picards, who.
carried with them the inhabitants of Flanders and Bra
bant. Again, in the University of Vienna, there were
also four nations, — Austria, the Rhine, Hungary, and
Bohemia. Oxford recognized only two Nations ; the
north English, which comprehended the Scotch ; and
the South English,, which comprehended the Irish and
Welsh." The Proctors of the Nations both governed
and represented them ; the double office is still traceable,
unless the recent Act of Parliament, has destroyed it, in
the modern constitution of Oxford, in which the two
Proctors on ,the one hand represent the Masters of

Paris. 1 59
Arts in the Hebdomadal Board, and on the othei have
in their hands the discipline of the University.
' And as Nations and their Proctors arose out of the
metropolitan character of a University, to which students
congregated from the farthest and most various places,
so are Faculties and Deans of Faculties the consequence
of its encyclopedic profession. According to the idea of
the institutions of Charlemagne, each school had its own
teacher, who was called Rector, or Master. In .Paris,
however, where the school was founded in St. Gene
vieve's, the Chancellor of that Church became the
•Rector, and he kept his old title of Chancellor in his
new office. Elsewhere the head of the University was
called Provost. However, it was not every one who
would be qualified to profess even the Seven Sciences,
of which the old course of instruction consisted, though
the teaching was only elementary, and to become the
Rector, 'Chancellor, or Provost, of the University ; but,
when these sciences became only parts of a whole system
of instruction, which demanded in addition a knowledge
of philosophy,' scholastic theology, civil and canon law,
medicine, natural history, and the Semitic languages, no
one person was equal to the undertaking. The Rector
fell back from the position of a teacher to that of a
governor ; and the instruction was divided among a
board of Doctors, each of whom represented a special
province in Science. This is the origin of Deans of
Faculties ; and, inasmuch as they undertook among
themselves one of those departments of academical
duty, which the Chancellor, or Rector had hitherto ful
filled, they naturally became his Council. In some
places the Proctors of the Nations were added. Thus,
in Vienna the Council consisted of the Four Deans of
Faculties, and the Four Proctors.

i6o Schools of Charlemagne.-
As Nations preceded Faculties, we may suppose that
Degrees, which are naturally connected with the latter,
either did not enter into the original provisions of a
University, or had not the same meaning as, afterwards.
And this seems to have been the case. At first they
were only testimonials that a resident was fit to take
part in the public teaching of the place ; and hence, in
the Oxford forriis still observed, the Vice-Chancellor
admits the person taking a degree to the " lectio " of
certain books. Degrees would not at that time be con
sidered mere honours or. testimonials, to be enjoyed by
persons who at once left the University and mixed in
the world. The University would only confer them for
,its own purposes ; and to its own subjects, for the sake
of its own subjects. It would claim nothing for them
external to its own limits ; and, if so, only used a power
obviously connate with its own existence. But of course
the recognition of a University by the State, not to say
by other Universities, would change the import of de
grees, and, since such recognition has commonly been
granted from the first, degrees have seldom been only
what they were in their original idea ; but the formal
words by- which they are denoted, still preserve its
memory. As students on taking degrees are admitted
" legere et disputare," so are they called " Magistri," that
is, of the schools ; and " Doctors," that is, teachers, or in
some places " Professors," as .the letters S.T.P. shpw,'
used iristead of D.D.
It will be observed that the respective distributions
into Faculties and into Nations are cross-divisions. An
other cross-division, on which I shall not now enter, is
into Colleges and Halls.
I conclude by enumerating the characteristic dis
tinctions, laid down by Bulaeus, between the public or

Paris. 161
grammar schools founded by Charlemagne, and the
Universities into which eventually some of them grew,
or, as he would say, which Charlemagne also founded.
.. First, he says, they differ from each other ratione dis
ciplines. The Scholae Minores only taught the Trivium
'{viz., Grammar, Logic, Rhetoric,) and the Quadrivium,
{viz., Geometry, Astronomy, Arithmetic, and Music,) the
seven liberal Arts ; whereas the Scholae Majores added
Medicine, Law, and Theology.
Next, ratione loci ; for the Minores were many and
everywhere, but the Majores only in great cities, and few
in number. I have already remarked on the physical
and social qualifications necessary for a place which is
to become the seat of a great school of learning : Bulaeus
observes, that the Muses were said to inhabit mountains,
•Parnassus or Helicon, spots high and healthy and secured
.against the perils of war, and that the Academy was a
grove; though of course he does not forget that the place
must be accessible too, and in the highway of the world.
"That the city of Paris," he says, "is ample in size,
largely frequented, healthy and pleasant in site, there can
be no doubt." Frederic the Second spoke the general
sentiment, when he gave as a reason for establishing a
University at Naples, the convenience ofthe sea coast and
the fertility of the soil. We are informed by Matamorus,
in his account of the Spanish Universities,* that Sala
manca was but the second site of its University, which
was transferred thither from Palencia on account of the
fertility of the neighbourhood, and the mildness of its
climate. And Mr. Prescott speaks of Alcala being chosen
by Cardinal Ximenes as the site for his celebrated foun^
dations, because " j:he salubrity of the air, and the sober,
tranquil coinplexion of the -scenery, on the beautiful
* Hispan. Illustr. t. 2, p. 801. w

1 62 . Schools of Charlemagne.
borders of the Henares, seemed well suited to academic
study and meditation."
The third difference between the greater and lesser
schools lies ratione fundatorum. Popes, Emperors, and
Kings, are the founders of Universities ; lesser authorities
in Church and State are the founders of Colleges and
Schools. Fourthly, ratione privilegiorum. The very notion of a
University, I believe, is, that it is an institution of privi
lege. I think it is Bulaeus who says, " Studia Generalia
cannot exist without privileges, any more than the body
without the soul. And in this all writers on Universities
agree." He reduces those privileges to two heads,
" Patrocinium " and " Praemium ; " and these, it is
obvious, may be either of a civil or an ecclesiastical
nature. There were formerly five Universities endowed
with singular privileges : those of Rome, of Paris, of
Bologna, of Oxford, and of Salamanca; but Antony a
Wood quotes an author who seems to substitute Padua
for Rome in this list.
Lastly, the greater and lesser schools differ ratione
regiminis. The head of a College is one; but a Uni
versity is a " respublica litteraria."

i63

CHAPTER XIV.
SUPPLY AND DEMAND :
THE SCHOOLMEN.
IT is most interesting to observe how the foundations
of the present intellectual greatness of Europe were
laid, and most wonderful to think that they were ever
laid at all. Let us consider how wide and how high is
the platform of our knowledge at this day, and what
openings in every direction are in progress, — openings
of such promise, that, unless some convulsion of society
takes place, even what we have attained, will in future
times be nothing better than a poor beginning ; and then
on the other hand, let us recollect that, seven centuries
ago, putting aside revealed truths, Europe had little
more than that poor knowledge, partial and uncertain,
and at best only practical, which is conveyed to us by
the senses. Even our first principles now' are beyond
the most daring conjectures then ; and what has been
Said so touchingly of Christian ideas as compared with
pagan, is true in its way and degree of the progress of
secular' knowledge also in the seven centuries I have
named. " What sages would have died to learn,
[Is] taught by cottage dames."
Nor is this the only poin,t in which the revelations of
science may be compared to the supernatural revelations

1 64 Supply and Demand.
of Christianity. Though sacred truth- was delivered
once for all, and scientific discoveries are progressive,
yet there is(la great resemblance in the respective his
tories of Christianity and of Science, We are accus-
¦ tomed to point to the rise and spread of Christianity as
a miraculous fact, and rightly so, on account of the
weakness of its instruments, and the appalling weight
and multiplicity of the obstacles which confronted it.
To clear away those obstacles was to move mountains ;
yet this was done by a few poor, obscure, unbefriended
men, and their poor, obscure, unbefriended followers.
No social movement can "come up to this marvel, which
is singular and archetypical, certainly ; it is a divine
work, and we soon cease to admire it in order to adore.
.But there is more in it than its own greatness to con
template ; it is so great as to be, prolific of greatness.
Those whom it has created, its children who have be- ¦
come such by a supernatural power, have imitated, in
their own acts, the dispensation which made them
what they were ; and, though they have not carried out
works simply miraculous, yet they have done exploits
sufficient to bespeak their own unearthly origin, and the
new powers which had come into the world. The re
vival of letters by the energy of Christian ecclesiastics.
and laymen, when everything had to be done, reminds
us of the birth of Christianity itself, as far as a work of
man can resemble a work of God.
Two characteristics, as I have already Ijad occasion
to say, are generally found to attend the history of
Science: — first, its instruments have an innate force, and
can dispense with foreign assistance in their work ; and
secondly, these instruments must exist and must begin
to act, before subjects are found who are to profit by their
action. In plainer language, the teacher is strong, not

The Schoolmen. 165
in the patronage of great men, but in the intrinsic value
and attraction of what he has to communicate ; and next,
he must come forward and advertise himself, before he
can gain hearers. This I have expressed before, in say
ing that a great school of learning lived in demand and
supply, and that the supply must be before the demand.
Now, what is this but the very history of the preaching
of the Gospel ? who but the Apostles and- Evangelists
went out to the ends of the earth without patron, or
friend, or other external advantage which could insure
their success ? and again, who among the multitude they
enlightened, would have called for their aid unless they
had gone to that multitude first, and offered to it bless
ings which up to that moment it had not heard of?
They had no commission, they had no invitation, from
man ; their strength lay neither in their being sent, nor
in their being sent for ; but in the circumstances that
they had that with them, a divine message, which they
knew would at once, when it was uttered, thrill through
the hearts of those to whom they spoke, and make for
themselves friends in any place, strangers and outcasts
as they were when they first came. They appealed to
the secret wants and aspirations of human nature, to its
laden conscience, its weariness, its desolateness, and its
sense of the true and the divine ; nor did they long wait
for listeners and disciples, when they announced the
remedy of evils which were so real.
Something like this were the first stages of the process
by which in medieval Christendom the structure of our
present intellectual elevation was carried forward. From
Rome as from a centre, as the Apostles from Jerusalem,
went forth the missionaries of knowledge, passing to and
fro all over Europe ; and, as metropolitan sees were the
record of the presence of Apostles, so did Paris, Pavia,

1 66 Supply and Demand.
and Bologna, and Padua, and Ferrara, Pisa and Naples,
Vienna, Louvain, and Oxford, rise into Universities at
the voice of the theologian or the philosopher. Moreover,
as the Apostles went through labours untold, by sea and
land, in their charity to souls ,; so, if robbers, shipwrecks,
bad lodging, and scanty fare are trials of zeal, such trials
were encountered without hesitation by the martyrs and
confessors of science. And as Evangelists had grounded
their teaching upon the longing for happiness natural to
man, so did these securely rest their cause on the natural
thirst for knowledge : and again as the preachers of
Gospel peace -had often to bewail the ruin which perse
cution or dissension had brought upon their flourishing
colonies, so also did the professors of science often find
or flee the ravages of sword or pestilence in those places,
which they themselves perhaps in former times had
made the seats of religious, honourable, and useful learn
ing. And lastly, as kings and nobles have fortified and
advanced the interests of the Christian faith without
being necessary to it, so in like manner we may enu
merate with honour Charlemagne, Alfred, Henry the
First of England, Joan of Navarre, and many others, as
patrons of the schools, of learning, without being obliged
to allow that those schools could not have progressed
without such countenance.
These are some ofthe points of resemblance between
the propagation of Christian truth and the revival of
letters ; and, to return to the two points, to which I have
particularly drawn attention, the University Professor's
confidence in his own powers, and his taking the initiative
in the exercise of them, I find both these distinctly re
cognized by Mr. Hallam iri his history of Literature. As
to the latter point, he says, " The schools Pf Charlemagne
were designed to lay the basis of a learned education,

[
The Schoolmen. 167
for -which there was at that time no sufficient desire " : —
that is, the, supply was prior to the demand. As to the
former : " In the twelfth century," he says, " the im
petuosity with which men rushed to that source of what
they deemed wisdom, the great University of Paris,
did not depend upon academical privileges or eleemosynary
stipends, though these were undoubtedly very effectual
in keeping it up. The University created patrons, and
was not created by them '': — that is, demand and supply
were all in all.
A story of the age of Charlemagne will serve in
illustration. We are ,told that two wandering Irish
students were brought by British traders to the coast of
France. There, observing the eagerness with which
those hawkers of perishable merchandize were sur
rounded by the populace, they imitated them by crying
out, " Who wants wisdom ? here is wisdom on sale ! this
is the store for wisdom ! " till a sensation was created, and
they were sent for and taken into favour by the great
Emperor. The professors of Greece and Rome, though pursuing
the same course, had an easy time of it, compared with
the duties, which, at least in the earlier periods or in
certain localities, fell upon the medieval missionaries of
knowledge. The pagan teachers might indeed be told
to quit the city, whither they had come, on their outrag
ing its religious sentiments or arousing its political
jealousy ; but still they were received as superior beings
by the persons in immediate contact with them, and
what they lost in one place they regained in another.
On the contrary, as the cloister alone gave birth to the
reyivers of knowledge, so the cloister alone prepared therii
for their work. There was nothing selfish in their aim,
nothing cowardly in their mode of operation. It was

1 68 Supply and. Demand.
generosity which sent them out upon the public stage;
it was ascetic practice which prepared them for it.
Afterwards, indeed, they received the secular rewards of
their exertions ; but even then the general character of
the intellectual movement remained as before. "The
Doctors," says Fleuryin his Discourses, " being sure of,
finding in a certain town occupation with recompense
for their labours, established themselves there of their
own accord ; and students, in like manner, sure to find
there good masters with all the commodities of life,
assembled there in crowds from all parts, even from
distant countries. Thus they came to Paris, from'
England, from Germany and all the North, from Italy,
from Spain."
Bee, a poor monastery of Normandy, set up in the
eleventh century by an illiterate soldier, who sought the
cloister, soon attracted scholars to its dreary clime from
Italy, and transmitted them to England. Lanfranc, after
wards Archbishop of Canterbury, was one of these, and
he found the simple monks so necessitous, that he opened
a school of logic to all comers, in order, says William of
Malmesbury, " that he might support his needy monas
tery by the pay of the students." The same author
adds, that ," his reputation went into the most remote
parts of the Latin world, and Bee became a great and
famous Academy of letters.'' Here is an instance of a
commencement without support, without scholars, in
order to attract scholars, and in them to find support.
William of Jumieges, too, bears witness to the effect,
powerful, sudden, wide spreading, and various, of
Lanfranc's advertisement of himself. The fame of Bee
and Lanfranc, he says, quickly penetrated through the
whole world ; and "clerks, the sons of dukes, the most
esteemed masters of the Latin schools, powerful laymen,

The Schoolmen. 169
Jiigh nqbles, flocked to him." What words can more
strikingly attest the enthusiastic character of the move
ment which he began, than to say that it carried away with
it all classes ; rich as well as poor, laymen as well as
ecclesiastics, those who were in that day in the habit of
despising letters, as well as those who might wish to live
by them ?
It was about a century after Lanfrac that from this ,
same monastery of Bee came forth • another Abbot, and
he another Lombard, to begin a second movement, in a
new science, in these same northern regions, especially
in England. This was the celebrated Vacarius, or
Bacalareus, who from the proximity of his birthplace to.
Bologna, seems to have gained that devotion to the study
of the Law which he ultimately kindled in- Oxford.
Lanfranc had lectured in logic; Vacarius lectured in law.
bologna, which is celebrated in history for its cultivation
of this august science, was one of the earliest, if not the
earliest, of Universities, as far as historical evidence is to
decide the question. Its University was commenced a
little later than the first years of the School of Bee ; and
affords us an observable instance, first, of the self-origi
nating, independent character of the scientific movement,
— then, of the influence and attraction it exerted on the
people, — and lastly, of the incidental difficulties through
which it slowly advanced in the course of many years to
its completion. There Irnerius, or Warner, according
to Muratori, is found at the end of the eleventh century,
and opened a school of civil law: In the next century
canon law was added; in the first years of the thir
teenth, the school of grammar and literature ; and a
few years later, those of theology and medicine. Fifty
years later, it had ten thousand students under its
teaching, numbers of whom had come all across sea and .

1 70 Supply and Demand.
mountain from England; so strong and encompassing
was the sentiment.
And as Englishmen at that time sought Italy, so in
turn, I say, did Vacarius a native of Italy, seek England.
Selden completes the parallel between him and Lanfranc,
by making him Archbishop of Canterbury, after which
he retired again to Bee. However, to England he came,
and to Oxford ; and there, he effected a revolution in
the studies of the place, and that on the special ground
of the definite drift and direct usefulness of the science
in which he was a proficient. As in the case of Lanfranc,
not one class of persons, but "rich and poor," says'
Wood, '.' gathered around him." The professors of Arts
were thrown into the shade. Their alarm was increased
by the rival zeal with which the medical science was
prosecuted, and the aspect of things got in course of
years so threatening, that the Holy See was obliged to
interfere. If knowledge is power, it also may be honour
and wealth ; hence the couplet, expressive of the feeling-
of the day, " Dat Galenus opes, dat Justinianus honores,
Sed Genus et Species, cogitur ire pedes."
It was indeed the Faculty of Arts which constituted
the staple, as it may be called, of a University ; Arts, as
seems to be commonly allowed, constituted a Univer-1
sity ; and by Arts are understood the studies comprised;
in the Trivium and Quadrivium, that is, (as I havd
said before), Grammar, Rhetoric, Logic, Arithmetic,
Geometry, Astronomy, and Music. These were in
herited from the ancient world, and were the foundation
of the system which was then in course of formation.
But the life of Universities lay in the new sciences, not
indeed superseding, but presupposing Arts, viz., those of

The Schoolmen. 171
Theology, Law, Medicine, and in subordination to them,
of Metaphysics, Natural History, and the languages. I
have been speaking of the law movement, as it may be
called ; now, about the same time that Vacarius came tq
Oxford, Robert Pullus or Pulleyne came thither too from
Exeter, just about the time of St. Anselm, and gave the
same sort of impulse to biblical learning, which Vacarius
gave to law. " From his teaching," says the Osney
Chronicle, "the Church both in England and in France
gained great profit." Leland says, that he lectured
daily, " and left no stone unturned to make the British
youth flourish in the sacred tongues." " Multitudes "
are said to have come to hear him, and his fame spread
to Rome, whither Pope Innocent the Second sent for
him. Celestine the Second made him a Cardinal, and
Lucius the Second his Chancellor. He was an intimate
friend of St. Bernard's, and his influence extended to
Cambridge as well as to Paris.
, At Cambridge the intellectual movement had already
commenced, and with similar phenomena in its course.
These points, indeed, are so enveloped in obscurity, and
on the other hand have so intimate a bearing on the sensi
bilities, now as keen as ever, of rival schools, that I, who
look On philosophically, a member neither of Cambridge
nor of Oxford nor of Paris, " turbantibus aequora ventis,"
find it necessary to state that, in what I shall say, I am
determining nothing to the prejudice of the antiquity or
precedence of any of those seats of learning. I take the
account given us by Peter of Blois, merely as a specimen
of the way in which the present fabric of knowledge was
founded and reared, as a picture in miniature of the
great medieval revival, whatever becomes of its historical
truth. As a mere legend, it is sufficient for my pur
pose; for historical legends and fictions are made ac-

172 Supply and Demand.
cording to what is probable, and after the pattern of
precedents. The author, then, to whom I have referred, says, that
Jeoffred, or Goisfred, had studied at Orleans ; thence he
came to Lincolnshire, and became Abbot of Croyland ;
whence he sent to his manor of Cotenham, near Cam
bridge, four of his French fellow-students and monks,
one of them to be Professor of sacred learning, the rest
teachers in Philosophy, in which they were excellently
versed. At Cambridge they hired a common barn, and
opened it as a School of the high Sciences. They
taught daily. By the second year the number of
hearers was so great, from town and country, "that
not the biggest house and barn that was," says Wood,
" nor any church whatsoever, sufficed to hold them."
They accordingly divided off into several schools, and
began an arrangement of classes, some of which are
enumerated. " Betimes in the morning, brother Odo, a
very good grammarian and satirical poet, read grammar
to the boys, and those of the younger sort, according to
the doctrine of Priscian ;" at one o'clock "a most acute
and subtle Sophist taught the elder sort of young men
Aristotle's Logic;" at three o'clock, "brother William
read a lecture oh Tully's Rhetoric and Quintilian's
Flores ;" — such was the beginning of the University of
Cafnbridge. And " Master Gislebert upon every Sunr
day and Holyday, preached the Word pf God to the
people ;""— such was the beginning of its University,
Church. " It will be observed, that in these accounts, Scripture
comment is insisted on, and little or nothing is said of
Theology, properly so called. Indeed, • it was not till
the next, (the thirteenth) century, that Theology took
that place, which Law assumed about a century before

I he Schoolmen. 1 73
it. Then it was that the Friars, especially the Domini
cans, were doing as much for Theology, as Irnerius,
Vacarius, and the Bolognese Professors did for Law.
They raised it (if I may so speak of what is divine) to
the dignity of a science. " They had such a succinct
and delightful method," says Wood, speaking of them
at Oxford, " in the whole course of their discipline, quite
in a manner different from the sophistical way of the
Academicians, that thereby they did not only draw to
them the Benedictines and Carthusians, to be some
times their constant auditors, but also the Friars of St.
Augustine." Here we have another exemplification of the same
great principles of the movement which we have noticed
elsewhere ; its teachers came from afar, and they de
pended, not on kings and great men for their support,
but on the enthusiasm they created. " The reputation
•ofthe school of Paris," says Fleury, " increased consider-
' ably at the commencement of the twelfth century under
William of Champeaux and his disciples at St. Victor's.
At the same time Peter Abelard came thither and taught
them with great eclat the humanities and the Aristotelic
philosophy. Alberic of Rheims taught there also ; and
Peter Lombard, Hildebert, Robert Pullus, the Abbot
Rupert, and Hugh of St. Victor; Albertus Magnus
also, and the Angelic Doctor." How few of these pro
fessors at Paris were fellow-countrymen ! Albert was
from Germany, St. Thomas from Naples, Peter Lom
bard from Novara, Robert Pullus from Exeter in Eng
land. The case had been the same three centuries
before in the same great school. Charlemagne brought
Peter of Pisa from Pavia for Grammar ; Alcuin from
England for Rhetoric and Logic ; Theodore and Bene
dict from Rome for Music ; Jphn pf Melrose, who was

174 Supply and Demand.
afterwards at the head of the schools at Pavia, and
Claudius Clemens, two Scots, from Ireland. Ireland,
indeed, contributed a multitude of teachers to the con
tinental schopls, and the more, because, great as Was
the fame of its earlier schools, it had now no University'
of its own. The names of its professors have not
commonly been preserved, though Erigena and Scotus
by their very titles show their origin : but we find that,
when the Emperor Frederick the Second would set up
the University of Naples, he sent all the way to Ireland
for the learned Peter to be its -first Rector ; and an
author, quoted in Bulaeus, speaks of " the whole of
Ireland, with its family of philosophers, despising the
dangers of the sea," and migrating to the south. Such
was the famous Richard of St. Victor, whose very title
marks his connexion with the great school of Paris.
There is a force in the words, " despising the dangers
of the sea." We in this degenerate age sometimes
shrink from the passage between Holyhead and Kings
town, when duty calls for it; yet before steam-boats,
almost before seaworthy vessels, we find those zealous
scholars, both Irish and English, voluntarily exposing
themselves to the winds and waves, from their desire
of imparting and acquiring knowledge. Not content
with one teacher, they went from place to place,
according as in each there was preeminence in a par
ticular branch of knowledge. We have in St. Athar
nasius's life of St. Antony a beautiful account of the
diligence with which the young hermit went about
" like the bee," as his great biographer says, in quest
of .superiority in various ' kinds of virtue. From one
holy man, he says (I quote from memory), the youth
gained courtesy and grace, from another gentleness, from
another mortification, from another humility ; and . in

The. Schoolmen. 175
a similar way did the knights errant of science go about,
seeking indeed sometimes rivals to encounter, but more
frequently patterns and instructors to follow. As then
the legendary St. George or St. Denys wandered from
place to place to achieve feats of heroism, as St. Antony'
or Sulpicius Severus went about on pilgrimage to holy
hermits, as St. Gregory Nazianzen visited Greece, or
St. Jerome traversed Europe, and became, the one the
most accomplished theologian, the other the first Biblical
scholar of his' age, so did the medieval Doctors and
Masters go the round of Universities in order to get
the best instruction in every school
The famous John of Salisbury (as Mr. Sharon Turner
tells us) went to Paris, for the lectures of Abelard just
on the death of Henry the First, and with him he
studied logic. Then for dialectics he went to Alberic
and to the English Robert for two years. Then for three
years to William de Concilia for grammar; afterwards
to Richard Bishop for a renewed study of grammar
and logic, going on to the Quadrivium ; and to the
German Harduin. Next he restudied rhetoric, which he
had learned from Theodoric, and more completely from
Father Elias. Meanwhile, he supported himself by
teaching the children of noble persons, and became inti
mate with Adam, an Englishman, a stout Aristotelian,
and returned to logic with William of Soissons and
Gilbert. Lastly, he studied theology with Robert
Pulleyne or Pullus,' already mentioned, and Simon de
Poissy. Thus, he passed as many as twelve years.
Better instances, however, than his, as introducing a
wider extent of travel, are those already referred to,, of
St. Thomas, or Vacarius, or Lanfranc, or St. Anselm,
or John of Melrose.
The ordinary, course of study, however, lay between

176' Supply and Demand.
the schools of Paris and, Oxford, in which was almost
centered the talent of the age, and which were united by
the most intimate connexion. Happy age, whatever its
other inconveniences, happy so far as this, that religion
and science were then a bond of union, till the ambition
of monarchs and the rivalry of race dissolved it! Wood
gives us a list of thirty-two Oxford professors of name,
who in their respective times went to teach in Paris,
ariiong whom, were Alexander Hales, and the admirable
St. Edmund, afterwards Archbishop of Canterbury, — St.
Edmund, who, as St. Anselm and St. Thomas, shows us
how sanctity is not inconsistent with preeminence in the
schools. On the other hand, Bulaeus recites the names
of men, even greater, viewed as a body, who went from
Oxford to Paris, not to teach, but to be taught ; such as'
St. Thomas of Canterbury, St. Richard, St. Gilbert of
Sempringham, Giraldus Cambrensis, Gilbert the Uni
versal, Haimo, Richard de Barry, Nicholas Breakspeare,"
afterwards Pope, Nekam, Morley, and Galfredus de Vin-
salfe. So intimate, or to use the word, so thick were
Paris and Oxford at this time, as to give occasion to
this couplet, " Et procul et propius jam Francus et Anglicus seque,
Norunt Parisiis quid feceris, Oxoniseque."
And this continued till the time of Edward the Third,
when came the wretched French wars and the Lol
lards, and then adieu to familiar intercourse down to
this day.
I have npt found the number of students in Paris; but
from what I have said, one is led to expect two things of
it, first, that it would be very great, next, that it would
be very variable :and these inferences are confirmed by
what is told us of the numbers at Oxford, In that Unir

The Schoolmen. 177
iversity we read of Scotch, Irish, Welsh, French, Spanish,
German, Bohemian, Hungarian, and Polish Students ;
and, when it is considered, as a modern writer tells us,
that they would bring with them, or require for their
uses, a number of dependents in addition, such as parch-
ment-preparers, bookbinders, stationers,' apothecaries,
surgeons, and laundresses, it may be understood that the
whole number of matriculated persons was sometimes
even marvellous, and. as fluctuating in a long period as
excessive at particular dates. We are told that there
were in Oxford in 1209 three thousand members of the
University, in 1 23 1 thirty thousand, in 1263 fifteen
thousand, in 1350 between three and four thousand, and
in 1360 six thousand. This ebbing and flowing, more
over, suggests what it is all along very much to my pur
pose to observe, and on which, if I have the opportunity,
I shall have more to say presently ; first, that the zeal
for study and knowledge is sufficient indeed in itself for
the being of a Uniyersity ; but secondly, that it is not
sufficient for its well being, or what is technically called
its integrity.
The era of the French wars, which put an end to this
free intercourse of France and England, seems for various
reasons to have been the beginning of a decline in the
ecumenical greatness of Universities. They lost some
advantages, they gained others ; they became national
bodies ; they gained much in the way of good order and
in comfort ; they became rich and honourable establish
ments. Each age has its own character and its own
wants : and we trust that in each a loving Providence
shapes the institutions of the Church as they may best
subserve the objects for which she has been sent into the
world. We cannot tell exactly what the Catholic Uni
versity ought to be at this era ; doubtless neither the
12

178 Supply and Demand.
University of Scotus, nor that; of Gerson, in matters of
detail ; but, if we keep great principles before us, and
feel our way carefully, and ask guidance from above for
every step we take, we may trust to be able to serve the
cause of truth in our day and according to our measure,
and in that way which is most expedient and most profit
able, as our betters did in ages past and gone.

179

CHAPTER XV
PROFESSORS AND TUTORS.
I MAY seem in the foregoing Chapter to have relapsed
into the tone of thought which . created some
surprise when I was speaking of Athens and the
Sophists ; and my good friend Richard, the Epicurean,
may be upon me again, for my worship, as he will con
sider it, ofthe intellect, and my advocacy of the Profes
sorial System. This is an additional call on me to go
forward with my subject, if I can do so without wearying
the reader. I say "without wearying," for I beg to
assure him, if he has not already found it out for himself,
that it is very difficult for any one to discuss points of
ancient usage or national peculiarity, as I am doing, and
to escape the dry, dull tone of an antiquarian. This is
so acknowledged an inconvenience, .that every now and
then you find an author attempting to evade it by turn
ing his book of learned research into "a novel or a poem.
I will say nothing of Thalaba or Kehama, though the
various learning displayed in the notes appended to those
pleasing fables, certainly, suggests the idea, that the
poetry may have- grown out pf the notes, instead of the
notes being the illustration of the poetry.- However, I
believe it is undoubted, that Morier converted his un
saleable quarto on Persia into his amusing Hadji Baba ;
while Palgrave has. poured- out his medieval erudition by
the channels of Friar Bacon and Marco Polo, and Bekker

fi8o Professors and Tutors.
¦ has insinuated archeology in the persons of Charicles
and Gallus. Were I to attempt to do the same, whether
for the grouping of facts or the relief of abstract discus-
: sion, I have reason to believe I should not displease men
of great authority and judgment ; but for success in .such
. an undertaking there would be. demanded a very consi
derable stock of details, and no small ability in bringing
them to bear on principles, and working them up into a
"narrative. On the whole, then, I prefer to avail myself,
iboth as counsel and ascomfort, of the proverb, " Si gravis,
brevis ; " and to make it a point, that, weary as my
-reader may be, he shall not have time to go to sleep.
And to-day -especially, since I mean to 'be particularly
; heavy in the line of abstract discussion, J mean also to
be particularly short.
T purpose, then, to state here what is thePbvious safe-
.guard-of a University from the evils to -which it is liable
if left to itself, or what "may be called,: to use Che philo
sophical term, its integrity. By the " integrity " of any
thing is meant a gift superadded to "its riature, without
which that nature is indeed complete, and can act, and
folfil its end, but does not find7 itself, if I may use the ex
pression, in easy circumstances. " It is in fact very much
what easy circumstances are -in relation to human happi
ness. This reminds me of Aristotle's account of happiness,
which is an instance in point. "He specifies two conditions,
which are required for its integrity ; it is indeed a state
pf mind, and in its nature independent of externals, yet
he goes on (inconsistently we might say, till we make the
distinction I am pointingout), he goes on, I say, after lay
ing down that " man's chief good is an energy of the soul
according tp virtue," to add, " besides this, throughout the
greater part of life, — for, as neither one swallow, nor one
day, makes a spring, so neither does one day, nor a short

Professors and Tutors. 1 8 1
time, make a man blessed and happy." Here then is one
condition, which in some sense may be said to fall under
the notion of " integrity ;" but, whether this be so or not, a
second condition, which he proceeds to mention, seems
altogether to answer to it. After repeating that " happi
ness is the best and most noble and most delightful of
energies according to virtue," he adds : " at the same time
it seems to stand in need of external goods, for it is im
possible, or at least not easy, to perform praiseworthy
actions without external means, for many things are per
formed, as it were by instruments, by friends, and wealth,
and political power. But men deprived of some things,.
as of noble birth, fine progeny, a fine form, have a flaw in
their happiness ; for he is not altogether capable of
happiness, who is deformed in his body, or of mean birth,
or deserted and childless ; and still less so,, perhaps, if he
have vicious children, or if they were dear and dutiful,
and have died. Therefore it seems to demand such
prosperity as this ; whence some arrange good fortune
in the same class with happiness ; but others virtue."
This then is how we may settle the dispute which my
Epicurean introduced, and which has been carried on at
intervals in the British Universities for the last fifty years.
It began in the pages of the Edinburgh Review, which
at that time might in some sense be called the organ of
¦ the University of Edinburgh. Twenty years later, if my
memory does not play me false, it. was renewed in the
same quarter ; then it was taken up at Cambridge, and
lately it was going on briskly between some of the most
able members of the University of Oxford. Now what
has been the point of dispute between the combatants ?
This,. — whether a University should be conducted on the
system of Professors, or on the system of Colleges and
•College Tutors. By a CoUeg'e was understood something

1 8 2 Professors and Tutors. '
more than the Museum of Alexandria, or such corpora
tions among ourselves, as are established for Medicine,
Surgery, Engineering, or Agriculture. It was taken to
mean a place of residence for the University student,
who would there find himself under the guidance and
instruction of Superiors and Tutors, bound to attend to
his personal interests, moral and intellectual. The party
of the North and of progress have ever advocated the
Professorial system, as it has been called, and have pointed
in their own behalf to the practice of the middle ages
and of modern Germany and France ; the party of the
South and of prescription have ever stood up for the
Tutorial or collegiate system, and have pointed to
Protestant Oxford and Cambridge, where it has almost
or altogether superseded the Professorial. Now I have
on former occasions said enough to show that I am for
both views, at once, and think neither of them complete
without the other. I admire the Professor, I venerate
the College. The ^Professorial system fulfils the strict
idea of a University, and is sufficient for its being, but it
is not sufficient for its well-being. Colleges constitute
the integrity of a University.
This view harmonizes with what I said in a former
Chapter, about Influence and Law ; for though Professors
may be and have been utterly without personal, weight
and persuasiveness, and Colleges utterly forgetful of moral
and religious discipline, still, taking a broad view of his
tory, we shall find that Colleges are to be accounted the
maintainers of order, and Universities the centres of move
ment. It coincides, too, with what I have lately said in a
Treatise on University Education,* in which a Studium
Generate is considered first in its own nature, then as it
* Discourses on the Scope and Nature of University Education.

Professors and Tutors. , 1 83
exists within the pale of Catholicism. " It is," I there
say, " a place of teaching universal knowledge. Such
is a University in its essence and independently of its re
lation to the Church. But, practically speaking, it can
not fulfil its object duly without the Church's assistance,
or the Church is necessary for its integrity ; not that its
main characters are changed by this incorporation ; it
still has the office of intellectual education ; but the
Church steadies it in the performance of that office." I
say this passage coincides with the staternents I have
been making, because Colleges are the direct and special
instruments, which the Church uses in a University, for
the attainment of her sacred objects, — as other passages
of the same Volume incidentally teach.
Let us then bring the real state of the case, before
our minds. A University is " a school of knowledge of
every kind, consisting of teachers and learners from
every quarter." Two or three learned men, with little
or no means, make their way to some great city. They
come with introductions to the Bishop, if there is no
University there yet, and receive his sanction, dr they
get the necessary leave, and then on their own respon
sibility they open a school. , They may, or they may
not be priests ; but, any how, 'they are men of correct'
principles, in earnest, set on their work, and not careful
of their own ease and interest. They do not mind
where they lodge, or how they live, and their learning,
zeal, and eloquence soon bring hearers to them, not only
natives, but strangers to the place, travelling thither from
considerable distances, on the report of the teachers
who have there congregated. If the professors have
but scanty means, the pupils have not more abundant ;
and, in spite of their thirst for knowledge, whatever it
may be, they cannot have the staidness and gravity of

1 84 Professors and Tutors.
character, or the self-command, which; years and expe
rience have given to their teachers. They have difficulty
iri finding food or lodging, and are thrown upon shifts,
and upon the world, for both the pne and the other.
Now, it must be an extraordinary devotion> to science
which can save them from' the consequences of a trial such
as this. - They lodge in garrets or cellars, or they share
a room with others ; they mix with the inhabitants of
the place, who, if not worse, at least will not be better
than the run of mankind. A man must either.be a saint
or an enthusiast to be affected in no degree by the dis
advantages- of such a mode of living.-. There are few
people whose minds are not unsettled on being thrown
out of habits of regularity ; few who do not suffer, when
withdrawn from the eye of those who know them, or
from the scrutiny of public opinion. How often does a
religious community complain, on finding themselves iri
a new home, of the serious inconvenience, in a spiritual
point of view, which attaches to the mere circumstance.
that they have not an habitation suited to the rule which
they are bound to observe! Without elbow room,
without order, without tranquillity, they grieve to find
that recollection and devotion have not fair play. What,
then, will be the case with a number of youths of un
formed minds, so- little weaned from the world that
their very studies are perhaps the result of their ambi
tion, and who are under- no definite obligation to be
better than their, neighbours, only bound by that general
Christian profession, which those neighbours share with
them ? The excitement of novelty or emulation does
not last long ; and then the mind is commonly left a
prey to its enemies, even when there is no disarrange
ment of daily life such as I have been describing.
It is not to be expected that the Professor, whom they

Professors and Tutors. 185
attend, necessitous himself, can exercise a control over
such a set of pupils, even if he has any jurisdiction, or
can bring his personal influence to bear upon any great
number of them ; or that he can see them beyond the
hours iri which the schools are open, or, indeed, can do
much more than deliver lectures in their presence. It
is certain then, that, in proportion to the popularity,
whether of the Professor or the place itself, granting
there will be numerous exceptions to the contrary, a
mob of lawless youths will gradually be formed, after
the pattern of the rioters whom Eunapius encountered,
and St. Basil escaped, at Athens.. Nor will the state of
things be substantially different, even if we suppose
that, instead of the indigence I have described, the fre
quenters of the schools have a competency for their main
tenance ; much less, if they have superfluity of means.
To these disorders, which are of certain occurrence,
others may easily be added. A popular Professor will
be carried away by his success, and, in proportion as
his learning is profound, his talents ready, and his elo
cution attractive, will be in danger of falling into some
extravagance of doctrine, or even of being, betrayed
into heresy. The teacher has his own perils, as well as
the taught ; there are in his path such enemies as the
pride of intellect, the aberrations of reasoning, and the
intoxication of applause. The very advantages of his
position are his temptation. I have spoken in a former
Chapter, of the superiority of oral instruction to books,
in the communication of knowledge ; the following
passage from an able controversialist of the day, which
is intended to illustrate that superiority, incidentally
suggests to us also, that, first,, the speaker may suffer
from the popularity of his gift, and, then, the hearer
from its fascination.

1 86 Professors and Tutors.
" While the type," he says, " is so admirable a contri
vance for perpetuating knowledge, it is certainly more
expensive, and in some points of view less effective as a
means of communication, than the lecture. The type is
a poor substitute for the huftian voice. It has no means
of arousing, moderating, and adjusting the attention.
It has no emphasis except Italics, and this meagre nota
tion cannot finely graduate itself to the need of the occa
sion. It cannot in this way mark the heed which should
be specially and chiefly given to peculiar passages or
words. It has no variety of manner and intonation, to
show by their changes how the words are to be accepted,,
or what comparative importance is to be attached to
them. It has no natural music to take the ear, like the
human voice ; it carries with it no human eye to range,
and to rivet the student when on the verge- of truancy,
and to command his intellectual activity by an appeal
to the courtesies of life. Half the symbolism of a living
language is> thus lost, when it is committed to "paper;
and that symbolism is the very means by which the
forces of the hearer's mind can be best economized or
most pleasantly excited. The lecture, on the other hand,
as delivered, possesses all these instruments to. win, and
hold, and harmonize attention ; and above all, it imparts
to the whole teaching a human character, which the
printed book can never supply. The Professor is the
science or subject, vitalized and humanized in the student's
presence. He "sees him kindle into his subject ; he sees
reflected and exhibited in him, his manner, and Tiis ear
nestness, the general power of the science to engage,
delight, and absorb a human intelligence. His natural
sympathy and admiration attract or impel his tastes and
feelings and wishes for the moment into the same cur
rents of feeling, and his mind is naturally and rapidly and

Professors and Tutors, 187
insensibly strung and attuned to the strain of truth
which is offered to him."*
It needs not this elegant panegyric of an Oxford
Professor to inform us' of the influence which eloquence
can exert oVer an audience ; I quote it rather for its able
analysis of that influence. I quote it, because it forcibly
suggests to the mind how fitted the talent is, first to
exalt the possessor in his own eyes, and then through
him to mislead his hearers. I will cap it, if I may use
the expression, with the following histories or legends of
the thirteenth century ; — " Simon of Tournay, a famous
Parisian doctor, one day proved in a lecture by such
powerful arguments, the divinity of Christianity, that his
school burst out into admiration Pf his ability. On this
he cried out, ' Ha, good Jesus ; I could, if I chose, refute
Thee quite as well.' "- The story goes on to say that he
was instantly struck dumb. A disciple of Silo, a pr'o-
iessor of theology, died ; after a while he returned to his
master from the grave, invested in a cope of fire, inscribed
all over with philosophical theses. A drop of his sweat
fell upon the professor's hand, and burned it through.
This cope lay on him as a punishment for intellectual
pride." f
Considerations such as this, are sufficiently suggestive
of the dangers of the Professorial system ; it is obvious,
however, to mention one additional evil. We are suppos
ing a vast influx and congregation of young men, their
own masters, in a strange city, from countries various, of
different traditions, politics, and manners, and which have
often been at war with each other. And they have
come to attend lecturers, whom they are to choose out of
a number of able men, themselves of various countries
* Professor Vaughan
t Vide Fr. DalgauW-s article in the JBritish Critic, Jan. 1843.

1 88 Professors and Tutors.
and characters too. Some of these professors are their
own countrymen respectively, others are not; and all of
them are more or less in rivalry one with another; so far
as their department of teaching is the same. They will
have their respective gatherings, their respective hostili
ties ; many will puff them, many run them down ; their
countrymen, for the sake of "la belle France," or "merry
England," will range themselves on their side, and fight
in. their behalf. Squabbles, conflicts, feuds, will be the
consequence ; the peace of the University will be broken,
the houses will be besieged, the streets will be impassable.
Accustomed to brawls with each other, they are not likely
to be peaceable with any third party ; they will find
themselves a match for the authority of Chancellor and
Rector ;. nor will they scruple at 'compromising them
selves with the law, or even with the government ; nay,
with the Church, if her authorities come in their way ;
with the townspeople of course — a sort of ready-made
opponent. The bells of St. Mary's and St. Martin's will
ring; out will rush from, their quarters the academic
youth ; and the smart blackguard, of the cityt and the
stout peasant from the neighbourhood, will answer to the
challenge. The worse organized is a country, the greater
of course will be the disorder \ intolerable of course in
the middle ages ; in times such as these, the magistracy
or police would to a very considerable extent keep under
such manifestations ; yet, in Germany, we are told that
at least duels and party skirmishes are not uncommon,
and even within the very home and citadel of Order,
town-and-gown rows are not yet matters of history in the
English Universities.
Now, I have said quite enough for the purpose of
showing that, taking human nature as it is,- the thirst of
knowledge and the opportunity of quenching it, though

Professors und Tutors'. 1 89
these be the real life of a great school of philosophy and
science, will not be sufficient in fact for its establishment ;
that they will not work to their ultimate end, which is
the attainment and propagation of truth, unless sur
rounded, by influences of a different sort, which have no
pretension indeed to be the essence of a University, but
are conservative of that essence. The Church does not
think much of any " wisdom," which is not " desursum,"
that is, revealed ; nor unless, as the Apostle proceeds,
it is " primum quidem pudica, deinde pacifica'." These
may be called the three vital principles of the Christian
student, faith, chastity, love-; because their contraries,
viz., unbelief or heresy, impurity, and enmity, are just the
three great -sins against God, ourselves, and our neigh
bour, which are the death of the soul : — now, these are
also just the three imputations which I have been bring
ing against the incidental action of what may be called
the Professorial system.
And lastly, obvious as are the deficiencies of that
system, as obvious surely is its remedy, as far as
human nature admits of one. I have been saying
that regularity, rule, respect for others, the eye of friends
and acquaintances, 'the - absence ' from - temptation,
external restraints generally, are of first importance
in protecting us against ourselves. When a boy
leaves his home, when a peasant leaves his country,
his faith and morals are in great danger, both be
cause he is in the world, and also because he is among
strangers. The remedy, then, of the perils which a
University presents to the student, is to create within it
homes, " altera Trojae Pergama," such as those, or better
than those, which he has left behind. Small commu
nities must be set up within its precincts, where his better .
thoughts will find countenance, and his good resolutions

i go ' Professors and. Tutors.
support ; where his waywardness will, be restrained, his
heedlessness forewarned,' and his prospective deviations
anticipated. ' Here, too, his diligence will be steadily
stimulated ; he will be kept up to' his aim ; his progress
will be ascertained, and his week's work, like a labourer's,
measured. It is not easy for a young man to determine
for. himself whether he has mastered what he has been
taught ; a careful catechetical training, and a. jealous
scrutiny into his power of expressing himself and of
turning his knowledge to account, will be necessary, if
he is really to profit from the able Professors whom he
is attending ;, and all this he will gain from the College
Tutor. Moreover, it has always been considered the wisdom
of lawgivers and founders, to find a safe outlet for natural
impulses and sentiments, which are sure to be found in
their subjects, and which are hurtful only in excess ; and
to direct, and moderate,- 'and variously influence what
they cannot extinguish. The story is familiarly told, when
a politician was advocating violently repressive measures
upon some national crisis, of a dissentient friend who was
present, proceeding to fasten down the lid of the kettle,
which was hissing on his fire, and to stop up its spout.
Here, in like manner, the subdivision of the members of
a University, while it breaks up the larger combination
of parties, and makes them more manageable, answers
also the purposes of providing a safe channel for national,
or provincial, or political feeling, and for a rivalry which
is wholesome when it is not inordinate. These small so
cieties, pitted, as it were, one against another, give scope
to the exertion of 'an honourable emulation ; and this,
while it is a stimulus on the literary exertions of their
respective members, is changed from a personal and self
ish feeling, into a, desire for the reputation pf the body.

