Chapter XXIII: The Churches of Cambridge 294 (3)

During the Commonwealth Richard Love* was Master, and was also Dean of Ely as long as deaneries were suffered to exist. At the Restoration, Peter Gunning became master for a year, and then passed to St John’s. Gunning’s part in Church History is well known, and his short residence may be esteemed an honourable item in the history of the college. Seven years after his time, another scholar of repute became master, John Spencer (* Van der Myn), Dean of Ely, and author of a book _De Legibus Hebraeorum_. Corpus has always been rich in ecclesiastics. It produced a second Archbishop of Canterbury in Thomas Tenison* who is famous for his interest in education and his benefactions to schools. In the next generation another Primate, Thomas Herring,* came from Corpus. An Archbishop of York belonging to the foundation was Richard Sterne, afterwards Master of Jesus and grandfather of the great sentimentalist. Matthias Mawson,* master from 1724 to 1744, was elevated in 1740 to the Bishoprick of Chichester and translated in 1754 to Ely. On the other hand, Samuel Wesley was also at Corpus, so that modern Methodism, the creation of his famous sons, may look with reverence upon the college.

The Master’s Lodge contains a very complete series of portraits, but the later masters are none of them very noticeable. It cannot be said that the heads of houses during the early part of the present century were interesting beings, although they themselves were not without positive convictions on the point. Dr John Lamb (* Sir W. Beechey), was master from 1822 to 1850, and supplemented his office with the Deanery of Bristol. His mastership was signalised by the entire rebuilding of the college under William Wilkins. Whether the copy of Raffaelle’s School of Athens (attributed to Poussin) which this radical builder presented to the college is sufficient compensation for the damage inflicted in a matter of doubt. The present buildings have nourished some excellent scholars. Of living celebrities the three brothers Perowne may be mentioned—Bishop, Master, and Archdeacon. The portrait of Dr E. H. Perowne in the Hall is by Rudolph Lehmann; that of his brother, the Bishop of Worcester, is by the Hon. John Collier. The late librarian, Samuel S. Lewis (* Brock) was a world-wide authority on gems. His collection, containing many of the finest engraved gems existing, now belongs to the college, forming a treasure little inferior to Archbishop Parker’s manuscripts. And, turning to the religious memories of Corpus, no one who appreciates a life of entire self-sacrifice and devotion will fail to pay a tribute to the portrait of Thomas Ragland, Fellow of the College, and missionary to Tinnevelly. It will be seen that the history of Corpus is throughout almost entirely ecclesiastical, and it is still a favourite college for undergraduates who wish to proceed to Holy Orders. Among its latest honours has been the elevation of its librarian, Dr Harmer, to the Bishoprick of Adelaide. Although one of the smaller foundations, its priceless collections give Corpus an importance second to that of very few colleges, while the unique history of its foundation singles it out from the rest.

IX

KING’S COLLEGE

Henry VI. is the most famous of the founders of colleges in Cambridge, but his plan has been adhered to least of all. King’s has gone through several vicissitudes. The magnificent chapel stood south, not north, of the original college. That college was to have consisted of four courts; the fourth was to be on the other side of the river, and a covered bridge was to lead to it, as to the present fourth court of St John’s. As at Wykeham’s Oxford College, with which King’s has so many points of resemblance, the west end of the chapel was to be supplemented with cloisters and an ample tower. Only one court was built, which now is part of the University Library. The college has been transferred to the other side of the chapel, and consists of a scattered series of more or less modern buildings. From some points of view, the change is to be regretted, but, had it not been made, we should have lost the unique view of King’s and Clare from the Backs, which disputes the honours of Cambridge with the Trinity lime walk.

King’s Chapel was very nearly a century in building. Henry VI. laid its foundation stone on July 25th, 1446, and the workmen continued at it till 1479 or thereabout. Edward IV. gave £1000 towards it, but the works lay idle till 1508, when Henry VII. came forward with £5000. Another £5000 was paid over by his executors in 1513, and in 1515 the chapel stood for the first time as it stands now. The stained glass was added under two contracts, one bearing date 1516, the second 1526. In 1536 the screen and most of the stalls were added, and in 1774 Essex spoiled the east end with some inferior Gothic wood carving, which, fortunately, has lately been removed.

This is the history of the main fabric. As a building, its faults are shared in common by all its contemporaries. It is possible to accuse King’s Chapel of monotony, and it must be confessed that its constant repetition of the same ornaments all over its surface shows a lack of invention. But it may be said without any doubt that no building raised in Europe after 1500 is so pure a specimen of Gothic as this; and, with all its faults, and especially its strong tendency to mere bigness, it stands first in beauty among those of our churches which are not cathedrals—that is, after Westminster Abbey. The exterior, with its corner turrets, its row of tall windows, its flanking chantries and its immense buttresses, is simple in design and gorgeous in execution. The north and south porches, which are exceptionally good for their date, afford a certain relief from the general sameness. Internally, the charm of the general effect is extraordinary, and every Cambridge man must have felt it at some time or other. Its length is 316 feet, its breadth 45½ feet, its height 78 feet; and this vast area is flooded with the exquisite colours of the stained windows. Even the roof, an unbroken expanse of that development of vaulting known as fan tracery, must give the palm to the windows. Without its stained glass, King’s Chapel would be, like the Lady Chapel at Ely, merely an interesting relic. As it is, it is the rival of Fairford as the possessor of the most complete set of windows of the Renaissance period in England. Indeed, it would be difficult to find their parallel anywhere. Troyes is full of glass of the period, and, intrinsically, the windows of one of its churches, St Martin-ès-Vignes, are of equal interest, although much later. For depth of colour and systematic treatment these cannot be matched. They form a connected exposition of the Gospel History, proceeding by type and antitype from the conception of the Blessed Virgin, through the life of Our Lord and the apostolic history to the Virgin’s death. In each window there is an isolated figure or “messenger” between the compartments, who bears a scroll with an appropriate Latin text. Thus the windows embodied the whole plan of salvation, showing the type, the prophecy and the fulfilment. They culminate, in the east window, in the central fact of the Crucifixion. The west window, representing, in accordance with general custom, the Last Judgment, is modern (Clayton and Bell) and is in very fair, although far from complete harmony with the older glass. The merit of the latter is not sustained all through, and the windows on the south side, nearest the altar, are coarsely treated in comparison with the rest.[3] Mr C. E. Kempe is at present restoring the windows dealing with the lives of Joachim, Anna, and the Blessed Virgin, which suffered from the enemies of so-called popery.

