Thetheory of civil liberty has ever seemed lovely to the eyes of a young man enamoured of moral and intellectual beauty. Shelley’s devotion to freedom, therefore, was ardent and sincere. He would have submitted with cheerful alacrity to the greatest sacrifices, had they been demanded of him, to advance the sacred cause of liberty; and he would have gallantly encountered every peril in the fearless resistance to active oppression. Nevertheless, in ordinary times, although a generous and unhesitating patriot, he was little inclined to consume the pleasant season of youth amidst the intrigues and clamours of elections, and in the dull and selfish cabals of parties. His fancy viewed from a lofty eminence the grand scheme of an ideal republic; and he could not descendto the humble task of setting out the boundaries of neighbouring rights, and to the uninviting duties of actual administration. He was still less disposed to interest himself in the politics of the day because he observed the pernicious effects of party zeal in a field where it ought not to enter.
It is no slight evil, but a heavy price paid for popular institutions, that society should be divided into hostile clans to serve the selfish purposes of a few political adventurers; and surely to introduce politics within the calm precincts of a University ought to be deemed a capital offence—a felony without benefit of clergy. The undue admission (to borrow the language of Universities for a moment) is not less fatal to its existence as an institution designed for the advancement of learning, than the reception of the wooden horse within the walls of Troy was to the safety of that renowned city.
What does it import the interpreters of Pindar and Thucydides, the expositors of Plato and Aristotle, if a fewinterested persons, for the sake of some lucrative posts, affect to believe that it is a matter of vital importance to the state to concede certain privileges to the Roman Catholics; whilst others, for the same reason, pretend with tears in their eyes that the concessions would be dangerous and indeed destructive, and shudder with feigned horror at the harmless proposal? Such pretexts may be advantageous and perhaps even honourable to the ingenious persons who use them for the purposes of immediate advancement; but of what concernment are they to Apollo and the Muses? How could the Catholic question augment the calamities of Priam, or diminish the misfortunes of the ill-fated house of Labdacus? or which of the doubts of the ancient philosophers would the most satisfactory solution of it remove? Why must the modest student come forth and dance upon the tightrope, with the mountebanks, since he is to receive no part of the reward, and would not emulate the glory of those meritorious artists? Yet did this mostinapplicable question mainly contribute to poison the harmless and studious felicity which we enjoyed at Oxford.
During the whole period of our residence there the University was cruelly disfigured by bitter feuds, arising out of the late election of its Chancellor; in an especial manner was our own most venerable college deformed by them, and by angry and senseless disappointment.
Lord Grenville had just been chosen. There could be no more comparison between his scholarship and his various qualifications for the honourable and useless office, and the claims of his unsuccessful opponent, than between the attainments of the best man of the year and those of the huge porter, who with a stern and solemn civility kept the gates of University College—the arts of mulled-wine and egg-hot being, in the latter case, alone excepted.
The vanquished competitor, however, most unfortunately for its honour and character, was a member of our college; and in proportion as the intrinsic merits of our rulers were small, had thevehemence and violence of electioneering been great, that, through the abuse of the patronage of the church, they might attain to those dignities as the rewards of the activity of partisans, which they could never hope to reach through the legitimate road of superior learning and talents.
Their vexation at failing was the more sharp and abiding, because the only objection that vulgar bigotry could urge against the victor was his disposition to make concessions to the Roman Catholics; and every dull lampoon about popes and cardinals and the scarlet lady had accordingly been worn threadbare in vain. Since the learned and liberal had conquered, learning and liberality were peculiarly odious with us at that epoch. The studious scholar, particularly if he were of an inquiring disposition, and of a bold and free temper, was suspected and disliked; he was one of the enemy’s troops. The inert and the subservient were the loyal soldiers of the legitimate army of the faith. The despised and scattered nation of scholars is commonlyunfortunate; but a more severe calamity has seldom befallen the remnant of true Israelites than to be led captive by such a generation! Youth is happy, because it is blithe and healthful and exempt from care; but it is doubly and trebly happy, since it is honest and fearless, honourable and disinterested.
In the whole body of undergraduates, scarcely one was friendly to the holder of the loaves and the promiser of the fishes—Lord Eldon. All were eager—all, one and all—in behalf of the scholar and the Liberal statesman; and plain and loud was the avowal of their sentiments. A sullen demeanour towards the young rebels displayed the annoyance arising from the want of success and from our lack of sympathy, and it would have demonstrated to the least observant that, where the Muses dwell, the quarrels and intrigues of political parties ought not to come.