Professors and Tutors. i g i
Patriotic sentiment, t°°j here finds its home ; one college
has a preponderance of members from one race or
district, another from another ; the "Nations" no longer
fight on the academic scene, like the elements in chaos ;
they are submitted to a salutary organization ; and the
love of country, without being less intense, becomes purer,
and more civilized, and more religious.
.My object at present is not to prove what I have been
saying, either by argument or from history, but to suggest
views to the reader which he will pursue for himself. It
may be said that small bodies may fall into a state of
decay or irregularity, as well as- large. It is true ; but
that is not the question ; but whether in themselves
smaller bodies of students are not easier to manage on
the long run, than large ones. I should not like to do
either, but, if I must choose between the two, I would
rather drive four-in-hand, than the fifty wild cows which
were harnessed to the travelling wagon of the Tartars.

ig2

CHAPTER XVI.
THE STRENGTH AND WEAKNESS OF UNIVERSITIES.
ABELARD.
WE can have few more apposite illustrations- of at
once the strength and weakness of what may be
called the University principle, of what it can do and
what it cannot, of its power to collect students, and its
impotence to preserve and edify them, than the .history of
the celebrated Abelard. His name is closely associated
with the commencement of the University of Paris ; and
in his popularity and in his reverses, in the criticisms
of John of Salisbury on his method, and the protest of
St. Bernard against his teaching, we read, as in a pattern
specimen, what a University professes in its essence, and
what it needs for its " integrity." It is not to be supposed,
' that I am prepared to show this here, as fully as it might
be shown ; but it is a subject so pertinent to the general
object of these Essays, that it may be useful to devote
even a few pages to it
The oracles of Divine Truth, as time goes on, do but
repeat the one message from above which they have
ever uttered, since the tongues of fire attested the coming
of the Paraclete ; still, as time goes on, they utter it with
greater force and precision, under diverse forms, with
fuller luminousness, and a richer ministration of thought,
statement, and argument. They meet the varying wants,
and" encounter the special resistance of each successive

Abelard. i.g3
age ; and, though prescient of coming errors and their
remedy long before, they cautiously reserve' their new
enunciation of the old Truth, till it is imperatively de
manded. And, as it happens in kings' cabinets, that
surmises arise, and rumours spread, of what is said in
council, and is in course of preparation, and secrets per
haps get wind, true in substance or in direction, though
distorted in detail ; so too, before the Church speaks, one
or other of her forward children speaks for her, and, while
he does anticipate to a certain point what she is about
to say or enjoin, he states it incorrectly, makes it error
instead of truth, and risks his own faith in the process.
Indeed, this is actually one source, or rather concomitant,
of heresy, the presence of some misshapen, huge, and gro
tesque foreshadow of true statements which are to come.
Speaking under correction, I would apply this remark to
the heresy of Tertullian or of Sabellius, which may be
considered a reaction from existing errors, and an attempt,
presumptuous, and therefore unsuccessful, to meet them
with those divinely-appointed correctives which the
Church alone can apply, and which she will actually
apply, when the proper moment comes. The Gnostics
boasted of their intellectual proficiency before the time
of St. Irenaeus, St. Athanasius, and St. Augustine ; yet,
when these doctors made their appearance, I suppose they
were examples of that knowledge, true and deep, which
, the Gnostics professed. Apollinaris anticipated the work
of St Cyril and the Ephesine Council, and became a
heresiarch in consequence ; and, to come down to the
present times, we may conceive that writers, who have
impatiently fallen away from the Church, because she
would not adopt their views, would have found, had they
but trusted her, and waited, that she knew how to profit
by them, though she never could have need to borrow
13

ig4 The Strength and Weakness of Universities.
her enunciations from them ; for their writings contained,
so to speak, truth in the ore, truth which they themselves
had not the gift to disengage from its foreign con
comitants, and safely use, which she alone could use,
which she would use in her destined hour, and which
became their stone of stumbling simply because she did
not use it faster. Now, applying this principle to the
subject before us, I observe, that, supposing Abelard to
be the first master of scholastic philosophy, as many seem
to hold, we shall have still no difficulty in condemning
the author, while we honour the work. To him is only
the glory of spoiling by his own self-will what would have
been done well and surely under the teaching and guid
ance of Infallible Authority.
Nothing is more certain, than that some ideas are
consistent wi^h one another, and others inconsistent ;
and, again, that every truth must be consistent with
every other truth ; — hence, that all truths of whatever
kind form into one large body of Truth, by virtue of
the consistency between one truth and another, which
is a connecting link running through them all. The
science which discovers this connection, is logic; and,
as it discovers the connection when the truths are given.
so, having one truth given and the connecting prin
ciple, it is able to go on to ascertain the other. Though
all this is obvious, it was realized and acted on in the
middle age with a distinctness unknown before ; all
subjects of knowledge were viewed, as parts of one vast
system, each with its own place in it, and from knowing
one, another was inferred.. Not indeed always rightly
inferred, because the art might be less perfect than the
science, the instrument than the theory and aim; but
I am speaking of the principle, of the scholastic method,
of which Saints and Doctors were the. teachers ; — such

Abelard. ine
1 conceive it to be, arid Abelard was the ill-fated logician
who had a principal share in bringing it into operation.
Others will consider the great St. Anselm and the'
school of Bee, as the proper source of Scholasticism ; I
am not going to discuss the question ; any how, Abelard,
and not St. Anselm, was the Professor at the University
of Paris, and it is of Universities that I am speaking ;
any how, Abelard illustrates the strength and the weak
ness of the principle of advertising and communicating
knowledge for its own sake, which I have called the
University principle, whether he is, or is not, the first
of scholastic philosophers or scholastic theologians.
And, though I could riot speak of him at all without
mentioning the subject of his teaching, yet, after all, it
is of him and of his teaching itself, that I am going to
speak, whatever that might be which he actually taught.
Since Charlemagne's, time the schools of Paris had'
continued, with various fortunes, faithful, as far as the
age admitted, to the old learning, as other schools else
where, when, in the eleventh century, the famous school
of Bee began to develop the powers of logic in forming
a new philosophy. As the inductive method rose in
Bacon, so did the logical in the medieval schoolmen ;
and Aristotle, the most comprehensive intellect of Anti
quity, as the one who had conceived the sublime idea
of mapping the whole field of knowledge, and subjecting
all things to one profound analysis, became the presiding
master in their lecture halls. It was at the end of the
eleventh century that William of Champeaux founded
the celebrated Abbey of St. Victor under the shadow
of St. Genevieve, and by the dialectic methods which
he introduced into his teaching, has a claim to have
commenced the work of forming the University out of
the Schools of Paris. For one at least, out of the two

ig6 • The Strength and Weakness of Universities. .
characteristics of a University, he prepared the way ; for,
though the schools were not public till after his day, so
as to admit laymen as well as clerks, and foreigners as
well as natives of the place, yet the logical principle of
constructing all sciences into one system, implied of
course a recognition of all the sciences that are com
prehended in it. Of this William of Champeax, or. de
Campellis, Abelard was the pupil ; he had studied the
dialectic art elsewhere, before he offered himself for his
instructions ; and, in the course of two years, when as
yet he had only reached the age of twenty-two, he made
such progress, as to be capable .of quarrelling with his
master,' and setting up a school for himself.
' This school of Abelard was first situated in the royal
castle of Melun ; then at Corbeil, which was nearer to
Paris, and where he attracted to himself a considerable
number of hearers. His labours had an injurious effect
upon his health ; and at length he withdrew for two
years to his native Britanny. Whether other causes
cooperated in this withdrawal, I think, is not known ;
but, at the end of the two years, we find him returning'^
to Paris, and renewing his attendance on the lectures of
William, who was by this time a monk- Rhetoric was
the subject of the lectures he now heard ; and after awhile
the pupil repeated with greater force and success his
former treatrnent of his teacher. He held a public dis
putation with him, got the victory, and reduced him to
silence. The school of William was deserted, and its
master himself became an instance ' of the vicissitudes
incident to that gladiatorial wisdom (as I may style it)
which was then eclipsing the old Benedictine method of
the Seven Arts. After a time, Abelard found his repu
tation sufficient to warrant him in setting up a school
himself on Mount St. Genevieve ; whence he waged

Abelard. 107
incessant war against the unwearied logician, who by
this time had rallied his forces to repel the young and
ungrateful adventurer who had raised his hand against
him. Great things are done by devotion to one idea ; there
is one class of geniuses, who would never be what they
are, could they grasp a second. The calm philosophical
mind, which contemplates parts without denying the
whole, and the whole without confusing the parts, is noto
riously indisposed to action ; whereas single and simple
views arrest the mind, and hurry it on to carry them out.
Thus, men of one idea and nothing more, whatever their
merit, must be to a certain extent narrow-minded ; and
it is not wonderful that Abelard's devotion to the new
philosophy made him undervalue the Seven Arts out of
which it had grown. He felt it impossible so to honour
what was now to be added, as not to dishonour what
existed before. He would not suffer the Arts to have
their own use, since he had found a new instrument for a
new purpose. So he opposed the reading of the Classics.
The monks had opposed them before him ; but this is
little to our present purpose ;' it was the duty of men,
who abjured the gifts of this world on the principle of
mortification, to deny themselves literature just as they
would deny themselves particular friendships or figured
music. The doctrine which Abelard introduced and
represents was founded on a different basis. He did not
recognize in the poets of antiquity any other merit than
that of furnishing an assemblage of elegant phrases and
figures ; and accordingly he asks why they should not be
banished from the city of God, since Plato banished them
from his own commonwealth. The animus of this lan
guage is clear, when we turn to the pages of John of Salis
bury and Peter of Blois, who were champions of the

ig8 . The Strength and Weakness of Universities.
ancient learning. We find them complaining that the
careful " getting up," as we now call it, " of books," was
growing out of fashion. Youths once studied critically
the text of poets or philosophers ; they got them by
heart ; they analyzed their arguments ; they noted down
their fallacies ; they were closely examined in the matters
which had been brought before them in lecture ; they
composed. But now, another teaching was coming in;
students were promised truth in a nutshell ; they in
tended to get possession of the sum-total of philosophy
in less than two or three years ; and facts were appre
hended, not in their substance and details, by means of
living and, as it were, personal documents, but in dead
abstracts and tables. Such were the reclamations to
which the new Logic gave occasion.
' These, however, are lesser matters ; we have a graver
quarrel with Abelard than that of his undervaluing the
Classics. As I have said, my main object here is not
what he taught, but why and how, and how he lived.
Now it is certain, his activity was stimulated by nothing
very high, but something very earthly and sordid. I
grant there is nothing morally wrong in the mere desire
to rise in the world, though Ambition and it are twin
sisters. ' I should not blame Abelard merely for wishing
to distinguish himself at the University ; but when he
makes the ecclesiastical state the instrument* of his
ambition, mixes up spiritual matters with temporal, and
aims at a bishopric through the medium of his logic, he
joins together things incompatible, and cannot complain
of being censured. It is he himself, who tells us, unless
my memory plays me false, that the circumstance of
William of Champeaux being promoted to the see of
Chalons, was an incentive to him to pursue the same
path with an eye to the same reward. Accordingly, we

Abelard. i gg
next hear of his attending the theological lectures of a
certain master of William's, named Anselm, an old
man, whose school was situated at Laon. This person
had a great reputation J.in his day ; John of Salisbury,
speaking of him in the next generation, calls him the
doctor of doctors ; he had been attended by students
from Italy and Germany ; but the age had advanced
since he was in his prime, and Abelard was disappointed
in a teacher, who had been good enough for William.
He left Anselm, and began to lecture on the prophet
Ezekiel on his own resources.
Now came the time of his great popularity, which was
¦ more than his head could bear ; which dizzied him, took
him off his legs, and whirled him to his destruction. I
spoke in my foregoing Chapter of those three qualities
of true wisdom, which a University, absolutely and
nakedly considered, apart from the safeguards which
constitute its integrity, is sure to compromise. Wisdom,
says the inspired writer, is desursum, is pudica, is pacifica,
" from above, chaste, peaceable." We have already seen
enough pf Abelard's career to understand that his
wisdom, instead of being " pacifica," was ambitious and
contentious. An Apostle speaks of the tongue both as a
' blessing and as a curse. ' It may be the beginning of a
fire, he says, a " Universitas jniquitatis ; " and alas !
such did it become in the mouth of the gifted Abelard.
His eloquence was wonderful ; he dazzled his contem
poraries, says Fulco, " by -the brilliancy of his genius, the
sweetness of his eloquence, the ready flow of his lan
guage, and the subtlety of his knowledge." People came
to him from all quarters ; — from Rome, in spite , of
mountains and robbers ; from England, in spite of the
sea ; from ' Flanders and Germany ; from Normandy,
and the remote districts of France; from Angers and

200 The Strength and Weakness of Universities.
Poitiers ; from Navarre by the Pyrenees, and from Spain,
besides the students of Paris itself ; and among those,
who .sought his instructions now or afterwards, were the
great luminaries of the schools in the next generation.
Such were Peter of Poitiers, Peter Lombard, John of
Salisbury, Arnold of Brescia, Ivo, and Geoffrey of
Auxerre. It was too much for a weak head and heart,
weak in spite of intellectual power ; for vanity will pos
sess the head, and worldliness the heart, of the man,
however gifted, whose wisdom is not an effluence of the
Eternal Light.
True wisdom is not only "pacifica," it is "pudica;"
chaste as well as peaceable. . Alas for Abelard ! a second
disgrace, deeper than ambition, is his portion now. The
strong man, — the Samson of the schools in the wildness
of his course, the Solomon in the fascination of his
genius,— shivers and falls before the temptation which
overcame that mighty pair, the most excelling in body
and in mind. Desire of wine, and all delicious drinks,
Which many a famous warrior overturns,
Thou couldst repress ; nor did the dancing ruby
Sparkling outpour'd, the flavour or the smell,
Or taste that cheers the heart of gods and men,
Allure thee from the cool crystalline stream.
But what avail'd this temperance, not complete, -
Against another object more enticing?
What boots it at one gate to make defence,
And at another to let in the foe,
Effeminately vanquished ?
In a time when Colleges were unknown, and the
young scholar was commonly thrown upon the dubious
hospitality of a great, city, Abelard might even be
thought careful of his honour, that he went to lodge with
an old ecclesiastic, had not his host's niece Eloisa lived
with him. A more subtle snare was laid for him than

• Abelard. 201
beset the heroic chariipion or the all-accomplished
monarch of Israel ; for sensuality came upon him under
the guise of intellect, and it was the high mental endow
ments of Eloisa, who became his pupil, speaking in her
eyes, and thrilling on her tongue, which were the in
toxication and the delirium of Abelard. ....
He is judged, he is punished ; — but he is not reclaimed.
True wisdom is not only " pacifica," not only " pudica ; "
it is " desursum " too. it is a revelation from above ; it
knows heresy as little as it knows strife or licence. But
Abelard, who ha"d run the career of earthly wisdom in
two of its 'phases, now is destined to represent its third.
It is at the famous Abbey of St. Denis that we find
him languidly rising from his dream of sin,- and the
suffering that followed. The bad dream is cleared away ;
clerks come to him, and the Abbot, — begging him to
lecture still, for love now, as for gain before. Once more
his school is thronged by the curious and the studious ;
but at length a rumour spreads, that Abelard is explor
ing the way to some novel view on the subject of the
Most Holy Trinity. Wherefore is hardly clear, but
about the same time the monks drive him away from
the place of refuge he had gained. He betakes himself
to a cell, and thither his pupils follow him. " I betook
myself to a certain cell," he says, " wishing to give my
self to the schools, as was my custom. = Thither so great
a multitude of scholars flocked, that there was neither
room to house them, nor fruits of the earth to feed them,"
such was the enthusiasm of the student, such the attrac
tion of the teacher, when knowledge was advertised
freely, and its market opened.
Next he is in Champagne, in a delightful solitude near
Nogent in the diocese of Troyes. Here the same.
phenomenon preserits itself, which is so frequent in his

202 The Strength and Weakness of Universities.
history. " When the scholars knew it," he says, "they
began to crowd, thither from all parts ; and, leaving
other cities and strongholds, they were content to dwell
in the wilderness. For spacious houses they framed for
themselves small tabernacles, and for delicate food they
put up with wild herbs. Secretly did they whisper
among themselves : ' Behold, the whole world is gone
out after him ! ' When, however, my Oratory could not
hold even a moderate portion of them, then they were
forced to enlarge it, and to build it up with wood and
stone." He called the place his Paraclete, "because- it
had been his consolation.
I do not know why I need follow his life further. I
have said enough to illustrate the course of one, who
may be called the founder, or at least the first great
name, of the Parisian Schools. After the events I have
mentioned he is found in Lower Britanny ; then, being
about forty-eight years -of age, in the Abbey of St.
Gildas ; then with St. Genevieve again. He had to
sustain the fiery eloquence of a Saint, directed against his
novelties ; he had to present himself before two Councils ;
he had to burn the book which had given offence to
pious ears. His last two years were spent at Clugrti on
his way to Rome. The home of the weary, the hospital
of the sick, the school' of the erring, the tribunal of the
penitent, is the city of St. Peter. He did not reach it ;
but he is said to have retracted what had given scandal
in his writings, and to have made an edifying end. He
died at the age of sixty-two, in the year of grace 1 142.
In reviewing his career, the career of so great an in
tellect so miserably thrown away, we are reminded of
the famous words of the dying scholar and jurist, which
are a lesson to us all : " Heu, vitam perdidi, operose nihil
agendo." A happier lot be ours !

:o3

CHAPTER XVII.
THE ANCIENT UNIVERSITY OF DUBLIN.
THE most prominent distinction between the primi
tive and the medieval ' schools, as I have already
many times said, was, that the latter had a range and
system in their subjects and the manner of their teaching,
which were unknown to the former. The primitive
schools, for instance, lectured from Scripture with the
comments of the Fathers ; but the rnedieval schools
.created the science of theology. The primitive schools
collected arid transmitted the canonical rules and tra
ditions of the Church; the medieval schools taught the
science of canon law. And so as regards secular studies,
the primitive- schools professed the three sciences of
grammar, rhetoric, and logic, which make up the Trivium,
and the four branches of the mathematics, arithmetic,
geometry, astronomy, and music, which make up the
Quadrivium. On the other hand, the medieval schools
recognized philosophy as a science of sciences, which
included, located, connected, and used all kinds and
modes of knowledge ; they enlarged the sphere and
application of logic ; and they added civil law, natural
history, and medicine to the curriculum. It followed,
moreover, from this, that while, on the one hand, they
were led to divide their work among a number of Pro
fessors, they opened their doors on the other to laity as '
well as clergy, and to foreigners as well as natives.

204 The Ancient University of Dublin.
Of schools founded on this magnificent idea and answer
ing to a profession so comprehensive and so engrossing,
there could be but a few, specimens ; for instance, Paris,
Oxford, and Bologna. These, too, owed their characteris
tic splendour in no small measure to the zeal and learning
of the Friars, especially the Dominicans; accordingly,
their great era was the thirteenth century. But various
causes came into operation to modify the University
type, as I have described it, or at least its applications
and manifestations, when that century had passed away.
The first movements of new agents, both in the physical
and social world, are commonly more energetic and
more successful than those which follow ; and this re
mark includes both Universities themselves, and the'
religious bodies which were their prominent supporters.
New orders of religion commonly achieve their greatest
works in their first fervour. The very success too ofthe
experiment would tend to impair the University type
by multiplying copies of it ; for an imperial power (and
a University was such in the intellectual world) must
be solitary to be imperial. As, then, the utility of the
new schools was recognized, they became more numerous
and their respective territories less extensive. Moreover,
it was natural, that, as country after country woke up
into existence and assumed an individuality, each in turn
should desire a University of its own, that is, an institu- '
tion indigenous and national. Peace between states could
not always be maintained ; the elements were beyond the
traveller's control ; and a. safe-conduct did not secure
the pilgrim scholar irombandits and pirates. The mutual
divergence and distinctive formation of languages and of
national character, national histories, national pride, na
tional antipathies, would all carry forward the course of
events in the same direction ; and the Collegiate system,

ike Ancient University of Dublin. 205
of which I shall presently speak, cooperated in mak
ing a University a local institution, and in embodying
it among the establishments of the nation. Hence
it came to pass, that Oxford, for instance, in course of
time, was not exactly the Oxford of the thirteenth cen
tury. Not that the great and primary idea of a Univer
sity was not sufficiently preserved ; it was still a light
set upon a hill, or a sort of ecumenical doctor on all
subjects of knowledge, .human and divine ; but it was
directed and coloured by the political and social in
fluences to which it was accidentally exposed. This
change began about the commencement of the fourteenth
century ; however, I am not going to dwell upon it here ;
for the foregoing reference to it is only introductory to a
short notice, which I propose now to give, of the ancient
University, of Dublin or of Ireland, set up at this very
era, — a subject to which the mind naturally reverts just
at this moment, when we are now on the point of laying
down the rudiments of its revival or reconstruction upon
the old foundations, on a grander scale, and, as we trust
and believe, with a happier prospect for the future.
If by " University " is meant a large national School,
conducted on the basis of the old Roman education, it was
impossible that such should not have existed in a people
so literary as the Irish, from the very time that St. Pa
trick brought among them Christianity and civilization.
Accordingly, we hear of great seats of learning of this
description in various parts of the country. The school
of Armagh is said at one time to have numbered as many
as seven thousand students ; and tradition assigns a Uni
versity town to the locality where the Seven Churches
still preserve the memory of St. Kevin. Foreigners,
at least Anglo-Saxons, frequented such schools, and, so
far, they certainly had a University character ; but that

206 The Ancient University elf Dublin.
they offered to their pupils more than the glosses on the
sacred text and the collections of canons, and the Tri
vium and the Quadrivium, which were the teaching of
the schools of the Continent, it is difficult to suppose ;
or that the national genius for philosophizing, which
afterwards anticipated or originated the scholastic period,
should at this era have come into exercise. When that
period came, the Irish, so far having its characteristic
studies already -domiciled among them, were forced to
go abroad for their prosecution. They went to Paris or
to Oxford for the living traditions, which are the ordinary
means by which religion and morals, science and art, are
diffused over communities, and propagated from land
to land. In Oxford, indeed, there was from the earliest
time even aistreet called " Irishman's Street," and the
Irish were included there under the " Nation " of the
Southern English ; but they gained what they sought in
that seat of learning, at the expense of discomforts which
were the serious drawback of the first age of Univer
sities. Lasting feuds and incessant broils marked the
presence of Irish, Welsh, Scotch, English, and French in
one place,, at a time when the Collegiate System was
not formed. To this great evil was added the very cir
cumstance that home was far away, and the danger of
the passage across the channel; which would diminish
the number, while it illustrated the literary zeal, of the
foreign students* And an additional source of discon
tent was found in the feeling of incongruity, that Ireland,
with her literary antecedents, should b'e without a Uni
versity of her own ; and, moreover, as time went on, in
the feeling which existed at Rome, in favour of the multi
plication of such centres of science and learning.
Another perfectly distinct cause was in operation, to
which I was just now referring. The Dominicans, and

j. ne sincuni university of Dublin. 207
other Orders of the age, had had a preeminent place in
the history of the Universities of Paris and Oxford, and
had done more than any other teachers to give the know
ledge taught in them their distinctive form'. When then
, these Orders came into Ireland, it was only to be ex
pected, that they should set about the same work there,
which had marked their presence in England and France.
Accordingly, at the end of the thirteenth century, the
question of a University in Ireland had been mooted,
and its establishment was commenced in the first years
of the fourteenth.
" This was the date ofthe foundation of the Universities
of Avignon and Perugia, which was followed by that ot
Cahors, Grenoble, Pisa, and Prague. It was the date at
which Oxford in consequence lost its especial preemi
nence in science ; arid it was the date, I say, at which the
University of Dublin was projected and begun. In 131 1
or 1312, John Lech or Leach, Archbishop of Dublin, ob
tained of Clement the Fifth a brief for the undertaking ;
in which, as is usual in such documents, the Pope gives
the reasons' which have induced him to decide upon it.
He begins by setting forth the manifold, or rather
complex, .benefits of which a University is- the instru
ment ; as father of the faithful, he recognizes it as his
office to nurture learned sons, who, by the illumination
of their knowledge, may investigate the divine law,
protect justice and truth, illustrate the faith, promote
good government, teach the ignorant, confirm the weak,
and restore the fallen. This office he is only fulfilling,
in receiving favourably the supplication of his venerable
brother, John de Leeke, who has brought before him the
necessities of his country, in which, as well as in Scot
land, Man, and Norway, the countries nearest to Ireland,
a " Universitas Scholarum," or " Generale Studium," is

208 The Ancient University of Dublin.
not to be found ; — the consequence being, that though
there are in Ireland some doctors and bachelors in
theology, and other graduates in grammar, these are,
after all, few in cbmparison of the- number which the
country might fairly produce. The Pope proceeds to
express his desire, that from the land itself should grow
up men skilled and fruitful in the sciences, who would
make it to be a well-watered garden, to the exaltation
of the Catholic faith, the honour of Mother Church, and
the advantage of the faithful population. And with this
view he erects in Dublin a Studium Gener ale in every
science and faculty, to continue for " perpetual times."
And, I suppose no greater benefit could have been
projected for Ireland at that date, than such a bond of
union and means of national strength, as an Irish Uni
versity. But the parties, who had origiriated the under
taking, had also to carry it out : and at the moment of
which I am speaking, by the fault neither of Prelate nor
laity, nor by division, nor by intemperance or jealousy,
nor by wrong-headedness within the fold, nor by malig
nant interference from without, but by the will of heaven
and the course of nature, the work was suspended ; — for
John de Leeke fell ill and died the next year, and his
successor, Alexander de Bicknor, was not in circum
stances to take up his plans at the moment, where de
Leeke had left them.
Seven years passed ; and then Bicknor turned his mind
to their prosecution. Acting under the authority of the
brief of Clement, and with the sanction and confirmation
of the reigning Pontiff, John the Twenty-second, he
published an instrument, in which he lays down on his
own authority the provisions and dispositions which he
had determined for the nascent University. He ad
dresses himself to "the Masters and Scholars of our

The Ancient University of Dublin. 2og
University," and that "with the consent and assent' of
our chapters of Holy Trinity a-nd St. Patrick." I think
I am correct in saying, . though I write without book,
that he makes no mention of a Rector. If not, the
Chancellor probably,- whom he does mention, took his
place, or was his synonyme, as in some other Universi
ties. This Chancellor the Regent Masters were to have
the privilege of choosing, with a proviso that he was a
"Doctor in sacra pagina," or in "jure canonico," with a
preference of members of the two chapters. He was to
take the oath of fidelity to the Archbishop. The Regent
Masters elected the Proctors also, who were two in
number, and who supplied the place of the Chancellor
in his absence. The Chancellor was invested with juris
diction over the members of the University, and had a
court, to which causes belonged in which they were con
cerned. There was,- moreover, a University chest, sup
plied by means of the-fines-which were the result of his
decisions. Degrees were to be conferred upon certificate
of the- Masters of the Faculty, in which the candidate
was proceeding.. Statutes were to be passed by the
Chancellor, in council of Masters Regent and Non-
regent, subject to the confirmation of the Archbishop.
The Schools of the Friars Preachers (or Dominicans)
and of the Minorites (or Franciscans) were recognized
in their connection with the University, the Archbishop
reserving to himself the right of appointing a Lecturer
in Holy- Scripture.
Such was the encouraging and hopeful start of the
University ; the Dean of St. Patrick was . advanced to
the Doctorate in Canon Law, and was- created its first
Chancellor; its first Doctors in Theology were two
Dominicans and one Franciscan. The Canons of the
Cathedral seem to have been its acting members, and
14

210 The Ancient University of Dublin.
filled the offices of a place of education without pre
judicing their capitular duties. However, it soon ap
peared that there was somewhere a hitch, and the work
did not make progress. It has been supposed with
reason, that under the unhappy circumstances of the
time, the University could not make head against the
necessary difficulties of a commenceriient. Another '
and more definite cause which is assigned for the
failure, is the want of funds. The Irish people were
poor, and unable to meet the expenses involved in the
establishment of a great seat. of learning, at a time when
other similar institutions already existed. The time
had passed when Universities grew up out of the enthu
siasm of teachers and the curiosity and eagerness of
students ; or, if these causes still were in operation, they
had been directed and flowed in upon seats of learning
already existing in other countries. It was the age of
national schools, of colleges and endowmerits ; and,
though the civil power appeared willing to take its part-
in endowments in furtherance of the new undertaking,
it did not go much further than to enrich it now'
and then with a stray lectureship, and wealthy prelates
or nobles were not forthcoming in that agey capable of
conceiving and executing works in the spirit of Ximenes
, two centuries afterwards in Spain.
Yet down to the very time of Ximenes,' and beyond
it, continual and praiseworthy efforts were made, on the
part both of the Church and of the State, to accomplish
a work which was important in proportion to its diffi
culty. In .1358 the clergy and scholars of -Ireland repre
sented to Edward the Third the necessity under which
they lay of cultivating theology, canon law, and the other
clerical sciences, and the serious impediments . in the
way of these studies which lay in the expense of travel

The Ancient University of Dublin. 21 1
and the dangers of the sea to those who had no Univer
sity of their own. In answer to this request, the king
seems to have founded a lectureship in theology ; and
he indirectly encouraged the University schools by issu
ing his letters-patent, giving special protection and safe-
conduct to English as well as Irish, of whatever degree,
with their servants and attendants, their goods and
habiliments, in going, residing, and returning. A few
years later, in 1364, Lionel, Duke of Clarence, • founded
, a preachership and lectureship in the Cathedral, to be
held by an Augustinian.
A further attempt in behalf of a University was made
a century later. In 1465, the Irish Parliament, under
the presidency of Thomas Geraldine, Earl of Desmond,
Vicegerent of George, Duke of Clarence, Lieutenant of
the English King, had erected a University at Drogheda,
and endowed it with the privileges of the University of
Oxford. This attempt, however, in like manner was
rendered abortive by the want of funds ; but it seems to
have suggested a new effort in favour of the elder
institution at Dublin, which at this time could scarcely
be said to exist. Ten years after the Parliament in
question, the Dominican and other friars preferred a
supplication to Pope Sixtus the Fourth, in which' they
represent that in Ireland there is no University to which
Masters, Doctors of Law, and Scholars may resort ;
that it is necessary to go to England at a great expense
and peril ; and consequently they ask for leave to erect
a University in the metropolitan city. The Pope granted
their request, and, though nothing followed, the attempt
is so far satisfactory, as evidericing the perseverance of
the Irish clergy in aiming at what they felt to be a benefit
of supreme importance to their country.
Nor was this the last of such attempts, nor were the

212 The Ancient University <of Dublin.
secular behind the regular clergy in zeal for a Univer
sity. As late as the reign of Henry the Seventh, in
the year 1496, Walter Fitzsimon, Archbishop of Dublin,
in provincial Synod, settled an annual contribution to
be levied for seven years in order to provide salaries
for the Lecturers. And, though we have no record," I
believe, of the effect of this measure, yet, when the
chapter was reestablished in the reign of Philip and
Mary, the allusion made in the legal instrument to the
loss which the youthful members of society had sus
tained in its suppression, rnay be taken to show, that
certain scholastic benefits had resulted from its stalls
though the education which they provided was npt of that
character which the name of a University demanded.
Times are changed since these attempts were made ;
and, while the causes no longer exist which operated in
their failure, the object towards which they were di
rected has attained a moment, both in itself and in its
various bearings, -which could never have been predicted
in the fourteenth or the sixteenth century. Ireland is
no longer the conquered possession of a foreign king ;
it is, as in the primitive times, the centre of a great
Catholic movement and of a world-wide missionary
enterprise. Nor does the Holy See simply lend an ear
to the project of others : it originates the undertaking.

213

CHAPTER XVIII.
COLLEGES THE CORRECTIVE OF UNIVERSITIES.
OXFORD.
COLLEGES, and Colleges for the advancement of
science, were not altogether a medieval idea. To
say nothing else, it is obvious to refer to the Museum
of the Ptolemies at Alexandria, of which I spoke in
an earlier Chapter. The Saracens too founded Colleges
for learned education at Cordova, Granada, and Malaga;
and these obtained a great reputation. Yet it is an idea,
which has been brought out and familiarized in
history, and recognized in political institutions, and
completed in its parts, during the era of Universi
ties, with a fulness which almost allows us to claim it
" as belonging to the new civilization. By a College, I
suppose, is meant, not merely a body of men living
together in one dwelling, but belonging to one estab
lishment. In its very notion, the word suggests to us
position, authority, and stability ; and again," these
attributes presuppose a foundation ; and that founda
tion consists either in public recognition, or, in the
possession of revenues, or in some similar advantage.
If two or three individuals live together, the community
is not at once called a College ; but a charter, or an
endowment, some legal status, or some ecclesiastical
privilege, is necessary to erect it into the Collegiate
form. However, it does, I suppose, imply a community

214 Colleges the Corrective of Universities.
or convitto too ; and, if so, it must be of a certain .
definite size : for, as spon as it exceeds in point of
numbers, non-residence may be expected to follow. It
is then a household, and offers an abode to its members^
and requires or involves the game virtuous and paternal .
discipline which is proper to a family and home.
Moreover, as no family can subsist without a mainte
nance, and as children are dependent on their homes, so
it is not unnatural that an endowment, which is, as I
have said, suggested by the very idea of a College,
should ordinarily be necessary for its actual carrying
out. Still more necessary are buildings, and buildings
of a prominent character ; for, whereas every family
must have its dwelling, a family which has a recognized
and official existence, must live in a sort of public
building, which satisfies the eye, and is the enduring
habitation of an enduring body.
This view of a College, which I have not been attempt
ing to prove but to delineate, suggests to us the objects
which a College is adapted to fulfil in a University.. It
is all, and does all, which is implied in the name of home..
Youths, who have left the paternal roof, and travelled
some hundred miles for the acquisition of knowledge,
find an " altera Troja" and " simulata Pergama" at the
end of their journey and in their place of temporary
sojourn. Home is for the young, who know nothing of
the world, and who would be forlorn and sad, if thrown
upon it. It is the refuge of helpless boyhood, which"
would be famished and pine away, if it were not main
tained by others. It is the providential shelter of the
weak and inexperienced, who have still to learn how to
cope with the temptations which lie outside of it. It is
the place of training for those who are not only ignorant,
but have not yet learned how to learn, and who have to

Oxford. 215
be taught, by careful individual trial, how. to set about
profiting by the lessons of a teacher. And it is the
school of elementary studies, not of advanced ; for such
studies alone can boys at best apprehend and master.
Moreover, it is the shrine of our best affections, the bosom
of our fondest recollections, a spell upon our after life, a
stay for world-weary mind and 'soul, wherever we are cast,
till the end comes. Such are the attributes or offices of
home, and like to these, in one or other sense and mea
sure, are the attributes and offices of a College in a Uni
versity. We may consider, historically speaking, that Colleges
were but continuations, mutatis mutandis, of the schools
which preceded the rise of Universities. These schools
indeed were monastic or at least clerical, and observed a
religious or an ecclesiastical rule ; so far they were not
simple Colleges, still they were devoted to study, and, at
least soihetimes, admitted laymen. They had two
courses of instruction going on at once, attended by the
inner classes and the outer ; of which the latter were
filled by what would now be called externs. Thus even
in that early day the school of Rheims educated a cer
tain number of noble youths; and the same arrangement
is reported of Bee also.
And in matter of fact these monastic schools remained
within the limits of the University, when it was set up,
as they had been before, only of .course more exclusively
religious ; for, as soon as the reception of laymen was
found to be a part ofthe academical idea, the monasteries
seemed to be relieved of the necessity of receiving lay
students within their walls. At first, those Orders only
would have a place in the University which were already
there ; but in process of time nearly every religious fra
ternity found it its interest to provide a College for its

2 1 6 Colleges the Corrective of Universities.
own subjects, and to have representatives in the Academi
cal body. Thus in Paris, as soon as the Dominicans and
Franciscans had thrown themselves into the new system, ;
and had determined that their vocation did not hinder
them from taking degrees, the Cistercians, under the
headship of an Englishman, founded a College near St. .
Victor's ; and the Premonstrants followed their example. .
The Carmelites, being at first at a distance from St.
' Genevieve, were planted by a king of France close under
her hill. The Benedictines were stationed in the famous
Abbey of St. German, near the University Pratum ; the
monks of Cluni and of Marmoutier had their respective
houses also, and the former provided lecturers within
their walls for the students. And in Oxford, in like
manner, the Benedictines founded Durham Hall for
their monks of the North of England, . and Gloucester
Hall for their monks of the South, on the respective sites
of the present Trinity and Worcester Colleges. The
Carmelites (to speak without book,) were at Beaumont,.
the site of Henry the First's palace ; and St. John's and
Wadham Colleges are also on the sites of monastic
establishments. Besides these, there were in Oxford \\
houses of Dominicans, Franciscans, Cistercians, and
Augustinians. These several foundations, indeed, are of very different
eras; but, looking at the course of thediistory as a whole,
we shall find that, such houses as were.monastic preceded
the rest. And if the new changes had stopped there, lay
education would have suffered, not gained, by the rise
of Universities ; for it had the effect of multiplying, in
deed, monastic halls, but of shutting their doors against
all but monks more rigidly than before. The solitary
strangers, who came up to Paris or Oxford from a far
country, must have been stimulated by a most uncommon

Oxford. 217
thirst for knowledge,' to persevere in- spite of the dis
couragements by which they were surrounded. Some
attempt indeed was made by the Professors to meet so
obvious and so oppressive an evil. The former scholastic
type had recognized one master, and one only, in a
school, who professed in consequence the whole course
of instruction without any assistant Tutors. The tra
dition of this system continued ; and led in many in
stances to the formation of halls, inns, courts, or hostels,
as they were variously called. That is, the Professor of
the school kept house, and boarded his pupils. Thus we
read of Torald schools in Oxford in the reign of Henry
the Third, which had belonged previously to one Master
Richard Bacum, who had fitted up a large tenement,
partly for lodging house, partly for lecture rooms. In
like manner, early in the twelfth century, Theobald had
as many as from sixty to a hundred scholars under his
tuition, for whom he would necessarily be more or less
answerable. A similar custom was pointed out in
Athens, in an early Chapter of these sketches, where it was
the occasion of a great deal of rivalry and canvassing
between the Professorial housekeepers, each being set
upon obtaining as many lodgers as possible. And
apparently a similar inconvenience' had to be checked at
Paris in the thirteenth century, though, whatever might
be that incidental inconvenience, the custom itself, under
the circumstances of the day, was as advantageous to the
cause of study, as it was natural and obvious.
But still lodging keepers, though Professors, must be
paid, and how could poor scholars find the means of
fulfilling so hard a condition ? And the length of time
then required for a University course hindered an evasion
of its difficulties by such shifts and expedients, as serve
for passing a mere trying crisis, or weathering a threatening

2 1 8 Colleges the Corrective of Universities.
season. The whole course, from the termination of the
grarnmatical studies to the licentiate, extended origi
nally through twenty years ; though afterwards it was
reduced to ten. If we are to consider the six years of
the course in Arts, to have been in addition to this long
space, the residence at the University is no longer a
sojourn at the seat of learning, but becomes a sort of
naturalization, yet without offering a home.
The University itself has little or no funds, to meet
the difficulty withal. At Oxford, it had no buildings of
its own, but rented such as were indispensable for acade
mical purposes, and these were of a miserable descrip
tion. It had little or no ground belonging to it, and
no endowments. It had not the means of being an
Alma Mater to the young men who came thither for
education. Some verses are quoted by Antony a Wood,
apropos of the poor scholar, which describe both his
enthusiastic love of study and the triai to which it was .
put. The following is a portion of them : —
Parva domus, res ipsa minor, contraxit utrumque
Immensus tractusque diu sub Pallade fervor,
Et logices jucundus amor &c, &c 
Pauperies est tota domus, desuevit ad illos
Ubertas venisse lares ; nee visitat aegrum
Copia Parnassum ; sublimior advolat aulas,
His ignota casis.
Accordingly, one of the earliest movements in the
University, almost as early as the entrance into it of the
monastic bodies, was that of providing maintenance for
poor scholars. The authors of such charity hardly aimed
at giving more than the bare necessaries of life, — food,
lodging, and clothing, — so as to make a life of study
possible. Comfort or animal satisfaction can hardly be

Oxford. 2 1 9
said to have entered into the scope of their benefactions ;
and we shall gain a lively impression of the sufferings of
the student, before the era of endowments, by consider
ing his rude and hardy life even when a member of a
College. From an account which has been preserved in
one of the colleges of Cambridge, we are able to extract
the following hor avium of a student's day. He got up
between four and five; from five, to six he assisted at
Mass, and heard an exhortation. He then studied or
attended the schools till ten, which was the dinner hour.
The meal, which seems also to have been a breakfast,
was not sumptuous ; it consisted of beef, in small messes
for four persons, and a pottage made of its gravy and
oatmeal. From dinner to five p.m., he either studied, or
gave instruction to others, when he went to supper, which
was the principal meal of the day, though scarcely more
plentiful than dinner. Afterwards, problems were dis
cussed and other studies pursued, till nine or ten.; and
then half an hour was devoted to walking or running
about, that they might not go to bed with cold feet ; —
the expedient of hearth or stove for the purpose was
out of the question.
However, poor as was the fare, the collegiate life was
a blessing in many other ways far more important than
meat and drink ; and it was the object of pious benefac
tions for centuries. Hence the munificence of Robert
Capet, as early as 1050, even before the canons of St.
Genevieve and the monks of St. Victor had commenced
the University of Paris. His foundation was sufficient for
as many as one hundred poor clerks. Another was St.
Catherine in the Valley, founded by St. Louis, in conse
quence of a vow, which his grandfather, Philip Augustus,
had died before executing. Another and later was the
Collegium Bonorum Puerorum, which is assigned tp the

220 Colleges the Corrective of Universities.
year 1245. Such too, in its original intention, was the
H'arcurianum, or Harcourt College, the famous College of
Navarre, the more famous Sorbonne, and the Montague
College. These Colleges, as was natural, were often provincial
or diocesan, being founded by benefactors of a particular
district for their own people. Sometimes too they were
connected with one or other of the Nations of the Uni
versity ; I think the Harcurianum, just mentioned, was
founded for the Normans ; such too was the Dacian,
founded for the Danes ; and the Swedish ; to which
may be added the Burses provided for the Italians, the
Lombards, the Germans, and the Scotch. In Bologna
there was the greater College of St. Clement for the
Spaniards, and the Collegio Sondi for the Hungarians'.
As to Diocesan or Provincial Colleges, such was Laon
College, for poor scholars of the diocese of Laon ; the
College of Bayeux for scholars of the dioceses of, Mons
and Angers ; the Colleges of Narbonne, of Arras, of
Lisieux, and various others. Such too in Oxford at pre
sent are Queen's College, founded in favour of north
countrymen, and Jesus College for the Welsh. . Such are
the fellowships, founded in various Colleges, for natives of
particular counties ; and such the fellowships or scholar
ships for founder's kin. In Paris, in like manner, Cardinal
de Dormans founded a College for more than twenty
students, with a preference in favour of his own family.
A Society of a peculiar kind was founded in the very be
ginning of the thirteenth century. Baldwin, Count of
Flanders, at that time Emperor of Constantinople, is said
to have established a Greek College with a view to train
up the youth of Constantinople in devotion to the Holy
See. When I said that there were graver reasons than

Oxford. 221
the need of maintenance, for establishing Colleges and
Burses for poor scholars, it may be easily understood
that I alluded to the moral evils, of which a University,
without homes and guardians for the young, would in
fallibly be the occasion and the scene. These are so
intelligible, arid so much a matter of history, and so often.
illustrated, whether from the medieval or the modern
continental Universities, that they need not occupy
pur attention here. Whatever licentiousness of conduct
there is at Oxford and Cambridge now, where the Col
legiate system is in force, does but suggest to us how
fatal must- be the strength of those impulses to disorder
and riot when unrestrained, which are so imperfectly
-controlled even when submitted to an anxious discipline.
Leaving this head of the subject, I think it better to
turn to the consideration of an important innovation on
the character and drift of academical foundations, which
took place in the fifteenth century, when political changes
in the nations of Europe brought with them correspond
ing changes in their Universities.
I have lately alluded to these changes in introducing
the subject of the ancient University of Ireland. I said
-that the multiplication of Universities, the growth of
nationalism, the increasing appreciation of peace and of
the conveniences of life, the separation of languages, the
Collegiate system itself, and similar and cognate causes,
tended to give these institutions a local, political, and, I
(may now add, aristocratic character. At first Universi
ties were almost deriiocracies : Colleges tended to break
their anarchical spirit, introduced ranks and gave the
example of laws, and trained up a set of students, who,
as being morally and intellectually superior to other
members of the academical body, became the depositaries

222 Colleges the Corrective of'Unizjersities.
of academical power and influence. Moreover, learning
was no longer thought unworthy of a gentleman; and,
while the nobles of an earlier period had not disdained
to send their sons to Lanfranc or Vacarius, now it even
became a • matter of custom, that young men of rank
should have a University education. Thus, in the
charter of the 29th of Edward the Third, we even read
that " to the University a multitude of nobles, gentry,
strangers, and others continually flock ; " and towards
the end of the century, we find Henry of Monmouth,-
afterwards the Fifth, as a young man, a sojourner at
Queen's College, Oxford, But it was in the: next cen
tury, of which Henry has made the first years glorious,
that Colleges were provided, not for the poor, but for the
noble. Many Colleges too, which had been originally
for the poor, opened their gates to the rich, not as -fellows
or foundation-students, but as simple lodgers, or what
are now called independent members, such as monasteries
might have received in a former age. This was especially
the case with the College of Navarre at Paris ; and the
change has continued remarkably impressed upon Ox
ford and Cambridge even down to this day, with this
additional peculiarity, that, while the influence of
aristocracy upon those Universities is not less than it
was, the influence of other political classes has been in
troduced into the academic cloisters also. Never has
learned institution been more directly political and
national than the University of Oxford. Some of its
Colleges represent the talent of the nation, others its
rank and fashion, others its wealth ; others have been
the organs of the government of the day ; while others,
and the majority, represent one or, other division, chiefly
local, of the country party. That all this has rather
destroyed, than subserved, the University itself, which

¦ Oxford. 223
Colleges originally were instituted to complete, I will
not take upon myself to deny ; but good comes out of
many things which are in the way to evil, and this anta
gonism of the Collegiate to the University principle was
not worked out, till Colleges had first rendered signal
service to the University, and that, not only by complet
ing it in those points where the University was weak,
but even corroborating it in those in which it was strong.
The whole nation, brought into the University by means
of the Colleges, gave the University itself a vigour and
a stability which the abundant influx of foreigners had
not been able to secure.
As in the twelfth and thirteenth , centuries French,
.German, and Italian students had flocked to the
University of Oxford, and made its name famous in
distant lands, so in the fifteenth, all ranks and classes of
the nation furnished it with pupils., and what was want
ing in their number or variety, compared with the former
era, was compensated by their splendour or political
importance. At that time nobles moved only in state,
and surrounded themselves with retainers and servants,
with an ostentation which has now quite gone out of
fashion. A writer, whom I have from time to time, used,
Huber, informs us, that, before the wars ofthe Roses, and
when the aristocracy were more powerful than the king,
each noble family sent up at least one son to Oxford with
an ample retinue of followers. Nor were the towns in that
age, less closely united to the University than the upper
classes, by reason of the numerous members of it that be
longed to the clerical order, the popular character of that
institution, and its intimate connection, as now, with the
seat of learning. Thus town and country, high and low,
north and south, had a common. stake in the academical
institutions, and took a personal interest in the academical

224 Colleges the Corrective, of 'Universities.
proceedings. The degree possessed a sort of indelible
character, which all classes understood ; and the people
at large were more or less partakers of a cultivation
which the aristocracy were beginning to appreciate. And,
though railroad travelling certainly did not then exist,
communication between the students and their homes
occurred with a frequency which could not be when they
came from abroad ; and Oxford became in a peculiar
way a national and political centre.. Not only in vaca
tions and term-time was there a stated ebbing and flow-
ing of the academical youth,, but messengers posted to
and fro between Oxford and all parts of the country in
all seasons of the year. So intimate was this connection,
that Oxford became a sort of selected arena for the con
flicts of the various interests of the nation, and a serious
University strife was .received far and wide as the pre
sage of civil war.
" Chronica si penses, cum pugnant Oxonienses,
Post paucos menses, volat ira per Angligenenses.''
But one may admire the position of a University, as a
national centre, without any desire of renewing, in this
day or in Ireland, the particular mode in which that
position was in former times manifested in England.
Such an united action of the Collegiate and of the
National principle, far from being prejudicial, was simply
favourable to the principle of a University. It was a
later age which sacrificed the University to the College.
We must look to the last two or three centuries, if we '
would witness the ascendency of the College idea in the
English Universities, to the extreme prejudice, not indeed
of its own peculiar usefulness (for that it has retained),
but of the University itself. Huber, who gives- us
this account of Oxford, and who is neither Catholic

• Oxford. 225'
on the one hand, nor innovatbr on the existing state of
things on the other, warming yet saddening at his own
picture, ends by observing : " Those days never can re
turn; for the plain reason that then' men- learned' and'
taught by the living word, but now by the dead paper."
What has been here drawn out from the ¦ history of
Oxford, admits of ample illustration from .the parallel
history of Paris. We find Chancellor Gerson pn one oc
casion remonstrating in the name of his University with
the French king. " Shall the University/' he says,
" being what she is, shut her eyes and be silent ? What
would all France say, whose population she is ever ex
horting, by means of her members, to patience and good
obedience to the king and rulers ? Does not she repre
sent the universal realm, nay, the whole world ? She is
the vigorous seminary of the whole body politic, whence
issue men^ of every kind of excellence. Therefore in be
half of the whole of France, of all states of men, of all
her friends, who • cannot be present here, she ought to
expostulate and cry, ' Long live the king.' ""
There is one other historical peculiarity attached to
Colleges, to which I will briefly allude before concluding.
If Colleges, with their endowments and local interests?
provincial or county, are necessarily; when compared
with Universities, of a national character, it follows that
the- education which they will administer, will also be na
tional, and adapted to all ranks and classes of the com
munity. And if so, then again it follows, that they will be
far more given, to the study of the Arts than to the
' learned professions, or to any special class of pursuits at
all; and such in matter of fact has ever been the case.
They have inherited under changed circumstances the
position of the monastic teaching founded by Charle-
15

226 Colleges the Corrective of Universities.
magne, and have continued its primitive tradition, through,
and in spite of, the noble intellectual developments, to
which Universities have given occasion. The historical
. link between the Monasteries and the Colleges have been
the Nations, as some words of Antony a Wood about
the latter suggest, and as the very name of " Nation"
makes probable ; and indeed the Colleges were hardly
more than the Nations formally established and endowed,
with Provosts and Wardens in the place of Proctors.
Bulaeus has some remarks on the subject of Colleges,
which illustrate the points I have last insisted on, and
several others which have previously come before us. He
says : " The College system had no slight influence in
restoring Latin composition. Indeed Letters were pub
licly professed in Colleges,, and that, not only by persons
on the foundation, but by others also who lived within
the walls, though external to the body, and who were ad
mitted to the sehools of the Masters and to the classes in
a fixed order and by regulated steps. On the contrary, we
find that all the ancient Colleges were established for the
education and instruction of poor scholars, members of
the foundation ; but in the fifteenth century other ranks
were gradually introduced also. By this means the
lecturer was stimulated by the largeness of the classes,
and the pupil by emulation, while the opportunities of a
truant life were removed. Accordingly laws were
frequently promulgated and statutes passed, with a view
of bringing the Martinets and wandering scholars within
the walls ofthe Colleges. We do not know exactly when
this practice began; iit is generally thought that the
College of Navarre, which was reformed in the year 1464,
was the first to open its gates to these public professors
of letters. It is certain, that in former ages the teachers
of grammar and rhetoric had schools of their own, or

Oxford. 227
hired houses and hostels, where they received pupils ; but
in this century teachers of grammar, or of rhetoric, or of
philosophy, began to teach within' the Cdlleges." He
adds that in the time of Louis the eleventh, the Pro
fessors who lectured on literature, rhetoric, and philosophy
in the town, were generally left by the students for those
who had taken up their abodes in the Colleges.
This is rather an enumeration of some characteristics
of Colleges, than a sufficient sketch of their relation to
the University ; but it may suggest points of inquiry to
those who would know more. I will but add, that at Paris
there seem to have been as many as fifty Colleges ; at
Oxford at present there are from twenty to twenty-four;
as many, I believe, were at Salamanca ; at Cambridge
not so riiany ; at Toulouse, eight. As to Louvain, I
have been told that if a bird's-eye view be taken of the
city, the larger and finer buildings which strike the
beholder throughout it, will be found at one time to have
belonged to the University.