There are a thousand things to notice other than the windows. I have mentioned the roof. To understand its construction it is necessary to pay a visit to the space between the roofs, where the whole skeleton of the vaulting is to be seen and its wonderful engineering appreciated. The woodwork of the chapel is good, especially the screen, a very fine and graceful example of that Italian style which filtered into England through the court of Francis I. It bears the love-knot and twisted initials of Henry VIII. and Anne Boleyn. The organ-case upon it belongs to 1606; the organ itself was built eighty years later by Renatus Harris, but has been almost entirely renewed since. The canopies of the choir-stalls are only a little older than the organ, and look best at a distance. Then there is the stone-carving in the antechapel, where the great coats-of-arms and supporters, the rose and portcullis of Henry VII. are repeated over and over again. Lastly, in the series of chantries there are one or two interesting brasses. Provost Hacombleyn’s chantry, on the south side, commemorates the provost who gave the beautiful lectern. He died in 1528, and is buried here. The window contains some good old glass; a portrait of Henry VI. and two pictures of Our Lady and St Nicholas of Myra, who are the patrons of the chapel. In the centre of the chantry is the altar tomb of Lord Blandford, only son of the great Duke of Marlborough. He died here in 1703.

For two hundred years after the completion of the chapel, the old northern court sufficed. To the south of the chapel was the Provost’s Lodge, which stood against the last bay, and, with other college buildings, bordered the western side of King’s Parade. In 1724 James Gibbs began the present buildings with his beautiful classical pile, which runs at right angles to the chapel from near its south-west corner. Fellows’ Building is in Gibbs’ best manner. It is an extremely plain building, with a rusticated basement and a great central opening, which runs through the first two stories and cuts into the third. This may be thought an unnecessary intrusion, but Gibbs had dispensed with an order throughout the building, and some relief was imperative. At any rate, the chief defect of this part of King’s is its hideous chimney-stacks, which are only too visible from the street.

Just a century later William Wilkins, who was rearing marvellous edifices in the Gothic mode, was let loose on King’s. He began with the space opposite the chapel, and built the long row which includes the Hall, Combination Room, Library, Provost’s Lodge, and several sets of rooms. This row begins at King’s Parade and continues past the southern end of Gibbs’ Building to within a short distance of the river—nearly 200 yards of supremely bad imitation Gothic. In this range of buildings the Hall is the only one which attracts much attention. It is large and gloomy, with a gallery at each end, and an elaborate plaster roof copied from Crosby Hall. Sir Robert Walpole has the place of honour above the high table, but there are very few portraits, and the best is that of the late Henry Bradshaw, University Librarian. Wilkins was not satisfied with his undertaking. In 1828 he proceeded to lay King’s open to the road. The old Lodge was taken down, and a Gothic screen thrown across from the New Building to the south-east corner of the chapel. In the middle of this is the gateway, famous under many nicknames. To say that this fanciful structure is ugly is not strictly true: it has a very distinguished air about it, but it belongs decidedly to the era of the Brighton Pavilion. It would be appropriate in any country but England, and under any other name but Gothic.

Sir Gilbert Scott added the small court known as Chetwynd Court some forty years later. Its eastern side follows King’s Parade in a line with the end of Wilkins’ Building, and the face opposite Free School Lane is adorned with a statue of Henry VIII. Scott was too conservative and kept to Wilkins’ style too much; the result is not very successful. It was reserved for Mr G. F. Bodley to build the beautiful river court, which was completed on two sides in 1893. Bodley’s Building is the architectural success of Cambridge in the present century, and compares very well with the same artist’s court at Magdalen College, Oxford. Its style is late fifteenth century: it consists of a ground-floor, two stories, and a gabled attic. The corner-staircase and the oriel of the south side are the chief features, for the use of ornament is very sparing. The rose and portcullis are introduced in places, and on the western end, which drops into the river, are carved the arms of Eton, King’s, and the tutelary see of Lincoln.

The only other buildings which remain to be mentioned are the last-century bridge, crossing the river by a single span, and the choir-school, a very handsome red-brick building in the meadows west of the college. It deserves notice as one of the very few really pretty dwelling-houses round Cambridge, and as an integral part of this noble and unique foundation.

