FOOTNOTES:

The Proctors.

If the Vice-Chancellor is responsible for order in the Congregation, and actually admits to the degree, the Proctors, as representatives of the Faculty of Arts, play an equally important part in the ceremony. These officials are to the undergraduate without doubt the most prominent figures in the University; they form the centre of a large part of Oxford mythology; it may be said (it is to be hoped the comparison is not irreverent) that they play much the same part in Oxford stories as the Evil One does in mediaeval legends, for like him they are mysterious and omnipresent beings, powerfulfor mischief, yet often not without a sense of humour, who are by turns the oppressors and the butts of the wily undergraduate. To most Oxford men it comes as a discovery, about the time they take their degree at the earliest, that the Proctors have many other things to do besides looking after them.

The office goes back to the very beginnings of the University and is first mentioned in 1248, when the Proctors are associated with the Chancellor in the charter of Henry III, which gave the University a right to interfere in the assize of bread and beer.

Their number recalls one of the most important points in the early history of Oxford. The division of the students according to 'Nations', which prevailed at mediaeval Paris, and which still survives in some of the Scotch universities, never was established in the English ones; in this as in other respects the strong hand of the Anglo-Norman kings had made England one. But though there was no room for division of 'Nations', there was a strongly-marked line of separation between the Northerners and the Southerners, i.e. between those from the north of the Trent, with whom the Scotch were joined, and those south of that river, among whom were reckoned the Welsh and the Irish. The fights between these factionswere a continual trouble to the mediaeval University, and it was necessary for the M.A.s of each division to have their own Proctor; hence originally the Senior Proctor was the elect of the Southerners and the Junior Proctor of the Northerners.

Proctorial elections were a source of constantly recurring trouble, till Archbishop Laud at last transferred the election to the colleges, each of which took its turn in a cycle carefully calculated according to the numbers of each college. In our own generation this system has been carried a step further, and all colleges, large or small alike, have their turn for the Proctorship, which comes to each once in eleven years. The electors for it are the members of the governing body along with all members of Congregation belonging to the college.

The Proctors represent the Masters of Arts as opposed to the higher faculties (i.e. the Doctors), and it is in virtue of the time-honoured right of the Faculty of Arts to decide all matters concerning the granting of 'graces', that the Proctors take their prominent part in the degree ceremony. Although the Vice-Chancellor is presiding, it is the Proctor who submits the degrees to the House, and declares them 'granted'. Before doing this the two Proctors, as hasbeen said (p.9), walk half-way down the House and return, thus in form fulfilling the injunction of the statutes that 'they should take the votes in the usual way'.[21]

The Registrar.

One other University official must be mentioned, the Registrar, i.e. the Secretary of the University. The existence of a Register of Convocation implies that there must have been an officer of this kind in mediaeval Oxford, but the actual title does not occur till the sixteenth century; its first holder seems to have been John London of New College, so scandalously notorious in the first days of the Reformation. But the character of University officials was not high in the sixteenth century. One of the earliest Registrars, Thomas Key of All Souls, was expelled from his post in 1552 for having during two years neglected to take any note of the University proceedings; he actually struck in the face another Master of Arts who was trying to detain him at the order of the Vice-Chancellor. For this he was sent to prison, and fined 26s.8d.; but he was released the very next day, and his fine cut down to 4d.He lived to be elected Master of University College nine years later, and to be the mendacious champion of the antiquity of Oxfordagainst the Cambridge advocate. This was his namesake Dr. Caius, equally mendacious but more reputable, the pious 'second founder' of a great Cambridge college.

The Registrar's duty in the degree ceremony, as has been said (p.5), is to certify that the candidates have fulfilled all the requirements for the degree, that they have received 'graces' from their colleges as to proper residence, and that all examinations have in every case been passed; the Registrar derives this latter information from the University books in which records are now kept of each stage of an undergraduate's career. It is only recently, however, that this system has been adopted; less than twenty years ago each candidate for a degree had to produce his 'testamur', the precious scrap of blue paper issued after every examination to each successful candidate, pass-man and class-man alike. It was a clumsy system, but it had strong claims of sentiment; most old Oxford men will remember the rush to get the 'testamur' for self or for friend, and the triumph with which the visible symbol was brought home. Since the University has abolished these, it might with advantage introduce the custom of granting to each graduate, on taking his degree, a formal certificate of the examinations he has passed,of his residence and of the rank to which he has attained. Such a certificate, whether called 'diploma' or by any other name, would be of practical value; in these days study is international, and the number of men is very great, and is increasing, who need to produce evidence of their University career and its results for the authorities of foreign or American universities. These bodies often issue diplomas of most dignified appearance; it is a pity that Oxford, which in some ways is so rich in survivals of picturesque custom, should fail in this matter. It is true that a certificate of the degree can be obtained, if a man writes to the Registrar for it and pays an extra fee; this additional payment seems a little unjust; and men would be more willing to take the degree if, as they say, 'they had something definite to show for it.'