228

CHAPTER XIX.
ABUSES OF THE COLLEGES.
OXFORD.
IF what has been said in former Chapters of this
volume upon the relation of a University to its
Colleges, be in the main correct, the difference between
the two institutions, and the use of each, is very clear.
A University embodies the principal of progress, and a
College that of stability ; the one is the sail, and the
other the ballast ; each is insufficient in itself for the
pursuit, extension, and inculcation of knowledge ; each
is useful to the other, A University is the scene of
enthusiasm, of pleasurable exertion, of brilliant display,
of winning influence, of diffusive and potent sympathy1 ;
and a College is the scene of . order, of obedience, of
modest and persevering diligence, of conscientious fulfil
ment of duty, of mutual private services, and deep and
lasting attachments. The University is for the world,
and the College is for the nation. The University is. for
the Professor, and the College for the Tutor; the Uni
versity is for the philosophical discourse, the eloquent
sermon, or the well contested disputation ; and the
College for the catechetical lecture. The University is
for theology, law, and medicine, for natural history, for
physical science, and for the sciences generally and their
promulgation ; the College is for the formation of cha
racter, intellectual and moral, "for the cultivaticn pf the

Oxford. 229
mind, for the improvement of the individual, for the
study of literature, for the classics, and those rudimental
sciences which strengthen and sharpen the intellect.
The University being the element of advance, will fail in
making good its ground as it goes ; the College, from its
Cpnsefvative tendencies, will be sure to go back, because
it does not go forward. It would seem as if an Univer
sity seated and living in Colleges, would be a perfect
institution, as possessing excellences of opposite kinds.
But such a union, such salutary balance and mutual
complement of opposite advantages, is of difficult and
rare attainment. At least the present day rather gives
us instances of the two antagonistic evils, of naked
Universities and naked Colleges, than of their alliance
and its benefits. The great seats of learning on the
Continent, to say nothing of those in Scotland, show
us the need of Colleges to complete the University ;
the English, on the contrary, show us the need of a
University to give life to an assemblage of Colleges.
The evil of a University, standing • by itself, as in
Germany, is often insisted on and may readily be
apprehended ; and therefore, leaving that part of the
subject alone, I will say a few words on the state of
things in England, where the action of the University
is suspended, and the Colleges have supreme and
sovereign authority.
At the Reformation, the State not only made
itself the head pf the Anglican Church, but resolved
to suppress, or nearly so, its legal existence. It ' not
only ignored the idea of a central authority in Christen
dom ; but it went very far towards ignoring the
existence of a Church in England itself. I believe I
am right in saying that the Church of England, as
such, scarcely has a legal status. Its Bishops. indeed

236 , Abuses of the Cdleges.
are Peers of Parliament, its chapters have charters, its
Rectors are corporations sole, its ministers' are officers
ofthe law, its- fabrics have special rights) its courts have
a civil position and functions, its Prayer-book is (as has.
been observed) an Act of Parliament ; but, as far as I
know, there is no corporation of the United Church of
England and Ireland, though that title itself be a legal
one: The Protestant Church, as such, holds no pro
perty, and exercises no functions. It is an aggregate
of many thousand corporations professing one object,
and moulded on a common rule. The nearest approach
to corporate power lay in its Convocations, which were
at least three in number, not one, — those of Canterbury,
of York, and of Dublin ; and these have been virtually
long obsolete.- The Protestant Church would be an
imperium in imperio, considering the immense wealth,
power, and influence of its constituent members, were
it itself a corporation* ,
The same spirit which destroyed the legal incorpora
tion of the religious principle, was the jealous enemy
also of the incorporation of the intellectual ; and the
civil power could as little bear a University as it bore
a Church. Accordingly, Oxford and Cambridge shared
the fate of the Hierarchy ; the component parts of
those Universities were preserved, but they themselves
were superseded ; and there would be almost as great
difficulties now in . Protestant England, in restoring its
Universities to their proper place, as in restoring its
Church. It is true, that the Colleges themselves are
important political bodies, independent of the civil
power ; but at the same time they are national bodies ;
they represent not the human mind, but sections of
the political community; and the civil power is itself
nothing else than an expression of national power in

Oxford. 231
one or other of its aspects ; whereas a University is an
intellectual power, as such, just as the Church is a
religious power. Intellect, as well as Faith and Con
science, are authorities simply independent of State
and Nation ; State and Nation are but different aspects
of one and the same power : and thus the State and
Nation will endure chapters and colleges, as they bear
city companies and municipalities, but not a Church,
not a University. On the other hand, considering the
especially popular character of the English constitution,
and how congenial to it is the existence of organs of
public opinion and of representative bodies; it. is- not.
wonderful that the Collegiate system has not merely
remained in these later centuries, but has been cherished.
and advanced.
I am not denying this political value of the Colleges
as counterpoises to the government of the day. The
greatest weight has actually been given to their acts
and decisions in this point of view. Oxford has been
made the stage on which political questions have been
tried, and political parties have carried- on their con
tests. This was particularly instanced at the time of
that fariious Session of Parliament, in which Catholic
Emancipation was granted. It is well known that the
king then on the throne was averse to the measure ;
and it was felt that an adhesion to it on the part of the
University would exert a material influence on his
feelings; and the question to be determined was what
opinion had the University upon it. In the summer
of 1828, Sir Robert Peel is said to have consulted*
those who were most intimately in his confidence in
Oxford, as to the effect which would be produced upon
* Since this was written, Sir. R. Peel's narrative has been given to the
World, and seems to contain nothing inconsistent with it.

232 Abuses ofthe Colleges.
its members by a ministerial project in favour of
Catholics. His ;friends belonged to a section of the
University, who lived very much in their own circle ;
and who, as resting both .on academical distinction and
connection with the great world, did not know, and did
not represent, .the sentiments ofthe Colleges. Accord
ingly, drifting with the current of London opinion them
selves, which the necessities of the state and • the
convenience of the Government, and Parliamentary
agitation,' had for some time made more and more
favourable to Emancipation, those considerable persons
returned for answer, that the important act might be
passed any day, and that men would go to bed and
rise again, without being at all the wiser or more
anxious for what had taken place. The Minister seems
to have committed himself to this opinion ; and,, in
consequence, confident of a successful issue of the
experiment, he took a hold, and as it turned out, an
unlucky step. Member for the University as he was,
and elected, on the very ground of his opposition to the
Catholic claims, he resolved -oft resigning his seat, and'
presenting himself for reelection, with an avowed
change of opinions. He did this,. or at least his friends
for him, under the conviction that his triumphant
appeal to the votes of the. academical constituency,' on
which he reckoned, would be the best evidence to his
Master that the feeling of the country had undergone
that revolution which had already, openly or secretly,
taken place, among statesmen. And hence the extraor-
dinany vehemence of the contest which followed ; the
country party, which was represented by the Colleges,
being confident of swaying the determination of the king
and .ejecting the Minister from office, if it .managed to
eject him from .the representation.

Oxford. 233
- Political importance is of course the protection of those
who possess it. They who can do so much for or against
a Minister, can dp as much for themselves ; and in
consequence, the Colleges of Oxford and Cambridge are
perhaps the best protected interests in the whole country.
They have endured the 'most formidable attacks, without
succumbing. It was against the wall of Magdalen College,
as it has been expressed, that James the Second ran his
head. That College received the brunt of the monarch's
attack, and in the strength ©f the nation repelled it.
Twenty years ago, when Reform was afloat, when
boroughs were disfranchised, corporations created, sees
united, dioceses rearranged, chapters remodelled, church
property redistributed, and every parsonage perplexed
with parliamentary papers of inquiry and tables of re
turns, the Colleges alone escaped. A determined attack
was made upon them by the Ministry of the day, and
great apprehensions were excited, in the minds of
their members. However, calm, perhaps selfish, calcu
lators at Oxford said : " Nothing can touch us ; the
Establishment will go, but not the Colleges : " and cer
tainly after one or two sessions, after strong speeches in
Parliament from Secretaries of State and experimentalists
in Education, and after coihmittees, gatherings, and mani
festoes on the part of the members of Colleges, it was
owned by friends of. Government, that its attempt upon
them was a mistake and a failure, and the sooner
Government gave it up, the better for Government.
There is no political power in England like a College
in the Universities ; it is not a mere local body, as a
corporation or London company ; , it has allies in every
part ofthe country. When the mind is most impressible,
when the affections are warmest, when associations are
made for life, when the character is most ingenuous and

234 Abuses of the Colleges.
the sentiment of reverence is most powerful, the future
landowner, or statesman, or lawyer, or clergyman comes'
up to a College iri the Universities. There he forms
friendships, there he spends his happiest days ; and,
whatever is his career there, brilliant or obscure, virtuous
or vicious, in after years, when he looks back on the
past, he finds himself bound by ties of gratitude and
regret to the memories of his College life. He has re
ceived favours from the Fellows, he has dined with the
Wai"den or Provost ; he has unconsciously imbibed to
the full the beauty and the music of the place. The
routine of duties and observances, the preachings and
the examinations and the lectures, the dresses and the
ceremonies, the officials whom he feared, the buildings or
gardens that he admired, rest upon his mind and his heart,
and the shade of the past becomes a sort of shrine to which
he makes continual silent offerings of attachment and
devotion. It is a second home, not so tender, but more
noble and majestic and authoritative. Through his life
he more or less keeps up a connection with it and its
successive sojourners, , He has. a brother or intimate
friend on the foundation, or he is training up his son to
be a member of it. When then he hears that a blow is
levelled at the Colleges, and that they are in commotion,
— that his own College, Head and Fellows, have met to
gether, and put forward a declaration calling on its
members to come up and rally round it and defend it,
a chord is struck within him, more thrilling than any
other ; he burns with esprit de corps and generous in
dignation ; and he is driven up to the scene of his early
education, under the keenness of his feelings, to vote, to
sign, to protest, to do just what he is told to do, from
confidence in the truth of the representations made to
him, and from sympathy with the appeal. He appears

Oxford. 235
on the scene of action ready for. battle on the appointed
day, and there he meets others like himself, brought up
by the same summons ; he gazes on old faces, revives old
friendships, awakens old reminiscences, and goes back
to the country with the renewed freshness of youth upon
him. Thus, wherever you look, to the North or South
of England, to the East or West, you find the interest of
the Colleges dominant ; they extend their roots all over
the country, arid can scarcely be overturned, certainly
not suddenly overturned, without a revolution.
The consequences on the Colleges themselves are not
satisfactory. They are withdrawn in an especial way
from the action and the influence of public opinion, than
which there is no greater stimulant to right action, as
things are, nor a more effective security against derelic^
tion of duty. The Colleges,, left to themselves, in the
course of last century became shamefully indolent and
inactive. They were in no sense any longer places of
education ; they were for the most part mere clubs, and
sinecures, and almshouses, where the inmates did little
but enjoy themselves. They did next to nothing for the
youth confided to them ; suffered them to follow their
own ways and enjoy their own liberty, and often in their
own persons set them a very bad example of using it.
Visitor they practically had none ; and there was but
one power which could have exerted authority over them,
and most naturally and suitably too ; I mean the Uni-,
versity ; but the University could do nothing. The Uni
versity had no means of acting upon the Colleges ; it was
but a name or a privilege ; it was not a body or a power.
This seems to me the critical evil in the present state of
the English Universities, not that the "Colleges are strong,
but that the University has no practical or real jurisdic
tion over them. Over the members of Colleges it has

236 Abuses of the Colleges.
jurisdiction, but even then, not as such, but because they
are its own members also; over the Head ofthe College,
over the Fellows, over the corporate body, over its
property, over it's officers, over it's acts and regulations
within its own precincts, the University has no practical
jurisdiction at all. The Tutor indeed is a University office
by the Statutes, but the College has made it its own,
In matter of fact the only mode of affecting the
Colleges has been by the gradual stress of persevering
efforts, by incessant agitation, and by improving the
tone and enlightening the minds of their members, — by
indirect means altogether. At the beginning of this
century, when matters were at the worst at Oxford, some
zealous persons attempted to bring the University to
bear upon the- Colleges. The degrees were at that time
given upon no bond fide examination. The youth, who had
passed his three or four years at the place, and wished
to graduate, chose his examiners, and invited them to
dinner, which the ceremony of examination preceded.
Now a degree is a University, not a College distinction ;
and the admirable persons, to whpm I have alluded, made
an effort to restore to the University the power and. the
practice of ascertaining by a bona fide examination the
proficiency of every one of its members, who was a can
didate for it. Could there be a case in which the right
of the University was more clear ? It gave a privilege, .
and, one might surely think, had a right to lay down
the conditions of giving it. Yet it found itself unable
to exact of all its members, what was so imperatively its
duty, and so natural. The Colleges had first to be per
suaded to concede, what the University was so reasonable
in requiring. What took place in detail, has never per
haps been published to the world : so much, however, is
notorious, that for thirty years one College, by virtue of

.Oxford. 237
ancient rights, was able to stand out against the Univer
sity, and demanded and obtained degrees for its junior
members without examination. A generation passed,
before its Fellows, acted on by the example and sympa
thizing in the sentiments of the academical society
around them, consented to do for themselves what the
University had in vain attempted to do for them.
The University has thus gradually progressed ever
since that time; not indeed towards the recovery of
that power of jurisdiction, which properly belongs to it,
but in separate and particular measures of improvement.
One measure was attempted nearly thirty years ago, by
an eminent person, still alive, and well known in Dublin,
and was thwarted by parties who are long dead ; so that
it may be spoken of without pain to any one. There
are at Oxford several Societies or Houses, which have
practically the rank and rights of Colleges, though they
have not the legal status, or the property. Some of
these at that date supported themselves by taking as
members those, who, either would not be received, or had
actually been sent away, by the Colleges. The exist
ence then of these Societies mainly depended on the
sufferance within the University of incompetent, idle, or
riotous young men.' As they had no endowments, they
asked high terms for admission, which of course they
could not fail in obtaining from those, who needed to be
in some Society or other, with a view to academical
advantages, and who could not secure a place in any
other body. Evidently, nothing would have been more
fatal to such establishments than any successful effort to
purify the University of unworthy members. Now, in
the gradual advance of reforms, it was attempted by the
able person I speak of to introduce an examination of all
members on their matriculation. But the independence

238 Abuses of the Colleges.
andthfe interests of both endowed and not endowed Houses,
were at once touched by such a proposition ; and a vigorous
opposition was set on foot, in particular by the Head of
one Society, which abounded in gownsmen of the un
satisfactory character I have been describing. Of course
he might as well have shut up his Hall at once, and taken
lodgings in High Street, as consent to a measure which
would have simply cut off the supply from which it was
filled. The private interest prevailed over the public ; had
the question fairly come before the members of the Col
leges generally, it might perhaps have been carried in the
affirmative ; but it had to be decided first in the board of
Heads of Houses, and they were typical specimens of those
very Collegiate vices of which I have been speaking. An
oligarchy indeed of twenty-four men, perpetual, sovereign,
absolutely sheltered from public opinion, and. purely irre
sponsible in their proceedings ; standing aloof from the
Academical body itself, and intensely scornful towards its
judgments, too well entrenched to be susceptible of fear
and too majestic to be swayed by flattery or ridicule, they
were a prodigy in the England of the nineteenth century.
Omnis enim per se Divum natura necesse 'st
Irhmortali asvo summa cum pace fruatur,
Semota ab nostris rebus, sejunctaque longe :
Nam privata dolore omni, privata periclis,
Ipsa suis pollens opjbus, nil indiga nostri,
Nee bene promeritis capitur, nee tangitur iri.
These authorities naturally were unwilling to handle a
question, which concerned so nearly some pf themselves ;
and to this day, though separate Colleges properly insist
on the necessary qualifications, in the case of those who are
to be admitted to their Lectures, the University itself is
not allowed to exercise its reasonable right of examining

Oxford. 239
its members before it matriculates them. It may here
be added, that this time-honoured usurpation and abuse,
the old Hebdomadal Board,, which- every thoughtful
person felt could not much longer continue, has, amid
the jubilations and thanksgivings of all parties, and
with scarcely a sigh or murmur from any quarter what
ever, expired ignominiously under the Act passed in the
last Session of Parliament, 18 Vict.
As to that Act, however, its history is but a fresh
illustration of the foregoing remarks. It did not dare
to touch the real seat of existing evils, by restoring or
giving jurisdiction to the University over the Colleges,
much as it professed to effect in the way of radical reform.-
And in the passage of the Bill through the House of
Commons, unless I am mistaken, Ministers found it im
possible to get beyond that part of it which related to
University alterations. As soon as it went on to legis
late for the Colleges, the opposition was too strong for
them, and the whole subject was postponed by Parlia
ment, and made over for the consideration of a small
Commission, with so many checks and limitations upon
its proceedings, that there is reason for fearing that,
whatever comes of them, the University will not be
less enslaved by the Collegiate interest than it is at
present*

*- Since this was written, there have been far larger changes in the polity
and system of this University.

240

CHAPTER XX.
UNIVERSITIES ASD' S E"H TNARIE S :
, ' L'ECOLE DES- HAUTES- ETUDES.
NO two institutionsare more distinct from each other
in character, than Universities and Seminaries ;
and their very difference might seem a pledge that they
would not corne into collision with each other. Semi
naries are for the education of the clergy ; Universities
for the education of laymen. They are for separate
purposes, and they act in separate spheres ; yet, such is
human infirmity, perhaps they ever will be rivals ih their
actual working. So at least it has been in time past.
Universities grew out of the Episcopal Schools; and.
then, as time went on, they returned evil for good, and
gradually broke the strength, and drained away the life
of the institution which had given them birth ; an insti
tution too, which was of far, more importance to the
Church than themselves. Universities are ornaments
indeed and bulwarks to Religion ; but Seminaries are
essential to its purity and efficiency. - It is plain then, if
the action and interests ofthe two- institutions have con
flicted, which side the Church would take in the quarrel.
She would side for the injured party, against the ag
gressor ; for the party more important to her, against
the party less so. Universities then for a long season
have been sustaining the punishment of past ambition ;
and it seems hardly right to close this survey of them
without saying a few words about them under this aspect.

L' Ecole des Hautes Etudes:. 241
1 As Seminaries are so necessary to- the Church, they
are one of her earliest appointments. Scarcely had the
New Dispensation opened, when, following the example
of the Schools of the Temple and of the Prophets under
the Old, St. John is recorded, over and above the public
assemblies of the faithful, to have had about him a
number of students- whom he familiarly instructed ; and,
as time went, and power was given to the Church, this
School for ecclesiastical learning was placed under the
roof of the Bishop-. In Rome especially, where we look
for the pattern to which other churches are to be con-^
formed, the clergy, not of the city only, but of the pro
vinces, were brought under the immediate eye of the
Pope, The Lateran Church, his first Cathedral, had a
Seminary attached to it, which remained there till the
'pontificate of Leo the Tenth, when it was transferred
into the heart of the city. The students entered within
its walls from the earliest childhood ; but they were not
raised from minor orders till the age of twerity, nor did
'they reach the priesthood till after the trial of many
.years. Strict as a monastic noviciate, it nevertheless
included polite literature in its course ; and a library
was attached to it for the use of the seminarists. Here
Was educated, about the year 310, St. Eusebius, after
wards in Arian times the celebrated Bishop of Verc'ellse ;
and in the dark age which followed, it was the horne from
childhood of some of the greatest Popes, St. Gregory
the Second, St. Paul the First, St.. Leo the Third, St.
Paschal, and St. Nicholas the First. This venerable
Seminary, called anciently the School of the Pontifical
Palace, has never failed. Even when the ' barbarians
were wasting the face of Italy, and destroying, its accu
mulations of literature,, the great Council of Rome, under.
Pope Agatho, as I mentioned abPve, cpuld testify, na?
16

242 Universities and Seminaries.
indeed to the theological science of the school in that
miserable age, but tp its faithful preservation of the un
broken teaching of revealed truth and of the traditions
of the Fathers. In the thirteenth century, we find it in
a flourishing condition, and St. Thomas and Albertus
Magnus lecturirig in its hall's.
Such a prerogative of perpetuity was not enjoyed
elsewhere. Europe lay submerged under the waters of
a deluge ; and, when they receded, schopls had to be
refounded as well as churches. One of the principal
results of Charlemagne's" visit to Rome, was the reform
or revival of education, both secular and ecclesiastical ;
and on his return to the north he addressed his well'
known letter on the subject to the chapters and monastic
bodies through his Empire. Henceforth the Pope made
Seminaries obligatory in every Diocese : as to the laity,
they attended the public Schools spoken of in a former
Chapter. Seminaries then were long in possession before Uni
versities were imagined ; and Universities rose out of
them. And, when Universities were established, in
order to preserve the equilibrium between clerical and
lay education, it was decreed,' by the authority of the
Canons, that secular learning should be studied in the
Seminaries, and that each Cathedral should maintain
masters for its teaching. It was foreseen that, unless
this was done, Universities would supply a higher and a
wider education than the Episcopal Schools ; and that
the clergy would either become inferior to the monks
and the laity, or would be drawn within the precincts
and influence of Universities.
The latter of these inconveniences actually took place.
The lectures in the Universities, after all, were necessarily
"superior to those which a Seminary could, furnish. . A6-

L 'Ecole des Hautes Etudes. 243
cbrdingly, Colleges for ecclesiastical, students were
founded in their neighbourhood, and the Cathedral
Schools fell in reputation, and were gradually deserted.
The youths, who would have found their natural home
there, sometimes entered the Colleges aforesaid, some
times attended the' schools of the Regulars, sometimes
lived iri lodgings as other students. It is sufficient to
refer to the Lives of the Medieval Saints for instances
of ordination taking place from or at the Universities
without Seminary training ; take, for example, St. Ray-
mund, St. John of Matha, St. Thomas of Canterburyj
St. Edmund, St. John Nepomucene, St. Caietan, St,
Carlo, St. Ignatius and his companions, or St. Francis of
Sales,^-men, who lived in very various ages and coun
tries, and some of whom had to repel the shameless
assaults, to which their defenceless condition, in the
midst of great cities, exposed them. And thus it was,
that by the, date of the Council of Trent, Seminaries
had all but ceased to exist ; and the candidates for the
Priesthood, who had any learning and any religious
training, either gained it for themselves, as they could,
amid the mixed concourse of a University, or as mem
bers of Colleges, which had themselves suffered mate
rially in their discipline from University contact.
There would be danger to their faith and religious
temper, as well as to their morals. In Universities, sub
jects of every sort were disputed publicly ; and boys,
who ought to have been schooled at a Seminary in dis
trust pf the intellect and modesty of speculation, were
Suffered to imbibe a critical, carping, curious spirit, most
unbecoming in an ecclesiastic, on the interpretation
Of difficulties of Scripture, or on the deepest ques
tions of theology. And the state of things became still
more grave, when Protestantism arose, and its adherents

244 Universities and Seminaries,
found means of introducing themselves into the Profes-,
sorial chairs.
It must be recollected, too, that none but the more
able, or more wealthy, or more pushing, could succeed
in paying their way at a University. But the majority
of ecclesiastics would be poor, and without any great -
energy or enterprise. These, in the decay of Seminaries,
were thrown for education upon the parish schools, which
were obviously unequal to the task.
Such was the state of things, to which the Council of
Trent put an end. Episcopal Seminaries were restored ;
ecclesiastical Colleges in Universities suppressed ; the
profounder studies were to be taught under the Bishop's
eye : but, to make the observance of this rule easier, it
was provided that p6orer Dioceses might unite to estab
lish a Provincial Seminary, where the students of each
would be all educated together. Such, I suppose, in its
ecclesiastical position is the College of Maynopth ; and
it is able in consequence to present a staff of Professors,
and it exhibits an amount and quality of learning and
- talent, which invest it almost with a University character,
A further step in the same direction has been taken
by the present Pope. Without interfering with the
constitution of the Seminaries of his States, he has
founded at Rome, at considerable expense, the Semir
nario Pio, which is to be filled with young ecclesiastics,
taken from all dioceses, selected from the whole number
on the principle of merit. Their course lasts for nine
years, and embraces philosophy, scholastic theology,
Holy Scripture, the Fathers, canon law, rites, and eccle
siastical history. It has Professorial Chairs, and the
power of granting degrees in Theology and Canon Law:
it is in fact an ecclesiastical University,
It cannot be denied, that, while Seminaries have been

L'Ecole des Hautes Etudes. 245
fostered and advanced during these last centuries, Uni
versities have been out of favour. Two only were
founded, as it would appear, in the sixteenth century,
and these were expressly intended to counteract the
spread of Protestantism. The last great Medieval Uni
versity was the famous foundation, or foundations, at
Alcala, due to the munificence of Cardinal Ximenes, in
the year 1500. Since that date, it has been usual rather
to bestow on Collegiate institutions the privileges of
Universities, or in other words to erect a University in a
College, than to adhere to the medieval type. Such
appears to- be the nature of the University, which, with
the recognition ofthe British Government, has lately
been founded at Quebec. To the same distinction ano
ther College seems tending, unless civil obstacles hinder
it, which to us is of especial interest, for the sake of the
prelate who founded it, from its progress hitherto, and
because its Superior is an Irishman : I mean L'Ecole des
Hautes Etudes at Paris. But, above all, it will have a
definite place, if it. proceeds, as it promises to do, in the
history of Universities, and for that reason deserves
some distinct mention here.
It was commenced by the immediate , predecessor of
the present Archbishop of Paris, a prelate of glorious
memory; whose blood, offered in behalf of his flock,
seems already to have borne those fruits, which are the
usual result of suffering in the cause of religion, and to
have called down from Heaven upon his flock the
blessings which he so ardently desired for them. As
one of his Scholars in the seat of learning which he has
founded, expresses it,
Audiit, et, miseratus oves per prselia promptus, '
Perque neces varias fertur, pia victima, pastor.
lieu scelus infandum ! ruptae dum fcedera pacis

246 Universities and Seminaries.
Nectere, et insanos tentas cohibere furores,
Occidis, ac moriens extremi voce " Beatos,
Si nostro/'exelamas, "cessaret sanguine sanguis !"
Nor has the Archbishop's* been the only blood by
which his". Institution has teen sanctified, nor is that In
stitution the only school of devotion and science, which
has occupied the spot on which it is placed. That spot
was long, ago, for- centuries, the home of theologians,
ahcj it has become in the generation before us the scene
and monument of Martyrs. It is no other than the
famous Carmes, where, on the terrible outburst of the
Revolution, in 1792, so many Bishops and Priests of
France were massacred.
This of course is not the occasion for enumerating
the noble foundations which of old time were brought
under the shadow of the great University of Paris, the
first school of the Church. I have touched upon the sub-
ject in a former Chapter. Nations, provinces, monastic
bodies, had their several houses there, and royal per
sonages and wealthy ecclesiastics rejoiced to leave en
dowments there for the benefit of religipn and learning.
The southern and more healthy bank of the river was
allotted to it, and its manifold establishriients gathered
round the hill of St. Genevieve. The Carmelites were
originally. at an inconvenient distance from the Saint,
till Philip the Fair, King of France, gave them ground
at the foot of her hill, sufficient for a Church and a
Monastery. This was about the year 1 300 ; and for the.
last two centuries before the dreadful events, to. which I
have referred, it is described, in particular, as having
been one of the most peaceable asylums of science and
faith. When the Revolution came, and the clergy,
hindered, by their duty to the Church, from tajcing the
oaths which were presented for their acceptance* were

D 'Ecole des Hautes Etudes. 247
subjected to an imprisonment which was to end in death;.
the Carmelite Convent was one of the buildings* se
lected for their confinement. Here, or rather in the
small church attached to the Convent, in the month of
August, 1792, were crowded, first 120, and at length as
many as 175 or 200, according to various accounts, of all
ranks and ages of the clergy.
The first prisoners seem to have been the secular
clergy of the city ; to these, were added a number of
superannuated priests, who lived on pensions, and then
a number of youthful seminarists. Besides, these, were
three Bishops, various Professors and Preachers, and the
'heads of certain religious congregations and collegiate
/ bodies. The second of September was the day- of their
memorable conflict with the powers of evil, then for a
brief season in the ascendant. On that day were im
prisoned together in the house and garden of the Carmes
(besides the 'Seculars), Benedictines, Capuchins, Corde
liers, Sulpicians, disbanded Jesuits, members of the
Sorbonne, and of the College of Navarre. The revolu
tionary tribunal held its sitting in one of the rooms of
the Convent, and pronounced them guilty of disloyalty
to France ; and then the revolutionary soldiers impa
tiently burst in upon the prisoners to carry its sentence
into execution. The massacre lasted for three hours ; .
eighty priests were slaughtered in the garden ; the walls
of the orangery at its end; now a chapel, are still stained,
or rather daubed over, with their blood. On about a
hundred others the outward door of the Convent was
opened for their passage into the street ; they were
called forward one by one; the assassins stood in double
file, and, as their victims ran the gauntlet between them,
above sixty perished under their blows, thirty-six or
thirty-eight escaping into the city. These noble soldiers

248 Universities and Seminaries.
of the Church waited for their turn, and went to death
and died, with their office books in their hands, and its
psalms and prayers upon their tongues.
To have lived in Faris then, and to have heard the
report, and seen the tokens, of what was going on, was
to have had some share in her agony, who of old time
looked upon One uplifted on the Cross ; yet, bitter as
the sorrow must have been, surely it was lighter after
all, than that which has oppressed the Catholic heart
• at other miserable seasons. It was surely lighter than
that which overspread Christendom at the time1 when
.religion was overthrown in England, while, for a long
course of ye,ars, for. the greater part of a century, some
fresh deed of sacrilege was perpetrated day by day, and
a false-hearted clergy and a cowardly laity allowed the
monarch and his nobles in their deeds of violence and"
avarice. For the death of traitors makes no sign, and
whispers scarce a -hope of a revival ; but a martyrdom is
a victory, and - a Church which falls from an external
blow, rises again by its inward vigour. This is fulfilled
before our eyes in the instance of France, and of that
memorable spot of which I have been speaking. Good
reason. why the late Archbishop should have placed his
new institution in that sanctuary of martyrs, himself
destined so soon afterwards to be gathered to their com-
.pany. . '
Institutions, which ,are to thrive and last, generally ,
have humble beginnings, sometimes a scope narrower
than that which they eventually profess ; as there has
been enough to suggest, even .in the sketches which have
been set before the reader in these pages. So has it
been, so is it still perhaps, in the case of the school now
under consideration. Its first object, when it opened in
1845, was one indeed of high importance in itself, being

L'Ecole des Hautes Etudes. 249
no less than that of providing Professors for the petits
seminaires of France. However, it is also described as
" a noviciate of .ecclesiastics intended for teachers of the
young clergy," which is something of an advance in dig
nity and moment upon the object as originally conceived.
When the title was given, by which the school is now
designated, does not appear; but an "Ecole des Hautes
Etudes," also promises, or presages, more than the first
profession of its founder. It speaks of high studies, and
studies for their Own sake, which hardly is equivalent to
a school for schoolmasters. Perhaps it was discovered,
as soon as attention was directed to the subject, that, in
order to teach well, more must be learned by the teacher
than he has formally to impart to the pupil ; that he
must be above his work, and know, and know accurately
and philosophically, what he does not actually profess.
Accordingly, we find the students are instructed, not
only in the languages, but in the literatures, of Greece,
Rome, and France ; in general history ; and in philo
sophy, and in the bearings of religion upon it, — in which
probably are included the- study of the Evidences of
Christianity, of the objections made to it and their refu
tation. Nor is the direct cultivation of their minds for
gotten ; the perfection of our intellectual nature seems
to be judgment ; arid what judgment is in the conduct
of life, such is taste in our social intercourse, in literature,
and the fine arts. Now we are told 'that it is provided,
with a largeness of view which does honour to the pro
jectors of the Institution, that its students, though eccle
siastical, should be made acquainted with the ideas and
sentiments, the tone of mind, and character of thought,
and method of expression, which distinguish the great
writers both of ancient and modern times ; in order that,
while they .exercise themselves in composition, they may

250 Universities and Seminaries.
have a really good standard to work by, and may learn
even unconsciously to imitate what has become familiar
to them by frequent perusal.'
Nor is this the limit of their studies ; the present
Archbishop has added mathematics, . physics, and geo
logy. Little is evidently now wanting to complete a
University course ; and accordingly we find they have
been led for some time to present themselves for
the formal examinations which are the condition of an
academical degree. Two years ago they numbered
as many as thirty-two- licentiates in arts; and the
doctorate, which is preceded by the study of the
Fathers and ecclesiastical history, had then been attained
by three. Meanwhile the Synod of Paris has made the
Institution the metropolitan school of the province..
Moreover, an association has been formed for founding
burses in favour pf poorer students, to which the
ladies of the higher classes and the cures of Paris are
liberally contributing.
• The Institution would have no pretension to the
historical name of " University," while it was confined to
ecclesiastics ; and the present Archbishop, pursuing the
process of development, which, had been so rapid in its
movements before him, has opened it to the laity. The
two descriptions of students are kept distinct, except at
lecture, examinations, and literary meetings. The lay
youths are received, as it would appear, after the age of
eighteen, and are educated for the.Professions, while they
gain of course the benefit of being imbued with sound
principles of religion. Literature and mathematics form
their principal studies ; they are practised, moreover, as
well as the ecclesiastics, in exercises of a logical character,
in elocution and composition. Many of these youths
pass on to the Ecole Polytechnique, ©r other government

U Ecole des Hautes Etudes. 251
schools ; or even belong to them, while they attend
lectures at the Carmes.
The cause of truth, never dominant in this world, has
its ebbs and flows. It is pleasant to live in a day, when
the tide is coming in. Such is our own day ; and,
without forgetting that there are many rocks on the shore
to throw us back and break our advance for the moment,
and to task our patience before . we cover them, — that
physical force is now on the world's side, and that the
world will be provoked to more active enmity against
the Church in proportion to her success, — still we may
surely encourage ourselves by a thousand tokens all
around us now, that this is our hour, whatever be its <
duration, the hour for great hopes, great schemes, great
efforts, great beginnings. We may live indeed to see
but little built, but we shall see much founded. A new
era seems to be at hand, and a bolder policy is showing
itself. In particular, the Church feels herself strong
enough in the provisions and safeguards which a painful
experience has suggested against prospective dangers,
to recommence the age of Universities. Louvain re
vived twenty years ago ; a new University of Paris seems
to be in prospect, or at least in hope ; the report is cur
rent that a University is soon to be erected in Austria ;
and the University of Ireland is proving its possibility
by entering on its work, and presaging its future suc
cess by its triumph over the difficulties, of its commence
ment.

II.
THE NORTHMEN AND NORMANS IN
ENGLAND AND IRELAND.
(From the Rambler of May and July, 1859.)

255

THE NORTHMEN AND NORMANS IN
ENGLAND AND IRELAND.
81-
THE collection, under the author's revision, in one
handsome vqluriie, of the sermons, lectures, and
speeches, delivered by the Cardinal Archbishop in the
course of his late tour in Ireland, accompanied as it is
with a connecting and. illustrative narrative, is one of
the most remarkable publications which has for some
time issued from the press. It is the record of a visit
which has a double claim upon our attention, both in
its relation to the generous people who acted the part
of hosts upon the occasion, and the distinguished
personage who presented himself as their guest.
• The facts of the case are these : the ' Cardinal,' com
plying with the invitation pf an Irish Prelate, who
requested his presence at the opening of a new church,
went at the appointed time, without expectation of any
call upon him for more than such ordinary exertion of
mind and body as the ostensible purpose involved ; but,
to his great astonishment, he found that his coming had
Struck a chord in the heart of a Catholic people, whose
ecclesiastical sentiments are the more keen and delicate,
because they are seldom brought into play. A Car
dinal of Holy Church was to them the representative
of the Vicar of Christ, and nothing else ; his coming
was all but the advent of the Holy Father ; and he

256 Northmen and Normans ,
suddenly found that he must respond most, out of his
own extemporized resources, . to the enthusiastic feel
ings and the acts of homage of the millions who were
welcoming him. But he was equal to the occasion;
meeting the. run made upon him with a spirit and
fertility of thought, which no other public man- in
England could hav.e displayed. He was carried about,
at the will of others, from one part of the island to
another; he found himself surrounded in turn by high
and low, educated and illiterate ; by boys at school, or
by the youth of towns-; by religious communities, or
by official and dignified persons. He was called to
address each class or description of men in matter and
manner suitable to its own standard of taste and
thought ; he had to appear in pulpits,, in lecture-rooms,
at dinner-tables, on railroad-stations, and always to say
something new, apposite,, and effective. How he met
these unexpected and multifarious calls on him, the
volume, to which we have referred, is, we repeat, the
record ; and, though nothing else remained of Cardinal
Wiseman for the admiration of posterity, of the many
things which he has spoken and written, there is enough
here to justify the estimation in which his contemporary
ries have held the talents and the attainments of the
first Archbishop of Westminster.
Insufficient record it certainly would be, after all^
of the actual resources of one who can speak with readi
ness and point in half-a-dozen languages, without being
detected at once for a foreigner in any of them ; and
who, at, ten minutes' warning, can address a congrega
tion from a French pulpit, or the select audience of an
Italian Academy. Insufficient also for another reason,
because it might be objected that the enthusiasm of a
multitude is catching, and that, when a visitor is the

in England and Ireland. 257
stimulating cause of such transports and the object of
such open-hearted greeting, on the part of a vast
population,, his whole heart responds to the call made
upon its affections, and his intellect, as if spontaneously
grateful, expands and revels in the enjoyment of those
festive scenes and high celebrations by which it is
successively solicited.