* * * * *

In examining the motives which led to the foundation of the various colleges, it is interesting to observe how many of them were suggested by similar and almost contemporary foundations at Oxford. One may safely say that the boundary-line between the middle ages and the new learning of the Renaissance was crossed when William of Wykeham founded his colleges of St Mary at Winchester and Oxford. The political importance of William of Wykeham and of his successors in the see of Winchester made their work very conspicuous: two of them, William of Waynflete and Richard Foxe, during their tenure of the see, proved no less munificent benefactors to Oxford than Wykeham had been. The connection of the see of Winchester with the Renaissance forced itself upon everybody’s attention. Henry VI. was especially impressed with it. Two bishops, Cardinal Beaufort and Waynflete, played a prominent part at his court; and it is to the latter that we doubtless owe many hints for the foundation of King’s College. However, at first, Henry VI. undertook the work without any idea of uniting it with his school at Eton. The college which he incorporated in 1440 was a very humble affair. It was restricted to a master and twelve scholars, and the space chosen for it was small and inconvenient. One of the main arteries of Cambridge ran west of it; the whole site of the present buildings was blocked up with houses; the form of the court had to be adapted to its narrow and cramped position. But, two years later, the king’s plans matured. His foundation of 1443 took a much larger form. It converted King’s into a finishing-school, as it were, for his Highness’ poor scholars of Eton. The dedication of the college was changed. Hitherto, in reference to the saint who presided over Henry’s birthday, it had been called the King’s College of St Nicholas. It now added St Mary, the patroness of Eton, to its title. Thus it became an exact counterpart of New College at Oxford. Although Henry projected his buildings on a far more magnificent scale than anything of which Wykeham had dreamed, they had nevertheless a certain resemblance to the Oxford buildings. The plan includes a great tower and a cloister west of it, such as were built at Oxford. On the whole, the Founder must have been thinking very closely of the colleges at Winchester and Oxford, when he set his hand to this splendid work. He made Waynflete, then Warden of Winchester, Provost of Eton; and Waynflete was the guiding spirit of the charter by which the two communities were regulated.[4]

The first provost of King’s came from the opposite side of the street. His name was William Millington, a fellow of Clare. We are told that he was “set back for factious favouring of Yorkshiremen.” At any rate, Waynflete probably held the reins of both foundations until his translation to Winchester, which took place in 1447. Among the earliest members of the college are one or two famous names. Nicholas Close or Cloose, Bishop, first of Carlisle and afterwards of Lichfield, was certainly the overseer of the new chapel and perhaps its architect. Thomas Rotherham, whose name is so closely connected with the history of both universities, was fellow of King’s, and gave £140 to the chapel. His portrait is in the Hall. Rather younger than these was Oliver King, Bishop of Exeter, who afterwards distinguished himself as Bishop of Bath and Wells. The immense Perpendicular building of Bath Abbey, which is due to his energy, is clearly suggested by King’s Chapel, and reproduces many of its details. John Chedworth, who is actually the first provost of the new foundation, became Bishop of Lincoln. His successor, Robert Woodlark, was the founder of St Catharine’s College. Another remarkable man of the end of the fifteenth century was Nicholas West, whose conduct as fellow was extremely indecorous. His temper was naturally hasty, and, when he was defeated in his candidature for a proctorship, he made an attempt to set the Provost’s Lodge on fire. Being baulked in this endeavour, he ran off with the college spoons. What action the college took is not recorded, but we are informed that, after this ebullition of temper, the quarrelsome fellow “became a new man, D.D., and Bishop of Ely.” Not only did he combine these three attributes, but, in penitence for his wild design on the Provost’s Lodge, built part of it. This was, of course, the old Provost’s Lodge, south-east of the chapel.

Penitence, too, moved Henry VII. to finish the chapel. As a member of the House of Lancaster, his hereditary duty compelled him to complete a work which even Edward IV. had found pleasure in favouring; while, as one of the most extortionate and unjust kings who were establishing their thrones about that time, his conscience invited him to do something as an _amende honorable_ for his misdeeds. King’s College was already looked upon as a royal legacy, and all the kings in their turn were well disposed to it, but none promoted its welfare so much as Henry VII., although his benefits were chiefly posthumous. The provost to whom the task fell of seeing that Henry’s bequests were rightly fulfilled was Robert Hacombleyn, who also had a reputation in his time as a commentator on Aristotle. He lies buried in one of the chantries south of the antechapel. He was succeeded by Edward Fox, a native of Gloucestershire, who was provost from 1528 to 1538. Fox was a reformer, but it is said of him that he had “prudence to avoid persecution.” He was essentially a diplomatist, and held the Bishoprick of Hereford during the last three years of his provostship. He was busily engaged by Henry VIII. in the matter of the divorce, and was sent to Clement VII., Stephen Gardiner being his companion. Afterwards he was ambassador to France and Germany, and finally to the Schmalkaldic League, when Henry, in his new-fangled zeal for the Reformation, felt disposed to join that body. At King’s he was followed by George Day, who filled the office till 1548, and held the see of Chichester with it.