By his family and his connections, as well as by disposition, Shelley was attached to the successful side; and although it was manifest that he was ayouth of an admirable temper, of rare talents and unwearied industry, and likely, therefore, to shed a lustre upon his college and the University itself, yet, as he was eminently delighted at that wherewith his superiors were offended, he was regarded from the beginning with a jealous eye. A young man of spirit will despise the mean spite of sordid minds; nevertheless the persecution which a generous soul can contemn, through frequent repetition too often becomes a severe annoyance in the long course of life, and Shelley frequently and most pathetically lamented the political divisions which then harassed the University, and were a more fertile source of manifold ills in the wider field of active life. For this reason did he appear to cling more closely to our sweet, studious seclusion; and from this cause, perhaps, principally arose his disinclination—I may say, indeed, his intense antipathy—for the political career that had been proposed to him. A lurking suspicion would sometimes betray itself that he was to be forced into that path, and impressedinto the civil service of the state, to become, as it were, a conscript legislator.
A newspaper never found its way to his rooms the whole period of his residence at Oxford; but when waiting in a bookseller’s shop or at an inn he would sometimes, although rarely, permit his eye to be attracted by a murder or a storm. Having perused the tale of wonder or of horror, if it chanced to stray to a political article, after reading a few lines he invariably threw it aside to a great distance; and he started from his seat his face flushing, and strode about muttering broken sentences, the purport of which was always the same: his extreme dissatisfaction at the want of candour and fairness, and the monstrous disingenuousness which politicians manifest in speaking of the characters and measures of their rivals. Strangers, who caught imperfectly the sense of his indistinct murmurs, were often astonished at the vehemence of his mysterious displeasure.
Once I remember a bookseller, the master of a very small shop in a littlecountry town, but apparently a sufficiently intelligent man, could not refrain from expressing his surprise that anyone should be offended with proceedings that seemed to him as much in the ordinary course of trade, and as necessary to its due exercise, as the red ligature of the bundle of quills, or the thin and pale brown wrapper which enclosed the quire of letter paper we had just purchased of him.
A man of talents and learning, who refused to enlist under the banners of any party and did not deign to inform himself of the politics of the day, or to take the least part or interest in them, would be a noble and a novel spectacle; but so many persons hope to profit by dissensions, that the merits of such a steady lover of peace would not be duly appreciated, either by the little provincial bookseller or the other inhabitants of our turbulent country.
The ordinary lectures in our college were of much shorter duration, and decidedly less difficult and less instructive than the lessons we had received inthe higher classes of a public school; nor were our written exercises more stimulating than the oral. Certain compositions were required at stated periods; but, however excellent they might be, they were never commended; however deficient, they were never censured; and, being altogether unnoticed, there was no reason to suppose that they were ever read.
The University at large was not less remiss than each college in particular; the only incitement proposed was an examination at the end of four years. The young collegian might study in private, as diligently as he would, at Oxford as in every other place; and if he chose to submit his pretensions to the examiners, his name was set down in the first, the second or the third class—if I mistake not, there were three divisions—according to his advancement. This list was printed precisely at the moment when he quitted the University for ever; a new generation of strangers might read the names of the unknown proficients, if they would.
It was notorious, moreover, that, merely to obtain the academical degrees, every new-comer, who had passed through a tolerable grammar-school, brought with him a stock of learning, of which the residuum that had not evaporated during four years of dissipation and idleness, would be more than sufficient.
The languid course of chartered laziness was ill suited to the ardent activity and glowing zeal of Shelley. Since those persons, who were hired at an enormous charge by his own family and by the State to find due and beneficial employment for him, thought fit to neglect this, their most sacred duty, he began forthwith to set himself to work. He read diligently—I should rather say he devoured greedily, with the voracious appetite of a famished man—the authors that roused his curiosity; he discoursed and discussed with energy; he wrote, he began to print and he designed soon to publish various works.
He begins betimes who begins to instruct mankind at eighteen. The judicious will probably be of opinion thatin eighteen years man can scarcely learn how to learn; and that for eighteen more years he ought to be content to learn; and if, at the end of the second period, he still thinks that he can impart anything worthy of attention, it is, at least, early enough to begin to teach. The fault, however, if it were a fault, was to be imputed to the times, and not to the individual, as the numerous precocious effusions of the day attest.
Shelley was quick to conceive, and not less quick to execute. When I called one morning at one, I found him busily occupied with some proofs, which he continued to correct and re-correct with anxious care. As he was wholly absorbed in this occupation, I selected a book from the floor, where there was always a good store, and read in silence for at least an hour.