The Presenters for the degrees.

The presenters for the degrees are mainly college officials; it is only for the higher degrees that University professors present, and then not simply in virtue of being University officials[22], but also as having already attained the degree which the candidate is seeking. The old Oxford theory was that of the Roman magistracy, that only thosewho were of a certain rank could admit others to that rank. Thus the Regius Professor of Medicine usually presents our medical Bachelors and Doctors; but he performs this duty because he is a Doctor; he has, however, as occupying the professorial chair, the right to claim presentations for himself, as against all other Doctors, even those senior to him in standing. This right is a matter of immemorial custom for the Regius Professors; it has been given to the Professor of Music by a recent statute (1897).

FOOTNOTES:[19]For their history and for a description of the present staves, cf. Appendix II.[20]It seems a pity that the old order cannot be restored, and the candidates kept outside till their 'graces' have been passed. Formerly they were kept in the 'Pig Market', i.e. the ante-chamber of the Divinity School (see p. 89), or in the Apodyterium, till this part of the ceremony was completed; they were then finally ushered into the presence of the Vice-Chancellor by the Yeoman Bedel. The modern arrangement, by which candidates are present at the passing of their own 'graces', i.e. at their admission to the degree, may be convenient, but it is quite inconsistent with the whole theory of the ceremony.[21]For the importance of the Proctorial walk and for the legends attached to it, compare p. 10.[22]For the presentation to the new doctorates, D.Litt. and D.Sc., cf. p. 11.

[19]For their history and for a description of the present staves, cf. Appendix II.

[20]It seems a pity that the old order cannot be restored, and the candidates kept outside till their 'graces' have been passed. Formerly they were kept in the 'Pig Market', i.e. the ante-chamber of the Divinity School (see p. 89), or in the Apodyterium, till this part of the ceremony was completed; they were then finally ushered into the presence of the Vice-Chancellor by the Yeoman Bedel. The modern arrangement, by which candidates are present at the passing of their own 'graces', i.e. at their admission to the degree, may be convenient, but it is quite inconsistent with the whole theory of the ceremony.

[21]For the importance of the Proctorial walk and for the legends attached to it, compare p. 10.

[22]For the presentation to the new doctorates, D.Litt. and D.Sc., cf. p. 11.

UNIVERSITY DRESS

Importance attached to dress.

'From the soberest drab to the high flaming scarlet, spiritual idiosyncrasies unfold themselves in the choice of colour; if the cut betoken intellect and talent, so does the colour betoken temper and heart.'

Mediaeval Oxford would have agreed with Carlyle's German Professor in his philosophy of clothes, as an instance or two will show. A solemn enactment was passed in 1358 against the tailors, who were apparently trying to shorten the length of University garments; 'for it is honourable and in accordance with reason that clerks to whom God has given an advantage over the lay folk in their adornments within, should likewise differ from the lay folk outwardly in dress.' If any tailor broke the statute, he was to be imprisoned.

procurator

Procurator

commensalis

COMMENSALIS Superioris ordinis

Statute as to M.A.s.

The observance of this principle was strictly enjoined also on members of the University; the Master of Arts at his inception had to swear that he has 'of his own' the dress proper for his degree, and that he will wearit on all proper occasions. Moreover it was further provided that Masters should wear 'boots either black or as near black as possible', and that they should never give 'ordinary lectures' when wearing 'shoes cut down or short in any way'.

Sophisters[23].

Naturally means had to be taken also to prevent members of the University of lower rank from usurping the dress of their superiors. In 1489 it was ordained that 'whereas the insolence of many scholars in our days is reaching such a pitch of audacity that they are not afraid to wear hoods like Masters', henceforth they were to wear only the 'liripipium consutum et non contextum'[24], on pain of a fine of 2s.; the fine was to be shared between the University, the Chancellor, and the Proctors; it was further provided (which seems unnecessary) that if any official had been negligent in exacting it, his portion should go to the University.

B.A.s.

At the same time, the hoods of the B.A.s were legislated on: 'Whereas the B.A.s in the different faculties, careless of the safety of their own souls,' were wearing hoods insufficiently lined with fur, henceforth all hoods were to be fully lined; a fortnight was given to the B.A.s to put their scanty hoods right. The danger to salvation was incurred by the perjury involved in the neglect of a statute which had been solemnly accepted on oath.