Henry VIII. was a benefactor to King’s as well as his father. He had other foundations of his own to look after, however, and seems to have regarded King’s as a good recruiting-ground for Christ Church at Oxford—the college whose glory really belongs to Wolsey. Among those students of Eton and King’s whom we find thus transferred is Robert Aldrich. Aldrich has not much to do with King’s, but was Master, Fellow, and finally Provost of Eton, and, after several promotions, became Bishop of Carlisle, where he remained until 1556, having successfully weathered all the religious storms of his age. Another very prominent member of the college was Richard Cox, fellow in 1519. His strong Lutheran opinions brought him into favour after the divorce. He had been a Canon of Wolsey’s original Cardinal College; in 1546 he was made Dean of Christ Church. He was also tutor to Edward VI. As a commissioner at Oxford, he displayed great fury against the papists, and, at Mary’s accession, not unnaturally fled to Strasburg, where he had the congenial society of Peter Martyr Vermigli. As Bishop of Ely from 1559 to 1582, he had time to modify his opinions, and it is recorded of him that he hated puritans as much as papists. Queen Elizabeth is said to have disliked him; he must certainly have been very far from her mind.

To the names of these ecclesiastics we may add that of Edward Hall, fellow of King’s, who claimed direct descent from Albert II. of Austria, and retired to Oxford. Richard Croke was a learned Grecian of King’s, who went to Oxford in order to be near Grocyn. He found patrons in the munificent Warham and Sir Thomas More, and was one of that _coterie_ which included Colet and Erasmus. After he had travelled abroad and lectured in Greek at Leipsic and Louvain, he returned to England and became Professor of Greek at Cambridge. This was in 1522. Later on, he was engaged in the divorce, acting as Counsel to the Italian Universities, and was made a Canon of Christ Church in 1532. He died in 1588 as Rector of Long Buckby. Yet another of his class was Dr Richard Mulcaster, who, at a somewhat later period, transferred his talent and vast learning to Oxford, and finally became famous as Master of Merchant Taylors’ School.

Very seldom has royalty appeared at Cambridge with such magnificence as on the occasion of Elizabeth’s visit in 1564. Although her actual abode was at Queens’ College, she spent most of her time in King’s Chapel. The provost at this time was Dr Philip Baker, who had succeeded Dr Brassie in 1558. Elizabeth was in her element: she was in a seat of learning, and wanted to show herself as profound as any of them. She rode to hear Te Deum and evensong at King’s, dressed in the most gorgeous apparel which even she could assume. At the door the public orator praised her in long-winded Latin. When his compliments tended to the fulsome, she said “_Non est veritas_,” when they passed probability, she said “_Utinam!_” Next day was Sunday, and the politic Chancellor, Andrew Perne of Peterhouse, who had burned corpses to please her sister, made a Latin sermon before her on the text “Let every soul be subject unto the higher powers”—a command which he himself had obeyed to the letter. The Queen was highly pleased. Indeed, most of her visit was occupied in hearing Latin disputations, and nothing delighted her so much as the Latin of Matthew Hutton, who laid the foundation of his fortune by this means. On the Sunday, after Dr Perne’s sermon, she again attended King’s Chapel for evensong; and, in the evening, having performed her religious duties so well, the Virgin Queen once more returned to the antechapel and witnessed the _Aulularia_ of Plautus. This must have vexed the good puritans of the day! It is necessary to remark that the use of college chapels for dramatic purposes was very common, and nothing was thought of it. The Commencements in Great St Mary’s were infinitely more impious ceremonies. Even now, when a mastership falls vacant, many college chapels are used for the conclave of fellows, as the chapel ensures more privacy than any other part of the buildings.

Dr Philip Baker, who took part in these solemn revels, was succeeded in 1569 by Dr Roger Goade, a very serious divine. His son was present at the Synod of Dort, a fact indicative of the family’s opinions. King’s produced, indeed, during the Tudor period, a large number of grave and weighty persons. Sir John Cheke had been provost during the reign of Edward VI., and, together with the violently Protestant Walter Haddon, then fellow, and afterwards Master of Trinity Hall, had done important work as an ecclesiastical lawyer. Then there was Giles Fletcher, brother of the Bishop of London and uncle of the dramatist. This remarkable man was Ambassador to the Court of Muscovy in 1588, and concluded a treaty of commerce with Ivan the Terrible. His book “Of the Russe Commonwealthe” has been an indispensable authority for all subsequent historians of Russia. He was made Treasurer of St Paul’s in 1597. A more famous name still is that of Sir Francis Walsingham, the great minister of Elizabeth. He was a fellow commoner and left many valuable books to the library. Dr Thomas Wylson, fellow of the college, was also a well-known politician of the same reign. He was tutor to Elizabeth’s cousins, the young Brandons, Dukes of Suffolk, and was ambassador to Holland in 1576. In 1577, he became Secretary of State, and, in 1579 Dean of Durham. It is said of him that he was “master of every subject.” His correspondence forms part of the Harleian MSS.

At Dr Goade’s death, in 1610, we approach dangerous times. Dr Benjamin Whichcot, a liberal puritan, became master in 1644. It is generally supposed that his friendship with the Earl of Manchester, who occupied Cambridge for the Parliament, was the salvation of the stained glass in the chapel. He was far too learned a man to be bigoted, and was more of the type of Milton than of the ordinary puritan divine. Dr Whichcot was a classic, and advised young preachers to imitate Demosthenes and Cicero. The gentle and metaphysical Cudworth was his friend, and he died at Cudworth’s house in 1683, having been dispossessed of the provostship since 1660. His memory was held long afterwards in great esteem, and a selection from his discourses was edited by the third Lord Shaftesbury, the pupil of John Locke and author of the _Characteristics_.