My thoughts being as completely abstracted as those of my companion, he startled me by suddenly throwing a paper with some force on the middle of the table, and saying, in a penetrating whisper, as he sprang eagerly from his chair, “I am going to publish some poems.”
In answer to my inquiries, he put the proofs into my hands. I read them twice attentively, for the poems were very short; and I told him there were some good lines, some bright thoughts, but there were likewise many irregularities and incongruities. I added that correctness was important in all compositions, but it constituted the essence of short ones; and that it surely would be imprudent to bring his little book out so hastily; and then I pointed out the errors and defects.
He listened in silence with much attention, and did not dispute what I said, except that he remarked faintly that it would not be known that he was the author, and therefore the publication could not do him any harm.
I answered that, although it might not be disadvantageous to be the unknown author of an unread work, it certainly could not be beneficial.
He made no reply; and we immediately went out, and strolled about the public walks.
We dined and returned to his rooms, where we conversed on different subjects. He did not mention his poems, but they occupied his thoughts; for he did not fall asleep as usual. Whilst we were at tea, he said abruptly, “I think you disparage my poems. Tell me what you dislike in them, for I have forgotten.”
I took the proofs from the place where I had left them, and looking over them, repeated the former objections, and suggested others. He acquiesced; and, after a pause, asked, might they be altered? I assented.
“I will alter them.”
“It will be better to re-write them; a short poem should be of the first impression.”
Some time afterwards he anxiously inquired, “But in their present form you do not think they ought to be published?”
I had been looking over the proofs again, and I answered, “Only as burlesque poetry;” and I read a part, changing it a little here and there.
He laughed at the parody, and begged I would repeat it.
I took a pen and altered it; and he then read it aloud several times in a ridiculous tone, and was amused by it. His mirth consoled him for the condemnation of his verses, and the intention of publishing them was abandoned.
The proofs lay in his rooms for some days, and we occasionally amused ourselves during an idle moment by making them more and more ridiculous; by striking out the more sober passages; by inserting whimsical conceits, and especially by giving them what we called a dithyrambic character, which was effected by cutting some lines out, and joining the different parts together that would agree in construction, but were the most discordant in sense.
Although Shelley was of a grave disposition, he had a certain sly relish for a practical joke, so that it were ingenuous and abstruse and of a literary nature. He would often exult in the successful forgeries of Chatterton and Ireland; and he was especially delighted with a trickthat had lately been played at Oxford by a certain noble viceroy, at that time an undergraduate, respecting the fairness of which the University was divided in opinion, all the undergraduates accounting it most just, and all the graduates, and especially the bachelors, extremely iniquitous, and indeed popish and jesuitical. A reward is offered annually for the best English essay on a subject proposed: the competitors send their anonymous essays, each being distinguished by a motto; when the grave arbitrators have selected the most worthy, they burn the vanquished essays, and open the sealed paper endorsed with a corresponding motto, and containing the name of the victor.
On the late famous contention, all the ceremonies had been duly performed, but the sealed paper presented the name of an undergraduate, who was not qualified to be a candidate, and all the less meritorious discourses of the bachelors had been burnt, together with their sealed papers—so there was to be no bachelor’s prize that year.
When we had conferred a competent absurdity upon the proofs, we amused ourselves by proposing, but without the intention of executing our project, divers ludicrous titles for the work. Sometimes we thought of publishing it in the name of some one of the chief living poets, or possibly of one of the graver authorities of the day; and we regaled ourselves by describing his wrathful renunciations, and his astonishment at finding himself immortalised, without his knowledge and against his will: the inability to die could not be more disagreeable even to Tithonus himself; but how were we to handcuff our ungrateful favourite, that he might not tear off the unfading laurel which we were to place upon his brow? I hit upon a title at last, to which the pre-eminence was given, and we inscribed it upon the cover. A mad washerwoman, named Peg Nicholson, had attempted to stab the king, George the Third, with a carving-knife; the story has long been forgotten, but it was then fresh in the recollection of every one; it was proposed that we should ascribe the poems to her.The poor woman was still living, and in green vigour within the walls of Bedlam; but since her existence must be uncomfortable, there could be no harm in putting her to death, and in creating a nephew and administrator to be the editor of his aunt’s poetical works.
The idea gave an object and purpose to our burlesque—to ridicule the strange mixture of sentimentality with the murderous fury of the revolutionists, that was so prevalent in the compositions of the day; and the proofs were altered again to adapt them to this new scheme, but still without any notion of publication. When the bookseller called to ask for the proof, Shelley told him that he had changed his mind, and showed them to him.