It is not every guest who is invested with such
pleasant associations, and elicits such joyous emotions
in the Irish mind; It is not every stranger who is
able to bask in the reverberation of those beams of
light, which his own presence sheds over the- Irish
, landscape. There is a visitor who rouses memories as
dark, as the look and voice of a Cardinal are inspiring
and consolatory. That visitor is the Saxon ; and, if
the Saxon happens to. be a Catholic, he has in conse
quence a trial to sustain of his own, of which the
continental tourist has no experience from Austrian
police, or Russian douane, or Turkish quarantine. He
has turned his eyes to a country bound to him by the
ties of a common faith ; and, when he lands at Cork
or Kingstown, he breathes more freely from the
thought . that he has left a Protestant people behind
him, and is among his co-religionists. He has but this
one imagination before his mind, that he is in the midst
of those who will not despise him for his faith's sake,
who name the same sacred names, and utter the same
prayers, and use the same devotions, as he does him
self; whose churches' are the houses of his God, and
whose numerous clergy are the physicians of his soul.
He penetrates into the heart ofthe country; and he
recognises an innocence in the young face, and a piety
, 17

258 The Northmen and Normans
and patiemce in the aged voice, which strikingly and
sadly contrast with the habits . of his own rural popula
tion. Scattered over these masses of peasantry, and
peasants themselves, he hears of a number of lay
persons who have dedicated thernselves to a religious
celibate, and who, by their superior knowledge as well
as sanctity, are the natural and ready guides of their
humble brethren. He finds the population as munifi
cent as it is pious, and doing greater works for God out
of their poverty, than the rich and noble elsewhere
accomplish in their abundance. He finds them
characterised by a love of kindred so tender and faith
ful, as to lead therh, on their compulsory expatriation,
to send back from their first earnings in another hemi
sphere incredible sums, with the purpose of bringing
over to it those dear ones whom they havp left in the
old country. And he finds himself received with that
warmth of hospitality which ever has been Ireland's
boast ~ and, as far as he is personally concerned, his
blood is forgotten in his baptism. How shall he not,
under such circumstances, exult in his new friends, and
feel words deficient to express both his deep reverence
for their virtues, and his strong sympathy in their
heavy trials ?
But, alas, feelings which are so just and so natural in
themselves, which are so congruous in the breast of
Frenchman or Italian, are impertinent in him. He does
not at first recollect, as he ought to recollect, that he
comes among the Irish people as the representative of
persons, and actions, and catastrophes, which it is not
pleasant to any one to think about ; that he is respon
sible for the deeds of his forefathers, and of his con
temporary Parliaments and Executive ; that he is one of
a strong, unscrupulous, tyrannous race, standing upori

in England and Ireland. 259
the soil of- the injured. He does not bear in mind that
it is as easy to forget' injuring, as it is difficult to forget
being injured. He does not admit, even in his imagina
tion, the judgment and the sentence which the past
history of Erin sternly pronounces upon him. He has
to be recalled to himself, and to be taught by what he
hears around him, that an Englishman has no right to
open his heart, and indulge his honest affection towards
the Irish race, as if nothing had happened between him
and them. The voices, so full of blessings for their
Maker and their own kindred, adopt a very different
strain and cadence when the name of England is men
tioned ; and, even when he is most warmly and gene
rously received by those whom he falls in with, he will
be repudiated by those who are at a distance. Natural
amiableness, religious principle, education, reading, ,
knowledge of the world, and the charities of civilization, .
repress or eradicate these bitter feelings in the class in
which he finds his friends ; but, as to the population,
one sentiment of hatred against the oppressor " manet„
alta mente rep6stum." The wrongs which England has ¦
inflicted are faithfully remembered ; her ¦ services are .
viewed with incredulity or resentment ; her name and
fellowship are abominated ; the news of her' prosperity
heard with disgust ; the anticipation of her possible re
verses nursed and cherished as the best of consolations.
The success of France and Russia, over her armies, of
Yankee or Hindoo, is fervently desired, as the first in
stalment of a debt accumulated through seven centuries ;.,
and that, even though those armies are in so large a
proportion recruited from the Irish soil. If he ventures
at least to ask for prayers for England, he- receives* one
answer — a prayer that she may receive her due. It is
as if the air rang with the old Jewish words, "O

2 60 The Northmen and Normans
daughter of Babylon, blessed shall he be who shall
repay thee as thou hast paid to us !"
And, sad to say, he feels that he is not the person to
complain. What a writer in the Atlantis remarks of
the behaviour of the English towards Joan of Arc,
applies too truly to the case of others also who have
resisted them and fallen into their hands. It was that
vcb victis, which they lately wreaked upon the natives
of India ; it was that passionate indignation at insur
gent feebleness, which has, made them in past times
so cruel and unjust to the Irish. " From the moment
of her capture," says the writer in question, " the En
glish set their hearts upon obtaining possession of her.
That deep pride of character, which was, perhaps, a
large element in their success," had its darker expres
sions. It rendered them intolerant of the slightest de
feat or check, and engendered towards any enemy who
might inflict it upon them, a hatred stopping short at no
calumny and no cruelty. Their hatred of Joan was
something wholly -indescribable, and from the beginning
they had spread the most abominable slanders concern
ing her. In their proceedings, two circumstances curi
ously characteristic of the nation appear : first their
accomplishing their purpose under the colour and in
form of strict law ; and secondly, their using as their in
struments natives of the country whose subjugation they
sought."*

It is remarkable, that the Holy See, to whose initia
tive the union of the two countries is historically trace
able, is in no respect made chargeable by the Irish
people with the evils which have resulted to them
* Atlantis, vol. i. p. 272.

in England and Ireland. 261
from it. And the fact itself is remarkable, that the
Holy See really should be responsible for that, initia
tive. There are other nations in the world illmatched,
besides the English and Irish ; there are other instances
of the rule of strangers, and of the compulsory submis^
sion of the governed ; but the Pope cannot be called to
account for such political arrangements. The Pope did
not give Greece to the Sublime Porte, or Warsaw to
Russia, or Venice to. Austria, or Belgium to Holland, or
Norway to Sweden, or .the cities of the Rhine to Prussia,
or the Septinsular Republic to England ; but, even had
he done so, still in some of these instances- he would
have but united together members of one race — German
to German, Fleming to Fleming, Slave to. Slave. But it
is certainly most remarkable that a power so authoritative,
even when not divine, so sagacious even when not super
natural ; whose acts are so literally the personal acts of
the Pontiff who represents it for the time being, yet. of
such solemn force and such tremendous permanence ;
which, by appealing to its present prerogatives, involves
itself in its past decisions ; which " openeth, and no
man shutteth ; and shutteth and no man openeth,"
— it does, we say, require some explanation,, how an
oracle so high and irrefragable should have given its
religious sanction to a union apparently so iinblest,.and
which at the end of seven centuries is as devoid of moral
basis, or of effective accomplishment, as it was at the
commencement. What time German and Italian, Turk
and Greek, shall be contented with each other; when
"the, lion and the sheep shall abide together ; " and "the
calf and the bear shall feed," — then, it may be argued,
will there be a good understanding between two nations
so contradictory the one of the other — the one an old
immemorial race, the other the comppsite pf a hundred

262 The Northmen and Normans
stocks ; the one possessed of an antique civilization, the
other civilized by Christianity ; the one glorying in its
schools and its philosophy, the other in its works and
institutions ; the one subtle, acute, speculative, the other
wise, patient, energetic ; the one admiring and requiring
the strong arm of despotic rule, the other- spontaneously
developing itself in methods of self-government and of
individual competition. And yet, not once or twice
only has the Holy See recognised in Ireland a territory
of' the English Crown. Adrian IV., indeed, the first
Pope who countenanced the invasion of Henry II., was
an Englishman ; but not on his bull did Henry rely for
the justification of his proceedings. He did not publish
it in Ireland till he had received -a confirmatory brief
from Alexander III. Nor was Alexander the only Pope
who distinctly recognised it ; John XXII., a hundred
and sixty years afterwards, refers to it in his brief ad
dressed to Edward PL*
Such have been the dealings of the Holy See in times
past with Ireland ; yet it has not thereby roused against
itself any resentful feelings in the mind of its natives.
Doubtless their good sense understands well, that, what'
ever be decided about the expedience of the act of annexa
tion itself, its serious evils did not begin till the English
monarchy was false to the Pope as well as to Ireland.
Up to that date the settlers in the conquered soil be
came so attached and united to it and to its people, that,
according to the proverb, they were Hibemis hiberniores.
It is Protestantism which has been the tyrannical op
pressor of the Irish ; and we suppose that Protestantism
neither asked nor needed letters apostolic or consecrated
banner to encourage it in the war which it waged against
.Irish Catholicism. Neither Cromwell nor William of
* Lanigan, vol. pp. 165-6.

in England and Ireland. 263
Nassau waited for the Pope's leave, or sought his .bles
sing, in his military operations against Ireland, any more
than Queen Victoria appeals to the Pope's grant for her
title of Defender of the -Faith, though from the Pope it
was originally derived. The Tudor, not the Planta
genet, introduced the iron age of Ireland.
We are, led, by the course of thought into which we
have fallen, to attempt to investigate the policy of the
Holy See in the twelfth century, in annexing Ireland to
the English crowri ; and, in order to keep our eyes in
the right direction in doing so, there are two points
.which it is necessary that we should steadily bear in
mind : — the one is, that we ought to have at least some
general notion of what really is the object of a spiritual
power in political transactions of any kind ; and the
other, that we ought to be careful to distinguish between
the simple object, which in a given case such a power
may set before itself, and the circumstances under which
that object is actually carried out, — circumstances which,
grievous though they be in themselves and contrary to
its intention, it may, after all, think very light never
theless in comparison of the importance and the
solid advantages of the object itself Thus, for in
stance, as regards England, the tyranny of the Con
queror might involve the English nation in terrible
sufferings; and yet the . Holy See^ in its- calm wisdoiri,
might deliberately take upon itself the responsibility,
not of William's gratuitous tyranny, which it abhorred,
but of his conquest notwithstanding, considering the
vast spiritual benefits to the English which that con
quest reasonably promised. Thus the object whicfy
the Holy See pursued in_this case would be a religious
one, and the circumstantial evils in' which it had no real
part were temporal.

264 The Northmen and Normans
The last sentence will suggest the point of view from
which we mean to consider the question before us, and the
sort of answer which we shall give to it. We say then,
first, that the providential position and antecedents of
England and Ireland respectively, whether ecclesiastical
or civil, had been so parallel, as to constitute a sort of
apology for the conduct of the Roman Pontiff, should he
be found to have pursued the same line of policy towards
the two islands : and secondly, that, in matter of fact, the
policy which he pursued towards Ireland at the date in
question, and which seems at first sight so unfair, is
precisely that which he had adOpted_ towards England a
century earlier, except that its concomitants in the case
of England' were far more penal, in severity at least, if
not in duration. In other words, looking at the course
of events as a whole, we see that, in spite of the striking,
contrast in national characteristics which exists between
the English and the Irish, in spite of their mutual'
jealousies and repulsions, in spite of the injuries which
the one people has inflicted, and the other, according to
its opportunities, has retaliated,— nevertheless their rela
tion towards the rest ofthe world, and their circumstances,
through the greater part 'of their Christian period, have
been one and the same ; one and the same in their geo
graphical, ecclesiastical, and political aspect, one and the
same in their conversion, in their missionary labours,. in
their sufferings from northern pirates and Norman knights,
in their religious molestation from the Welsh Tudors, and
even now in their colonization ofthe whole earth external
to the continent of Europe. They have seemed to the
Pope as one, and as one he has treated them.
3
In entering upon this historical parallel, we have no

in England and Ireland. 265
need to do more than refer to its earlier points ; they are
so well known, and have been so often enlarged on. We
are all familiar with the circumstances of the admission
of the two people into the Christian fold, their first fer
vour, and their opportune custody of sacred and secular
knowledge. Rome was the missionary centre, from
which each of them in turn received the revealed doctrine;
from Rome Patrick first, and then Augustine, .received
both their mission and their tradition; and the grace and
merits ¦ of the two apostles so wrought in the countries
which they respectively converted, that those countries
became rivals of each other in sanctity, learning and
zealous works. The Irish saints are said to be more
than can be counted ; the English are remarkable for
being clustered into families, and those of royal lineage.
More than eighty princes are considered to have a place
in the, glorious catalogue of England, and above thirty
rulers gave up their temporal power for pilgrimage or
the cloister. We should not give utterance to so familiar
a tale except for its bearing upon our main point, — that
countries which resembled each other -in such great
points, were likely to be associated together by foreigners
as one in their ecclesiastical, nay in their secular and
political destinies. They were called " the Islands ofthe
Saints;" and sanctity implies unity. The Pope could
wish for nothing better than that what was thus bound
together in heaven should be bound on earth also.
There were other striking points of a like character in
the two countries, which would forcibly affect the imagina
tion of the Continent. They had been both the refuge of
Christianity, for a time almost exterminated in Christen
dom, and the centres of its propagation in countries still
heathen. Secluded from the rest of Europe by the
stormy waters in which they lay, they were converted

266 The Northmen and Normans
just in time to be put in charge with the sacred treasures
of Revelation and ofthe learning of the old world, in that
dreary time which intervened between Gregory ajid
Charlemagne. They formed schools, collected libraries,
and supplied the Continent with preachers and teachers.
While the English Boniface and his followers formed
churches in Germany and towards the north, under the
immediate sanction of the Holy See, the Irish Columba-
nus, the representative of an earlier age, became the rival
of St. Benedict in France and Lombardy.
All human matters tend to decay and dissolution : it
was not to be supposed that what these two islands did
for a season, they would do for ever. The time came
wheri their special mission ended. In the first two cen
turies of English Christianity we may .reckon up one
hundred and fifty saints; then, they fall off. In, the
ninth century a superficial survey of history will furnish
us with sixteen ; in the tenth with eight ; in the eleventh
with ten. As" to Ireland, a vision is said to haye been
granted to St. Patrick, in which he first saw the whole of
Ireland brilliantly lit up ; then the mountains only; then
only a few lamps twinkling in the valleys. The same
decline of sanctity is intimated in the account of tills, ,
vision given in Ussher's ancient catalogue. " The first
order of saints. is sanctissimus, the next sanctior, the third,
sanctus. The ; first flames as the sun, the second as the
moon, the third as the stars."* A darkness was then to
follow. Here we are led on to a further point in the his
torical parallel which the two Islands furnish. The
darkness was not simply the inward decay of sanctity,
which had already showed itself; it was the in-rushing
of troubles from without ; — or if a further decay, it was
the decay which follows upon temporal tumult and dis-^
*¦ Usser. Eccl. Brit. Antiq. p. 474.

in England and Ireland. 267
order. Most necessary and pertinent is the prayer, Da
pacem in diebus nostris ; for war is the destruction of re
ligion, — first by cutting off the saints by the sword, se
condly by hindering the opportunities- of their repro
duction, Such was the visitation coming on England
and Jreland ; it was the dark presence of the pirates of
the North.
There was a fitness in the course of things, that the
two people, who had rejoiced in one prosperity, should^
drink together the same cup of suffering: Amabiles et
decori in vitd sud, in morte non divisi. They made what
may be called their will at about the same date, and
bequeathed their special schools, religious and secular,
and professors to conduct them, to Charlemagne and
the University of Paris. Hardly had they done so,
^hen the countrymen of. Ragnar Lodbrog appeared off
their coasts. Alcuin went to Paris, in A.D. 782 ; and the
Northmen first landed in England in 787, and first
landed in Ireland in 797. 4-
Hitherto the barbarian inroads had been but the
migration of restless populations from the East to the
West. Across the table-lands of Asia, or the vast plains
of Europe, the mighty host moved on, with the speed
pf horsemen, or the slow pace of flocks and herds, or
with temporary halts or long settlements here or there,
as the case might be, according to their own pleasure, or
the compulsion of an enemy in their rear. Before them
the land was open and presented no obstacle, and they
had only to move in order to go forward. The distant
ocean was the only term of their wanderings and of their
conquests. Thus the two islands of the' West were safe
from this invasion, which lasted for .centuries. It was

"268 The Northmen and Normans
otherwise with the fierce northern tribes, who afterwards
appear upon the scene of history. What the horse, was
to the Hun, such was the light bark to the Norwegian
or Dane* If the Hun was never on foot, the Northman
never needed land. The sea, instead of being a barrier,
was the very element and condition of his victories, and
it carried him upon its bosom up and down with an ease
and expedition which even in an operi plain country was
impracticable. We must enlarge on these Northmen, from the course
which their history takes in the sequel. Their chiefs,
then, called the sea-kings, were the younger sons of the
petty princes of Scandinavia, sent out to seek their
fortunes and to win glory upon the wide ocean, with the
outfit of a vessel and its equipments.! They ravaged
far and wide at will, and no retaliation on them was
possible ; for these pirates, unlike their more civilized
brethren of Algiers or of Greece, had not a yard of
territory, a town, or a fort, no property besides their
vessels, no subjects but their crews. They were not
allowed either to inherit or transmit the booty which
these piratical expeditions collected. Such personal
possessions, even to the' gold and silver, were buried
with the plunderer. Never to sleep under a smoke-
burnished rpof, never to fill the cup over the cheerful
hearth, was their boast and their principle. If they
drank, it was not for indulgence or for good company ;
but, by a degrading extravagance, to rival the beasts of
prey and blood in their wild brutality. Their berserkirs,
half madmen, half magicians, studied to imitate dogs,
or wolves, or bears, in their methods of attack, tearing
off their clothes, howling, gnawing their armour, till they
collapsed from the violence of their preternatural ferocity.
* Flanagan, English Church Hist. vol. i. p. 1 80. f Turner, vol. i. p. 424>

in England and Ireland. 269
¦ Though the sea was their element, they were equally
prepared to avail themselves of the land, and equally at
home upon it. They seemed to have a ubiquitous pre
sence. As the lightning, the hurricane, or the plague
sweeps through its inevitable circuit, or hurries along its
capricious zigzag path, so these marauders were at one
time lurking in the deep creek, and darting out upon
the unsuspecting voyager, at another hurrying along the
coast, making their sudden descent and as suddenly
re-embarking ; and at another, landing, leaving their
vessels, and running up the country. They had come
and gone, and done their terrible work, before they
could be encountered. Now they were on the German
Sea, now in the Bay of Biscay, now in the Mediter
ranean. They were at Rouen, at Amiens, at Paris, on
the ! Loire, in Burgundy.* They were in Brittany, in
Aquitaine, at Bordeaux. They landed on the coast near
Cadiz, and faced the Moorish monarch in three battles.
Then, again, they were in Holland, on Walcheren, at
Cambray, at Hainault, at Louvain, and other parts of
Belgium. They set fire to the villages and to the crops ;
they massacred the peasantry.; they crucified, they im
paled ; they spitted infants on their lances ; cruelty
was one of the glories of their warfare.
But England and Ireland, as first meeting them in
their descent to the south, bore the brunt of their fury.
The two islands could not escape the common lot ; ruin
had overtaken the Continent in the earlier centuries, and
now their turn was come. It is scarcely necessary to
trace out the particulars of that awful visitation, under
which two nations, who had been rivals in saintly me-
indries, became, rivals also in the depth of a spiritual
degradation ; a degradation which made them reckless
* Vid. Palgrave's Normandy, vol. i. p. 418, etc. (1872.)

2.70 The Northmen and Normans
and desperate, and ungrateful to the record of God's
past mercies and- their fathers' noble deeds. England
for two hundred and. fifty years, and Ireland for an ad
ditional hundred, were the prey, the victims, the bond
slaves of these savage Northmen. What happened to
one country, happened on the whole to the other; and
what we have already said of their foe in his' descent
upon other countries, might enable us to compose a
history of his dealings with these, though no chronicle
remain to tell it. The Northman pillaged the great
monastery of Banchor, and slaughtered or scattered its
inmates ; he burned Armagh and its Cathedral ; he-
burned Ferns, and Kildare, with its famous church ; he M
sacked Cork; he wasted the whole of Connaught. He
cast his anchors in the Boyrie and Liffey, and. then. "
spread his devastations inland over the plains through
which those rivers flow, plundering churches,, mon-
astries, villages, and carrying off the flocks and herds ,
as booty. In the long course of years no part of
the 'island escaped; bishops were put to death, sacred
vessels profaned and carried off, libraries destroyed.
When at length ,the miserable population submitted
from mere exhaustion, and when war seemed at an
end, for resistance was impossible, and provisions were
consumed, then the invading tribes quarrelled with each
other, and ' a new course of conflicts and devastations '% ';.
followed. As to England, who does not know the terrible epic,
so it may be called, of the eighth arid ninth centuries ?
How Ragnar Lodbrog, in opposition to his wife Aslauga's
counsel, built two large ships in his pride, which were
useless in the hour of defeat, when swiftness of flight
was as necessary to him as vigour in attack ; and how/
these clumsy vessels were wrecked on the Northumbrian ,.

in England and Ireland. 2 7 1
«
coast, and Ragnar taken prisoner ; and lastly, how the
barbarous Ella, the prince of the district, doomed his
fallen enemy to die in prison by the stings of venomous
snakes ? His Quida, or death-song, as he was supposed
to sing it in his dungeon, is preserved* and traces out
the history of those savage exploits which were his sole
comfort when he was giving up his soul to his Maker,
Fifty-one times, as he recounts, had he rallied his people
around his uplifted lance ; and he died in the joyful
thought that his sons would avenge him. He was not
wrong in that belief. Alfred was a youth of nineteen in
his brother's court, when the news came that eight kings
and twenty earls, all relations or friends of Ragnar,
headed by three of his sons, of whom the cruel Ingwar
and Hubba were two, had landed on the east coast.
They moved to York, gained possession of Ella, split
him into the form of a spread eagle, and rubbed salt
into his wounds. Next they got possession of Notting
ham. Then they were back again into Lincolnshire,
desolating and destroying the whole face of the country.
They burned the famous abbeys' Bardeney and Croy-
land, and tortured and murdered the monks. Then they
went to Peterborough and to Ely, where the nuns, ac
cording to the well-known history, mutilated their faces
to preserve their honour. Then they fought, defeated,
captured, tortured, and martyred St. Edmund. Next
they got possession Pf Reading. We mention these
familiar facts not for their own sake, but to illustrate
that fearful celerity and almost, caprice of locomotion,
with which they rushed to .and fro about the country.
At Reading they were met by Alfred, who shortly after
succeeded to the throne of Wessex, and who in the first
year of his royal power fought eight pitched battles with
* Turner, Anglo-Saxons; vol. i. p. 464.

272 The Northmen and Normans
them. Such is our introduction to the romantic history
of that celebrated king. S-
Let not the reader suppose that we are referring to
this history for its own sake, forgetful of the argument
which we are pursuing. We have now arrived at a
fresh point in the parallelism which exists in the fortunes '
of the two islands ; for, strange, to say, Ireland had' its
Alfred also, — that is, its champion of its own people
against the Northmen, as brave and as wise, as successr-
ful in his own time, as unsuccessful in the ultimate result.
This was the great king of Munster, Brian Boroimhe.
Alfred crowded the exploits' of his life in the short
space of fifty-one years. He is known in history from
his boyhood, when he was sent to Rome ; and he suc
ceeded to his brother's throne and to the conduct pf the
.Northman war at the age of twenty-two. Brian too
succeeded to his brother in the government of Munster ;
but he was not elevated to the royal prerogatives. of
king of Ireland till he was in his seventy-sixth year,
Maelseachlainn, or Malachi, in whose line the royal
power was hereditary, had in the former time of his life
defeated the Northmen in three great battles, in one of
which he had taken from their chief's neck the famous
collar of gold, which is said still to be preserved in
Dublin ; but the time came when he seemed to have lost
the energy which he once displayed, and to be unequal to
the emergency. At length he was forced to surrender his
sovereignty to Brian, and Brian was installed in his place
at Tara ; and now, at the advanced age which we have
mentioned, Brian's historical existence begins.
Brian was the choice of the great men of the country, |
but he got possession of the, royal power by his own act;

in England and Ireland. 273
¦'and his rkode of substituting himself for Malachi was
characterized by a picturesque chivalrousness which re
minds us of the era of the Crusades. He came up
against the king- with a large force, to compel his resig
nation. Nothing was left to the weaker but to submit,
and Malachi came to his rival's camp for the purpose.
Brian received him with all courtesy, condoled with him
on the fickleness of his friends, declined to accept his
resignation at once, and gave him a year to recover his
broken fortunes. He accompanied this respite with the
present of two hundred and forty fine horses, though not
in that spirit of mockery which accompanied a like
offer made of old by an Assyrian monarch to a Jewish
king, and with other presents of great value to_ the
king's attendants. At the end of the year Malachi
quietly gave in.
Brian was not possessed of the literary attainments
and general cultivation of mind which were so conspicu
ous in Alfred ; but he equalled him in his patriotism, in
his patronage of letters, and in his devotion. As soon as
he was king, he confirmed the chieftains in their ancient
privileges, and attached them to him by presents. He
revised the genealogies of families and distributed them
into houses, and regulated the precedence of the nobility.
He reformed the laws, and enforced their observance ;
and we have the pleasing and well known legend, in
illustration of the peaceful condition of the country, that
in his days' a young and beautiful lady, arrayed in the
most costly apparel, with all her jewels on, and a wand
in her hand surmounted by a precious ring, traversed
the island from sea to sea without attendant and without
mischance. As to the pirates of the North, he took the
best means of preventing their inroads by building a
fleet, He erected forts in various parts of the country.
18

2 74 Northmen and Normans
He repaired the high roads, and cast bridges over the
rivers. Nor was religion a secondary concern with him.
He addressed himself to the rebuilding of churches and.
monasteries, which had been destroyed'; he restored the
public schools, and multiplied them ; he did his best to
collect new libraries. Such was the energy of this won
derful old man.
These were the great works of twelve years ; and at
length the time came, though long delayed, when he was
to end a glorious reign with .a more glorious death, as a
sort of victim for the people he had so largely benefited.
In the great battle of Clontarf, fought in 1014, he en
gaged the united forces of Scandinavians and Scots,
Britons from Wales and Cornwall, Danes settled in the
country, and insurgents of Leinster. , The day of battle
was Good Friday, which in that year fell as late as St.
George's Day, April 23rd. With the crucifix in his left
hand, and the sword in his right, he rode with his son
and heir Morogh through the ranks of his army, ex
horting them gladly to' shed their blood for the Church,
as the Lord of the Church had shed His precious blood
for them. He gained the victory with the slaughter
of 16,000 of the enemy ; but it was at the price of his own
and of his son's life. He was slain in his eighty-eighth
year, and his son in his sixty-third. An historian of the
day says, he received his death-blow "manibus et mente
ad Deum intentus."* Morogh had time to make con
fession and receive the Viaticum, f This was a hundred
years and more after Alfred's death.
In spite of these two great monarchs, it is not to
be supposed that centuries of civil disorder should not
have had the most grievous results in the spiritual condi
tion of both countries ; nor need we feel any surprise,
* Marianus Scotus. f Lanigan, vol. iii. p. 424.

in England and Ireland. 275
tlnsidering the difficulty with which religion is built up,
and the' ease with which it is pulled down, if the North
men could demolish, but the zeal of pioUs monarchs and
the labours of saints could not restore. As to England,
Englishmen freely confess it. The passage of Alfred is
well known : " Very few are the clergy on this side the
Humber who could understand their daily prayers in
English, or translate any thing from the Latin. I think:
there were not many beyond the Humber. They were
so few, that I. cannot recollect one single instance on the
south of the Thames, when I took the kingdom." In
his reign, and the century which followed it, the absence
of invaders, his own exertions, and the reforms of St.
Dunstan, availed iri a great measure to reverse this la
mentable condition of things ; but the evil had struck
too deeply into the heart of the social fabric to admit of
eradication. The last state of the nation became worse .
than the first. The tradition of piety seemed almost.
extinct ; peace, instead of inspiring thankfulness and
devotion, caused a reaction into open licence and neglect
of religion. Then the Northmen came again; and the
people was again consigned to the sensuality, the intellec
tual sloth, and the national impotence, from which Alfred
had laboured to rescue it : " Many years before the Con
quest," says William of Malmesbury, " both sacred and
secular studies had come to an end. The clergy, content
with a slovenly knowledge, scarcely managed to pro
nounce the formal words of the sacraments, and thought
it a thing prodigious and miraculous if one of themselves
knew grammar. The monks, by their delicate clothing,
and their free use of whatever food came to them, made
s their rule a rnockery. The nobles, given to gluttony,
and debauchery, instead of coming to Church of a morn
ing, as Christians should, heard a hasty mass and matins.

276 Northmen and Normans
if it could be called hearing, they and their wives, ere
they had risen from their beds. The common people.
were the defenceless prey of the powerful. Unnatural
as was such conduct, it was often the fact, that heads of
families, after seducing the women of their house, either
sold them to other men, or to houses of bad repute.
Drinking was a common vice, and was continued day
and night."*
They ' are said to have learned drinking from the
Danes, f The most startling evidence of depravity was
their selling their own children. They were exported to
Ireland. Bristol seems to have been the slave-market ;
for it is one of the good deeds of St. Wolstan, shortly
before the Conquest, that he was able, as the lesson for
-his Feast tells us, to " bring the citizens of Bristol" to a
better mind, who, in spite of king and Pope, had persisted
in their nefarious practice of selling their own people
into slavery."
It is remarkable that the Synod of Armagh, after
Henry's invasion, touchingly confesses this sin of slave.
dealing as having brought upon the Irish the yoke of
foreigners, and decrees that all the English slaves
throughout the country should be emancipated.! That
they were the purchasers, and the Anglo-Saxons the
purchased, shows us that in the eleventh and twelfth
centuries there were classes of society in Ireland higher
in the grade of civilization than the whole English na
tion ; for it is inconceivable that such a merchandise
could be possible, unless all ranks were degraded, and
the ruling power utterly feeble. Indeed, the purchase
and possession of English slaves was eventually Henry's
pretext for his expedition against the Irish. , Nor, in-*
deed, are we without proofs to convince us that, in spite
*Reg. AngL p. 57. f Turner, vol. iLp. 27011. % Lanigan, vol. iv. p. 196.

in England and Ireland. 277.
bf the Northmen, Ireland had much of its ancient force
ofcharacter, nay of learning and virtue, left among its
people. The very aberrations of such men as Erigena
are a proof at least of mental culture ; for heresies do
not commonly break out among the ignorant, and are
often even united with strictness or severity of life. Still,
after all due allowances on his head, we cannot follow
pJt'Geoghegan and others in considering that Brian restored
the state of things to what it had been before the North
men came. He did not, could not do in Ireland, what
Alfred failed to do in England: — this we shall now show..
6.
The authors, then, in question point to the Saints who
flourished between Brian and Henry II., to the learned
Irishmen in foreign ' countries, to the Bishops who at-
; tended foreign synods, and to the monarchs who gave up
the world for the cloister. Lanigan observes* that
J' there were excellent Bishops in the country, such as Ge-
lasius of Armagh, and Christian of Lismore ; and that
the Irish Church was not then in so degenerate a state
as to require any foreign intervention." M'Geoghegan
speaks at greater length, and observes that " it must be
allowed that for nearly two centuries the Northern
pirates had never ceased committing devastations- on'
the island, pillaging and burning her churches and
religious houses. The public schPols were interrupted ;
ignorance spread its influence 'widely, and religion
suffered much in its practice ; without, however, become
mg entirely extinct. After the complete overthrow of
those barbarians, in 10 14, in the battle of Clontarf, the-
(inhabitants began to rebuild their churches and public
schools, and to restore religion to its primitive splendour."f
* Vol. iv. p. 159. f O'Kelly's Translation, p. 243.

278 Northmen and Normans
He adds, " From the battle of Clontarf to the reign of
Henry II., about a century and a half elapsed, during
which time all ranks were emulous in their endeavPurs
to re-establish good order in the government and dis
cipline in the churches."
Accordingly he refers to saintly prelates, such as St.
Celsus, St. Malachi, St. Lawrence, St. Imar, Gilbert, Mal-
chus, and others. Such, moreover, were Ernulph and Buo,
who preached the gospel in Iceland. Doubtless these
are names in which any country might reasonably glory ;
but are they sufficient to prove his point ? for we. have
to go back to the previous question, Is a Christian coun
try in a satisfactory religiPus condition simply because
there are saints in it ? The state of things at the same
period on this side the Channel shall be our answer.
We have been giving evidence above of the degraded
state of' the English population, from the coming of the
Northmen down to the Conquest ; yet it is quite notorious
that no mean saints were found among them both before
and after Alfred. Such are the glorious martyrs whom
the Danes sent to heaven, Edmund, Humbert, and
Elphege ; such are the Bishops Ethelwold, Elphege, and
Brinstan of Winchester, Odo and Dunstan of Canterbury
Oswald of York, and Wolstan of Worcester. Some of
them too were missionaries, and that to the very tribes
who were laying England waste, — a lesson to the ill-
treated to return good for evil ; — -as St. Sigfrid, the apostle
1 of Sweden. Then, again, there was the royal saint,
St. Edward ; and, on tihe other hand, St. Walstan,* a
"layman> who,' without embracing the monastic state,
gave away his patrimony at the age of twelve, and made
himself a mere farm-servant in an obscure village for the
dove pf God, fasting, praying, and working miracles, as
*"Vid. Dr. HuseribetH's Life of him, and Alban Butler, '.May 30.

in ±Ln gland and Ireland. 279
peaceful and serenely as if trouble and sin were not in
the country. William of Malmesbury adds, at the end
of the very passage which we have quoted above, in
disparagement of the Anglo-Saxons, " I know many
clerks at that time were walking in simplicity the path
of sanctity ; I know that many of the laity, of every
kind and condition in that nation, were in God's favour ;
but, as in a time of peace His clemency doth cherish the
bad with the good, so in the time of captivity His
severity sometimes , involves the good with the bad."*
Such was the case with England ; it had saints in the
midst of its degeneracy : and in like manner Ireland,
though it had its saints, might still be degenerate in the
very presence of its sanctity.
Still less is the flourishing state of the schools of
Ireland an index of the intelligence, education, order, or
religion, then existing in the mass of her people. The
country indeed was still a great centre of learning ; and
under all circumstances this fact is very remarkable.
Loss and suffering, disappointment and hopelessness,
could not quench that activity of intellect and zeal for
knowledge which had been the characteristic of her
children from the earliest times. We read of schools at
Kells, Kildare Killaloe, and other places, especially at
Armagh, which, even down to the time of the Conqueror,
was frequented by British youths. Sulger, afterwards
Bishop of St. David's, spent from ten to thirteen years
in Ireland in the study of Holy Scripture, and a portion
of Armagh even went by the name ofthe Saxon quarter.
It is not the least striking circumstance in those dreary
times, that, in an age when even kings and great men
, often could not read, professors in the Irish colleges were
sometimes men of noble birth. St. Malachi's father,
» * Page 58,

2#o Northmen and Normans
though a member of a family of distinction, as St
Bernard tells us, was a. celebrated professor at Armagh.
History records the names of others similarly eminent,
both by their descent and by their learning. It is impos
sible not to admire and venerate a race which displayed
such inextinguishable love of science and letters ; but at
the same time, not even numerous instances of this noble
trait of character in individuals are sufficient to prove
any thing as. to the point immediately before us, viz.
the actual condition of the people in general, contempora
neous with them. There is in most countries a strongly
marked line dividing the educated and illiterate classes,
which not even the closest proximity tends to obliterate.
Science is a sort of disciplina arcani, whether we will or
no ; and the presence of a learned man has no tendency
whatever to- make others learned- with whom he is in -
habits of familiarity.
It is otherwise with sanctity ; a saint will influence by
his conversation, and preaches by his life : and yet even
saints, as we have been showing, are no necessary gua
rantee of the sanctity of their people.- Much less has a
school, or college, or seminary, any power to communi
cate its own attainments or refinement to the neighbour
hood in which it is placed. There is a story of a
practical joke executed by a famous wit of Oxford some
fifty years ago, on occasion of the visit of some foreign
potentate to the University, which it may be allowed us
perhaps to introduce here. When the great person
changed horses at Benson, the stage before coming to
Oxford, he found the landlord, waiters, ostlers, stable-
boys, and postillions arrayed in the black gowns and
cassocks, and red hoods and large bands, proper to doctors
of divinity, and shouting one to another as they brought
out the fresh horses and harnessed them to the travel-

in England and Ireland. 281
ling carriages in classical Latin, in the style of the Heus
Regereyfer caballos, of the W3'kehamist song. On his
asking the meaning of, this, he was- gravely 'informed by
one of the masquerading undergraduates, that the in
fluence of the University penetrated the peasantry for
ten miles on every side, and that no farm-labourer or
hodman was to be found in that circuit who had not
taken his degrees, and could not support a thesis against
Bellarmihe or Socinus. It was a ponderous pleasantry
to; act, but it is an apposite illustration to- adduce in our
present argument, A University does great things ;
but this is just one of the things it does not do ; it does
not intellectualize its neighbourhood,. No Oxford scout,
by serving a score of undergraduate masters, ever caught
the trick of construing Horace, or reducing a Bramantip.
And, in like manner, while we do not doubt that there
were far more Irish than English scholars in the eleventh
century, we cannot fairly deduce from that superiority
that the country priests or peasants- of Meath or Leinster
had more knowledge of the canons or of the Decalogue
than had. the clergy and laity of Wessex.
Andy in fact, there seems to have been little sympathy
between the two classes, in question. How came it to
pass else, that during those centuries of confusion, so
many Irish scholars, greges philosophorum, as they are
called in the trite passage in Eric,' crossed over to the
Continent ? Their convents and colleges, indeed, were in
flames or in ruins ; but their country remained. Why
did they not betake themselves to the bosom, and share
the hospitality and privations, of either rich or poor
within the four seas of Ireland,? Is it not the true solu
tion of this phenomenon, that, as soon as they set foot
beyond their own homestead, they came at once upon
almost a foreign soil ? We cannot refer it to any want

282 Northmen and Normans
of patriotism or Christian charity in their own breasts,
that St. Donatus or St. Andrew found a domicile in
Italy in the ninth century, Mark and Marcellus in Swit
zerland, others who might be named in the West of
England, and others in the calm monastic dwellings of
Cologne or Ratisbon ; but if these holy men were not,
and could not be, indifferent to their countrymen, was
not the state of the case really this, that their country
men were indifferent to them ?
And St. Bernard seems to answer our question in
the affirmative. We are far indeed from taking to the
letter all that he says of the Irish. We believe that, as
in other passages, of his history, his ardent temper
carried him beyond the truth. We believe that - the
statements contained in his well-known Life of St.
Malachi are exaggerations ; still-, it must not be for
gotten that he was a personal friend of St. Malachi,
who had visited him at Clairvaux on his way to and
from Rome, whither he repaired expressly on the
ecclesiastical affairs of Ireland. Now St. Bernard,
who thus had his information at first hand, and from
the most venerable authority, says, in his -Life of him,
" Our Malachi, born in Ireland, of a barbarous people,
was there brought up, was there taught letters. How
ever, from the barbarousness of his birthplace he con
tracted nothing, no "more than the fish of the sea taste
of their maternal salt. He who brought honey out
of the rock, and oil out of the hard stone, it was He
who did this."* It must be recPllected, that we are
saying nPthing of the Irish people which we do not in
another respect impute to our own. Both nation^ had
* Vit. c. i. Vid. also what he says on Malachi being made his bishop's
vicar : " Seminare semen sanctum in genie non sanctd, et dare rudifopulo
et sine lege vivenli legem vitas et disciplinae, ." c. iii.

in England and Ireland. 283
lost their first fervour ; they had not fallen away in the
same direction, but -neither of them' was fitted any
;, longer for the high mission which they had fulfilled in
earlier and happier times. The declension was de
plorable, and what was to be the end of it ?
7-
In one respect England had. been the more favour
ably circumstanced of the two ; but the ultimate result
was the same. Alfred has been able to do for his
country, what, from the circumstances of the case, was
, impossible to Brian. Brian was not in the line of the
old kings of Ireland. He was but the representative
of a Munster dynasty which had been successfully in
surgent against them ; and he was unable to secure the
throne for his descendants. One thing he could do,
and did : he so effectually destroyed the prestige and
power of the old monarchy, that though Malachi re-'
gained his former dignity, still, on his death, for many
1 years there was no king of all Ireland at all. It follows,
that though Brian delivered his country from her
'external foe, he actually threw her back as regards the
prospect of internal consolidation, This great misfor
tune Lanigan remarks upon. " The anciently es
tablished system of succession to the throne of the
whole kingdom," he says, " was overturned ; and there
'remained no paramount power authorized to control
the provincial kings or minor chieftains. The Irish,"
he continues, " were during a great part of the eleventh
century engaged here and there in wars among them
selves ; and we find now and then one or other party
of them assisted by the Danes settled in Dublin or
elsewhere." * * Vol. iii. f>. 427.

284 Northmen and Normans
As to England, on the contrary, both Alfred and
the Danes, rn different ways, had tended to her poli
tical progress. They played as it were into each other's
hands ; and, while the Danes broke up the Heptarchy,
Alfred developed the monarchical power. England
was not illegally seized, but fell into his hands. Be
fore the resistless energy of Ingwar and Hubba, down
went Norfhumbria, East Anglia, and Mercia, almost at
a blow, till Alfred was left the sole representative of
Anglo-Saxon royalty in the island. Brian had to con
quer for himself; but the Danes conquered for Alfred.
If ever there was a king who attained to wide sove
reignity by the force of events, and without any violent
acts of his own, his was that unusual blessing ; and he
had another still more unusual, that of being supremely
happy in his immediate" descendants. Charlemagne, a
century before, had done his own work on a larger
, scale ; but it came to naught for want of those who
could carry it on. But Edward and Ethelfleda, the ¦
children of Alfred, and Athelstan his grandson, were,
in their place and day, as great as he had been in his.
Alfred had been the first king of the English, and
Athelstan was the first king of England.* He brought-
under the Danes, and extended his sovereignty to the
furthest point of the north, and becariie nominal lord
even of Wales and Scotland. Thus- suaviter etfortiter,
with the vigour yet the deliberateness of some natural
growth, was the English monarchy brought into
existence. What has been so gradually and carefully
accomplished, has never broken into parts again.
It was not the will of Heaven that such a blessing
should be accorded to the sister island. That state in
which the Northmen found England, is the state in
* Turner, Anglo-Saxons, ii. p. 187.

in England and Ireland. 285
which they left Ireland. Moore reminds us of this in the
words with which he introduces to us their incursions.
" In the one small kingdom of Northumbria," he says,
"we find represented upon a smaller scale almost a
counterpart of those scenes of discord and misrule
which form the main action of Irish history in those
times ; the same rapid succession and violent deaths of
most of the reigning chieftains, and the same reckless
ness of the public weal, which in general mark their
career."* So it had been before the time of Brian, and
so it was after him. They even joined the Northmen
in their quarrels, whether with Irish or Northmen, and
they imitated them in their reckless and sacrilegious '
deeds. " Several of the Irish princes and chieftains,"
says Lanigan, "had imbibed the spirit of the Danes,
sparing neither churches, nor monasteries, nor eccle
siastics, according as it suited their views ; a system
which was held in abhorrence by their ancestors, and
which often excited them to unite in defence of their
altars against the Scandinavian robbers,"-)- In the
. previous sentences he had given some instances of their
devastations ; such as their burning and pillaging the
church of Ardbraccan with a number of people in it in
1 109 ; of their plundering and destroying the monastery
of Clonmacnois in 1 1 1 1 ; of their killing the Abbot of
Kells on a Sunday in 11 17; of their burning Cashel
and Lismore in 1121; of their plundering Emly in
1 1 23; and of their burning the steeple of Trim, with
the people in it, in 1127. He expressly tells us that
these outrages arose in consequence of the want of a
central and sovereign authority in the country. It was
"one of the sad effects," he says, "of the contests
between various powerful families aspiring to the
* Vol. ii. p. 6. t Vo1- iv- P- SS-

286 Northmen and Normans
sovereignty of Ireland, and again between diverse mem
bers of said' families quarrelling among themselves for
precedency." Brian, then, was raised up to accomplish for his
country great works of a material kind. His arms
broke the power of the Northmen ; he rebuilt the
fabrics of religion ; but, as to moral and social matters,
he left behind him the bad and the good which were
before him. He did not reverse the national degrada
tion. There had been literature among the Irish all
along, and civil war all along : he found both, and he
left both. Schools had still endured when the North
men were victorious ; slaughter and sacrilege were still
rife when they had been chastised. So top was it with
the ecclesiastics : the well known disorders in the church
of Armagh, which continued up to the time of St.
Malachi, are a clear evidence of it.
8.
Here we must pause in our subject, ere we turn from
the contemplation of the religious declension of the
two islands, to a review of the means which the Holy
See adopted to meet the evil. It was surely in
cumbent on that power, which had cqyerted them, to
interfere when they were lapsing back to barbarism..
Every one has a love arid a care for his own work ; and
if children are not always fond of their parents, at least
the parents, as the great philosopher says, cPmmonly
yearn in affection over the children. Rome had had
a great success in English and Irish zeal ; it had no
wish that that success should be reversed. But at
this time the people of England were sunk in sloth,
luxury, and depravity ; and Ireland was convulsed with
feuds and conflicts, their scholars having as little

in England and Ireland. 287
power to restore order, ecclesiastical or civil, as faith
is able to ensure charity, or knowledge is the guarantee
of virtue.
What should the Pope do ? He took time to deli
berate on the course to be pursued, and then he acted
boldly. He applied one and the same remedy to both.
He gave commission to a foreign power to take pos
session of both islands. He did not set one island to
convert the other ; he did not send the debased English
to heal the. quarrels of the Irish ; he did not send those
who sold their own children to the Irish, to lord it over
the Irish- who bought them. He sent against each of
them in its turn the 'soldiers of a young and ambitious
people, first to reform them, secondly to unite them
together ;— and strange to say, the warlike host he sent
was an pffshoot of the very race which had brought
them both to ruin. The Northmen had been their bane;
and, in the intention of the Pope, the Normans were to
be the antidote.

288

II.