Of a very opposite type to Dr Whichcot was the mathematician William Oughtred, author of a book called _Clavis Mathematica_, and an adept in archery. One writer says of him that “Mathematics were not only recreation to him, but Epicurism.” In spite of this devotion to abstract sciences, he was an ardent royalist, and, on hearing of the Restoration, died of joy. Edmund Waller, the poet, was also at King’s about the same time. We may imagine that his ecstasy at the Restoration took a more substantial form. Another type of don altogether is shown us in Dr William Gage, who attended chapel without a break for nine years, and read fifteen chapters of Holy Scripture every day of his life. This exemplary gentleman received the living of St Anne, Blackfriars, where he died in 1653.

After the Restoration, the list of provosts becomes uninteresting, and the college history becomes a very ordinary record. The privileges of the foundation were strengthened with age. It was very conservative and adhered very closely to the Founder’s plan, while other colleges were opening their doors more widely and competition was becoming a recognised part of university life. It was autonomous: its members did not proceed to public examinations in the schools, but gained their degree by an examination of their own. An Eton Foundation Scholarship was the almost inevitable prelude to a scholarship and finally a fellowship at King’s. Under such circumstances the history of a college, however sound its scholarship, is likely to be rather quiet. In other respects, too, the existence of King’s has been isolated. Its visitor is the Bishop of Lincoln, and the college is a peculiar in the diocese of Lincoln. It also enjoyed the unique privilege of being exempt from proctorial jurisdiction, and many a refugee from the proctor’s mild justice has sought sanctuary in King’s without fear of extradition treaties.

It is not, however, to be supposed that this noble college was at any time without its worthies. Sir William Temple was educated here. Although his name is doubtless an ornament to the college, he must have been an insufferable thorn in the side of his pastors and masters, for he was the last man in the world to have an ill conceit of himself. Two more genial names appear later. In the absence of a portrait of the Founder, a painting of Sir Robert Walpole hangs at the end of the hall. He was always a loving son of the college, and his son, the even more famous Horace,* was here as well. Charles Pratt, Earl Camden* and Lord Chancellor of England, is another name connected with the college; and Townshend, a third statesman of the Georgian era, was likewise brought up at Eton and King’s. To turn aside from politics to the path of pure learning, we find a very prodigy in the person of Thomas Hyde, afterwards Archdeacon of Gloucester. At the age of eighteen he performed the almost incredible task, which till then had been deemed impossible, of transcribing the Persian Pentateuch out of its Hebrew characters. It is scarcely surprising to find that this precocious divine did not shine in ordinary conversation. But his learning met its recompense in a Canonry at Christ Church, and Hebraists of his own age did not scruple to reckon him equal as an Orientalist to Bochert and Pococke.

The name of Sumner occurs twice in the list of provosts, once in 1756 and again in 1797, and, among others of the name, John Bird Sumner,* the famous Archbishop of Canterbury, was a King’s man. Earlier in the century lived the painfully erudite William Coxe,* who, as Archdeacon of Wiltshire, devoted his attention to the Duke of Marlborough and the Hapsburg family. His researches, although their method is antiquated and their style is hopelessly dull, are yet invaluable to the student, and his name is not by any means the least among those of the historians whom Cambridge has produced. But to the majority of persons, the ecclesiastical celebrities of King’s are overshadowed by the fame of Charles Simeon, who was a fellow of the college for considerably more than half a century and, during that time, was a parish priest of the town. He was the chief of those men who roused the Church of England from her last-century apathy and revived her ancient fervour. Although his position was, owing to circumstances, somewhat more restricted, he was to Cambridge of his day what Cosin and Andrewes had been to the Cambridge of theirs, and the influence which he exercised from Cambridge over the length and breadth of England was almost unbounded. He is buried in the antechapel of King’s beneath a stone on which his initials are engraved, and there is a bust of him in the University Library. The traditions which he left to King’s have never been entirely lost. The Church of England has had few more devoted sons than the late George Williams, who, as fellow of King’s, advocated warmly the establishment of friendly relations with the churches of the East. Older members of the university still remember him as “Jerusalem” Williams. And, although his life was very retired and he was seldom absent for any length of time from Cambridge, the late William Ralph Churton, Canon of St Alban’s, was for the last forty years of his life probably the most active of all the English clergy in promoting missionary work and extending the Church in the colonies.

In mentioning these names, there are others which have been necessarily omitted. The episcopal list of the college is a long one, and includes, among many more prelates, the famous names of Edmund Gheast, Bishop of Rochester and Jewel’s successor at Salisbury; William Wickham, Bishop of Lincoln and afterwards the second Bishop of that name at Winchester; and John Pearson, Bishop of Chester, who, first a fellow here, was subsequently Master of Trinity. Among noblemen, the great ambassador, Stratford Canning, afterwards Lord Stratford de Redcliffe (* Herkomer), occupies a conspicuous place. Among ordinary laymen, we find Roger Lupton, a Jacobean worthy, founder of Sedbergh School; and, much later, the poet, Thomas Lisle Bowles. In the antechapel, a plain stone covers the remains of Dr Richard Okes, provost from 1850 to 1889. And close by, under a similar stone, is buried Henry Bradshaw (* Herkomer), University Librarian, one of the finest scholars of the century, who opened a new epoch in the history of liturgical study. By the side of the south door will be found a tablet in memory of the late James Kenneth Stephen, an incomparable orator, whose little volumes of verse proved him the successor of Calverley among Cambridge poets.