The man was so much pleased with the whimsical conceit that he asked to be permitted to publish the book on his own account; promising inviolable secrecy, and as many copiesgratisas might be required: after some hesitation, permission was granted, upon the plighted honour of the trade.
In a few days, or rather in a few hours, a noble quarto appeared; it consisted of a small number of pages, it is true, but they were of the largest size, of the thickest, the whitest and the smoothest drawing paper; a large, clear and handsome type had impressed a few lines with ink of a rich, glossy black, amidst ample margins. The poor maniac laundress was gravely styled “the late Mrs Margaret Nicholson, widow;” and the sonorous name of Fitzvictor had been culled for her inconsolable nephew and administrator. To add to his dignity, the waggish printer had picked up some huge text types of so unusual a form that even an antiquary could not spell the words at the first glance. The effect was certainly striking; Shelley had torn open the large square bundle before the printer’s boy quitted the room, and holding out a copy with both his hands, he ran about in an ecstasy of delight, gazing at the superb title-page.
The first poem was a long one, condemning war in the lump—puling trash, that might have been written bya Quaker, and could only have been published in sober sadness by a society instituted for the diffusion of that kind of knowledge which they deemed useful—useful for some end which they have not been pleased to reveal, and which unassisted reason is wholly unable to discover. The MS. had been confided to Shelley by some rhymester of the day, and it was put forth in this shape to astonish a weak mind; but principally to captivate the admirers of philosophical poetry by the manifest incongruity of disallowing all war, even the most just, and then turning sharp round, and recommending the dagger of the assassin as the best cure for all evils, and the sure passport to a lady’s favour.
Our book of useful knowledge—the philosopher’s own book—contained sundry odes and other pieces, professing an ardent attachment to freedom, and proposing to stab all who were less enthusiastic than the supposed authoress. The work, however, was altered a little, I believe, before the final impression; but I never read it afterwards, for, whenan author once sees his book in print, his task is ended, and he may fairly leave the perusal of it to posterity. I have one copy, if not more, somewhere or other, but not at hand. There were some verses, I remember, with a good deal about sucking in them; to these I objected, as unsuitable to the gravity of a University, but Shelley declared they would be the most impressive of all. There was a poem concerning a young woman, one Charlotte Somebody, who attempted to assassinate Robespierre, or some such person; and there was to have been a rapturous monologue to the dagger of Brutus. The composition of such a piece was no mean effort of the Muse. It was completed at last, but not in time; as the dagger itself has probably fallen a prey to rust, so the more pointed and polished monologue, it is to be feared, has also perished through a more culpable neglect.
A few copies were sent, as a special favour, to trusty and sagacious friends at a distance, whose gravity would not permit them to suspect a hoax. Theyread and admired, being charmed with the wild notes of liberty. Some, indeed, presumed to censure mildly certain passages as having been thrown off in too bold a vein. Nor was a certain success wanting—the remaining copies were rapidly sold in Oxford at the aristocratical price of half-a-crown for half-a-dozen pages. We used to meet gownsmen in High Street reading the goodly volume as they walked—pensive, with a grave and sage delight—some of them, perhaps, more pensive because it seemed to portend the instant overthrow of all royalty from a king to a court card.
What a strange delusion to admire our stuff—the concentrated essence of nonsense! It was indeed a kind of fashion to be seen reading it in public, as a mark of a nice discernment, of a delicate and fastidious taste in poetry, and the very criterion of a choice spirit.
Nobody suspected, or could suspect, who was the author. The thing passed off as the genuine production of the would-be regicide. It is marvellous, in truth, how little talent of any kind therewas in our famous University in those days; there was no great encouragement, however, to display intellectual gifts.
The acceptance, as a serious poem, of a work so evidently designed for a burlesque upon the prevailing notion of the day, that revolutionary ruffians were the most fit recipients of the gentlest passions, was a foretaste of the prodigious success that, a few years later, attended a still more whimsical paradox. Poets had sung already that human ties put love at once to flight; that at the sight of civil obligations he spreads his light wings in a moment and makes default. The position was soon greatly extended, and we were taught by a noble poet that even the slightest recognition of the law of nations was fatal to the tender passion. The very captain of a privateer was pronounced incapable of a pure and ardent attachment; the feeble control of letters of marque could effectually check the course of affection; a complete union of souls could only be accomplished under the black flag. Your truelover must necessarily be an enemy of the whole human race—a mere and absolute pirate. It is true that the tales of the love-sick buccaneers were adorned with no ordinary talent, but the theory is not less extraordinary on that account.