' IT would be an interesting work, to trace out the causes
and the course of civilization, in the case of particular
nations compared one with another. Some nations have
been civilized by conquering, others by being con
quered. The moral and, social advancement of Spain,
Gaul, and South Britain under the Roman yoke is an
instance of the latter process ; but more commonly the
victorious people has been the pupil, not the teacher,
and has voluntarily placed itself at the feet of those,
whom it began by treading under its own. This ap
pears from the nature of the case : the more favoured
countries of the earth are the natural seats of civiliza
tion ; and these are the very objects of the cupidity of
northern or eastern races, who are at once more warlike
and less refined. Accordingly, the rude warrior quits his
icebound crags, his desolate steppes, or his burning sands,
for the sunny hills or the well-watered meadows of the
temperate zone ; and when he has made good his foot
ing in his new abode, what was the incentive of his
conquest becomes the instrument of his education.
Thus it was that Goths and Lombards put off their
national fierceness ; thus it was that the fanatic Arab
was transmuted into. the polished knight of Seville of
Granada; and thus the Northman also softened both
his name and his nature, and over his characteristic
qualities, — the cruelty, the cunning, and romantic am
bition of his barbarism, — threw the fantastic garb of
Christian chivalry.
The ordinary course of barbarian invasion is such as
this : — Certain tribes are in the advance of the rest,

in England and Ireland. 289
¦being the van-guard of a large host or' the fugitives of
unsuccessful war ; they come down upon the country
which is to be their prey in successive expeditions ; like
billows tumbling one over the other, they sweep
through it ; then, like waves, they retire, and then
.again, after an interval, they return. Next, they exact
contributions, and are again and again bought off.
Next, either by violence or by treaty, they gain posses
sion and occupation of some territory, and take their
place as landed proprietors amid the old tenants and
institutions of the soil. This turns out to be a ' more
politic bribe than gold ; it is a gift once for all ; it puts
them under teaching, and imposes on them responsibili
ties. In a while they are found to be happily influenced
by. the civilization, be it greater or less, into which they
have thrust themselves; They imitate the customs and
manners of their new country ; they acquire a moral
perception and a standard of judgment to which before
they were utter strangers ; they give up their old idola
try. They trade and make money ; they grow con-
. servative ; they learn to be ashamed of the savage
habits of their forefathers; they, make common- cause
with the old inhabitants in repelling the fresh invasions
of their own kindred. Perhaps they even act a chari
table part, towards the latter, sending them missionaries,
or returning the captives or hostages whom they have
taken, to teach them a purer faith and the arts of life.
These successive steps in the course of civilization took
a character of their own in the remarkable race whose
history has so intimate a bearing on the two islands of
the North ; and as we have enlarged above upon the
^terrible and revolting features of the Scandinavian
character, so it is to our purpose now to speak of the
. singular alleviations with which its enormities were, as
19

29.0 Northmen and Normans ,
time went on, accompanied, till it changed into the
chivalrous Norman. Though of the same stdck as the
Saxons, the Northmen were gifted with a more heroic
cast of soul. Perhaps it was the peculiar scenery and
climate of their native homes which suggested to them
such lofty aspirations, and such enthusiastic love of
danger and hardship. The stillness of the desert may
fill the fierce Arab with a rapturous enjoyment,* and the
interminable forests of Britain or Germany might breathe
profound mystery ; but the icy mountains and the hoarse
resounding waves of the North nurtured warriors of a
princely stature, both in mind and body, befitting the
future occupants Pf European thrones. Cradled in the
surge and storm, they were spared the temptation of
indolence and luxury : they neither worshipped the
vivifying powers of nature with the Greek, nor with the
Sabean did they kiss the hand to the bright stars of heaven;
but, while they gave a personal presence and volition to the
fearful or the beautiful spirits which haunted the riioun-
tains or lay in ambush in the mist, they understood by
daily experience that good could not be had by the mere
wishing, and they made it a first article in their creed
that their reward was future, and that their present must
be toil. ¦ ,
2. i
The light and gloom, the nobleness, the sternness, and
the fancifulness, of the Northman character are admirably
portrayed in the romantic tales of Fouque. At one
time he brings before us the honour-loving Froda, the
friend of the Skalds, who had been taught in the book of
* " A young French renegade confessed to- Chateaubriand that he never
found himself alone galloping in the desert without a sensation approaching
to rapturev which was. indescribable." Notes to the Bride of Abydos.

in England and Ireland. . 291"
a learned Icelander how the Lady Aslauga, a hundred
years and more before, had in her golden veil of flowing
hair won the love of King Ragnar Lodbrog, and who, smit
with devotion to her, saw from time to time the sudden
apparition of his bright queen in the cloudy autumn sky,
animating him to great and warlike deeds. At another
time, it is the Lady Minnetrost, the good Druda, far up
upon the shores of the Baltic, on her high moonlit tower,
with.her long white finger lifted up and pointing to the
starry sky. Then, again, we have the tall slim form of
the beautiful Sigrid, with her large blue eyes, singing her
charm, gathering witch-herbs, and brewing her witch-
draught, which makes heroes invincible in fight, and works
in the banquet a black mysterious woe. Then we have
the gigantic form of. men on the islands of the lake, with
massive breastplates, and huge brazen bucklers, and
. halberts so high that they seemed like the masts of ves
sels. And then the vessel comes in sight, ready for the
use of the sea-knights in their pirate expeditions ; and
off they go over the bounding waves, on their terrible
errands -of blood and fire, to gain immortal glory by
inflicting untold pain.- And suddenly appears one of
them at a marriage feast in Normandy, the sea-king:
Arinbiorn-; one of those warriors in the high-coast coun
try who own little or nothing on the mainland, but who
sail. round the earth in their light barks in the company.
of brave and devoted followers,, passing from one side of
the North Cape, nay, even from distant Iceland, down, to
imperial Constantinople,. or along the coast of blooming
Asia or of burning Africa, where almost all other seamen
are at fault. And at another time we are shown the
• spectres of remorse and death- and judgment, and the
living forms of pride, passion,, and temptation, in the
history of the troubled child of -the fierce warrior of

292 Northmen and Normans
Drontheim ; and, on the other hand, the pattern knight
and his lady bright coming back to their old country
from the plains of Frank-land, and presenting to the
savage northern race the very ideal which they vaguely
sought after, but could not adumbrate ; and the' pale
dark-haired Sintram, calmed and vanquished by the
voice and lute of the fair Gabrielle.
This of course is romance; but if it may be taken as
an anticipation of what the Northmen became in the
Normans, their descendants, it will suggest to us that
there certainly existed between the latter people and the
Church of the middle age a ground of sympathy and
mutual respect which is not found, at least to the same
extent, between her great Pontiffs and either Anglo-
Saxons or Scots. The ministers of peace and the
messengers of war, though as contrary as life arid death,
nevertheless had a bond of attachment and union in the
thorough-going simplicity of purpose with which they
fearlessly worked out their respective objects. The Nor
man knight recognized no earthly standard, no earthly
recompense ; his end might be fanciful and eccentric,
but it was ideal ; it might, be honour, glory, the noble,
the sublime, but at least it was unselfish ; and so far it
resembled Christianity. The first transaction between
this strange people and the Pope was a significant in
troduction to the relations in which they stood towards
each other in the times which followed. St. Leo IX.
had led out a force against them ; they fought him,
gained the battle, took him prisoner, and then, prostrat
ing themselves at his feet, asked his forgiveness and his
blessing* He consented, and made them his allies.
Not many years after, they were the protection ofthe
great Hildebrand against the Emperor. That magna*
* Bowden's Hildebrand, vol. i. p. 165.

in England and Ireland. 293
himous Pope, and his contemporary, William the Con
queror, maybe taken as types respectively of their opposite
missions ; and they were apparently shy of each other.
It is the greatest compliment that the secular historian
can pay to William, that Hildebrand kept at a dis
tance from him ; it is the greatest compliment that the
historian can pay to Hilbebrand, to say that William
fisKed to gain his approbation. 3-
So different, however, at first sight,. is this Norman of
the eleventh century from> the savage pirate who ravaged
England and. Ireland in theninth and tenth, that it is of
importance in the history of civilization to- be able to
trace some points of connection between their respective
national characteristics. This we can succeed in • doing
to a certain extent ; and we think there is; no extra
vagance in professing to be able to detect the germs of
the knight of chivalry, and noting down the dates of
their gradually taking form and development,, in the
chronicles of the wild Scandinavian. For instance, as
we have already suggested, the distinctive trait of the
barbarian of the North, as contrasted with other barba
rians, was his perception and pursuit of the pulchrum, his
belief in some excellence more than ordinary, his Wor
ship of some recondite incommunicable perfection, which
excited in him an enthusiastic passion, and required 'for
its attainment a superhuman effort. This great quality
of mind- showed itself in the rude Northman as well as
in the Norman, and as regards lesser matters, became
that affectation of the rare and uncommon which we
afterwards find in history as a familiar attribute of the
latter people. As an instance, we may specify the value
he set on proficiency in bpdily exercises. Feats of

2 94 Northmen -and Normans
strength, indeed, are held in esteem by all nations, bar
barous or not ; but the Scandinavian aimed not at mere
muscular energy, but at a proficiency which has some
thing of' an intellectual character, — a strength, united to
dexterity, versatile in its exhibition and ready for the
emergence. Olafi son of Triggva, was a genuine sea-
king in the lawlessness of his deeds and the romance of
his fortunes. Born fatherless, on a small island, whither
his mother had fled for her life, captured and sold into
Russia, escaping and turning pirate, sweeping round the
coasts of Scotland, Ireland, Wales, France, Flanders,
and Friesland, converted to Christianity in the Scilly
islands, marrying, or rather married by a princess of
Dublin, and at length made king of Norway, — he seems
to have his character sufficiently described in this mere
outline of. his history, and to promise nothing at best'
beyond the resolve, daring, and fortitude of a piratical
adventurer. But he had accomplishments too* That
-he should have been able to climb precipices and run
down them again heavily laden with spoil, — this, 'indeed,
was a falent suitable and needful to the plunderer ; but
we should hardly have expected in so rude a personage
that he was practised in certain gymnastic arts, that he
could run along upon the oars while the rowers were
pulling, that he could throw at once two darts to their
respective marks, or that he could play at flinging up
.swords and catching them alternately, after the manner
of an Indian juggler. Perfect . command of the limbs,
¦ skill, neatness and grace in their "exercise, were as much
in honour with the Northman as with the knights of a
tournament. .He .could govern his vessel as readily as a
horse ; he could wrestle, swim, skate, row, and, though
a sea-king, he could ride.
* Turner, Middle Ages, vol. i. p. 65 ; Thierry, Normans, book ii.

in England and Ireland. 295
1 Character, we have said, is shown in little things : it
is for this reason that in this connection we remark, by
the way, that the precision and exquisiteness of the
Scandinavian appeared also in his choice of food and
apparel. The Anglo-Saxons wore beards ;- the Normans
shaved ; now in doing so they did but follow the custom of
the old country which they had left. Thus Harold, who
waged war against, the pirates, let .his hair grow, as a
'sort of penance, till he had been successful in his enter
prise ; when he became king of Norway, he submitted
to his father's cutting it off. The ancestors of the fasti-
1 dious Normans trimmed and combed their hair even up
in Scandinavia ; they bathed frequently, dressed hand
somely, and ornamented their war-vessels. They were
nice in their eating ; and, as we observed in a former
page, disdaining wine as a mere incentive to conviviality,
were temperate in the use of it.
These, however, are lesser matters.; the most obvious
and prorriinent point of character, common to the North
man and Norman, is the peculiarity of their warlike
heroism. War was their life ; it was almost their sum-
mum borium ; good in itself, though nothing came of it.
The impetuosity of the Norman relieved itself in ex
travagances, and raises a smile from its very intensity ;
at one time becoming a religious fanaticism, at another
a fantastic knight-errantry. His very worship was to
do battle ; his rite of sacrifice was a passage of arms.
He couched his lance to prove the matter of fact that
his lady was the beautifullest of all conceivable women;
he drew his sword on the blasphemer to convince him
of the sanctity of the Gosp'el ; and he passed abruptly
from demolishing churches, and burning towns to the
rescue of the HPly Sepulchre from the unclean infidel.
In the Northmen, top, this pride pf demolition had been

296 Northmen and Normans
their life-reveL They destroyed for destroying-sake, be
cause it was good to destroy ; it was a display of power,
and power made them gods. They seemed as though
they were possessed by some inward torment, which
needed outlet, and which degraded them to the mad
ness of their own Berserkirs in the absence of some
nobler satisfaction. Their fearful activity ' was their
mode of searching out something great, they knew not
what, the idea of which haunted them. It impelled
them to those sudden descents and rapid careerings
about a country, of which we have already spoken ;
and which, even in rriodern, times, has broken out in
the characteristic energy of Gustavus and Charles XII.
of Sweden. Hence, too; when they had advanced
some steps, in the path of civilization, from this nature
or habit of restlessness they could not bear neutrality ;
they interfered actively in the cause of right, in pro
portion as they gave up the practice of wrong. When
they began to find out that piracy was criminal, instead
of having recourse to peaceful occupations, they found
an occupation cognate to piracy itself in putting piracy-
down. Kings, indeed, would naturally undertake such
a mission, for piracy interfered with their sovereign
power, and would not die of itself ; it was not wonderful
that Harold, Haco the Good, and St. Olaf should hang
the pirates' and destroy their vessels ; but the point of
our remark' is this, that they pursued the transgressors
with the same furious zeal with which they had hereto
fore committed the same transgression themselves. It
is sometimes said that a reformed profligate is the stern
est of moralists ; and these northern rovers, on their
conversion, did penance for their own piracy by a relent
less persecution of pirates. They became knight-errants
on water, devoting themselves to hardship and peril in

in- England and Ireland. 297
the protection of the peaceful merchant. Under Canute
of Denmark a confraternity was formed with this object*
Its members characteristically began by seizing on
vessels not their own for its prosecution, and imposing
Compulsory loans on the wealthy trader for their outfit,
though they professed to indemnify their owners out of
the booty ultimately secured. Before they went on
board, they communicated ; they lived soberly and
severely, restricting themselves to as few followers as was
possible. When they found Christians in the captured
ships, they set them at liberty, clothed them, and sent
them home. In this way as many as eight hundred
pirate vessels were destroyed.
* Sometimes, in spite of their reformation, they still
pursued a pirate's trade ; .but it was a modified piracy.
They put themselves under laws in the exercise of it,
and waged war against those who did not observe them.
These objects of their hostility were what Turner calls
" indiscriminate " pirates. " Their peculiar and self-
ehosen task," he says, " was to protect the defenceless
navigator, and to - seek and assail the indiscriminate
plunderer. ' The pirate gradually became hunted down
as the general enemy of the'human race." He goes on
to mention some of the laws imposed by Hialmar upon
himself and other discriminating pirates, to the effect
that they would protect trade and agriculture, that they.
would not force women irito their ships against their
will, and that they would not eat raw flesh.
Now, in what we have been drawing out, there is
enough to show both the elementary resemblance of
character, and yet the vast actual dissimilitude, between
the Scandinavian and the Norman. There is likeness
enough to. show that the dissimilitude is a change : "when
* Lappenberg's England.

298 Northmen and Normans
there is no resemblance at all between, a former state and
a latter, we do not consider it a change but that one
thing has been substituted for another. Here, however,
is a change, and a vast change.; and then the question
follows, how was it brought about ? There is enough
in the picture to show that the knight of chivalry may
have been made out of the barbarian sea-king ; but
not enough to suggest, on the other hand, how the bar
barian sea-king came ever to be made into the knight of
chivalry. It was of course, to answer in general terms, the
triumph of Christianity. Hrolfr, or Rollo, left the North
a lawless marauder, being driven out by the reform
ing energy of King Harold of the fair hair ; and when
he came to France, it was in order to inflict upon it the
wars which his kinsmen had inflicted upon England and
Ireland. Nor was he remiss in his dreadful mission :
for, after devastating England in company with his
countrymen, he landed on the French province which
has since been called Normandy, plundered Cambrai,
menaced Rouen, besieged Paris, took Bayeux, ravaged
the neighbourhood of Sens, and levelled St, Lo to the
ground. These are specimens of the successful outrages
which Rollo committed on an unoffending country ; but
somehow they ended in his being baptized, receiving a
large grant of territory, and at length taking ,his place
among the landholders and nobility of France. He was
not the first of his savage countrymen who in that same
France had submitted to the Church, and had been
naturalized, on condition of defending the soil against
fresh invasions from the north. And the policy and the
compact were perfectly successful. In the course of
one hundred and fifty years the race made such ad
vances in the arts of life, as to stand foremost in. the
civilization of the day, to be specimens of a particular

in England and Ireland. 299
kind of refinement, and to be in a condition to present
religion artd to teach manners even to Christian popu
lations of historic name and ancient faith.
4-
' And now we come to the question, for the sake of
which we have introduced this lengthened notice of the
Northmen and their French colony. Why was it that
a like process, with a like issue, did not take place in
England and Ireland, when barbarians settled among
them ? Why did not the Danes in both islands suc
cumb to influences which were so potent and so
successful on the opposite continent ? One and the
same fierce foe comes from the North, and extends his
devastations on both sides of the British and St.
George's Channels-; he is so identically one as to have
the same leaders, who sometimes carry on their raids
in one country, sometimes in another. Ragnar not
only ravaged England ,. and Ireland, but he penetrated
with his bands to the walls of Paris. Hasting, the
formidable opponent of Alfred, plundered on the Seine.
Rollo, as we have -said, .made a descent on England
before he came to France. It needs explanation, then,
how it came to pass that the same 'race, being settled,
during a contemporaneous period, in two countries,
made such very unequal advances in civilization in the
one and in the other.
We conceive the facts to be as we have stated them ;
the period of settlement is certainly contemporaneous,
and the advarice in civilization is as certainly unequal.
The country above the Humber was in the possession
of Danish princes from A.D. .870 down to the Norman
•Conquest,; East Anglia was colonized by Danes from
A.D. 878. The Danes ^founded- or rebuilt Dublin,

300 Northmen and Normans
Wexford, Waterford, Cork, and Limerick, about the
year 850; and held them still in 1171, at the date of
what we should call the " Norman Conquest " of
Ireland* Rollo, on the other hand, gained Normandy
about 912. If, then, long and intimate intercourse is
a necessary condition of influencing, improving, arid
changing a barbarous race, both Anglo-Saxons and
Irish had the opportunity of such intercourse with the
Danes more fully than the Franks with the Normans.
And yet the Danes did not gain any such benefits from
their settlement in England and Ireland, as the Normans '
reaped from their French inheritance. This is the second
point to which we ask the reader's attention.
It may be replied, that English arid Irish converted
them to Christianity, and that to a higher blessing and
greater change they could not have been instrumental.
It is true : this conversion was the work of holy men
and zealous priests ; and that there were such is
certain, and that their efforts were prospered is certain,
as might have been expected from their zeal and
their holiness. But we speak here not of mere sub
mission to the Church and faith in her word, which is
commonly all that a preacher would effect in the case of
ignorant barbarians ; but of that formation and elevation
of character, that unity and community of thought, that
hold and application of religious principles, that self-
command, that social progress, which- is what we
commonly mean by the word " civilization.." Civiliza
tion, like barbarism, is a.- social, riot simply, an ethical
term ; it is the attribute of a people. Individuals are
not called civilized, as such, but as members of a body
pplitic, -and a body politic is not civilized by the mere
'action of the evangelist or missionary. What is needed
* Lyttelton, Henry II. vol. v. p. 35 ; Lanigan, vol. iii. p. 3261 &c.

in England and Ireland. 301
Tor that purpose is the influence of pastors, rulers, and
schoolmasters, or the presence or neighbourhood of
races civilized already. This is the benefit which France
bestowed on the Normans, — not that their civilization
was perfect, but it was substantially such. The Nor
mans learned to live in peace with their neighbours;
when they warred, it was according to rule ; they
reverenced law; they could govern and be governed:
they could adopt a course of policy ; and they had
"refined manners. "A steady justice in his own con
duct," says Turner, speaking of Rollo, " an inflexible
rigour towards all offenders, and the beneficial results
which every one experienced from these provisions,
gradually produced a love of equity and subordination
to law among his own people. Under his administra
tion Normandy is declared to have had neither thieves, ¦
plunderers, nor private seditions." And after quoting
a passage from Glaber Rodulphus, which bears witness
" to the Norman people living " like one great family of
relations," to their care of the poor and distressed and
strangers, and to their religious liberality, Turner goes on
to speak of their love of glory, their incipient love of
literature, their general decorum, and lasting steadiness
of moral character. That this was the effect of contact
with French civilization, and not from any natural
internal force in the Norman colony itself, seems un
deniable, not only from that identity, on which we have
already dwelt, of the Normans of Frank-land with the
Danes of England, and from the fact that fresh and
fresh Northmen were continually .joining and disturb
ing, if that had been possible,, the Norman body politic,
but, on the other hand, from what history tells us of the
rapid and complete assimilation of the Norman people
.to the French, even to the adoption of the French

302 Northmen and Normans
language, and of their utter alienation from their
mother country. "The Northmen who settled in
Neustria," says Lappenberg, " gradually ' became lost
among the French. French and foreigners have visited
Normandy in search of some traces of the old Scandi
navian colonies ; but vainly have they sought for the
original Northmen in the original inhabitants ; with
the exception of some faint resemblances, they have
met with nothing Norsk." "All remembrance of their
national poetry," he says presently, "was as completely
obliterated from the posterity of the Northmen as if,
in traversing the ocean, they had drunk of the water of
Lethe."* By the end of the tenth century, " the differ
ence of language," says Thierry, " which had at first
marked the line of separation betwixt the nobles and
the people of Normandy had almost ceased to exist ;
and it was by his genealogy that the Norman of Scan
dinavian descent was distinguished from the Gallo-
Franks."-[- And, "when the use of the lingua romana-
became general throughout Normandy, the Scandina
vians ceased to look upon the Normans as their natural
allies by kindred ; they even ceased to call them by
the name of Normans, but called them French, Romans,
and Velskes or Welches, their names for, the entire
population of Gaul." Lappenberg says the same :
" If the inhabitants of Normandy cared little about their
northern native country, the inhabitants of the: north,
on their' part, almost forgot their fugitive kinsmen, who
had gained for themselves another home."
5-
Such is the surprising arid speedy change which took
* England, pp'. 66, 84, transl. Vid, also Palgrave, vol. i. p. 700 ; voL ii.
p. 257, and elsewhere. (1872.-), f Norman Conquest, p. 39, transl

in England and Ireland. 303
place in the Northmen when domiciled in France ; not
that the Norman character became French, but it ceased
to be barbarian, and became Christian ; it was a great
change. Now let us contrast with it the state of the
Danes, or Northmen, or Ostmen, as they are variously
called, in England and Ireland. The author last quoted
is a 'most unexceptionable witness, because his leaning is
against the Normans and the Holy See ; as if the
Anglo-Saxons would have recovered their former state
and have managed their own matters better, if they had
been let alone. Now he says, speaking of the "colonies
of the Vikings," " on the coast of Ireland they possessed
Dublin, Waterford, Limerick, and Cork. At Dublin
resided the principal king of the Northmen ; Waterford
had also its- kings. These colonies, which sometimes
made war on each other, and at others combined toge
ther, against the Irish or the English, preserved their
warlike spirit, by which, although possessing only a few
' ports and a small portion of the interior, they were
able to maintain themselves for some centuries. Chris
tianity encompassed them on every side ; and in the
eleventh century they adopted it themselves."* Here,
then, is a Scandinavian colony far smaller, or at least
more dispersed, than that in Normandy, actually sur
rounded by Christian populations, and populations of a
far earlier Christianity than the Franks, and acted on by
them at length so far as to embrace their religion, yet so
little subdued by Christian influences, that there is nothing
more to be recorded of them than that they warred
on each other and on their Irish neighbours. And it is
observable, that, considering there was one king over all
their Irish settlements, at least till the beginning of the
eleventh century, these wars of the Danes among them-
* Page 64.

304 Northmen and Normans '
selves must have been of the nature of civil wars.
Lanigan speaks to the same effect. After saying that
the Danes of Dublin were the first of their nation in
Ireland who became Christians, he adds, " which, how
ever,, did not prevent them from afterwards practising
ravages ih the same manner that their predecessors had
done."* Let it be observed, he does not speak merely
of their going to war, which, alas, the most civilized and
Christian nations can do, but of continuing the savage
raids of their forefathers.
It must be added, that whereas the Normans were
converted as early as the date of their coming, the Danes,
even of Dublin, were not converted till at the end of a
hundred years from their settling there, and those of
other Irish cities much later. In the beginning of the
eleventh century, near two centuries after their arrival,
though " a certain progress," the same writer says, '' was ,
made by the Danes in piety and religious practices, yet
we find them now and then, even during this period;
committing depredations in religious places." f How
great a contrast to the notorious devotion of the Nor
mans! In spite of all the shortcomings of the latter
people, their cruelty and their dissoluteness, they were
exemplary in their maintenance of religious worship.
"They caused," says Lappenberg, J "an incredible num
ber of churches and chapels to be built." They became
so greatly changed in this particular, that is, from their
pagan practices, which led them to destroy churches, and
in which the Christian Danes of Ireland still indulged,
" that there were none in France who so zealously built
churches and cloisters as they. They even established
conveyance-fraternities for the erection of churches.
People took the Sacrament, reconciled themselves with
* Vol. iii. p. 376. f Page. 433. + Page. 69.

in England and Ireland. 305
their enemies, and united for this object, choosing a
chief or king, unqpr whose direction they drew carts
loaded with all kinds of building materials. Probably
there were also fraternities of masons." In Ireland, on
the contrary, so far from the old Christian inhabitants
leading their Danish neophytes to build churches, the
Danes taught the Irish to plunder and destroy them, as
appears from a passage of Lanigan, which we quoted in
the former part of this discussion. Nay, it is remarkable
that the Scandinavian countries themselves received
Christianity at as early a date as the bulk of those emi
grants from them, who for two centuries had been in a
^Christian country; and, again, the Norwegian and
.Danish Christians on their own soil were much more
changed by their conversion than their kinsmen on Irish.
" These people," says a contemporary, speaking of the
Norwegians, "have learnt to love peace and gentler
manners." And another says of the Danes, "They have
made progress in the liberal arts ; the nobles send 'their
sons to Paris for education, not only for the ecclesiastical
offices, but also for secular employments."* It is abun
dantly confirmed by results such as these, which history
accidentally records, that Paris had a gift of civilization
at that time which the Irish schools had not.
Let it be observed, too, that the Irish Church had
accidentally a collateral assistance in her work, which
seemed to make the civilization of these settlers com
paratively an easy task. In consequence of their posi
tion, by r-ace Northmen, by birth Irish, by dwelling
maritime, they were the natural medium of intercourse
between their own and their adopted country, and, in
consequence, they took to mercantile occupations. Now,
* Adam of Bremen and Arnold of Lubeck, in Lappenberg, pp. 61, 62.
Vide also Neander, Hist. vol. v. p. 403, Bohn.
20

306 Northmen and Normans
the pursuit of wealth is at least antagonistic to barbaric
turbulence, even if not directly congenial to Christianity;
but in this instance it did not even thus negatively assist
the communication of Christian manners from the old
Christians to the new. Lyttelton has this apposite re
mark : " About this time (1095) a civil war divided the
Ostmen (Danes of Ireland). From henceforward this peo
ple, addicting themselves wholly to commerce, lost "much
of their valour and military spirit, without making any
great improvements in politeness or the civil arts of life."*
It does not seem, indeed, as if there were any ten
dency whatever in the Danes of Ireland, we will not say *
to amalgamation, but to intimacy with the people*
among whom they were settled. On the contrary, they
drew off from the Irish, and when the Normans had got
possession of England, they fell back upon the Normans. '
Here they are in remarkable contrast to the Normans
themselves, who loved their new country so well as to
forget "their people and their father's house." So far
from such a feeling, the Ostmen would not even allow the
ecclesiastical jurisdiction of those who converted them.
When Sitric, Danish king of Dublin, endowed a see
there for his countrymen, A.D. 1040, its first bishop was
necessarily an Irishman, f but no sooner had the Nor
mans come to England, than the Dublin Danes put
themselves under the metropolitan see of Canterbury ;
the reason being, as Lanigan states, not only the great
reputation of Lanfranc the Archbishop (though it is not
easy to see what the Danes would care about a great
logician and controversialist), but " because William and
his Normans, being masters of England from the year
1066, were considered by the Irish Danes as their
countrymen." That is, the outlandish Franco-Normans
* Vol. v. p. 42. f Lanigan, vol. iii. p. 433, etc.

in England and Ireland. 307
had an influence with them which centuries of neigh
bourhood and intercourse had not given to the Irish. .
Nor was this the act of the Danes of Dublin only ; the-
Danish Bishops of Waterford and Limerick were conse
crated from Canterbury also* Elsewhere Lanigan says,
"A very great .antipathy existed between the two
nations, even after the conversion' of the Danes; and the
Danish clergy of Dublin and the Irish clergy of Armagh
were constantly at variance." f
Once more ; till the Normans came to Ireland, the
Banes (or Ostmen, as they were called) continued to be
distinct communities from the Irish : when the Normans
had come, the Normans too remained distinct from the
Irish ; but the Danes simply disappear from the page'of
history. " English," says' Lappenberg, explaining that -.
by English he means Anglo-Noririans, " English, Irish,
and Northmen formed three distinct races," in the begin- -
ning of the thirteenth century, that is, upon the Norman
conquest of Ireland ; but at a later period mention
occurs of two nations only, Irish and English ; the
Ostmen, or Northmen, having disappeared.''^ What
is clearer than that the Northmen, who had resisted all ;
assimilation with the Irish for above three centuries,
had at once felt the attraction of their kindred/and had
been absorbed by the conquerors, — absorbed as promptly
and'spontaneously, as the Normans, on. their part, had .
been united, not to any of their own compatriots, but to ¦
the Franks around them ?
If, then, the Ostmen, or Danes, . of Ireland'. needed:
civilizing, and the Irish could not civilize them, and
the Normans could, then, for the sake both of the Danes
*who needed a great benefit, and of the Irish who could
not supply it, it was surely not unreasonable in the
' * Ibid. p. 464. + Vol. i. p.- 75. - X Md.

308 Northmen and Normans
Pope, nor unsuitable to his high mission, to sanction the
expedition of the Normans to Ireland with the object of
converting the one and reforming the other. We do
not deny that there was something of a grave rebuke in
sending to that old Catholic population specimens of
barbarians whom others had civilized, in order to" the
¦ civilization of kinsmen of those barbarians, whom, though
living among them, they have been unable to civilize
themselves. At the same time, this measure was no
disparagement of the Irish schools, or of the learning
and sanctity of their members ; for, as we have already
had occasion to observe, it is not of the . nature of
colleges or cloisters to radiate knowledge and manners
throug/h a population.

Now to pass on to the case of England. What the
schools were to Ireland, such was the monarchy to pur
own country ; each institution was the seat of national
life and the hope of national reformation. There were
certainly weak and unworthy Anglo-Saxon monarchs;
and there was both rash speculation and ecclesiastical
disorder -in the Irish schools, as is clear from the in
stance pf Erigena and others on the one hand, and
from the strange and lasting scandals of Armagh on the
other. Still the schools were the salt of Ireland, and
acted on the population, Christian and pagan, at least
indirectly, by means of the holy preachers who went out
from them ; and in like manner there were among the
English kings so many -able, successful, and, we will
add, religious >.nilers, that they may fairly be taken to
represent the monarchy. Such are Egbert, Alfred,
Edward, Athelstan, Edgar, and Edmund. They were
the instruments of the conversion of vast numbers of

in Lngland and Ireland. - 309 ;
the Northmen to the Christian faith. It was Alfred who
adopted the policy, which had succeeded so well across
the Channel, " of settling the Danes in the east of
England, on condition of their baptism. Athelstan, in
like manner, when he subjected the Northumbrian Danes
to his sway, made them Christians. The same prince
was entrusted with the education of Haco the Good of
Norway, who, though he did not succeed in bringing his
subjects to the faith he had himself embraced, contributed
much towards their national civilization. St. Olaf, king
ofthe same country, who sent for Bishops and priests
.from England, did but avail himself of what Haco had-
begun. Yet^ though a royal court could exert -more
influence both at home and -abroad than a number of
scattered convents and colleges, it could neither do a
people's work, nor educate a people into doing it. •
What was wanted in England was a Christianity so -
living, as to leaven and transform the pagan neophytes.
The monarchy might effect the conversion of the Danish
settlers, but it could not effect their civilization. If the
Anglo-Saxon population was in a state of disorder,
despondency, and misery, it would only be further de
graded by the contact of barbarians, instead of having
• any power to raise them even to its own unsatisfactory
level. And this, we know, was the case. The , savage
invaders had demoralized the English : can there be a
more pregnant fact than that of which- we have already
spoken, that . from the reign of Ethelred (a.d. 1013) to
that of Henry II. (-117T-), for at least one hundred and
fifty years, the Anglo-saxons sold their relatives, and
even their children, into foreign slavery, as if they had
been a tribe of unreclaimed Africans ? *
""' "turner, Anglo-Saxons;. vM." ii. p. 322 ; LShgard, Hist- vol. i. p. 244;
Lytteltoa, *. p.' 91.

3 1 0 Northmen and Normans
Moreover, though England had an advantage over
Ireland in the unity of its governing power, on the other
hand it had this counterbalancing disadvantage, that
the foreign settlers were far more numerous, and the
territory they covered far more extensive. If Ireland
¦ was broken up into small principalities, its Danish' in-
-- mates, too, were divided from each other, and sur
rounded by the Christian population. But as to
^England, at one memorable date the whole of it was
in the power of the Danes except Somersetshire and
the far west. At Alfred's death all the country was
theirs to the north of .the Humber and the East of the
Thames and Ouse. Later, a line drawn from Chester
to the mouth of the Thames through Bedfordshire,
serves to describe their frontier. Even when they were
subjects of the AnglorSaxon monarchs, they had their
own laws. At length a Dane became monarch of the
whole country ; and. did more for its welfare than the
, Anglo-Saxon kings who preceded him. The choice
seemed to lie between Dane or Norman, if the nation was
to be raised from its abject condition ; and the Norman,
not more cruel than the Dane, was far more advanced
in,;eivilization. ..It must be recollected too, that, whatever might be the
^advantage of a monarchy, one bad king could undo the
work of three or four vigorous ones : and bad or worthless
there were. One act reversed all the efforts of the great
princes whom we mentioned above. The Anglo-Saxons
could not hope to convert the Danes after the crime of
St. Brice's day, 1002, which is the St. Bartholomew's
Eve of our history. On the eve of that festival, " every
city," says Turner, "received secret , letters from the
king, commanding the people, at an appointed hour, to
destroy the Danes there suddenly, by the sword, or to

in England and Ireland. 311
surround and consume them with fire."* Though at
that time they were living in peace with the English,
the royal mandate was obeyed. All through England,
Christians as they were for the most part, the Danes,
their wives, their families, their infants, were mercilessly
butchered. " The horror of the murder," says Lingard,
'iwas in many places aggravated by every insult and
harbarity which national hatred could suggest. At
London they fled for security to the churches, and were
massacred in crowds round the altars."t The number
of victims and extent of the massacre are unknown. .It
could hardly, indeed, include the old settlers, now half
English, in the north and east. Some authors have
maintained that the savage commahd was only directed
against the Danish soldiers in English pay ; Thierry,
apparently disbelieving that it was the act of the Anglo-
Saxon king, would make us believe that the only vic
tims were the Danes, who had just before made a truce
with Ethelred, and who after receiving, according to the
bargain, their price for leaving the kingdom, had brokea
their engagement by a renewal of their excesses. But
•in that case women and children would not have suf
fered. Gunhilda, the sister of the Danish Sweyn, the
father of Canute, had embraced Christianity, and had
married Palig, a naturalised- Dane. Her children and
husband were slaughtered before her eyes - then she was '
put to death herself. She predicted the vengeance that
would follow.
Her prediction was an no long time fulfilled. The
shrieks of the victims of that day were the knell of the
Anglo-Saxon power, The savage Sweyn wreaked his
. vengence in fresh devastations and slaughters, which
terminated in the subjugation of England and the
* Vol. ii. p. 312. t Hist. vol. L p. 24a

312 Northmen and Normans:
successful usurpation of Canute. St.. Edward who fol-::
lowed was the morning star of a heavy day, saintly and
beautiful himself, but the forerunner of the foreigners in
his acts, and the harbinger of woe in his last words.
7-
Our immediate question, however, here, as in the case
of Ireland, is, how were the Danes to be civilized ? An
ticipating the future by the best lights of prudence and
experience, we should have said at that time, that with
these Danes lay the prospects of good or evil for that
England, of which they had so long been the scourge and
the ruin. They were a young, energetic, enterprising,
ambitious people. They could fight, they could trade ;
but they had to learn the' lessons of the gospel and the
arts of life. Could England be their teacher, after the
massacre of Sti Brice ? If a Christian nation slaughtered
its unsuspecting converts, who would be- converted by it
henceforth ? The poor Anglo-Saxons-had only strength
for a treacherous and impotent revenge ; they had fallen
from that state of ethical and social advancement, which
the Danes had not yet attained.
Neither island then could either expel the Northmen
nor civilize them. Men of their own race, already con
verted and civilized, were equal to the enterprise, and
these the Pope sent first to England, then to Ireland, to
undertake it*

* This paper is but' a fragment, in consequence of the author's suddenly
' retiring from the Editorship of the Rambler. Magazine..

III.
MEDIEVAL OXFORD.
(From the British Critic of July, 1838: )

3^5

MEDIEVAL OXFORD.
MOST persoris who fall in with Dr. Ingram's " Me
morials of Oxford," will only consider it as a
collection of beautiful prints in illustration of a beautiful
city. In consequence they will be likely to place it on
their drawing-room table, and to consider that, having
done this, they have sufficiently recognized its claims
upon their notice. And it is really a most interesting
publication, viewed merely as a work of art ; but thoSe
'who have been led to cast their eyes upon its letter-press,
will find there matter of a very different complexion from
the dull running accompaniment, large in type and small
in sense, which is commonly introduced into such artis
tic publications, by way of increasing their bulk without
changing their character.
The President of Trinity, in truth, the learned writer
of this letter-press, is evidently not a man to figure as a
mere chevalier aux. dames, or to serve up to proper style
some elegant offering to the fashion of the hour. Never
was a man less like, the writers of the prose of an annual
or an album. He is, to all appearance, one of a race
of men, now almost extinct, who lived all their days
in and for the University. A place like Oxford, it
need scarcely be said, alters very much year by year
in the outward characteristics of its society.; and more
so, in a time like this, when alterations and develop
ments of a serious nature are taking place in the
structure of .society in general. The .movements which

3 1 6 Medieval Oxford.
have had so successful a course in the metropolis and
great towns of England, cannot be altogether unknown
and unheeded in the groves and halls of academic
repose ; newspapers, magazines, and reviews cannot pos
sibly be made contraband ; the fact cannot be concealed
from Oxford residents that they are the objects of dis
like to a considerable portion of the community, arid
of assault in certain august assemblies ; and, in conse
quence, there has been, more or less, a revival in the
members of the University of that energetic spirit, that
resolve to take part and have a voice in the world's
matters, which is one' of its distinguishing marks in
history. They haVe long determined that Church and
State shall neither do nor suffer, without their own doing
and suffering too. The circumstances, of the times seem
to force such a course upon an ancient institution, which
has never been a mere abode of the Muses, but has ever
twined the myrtle round the sword ; yet, at the same
time, granting this, so much is clear, that the Muses
suffer by it, and do not thank the times' for its necessity.
They have to mourn over the gradual disappearance of
classical taste, antiquarian research, and lpcal knowledge.
Oxford was a place of leisurely thought, of multifarious,
though undigested erudition, of wayward irregular exer
tion, of enthusiastic College feeling, of chronic' indulgence
illuminated by the graceful or brilliant sallies of wit. It
was a place impartially the APma Mater both of genius
and of abuses. No examinations or class-lists directed the
mind either of tutor or of pupil' to definite studies
and honourable toil, or raised his eyes from his College
garden to the University schools, and from the schools
to the busy walks of life. Oxford was his home, and
with the advantages of home, it had the disadvantages ';
it was a very dear place, but a very idle one ; it was one

Medieval Oxford. 3 1 7
Long Vacation. It was. not a place of passage, not a
lodging house for a term of years, not a means to an
end, — as it is commonly now. Such a state of things,
indeed, if its capabilities had been rightly understood,
might have been productive of most beneficial results ;
the fault was, not that inducements for exertion were not
sought for from without, but that there were no active
principles spontaneously stirring within. One good
effect, however, actually followed.; very few Fellows of
Colleges, we suspect, could now be .found, who are well
acquainted with the history or antiquities of their own
Society, how it grew up into its present state, and by
whose munificence.it has been gradually enriched. On
the other hand, talk with an old incumbent visiting the
place for a few days, and, if a resident yourself, you will
be surprised, if you have not Pause to be ashamed, at
his accurate knowledge of the minute circumstances of
the domicile, where your outward man has lived perhaps
for years, but whence your mind has been away. While
you, rightlyorwrongly,havebeenabsorbed in ecclesiastical
proceedings or scientific associations, he knows all about
the College, from the curious show-hooks or the manu
scripts of the library, and the .number in full of old silver
tankards in the buttery, down to the excellence of the
pump-water, or the history of the common-room chairs.
Such is the difference between the past age and the
present; — between this busy anxious day and a time
when Oxford was loved for its own sake, and was en
joyed with scarce a thought of what was outside of it.
The learned work, to which we referred in our first
sentences, is an instance in point, to what good account
a resident there may turn his devotion towards a place,
which is beautiful as youth, and venerable as age ; and
since the antiquarian lore which is its characteristic

3 1 8 Medieval Oxford.
is uncommon just now, we think it maybe interesting to
put together here some leading facts about the early
history of the University, which are scattered through
its pages, before and apart from the history of its
Colleges. Facts we call them in an antiquarian sense, not
as ignorant that every single statement which we shall
make has been, and will be controverted, (for what are
the annals of the world in the' judgment of this day but
one large storybook"?) but in order to intimate that it is
not our intention to dispute or to prove, but that we mean
to surrender ourselves to the pleasing illusion, that there
is such a thing as certainty attainable by the human mind,
as regards matters which we can neither see nor touch.

Little can be narrated in any connected way con
cerning the University previously to the Norman con
quest. The ravages of the Danes, civil troubles, and
the debased state of religion, interrupted arid dispersed,
at least the records, if not the schools and studies them
selves, of the peaceful place ; and the scanty glimpses,
which are left to us, are like the broken remembrances
•with which we retrace that first mysterious portion of
our childhood, ere memory has yet become continuous, ,
and we begin to live in the thought of our own identity.
However, amid the dim notions of almost fabulous ages,
on which the institutions existing in later times force us
back, we are naturally drawn to one passage of Saxon
history, both from its interesting character, and the
satisfactory evidence adducible for its main outline, —
the history of St, Frideswide. It seems, that, about the
year 727, a certain governor, provost, or vice-roy, "sub^
regulus," he is called, of the name of Didan, ruled over
a large portion of the city of Oxford with dignity and

Medieval Oxford. 319
honour. His wife's name was Saffrida, and their
daughter was called Frideswide. Having received a
religious education from a female of eminent sanctity,
this young lady, not only embraced the monastic life
herself, but induced certain others among her equals,
of respectable families, to do the like. Her mother
dying, her father, sought consolation, according to the
fashion peculiar to those times, in a work of piety,, and
employed himself in the construction of a convent, with
its church, within the precincts of the city j and, having
dedicated it to St. Mary and all Saints, he made over
his foundation to his daughter. This Church, which
was known by the name of St. Mary of Oxford " prope
Tamesin," or " on the Thames," was the rudiments of
the present cathedral, as the priory attached to it was
of the present Christ Church.
Frideswide's priory was, even from the first, some
thing beyond a simple religious foundation. She died
on October 19, 740, and was buried in her own church ;
but, even before her death, or shortly after, the king of
Mercia, in whose territory Oxford lay (Ethelbald), con
structed certain inns for the advancement of learning in
connection with the sacred edifice. Alfred, 150 years
later, after wresting the city from the Danes, restored
them. Nothing is known of her foundation for another
hundred years, that is, till A.D. 1000, by which date the
priory of St. Frideswide has been richly endowed, its
lands increased, and its church enlarged. Oxford was,
at that time, the metropolis of MerPia, and had been a
favourite seat of both Saxon and Danish monarchs.
•King Ethelred (1004) built the church tower, which,
with the addition of a Norman story and spire, is still
standing. So great was the king's satisfaction at
his own work, that he calls it, in the half-modernized

320 • Medieval Oxford.
spelling of an extant MS. "myn owne mynster in
Oxenford." Another hundred years brought with it a
fresh series of changes ; the nuns were gone, never to
return ; secular canons had succeeded, had fallen into
disorder, and in turn been dispossessed ; and in their
place an austere Norman, chaplain to" Henry I., was
made the prior of an establishment of regulars. • Under
this form the foundation stood till the time of Wolsey, ¦
when those further changes were made which brought it
into its present shape. Meanwhile, the prior of St.
Frideswide and his community were among the most
learned and scientific persons of their times, and their
sainted patroness was proportionally honoured. Her
relics, as it seems to be ascertained, were in 1180 trans
lated, in Wood's words, "from an obscure to a more
noted place in the church," being deposited in a re
liquary, which Dr.- Ingram supposes to remain to this
day; miracles are said to have followed ; rich offerings
were made at her shrine, and ample endowments were
added to her foundation. A more splendid shrine
received her relics -in 1289, and one still more splendid
about 1480. Sermons were preached at her cross, the
University authorities went in annual procession to her
altar, and as late as 1434 she is called in a public
instrument "the special advocate of the flourishing
University of Oxford."