Within the last twenty years the college has undergone a complete change. It is no longer the exclusively Etonian college which it was. Its scholarships, with the exception of a very few, have been thrown open to all competitors, and the large majority of undergraduates now at King’s have never been at Eton. Although, from the standpoint of the lover of antiquity, this departure from the Founder’s scheme is to be seriously regretted, yet it cannot but be admitted that, in the present century, the exclusive scheme is impracticable, and newer methods have to be followed. At all events, the plan works very well, and in no generation is King’s likely to lose its prestige, nor is that _esprit de corps_ which “Henry’s holy shade” seems to inspire, at all likely to diminish.

X

QUEENS’ COLLEGE

Queens’ disputes with Jesus the honour of being the most picturesque college in Cambridge, and both are none the less picturesque because they hide themselves away in a corner. Dates are here a little difficult to determine, for the gate-tower and the two brick courts from King’s Lane to the river are strongly marked with the stamp of medieval religion, and part of the side towards Silver Street has an air of undiluted antiquity which, in Cambridge, it is refreshing to recognise. Still, supposing the present buildings to have been begun about 1475, the gate-tower cannot have been finished long before 1500. This is clear if we compare it with the towers at Jesus, Christ’s and St John’s, all of which were built between 1497 and 1520, Jesus being the earliest of all. This is not the most conspicuous of them, but it is the boldest, and the arrangement of its corner turrets is especially admirable. The court on which it opens is small and simple, and its features are very much the same as those which appear in the oldest parts of St John’s. The Hall on the west side is a restoration of the old Hall, which was brought into agreement with last century taste. It has a pleasant interior, and the woodwork of the doors is good. On the north side of the court is the curious sun-dial constructed by Sir Isaac Newton; the turret on which it is displayed is modern, but is an excellent ornament to the court. Beneath it is a passage to the more modern part of the college, east of which is the old chapel, a Perpendicular building much modernised by Essex in 1773.

Through the hall screens is the second court, surrounded by low, tunnel-like cloisters with plain, wide openings in each bay. This charming court owes a great deal of its beauty to the President’s Lodge, which occupies the whole of the northern side. This quaint Elizabethan building, with its high gables and bulging sides, appears to advantage from every point, and the oriels of its picture-gallery, so arranged that, none being opposite another, the light is equally distributed throughout, go to make an exquisite picture which can hardly be excelled. On the opposite side of the court, however, is the small enclosure which, although known as Erasmus Court, has very little to remind us of Erasmus. Essex, who did so much harm in Cambridge, rebuilt this corner of the college in his formal manner about 1773. From the wooden bridge at the end of the court, the damage done by this addition to the river façade can be properly estimated. The bridge itself dates from 1746, and is said to have been designed by Newton on a geometrical principle. It leads to the small garden known as Erasmus’ Walk.

Queens’ College]

Returning to the eastern side of the college, we find, north of the first court, a wing in line with the gateway-tower, continuing the front of the college along King’s Lane. This, which was built about 1617, is not very remarkable, and appears to have been intended for use rather than ornament. Everything north of this is modern. The northernmost range of chambers was built by Mr W. M. Fawcett in 1886. Although it is very good in its way, its juxtaposition to the new court of King’s is fatal to its beauty. Here, too, Mr Bodley has been at work. His new chapel, the most recent addition to the buildings, is a pretty but not a very successful piece of work. The interior is elaborately fitted with a very complete set of stalls, and the organ-case and reredos are very fair reproductions of medieval painting. Mr Kempe’s windows and the Flemish altar-piece deserve admiration, but the south side of the building has been spoiled by some very poor glass by Hardman, taken from the old chapel. Queens’, on the whole, if we except the President’s Lodge, depends on its delightful general effect rather than on any very special architectural merit.

* * * * *

In 1446 Andrew Doket, rector of St Botolph’s Church, founded the College of St Bernard for a president and four fellows. The site which he chose for his foundation was east of the present college, and comprehended an oblong strip of ground running from what was then Milne Street eastwards to Trumpington Street—in fact, part of the site occupied by St Catharine’s. Doket, who may be regarded as a second Edmund Gonville, was first president of his college. However, his original idea was small and its success was scarcely inevitable. Henry VI. had just founded his splendid college at the other end of Milne Street, and Doket conceived the happy idea of inducing his queen to perpetuate her name in the same way. Margaret of Anjou, who was then, as Mr Atkinson points out, only fifteen years old, showed great readiness in emulating her husband. She consented in 1448 to refound the college under the name of the Queen’s College of St Margaret and St Bernard, and petitioned Henry for a charter, which was readily granted. The buildings were begun about this time on the present site. The history of Queens’ College thus offers an interesting parallel to that of the similarly named college at Oxford. In both cases the first idea is due to a clerk in holy orders, who invites the reigning queen to occupy his foundation. Margaret of Anjou has been since looked upon as the chief foundress and benefactress of the college. In gratitude, the society adopted her coat-of-arms, and, although this was superseded no less than three times by other devices, it was adopted again in 1575, and is now, with the addition of a bordure, the escutcheon of the college. This magnificent piece of heraldry, which attracts all eyes by its prominent situation in the first court, recalls the claims of the House of Anjou to European sovereignty. The unfortunate history of Margaret’s father, René of Provence, and her brother, the Duke of Calabria, is the key to the shield. Its quarterings include the arms of the kingdoms of Hungary, the two Sicilies and Jerusalem in the upper half, and, in the lower, those of the county of Anjou and the Duchies of Bar and Lorraine.