The operation of Peg Nicholson was bland and innoxious. The next work that Shelley printed was highly deleterious, and was destined to shed a baneful influence over his future progress. In itself it was more harmless than the former, but it was turned to a deadly poison by the unprovoked malice of fortune.
We had read together attentively several of the metaphysical works that were most in vogue at that time, as LockeConcerning Human Understanding, and Hume’sEssays, particularly the latter, of which we had made a very careful analysis, as was customary with those who read theEthicsand the other treatises of Aristotle for their degree. Shelley had the custody of these papers, which were chiefly in his handwriting,although they were the joint production of both in our common daily studies. From these, and from a small part of them only, he made up a little book, and had it printed, I believe, in the country, certainly not at Oxford. His motive was this. He not only read greedily all the controversial writings on subjects interesting to him which he could procure, and disputed vehemently in conversation with his friends, but he had several correspondents with whom he kept up the ball of doubt in letters; of these he received many, so that the arrival of the postman was always an anxious moment with him. This practice he had learned of a physician, from whom he had taken instructions in chemistry, and of whose character and talents he often spoke with profound veneration. It was, indeed, the usual course with men of learning formerly, as their biographies and many volumes of such epistles testify. The physician was an old man, and a man of the old school. He confined his epistolary discussions to matters of science, and so did his disciplefor some time; but when metaphysics usurped the place in his affections that chemistry had before held, the latter gradually fell into discepations, respecting existences still more subtle than gases and the electric fluid. The transition, however, from physics to metaphysics was gradual. Is the electric fluid material? he would ask his correspondent; is light—is the vital principle in vegetables—in brutes—is the human soul?
His individual character had proved an obstacle to his inquiries, even whilst they were strictly physical. A refuted or irritated chemist had suddenly concluded a long correspondence by telling his youthful opponent that he would write to his master, and have him well flogged. The discipline of a public school, however salutary in other respects, was not favourable to free and fair discussions, and Shelley began to address inquiries anonymously, or rather, that he might receive an answer, as Philalethes, and the like; but, even at Eton, the postmen do not ordinarily speak Greek. To prevent miscarriages, therefore it was necessaryto adopt a more familiar name, as John Short or Thomas Long.
When he came to Oxford, he retained and extended his former practice without quitting the convenient disguise of an assumed name. His object in printing the short abstract of some of the doctrines of Hume was to facilitate his epistolary disquisitions. It was a small pill, but it worked powerfully. The mode of operation was this: he enclosed a copy in a letter and sent it by the post, stating, with modesty and simplicity, that he had met accidentally with that little tract, which appeared unhappily to be quite unanswerable. Unless the fish was too sluggish to take the bait, an answer of refutation was forwarded to an appointed address in London, and then, in a vigorous reply, he would fall upon the unwary disputant and break his bones. The strenuous attack sometimes provoked a rejoinder more carefully prepared, and an animated and protracted debate ensued. The party cited, having put in his answer, was fairly in court, and he might get out of it as he could. Thechief difficulty seemed to be to induce the person addressed to acknowledge the jurisdiction, and to plead; and this, Shelley supposed, would be removed by sending, in the first instance, a printed syllabus instead of written arguments. An accident greatly facilitated his object. We had been talking some time before about geometrical demonstration; he was repeating its praises, which he had lately read in some mathematical work, and speaking of its absolute certainty and perfect truth.
I said that this superiority partly arose from the confidence of mathematicians, who were naturally a confident race, and were seldom acquainted with any other science than their own; that they always put a good face upon the matter, detailing their arguments dogmatically and doggedly, as if there was no room for doubt, and concluded, when weary of talking in their positive strain, with Q.E.D.: in which three letters there was so powerful a charm, that there was no instance of anyone having ever disputed any argument or proposition towhich they were subscribed. He was diverted by this remark, and often repeated it, saying, if you ask a friend to dinner, and only put Q.E.D. at the end of the invitation, he cannot refuse to come; and he sometimes wrote these letters at the end of a common note, in order, as he said, to attain to a mathematical certainty. The potent characters were not forgotten when he printed his little syllabus; and their efficacy in rousing his antagonists was quite astonishing.
It is certain that the three obnoxious letters had a fertilising effect, and raised crops of controversy; but it would be unjust to deny that an honest zeal stimulated divers worthy men to assert the truth against an unknown assailant. The praise of good intention must be conceded; but it is impossible to accord that of powerful execution also to his antagonists; this curious correspondence fully testified the deplorable condition of education at that time. A youth of eighteen was able to confute men who had numbered thrice as many years; tovanquish them on their own ground, although he gallantly fought at a disadvantage by taking the wrong side.