Such is the history of the earliest endowment for
learning, in a place which was destined to be so fruitful
in similar noble institutions. The next that has to be
noticed takes us back to the important era, which, while
it forms a sort of commencement of our civil history,
brought the University also up on to a new stage of

' Medieval Oxford. 321
its existence. Only ten years had passed after the
troubles attendant on the conquest, in which Oxford
largely partook, when we find signs of returning peace,
religion and learning in that city. The Castle Tower,
which still is seen on the left hand of the road by tra
vellers leaving for Bath or Cheltenham, belonged to the
collegiate Church of St. George, and was founded at
that date by Robert d'Oiley for secular canons of the
, order of St. Augustine, being such, '(observes Wood)
as were "most fit for a University, and not bound to
keep their cloister, as regulars are." Here they con
tinued till their translation to Oseney iri 1149, "at
which time," says the same writer, "this their said
habitation became a nursery for secular students, sub
ject to the chancellor's jurisdiction." Brumman le
Riche endowed this same Church of St. George, on its
first foundation, with land, in the northern suburbs of
Oxford ; whence, as Dr. Ingram supposes, came the tra
dition that the University was anciently on that side of
the town. Thus established as a scholastic institution,
St. George's continued, as a dependency of Oseney
Abbey, till the dissolution of the latter, being governed
byt statutes similar in some respects to those of more
recent colleges, and consisting of a warden, fellows, and
scholars. The warden was always to be chosen from the
canons of Oseney ; the fellows and scholars were sworn
to the performance ©f divine service, and to obedience
to the warden and to a life .of charity and purity. There
were five secular priests, and the scholars were in number
twelve, for the most- part Welshmen. Such was the re
cord ofthe earliest scholastic foundations of Oxford, being
situated on a spot originally a palace, and now a gaol.
Since Oseney has been mentioned, it may be allowed
us tolbestow a few words of notice on this celebrated 21

322 . Medieval Oxford.
foundation, though it lies somewhat off the line of Uni
versity history. It was founded, as we have said, in the
early part ofthe 12th century, where the castle now stands,
as a priory of Augustinian canons; and, when it had
removed to the adjacent isle of Oseney, so many benefac
tions poured in, that the priory became an abbey, and
ultimately one of the largest and most magnificent in
the kingdom. From the great extent and splendour of
its buildings, Wood says; "it was one of the first orna
ments and wonders, of this place and nation." The
island, on which it was placed, was one of those formed
by the winding branches of the Ouse or Isis, whence it
derived its name of Oseney. The church, dedicated, as
St. Frideswide' s, to St. Mary the Virgin, was lofty, and
was adorned with two towers ; its bells were celebrated
as the best in England in those times, and are those
known in Dean Aldrich's time and in our own, as '" the
merry Christ Church bells." The famous Tom of
Oxford, which tolls nightly at nine o'clock, was the bell
in the clock-tower. The edifice was enriched with a
variety of chapels, having not less than twenty-four
distinct altars. The abbot's house was also celebrated
for its splendour; and was frequently honoured by the
company of kings, high prelates, and nobles of th'e first
rank ; having a hall, as a writer describes it, " more
befitting a common society than a private man." The
cloisters, the kitchen, the great hall, and the infirmary,
were on a corresponding scale of magnificence. King
Henry III., after he had raised the siege of Kenilworth,
passed his Christmas here, celebrating the season for
seven days' space, " with great revelling and mirth." Of
all these gorgeous buildings scarcely a vestige now
remains ; and, had not a knowledge of the site been pre
served by tradition and the diligence of antiquarians, it

Medieval Oxford. 323
could not from the face ofthe land have been conjectured.
Some unevenness in a broad and fertile meadow marks
the site of the great quadrangle ; and a wall, gate, and
window, belonging to its outbuildings, are still standing,
near a mill which inherits its name. Its church bells
its sole extant memorial, were transferred, as we have
said, together with its endowments, to Christ Church at
the date of the Reformation. 3-
The schools of which we have already spoken, were
situated on the banks of the Thames : but now, receding
from the river, we must proceed up the rising, ground to
the north, to'the spot occupied by the present Worcester
College, where lay' the land with which le Riche endowed
the Church of St. George. Here was the great Benedic
tine College, founded by John Giffard, Baron of Brimes-
field, in 1283, for the reception of the novices sent from the
Benedictine Abbey at Gloucester. In the" original docu
ments connected with- this place, its site is much extolled
for its suitableness to an abode for study : a considera
tion which seems to have induced Giffard to enlarge
his establishment, in order to be a "studium generale "
for all the Benedictine youths in the province of Can
terbury ; three-fourths of such novices being, it is said,
at 'that time sent to Oxford, and the remainder to
Cambridge. The .Benedictines were then, as in later
times, a learned body of men, as their founder designed ;
and, a tax being imposed at a general chapter of the
order on1 their greater abbeys, buildings adequate to the
occasion quickly rose. Those belonging to each com
munity were distinct from each other, and distinguished
each by appropriate escutcheons and rebusses over the
doors, some of which remain to this day. The students

324 Medieval Oxford.
were governed by a superior called " Prior Studentium,"
chosen by themselves, by a rule similar to that which is
still nominally observed in the University, as regards
the election of the Principals of Halls. About the year
1343 we find two chairs. of theology established for their
instruction, one in this establishment, and the other' at
Durham College.
Thus we are introduced to a sister foundation. Dur
ham College was the seminary of the Benedictine
priory at Durham. It was founded about 1286,. under a
grant of land.made "to God, and to our Lady, and to St.
Cuthbert> and to, the prior and convent of Durham," and
it was placed, not far from Gloucester College,' on about
the present; site of Trinity. Several bishops of Durham
became the, benefactors of the foundation, among whom
Richard Angervyle, or de Bury, in the beginning of the
fourteenth century, left them his great collection of
books, which was to be open for the use of all students.
The building -erected to receive this collection by his
immediate successor, still remains ; and there are those
among the living, generation of Trinity men, who,
though not Benedictine novices, were gainers in their
undergraduate days by a like liberality on the part of
the College, and associate a summer vacation, long past,
with the calm recesses of its library. At the end of
the thirteenth century the foundation consisted of eight
fellows, who were to be priests or monks, one being
warden' or prior, and eight secular scholars ; at the time
of the great religious revolution of the sixteenth, it was,
with other regular houses, suppressed, and its revenues
transferred to the new dean and chapter of Durham.
4
The institutions, and the schools connected with them,

Medieval Oxford. 325
which we have hitherto described, were of a monastic
character, richly endowed, and situated in the suburbs
of- the, town, as beseemed places of retirement and of
dignity. But meanwhile inside the town, and without
the advantages resulting from the power and wealth of
Augustinians or Benedictines, was growing up. a distinct
family, as it may be called, of schools, — secular schools
as the former were claustral,, which were the germ out
of which the collegiate system was afterwards formed.
There is a spot in the centre of the city, where Alfred
is said to have lived, and which may be called the birth
place or fountain-head of three societies still existing,
University College, Oriel, and Brasenose. Brasenose
claims to preserve the memory of his palace, Oriel of -his
church, and University of his school or academy.
(1.) Of these Brasenose is still called in its formal style
"the king's hall," which is the name by which Alfred
himself in his laws calls his palace ; and it has its preSent
singular title from a corruption of brasinium or brasin-
huse, as originally occupying that part of the royal man
sion which was devoted to the purposes of brewing.
(2.) The history of the a_djacent church, which has
belonged to Oriel College for the more than soo-years
which have elapsed since its foundation, is a. sort of
repetition of what had already taken place in the in
stance of Frideswide's. A convent of women had been the
beginning ofthe first schools, and of a church of St Mary,
on the banks of the Thames ; and a convent, though a«
little way out of Oxford, was closely associated with the
later schools, .out of which came the present Colleges,
and with a second St. Mary's- in the heart of the place.
The liberty of Littlemore lies on an elevated plain, two
or three miles from Oxford; Of old it was covered with
woods, and is bounded by a brook- whiPh joins the

326 Medieval Oxford.
Thames. Situated upon this brook, even in Saxon
times, was a Benedictine nunnery, which was rebuilt
after the conquest, and the remains of which still bear ,
the Saxon naime of Mynchery. What was its original
connexion with Oxford does not appear ; but for some
reason or other, the church which Alfred is said to have
built on the site of the present University Church, and
which is spoken of as " St. Mary's," in the Doomsday
survey, is known to have been dedicated to "our Lady of
Littlemore." This Church, it is supposed, Alfred made
the nucleus, or at least it was in fact the starting point, of
a large collection of schools, both claustral and especially
secular. They ran from the west end of the Church,
at right angles to it, and towards the north, flanking " the ¦
king's Hall of Brasinhuse," as we have described it, in a
long street, called School Street, which reached the
northern wall* of the city, that is,»up to the present Broad
Street. These schools were large rooms, which either
were integral portions of the several halls or inns for
students, situated in the street, or were first-floors
over tradesmen's shops, and were dependencies on mo
nastic bodies in the neighbourhood. Among the latter
the convent of Littlemore had a place ; besides possess* '
ing the ancient hall, now called St. Alban's, and then Nun
Hall, to the south of the Church, it had schools in the
street just mentioned, which we're called after the name
of St.. Mary of Littlemore.
Moreover, as time went on, the Church of St. Mary
became almost the domicile of the students, who had
from the first lived under its shadow. In School Street
there were, even as late as the fifteenth century, as many
as thirty-two schools ; at an earlier -date the want of
room for lectures and exercises, especially in the case of
Lent Bachelors, led to encroachments upon St. Mary's.

Medieval Oxford. 327
, By permission ofthe Crown, to whom, till the foundation
of Oriel, the 'Church belonged, as many as six of its
ehapels or chantries were used as schools for public acts
and degrees, being assigned to separate Faculties. The
public library, erected over a chapel of Henry I., still
remains, and is the present law school. The foundation
,of Oriel seems to have the beginning of a change. A
new church was projected to the south of the old build
ing. Adam de Brom, rector of the Church, and first
founder of Oriel, began, or at least completed, its tower ;
the chancel was built by a Provost of Oriel in the
middle of the fifteenth century ; and the nave and aisle
by the University at the end of it.
The same causes which led to the erection of the
Church, led also to the contemplation of Schools,
worthy Pf a great University. They were withdrawn
from the chapels of St. Mary's, and from the halls of
School Street, and gradually brought together at its
upper end, on their present site. Of the existing build
ings the beautiful Divinity School was not finished, till
towards the end of the fifteenth century, nor the quad
rangle before the time of James I. In the interval be
tween these dates a remarkable instance occurred of the
vicissitudes to which the abodes of learning are exposed.
The ordinary exercises and scholastic acts in the Univer
sity being suspended during the religious troubles of
Edward VI.'s reign, the " present ante-chapel, as it may
be called, of the Divinity School was converted into a gar
den and a pig-market; and the schools themselves,-being
abandoned by the masters and scholars, were occupied
by glovers and laundresses. In Wood's words, " There
where Minerva sat as regent for several ages, was nothing
remaining all the reign of King Edward VL but wretched
solitariness, and nothing but a dead silence appeared,"

328 Medieval Oxford.
(3). We have seen Alfred's residence develop itself,
if I may so speak, into St. Mary's Church and the Uni
versity Schools, as representatipns of the two great
elements of education, religion and learning ; but to
complete the account, notice must be taken of the
much-debated point, whether that celebrated king gave
to any of his schools a principle of continuity, or, in
more intelligible language; whether he founded or estab
lished any particular society or college. This, as is
well known, is maintained in the affirmative by Univer
sity College, which claims to be the identical school,
hall, or inn, which Alfred instituted ; and Dr. Ingram
considers that its pretensions to this high antiquity and
glorious parentage are not so shadowy as is commonly
supposed. Such a claim is recognized in an order of Par-
liariierit as early as 1384, and in licenses of mortmain
and other grants from the Crown- in the reigns of Henry
IV. and VI., Elizabeth and James I. ; moreover, it is
indirectly but distinctly confirmed in a judgment of the
Court of King's Bench in 1726. As far, hpwever, as
the question is an historical one, this only can be said
for it, — that the bequest; of the founder of the College in
the thirteenth century was laid out i-n- getting possession .
of the Brasenose or Brasm-huse with its- schools, which
has already been described as Alfred's palace ; near
which the members of the, Gollege resided for about
eighty years,- when they seem to. have removed to their
present site.
Whatever becomes of this question, we may at least
recognize in the foundation of University College the com
mencement of that collegiate system, which is the form in
to which the present University is almost or altogether.
cast.. Colleges seem to have arisen, in consequence of the

Medieval Oxford. 329
irregularities and disorders of University life, when it had
lost the checks which a religious rule originally pro
vided. When literature, no longer confined within the
precincts and discipline of a monastery, wandered forth
into the halls and chambers of School Street, and
dispersed itself among a hundred separate circles, what
was to be expected as its lot buticonfusion and trouble ?
During the first part of the thirteenth century the dis
orders, consequent upon such free trade in letters, reached
their height, and what aggravated their seriousness was
the almost incredible number of students, whom the re
putation of the place attracted thither. In the last years
of Henry III., they are said to have amounted to thirty
thousand ; while in the beginning, of that monarch's
reign there had been no- more than three thousand.
Just before he came to the throne, all three thousand on
one occasion seceded from the university, as Matthew
Paris tells us, leaving not one behind. Serious quarrels
and tumults between hostile parties were also frequent,
of which loss of life was no uncommon issue. More
over, the buildings themselves, in which the students
were lodged, were of a wretched and unsafe character.
Fires were frequent ; this led to the citizens building
with stone and slate, instead of timber and thatch ; and
when they could not afford this expanse, they raised a
high stone wall between every fourth or sixth house,
remains of which are still to' be seen. But the insti
tutions, which came in with the middle of the thir
teenth century, brought a remedy for both the physical
and moral evils of the place.. To Walter de Merton,
the founder of Merton College (A.D. 1264), is commonly
attributed the introduction of the collegiate system ;
and to William of Wykeham, the founder of New, in/
the latter part of the following century, the praise of

330 Medieval Oxford.
establishing it in buildings of suitable splendour and
solidity. The history, however of the Colleges has been too often
gone over, and is too familiar to the world, to call for any
notice here. We have preferred to confine our remarks .
to the original shape in which an academical system
showed itself, when as yet it was cherished in the bosom
of sacred institutions, which, as not existing at this day,
are in consequence almost forgotten. The monastic
bodies of the middle age, have not even left their names
to the flourishing establishments, which are erected on
their site, and, more or less, endowed with their property.'
Yet that they should have risen again in any shape in
these latter days, is remarkable enough, and most en
couraging, to 'those whom the turbulence and the dan
gers of the present hour might else induce to despond'
as to the future. St. Frideswide's Priory, St. George's
Church, the Abbey of Oseney, the establishments for the
Gloucester and Durham Benedictines have gone' their
way ; but Christ Church is a magnificent monument to
the memory of the abbots and canons regular whom it
has succeeded ; Trinity College occupies the place of
Durham, and Worcester the buildings Pf Gloucester; St.
John's is a revival of a Cistercian establishment, founded
on its site in the fifteenth century,, and Wadham has
risen amid the ruins of a foundation of Augustines
in the thirteenth, whose disputative powers were kept
in memory in the exercises of the University schools
down to 1800.*
* The practice of holding disputations apud Augustinenses, colloquially
called "doing Austins," continued down to the introduction of the new
examination statute. They were held in the school of Natural Philosophy,
every Saturday in full term ; and every B.A., after his Lent determination,
was bound to dispute there once every year, either as opponent or respon
dent, before he could proceed to his Master's degree.

Medieval Oxford. 331

Such is the vitality, such the reproductive powers,
of this celebrated University. If any of her children,
who have no special claim to speak, may presume to offer
her counsel, ours would be that she should never forget
that her present life is but the continuation of the life of
past ages, and that her constituent members are, after
all, in a new form and with new names, the Benedictines
and Augustinians of a former day. The monastic prin
ciple, a most important element in the social character of
the Church, lingers among them, while it has .been ab
sorbed elsewhere in the frivolous or selfish tempers and
opinions of an advanced period of civilization. To the
Universities is committed the duty of cherishing and
exemplifying Christian simplicity, nobleness, self-devo
tion, munificence, strictness, and zeal, which have well-
nigh vanished in other places. To them only it is
allotted, especially if chapters are to be swept away, to
show that the Christian can be deeply read in the philo
sophy of ancient truth, and serenely prescient of the
future from his corriprehension of the past. To them only
it falls, as being out of the world, to measure and expose
the world, and, as being in the heart of the Church, to
strengthen the Church to resist it. It is their very place to
be oldfashioned ; let them have but the moral and intellec
tual strength not to forget or to be ashamed of being so,
but to carry out the doctrines, which are their inherit
ance, boldly, without haggling at the price they must
payin order to act consistently with their mission. We say
this the rather, because it is impossible not to see a dis
position in certain questions to shrink from that line of
conduct which alone has saved them heretofore, or can
maintain for them their historical position in time to

332 ' Medieval Oxford. ' ,
come. Institutions come to nothing which are untrue
to the principle which they embody ; Oxford has failed
in all respects, has compromised its dignity, and has
done injury to its inward health and stability, as often '
as it has forgotten that it was a creation of the middle
ages, and has affected new fashions, or yielded to exter
nal pressure. It conceded nothing at the time of the
Rebellion, but waited to be robbed, and it gained all
back in the course of a few years ;. it submitted, by its
own act, to William of Orange, and years of disgrace
followed. Afew years ago, a passing humour seized it to
open its gates to the Association for Science; Dissenters
of all hues were brought, to gaze upon its buildings, "its
precious things, the silver and the gold, and the spices
and the precious ointments," — there was nothing among
its treasures that it showed them not. Four of the most
eminent among them, each of a separate persuasion, were
honoured with degrees;. and it was condescendently pre
dicted by not the least eminent of his body (Unitarian, I
believe) that by such a policy Oxford had added a hun
dred years to its existence. Scarcely had a twelvemonth
passed, when the fruits of that policy appeared : those
who had been admitted to covet, felt disposed to steal ;
they felt a greater pang that its gates were closed against
them, than pleasure in the memory of the short week,
during which they had, been opened to them ; and the
visit of the savans to Alma Mater was the precursor of
the Bill, introduced into the Commons, for the permanent
admission of Dissenters to its lecture-rooms. Such is
the inevitable consequence of aping or of trembling at
the external world.,

Medieval Oxford. 333

7-
'.. And while Oxford never shows so well as when resist
ing innovation and rallying rpund an ancient principle
which is imperilled, it never shows so cowardly as when,
professing to be doing this,,it nevertheless thinks it right to
protest against and dissociate itself from those, who did
the same in their own day centuries ago. Yet this is
an inconsistency, into which its members, in common
with our whole Church, have been again and again be
trayed ever since the Reformation, when political changes
and the growth of liberal notions have rendered the
principles cherished in the University unpopular in the
nation. Men cannot bear to be associated in the present
day with those of former times whom the present day
contemns ; and, instead of denying that those old worthies
are really contemptible, they set about proving that
they themselves do not resemble them, — though they do.
Hence the common practice, in other places especially,
of men's purchasing for themselves a toleration of what
the world calls intolerance, by their own declarations
against the alleged intolerance in their forefathers, and
of managing to hide their own modicum of so-called for
mality and superstition, by loud denunciations of those
who in time past had just a little more of both than
f§|emselves. And hence they try' to escape the odium
of being anti-Reformers in the nineteenth century, by
professing to be true sons of the Reformation made in the
sixteenth; and to wash themselves clean ofthe imputation
of Popery by laying it on thick as regards historical
characters who are incapable now either of selfdefence or
of retort.
How much better and more honest would it be, when

334 Medieval Oxford.
asked whether their zeal against innovation now would not
have been zeal against. reformation three centuries back,
to avow that it is our duty to stand by what is established
till it is proved to be -wrong, and to maintain customs
which we have inherited, though it would be a duty to
resist them before they had been actually received! Who
considers it an inconsistency in Sir Robert Peel to stand
by the Reform Act, now that it has become law, which,
before it passed, he strenuously resisted ? How would it
be wise in him to oppose what has been carried, yet how
would it not be absurd in him to defend it on its iritrinsic
merits ? This way of viewing the position of the Univer
sity is intelligible ; but it really is losing time and toil, to
deny, what is as plain as day, that Oxford has, and ever
has had, what men of the world will call a Popish cha
racter, that in opinion and tone of thought its members
are successors of the old monks, or that those who
now speak' against Wesleyans and Independerits, would
also, have opposed the Foxes and Knoxes of the
Reformation. Surely it is our wisdom,- as we follow, so
to profess we 'follow, ancient times. Let us not fear
to connect ourselves with our predecessors ; let
us discern in our beautiful homes the awful traces
of the past, and the past will stand by us. Let us
stand upon the vestiges of the old city, and, with the
hero in the poet's romance, we shall find a talisman
amid the ruins. "The talisman is Faith." Or in the
words of another poet, who speaks with the affection of
a son of Oxford,

But thou, my mother, green as erst and pure,
Thy willows wave, thy meeting waters glide :
Untarnished on thy matron breast endure
The treasured gems, thy youth's delight and pride ;

Medieval Oxford. 335

Firm Loyalty, serene and fond,
Wearing untired her lofty bond ;
Awful Reverence bending low
Where'er the heavens their radiance throw :
And Wisdom's, mate, Simplicity,
That in the gloom dares trust the guiding arm on high ;
These of old, thy Guardians tried,
Daily kneeling at thy side,
And wont by night to fan our vigil fires, '
We feel them hovering now around the aerial spires.

IV.
THE CONVOCATION OF THE PROVINCE
OF CANTERBURY.
(From the British Magazine of 1834-5.)

CONVOCATION.
I. ITS CONSTITUTION AND RIGHTS.
II. ITS LOWER HOUSE IN A.D. 170O, IN RELATION TO ITS UPPER.
III. VIEWS OF THE LOWER HOUSE IN OPPOSING THE UPPER.
IV. ITS RELATION TO THE ECCLESIASTICAL ESTABLISHMENT.
V. ITS RELATION TO THE CROWN.

I.
THE CONVOCATION OF THE PROVINCE OF
CANTERBURY.

I.
Its Constitution and Rights.
THE Convocation of the Province of Canterbury,
called, par excellence, the Convocation, is generally
known to us as the State meeting of the clergy, convened,
as the representatives of the Church, at the commence
ment of every new Parliament, and as consisting of two
Houses, the bishops in the Upper, and, in the Lower,
the deans, archdeacons, and proctors (that is, repre
sentatives) of the chapters, one for each, and of the
' parochial clergy two for each diocese. The whole num
ber of the members of the Lower House is between a
hundred and forty and a hundred and fifty, of which
about one-third is" parochial clergy. It ,is generally
known, moreover, that the Convocation is called, under
king's writ, by mandate of the Archbishop; that it is
opened with divine service and a sermon ; that an address
follows from the Archbishop, its president, to all its mem
bers ; that, at the' direction of the Archbishop, the Lower
House withdraws and chooses a Prolocutor, or. Speaker,

3,42 The Convocation of Canterbury.
from among its members ; that, though the Convocation-
thus assembled may address the King or Parliament on
behalf of religion, or the redress of Church grievances,
it is not at liberty to confer to constitute canons, that
is, to act as a Council, without the king's license, nor even
with it to execute any which are against the king's pre
rogative, the common or statute law, or any custom of
the realm ; lastly, that, in matter of fact, after the intro
ductory solemnities, it is always prorogued, and has been
in this dormant state for .about a hundred and twenty
years. This is as much as is generally known about the
Convocation. Now it is a question which often rises in
a churchman's mind, "Is it not an anomaly that we have
no ecclesiastical synod ? " And times may be coming
of so grave an aspect as to turn this anomaly into a
great practical evil and misfortune. Then the question?
follow, "Are we still to account this long-suspended
Convocation the synodal representative of our Church ?
If so, what if the king altogether refuse his writ to as
semble, or license to debate and enact canons ? or what
if, on the other hand, the Convocation is made use of
by the civil power, to force upon the Church measures
destructive of .her purity or constitution ? " Questions
such as these becoine more urgent year by year ; and
the first step towards answering them is to be put into
possession of the facts of the case, that is, the history of
the Convocation.
This history was fully discussed and brought to light
in the beginning of the eighteenth century, in the course
of those dissensions which ended, A.D. 17 17, in its suspen
sion. I propose to give some account of this quarrel, and
such information concerning the constitution and history
of the Convocation as may be necessary to illustrate the
points debated in it.

Its Constitution and Rights. 343
1.
When King Williarh was called from Holland to the
throne from- which James had retired, he promised the
nation such a comprehension jas should heal the chief
differences which distressed the Protestant world. With
the circumstances which encouraged him thus to pledge
himself, we are not concerned here,; — his own feelings on
the subject are obvious. Being external to the Church
himself, he naturally thought it a matter of little conse
quence whether a man were without or within it ; Pro
testants might be considered as all of one religion,
inasmuch as they were not Papists, the enemies of
intellectual and political freedom ; and, coming, as he
professed and was acknowledged, as the Great Liberator
of the Church of England " from Popish tyranny," he
reasonably expected churchmen to sacrifice somewhat of
their prejudices and peculiarities for the blessing of his
patronage. Accordingly he promised a comprehension ;
but, when it came to the point, unexpected difficulties
encountered him. First, as many as nine bishops refused
to acknowledge the obligation under which he had laid
the Church, in taking the place of James, and declined
the oath of allegiance.' Four hundred clergy followed
their example ; and there seemed a danger (which in
the event was realized) lest he should be obliged
to' have recourse to measures against the Church even
more arbitrary than those which had disgraced the de
throned monarch. Under these circumstances, to have
altered the liturgy or discipline of the Church at his
own royal will would have been a gratuitous insult, as
impolitic as it was unprecedented in the history of the
English mPnarchy since the reign, of the tyrannical
Henry. There were persons however, at the time, even among

344 The Convocation of Canterbury.
the dissenters, the especial champions of liberty of con
science, who were desirous of such a measure, pointed
to the precedent of Henry, and maintained with truth,
that the Church would never be reformed to their satis
faction without some such summary process on the part of
the civil power. Calamy takes this line in his account
of his own life and times. " I am well assured," he says,
observing on the failure of William's attempt, " that it is
the wish of many . . that, when the next fit opportunity _
arrives for such an healing attempt, ... it may be taken
with more vigour and less formality. The Reformation
had -never been brought about had it been, left to a Con
vocation ; nor will our breaches be ever healed but by a
true English Parliament'.' And he speaks of the proceed
ing actually advised by Tillotson, as the " unhappy step
of this great and godd man."
-Such a mode of acting, however, was so contrary to
the principles and sentiments which the dissenters had
ever expressed, that it is no unpardonable blunder in
Tillotson to have supposed that the opposite procedure
would be more pleasing to them. He and his friends
felt that one popular objection to the Church of England,'
on the part of Papists as well as Puritans, had ever been
its being what was called parliamentary — as created by
human law, and living by the breath of princes ; and
they considered that a concession was made to the pre
judices of all its opponents, as well as a deference shown
to its own members, by advising the new monarch to
call a Convocation for the settlement of the proposed
comprehension. For these various reasons, then, William
resolved on committing religious matters to the clergy;
and, accordingly, appointed a commission of bishops and
presbyters to determine the proposed changes, which
were then presented for the sanction of the Convocation.

Its Convocation and Rights. 345
g- The Convocation, however, did not answer his expec
tations. He had, indeed, so revolutionized the Upper
i»House that its members were incapacitated from acting
or were already in his interest. But the Lower House
consisted of men over whom ' he had no power, full
of jealousy and suspicion of his intentions, who had
unwillingly taken the oaths, . and thought they had
conceded enough in allowing the overthrow of epis
copacy in Scotland and the suspension of their own
bishops. Accordingly a determined stand was made
against the project of comprehension, till the king-,
despairing of success, fearful of increasing the party
of the nonjurors if he converted a political into a re
ligious question, and embarrassed by the absence of
the metropolitan, gave over his attempt/ and closed the
Convocation. He had, however, an easy mode of retaliation in his
power, for which he was indebted to Henry VIII. By
the Act of Submission, passed in Convocation in the 25th
of Henry's reign, that assembly could not meet, much
less frame canons, without his permission. He availed
himself of , this power ;¦ and, though in the coronation
oath he had sworn to " preserve unto the bishops and
clergy of this realm, and to the churches committed
to their charge, all such rights and privileges as by law
do or shall appertain unto them, or any of them," he
suspended these meetings of the clergy till close upon
the end of his reign. Mr. Hallam makes the following '
defence for this procedure : " The Church had, by pre
scription, a right to be summoned in Convocation, but
no prescriptive right could be set up for its longer
continuance than the Crown-thought expedient ; " and,
admitting the analogy between Convocation and Parlia
ment, for which the clergy contended, he says, that "the

346 The Convocation of Canterbury.
king may, legally speaking, prorogue 'the latter at his
pleasure," and that, " if neither money were required to
be granted, rior laws to be enacted, a Session would be
very short." This is true, but the nation would not be
satisfied if the king took on him to decide of himself,
whether laws were required or not. However, this w_as
the view of the subject maintained by the State party at
the time.
So matters rested the better part of ten years ; Con
vocations being called, and then prorogued. Towards
the end of William's reign, dissatisfaction began to be
openly expressed by the friends of the Church, who
were apprehensive of these continual adjournments
being drawn into a precedent for a perpetual suspension
of Convocation, a catastrophe which the State party, on
the other hand, professed to deprecate;. In 1695, the
controversy between Sherlock and South, on the doc
trine of the Holy Trinity, giving an advantage to the
Socinians, had occasioned the king's Injunction forbid-
ing all such explications of it as were not commonly
received in the Church. This proceeding, though strictly
according to the precedent of the reigns of James and
Charles, turned the minds of men more strongly, by way
of contrast, to the suspension of Convocation, and seems
to have opened the controversy.
In 1696 was published an anonymous pamphlet, en
titled " A Letter to a Convocation Man, concerning the
Rights, Powers, and Privileges" of that body, supposed
to be written by Dr. Binckes, in which it was maintained,
that, though the king's writ is the formal instrument of
summoning the Convocation, it has, by our ecclesiastical
constitution, a right to be summoned, and to be let sit
.and act, and that its meeting is determined by law and
custom to coincide with the .Session of Parliament;

Its Constitution and Rights. 347
further, that the king's license of its sitting as a Council,
and enacting canons, is contained in the writ of summon
ing; lastly, that the canons enacted do not need the
confirmation of Parliament in addition to that of the
king, provided they are consistent with common law,
statutes, -customs, or prerogative. Letting alone the last
position, which is of inferior importance in the contro
versy, we may observe that the two former impugn the
received interpretation of the famous Act of 25 Henry
VIII., , already referred to. They maintain that the
king's license is unnecessary, and that his writ somewhat
resembles, for instance, a marriage license, which may not,
under certain circumstances, be refused by the function
ary who has the office of granting it.
In 1697, a few months after the publication of this
pamphlet, an answer to it appeared by Dr. Wake, after
wards Archbishop of Canterbury, maintaining the re
ceived opinion of the king's absolute control over the
Convocation. It elicited a reply the same year, written
on a very different basis, by-Hill of Kilmington, entitled,
" Municipium Ecclesiasticum ; or, the Rights, Liberties,
and Authorities of the Christian Church asserted, against
all Oppressive Doctrines and Constitutions." Waving
the legal and constitutional question, the author- asserts
the divine right of synods in general, a right inherent in
the Church, and prior to civil institutions ; and, accord
ingly, condemns the Act of Submission as inconsistent
with the first principles of ecclesiastical polity.
Wake defended himself (1698) by "An Appeal " "in
behalf of the King's Supremacy " as established, by the
law, and sanctioned both by Convocations and by our
most eminent bishops and clergymen, among whom he
enumerates Jewel, Whitgift, Bancroft, Bilson, Nowell,
Hooker, Andrewes,. Laud, Heylin, Taylor, and Barrow.

348 The Convocation of Canterbury.
This Tract was supported, in 1699, by an anonymous
" Brief Inquiry into the Ground, Authority, and Rights
of Ecclesiastical Synods, upon the Principles of Scripture
and right Reason," in which the author of the " Munici
pium" was met on his own ground, the abstract constitu
tion of the Church, Wake haviflg argued from history
and authority.
Lastly, in 1700, appeared Atterbury's work, the first
edition of which was without his name, in which " The
Rights, Powers, and Privileges of an English Convoca
tion " were " stated and vindicated, in answer to a late
book of Dr. Wake's, entitled ' The Authority,' etc." It
is written on the legal and constitutional ground, con
tending that the statute of Henry is not inconsistent with
ecclesiastical liberty; that the Convocation had the legal
right of meeting with every new Parliament, and might
frame and present canons to the king,' and do anything
short of enacting them without his license.

So far the controversy had proceeded at the meeting
of the new Parliament of 1700, which was attended by an
accession of some of the Church party to the ministry.
This occurrence was, of course, favourable to those who
desired the restoration of the Convocation to its ordinary
•powers ; and the ground which had been openly taken
by Wake's party, almost rendered its meeting necessary
in order to allay that suspicion of the Government, which ,
the friends of civil liberty might entertain from its con
tinued suspension.
There was just so much prima facie similarity between ¦
Parliament and Convocation, in the relation of each to
the king — in their times of meeting, and their twofold
internal structure^that to assert the king's absolute

Its Constitution and Rights. 349
power over the latter seemed a preparation for a similar
claim in civil matters. Politicians, of all classes and
Opinions, looked upon Ecclesiastical Councils as mere
creations of the State, — such is Burnet's professed
opinion ; but the more entirely the religious character of
the Convocation was merged in its civil establishment,
for that very reason the more ominous was the arbitrary
conduct of the Crown. As for the bishops, they, it
might be said, were but the tools of the government, —
fifteen had been made in the two first years of William's
, reign ; it was only by the clergy in the Lower House of
Convocation that the Church was truly represented, and
they were not allowed liberty of speech. If such was
the fortune of that high-spirited order, which had stood
foremost, whether in the person of their prelatesfin their
Universities, or in their churches, in resisting the en
croachments of James, what was to be expected by the
people at large ?
And, farther, the ecclesiastical principles laid dowri
broadly by Wake, were such as would haye justified
King James, had he proceeded of his own will to alter
the Liturgy and Articles, and to exact the submission
of the clergy, who would have been bound, not, in
deed, legally,, till Parliament had confirmed the altera
tions," but, in foro conscientice, to accept them. In
debating the question, "Whether the prince should
be allowed a power to alter or improve what a Synod
has defined, to add to, or take from it," Wake remarks,
" Sure I am that this princes have done, and so I think
they have authority to do. For, since the legislative
power is lodged in their hands, so that they may make
what laws or constitutions they think fit for the Church,
as well as for the State ; since a Synod, in matters re
lating to discipline, is but a kind of Council to them in

35°- -The Convocation of Canterbury.
ecclesiastical affairs, whose advice having taken, they may
still act as they think fit ; seeing, lastly, a canon, drawn
up by a Synod, is but, as it were, matter prepared for the
royal stamp, the last forming of which, as well as en
forcing whereof, must be left to the prince's judgment, I
cannot see why the supreme magistrate, who confessedly
has a power to confirm or rej ect their decrees, may not
also make such other use of them as he pleases; and
correct, "improve, or otherwise alter, their resolutions,
according to his own liking, before he gives his authority
to them." This is spoken of the power of princes geneT
rally ; yet, as Atterbury observes, he afterwards- says
that, " by our own constitution, the King of England has
all that power over our Convocation that ever any Chris
tian prince had over his Synods." In another place he
asserts that this power exists,'- "not only in matters of
discipline, but in matters of faith too ; " and he cites the
example of Henry VIII. in his modelling the Articles,
which, he says, ".relate to doctrines of faith, and that in
the most necessary points of it; and yet, see what liberty
the king took in judging, as well as correcting, of what
they [the Synod] had done." If this be the constitutional
power of the king over the Church, it is plain that the
clergy, who risked so much against James, are the only'
body of men who have not gained. legal rights and
liberties by his expulsion ; and it curiously fulfils the
words of the incensed monarch to the seven protesting
bishops, that "they were raising a devil, which they
would never be able to lay, and were the unconscious
tools of men who aimed at the ruin of the Church as
well as of the throne." Ken and Sancroft might have
the simplicity of the dove in slipping between James and
William; but the Comptons and Atterburys, who had'
not this grace, should, at least, have had enough of the

its Constitution and Rights. 351
serpent's wisdom to have bargained for ecclesiastical
tliberties as the price of their changing their king. But
to return.
• The mode in which Wake attempted to anticipate the
objection which the jealousy of the friends oif liberty
made against his statements, was to maintain that, in
"an' extreme case," resistance to the royal authority
would be justifiable. "Whenever," he says, "the civil
magistrate shall so far abuse his authority, as to ren
der it necessary for the clergy, by some extraordinary
methods, to provide for the Church's welfare, that
-necessity -will warrant their taking of them." Further,
both he and Dr. Kennett, who wrote against Atterbury
in 1 70 1, candidly lament the tyrannical character of the
Act of Submission, and are manly enough to protest
against what, at some future day, though not under their
then gracious sovereign, might be an instrument of de
plorable mischief to the highest interest of the Church.
Dr. Wake, says Kennett, " does not dwell so much upon
the equity of the Act ; but he proves the obligation, and
there in law leaves it : because, perhaps, he might think
this submission was a little hardly obtained by a prince
of excessive power, and in a time of some ill designs;
and, however safe and expedient for us, under princes of
our own faith and communion, yet, under the government
of heretics and heathens, it may lay too hard a yoke
upon the Church, when the archbishop , shall have no
power to assemble the bishops and clergy of his province,
nor they any liberty to attend him, (withPut z.prcemunire^)
let the necessities of the Church be never so urgent, and-
Christianity itself in utmost danger. Dr. Wake, who
pleads for present submission, seems aware of ill conse-
* quences that might arise in future times of trial'.'
The odiousness, then, of that constitutional right in

352 The Convocation of Canterbury.
the Crown, by which alone the suspension of the Con
vocation could be defended when assailed, seems to
have forced the State bishops to give way ; and the two
Houses were accordingly opened, in due form, in Feb
ruary, 1700.
The clergy, having now gained one victory (so to call
it) over the Crown, proceeded, in the next p/ace, to
attack the authority qf the archbishop. They main
tained that the Lower House had the independent right
of debating whenever they would, (as fully as the' House
of Commons,) without reference to the meetings of the
House of bishops ; or, (as it was worded,) they con
tended for the right of "adjournments," which now
became • the great question in dispute. The mode of
reasoning adopted was, as before, the asserted analogy
' between the Parliament and Convocation ; and they
contended that — if even the king had no constitutional
power to hinder their meetings, much less had the arch
bishop, the president of the Convocation, whose rights,
at least, were certainly destroyed by the Act of Sub
mission in the reign of Henry VIII. And thus we have
three main inquiries before us, — the relation of the Con
vocation to the Church ; the power of the king over
Convocation and other synods ; and the power of the
Lower House to transact business independently of the
Upper. 3-
These shall be discussed in due order. Before , pro- ¦
ceeding, however, there is a call on us seriously to reflect
upon the ano'malous state of the opposing parties in
the dispute, and to ask ourselves the question, whether j
the Church had not, somehow or other, got into some
wrong position, which put all its functions out of order,

Its Constitution and Rights. 353
jind made them work in perverse and fantastic ways ?
On the one hand, the Tory and (so called) high-church
party were in opposition to authority, resting on law rather
than on ecclesiastical principles, attacking the conduct of
Laud and his sovereign towards the Church, and rising
up against the rulers of their own day, while aiming
thereby at a blow at the low theology of the school of
Burnet ; — a position which they never can again occupy,
considering the dependence- of the Lower House, as re
gards the appointment of its members, on the Crown
and the Bishops. On the other hand, the superior clergy
were the advocates of episcopal rights, and conducted
themselves with the temper which became their station,
though they had confined, unchurchmanlike views, and
were more or less the creatures of the court. Some of
them, as Burnet, were open Erastians, and willing to admit
presbyterian Ordination. Others, with Wake, made the
historical precedents of the country, of whatever nature,
the law of the Church, so that it was sufficient that
only one tyrannical act of the Civil Power in former
ages should be producible, in order to its being assumed
and used as an ecclesiastical principle. And others, with
Hody, while seeming to allow that the Revolution was at
tended with encroachments on ecclesiastical liberty, main
tained nevertheless that the Church must ever submit
to an irresistible necessity, as if sanctioning a cowardly
surrender of the trusts which had been committed to her.
Meanwhile, Ken and his company stood by on dry
land, far removed from the scene of confusion into which
the politics of the time had precipitated their hapless
brethren. Whether1 they were right or wrong in de
clining the oaths of allegiance to William, still they, at
east, had a compensation for their worldly losses. They
had no need to reconcile their duty to the faith with
23

354 The Convocation of Canterbury.
their duty to their Church ; to obey the authority of its
rulers while they resisted their doctrines, — a more griev
ous conflict than that which they themselves had en
countered once, between loyalty and conscience. At
length, they dropped off, one and one, from .this trouble
some stage,, and their race is long extinct; but the
English Church, my mother, is still encompassed with
the waters into which she then was plunged.

355

2.
Its Lower House in relation to its Upper.
I LEFT off, in my first paper, with the meeting of the
Convocation in the last year of William, the imme
diate subject of dispute between the two Houses being
as to the power of the Lower to adjourn itself indepen
dently of the Upper. It may seem surprising, at first
sight, that there should be room for dispute, where an
appeal to usage might settle the matter at once. But
the genius of the, union of Church and State had been
opposed to frequerit meetings of the clergy, who had
been called together for business only on especial occa
sions ; and a good part of the records of Convocation
had been lost in the fire of London. On the other
hand, there had been so many alterations in the consti
tution bf the country in the foregoing two, hundred years, ,
that it seemed hardly safe or fair to rest upon precedents .
of a very remote date. And there was certainly a close
analogy between the actual origin and formation of the-
Parliament, and the assumed history and state of the
Convocation on Atterbury's theory, which seemed to-.
render recent precedents scarcely necessary. In truth, .
the ecclesiastical system which the Reformation under
took was riever completed ; and, much as Laud did for
the Church, there was no call upon him in his day, with-
such a king as Charles, to place its synods on an intelli
gible and corisistent footing.
However, there was, after all, sufficient information to
be had as regarded the general relation of the- Lower

256 The Convocation of Canterbury.
House to the Upper, which nothing but the impetuosity
of faction could obscure ; especially a memorandum of
Archbishop Parker's, which seems entirely to bear out
the bishops in their resistance to what were dangerous
innovations on the part of the inferior clergy. Indeed,
that, on the whole, the Upper House was in the right,
and the Lower in the wrong, is sufficiently clear to my
mind, first, from Bull and others, who were members of
the Lower House, taking the side of' the bishops ; next,
from the indecency of the Lower House deciding by
themselves in favour of their pretended rights, arid, act
ing on their own decision," considering that the existing
usage was on the side of the bishops. <
I.
The Convocation took its rise in the course of the
fourteenth century, between three and four hundred
years before the controversy which I am employed in
relating, under circumstances which shall be mentioned
at another time. At present, I will but describe its
internal structure, by way of throwing light upon the v
question of "Adjournments," which was immediately iri
dispute. Originally, it consisted, as the Parliament it
self, pnly of one House, the inferior clergy being rather
assistants to the bishops than possessed of co-ordinate
authority, and being allowed a place in it principally
on account of those m'oney-questions which interested
lower as well as superior ecclesiastics. -It was called by
the Archbishop's mandate, directed to the Bishop of
London as Dean of the Province ; to the Archbishop
the returns of members were made, and before him, as
President of Convocation, the members appeared on the
day fixed for assembling. The members thus convened
representing different interests,, it was natural that, from

Its Lower House in relation to its Uppei . 3 r 7
time to time, they should, ' for dispatch of business, be
divided into several committees, that the whole meeting
might be enabled the better to ascertain and to forward
the views of each section of their constituents. Hence,
it is said, there were sometimes as many as four separate
^assemblies transacting business in the Convocation ; the
Bishops^ the regulars, the deans and chapters, and the
parochial clergy. In process of time, however, these
settled into the two' main divisions of the bishops and
the inferior clergy, at present called, as in- Parker's
" Descriptio," the two Houses of Convocation. Thus,
the Lower House, in its origin, had no. independent
existence, being a mere appendage to the Upper, sepa
rated off from it for convenience, sent out from it to
debate on this or that question specially submitted to it,
and recalled at . the President's pleasure to report the
opinions and advice of its members. Accordingly, at
first it had no separate place of meeting, but merely
retired to a distant part of the room where the Bishops
assembled. Though, however, originally merely a com
mittee of the Convocation, in process of time it gained
powers by the force of custonj, which, in consequence,
it was very difficult to distinguish from legal rights.
.Usage is a sufficient sanction, whether in civil or eccle
siastical matters, where antecedent principles, moral or
religious, do not starid in the way. In the quarrel
before us, there was the twofold controversy — first, what
the usage was ? next, whether, granting it to emancipate
"the Lower House as fully as the clergy of the- day
.-maintained, such usage was not counter to the principles
of the episcopal regimen, and therefore invalid as an
authority? It had long been the custom for the inferior
clergy to hold their meetings in a separate room, though
in the same place with the Bishops. They had long

35 8 The Convocation of Canterbury.
received and reported business through one of their
number, called the Prolocutor, Referendary,pr, "organum
vocis Domus Inferioris," who also presided at their de
bates. Such was the received usage ; but, owing to the
irifrequency of the meetings of Convocation, and to the
absence of a jealous accuracy in the proceedings of an
assembly of men who were in the mutual relation of
fathers -and sons in the ministerial office, it was scarcely
possible to decide exactly the limit of the power pos
sessed by the Lower House, especially considering there
was the parallel and complete history of the two Houses
of Parliament,- (which also originally formed but one
House,) to supply and comment upon the deficient
precedents of the Convocation. Accordingly, to this
parallel the champions Pf the Lower House had recourse,
in order to establish their independence ; while the
Bishops appealed first to the original state of the Con
vocation, next to the principles of episcopacy and the
precedents of primitive Syriods.
In the meanwhile, thus much was granted on all hands
to the Lower House, which implied a very considerable-
power in presbyters, had it nothing more — the right
of presenting their grievances to the Upper, of offering
petitions for making canons, revising old ones, etc., of
being assessors of the" Upper in judicial matters, and,
lastly, of having a veto on synodical acts. But the main
object coveted by the Lower House was the power of
originating, measures, and, in 1689, they had venture!
to exercise it, when they iriade a representation to the
Bishops about some of the latitudinarian and scandalous
books of the day. On the other hand, the Upper House
maintained, in opposition to such spontaneous movements
on the part of the Lower, that the power, not only of
origination, but also of jurisdiction, lay solely with the

Its Lower House in relation to us upper. 2eQ
Bishops,, who were to prescribe to them their subjects and
times of debate, the choice and number of their com
mittees, to deterrnine the question of elections, to censure
for absence, and especially to prorogue their meetings,
the" claim which of course most effectually interfered
with that independence which the Lower House affected.
On this last point, the power of Adjournments, the con
troversy turned, in the proceedings of 1700 — t : the
Lower House asserted they might remain sitting after
the adjournment of the Upper, and that they might
adjourn themselves to any time or times before, and
need not1 meet upon, the day fixed for its re-assembling.
In the language of Convocation, as of other Church
' Synods, a Session has not the meaning given to it in
Parliament, but stands for every separate meeting de
voted to discussion ; and to prorogue or continue the
Convocation is to end the Session, or to adjourn. This
was customarily done by schedule from the Archbishop,
(unless he declared it by word of mouth to the members
of the Lower House present,) sent down to the clergy,
and conveyed to them through the Prolocutor ; and as
the dispute turned, in the first instance, upon its wording,
I will here transcribe it, as used by Tenison, in 1700 :
"In Dei Nomine, Amen. Nos Thomas, PrOvidentia Divina
Cantuariensis Archiepiscopus, totius Angliae Primas et Metropo-
litanus, rite et legitime procedentes, praesentem sacram Syhodum
sive Convocationem Praelatorum et Cleri nostras Cantuariensis
Provincias, usque ad et in hunc diem, horas et locum continuatam et
prorogatum, necnon omnia et singula certificatoria, hactenus intro
ducta, et introducenda et non introducta, in eodem statu quo nunc
sunt, ad et in diem Veneris, 28vum diem instantis mensis Februarii,
inter horas 8vum et 1 imam ante meridiem ejusdem diei in hunc
locum, una cum ulteriori continuation et pro'rogatione dierum
extunc sequentium, et locorum, si oporteat, in ek parte fiendis,
continuamus et prorogamus in his scriptis.
"Tho. Cantuar."