The thirty-six years of Doket’s presidency were interrupted by the Wars of the Roses, which prevented the building from going on. Doket, however, like so many heads of houses in subsequent years, had an affection for his college which hindered him from displaying any political prejudice. In 1465, when Edward IV. was firmly established on the English throne, he applied for help to Queen Elizabeth Wydvil. This lady owed her position at court to a situation in Queen Margaret’s retinue, and she readily accepted his offer. Just as her husband helped on the building of the chapel of King’s, she extended her aid to this other Lancastrian foundation, and, under her protection, the work of building proceeded. The only alterations due to Yorkist patronage were a new coat-of-arms for the college, and the change of the title from Queen’s College in the singular to Queens’ College in the plural. The invocation of St Margaret and St Bernard was retained without alteration. The floriated cross of St Margaret and St Bernard’s crosier are to be seen upon the groined roof of the gateway, and, later on, when Richard III. gave a new coat-of-arms to the college in place of that granted by Edward IV., these emblems appear surmounted by the well-known boar’s head.

Doket died in 1484, and was succeeded by Thomas Wilkinson, whose rule lasted till 1505. Then followed the three years during which John Fisher, the celebrated Bishop of Rochester, was president. This great man was one of that band of scholars and divines who reformed the state of learning in England. Queens’ College probably owes to him the chief episode in its history, the residence of Erasmus* within its walls. It is improbable that Erasmus was at Queens’ during Fisher’s presidency, as has been so generally supposed. He was invited to England by Henry VIII. soon after 1509, and Fisher had given up the presidency in 1508. No doubt, Fisher advised Erasmus, who, as Fuller says, “might have _pickt_ and _chose_ what house he pleased,” to the cloistral seclusion of Queens’; and this is more likely than the somewhat far-fetched alternative that he was “allured with the situation of this Colledge so near the River, as Rotterdam his native place to the Sea.” In fact, Erasmus was simply allured to Cambridge by the prospect of work, and does not seem to have enjoyed life there at all. Three of his letters are dated from Queens’ by name, and they, as well as the rest written from no particular address in Cambridge, prove that he regarded his work there as a _pis aller_. He complained of his situation, his food and drink. Cambridge beer encouraged the most painful ailments. He wrote to a friend for a cask of Greek wine. This rare beverage was finished all too soon; when it was done, he kept the empty cask by him, that he might at least refresh himself with the smell. He was ill most of his time; he was also continually in want of money. His professorships were merely lectureships, and his pay was probably small. Had it not been for the patronage of Archbishop Warham and other lovers of learning, he might have fallen into serious straits. At no time did he realise the value of money. Doubtless, he represented himself as more unpleasantly situated than he actually was. Like most delicate men, he was very self-conscious, and expected an inordinate amount of praise and flattery, which it is hardly probable that he obtained at Cambridge. On a previous visit to Oxford, he had been the centre of a group of scholars; at Cambridge, he was isolated from his old friends. We can therefore hardly trust to his vivacious narrative for an accurate account of his Cambridge life. But, everything taken into consideration, he was seriously discontented, and was glad to leave in 1514. His memory has been more than ordinarily cherished in an University which perhaps caressed him very little in his lifetime, and his prestige has had a salutary influence on Cambridge scholarship. When he came to Cambridge, he found the old scholastic learning, which he detested, still in vogue; when he left, it was with the consciousness that he had inaugurated a new era.

The next point in the history of Queens’ is its acquisition under Dr William Mey of the Carmelite house which lay between the college and the present site of King’s. This house was surrendered to the society in 1538, just before the dissolution; but the interference of the Crown delayed the completion of this transaction till 1544. The ground which thus came into the possession of the president and fellows was the foundation of all their future building. Dr Mey was deprived at the accession of Queen Mary, but was restored in 1559. He lived for only a year afterwards. His next successor but one was Dr William Chaderton, of whom Fuller has preserved some curious anecdotes. He is reported to have said one day in a wedding sermon “That the choice of a wife is full of hazard, not unlike as if one in a barrel full of serpents should grope for one fish; if (saith he) he ’scape harm of the snakes, and light on a fish, he may be thought fortunate, for perhaps it may be but an eel.” The ingenuity of the comparison is very characteristic of our Elizabethan universities, and is not a little in the manner of Fuller himself. Fuller, indeed, received most of what he would have called his “breeding” at Queens’, and, here and at Sidney, he picked up that curiously miscellaneous knowledge which has made him one of our most entertaining prose writers. He was essentially a Cambridge man, and in all his books, however distant they are from the purpose, we trace a certain appeal to his university. He was not less positive as to its antiquity than Dr Caius, although he went less far back for its origin. His _Church History_ records the foundation of Cambridge as an University by Sigebert, King of the East Anglians, and in the sequel punctiliously refers to the foundation of every college as an important event in the history of the Church. He did for Cambridge, in a more limited area, what Anthony Wood did for Oxford. His politics were of an undecided kind, and he fell into disfavour with both Parliamentarians and Royalists, but he was, in fact, a moderate partisan of the King. There is a story that he was to have been made a bishop at the Restoration, but he died before the offer was made.