His little pamphlet was never offered for sale; it was not addressed to an ordinary reader, but to the metaphysician alone, and it was so short, that it was only designed to point out the line of argument. It was, in truth, a general issue, a compendious denial of every allegation, in order to put the whole case in proof; it was a formal mode of saying you affirm so and so, then prove it, and thus was it understood by his more candid and intelligent correspondents. As it was shorter, so was it plainer, and, perhaps in order to provoke discussion, a little bolder, than Hume’sEssays—a book which occupies a conspicuous place in the library of every student. The doctrine, if it deserves the name, was precisely similar; the necessary and inevitable consequence of Locke’s philosophy, and of the theory that all knowledge is from without. I will not admit your conclusions, his opponent might answer; then you must deny those ofHume; I deny them; but you must deny those of Locke also, and we will go back together to Plato. Such was the usual course of argument. Sometimes, however, he rested on mere denial, holding his adversary to strict proof, and deriving strength from his weakness.
The young Platonist argued thus negatively through the love of argument, and because he found a noble joy in the fierce shocks of contending minds. He loved truth, and sought it everywhere and at all hazards frankly and boldly, like a man who deserved to find it; but he also loved dearly victory in debate, and warm debate for its own sake. Never was there a more unexceptionable disputant; he was eager beyond the most ardent, but never angry and never personal; he was the only arguer I ever knew who drew every argument from the nature of the thing, and who could never be provoked to descend to personal contentions. He was fully inspired, indeed, with the whole spirit of the true logician; the more obvious and indisputable the proposition which his opponent undertookto maintain, the more complete was the triumph of his art if he could refute and prevent him.
To one who was acquainted with the history of our University, with its ancient reputation as the most famous school of logic, it seemed that the genius of the place, after an absence of several generations, had deigned to return at last; the visit, however, as it soon appeared, was ill-timed.
The schoolman of old, who occasionally laboured with technical subtleties to prevent the admission of the first principles of belief, could not have been justly charged with the intention of promoting scepticism; his was the age of minute and astute disceptation, it is true, but it was also the epoch of the most firm, resolute and extensive faith. I have seen a dexterous fencing-master, after warning his pupil to hold his weapon fast, by a few turns of his wrist throw it suddenly on the ground and under his feet; but it cannot be pretended that he neglected to teach the art of self-defence, because he apparentlydeprived his scholar of that which is essential to the end proposed. To be disarmed is a step in the science of arms, and whoever has undergone it has already put his foot within the threshold; so it is likewise with refutation.
In describing briefly the nature of Shelley’s epistolary contention, the recollection of his youth, his zeal, his activity, and particularly of many individual peculiarities, may have tempted me to speak sometimes with a certain levity, notwithstanding the solemn importance of the topics respecting which they were frequently maintained. The impression that they were conducted on his part, or considered by him, with frivolity or any unseemly lightness, would, however, be most erroneous; his whole frame of mind was grave, earnest and anxious, and his deportment was reverential, with an edification reaching beyond the age—an age wanting in reverence, an unlearned age, a young age, for the young lack learning. Hume permits no object of respect to remain; Locke approaches the most awfulspeculations with the same indifference as if he were about to handle the properties of triangles; the small deference rendered to the most holy things by the able theologian Paley is not the least remarkable of his characteristics.
Wiser and better men displayed anciently, together with a more profound erudition, a superior and touching solemnity; the meek seriousness of Shelley was redolent of those good old times before mankind had been despoiled of a main ingredient in the composition of happiness—a well-directed veneration.
Whether such disputations were decorous or profitable may be perhaps doubtful; there can be no doubt, however, since the sweet gentleness of Shelley was easily and instantly swayed by the mild influences of friendly admonition, that, had even the least dignified of his elders suggested the propriety of pursuing his metaphysical inquiries with less ardour, his obedience would have been prompt and perfect.
Not only had all salutary studies been long neglected in Oxford at that time,and all wholesome discipline was decayed, but the splendid endowments of the University were grossly abused. The resident authorities of the college were too often men of the lowest origin, of mean and sordid souls, destitute of every literary attainment, except that brief and narrow course of reading by which the first degree was attained: the vulgar sons of vulgar fathers, without liberality, and wanting the manners and the sympathies of gentlemen.