360 The Convocation of Canterbury.
The form of prorogation in the 'Lower House, con
sequent upon this, as used by the Prolocutor, was at
follows : " Intimamus hanc convocationem esse con-
tinuatam usque ad et in diem .... in hunc locum ; e
monemus omnes ad tunc et ibidem interessendum."
Frqm the former of these two forms, the Bishops argued
that the- Lower House, being included in "prcesenten;
sacram synodum sive convocationem',' was adjourned by
the Metropolitan ; the other party replied that, in like
manner, the phrase prcesens parliamentum was used in
the adjournments of the House of Lords, yet at that
day it referred to the proceedings of that House alone.
Upon this, the advocates for the Upper House observed
that " Prselatorum et cleri" was added in the schedule';
that its actual effect had ever been to prorogue the
Lower House, as was confirmed by the oldest convoca
tion-men then living ; a'nd, further, that it was .also de
clared in it that the matters in debate must remain in
statu quo, sealed and secured, till the next Session, — a
provision quite inconsistent with the claim of the Lower
House, to open and discuss them in the interval. They
added that the schedule could not be altered except by
Act of Parliament. Moreover they referred to the word
intimamus, in the Prolocutor's forrn, as corroborating
their position concerning the dependent character of the
Lower House.
The opposite party maintained a different interpreta
tion of the word intimamus, which in the ecclesiastical
courts and in Councils (they said), was a word of au
thority, being even used by the .Pope in the Council of
Constance. Then they went on to destroy the evidence
derivable from the form of the schedule, which, they said,
was unknown till the reign of Henry Viii., introduced
by Archbishop Warham, who was bred up in the canon

Its Lower House in relation to its Upper. ?6i
law, after the pattern ofthe Lateran council, but accom
panied on its introduction into England by a new clause,
^inserted in the Archbishop's mandate of summons, calling
on the clergy, to send up proctors "habentes autho-
ritatem continuationi et prorogationi consentiendi," as if
to avoid encroachment on the rights then enjoyed by
the Lower House, of voting on the question of adjourn
ment. Further, they maintained, that not even the
wording of the schedule was against them, that is as
interpreted by the practice of the Upper House ; for the
schedule seemed to place the adjpurnment in the Arch
bishop's hands absolutely, whereas the Bishops certainly
had a Voice in it ; if, then, he did but declare the ad
journment, the question whether any other than the
Bishops had a share in it was left undecided.
' On the other hand, the advocates of the Bishops
further appealed, in support of their claim of jurisdiction
over the Lower House, — first, to the circumstance that
the catalogue of the Lower House was prefixed to their
own register ; next, that the names of proxies for its
absent members were lodged with their registrar; thirdly,
that, according to Archbishop Whitgift's tables, his re
gistrar had the sole right of fees for exhibiting these
proxies ; fourthly, that, in these matters, the actuary of
the Lower House was accustomed to act only as the
registrar's deputy.
The members of the Lower House, in reply, brought
together, from their own journals, what they considered
to be precedents for their exercising the independent
right of Adjournments. The alleged precedents were as
follows :• that in 1586, Sessions 3, 4, 5, 6, 9, 11, it is re
corded that the prolocutor, (and in the 10th, that a
member of the Lower House, " nomine prolocutoris,")
"continuavit hujusmodi convocationem quoad hanc

362 The Convocation of Canterbury.
domum" In 1640, sess. 7, "Domini continuarunt et
prorogarunt ulteriorem sessionem," etc. In 1677, March
2 ist, " Prolocutor continuavit," he being Stillingfleet, and,
in 1678, "Dominus prolocutor continuavit, hanc synodum."
The Bishops answered, that these expressions " pro
locutor continuavit," etc., were undeniably exceptions to the
ordinary style, and were most naturally accounted for
as familiar and inaccurate modes of speaking, hastily
adopted by the actuary ; that, in these very instances
(except those of 1640), the Upper House (as its registers
showed) was adjourned by the Archbishop from and to
the very same day and hour as the Lower House, show
ing clearly that the Lower House followed herein the
movements of the Upper ; and that, with the exception
of 1586, the instances were adduced, not from registers,,
but from short, confused, artd ill-written minutes — a
mere scribble, taken down at the time, and attested by
no one — a circumstance especially to be kept in view in-
considering the very different precedents of 1640, which
they confessed were, at first sight, deserving of attention.

These important precedents were as follows,: — on
May 5th, 1640, both Houses sat;. the register of the
Upper says, that the Archbishop's commissioner pro
rogued the whole Convocation to May 9th, and from
thence again to May 13th; whereas by the minutes of
the Lower House -the clergy adjourned from May 5th
to May 8th, and so to May 13th. However, this was
explained, as the Bishops argued, from the history of that
troubled. time. On May 5th, Charles dissolved his Par
liament ; but, desirous to have the grant of the subsidies
which he expected from the elergy, he consulted ,the
Lord Keeper whether the Convocation might still sit,

Its Lower House in relation to its Upper. ?£,¦>
though Parliament was dissolved. Finding that it was
possible, he directed the Archbishop to go on with the
business they had begun ; but he, hearing that some of
of its members had doubts about the point of law, ad
vised a further reference to his Majesty's Council, who
determined as the Lord Keeper had done before them.
Accordingly a new commission was issued, the former
having limited the Session of the Convocation to the
Session of Parliament, and they set to business again on
May 13th. The interval, then, was a time of confusion,
there being continual informal meetings through it ;
some of which, mentioned by Fuller and Heylin, are
are not even . noticed' either in the register or minutes.
After the 13th, all- is regular and correspondent again,
in the times of adjournrrient, as recorded in the journals
of the two Houses.
The other instance brought forward by the clergy was
from the end of the same year. According to the
register of the Upper House, the Convocation was pro
rogued from December 19th, 1640, to January 13th,
1 64 1 ; but the minutes of the Lower mentioned an
adjournment from December 19th to December 23rd,
and from thence to. January 13. Now it so happens that
on December 18th the Archbishop was accused of high
treason, and committed to the custody of the usher of
the black, rod; and it also happens, that, in the preceding
May, after an assault upon his palace, the rabble who
made it turned their fury on the Convocation, who
were forthwith protected by the train bands. All this
was enough to put its members into confusion on the
present. occasion ; and December 23rd, two days before
Christmas, is not a probable time for an ordinary meet
ing, as is implied by the adjournment of the Upper
House from the 19th to January 13th. Further, there

364 The Convocation of Canterbury.
is no proof the Upper House did not in the event nieet
on the 23rd, since its register breaks off abruptly upon
the Archbishop's arrest. The only difficulty on the face
of the documents was the actual intention of the Lower
House on the 19th, to meet on the 23rd,whereas the
Upper did not so intend ; to which it was answered, that
there were the strongest reasons for thinking this entry in
the register of the Lower House was not made till after
wards. In the five Sessions, from December 9th to
January 17th, (of which December 19th and 23rd were
two,) no business was done; and the minute of them
seems, from the ink, which is different from what comes
before and after, to have been made at one and the same
time. Further, there is great inaccuracy and irregularity
'' in the minutes at other times : such as the joining together
in the same paragraph the. acts of several Sessions, and
a confusion of dates. Such was the explanation offered
by the Upper House. To which it was added, that, in
1689, a committee had been appointed to inspect the
registers, and adjust the privileges of both Houses, and
at that time the lower clergy did -not allege the quota
tions now produced in behalf of their claims of inde
pendence. But the advocates of the Lower House did not rest
their case on the result of an inquiry into one or two
mere precedents ; they appealed, as their chief argu-
riient, to their resemblance to the House of Commons;
and they contended that, in spite of forms and prece
dents, the Act of Submission, in 25 Henry VIII., had,
in matter of fact, destroyed the power of the Metro
politan altogether, and placed the king in his stead; so
that the clergy being now under the king, and the king
having allowed them to meet, the Archbishop could not
interfere with them. This famous Act will come under

Its Lower House in relation to its Upper. ?5r
our notice by-and-by ; here it is enough to observe, in
opposition to this theory, that it does not hint at any
change in the relation between Archbishop and clergy
in synodal matters ; only subjecting the whole Church
to the king. In spite of every attempt to assimilate the
Convocation to the Parliament, both in its internal struc
ture ,and its relation towards the sovereign (and un
doubtedly there is a resemblance), these distinctions
'-between them are undeniable : viz., that the king sum
mons the Parliament in his own name, under the great
seal, through the Lord Chancellor ; receives the returns,
receives the Commons on the first day of meeting,'
directs them to choose and confirms their Speaker :
whereas it is the Archbishop, empowered indeed by king's
writ, but by his own mandate, addressed to the Bishop
,of London, who convenes the Convocation, in his own
name, under his own archiepiscopal seal ; receiving the
returns, receiving the' Lower House on their first meet
ing, and directing them to choose, and confirming when
chosen, their prolocutor. Accordingly, Parker's "Desorip-
tio," which, in other respects also, substantiates the claims
of the Upper House, so far from countenancing Atter-
bury's Erastian notion, that the Archbishop became, by
the Act of 25th Henry, a mere officer of the king, as re
gards the Convocation, professes, in the Introduction, to
be the " forma convocationis ce\ebra.nd2z prout ab antiquo
observari consuevit," and presently introduces the phrases,
"ex more,'' "ex laudabili et antiqud ordinatione" and
"solet observari."
But the Lower House considered 'they had another
ground of civil right, which might avail them in their
contest. It had been usual, since Edward the First's
h reign, to introduce into the writ, summoning the bishops
to Parliament, a clause (called, from the first word, the

366 The Convocation of Canterbury.
" Prsemunientes,") in which each Bishop was required to
bring with him certain of his clergy. This clause was
very distasteful and insulting to the Church, when first
inserted, and had scarcely been obeyed from Edward's
time. It was now almost obsolete, though formally
continued in the parliamentary writ ; but it now Was
turned to account by the lower clergy in their contest
against their rulers. The latter answered, with justice,
that this supposed right of the clergy had nothing to do
with the Convocation ; that the writ came from the king,
and the return was made to him ; that those select
clergymen might proceed with their respective Bishops
to the king in Parliament, if they would, and take the
place he chose to give them. Meanwhile, the Arch
bishop surely might be allowed to preside over his own
provincial Council, according to custom. However,, this.
alleged claim, though thus successfully disposed, of,
seems to have had some influence in inducing the court
to allow the meeting of the Convocation. Some of the
Bishops, urged by the clamour, had summoned their
clergy to Parliament by virtue of it; and a source of
embarrassment and annoyance was thus opened upon
the government.
Lastly, the Lower House argued that, from the nature .
of the case, it was absurd to allow them to sit separate
frorri the Bishops, if they were not allowed to sit at
pleasure — the very notion of a House implying a right
of separate debate, a right of separate judgment, and
a right of sitting at discretion ; to which the Upper an- !
swered, that points Pf privilege and jurisdiction were de
termined by usage, not by the nature of things ; and, '
moreover, that there was much more of incongruity in
the idea that the lower clergy had a power which, in its
full exercise, was contrary to all episcopal government

Its Lower House in relation to its Upper. 367
and the Metropolitan's rights, and tended to overthrow
the. Church.
This is an account of the main points in dispute and ¦
main arguments employed. If, however, we inspect the
history ofthe Session of 1700 itself, we shall find the above
to be a very inadequate representation ofthe actual course
of the controversy. So many are the little annoyances
offered by the Lower to the Upper House, so marvellous
their encroachments on precedent and breaches of order,
that we can only account- for their conduct by supposing
the. body of the clergy at that period thbroughly dis
satisfied ; dissatisfied with their condition, with their
prospects, and, above all, with themselves ; suspicious
not only of their new king and his Bishops, but of their
own straightforwardness in the course of late events ;
.feeling that somehow things had got wrong, and not
seeing how they could be righted, yet without the con
sciousness that they were altogether free from blame
themselves. For instance, on the 25th of February, they prejudged
the question in dispute, by continuing to sit after the
receipt of the Archbishop's schedule, and then adjourning
to a place different from that specified in it. When
called to account for this irregularity, they did not
answer in that respectful and obedient manner which
superiors had a right to expect from them. The Arch
bishop had put to the Prolocutor these two questions :
"Whether the Lower House of Convocation did sit, after
they were prorogued by his grace, on February 25th ? "
s'-And " Whether they did meet that present morning
(February 28th) without attending on their lordships in
the place to which they were prorogued ? " An answer

368 The Convocation of Canterbury,
as to the matter of fact was required, first by common
decency, next because their exercise of a right actually
under dispute was itself an important measure, and
ca,lled for the attention of the Upper House, whatever
became the question of right itself. However, instead
of answering, they merely sent in a paper of precedents,
in defence of their side of the argument. Nor was this
all ; for they entitled it, the " Report of the committee of
the Lower House ; " thus ruling in their own favour, and
in the very presence of the Bishops, another point in
controversy : the Upper House maintaining that the
Lower House itself was but a .committee of the Convo-
tion, and that all power of separating off portions of its
members lay with them.
Again, they renewed the attempt which they had made,
against all precedent^ in 1689, to communicate with the
Upper House through other members besides the Prolo-,
cutor ; the only defence they were able to offer for this
conduct being, the inconvenience resulting to them by
the frequent absence of their chairman in his attendance
on their lordships ; whereas the very inconvenience was
itself a token, if they would take it rightly, that such
continued and independent discussion was not part of
their rights or business. Their own mode of stating
their complaint (which they published) provokes a smile
in the reader of after times. The then Warden of All
Souls was sent up to the Upper House, instead of the
Prolocutor, on which " his grace was pleased to return ,
this answer, ' Dr. Finch, since the Prolocutor is not with
you, I say nothing.' " " Admit," they argue, " the Pro
locutor, as the os et organum vocis ofthe House, to be in
most cases the properest person to report their sense,
this does not i hinder but a message in scriptis, such as
this was, especially wlten brought up by a person of

Its Lower House- in relation to its Upper. 369
the honourable Dr. Finch 's quality, might be fit to be
"received." Further, they maintained they might take the first
step in censuring irreligious publications of the day,
such as Toland's " Christianity not Mysterious," and
proceeded to submit certain resolutions, drawn* upx by a
committee of themselves, to the Upper House ; though
it was as yet undecided, first, whether they themselves
had such a right of origination,., whether they might
appoint a committee, and receive its report, and further,
whether the Convocation might, as the Law then stood,
enter upon judicial proceedings at all.
Further still, the Bishops had given to their paper of
precedents a distinct and careful answer in writing,..
which I do not know where to find, though I am pretty
sure I have seen it among the pamphlets of the day.
"A Narrative ofthe proceedings ofthe Lower House, in
1 700-1, drawn up by the order of the House" (supposed to
be written by the Prolocutor Hooper, afterwards Bishop
of Bath and Wells,) instead of furnishing this paper,
says, " It cannot be expected we should here insert a
copy of their lordships' papers, which make up many
sheets, .... but possibly the reader may be curious ,
to know, at least, the substance, etc.," and then it pro
ceeds to give its own version of it. This is surely unfair
and disrespectful to the Upper House. But the conduct
in Convocation of the same party, on receipt of the
Bishops' paper, was actually offensive. Without prose
cuting the argument which they themselves had begun,.,
they voted, first in committee, then in the House, that
they had a right to adjourn themselves ; then they sent.
the Prolocutor with a message to the Bishops, signifying
that they considered their lordships' reply unsatisfactory,
and praying for a free conference on. the matter in debate.
24

37° The Convocation of Canterbury. '
Here was a fresh assumption of a privilege enjoyed by
the Lower House of Parliament ; for, in Convocation,
such conferences had ever been held at the invitation
of the Bishops, not to mention their general claim to
direct the proceedings of the Lower House in all matters.
This was urged by the advocates of the Upper House ;
— also, that written statements, specific quotations, etc.,
were more to the purpose in such a matter than speeches,
and, besides, that the dispute had hitherto been con
ducted on paper.
Lastly, when the Bishops, with the hope of smoothing
matters, appointed a committee, of five of their number
to meet ten of the clergy to inspect the acts of both
Houses during the then Convocation, and report judg
ment upon them, the Lower \House, by a new and un
precedented disobedience, declined to act with them for
such a purpose.
The reader may be curious to know whether such
factious conduct was supported by a large majority of
the Lower House. The resolution that it had power to
adjourn itself, was carried by 66 against 24, proxies in
cluded.; the neuter members /taking the whole number
to be 145) being 55. Of this minority of 24, only 13
were present, and these seem to have offered a deter
mined opposition to the course pursued by their brethren..
Two :months afterwards, a protest was presented to the
Archbishop, from 13 members of the Lower House, ,
against its proceedings, who probably were about the
same who voted in the minority on this occasion. I will
here insert it, as it contains fresh argument against the
candour of their brethren :
" To his Grace, etc. We, whose names are underwritten, do
humbly beg leave to represent to your Grace, that, whereas we did
move in the Lower House of Convocation that we might enter our

Its Lower House in relation to its Upper. 371
protestation against all intermediate Sessions -of the Lower House
.betwixt your Grace's ordinary prorogations, the question being put
upon the said motion, it passed against us in the negative ; and a
' further motion being made, and the question put, whether the said
vote should be registered, it likewise passed against us, that it
should not be1 registered at fas] yet. Wherefore we humbly beg
leave that we may be admitted to enter our protestations against
all such intermediate Sessions. (Signed.) Wm. Sherlock, Dean
St. Paul's ; G. Verney, Froct. Line. ; J. Wichart, Dean Winton ;
S. Freeman, Dean Peterbor. ; G. Bull, Archd. Landaff; W. Stanley,
Archd. London ; J. Jeffery, Archd. Norwich ; C. Trimnell, Archd.
Norfolk ; R. Bourchier, ' Archd. Lewis ; J. Evans, Proct. Bang. ;
- J. Whitefoot, Proct. Norwich; G. Pooley, Proct. Bath and Wells ;
T. Littel, Proct. Norwich."
In May, in the same year, another list of 13, almost
the same, (W. Beverege and W. Hayley being substi
tuted for Wichart and Bull,) addressed the Archbishop,
by way of protest, on another innovation made by the
Lower House. On the 8th, the Prolocutor had refused
to read the Archbishop's schedule of prorogation to the
Lower House, though urged by some of the members
to do so. These members, in consequence, did not con
sider they could attend on the 16th, which had been
fixed for the next Session, without (as far as the form
went) obeying the notice of it given by the Prolocutor,
instead of the order of the Archbishop, and, in conse
quence, addressed a letter to the latter to explain their
absence. So much concerning the friends of order in the Lower
House, tp whpm, in 1705, we find added the names,
among others, of Gibson, (afterwards Bishop of London,
to' one of whose tracts I am much indebted in the fore
going account,) Green, Prideaux, Bentley, and Hody.
On the other side, besides Spratt, Bishop of Rochester,
Trelawney, of Exeter, and Compton, of London, there
were Atterbury, Aldrich, Smalridge, Jane, and Hooper.

372 The Convocation of Canterbury.
Here, then, I stop for the present ; and, to avoid all
mistake, I will just observe that I am far from pretend-
tending to have mastered the history of this controversy,
though I have attempted to give its outlines correctly,
as far as I have gone. I have before me a list of as
many as 69 books and pamphlets, written before 1708,
on the subject, as affixed to one of them by a publisher*
Wake's work on English Councils, published in 1703, in
answer to Atterbury, is itself a thick folio of 850 pages,
not to mention the fourth volume of Wilkins' Concilia,
a work of a later date. Therefore no one need be sur
prised if he happens to pitch on narratives giving him
fuller information than I have collected.
* The reader will find a history of the principal works in the
controversy, in the Biographia Britannica ; article, Atterbury.

373

3-
;i Views of the Lower House in opposing the Uppet .
IAM fearful of tiring the reader with the minute de
tails of the quarrel which took place between the
two Houses in the Convocations of 1700 and following
years; yet it has been my object, as it shall be in what
has to come, to confine my account of it to those points
which involved some question of right or privilege be
tween them, or between both and the Crown. In con
tinuing the history, I will only remark that such a dis
sension scarcely can occur again. It arose from a new
Upper House being grafted by a new King on an old
. clergy ; whereas, in a settled state of things, there is a
, regular and close connection between the Bishops and
the Lower House, the great majority of the members of
the Jatter being appointed either by the Crown or the
episcopal bench. I say it scarcely can recur ; because it
is not to be supposed that the great body of the clergy
will ever again find themselves called upon to shift their
• allegiance to new Bishops at the command of a foreigner
scarcely seated on the throne. I.
Comparing the two Houses with each other, the dig
nified and temperate conduct of the Upper House forces
itself upon the notice of the reader. However, it should
be remembered that nothing is so easy as composure,
good humour, and good sense, when we have matters in
the main our own way. " Let those laugh who wiri " is a

374 The Convocation of Canterbury. *
familiar proverb. The Bishops were at this time on the
winning side ; they had the King with them, and their
political principles had gained the victory. Besides, a
sort of constitutional tranquillity and clearness of head
are often the attendants on the cold, unenthusiastical
temper which had, at that era, triumphed in Church and
State, as may be illustrated in the case of some well-
known writers of that and a more recent date. At the
same time, there were members of the Upper House
as free from the reproach of placidity and insensibility
as any of the Lower. On one occasion, Burnet, whose
writings had been attacked, by the Lower House; was
provoked to interpose, in answer to a question from
the Prolocutor to the Archbishop, on some immaterial
point of dissension. "This is fine indeed," he said, "the
Lower House will not allow a committee to inspect their
books, and now they demand to see ours ! '¦' and on the
Prolocutor replying that he asked nothing but what he
was concerned to know, and what of right' he might
demand, Burnet returned, " This is according to your
usual insolence" " Insolence, my lord ! " said the Pro
locutor, " do you give me that word ? " " Yes, insolence !"
replied the Bishop ; " you deserve that word and worse.
Think what you will of yourself, I know what you are."
This Prolocutor was Hooper, soon afterwards Bishop of
Bath and Wells, whom Burnet repays in his History,
for reporting the above conversation, with a line of de
scription in aggravation of what he then said to his face ;
saying, that he was " a man of learning and good conduct
hitherto," but " reserved, crafty, and ambitious."
The Convocation of which I have hitherto spoken
came to an end by the dissolution of Parliament. A
fresh one, summoned in the beginning of 1702, was first
interrupted by the death of the Prolocutor of the Lower

Views of the Lower House in opposing the Upper. 375
House, and then dissolved by the King's death, in spite
of Lord Rochester's attempt to give it the same continu
ance of existence as the Parliament enjoyed, as if it were
a constituent part of the civil assembly.
Little need be said of the proceedings of the Convo
cation for the following nine years. Their dissensions
continued unabated, and the situation of the Church and
kingdom was such as to supply abundant matter for jea
lousy and factiousness to act upon. In the 'opening of
the new reign, the Bishops offered, by way of accommoda
tion, to allow the Lower House, during the intervals of
Sessions, to appoint committees for preparing matters ;
and, further, when business was brought before them, to
give them sufficient time, before their prorogation, for
debating upon it. The Lower House would not accept
these terms, and wished the controversy referred to the
Queen's arbitration ; which the Bishops declined, lest
they should compromise that right of supremacy over
presbyters, inherent in the episcopate. The Lower
House then addressed themselves to the Commons, but
could only obtain from them a general, promise of stand
ing by the just rights of the clergy. Then they addressed
the Queen, who referred them to her ministers, and the
premier being with them, and, the judges (as it was sup
posed) against them, nothing was done. Lastly, they
•passed a declaration that episcopacy was of divine and
apostolical right ; but the Bishops, apprehensive of in
curring a prcEmunire by what would have seemed the
enactment of a canon, declined to assent to it.
The sessions of 1705-6 were scarcely begun when a
protest was presented to the Bishops against the ma
jority in the Lower House by forty-nine of its members.
In this document the following innovations are specified :
(1) Their Prolocutor's proroguing the House with the

376 The Convocation of Canterbury.,
consent and authority of the House itself, not by autho
rity of the Archbishop's schedule (a practice begun in
the last Convocation of King William), and the con
sequent introductiori of intermediate Sessions ; (2) their
claim of a power of putting the Prolocutor into the chair
before he was confirmed by the Upper House, and so
beginning debates without formal leave from it ; (3) their
giving leave of absence to members, and of voting by
proxy ; ^(4) their electing an actuary, in prejudice of the
Archbishop's right, whose officer, the registrar of the
whole Convocation, had constantly received fees from the
Lower House, in which he acted by deputy ; and, (5)
their insisting on drawing up an address to the Queen,
at the opening of the then Convocation, instead of ac
cepting or amending, that sent down to them from the
Bishops. It is observable that among these forty-nine
protesters, only ten were proctors of the clergy ; whereas;
in. the counter-declaration, subscribed by the majority
of, the Lower House soon afterwards, there are twenty-
nine such, out of seventy-five signatures.
In ,the Convocation -of 1707, the Archbishop was
armed by a letter from the Queen .(who had already
interfered in .1705-6), declaratory of her intention to
maintain her supremacy, and the due subordination of
presbyters to Bishops in. the Church of England. When
he .sent for the Lower House to communicate it to
them, few of them were found .assembled," and the Pro
locutor was absent ; so that the Archbishop found it
necessary to communicate it to the clergy generally, in a
circular letter, addressed to the Bishops of his province.
2.
However, it is but fair to state the circumstances
which led to these- strange irregularities on the part of ¦

Views ofthe Lower House in opposing the Upper. ,377
the Lower House. In truth, they found, or thought.
they found, that their obedience as presbyters to Bishops
was to be made use of in order to betray and destroy
the Church ; they were in a net from which they could
not disentangle themselves, and having lately had their
Bishops' sanction to the doctrine that, in extreme cases,
it was lawful to renounce the Lord's anointed, and his
"heirs after him, they were tempted to believe that on
similar grounds, and much more in a case of conscience,
it was religious to engage in a systematic opposition to
the successors of the Apostles. In the year 1707, the
Act of Union with Scotland was passed, and the body of
the clergy saw in it what the event has proved, the
depression of the Church Catholic, their own bone and
flesh, in that country, and the practical recognition of
the kirk by English Protestants. Lords North and Grey
had rhoved the addition of the following proviso to the
bill: — "Provided always, that nothing in this ratifica
tion shall be construed to extend to an approbation or
acknowledgment of the truth of the presbyterian way of
worship, or allowing the religion of the Church of Scot
land to be what it is styled, 'the true Protestant Reli
gion ; ' " but it was- rejected on the second reading by
fifty-five to nineteen, only one Bishop (Hooper, of Bath
and Wells,) voting in the minority. The Lower House
of Convocation had taken the alarm, and were proceed
ing to make application to the Commons against the
Union, when the Queen (contrary, as the clergy main
tained, to the custom of the Church ever since the
Reformation,) prorogued the Convocation, while the
Parliament sat, for three weeks, that is, till the Act of
Union had passed both Houses and received the royal
assent. Their indignation at what ' they considered
tyranny added to treachery, occasioned the Queen's

37^ The Convocation of Canterbury.
letter concerning her own supremacy, and their absence
from the Convocation, when the Archbishop communi
cated it in form, as above related.
Again, their refusal of the Upper House's address to
the Queen, in 1705, disrespectful as their conduct was,
and irregular, arose from the wish of the Bishops: to
represent that the Church was in no danger ; while the
Lower House, fully as they might trust the Queen, did
consider that there were parties in the State very hostile
and dangerous to its interests.
Nor must it be forgotten, that to the Lower House
(aided by the Nonjurors externally) we are indebted
that no change was made in our services and discipline
in 1689; the innovations contemplated being, such as
would literally have been fatal to us as a Church, such '
as cannot be contemplated by any churchman without
indignation and affright, and gratitude to a merciful
Providence, which ordered things otherwise. What they
were shall be given in Mr. Hallam's words : — "The Bill
of Comprehension, proposed to Parliament,, went no
further than to leave a few scrupled ceremonies at dis
cretion, and to admit presbyterian ministers into the
Church without pronouncing on the invalidity of their
former Ordination ; " as if the recognizing them as
ministers were not pronouncing* Is it then the case
that we have a second time risked the Succession ?
the thought of this, while it is frightful, is consolatory in
our present uncertainties. This good act the Lower
House of 1689 has done for us ; and, while doing it, and
attempting other services, its members also gave the
alarm that the Government was aiming at the suspension
of Convocation, and the Government party denied it. We
haye the event .before us.
* [Was not a conditional ordination intended ?]

Views ofthe Lower House in opposing the Upper.379
Moreover, with all their faults and mistakes, they
certainly had an enlarged view of the duties of an
Ecclesiastical Synod ; and grasped the principles, and
aimed at wielding the powers, of the Church with a
vigour that the court Bishops could not comprehend.
The aspect of latitudinarianism and infidelity was very
threatening ; and they felt these principles of evil were
to be met, not by mere controversy, not by individuals
relying on what is called the force of reason, nor again
by merexivil authority, but by the moral power of the
Church, whether as a body, or in it's, authorities, by
Bishops or Convocations; by that high influence, in
fact, which broke the power of paganism and baffled
the schools of philosophy. But so far from exercising
this their special gift, the very heads of the Church were
in terms of friendship with its enemies. Firmin, the
Unitarian, was the friend of Tillotson and Fowler ; and
the writers of his party are recommended by Burnet for
their "gravity" in the management of controversy, for their
temper, and judgment. Sherlock seemed extravagating
towards tritheism, Clarke towards Arianism, and Hoadley
towards a legion of heresies. Even where orthodoxy
was preserved, the depth and fervour of the Laudian
era was being supplanted by a cold, dry, and minute
theology. A few years after the date under review,
the Bishops of the province of Canterbury were all but
unanimous in favour of openly recognizing lay baptism ;
and were only stopped from declaring themselves on
the point synodically, by the Lower House, and, as
Bishops, by the opposition of Sharp, Archbishop of
York. Such was the less alarming side of things ; but
on the worse the prospect was fearful. The rationalism
which has appeared in Germany seems in great measure
to have originated in England at ' the period under con-

380 The Convocation of Canterbury.
sideration. Hickes, in 1707, speaks of pamphleteers of,
the day, who wrote
"against making of creeds, and creed-makers who impose upon
men articles of faith. These men of large minds and free thoughts
will not have them confined and tied up to forms and summaries
of belief. ... If they durst, they would write against Scripture-
making, as you may perceive by the table-talk which the reputed
author of the Rights, and some other Grecians, had of them, at a
dinner, the 29th of November last. . . . They began with Balaam
and his ass, and, with scorn and scurrility enough, asserted the ass
to be the fittest of the two to see an angel, and to have divine in
spirations and revelations. . . . Then, for the prophets, they did
God and them the honour to compare them to the Camisars,,and
prophecy to deliriums in fevers, and told a story of a physician who
cured a patient of his prophetical deliriums and was refused his
reward. They also said it was a disease proper, it may be, to
certain places and constitutions, as agues, and . . . observed, that
drunkenness and prophecy was the same thing. . . . The passing
over the Red Sea, they said, was not miraculous, but natural. . . .
The pillar of fire, .they said, was some sort of artificial preparation
in the nature of a phosphorus. . . . Elijah's sacrifice, they said,
was by artificial fire. . . . The marriage in Cana was a merry
making; and He, meaning our Lord, made the water wine with
spirit of wine."
Such being the state of things, the plans of the Lower
House, have, at least, the merit of energy and boldness.
They appointed, in 1700, committees for examining
certain attacks upon Christianity ; for inquiring into the
causes of the corruption of manners, and the means of
reformation ; for making inquiries into seminaries set up
in opposition to the Universities ; for the means of pro
moting religion in the plantations, and among seamen ;
for introducing our liturgy to the notice of the French
and other Protestants, and for considering the grievances
of ecclesiastical cognizances. They desired to restrain
the licentiousness of the press, and the profaneness and

Views ofthe Lower House in opposing the Upper. 381
immorality of the stage ; to reform the church discipline,
to hinder clandestine marriages, to remove the incon
veniences in the mode of recovering church rates, and
legal difficulties which lay on the clergy as to the admin
istration of the Lord's Supper. In short, they undertook,
as was their duty, all those matters which have ever since
either been neglected or taken up by improper parties,
whether the Parliament, the public press, or private
societies. With some account of their attempts to pro-
peed against irreligious and unsound publications, I shall
close this paper and the history of their career.
3-
¦ In 1700, they presented an address to the Upper House,
on the subject of Toland's "Christianity not Mysterious,"
praying for their lordships' judgment on certain ex
tracts they made from it. The Bishops, upon taking
advice of counsel, returned answer, agreeably to a former
decision in 1689, that since the famous Act of Submission
they could not censure judicially any such books without
a license from the King, "which they had not yet re
ceived." It was conceived that a judgment on opinions
was ofthe nature of a canon, as indirectly making doctrinal
statements, and that thus the Articles of the Church
would be liable to continual alteration and variation
by successive decisions or precedents ; that, though Coke
had decided that the Convocation is a court, nevertheless
to judge matters without the King's leave was interfering
with his prerogative, which the Act of Henry VIII.
especially guarded ; and that, in the great Council of
Clarendon, 11 64, it was resolved, among other things,
that no servant or dependent of the King could be ex
communicated without his leave ; and that, in case of
appeals, the King had the right of final decision. At the

382 • The Convocation of Canterbury.
same time, it was admitted that each Bishop, in his own
court, might proceed against exceptionable publications.
The Lower House was obliged to acquiesce iri this
determination; but before long they appeared before the
Bishops with an attack upon Burnet's Exposition of the
Thirty-nine Articles, which, as divers members of the
episcopal bench had sanctioned the publication, was, in
fact, an attack upon those to whom they were appealing.
The Bishops referred their complaint to a committee of
themselves, who reported that the Lower House had no
power judicially to censure any book ; that they ought
not to have entered upon the examination of the work
of one of the Bishops without acquainting the Upper
House ; that they ought to have been specific in their
accusations, which, in the form in which they were pre
sented, were a mere vague defamation ; that the Bishop
of Sarum's " History of the Reformation " had been ap
proved by Parliament, and, with his other works,' had
done great service to the English Chureh, and deserved
the thanks of their lordships' House ; and that it did not
rest with the Convocation to pass an opinion upon
private expositions of the Thirty-riine Articles^ Thus
matters rested for nine years.
In the summer of 1710 a change of ministry took
place, and Parliament was dissolved soon after. This
was the consequence of Sacheverell's affair ; and, of
course, the accession of the Tories to power was favour
able to the wishes of the Lower House of Convocation.
The description given, in an address of the new Commons
to her Majesty, of the retiring ministry, is curious ; and,
though beside my present purpose, I cannot help quoting
it. " These ministers framed to themselves wild and
unwarrantable schemes of balancing parties, and, under
false pretence of temper and moderation, did really en-

Views ofthe Lower House in opposing, the Upper. 383
courage faction, by discountenancing and depressing
persons zealously affected, to your Majesty and to the
Church, and by extending their favour and patronage
to men of licentious and impious principles, such as
shake the very foundation of all government and reli
gion." However, they had now been dismissed from the
Queen's councils, and one of the first effects of it was
the grant of a license to Convocation to frame canons
for the exigencies of the Church. Two bishops, Compton
and Hooper, both defenders of the privileges of the
Lower House, were delegated, in succession, to supply
the place of the Archbishop in his absence, and Atter
bury was chosen Prolocutor. The subjects assigned by
the Queen for discussion were, the state of religion, with
reference to infidelity, heresy, and profaneness; there-
form of the proceedirigs of the courts in the matter of
excommunication ; the preparing forms for the visitation
of prisoners and convicts, and for admitting converts
from popery and dissent, and restoring the lapsed ; the
establishment of rural deans ; the providing terriers of
glebes, tithes, etc. ; and the prevention of clandestine
marriages; on all which subjects committees were ap
pointed in this and subsequent years, and delivered in
reports. One important measure was actually passed
in this Convocation. A correspondence commenced
between. the Commons and Lower House on the subject
of the want of churches in the metropolis, which ended
in a vote of the Commons of ^350,000 for the erection
of fifty additional ones, according to a scheme drawn
out by Atterbury and the Lower House. If that House
had done no other service to the cause of religion than
this, it would deserve to -be kindly remembered by pos
terity, in spite of the temper which it displayed towards
the Bishops. On the other hand, it would not be fair to

3 84 The Convocation of Canterbury.
impute it to the latter that no great measure had hither
to been carried in behalf of the Church. In their reply
to the Lower House, in 1 701, on the subject of censuring
Toland's book, they observe, "that there had been several
obstructions and stumblingblocks laid in the way" of their
showing their zeal ; and we can readily understand how
Queen Anne's Tory ministry might be more ready to
co-operate with the heads of the Church than a monarch
of foreign birth and prepossessions.
Passing over these subjects, we are here more especi
ally concerned with the conduct of the Lower House, in
consequence of the first of the recommendations made
by the Queen, viz., to examine into the state of religion.
They first drew up a report, in which they attributed the
growth of irreligion chiefly to the encouragement given
in the former reign to men of latitudinarian pririciples ;
but, the Upper House objecting to- what seemed like
personalities, especially in what had gone by, the matter
dropped. Next, the Lower. House proceeded to censure
Whiston, whose heretical opinions had made great talk
at the time ; and, upon this, the question of the judiciary
power of Convocation revived, which had been stirred
in the case of Toland's publication.
Whiston, had been expelled the University of Cam
bridge for Arianism, in October, 1710; and the Lower
House of Convocation addressed the Bishops, praying
for their lordships' opinion how they might best proceed
in relation to him. They received the request graciously,
and referred it to the Archbishop. Tenison, in- conse
quence, addressed to them a circular, explanatory of the
state of the case. He observed that there were three
ways in which a person could be proceeded against
whose writings called for censure : — by means of Con- _
vocation ; by Archbishop's court of audience, in which

Views of the Lower House in opposing the Upper. 385
his suffragans were assessors with him ; or, thirdly, by
means ofthe Bishop's court to whose diocese the accused
.party belonged, on report of Convocation. He consi
dered the first method to be attended by serious diffi
culties : first, because the Convocation was a court of
final resort, which would interfere with an act of Elizabeth,
vesting all ecclesiastical jurisdiction in the Crown ; next,
because there had been no such proceeding for the last
one hundred years, during which time an Act had passed
abolishing the High Commission and all like courts here
after; thirdly, because, in the statute annulling the Writ
"de hseretico comburendo," in Charles the Second's
time, all established courts, and therefore that of Convo
cation, were made to give way to episcopal jurisdiction ;
lastly, because the Upper House, in 1689, had been ad
vised by counsel to leave such matters to other courts.
He ended by recommending an address to her Majesty,
praying her to refer the matter to the judges. This was
done, and the judges were divided in opinion. Eight
were in favour of the jurisdiction of the Convocation in
such matters as by the laws of the realm were declared
to be heresy, on the ground that an appeal to the Crown
•from all ecclesiastical courts was implied in the royal
supremacy, whether expressly provided for in particular
statute or not ; so that the Convocation might exercise
its ancient and constitutional powers without incurring
a breath of the act of Elizabeth. The other four judges
considered that such judgments lay within the ordinary
episcopal jurisdiction, and concurred in the apprehensions
Tenison had expressed in his letter; however, they
allowed that heretical tenets and opinions {night be
examined and condemned in Convocation, without
convening the authors or maintainers of them. Such a
public judgment was accordingly passed in Convocation 25

386 The Convocation of Canterbury.
upon Whiston's work, and all Christian people were
warned against it ; it being thought prudent, in spite of
the Queen's encouragement to them to proceed judicially,
to abstain from further measures.
In 1 7 14, another lamentable Occasion occurred for the
Lower House to exert itself in maintenance of the
orthodox faith. Dr. Samuel Clarke having published
his " Scripture Doctrine of the Trinity," a work especially
adapted to harass and confuse sensitive minds, they pre
sented an address to the Bishops, praying them to take
the matter into consideration ; to which they added, at
the Bishops' request, a list of objectionable passages in
the work, arranged under distinct heads. The Upper
House were unwilling to move in the matter, and pro
fessed themselves satisfied with a so-called submission,
which Dr. Clarke was prevailed on (chiefly, it is said, by
Smalridge,) to offer ; in which, without retracting any
position he had published, he shut up his sentiments, in
an ambiguous form of words, and proposed to keep
silence for the future. The most natural submission
would have been for them to subscribe the Articles
before the Convocation ; but Bishop Burnet had at that
time great influence in the Upper House, and I have been
told by a very learned person * (though he did not refer
to his authority), that, such was Burnet's, relative regard
for the Church and his Whig friends, that he wrote to ,
dissuade Archdeacon Welchman from answering Clarke,
on the ground of the embarrassment which such a pro
cedure would occasion to Protestant politics. This ,
agrees with what we know, of the conduct of the Govern
ment in the matter, before the publication of the offen
sive work ; when Godolphin and others of the Queen's
ministers sent Clarke a message, to the import "that the
* [I think it must have been Dr. Routh.J

Views ofthe Lower House in opposing the Upper. 387
affairs of the public were with difficulty then kept in the '
hands of those who were at all for liberty ; that it was
therefore, an unseasonable time for the publication of a
book which would make a great noise and disturbance ;
and that, therefore, they desire him to forbear till a fitter
opportunity should offer itself." Four years after the
introduction of his name into the Convocation, he ven
tured on altering the Doxologies in the Psalm Books
used for singing in St. James's parish, which brought
tupon him the animadversion of the Bishop of London.
In 1 714, George the First succeeded to the throne,
and the final suspension of the Convocation soon fol
lowed. George began his reign with an address to the
Archbishops and Bishops on the subject of the "great
differences" which had arisen "among some of the clergy
of the realm, about their ways of expressing themselves
in their sermons and writings concerning the doctrine of
the Blessed Trinity," and of the " unusual liberties which
had been taken by several pf the said clergy in inter-
, meddling with the affairs of State and government, and
the constitution of the realm ; " and, accordingly forbad
them preaching either heterodoxy, or politics, except
" in defence of the regal supremacy." The next year
the Convocation was opened with a license to debate,
being the third assembly which had been so favoured.
This license was, so far, the result of a more liberal and'
enlarged policy towards the Church, than Burnet and his
friends had advised previous to 1710. The subjects for
consideration were (in addition to some of those already
specified in former licenses) the preparing a form for
consecrating churches and chapels, the better settling the
qualifications of candidates for orders, the enforcing dis*
. cipline on the clergy, the providing more^ effectually for
curates whose incumbents were non-residents, and the.im-

388 The Convocation of Canterbury.
proving the catechetical instruction given prior to confir
mation. But the career of the Convocation was close on
its termination. It soon came into collision with the ruling
powers, on the subject of Hoadley's doctrines, and though
truth was on the side of the clergy, the interest of the
government was against them, and it was easy to see
which way the contest would terminate. As early as
1705, the Lower House had ventured to attack a sermon
of Hoadley's, as " containing positions contrary to the
• doctrine ofthe Church, expressed in the first and second
parts of the ' Homily against disobedience or wilful re
bellion ; " but the Upper House suffered the matter to
drop. In 1715-16, Hoadley was made Bishop of Ban
gor ; and, in the course of the following year, published
his " Preservative " and Sermon, which gave rise to the
famous Bangorian controversy. These writings were at
once brought before the Lower House of Convocation
who made a representation of them to the Bishops, on
the grounds of their " tendency, first, to subvert all gov
ernment and discipline in the Church of Christ ; " next,
"to impugn and impeach the authority ofthe legislature
to enforce obedience in matters of religion by civil' sanc
tions." Before this representation could be taken into
consideration by the Upper House, a special order come
from the King' for the prorogation of the Convocation ;
and from that time to this, it has only existed as a formal
appendage to the first meetings of Parliament

309

4-
Its relation to the Ecclesiastical Establishment.
IT may be recollected that I proposed three questions
for consideration on the subject of Convocation : —
what was its real nature and history relatively ,to the
Church ? what was the principle, and- what the actual
extent of the civil governor's, jurisdiction over it and
assumption of its powers? and, thirdly, what was the
place which the Lower House held in its constitution ?
The last of these three has now been discussed, as far as is
necessary to illustrate the history of its suspension in the
beginning of the eighteenth century. And for any other
purpose, one may hope it ever will be unnecessary ; for
it was (to say the least) a heavy calamity that members
ofthe Lower House should have felt it their duty, from
the circumstances of the times, to stand upon their rights
against the authority of their Bishops. Not to dwell on
the unbecoming appearance of such an opposition, it
must be borne in mind that the privilege actually con
ceded on all hands to the Lower House, the Veto on the
proceedings of the Upper, is in itself almost too liberal
a grant of power for the episcopal principle ; and is only
defensible (I suppose) on the ground of the size of the
dioceses, and the Crown's prerogative in the choice of
Bishops.' "Maximo enim," says Wilkins, "prae aliis
nationibus presbyteri synodi Anglicanae fruuntur privi-
legio in concilio provinciali, ut dissensus eorum universa
domus superioris decreta irrita reddere valeat." Having
this Veto upon all proceedings of their superiors, surely
VOL.