John Davenant,* president from 1614 to 1622, was, as Bishop of Salisbury, one of that galaxy of prelates which relieves the darkness of the Civil Wars. He was the friend of George Herbert, whose parsonage of Bemerton was within three miles of Salisbury. He died in 1641, before affairs had come to their final climax. It is probable that he was guilty of some of those numerous idolatries which Dowsing the iconoclast destroyed on his visit to Cambridge. Dowsing visited the college on St Stephen’s Day, 1643, when he “beat down 110 superstitious pictures besides Cherubim and Ingravings,” and “digged up the steps for three hours.” What Dowsing would say to the internal fittings of the new chapel we have no idea! After the storm had passed over and the Restoration had given back quiet to the college, its history languished: and, although it has done well in the schools, it cannot be said to have produced many men of great distinction. In Isaac Milner (* Harlow), Dean of Carlisle and President from 1788 to 1820, it had a Church historian of some reputation. Simon Patrick,* Bishop of Ely during the reigns of William III. and Queen Anne, was a fellow here, and was one of the latest survivors of the Laudian school. His account of the opening of Edward the Confessor’s tomb is preserved in the University Library in its original manuscript. He was a great theologian and something of a controversialist. Quite recently the familiar figure of Dr Campion,* Vicar of St Botolph’s and Honorary Canon of Ely, and President of Queens’ for the last five years of his life, has been removed from Cambridge. His successor is Dr Herbert Ryle of King’s, who holds with the office the Hulsean Professorship of Divinity.

XI

ST CATHARINE’S COLLEGE

It has been said that the decorous quadrangle of St Catharine’s gives the stranger the impression of an old manor house rather than of a college; and the trees which guard it on the side of Trumpington Street are certainly a party to the illusion. The western front of the college, which occupies one side of King’s Lane, has a more definitely scholastic air. For the most part the buildings are uninteresting. The tiny court at the north-west angle dates from 1626; the rest of the college is the fruit of a rebuilding which went on slowly from 1680 to 1755. Loggan, who published his illustrations soon after the work was begun, figures, with some optimism, an eastern façade with a central cupola. This, however, was never attempted. The chapel is an interesting piece of Queen Anne architecture, dating from 1704; and lately a fine organ by Norman & Beard of Norwich has been placed in it. In the present century, the Hall has been restored in the Gothic style, but otherwise no radical alteration has been made.

* * * * *

St Catharine’s is, in a certain sense, the daughter of King’s, for its founder was Robert Woodlark,* provost of the latter college. The reason for its foundation is not very obvious: it was probably merely a pious act on the part of Woodlark, of whom we know very little beyond this. The site on which it stood occupied the greater part of that oblong space which still is bounded on the north by King’s Lane and on the south by Silver (then Small Bridges) Street. Even now the space is somewhat cramped by houses; then the college was thoroughly “town-bound,” as Fuller puts it. However, although one of the smallest colleges in Cambridge, it has given, in comparison with its size, more famous men to England than any college in either University. These men are all clergy, and their names are among the most reverend in Church history. Seventy-four years after the foundation of the college, Edwin Sandys* became master. He is chiefly known as Archbishop of York and as a translator of the Bible, and, while in exile abroad during Mary’s reign, he cultivated friendly relations with foreign Protestant churches. As Master of St Catharine’s and Vice-Chancellor, he went through a critical experience, which is narrated by Fuller. The Duke of Northumberland, who was at Cambridge in the hope of intercepting Mary’s progress from the Eastern Counties to London, ordered Sandys to preach before him at the University Church. Sandys was a timid man and had very little faith in Lady Jane Grey’s cause, so that the order caused him some perplexity. He rose at a very early hour next morning, and took the _sortes Biblicae_ after the approved manner of the sixteenth century. The text at which his Bible opened was the sixteenth and seventeenth verses of the first chapter of Joshua, “All that thou commandest us we will do, and whithersoever thou sendest us we will go. According as we hearkened unto Moses in all things, so will we hearken unto thee: only the Lord thy God be with thee, as he was with Moses.” He preached from this text in so politic a manner that no one could find a handle of accusation against him. The exacting Northumberland came back to Cambridge after a short tour in Suffolk, well aware that his enterprise was over, and with the forlorn hope that, if he proclaimed Mary queen, he might win his pardon. He invited Sandys to join in the proclamation with him, but the Vice-Chancellor refused with an answer that must have been a very cold comfort to Northumberland. The Duke, however, went through the business mechanically at the old Market Cross, and was arrested very soon afterwards at his lodgings in King’s. Sandys escaped to the Netherlands, and returned when Elizabeth came to the throne. He is buried at Southwell, where the archbishops of York had one of their palaces.

John Overall, Bishop of Lichfield, and afterwards of Norwich, another of the translators of the Bible, was master from 1598 to 1607. The college leaned throughout its history to the Puritanic side of the religious question, and Richard Sibbes, master from 1626 to 1635, is one of those strongly Puritan divines who had the advantage of an University education. His evangelical theology, rich in quaint phrase and full of ingenious learning, is still popular with serious readers, although his fame has been somewhat overshadowed by the greater names of Bunyan, Baxter, and John Owen. In spite of this spiritual activity, it appears that the college was about this time in a very bad and ruinous state, and, on the side of Trumpington Street, was excessively cramped for room. During the mastership of John Hills, Sibbes’ predecessor, John Gostlin, the eccentric master of Caius, gave the Bull Inn, which was his personal property, to the college, and thus the society was enabled to enlarge its frontiers. Nevertheless, the commotions of the Civil Wars delayed operations until long after the Restoration, when Dr John Eachard, master in 1675, carried out the longed-for improvements. There is no college whose external appearance belies a medieval foundation more than St Catharine’s.