A total neglect of all learning, an unseemly turbulence, the most monstrous irregularities, open and habitual drunkenness, vice and violence, were tolerated or encouraged with the basest sycophancy, that the prospect of perpetual licentiousness might fill the colleges with young men of fortune; whenever the rarely exercised power of coercion was extorted, it demonstrated the utter incapacity of our unworthy rulers by coarseness, ignorance and injustice.
If a few gentlemen were admitted to fellowships, they were always absent; they were not persons of literary pretensions,or distinguished by scholarship, and they had no more share in the government of the college than the overgrown guardsmen, who, in long white gaiters, bravely protect the precious life of the sovereign against such assailants as the tenth Muse, our good friend Mrs Nicholson.
As the term was drawing to a close, and a great part of the books we were reading together still remained unfinished, we had agreed to increase our exertions, and to meet at an early hour.
It was a fine spring morning on Lady Day, in the year 1811, when I went to Shelley’s rooms; he was absent, but before I had collected our books he rushed in. He was terribly agitated. I anxiously inquired what had happened.
“I am expelled,” he said, as soon as he had recovered himself a little. “I am expelled! I was sent for suddenly a few minutes ago; I went to the common room, where I found our master and two or three of the fellows. The master produced a copy of the little syllabus, and asked me if I were the author of it. Hespoke in a rude, abrupt and insolent tone. I begged to be informed for what purpose he put the question. No answer was given; but the master loudly and angrily repeated, ‘Are you the author of this book?’ ‘If I can judge from your manner,’ I said, ‘you are resolved to punish me if I should acknowledge that it is my work. If you can prove that it is, produce your evidence; it is neither just nor lawful to interrogate me in such a case and for such a purpose. Such proceedings would become a court of inquisitors, but not free men in a free country.’ ‘Do you choose to deny that this is your composition?’ the master reiterated in the same rude and angry voice.”
Shelley complained much of his violent and ungentlemanlike deportment, saying, “I have experienced tyranny and injustice before, and I well know what vulgar violence is; but I never met with such unworthy treatment. I told him calmly and firmly, that I was determined not to answer any questions respecting the publication on the table. He immediately repeated his demand. I persisted in myrefusal, and he said furiously, ‘Then you are expelled, and I desire you will quit the college early to-morrow morning at the latest.’ One of the fellows took up two papers and handed one of them to me; here it is.” He produced a regular sentence of expulsion, drawn up in due form, under the seal of the college.
Shelley was full of spirit and courage, frank and fearless; but he was likewise shy, unpresuming and eminently sensitive. I have been with him in many trying situations of his after-life, but I never saw him so deeply shocked and so cruelly agitated as on this occasion. A nice sense of honour shrinks from the most distant touch of disgrace, even from the insults of those men whose contumely can bring no shame. He sat on the sofa, repeating with convulsive vehemence the words “Expelled, expelled!” his head shaking with emotion, and his whole frame quivering. The atrocious injustice and its cruel consequences roused the indignation and moved the compassion of a friend who then stood by Shelley. Hehas given the following account of his interference:—
“So monstrous and so illegal did the outrage seem, that I held it to be impossible that any man, or any body of men, would dare to adhere to it; but, whatever the issue might be, it was a duty to endeavour to the utmost to assist him. I at once stepped forward, therefore, as the advocate of Shelley: such an advocate, perhaps, with respect to judgment, as might be expected at the age of eighteen, but certainly not inferior to the most practised defenders in good will and devotion. I wrote a short note to the masters and fellows, in which, as far as I can remember a very hasty composition after a long interval, I briefly expressed my sorrow at the treatment my friend had experienced, and my hope that they would reconsider their sentence since, by the same course of proceeding, myself, or any other person, might be subjected to the same penalty, and to the imputation of equal guilt. The note was despatched; the conclave was still sitting, and in an instant the porter came to summon me toattend, bearing in his countenance a promise of the reception which I was about to find. The angry and troubled air of men assembled to commit injustice according to established forms was then new to me, but a native instinct told me, as soon as I had entered the room, that it was an affair of party; that whatever could conciliate the favour of patrons was to be done without scruple, and whatever could tend to impede preferment was to be brushed away without remorse. The glowing master produced my poor note. I acknowledged it, and he forthwith put into my hand, not less abruptly, the little syllabus. ‘Did you write this?’ he asked, as fiercely as if I alone stood between him and the rich see of Durham. I attempted, submissively, to point out to him the extreme unfairness of the question, the injustice of punishing Shelley for refusing to answer it; that if it were urged upon me I must offer the like refusal, as I had no doubt every man in college would, every gentleman, indeed, in the University, which, if such a course were adopted with all, and therecould not be any reason why it should be used with one and not with the rest, would thus be stripped of every member. I soon perceived that arguments were thrown away upon a man possessing no more intellect or erudition, and far less renown, than that famous ram, since translated to the stars, through grasping whose tail less firmly than was expedient, the sister of Phryxus formerly found a watery grave, and gave her name to the broad Hellespont.