39° The" Convocation of Canterbury.
the clergy should have been satisfied. But perhaps those
of them who, had released- themselves from their pledge
of canonical obedience to their deprived Bishops, might
consider lightly of the obligation which subjected them
to those who had come into their place ; perhaps, also,
there was reasonable ground of jealousy as regards such
as William's government had , promoted. But, though
much might have been said in their defence had they
refused altogether *to recognize the new prelates, one
does not see the consistency of taking them for their
rulers and then not submitting to them. But enough on
this unpleasant subject. Now let us pass to the con
sideration of a second of the questions originally pro
posed—viz., the nature and history of Convocation re
latively to the Church. And first a few words in state
ment of the controversy respecting it. •
I.
Atterbury, Binckes, and their party, maintained, in the
pamphlets mentioned in my first paper, that the Convo
cation was an essential part ofthe constitution, established
by law, " by the same law as the gentleman receives his
rent, or the member enjoys his privilege." When re
quired to produce the particular law which makes its
assembling imperative on the sovereign, instead of its
being (as the court party maintained) at his option, they
allowed as much as this — viz., that his writ was abso
lutely necessary for its assembling, but they maintained,
'at the same time, that it was absolutely necessary that
he should grant that writ, and that for two reasons : first,
if the meeting of Convocation were a privilege or liberty
of the English Church (which no one could deny), the
King was by his coronation oath bound in two ways to
issue his writ according to custom. For Magna Charta

Its relation to the Ecclesiastical Establishment. 391
(they argued), to which the King had sworn, pronounced
" quod Ecclesia Anglicana libera sit, et habeat omnia jura
et libertates illcesas; " and again one especial part of the
oath administered to him by the Archbishop, contained
a promise on his part to "preserve to the Bishops and
clergy of this realm, and to the churches committed to
their charge, all such rights and privileges as by law do
or shall appertain to them or any of them ; :: so that,
since the assembly of the clergy in Convocation was,
beyond dispute, a privilege recognized by the law, no
particular law was necessary to bind the sovereign, who
was bound in a more solemn manner by his express oath,
which the law imposed.
Secondly, they maintained that their assembling was
matter of constitutional right ; for the Convocation, they
said, was a member or a necessary adjunct of Parliament;
so that, independently of law or promise, it could not
constitutionally be abolished or suspended. They showed
from history that from the- earliest Saxon times the
clergy had been summoned with the laity to the King's
great Council ; that, as time went on, the mode of their
assembling, from being indeterminate, became definite
and regular ; then again, from circumstances, was varied ;
and lastly became fixed in the particular form which had
then for centuries been matter of usage ; that, on the
other hand, during this process and ultimate settlement,
the ordinary annual Church Synods gradually came into
disuse, so that the Convocation, as then constituted, was
the representative both of an important political privi
lege, and a standing , ecclesiastical ordinance sof the
Church; that at first they met in one body with the
Laity, or Parliament (as it is now called), afterwards
'separated from it, and then again themselves divided
into two provincial Synods ; that this arrangement was

392 The Convocation of Canterbury. <
for awhile interrupted by a new writ from the King (the
prcemunientes clause inserted into the Bishops' writ),
summoning them to Parliament, which was a fresh evi
dence of their constitutional right, but that the former
custom was again restored and had so continued to that
¦ day, the above-mentioned clause being still retained in
the Bishops' writ, though not acted on, in token that
their right remained where it was ; that under all these.
changes, under whatever irregularities of time, place,
and form of meeting, the great rule obtained that they
met in connexion with Parliament, as belonging to it,
(closer or more detached, as the case might be,) but still
as constitutionally annexed to it ; lastly, that since the
Reformation the Convocation had invariably rriet with
the Parliament and been dissolved with it, except in the
solitary and extraordinary instance of 1640, when it
sat after the Parliament was dissolved, and which no
one would urge as a precedent, though after all, even as
such, it only affected the question of the termination pf
Convocation, not of its assembling. They added, that
anciently the same general appellation was given to both
meetings, the Parliament being called a Wittena Gemote,
the Convocation a Church Gemote, and that -in various
modern documents (besides the prcemunientes clause
above noticed) the Parliament was said to include the
clergy, as in a mandate of Bonner's, 1543, which has the
words " prelati et clerus Prov. Cant, in pari.," in a petition
to the Pope in Henry the Eighth's time, speaking; of
the " milites et doctores in pari.," and in the phrase in
the 5th of November Service, "the nobility, clergy, and
commons of this land, then assembled in Parliament ; "
this being the reason wh,y a clergyman could - not be a
member of the House of Commons. They proceeded to
argue, that, if the Convocation was thus an adjunct to

Its relation tp the Ecclesiastical Establishment. 3§?>
the Parliament, the King's writ was but the formal instru
ment, necessary indeed (as a license of marriage may
be), but not to be refused without leading to grave
political consequenees.
The court party, on the other hand, granted that the
clergy had this right to be summoned in Convocation,
but they drew a distinction between assembling and con
ferring. They said that the clergy had nothing beyond
a right to be summoned ; that a further license was
necessary in order to their debating, and that they had
no right to demand this ; that the utmost extent of their
right did not go beyond that of framing petitions to
King or Bishops when assembled under the primary writ.
This ground of argument, which at first sight looks like
an evasion, was maintained, first by the fact that the
Convocation had often in matter of fact met without
debating ; next, by the received opinion of the Church
in the century last past ; and further by the reason of
the. thing, the stated meetings of Convocation having
been held for the purpose of granting subsidies tp the
Crown, and the custom naturally coming to an end with
its object. Accordingly it was professed that the Con
vocation had now become only an occasional assembly
to provide for especial business, and that old precedents
were . sufficiently consulted by the King's formally con
vening them, though without suffering them to debate.
To this it was replied, that the same reasons which
made the granting the writ for assembling a right of the
"clergy, made the license for debate a right also ; but if
not, then the Convocation did not, in matter of fact,
supply the place of ecclesiastical Synod, and thus it be
came necessary to fall back upon the elementary and
essential rights and duties of the Church, and to resume
. those canonical meetings which had only been suspended

394 The Convocation of Canterbury.
from a wish to adjust the principles of the Church to
the particular civil polity in which it had been incorpo
rated. This is an outline of the controversy, which turned
upon this : — not whether the meetings of Convocation
might be lawfully suspended, this no party' maintained,
but whether it had a right to debate as well as to as
semble, a right to demand a license as well as the writ.
Atterbury, indeed, goes further than this in his view
of its rights, denying in toto its need of any license for
any act short of the positive enactment of a canon ; as
if it might frame and pass any measure in the form of a
canon, and present it for the royal assent, as a bill in
Parliament. ' On a question of this nature materials of
argument lie so widely and plentifully for either side,
that it requires a mind practised in weighing evidence,
and much careful attention, in order to form an opinion
worth putting upon paper. So far I suppose is clear,
that at the present day a valid precedent against its
right "to be put into a condition to do business," (to use
the; phrase of Atterbury's. party',) exists in the actual
suspension of its debates during the last 120 years;
though, to be sure, certain recent changes in the consti
tution of 'Parliament, seem to create an opposite prece
dent of a novel kind, in favour of insisting on inherent
rights instead of custom and usage. Now for the history
of Convocation. 2.
The Diocesan Council is the simplest form of ecclesi
astical assembly, and that which, under the circumstances
of the ' primitive Church, would first come into ' use.
" That the Bishop of each diocese," says Wake, " has, by
divine commission, a power of governing the Church of

Its relation to the Ecclesiastical Establishment. 395
Christ over which he is placed, and, in order thereunto,
to call together the presbyters which minister under him,
was the constant sense of all the ancient Councils and
fathers of the Church."
In our own Church these diocesan synods were held
at first twice a year, but in process of time the direction
of the Canon Law was followed, which made them only
annual. At this stated assembly all beneficed clergy in
the diocese were bound to appear, and the regulars also,
except when any were exempted, as time went on, from
episcopal jurisdiction. If the diocese were small, and
had but one archdeaconry, all the clergy met in one
place ; otherwise they met by parties, the Bishop moving
on from one archdeaconry to another. At these meet
ings the synodical inquiries were one part of the business,
of which the ancient form still remains ; then the causes, — ,
not only clergy, but laity, being at liberty to present
complaints before the assembly ; then the Bishop's cliarge,
in which he communicated to the clergy the decisions, ii
any, of the Provincial Council, and exhorted them to
fulfil the ministry with which they were entrusted ; lastly,
the Bishop's diocesan constitutions, if such there were, were
read and agreed to by the Synod, and thenceforth became
the law of the diocese, provided they were not contrary
to any provincial canons. The mode of celebrating these
synods was as follows : — the clergy in solemn procession
came to the church where they were to meet, at the day
and hour appointed by the Bishop, and took their seats
according to the date of their ordination. Then the
deacons and laity (even women not excepted) were ad
mitted. The Bishop having entered, prayers were read ;
and then the Bishop made an address introductory of the
Synod. A sermon followed ; then the complaints were
heard ; the diocesan constitutions were promulgated and

396 The Convocation of Canterbury.
passed, and the charge, with prayers, ended the meeting,
which commonly lasted three or four days. It is easy
to see that these Councils are continued to this day in
the Bishop's periodical Visitation, which at any moment
(were it expedient)' might resume the form of a synodal
meeting. They were held, as above described, down to
the time of Henry, the Eighth.
The , English Provincial Councils were as carefully
conducted, after the pattern of the primitive Church.
The Metropolitan summoned them, the business trans
acted related to the faith and discipline, of the Church,
and the members were the suffragan Bishops, to whom
were sometimes added the heads of the regulars, abbots
and the like ; parochial presbyters having no place in
therii, by way of right, but, if summoned, summoned at
the Archbishop's pleasure, and for some particular pur
pose. Here again we have the rudiments, perhaps the
substance, of a Provincial Council left to us, (at least as
far as political matters of debate are concerned,) in the,
private meetings -of the Bishops in London during the
Session of Parliament. So much for ecclesiastical meet
ings of the clergy ; now for civil.
From early Saxon times the prelates ofthe Church, that
is, bishops, abbots, deans, etc., were called to the great
Council of the nation to assist in its deliberations, and
especially to grant subsidies from the Church property
for the use of the State ; it being then, as now, the stand
ing principle of the law of England, that no persons could
be taxed without their own 'consent or that of their
representatives. In Saxon times the Church lands were
taxed for the three objects of castles, bridges, and expe
ditions. William the Conqueror changed their tenure,
and laid the burden of a further service ori them. The
princes following increased these taxes. However, since

Its relation to the Ecclesiastical Establishment. 397
they still reached only, to a portion of the clergy, and a
part only of the revenues of this portion, various methods
were adopted to comprehend the general body. First,
the Pope laid a tax upon the Church for. the use of the
King; next, the Bishops, on extraordinary occasions,
obliged the clergy to grant a subsidy to the King by
way of a benevolence, which was done by means of
diocesan Councils, the clergy empowering therein, first
their respective Bishops, then their archdeacons, then
proctors of their own, to act for them.
Thus matters stood till about the reign of Edward
the First, who determined to put them on a securer
basis for the interests of the Crown. Accordingly, in
,1281, he, of his own authority, bade the two Archbishops
call a Council for raising subsidies " coram rege in par-
liamento." The superior clergy, alarmed at the conse
quences of a first step in an irifringeriient upon their
rights, refused to obey the summons ; and the Arch
bishop of Canterbury, to meet the wishes, of both
parties, changed the place of meeting so as to discon
nect it with the Parliament, while he obtained the grant
of the subsidy previously by means of diocesan Councils.
This was the first instance of the inferior clergy being
summoned to Parliament. * Twelve years afterwards,
Edward made a new and more systematic attempt.
On summoning his Parliament, he inserted a new clause
in the writs issued to the Bishops and prelates, which
has since been called, from its first word, the prcemuni
entes clause, by which he required them to cite such of
their inferior clergy to his Parliament as he therein speci
fied, who were to act for the whole body. Here then a
general representation of the clergy was introduced into
the National Council, and may be called, after Wake in
his learned work, (from which, with the assistance of

398 ''The Convocation of Canterbury.
Wilkins's Concilia, this account is compiled,) the Parlia
mentary Convention 'of the Clergy. From that time
down to the present day (unless any change has been
made since the date of Wake's book [1703]) the clergy
have always been summoned to the Parliament, and
accounted one of the three estates of the realm. This
writ of prcemunientes has been acted upon, since the
Reformation, in the church of York, at the end of
Henry the Eighth's reign ; in the church of Norwich,
in Elizabeth's ; in Lichfield, at the end of James the
First's ; in Lincoln, by the authority of Laud, 1640 ;
and, according to Burnet, by several bishops in 1701*
Nothing more was done in the reign of our first
Edward ; but in that of his grandson the clergy resisted.
They resolved they would not grant subsidies to the
King except in provincial Councils, both as disliking the
attendance in Parliament, and as hoping in this way to
have rriore liberty in refusing or lessening the burdens
which the King's necessities put upon them. Edward
was obliged to give way, and allow, these provincial
meetings instead of parliamentary ; securing, however,
their stated meeting, first, by continuing in terrorem the
prcemunientes clause in his parliamentary writ to the
Bishops ; and next, by the periodical issue of a second
writ to the Archbishop, formally bidding him to summon
them for the purpose of voting subsidies. This is what is
now called the Convocation of the Province, the nature
of which will easily be gathered from what has been said.
It is a kind of provincial Council, assembled (1) ori the
King's writ, (2) simultaneously in both provinces, (3) for
civil, not spiritual purposes, (4) composed, not merely of
* Wilkins (p. II, vol. i.) seems to say that the form of the prcemunientes
was disused after the Restoration. On the other hand vide Wake„ passim,
e.-g. Author, p. 253, and Burnet's History, vol. iii. pp. 389 — 395.

Its relation to. the Ecclesiastical Establishment. 399
Bishops and prelates, but of representatives of the body
of the clergy ; (5) commonly held with a reference to
the time of the meeting of Parliament : — But we must
go somewhat more into particulars here, both as to the
persons of whom the Convocation consists, and the
matters which have come under its cognizance.
As to its members, since a money -vote was the object
of the,meeting, it necessarily consisted of representatives
of the whole clergy. This system of representation had
been begun in the Legantine Councils, first held, by the
Pope's authority, in 1070, with the object of taxing the
clergy, in which the regulars were represented by their
abbots, etc., and the chapters by their deans, and after
wards by representatives chosen by themselves. The
same system obtained in the Convocation. Before the
date of its institution, the archdeacon is supposed to
have been the original representative of the parochial
clergy, in the occasional tax-meetings; but he was pre
sent in it in' his own. right, two proctors being added by
election of the clergy of each diocese to support their
interests. The members of the Convocation remain the
same to this day, (subtracting the abbots and, other pre
lates of the regulars who are extinct,) viz., the bishops,
'Jdeans, archdeacons, proctors for the chapters, and
proctors for the clergy, the Archbishop of the province
being president. It should be added, that they gra
dually formed themselves into several more or less
standing committees, — of, for instance,' regulars, and of
seculars, and of deans and archdeaconSj under the
Bishops, and then at last into two permanent
Houses, which has been the constitutional form of the
Convocation from a period earlier than; the Reforma
tion ; but on this subject I have already spoken at
length.

4°° The Convocation of Canterbury.
As to the subjects debated in the Convocation, though
the King's demand of a subsidy was the direct object of
their meeting, yet it was natural that other matters of
debate should be brought before it. Money-votes have
commonly been used as a fit introduction of grievances ;
a statement of these and petitions for redress were ac
cordingly added to the addresses, in which they con
veyed to their sovereign intelligence of the grants which
they had made him ; and here it was impossible to draw
the line between temporal and spiritual matters. Fur
ther, a meeting of the clergy was evidently a fit oppor
tunity for discussing and deciding among themselves
pure ecclesiastical questions; so that a meeting which
had been called as a mere Convocation, was continued
in the shape of a provincial Synod, the inferior clergy,
of course, falling back into that subordinate rank which
would be fitted to the change in the matter of their
deliberations, and, by so doing, preparirig the way for
the formation of a Lower House. Thus, by degrees,
ecclesiastical matters were altogether drawn into the
Convocation, and the provincial Synod fell into disuse.'
This was the condition of the Church, as regards her
greater Councils, in which the - Reformation found her.
At the commencement of it was passed, in Convocation,
the famous Act of Submission, to which allusion has
been made above, and of which I shall now give the
history. 3-
Henry VIII., of unblessed memory, was determined,
as Wake says, to " tie up the hands of the clergy, that
they might be unable to oppose his designs." With this
end he contrived to involve them all in a praemunire,
which lay against them for appearing in Wolsey's Synods

Its relation to the Ecclesiastical Establishment. 401
legantine unauthorized by the Crown, or for appearing
and making suit in Wolsey's courts, as it is variously
represented. Wolsey had been in such full possession
of Henry's favour, that to have resisted him would have
been to provoke the King's anger. He had been made
legate with the King's knowledge, and held, besides, the
great seal ; and, when he put his commands on the clergy
to appear before him, it was not for them to ask, or at
least they neglected to ask, whether he, the keeper of
the great seal, had an express license under that seal fpr
.what he commanded. However, by this mistake in a
matter of form, they incurred the loss of liberty and,
estate ; and Henry made: use of this their difficulty to
effect his purposes- against the Church. He refused to
pardon them unless they paid him ^100,000, and recog
nized him as her supreme Head. After some negotia
tion they submitted, and passed an Act in Convocation,
which was afterwards carried through Parliament, by
which the liberties of the Church (as far as they can be
lost) were lost for ever. They bound themselves by it,
first, not to meet in Convocation, without his authority ;
and next, lest, when he had called them together (as he
was obliged to do, from time to time, in order to obtain
their vote of subsidies) they should proceed to act syno-
dically in ecclesiastical matters, they promised henceforth
bnly to act according to his directions,— in other words,
not to attempt or make any canons or constitutions pro
vincial without the royal license to make and promulge
the same. This latter provision of the Act is the point
of debate between Wake and Atterbury ; in what follows
¦I have sided with Wake, as having the general judgment
of the seventeenth century in his favour.
The negotiations were of the following kind : —First
of all, the Commons complained to the King " that they
26

402 The Convocation of Canterbury.
(the clergy) made sanctions and laws of temporal things,
not having rior requiring the- King's royal' assent to the
same laws so by them made." The clergy answered,
that " they had this power of God, and could not submit
it to his authority ; that their authority of making laws
was grounded upon the scripture of God, and determi
nation of the Holy Church ; and, as concerning the re
quiring of the King's assent to the authorizing of such
laws as had been made by their predecessors, or should
be made by themselves, they doubted not but that the
King knew that to depend not upon their will and liberty,
who might not submit the execution of their charges and
duty, certainly prescribed by God, to his assent." They
added, however, some vague promise- of being guided by
the King's wish in their decisions. This answer (as may
be supposed) not satisfying King and Commons, new
forms were drawn up, and fresh debates held, how they
were to compound the matter with the King, yet give
up as little as might be.
First, they gave up the power oi publishing canons
without the King's, license, reserving to themselves the
power of making them. But here they made several
important limitations ; first, the canons spoken of must
relate to the laity ; next, they must not concern faith or
good manners, and the reformation and correction of sin ;
next, though they went so far as to offer, that they would
not enact, promulge, or execute any constitutions in
future, unless with his license, still this promise was
limited, in the Lower House, to the King's lifetime.
These admissions did,not satisfy Henry, and he drew up
a form himself for them, in which the clergy were to bind
themselves, first, never hereafter to meet in synod without
the King's writ ; and next, being assembled by it, never to
proceed by virtue bf authority of their own, or to make,

Its relation to the Ecclesiastical Establishment. 403
promulge, and execute canons, without the royal license
previously obtained. This promise, after some discus
sion and alteration, was passed, by Convocation, in the
following form : — " We, your most humble subjects, daily
orators and beadsmen of your clergy of England, having
our special trust and confidence in your most excellent
wisdom, your princely goodness, and fervent zeal to
the promotion of God's honour and Christian religion,
and also in your learning, far exceeding, in our judgment,
the learning of all other kings and princes that we have
read of, and doubting nothing but that the same shall
still continue arid daily increase in your majesty, first,
d.o offer and promise, in verbo sacerdotii, here unto your
highness, submitting ourselves most humbly to the same,
that we will never from henceforth enact, put in use,
promulge, or execute any new canons, or constitution
(provincial, or any new ordinance provincial or synodal
in our Convocation or synod in time coming, (which Con
vocation is always, hath been, and must be assembled
only by your high commandment or writ,) unless your
Highness, by your royal assent, shall license us to- as
semble our Convocation, and to make, promulge, and
execute such constitutions and ordinances as shall be
jmade in the same, and thereto give your royal assent
and authority," etc. , «
It will be observed, that this submission Pf the clergy,
ample as it is, does not go the length of binding the
successors pf the clergy making it, and it seems to limit
itself to the very mona'rch to whom it was made, by
speaking of his personal qualities and endowments ;
moreover, it was recalled in Convocation, in Mary's
time, and never renewed. However, it became the sub
ject of an Act of Parliament in Henry's, and afterwards
in Elizabeth's reign, and with a stronger wording, by that

4°4 The Convocation of Canterbury.
Act (with the penalty oi praemunire to enforce it) are the
clergy at present bound.
Thus stood the relations between Church and State
till 1664, the Church being willing to remain in a subjec
tion which the King never abused to heir spiritual detri
ment. On the Restoration, a change was silently made
by Sheldon and Clarendon, which was scarcely favour
able to her interests. It. will be observed, that the sole
remaining safeguard which she possessed against the
tyranny of the State, was ' the power of granting subsi
dies, which gave her a hold of some sort over the earthly
masters she had taken to her, " when the Lord was her
king." This power gave to Convocation importance,
and eventually prevented any attempt at suppressing it.
At the era in question, the clergy, impoverished by the '
recent troubles, felt severely the weight of the subsidies
required of them, and perceived (as was really the case)
that they paid for their privilege by contributing to the
State in a larger proportion than other subjects. An
arrangement was agreed upon, in spite of a protest from
Heylin against it, between the Bishops and the Commons,
by which two subsidies, which the clergy had just voted,
were remitted to them, while, on the other hand, they
were sub silentio, and without formal statute, compre
hended in the wording of the money-bills passed in
Parliament. The first public Act on this subject was a
Tax Act of 1665' (16-17 Car. IJ. cap. -1), which includes
the clergy, discharging them from subsidies, with a
saving clause as to their right of taxing themselves,
which has never since been exercised. The clergy, on
the other hand, soon acknowledged the arrangement by
exercising the right of voting in the elections of the
Commons, which before was forbidden them, as now it
is forbidden peers of Parliament. Burnet speaks of this

Its relation to the Ecclesiastical Establishment. 405
right, as generally admitted, in a pamphlet, published
as early as 1700, and it is assumed in two subsequent
Acts of Parliament, 10 Anne, cap. 23, and 18 George II.,
cap. 18. "Gibson, Bishop of London," observes Speaker
Onslow (in a note contained in the last Oxford edition of
Burnet's History), " told me that this (the taxing out of
Convocation) was the greatest alteration in the constitu
tion ever made without an express law." It is remark
able that (according to Warburton) the clergy had as
silently both become and ceased to be an estate in
Parliament 300 or 400 years before.
The Church soon began to feel the alarming position
in which she had allowed herself to be placed. In 1675,
and then in 1677, addresses from the Lords were pre
sented to the throne, praying for the frequent meetings of
the Convocation, which (as Mr. Hallam justly observes)
probably proceeded from the Bishops, and shows their
dissatisfaction with the existing state of things. They
were not allowed, however, to feel or express their regrets
for any long time. The Revolution which soon followed,
" glorious " as it has ever been considered in its political
-effects, was fatal to the remaining liberties of the Church.
William completed what Henry had begun. Nine of
her Bishops were sentenced to deposition by a prince
who had just ceased to be a Presbyterian, and its Con
vocation shortly after expired, except as a matter of
form, while endeavouring to raise its voice against the
doctrines of Hoadley.

406

5-
Relation of Convocation to the . Crown.
THE third and last question I proposed' to consider
relative to the Convocation was as to the civil
governor's de facto and dejure power over it; a large
subject indeed, requiring a depth of thought and an
accuracy pf historical knowledge which cannot be ex
pected in such papers as I am presenting to the reader.
Asking then his indulgence for all defects in my mode
of handling it, I will, in return, give him more in one
respect than I -engaged to do — viz., some account of the
State's power over the English Church generally, not
merely over the Convocation. To this undertaking I now
address myself, and shall so bring my papers to an end.
I.
The King's power over the Church is popularly con
veyed in the title ," Head of the Church," which has
become a familiar phrase. • It is a title, however, unknown
'as I believe) to the Law at present, having been assumed
by Henry, but abandoned by Elizabeth. This would
not be worth noticing, except that it is usual, with many
persons, to assume it is of authority, and to proceed to
deduce conclusions from it ; for instance, " the King is
head of the Churchy and therefore he may alter the
liturgy ; " whereas it is but a generalized term, the sign
and symbol of certain defined and specific prerogatives
which belong to him, such as the power of appointing

Relation of Convocation to the Crown. 407
bishops. It is not correct to say, " The King appoints
the bishops because he is head of the Church ; " rather, he is
head of the Church because he appoints the bishops, etc.
The simplest answer to such confused statements is to
draw attention tp the parallel supremacy of the King in
civil matters. He is head of the State ;- yet no one dreams
that he may therefore interfere with the constitutional
rights of its separate members and functionaries.
With this caution, however, the title of Head will
express -the relation of the King to the Church, better,
perhaps, than any other. The recognized constitutional
title, and that which comes nearest to it, is "Supreme
Governor ; " but this, as. we shall directly see, neither
includes of necessity his appointment of the bishops, in
which he commonly is said to act as the representative
of the laity, nor his extensive church patronage, which
is held on the same tenure with other patrons, though it
is so great as to be virtually a coristituent portion of his
power. The very vagueness of the term Head is its
recommendation. .
I confine myself here, however, to the consideration
of the supremacy, which is a supremacy of jurisdiction.
The King is supposed to call the Church into being, that
is, to develop that member of it existing in his own
dominions, which is only in posse till he makes it actual ;
and, therefore, he claims to have authority over all its
movements. In the 26 Henry VIII., the King is said to
have " power to visit, repress, reform, order, etc., all such
errors, heresies, abuses, etc., which by any manner of
spiritual authority or jurisdiction ought to be visited ; "
and, in 37 Henry VIII., that ecclesiastical persons, such
as archbishops, have " no manner of jurisdiction ecclesi
astical, but by, under, and from him, to whom, by Holy
Scripture, all authority and power is wholly given to

4°8 The convocation of canterbury.
hear and determine all manner of causes ecclesiastical,
and to correct vice and sin whatsoever."
This power is claimed in more accurate language
in the instrument under which Cranmer exercised his
episcopate in Edward's time, as given in Burnet's His
tory. (Part ii., book i, Records.) In this document^ the
King declares that "omnis juris dicendi auctoritas atque
etiam jurisdictio omnimodo, turn ilia quae ecclesiastica
dicijur, quam saecularis, a regii potestate, velut a supremo
tapite ac omnium magistratuum infra regnum nostrum
fonte et scaturigine, primitus emanaverit."
2.
This being a general account of the Supremacy, let
us consider it under the two heads of executive and juri
dical. i. Executive j. and here I shall confine myself to the
King's acts from Henry's time to the accession of the
Hanoverians, not, however, professing to do more than
approximate to a complete list of them.
(i) Henry's first act of pure Supremacy was in 1536.
In all that went before he had had the concurrence of
the Convocations ; but, at this time, Cromwell published
injunctions about Religion in his name, Cranmer (as it is
believed) being the writer of them. These enforced upon
all incumbents the reading in church of a declaration
against the Pope, and in behalf of the King's Supremacy,
confirmed the Articles lately set forth by the Convocation,
forbade the superstitious use of relics, etc., and gave sun
dry directions relative to education, charities, temporali
ties, etc. Shortly before this, Henry had given orders
for the translation of the Bible, but this was at the petition
of the Convocation. ¦ A more remarkable proceeding of
the same year, though still with the sanction of the Con-

Relation of Convocation to the Crown. 409
vocation, was his interfering in the drawing up and
correction of the Articles of Religion, published at that
time. (2) Fresh injunctions were issued out in the King's
name in 1538, calling upon the parochial clergy to pro
vide their churches with the English Bible, to instruct
their people in the true Gospel, to remove images which
had been abused by superstition, to observe holydays
and their eves according to the directions set forth, to
omit the commemoration of St. Thomas of Canter
bury, etc.
(3) In 1539, the King bade the House of Lords appoint
a committee of Bishops for framing Articles of Religion.
Eight were noihinated in consequence, but could not ,
agree. Upon this, six articles were proposed and carried
in the House by the Duke of Norfolk, thence passed
through the Commons, and lastly received the royal
assent, without the Convocation being consulted in the
matter, and the Archbishop voting in opposition.
(4) In 1540, a committee of divines was appointed by
the King, and confirmed in Parliament, to draw up a
declaration of the Christian faith, for the necessary erudi
tion of a Christian man. Some time afterwards, the King
prefixed to their Report, which took the shape of a book,
a Declaration requiring all his people to read and impress
upon their minds the doctrine contained in it. In the
same year, another commission of Bishops was appointed '
to examine the rites and ceremonies of the Church, and
to draw up a ritual of worship.
(5) In . 1 542, the examination of the English version of
the Bible, which had begun in Convocation, was taken out
of its hands by the King, and committed to the two
Universities. And, in 1 544, he gave orders for the trans
lation of the prayers for processions and litanies into

410 The Convocation of Canterbury.
English, and sent directions to Cranmer to see to its
use all over his province.
(6) Edward the Sixth's reign , commenced with a
general ecclesiastical visitation, which, during jts con
tinuance, suspended all episcopal jurisdiction throughout
England. The majority of the commissioners appointed
were laymen. Homilies were drawn up and published
for general use, and preachers attended the visitors on
the same authority.
(7) In the second year of Edward, a committee of
select Bishops and divines was appointed for reforming
the sacred offices ; and the result of their labours
was passed through Parliament. And thus the Ordina
tion Service was drawn up by a committee of Bishops
and divines, named by the King, at the instance of an
Act of Parliament. And several years after, a new
Catechism was set forth for the use of schoolmasters by
the King's letters patent.
(8) Elizabeth put forth injunctions, in 1559, on the
subject of -supremacy, superstition, simony, and the like.
She also re-enacted the Book of Common Prayer, which,
in Mary's reign, had been discarded ; doing this without
authority of Convocation.
(9) In the reign of James the First, the conference at
Hampton Court, the order for the new translation of the
Bible, and the proclamation about sports and recreations,
were all acts of the King, without the formal sanction of
the Church.
(10) Such, moreover, were Charles the First's direc
tions to preachers about the Arminian points. And in
the same spirit were that religious King's instructions to
Archbishops Abbot and Laud,and Laud's annual report
of his province, in consequence.
(1 1) Charles the Second, in 1661, granted a commission

Kelation of Convocation id the Crown. 4 1 1
to a number of Bishops and clergy tp review the Book of
Common Prayer, which was the occasion of the Savoy
Conference. In the next year, he published his directions
against seditious, predestinarian, and irregular sermons,
and in behalf of the due observance of the Lord's day.
(12) William, in' 1689, during Sancroft's suspension,
addressed a letter to the Bishop of London, calling upon
the Bishops to be careful in their examination of candi
dates for Orders, and exhorting the clergy to be diligent
in their duties, and earnest in enforcing the social vir
tues. Several years after, he published injunctions con
cerning ordinations, residence, pluralities, public prayers,
the Lord's day, etc., and, soon after, directions concern
ing preaching on the doctrine of the Trinity.
(13) Lastly, George the First published, like William,
directions on the subject last mentioned, and in main
tenance of the King's power.
(14) It should be added that the four State Services, are
imposed on authority of the Kirig, not of the Church.
Now, before summing up the prerogatives contained in
this list of precedents, I would observe that some of them
have been actually superseded by subsequent precedents
of an opposite nature ; for instance, Articles of Religion,
which were first imposed by Henry's command, were, in
the reign of Elizabeth, regularly passed in Convocation.
This was an acknowledgment of the Church's right, and
of the informality of Henry "s proceedings, while it is a
final precedent, and settles the point, for all future times.
Again, the liturgy, which, in Elizabeth's time, was im
posed by Act of Parliament, was sanctioned in Convo
cation at the Restoration-; which would not have been
done, had not the Church's consent been necessary. In
like manner, the Canons of 1603, passed in Convocation,
take the place of the irregular State Injunctions of the

4 ! 2 The Convocation of Canterbury.
preceding century. And the High Commission Court,
which was the organ of the most exceptionable exercise
of the King's power — viz., that of Visitation independent
of ecclesiastical functionaries, and even in the case of
heresy, etc. — was abolished in Charles the Second's
reign. As to the violent act of William,, by which
nine bishops, including the primate, were marked for
deprivation, (a sentence which was executed on all who
survived to endure it,) I have not noticed it, because it is
evidently a mere part ofthe Revolution itself, which has
always been confessedly considered to be an extreme
case, and such as ought never to be cited as a precedent
for future acts of usurpation. ,
The prerogatives which remain (even supposing the
above acts valid as precedents) are as follows : — i. That of
appointing commissions of divines for diverse purposes, for
instance, translating scriptures, compiling a liturgy, and
framing articles of faith ; 2. Qf sending directions to the
clergy on the matter of their sermons, whether doctrinal
or ecclesiastical ; 3. Of appointing State prayers ; 4. Of
addressing t,he, people, through the clergy, on various
subjects ; as, for instance, the royal Supremacy, educa
tion, charities, temporalities, ceremonies, and hplydays.
To these powers must be added, the most important
prerogative, 5,. Of appointing the Bishops ; and thus the
account of the executive power of the King "over the
Church will be complete. 3-
2. Next, as to his juridical power. It is this which is
more formally called his Supremacy, consisting chiefly
in his presidency in all spiritual courts, and his jurisdic
tion over Convocation. And here, in order to explain
the province and limits of this prerogative, it will be

Relation of Convocation to the Crown. 413
necessary to give some account of the principle on
which the Supremacy over the Church is granted to
him. It is plain that, though our ecclesiastical system is
based upon invisible sanctions, it can scarcely be realized
in any country without permission from the civil power.
The Apostles, indeed, to show their immediate commis
sion from above, asked no earthly aid ; and, indeed,
because there was no chance of obtaining it, for St. Paul
was not backward to avail himself of his existing privi
lege of Roman citizenship on fit occasions. It is certain
all attempts to gain the civil power would have been un
availing, at first ; and Christians were obliged, by gain
ing influence and credit in the world, to show that they
were worthy of State protection, before they obtained it.
As soon as the chance of recognition on the part of the
State appeared, they were not slow to apply for it ; and
by the middle of the third century they had, on one
occasion, employed the Roman power in the defence of
their temporalities. This was, in a certain way, acknow
ledging the State's interference in Church matters ; for
such a patronage necessarily implied, as its practical
correlative, a certain claim of jurisdiction. This, then, is
the principle which was publicly avowed and established
at the era of the Reformation — the duty of the Church
to ask leave of the State (where it could obtain it) to
perform its functions, and its protection by the State,
and its subjection to the State, thence resulting.
The essential parts of the Church system are few ; its
elementary functions may be discharged this way or
that, according to circumstances. The exact influence
of the laity in elections, synods, etc., the form, times,
and circumstances of synods, the size of dioceses, the
character or the adoption of monastic institutions,

414 The Convocation of Canterbury.
' chapters, and the; like, the celibacy or non-celibacy of
the clergy — all these, being but developments of the
essential Church element, may well vary according to the
country in which that element is found. In other words,
the State has practically the power of calling out into
existenee, this way or that way, the latent energies of
the apostolical ministry ; and so far forth as it does so
call them out, so far as it- recognizes, protects, privileges
them by Law, in the same degree does it claim a juris
diction and superintendence over its own work. Such,
for instance, in England are the Spiritual Courts, in which
the King presides ; such, in a measure, is Convocation,
over which he has kept his hand ; such the temporali
ties of the Sees, which, converting the episcopate into
"the high state of prelacy," may be supposed to give
him the right of appointing the Bishops. The essence
itself of the Church, the Apostolical element, as it may
be called, is not in his power ; the ministry of the Word
and Sacraments is given to those only whom God
especially calls. The developments, again, of this are
not . necessarily in his power. ' The Church may not
choose to mould itself precisely after the State's design ;
while its institutions are unrecognized by Law, they re
main apostolical, but as soon as it determines that they
shall assume that particular mould to which the State has
annexed protection and support, at once they become of
a semi-civil nature, or what are commonly called (in the
language of the Constitution) spiritual. To illustrate
what I mean, the King has power over the Convocation,
which is a "spiritual" court and assembly; I conceive
he has none over the provincial or diocesan Synod, as
being (I suppose) an institution unknown to the Law.
Were the Archbishop to hold a metropolitan Council, its
decisions indeed would not. possess the sanction of civil

Relation of Convocation to the Crown. 415
authority, but at the same time the civil power would
have no jurisdiction over it. This, at least, will do to
illustrate an important distinction. The King has juris
diction over the Church only so far as he may be sup
posed to have called its system into existence and
actually sustains it.
And if he has a recognized influence upon it, con
sidered . merely as the magistrate well disposed towards
it, much more really is he its governor, considered as
a Christian prince. In this light h'e is the father of his
subjects, a natural priest ordained of God ; and, as the
head of a family is bound to superintend the instruction
of his children and servants, so the King has a sort of
patriarchal power over the Bishops and clergy. This
power is beautifully illustrated in those reports of Laud
to King Charles, with the . latter's notes upon them, of
which I have already spoken ; and it will justify, in some
sort, many of those injunctions, directions, and the like,
of Henry, Elizabeth, or William, — which most nearly
resemble encroachments upon proper Church authority.
But, after all, the distinction above drawn between apos
tolical and mere "spiritual" or " ecclesiastical" functions
holds throughout. 4.
Our history sanctions this view of the subject, which I 1
have deduced from the nature of the case; as I now
proceed to show : —
, In the first place, I refer to the very instrument above
spoken of, in which Edward claims ecclesiastical juris
diction ; for it explicitly professes, at the same time, to
bestow on Cranmer something additional to his apos
tolical power, " per [praeter] et ultra ea quse tibi ex sacris
literis divinitus commissa esse dignoscuntur." To the
same purpose is the '' Declaration made of the function

4 1 6 The Convocation of Canterbury.
and divine institution of Bishops' and Priests ", (Burnet's
History., part i, addenda v.), subscribed by Cromwell,
Henry's minister in ecclesiastical matters, by Cranmer,
the Archbishop of York, eleven other bishops, and others;
in which the power of the keys and other Church functions
are formally separated from the civil jurisdiction, that is,
the apostolical from the spiritual power; and such also the
judgment of eight bishops, of whom Cranmer is the first,
Concerning the King's Supremacy (Record x.),. in which
it is asserted that the Church's commission is founded,
not on princes' power, but on the Word of God, while
they confess that that divine commission does not
impart civil power over princes, or make the Church .
independent of them in civil matters, but that she is in
the same position towards the State as Christ was ¦ on
earth, a subject yet witbsupematural powers. In further
explanation, it may be observed, that Bonner took out
the same commission for his bishopric from Henry as
Cranmer did from Edward, clearly showing (from the
concession of a Romanist) that it was merely a com
mission for exercising jurisdiction, parallel to the
license which the dissenter, at this day, purchases to
exercise the privilege of preaching.
Further, the nature of the King's Supremacy is ex
plained in our 37th Article, (which, be it observed, is
part of an Act of Parliament,) in a sense quite accordant
to that which I have been unfolding, viz. — "that only
prerogative which we see to have been given always
to all godly princes in holy scripture by God Himself," —
viz., to rule all estates of men, and to use the civil sword.
It is plain, from this account of the Supremacy, 1, that it
has no reference to the apostolical powers ofthe Church;
for no one pretends, with the instances of Uzziah and
Jeroboam before us, that the Jewish 'kings had right of

Relation of Convocation to the Crown. 4.1 7
interfering with the priesthood ; 2, it is only granted to
"godly," that is, Christian princes, though Henry, indeed,
seemed to make it inherent in the kingly office. There can
be no doubt, then, that the oath of Supremacy, in which
we swear that the King is " supreme' governor, as well in ,
all spiritual or ecclesiastical things or causes as temporal,"
must be interrupted by this 37th Article, that is, as having
no reference to our apostolical rights and powers.
But the history of the beginning of Elizabeth's reign
puts this matter in a still clearer light. The Act of
Henry VIII., in which the title of "supreme head of
the Church " was given to the sovereign, and which had
been' repealed by Mary, was not revived; "supreme
governor" being substituted for it, in the enactment
of that oath which is observed to this day. " This was
\ done," says Burnet (part 2, book iii.), " to mitigate the
opposition of the popish party ; but, besides, the Queen
/herself had a scruple about it." Leslie, who refers to
this passage, adds, (Case ofthe Regale, p. 9,) "the same
bishop in his- travels, letter-i. from Zurich, quotes a letter
of Bishop. Jewel's to Bullinger, dated May 22, 1559,
wherein he writes 'that the Queen refused to be called
Head of the Church,' and adds, ' that that title could not
be justly given to any mortal. '"
Moreover, it will be observed, that the 37th Article
refers to Elizabeth's Injunctions in explanation of its
meaning. These clearly set before us the drift of the
doctrine of the Supremacy, as, it has been held in law
ever since Elizabeth's time, whatever extravagant and im
pious notions Henry may at any time have entertained
1 about it — viz., to secure the kingdom against foreign inter-#
ference, not to restrain home apostolical authority. "Then
followed," — I quote from Burnet, (part 2, book iii.) —
" an explanation of the oath of Supremacy, in which the
27 >

41 8 The Convocation of Canterbury.
Queen declared that she did not pretend to any authority
for the ministering divine service in the Church, and that
all that she challenged was, that which had at all times
belonged to the imperial Crown of England) that she
had the sovereignity and rule over all manner of persons
under God, so that no foreign power had any rule over
them" Indeed, this comment upon the sense of the
words is inserted in the latter part of the oath itself.
" Primate Usher," says Leslie, " gave the. same ex
planation of it, in a speech at the council-table at Dublin,
upon occasion of some magistrates there, who refused the
said oath; and King James sent him a letter of thanks
and approbation of his speech, both which are in print.
And none of our succeeding kings or parliaments have
given any other explanation of it, or required that it
should be, taken in any other sense, but all along refer
to these." Gibson might be quoted to the same effect.
And, lastly, this is, in the main, Burnet's view, who
cannot be accused of allowing too much independence
to the Church. In a controversial pamphlet on the sub
ject of our Reformation, which he published in Holland
in 1688, he says — "It is a very unreasonable thing to
urge some general expressions" '(alluding to the pream
bles introduced into some of the parliamentary Acts
of Henry;) or some stretches of the royal Supremacy, and
not to consider that more strict explanation that was
made of it, both in King Henry the Eighth's time and
under Queen Elizabeth. ... In King Henry's time,
the extent of the King's Supremacy was defined in the
Necessary Erudition of a Christian man, that was set forth
as the standard ofthe doctrine ofthe time ; and it was upon
'this that all people were obliged to take their measures, not
upon some expressions, either in Acts of Parliament'or Acts
of Convocation, nor upon some stretches ofthe King 's juris- •

Relation of Convocation to the Crown. 419
diction. In this, then, it is plainly said, that with relation
to the clergy the King is ' to oversee them, and cause that
they execute their pastoral office truly and faithfully,
and especially in those points which by Christ and
His Apostles were committed to them.' " This is that
patriarchal power which I have spoken of. "And to
this it is added, ' that Bishops and priests are bound to
obey all the King's laws, not being contrary to the laws
of God.' •. . . The other reserve is also made of ' all
that authority which was committed by Christ and His
Apbstles to the Bishops and priests! And we are not
ashamed to own it freely, that we see no other reserves
upon our obedience to the King besides these. So that,
these being here specified, there was an unexceptionable
declaration made of the extent oi the King's Supremacy.
Yet, because the term ' Head of the Church ' had some
thing in it that seemed harsh, there was yet a more
express declaration made of this matter under Queen
- Elizabeth. . . . This explanation," [that is, that which
is in our Articles,] "must be considered as the true
measure of the king's Supremacy ; and the wide ex
pressions in the former laws must be understood to be
restrained by this, since posterior laws derogate from
those that were first made. . . . This is all that supre
macy which we- are bound in conscience to own ; and
if the letter of the law, or the stretches of that in the
administration of it, have carried this further, we are
not at all concerned in it. "But in case any such thing
were made out, it could amount to no more than this,
that the civil power had made some encroachments on
ecclesiastical authority ; but, the submitting to an oppression,
and bearing it till some better times may deliver us from it,
is no argument against our church ; on the contrary, it is
a proof of pur temper and patience" etc.

420 The Convocation of Canterbury.
5-
To conclude ; it would seem, on the whole, that the
¦Royal Supremacy may be viewed under the following
aspects : —
I. As the prerogative of governing the Church exter
nally, that is, ruling all the members of it in civil matters,
claiming their obedience, to the exclusion of all foreign
jurisdiction ; and this is the prerogative of every govern
ment, as such, whether heathen or Christian. Vide
Canon I, of, 1663.
' 2. A prerogative of interfering in Church matters,
"in ecclesiastical causes," appointing functionaries, di
recting usages, providing liturgies, etc., — which is only
exercised by the King as Christian, and exercised on two
grounds, first, because he allows the Church's jurisdic
tion in his kingdom, and creates " prelacy," authoritative
courts, and the like ; and next, because, by his patriar
chal power, he has. a claim upon the confidence and
devotion of the, Church. Vide Canon 2, of 1603 ; agree
ably to which is the judgment of the Eight Bishops
already referred to, which declares, that " in case the
Bishops be negligent, it is the Christian prince's office.
to see them do their duty." '
3. The King has not the power (1) of bestowing the
ministerial commission, as is plain from Henry and
Edward's words, in granting license to Bonner and
Cranrtier, " ultra ea quae tibi divinitus," etc. ; (2) of
ministering the sacraments,' vide Art. 37; (3) of ex-
do mmunicating, vide the Declaration subscribed by
Crofnwell ; (4) of ministering the Word, (in which, of
course, the making Articles, etc., is included,) videArt. 37.
4 There a,re a number of details in which the extent
of the Supremacy is undetermined — for instance, the
King's power of depriving bishops, of creating or destroy-

Relation of Convocation to the Crown. 42 1
ing bishoprics, etc. Judge Hales, indeed, places all
these matters absolutely in the Crown ; " the prescrib
ing who shall be a bishop, the extent of his diocese,
the circumscription of him, under pain of contempt, to
act his powers of order within those limits." But here
the instances, which Hales gives, impair his rule, for the
prescribing who shall be bishop is not " inherent in the
Crown," inasmuch as the Chapter has the right of elec
tion. And this, indeed, may be observed generally, that
in these details of jurisdiction the Church has, for the
most part, a concurrent voice, even where the Crown
has the initiative. Thus the Chapter must elect, when
the King recommends to a bishopric ; the Bishop must
institute to a living; and so of induction, confirmation,
installation, etc I mean that, letting alone the aposto
lical powers of the Church, Ordination, etc., even in (so
called) ecclesiastical or spiritual matters, that is, in those
peculiar institutions which, in the words of the Ordination
Service, "this Church and realm has received," the Church
has a concurrence in the act's of jurisdiction exercised
by the civil power. . And this consideration throws some
light on the state of the law in such cases of jurisdiction
as are not clearly determined by the letter of it, for in
stance, the union of dioceses.
Lastly, I have, no wish to contend that the existing
state of the law is, in every part, as consistent as the
theory of it is just.' For instance, the power of excom
munication lies in the Spiritual Courts, of which the King
is the head ; which is as great an anomaly as though he
was invested with the power of Ordination. Warburton,,
indeed, defends it ; but he seems to have made his theory
with a view to fit on to the existing state of our law,
not upon any religious and philosophical basis.

3154