“The other persons present took no part in the conversation; they presumed not to speak, scarcely to breathe, but looked mute subserviency. The few resident fellows, indeed, were but so many incarnations of the spirit of the master, whatever that spirit might be. When I was silent, the master told me to retire, and to consider whether I was resolved to persist in my refusal. The proposal was fair enough. The next day or the next week, I might have given my final answer—a deliberate answer; having in the meantime consulted with older and more experienced persons, as towhat course was best for myself and for others. I had scarcely passed the door, however, when I was recalled. The master again showed me the book, and hastily demanded whether I admitted or denied that I was the author of it. I answered that I was fully sensible of the many and great inconveniences of being dismissed with disgrace from the University, and I specified some of them, and expressed a humble hope that they would not impose such a mark of discredit upon me without any cause. I lamented that it was impossible either to admit or to deny the publication—no man of spirit could submit to do so—and that a sense of duty compelled me respectfully to refuse to answer the question which had been proposed. ‘Then you are expelled,’ said the master, angrily, in a loud, great voice. A formal sentence, duly signed and sealed, was instantly put into my hand: in what interval the instrument had been drawn up I cannot imagine. The alleged offence was contumacious refusal to disavow the imputed publication. My eye glanced over it, and observingthe wordcontumaciously, I said calmly that I did not think that term was justified by my behaviour. Before I had concluded the remark, the master, lifting up the little syllabus, and then dashing it on the table and looking sternly at me, said, ‘Am I to understand, sir, that you adopt the principles contained in this work?’ or some such words; for like one red with the suffusion of college port and college ale, the intense heat of anger seemed to deprive him of the power of articulation, by reason of a rude provincial dialect and thickness of utterance, his speech being at all times indistinct. ‘The last question is still more improper than the former,’ I replied, for I felt that the imputation was an insult; ‘and since, by your own act, you have renounced all authority over me, our communication is at an end.’ ‘I command you to quit my college to-morrow at an early hour.’ I bowed and withdrew. I thank God I have never seen that man since; he is gone to his bed, and there let him sleep. Whilst he lived, he ate freely of the scholar’s bread and drank from his cup,and he was sustained, throughout the whole term of his existence, wholly and most nobly, by those sacred funds that were consecrated by our pious forefathers to the advancement of learning. If the vengeance of the all-patient and long-contemned gods can ever be roused, it will surely be by some such sacrilege! The favour which he showed to scholars and his gratitude have been made manifest. If he were still alive, he would doubtless be as little desirous that his zeal should now be remembered as those bigots who had been most active in burning Archbishop Cranmer could have been to publish their officiousness during the reign of Elizabeth.”
Busy rumour has ascribed, on what foundation I know not, since an active and searching inquiry has not hitherto been made, the infamy of having denounced Shelley to the pert, meddling tutor of a college of inferior note, a man of an insalubrious and inauspicious aspect. Any paltry fellow can whisper a secret accusation; but a certain courage, as well as malignity, is required by himwho undertakes to give evidence openly against another; to provoke thereby the displeasure of the accused, of his family and friends, and to submit his own veracity and his motives to public scrutiny. Hence the illegal and inquisitorial mode of proceeding by interrogation, instead of the lawful and recognised course by the production of witnesses. The disposal of ecclesiastical preferment has long been so reprehensible, the practice of desecrating institutions that every good man desires to esteem most holy is so inveterate, that it is needless to add that the secret accuser was rapidly enriched with the most splendid benefices, and finally became a dignitary of the Church. The modest prelate did not seek publicity in the charitable and dignified act of deserving; it is not probable, therefore, that he is anxious at present to invite an examination of the precise nature of his deserts.
The next morning at eight o’clock Shelley and his friend set out together for London on the top of a coach; and with his final departure from the Universitythese reminiscences of his life at Oxford terminate. The narrative of the injurious effects of this cruel, precipitate, unjust and illegal expulsion upon the entire course of his subsequent life would not be wanting in interest or instruction, when the scene was changed from the quiet seclusion of academic groves and gardens, and the calm valley of our silvery Isis, to the stormy ocean of that vast and shoreless world, to the utmost violence of which he was, at an early age, suddenly and unnaturally abandoned.
THE END
EDINBURGHCOLSTON AND COY, LIMITEDPRINTERS