Tailors.

The University further settled what was to be charged by tailors for cutting the various dresses; the prices seem very low, only 3d.for a furless gown (toga) and 6d.for a furred cope; but no doubt the tailors of those days knew how to evade the statute by enhancing their profit on the price of materials; we have one suit before the Chancellor (in 1439) in which the furred gown in question was priced at no less than 36s.8d.

These instances, which could be multiplied indefinitely, are enough to show how careful the mediaeval University was as to dress. But it will be noticed that they nearly all refer to the dress of graduates; the modern University on the other hand practically leaves its M.A.s alone[25], while it still enforces(at least in theory) academic dress on its undergraduates, as to whom the mediaeval University had little to say.

The Laudian Statutes here as elsewhere form the transition from the arrangements of Pre-Reformation Oxford to those of our own day. They enforce (on all alike) dress of a proper colour, short hair, and abstinence from 'absurdus ille et fastuosus mos' of walking abroad in fancy boots (ocreae); only while the graduate is fined 6s.8d.for offending, the undergraduate ('if his age be suitable') suffers 'poena corporalis' at the discretion of the Vice-Chancellor and Proctors.

Perhaps the following general points may be made as to University dress in the olden times.

(1) University Dress clerical.

As all members of the University wereipso factoclerks, their dress had to correspond; the marks of clerical dress were that it was to be of a certain length (later it was specified that it should reach the heels,talaris), and that it should be closed in front, but there was great licence as to colour; the 'black' or 'subfusc' prescribed by theLaudian Statutes is the result of the asceticism of the Reformation, and was unknown in Oxford before the sixteenth century. We have in the wills of students and in the inventories of their properties, abundant evidence that our mediaeval predecessors wore garments suitable to 'Merrie Englande', e.g. of green, blue or blood-colour. Sometimes the founder of a college left directions what 'livery' all his students should wear; e.g. Robert Eglesfield prescribed for the fellows of Queen's College that they were to dine in Hall in purple cloaks, the Doctors wearing these trimmed with fur, while the M.A.s wore theirs 'plain'; the colour was 'to suit the dignity of their position and to be like the blood of The Lord'. Cambridge colleges still in some cases prescribe for their undergraduates gowns of a special colour or cut.

One curious survival of the 'clerkship' of all students is the requirement of the white tie in all University examinations and in the degree ceremony. The 'bands', which (to quote Dr. Rashdall) 'are merely a clerical collar', have disappeared from the necks of all lay members of the University below the degree of Doctor, except the Vice-Chancellor and the Proctors; the dress of the latter is the full-dress of an ordinary M.A. in the seventeenth century, and preserves picturesque old features which have been lost elsewhere.

(2) The Cope and the Gown.

The proper dress of the mediaeval Master, though probably an undergraduate could also wear it, was thecappaor cope; this at Oxford was usually black in colour, but Doctors had quite early (i.e. in the time of the Edwards) adopted as the colour for it some shade of red, thus beginning the custom which still survives. The scarlet 'habit', worn at Convocations by Oxford Doctors over their ordinary gowns, retains the old name 'cappa', but the shape has been completely altered. The sister University, however, still preserves the old shape; the Cambridge Vice-Chancellor presides at their degree ceremonies in a sleeveless scarlet cloak, lined with miniver, which exactly corresponds to the fourteenth-century picture of our Chancellor receiving the charter from Edward III. The gown, the 'putting on' of which is now the distinguishing mark of the taking of the B.A. or M.A., is simply the survival of a mediaeval garment which was not even clerical, the long gown (toga) or cassock, which was worn under thecappa. The dress of the 'Blues' at Christ's Hospital preserves the gown in an earlier stage of development. The modern usage which gives the gown of the B.A. sleeves, whilethat of an M.A. has them cut away, has in some unexplained way grown out of a similar usage as to the mediaevalcappa.

(3) The Hood.

The mark, however, which specially distinguished the degree was the hood, as to which the University was always strict, assigning the proper material and the proper colour[26]to that of each faculty. The hood was not a mere adornment or a badge, it was an article of dress. Originally it seems to have been attached to thecappa, and, as its name implies, was used for covering (the head) when required. Its practical purpose is quaintly implied in the books of the Chancellor and the Proctors (sub anno 1426), where it is provided that 'whereas reason bids that the varieties of costume should correspond to the ordering of the seasons, and whereas the Festival of Easter in its due course is akin from its nearness to summer,' it is henceforth allowed that from Easter toAll Saints' day, 'graduates may wear silken hoods,' instead of fur ones, 'old custom notwithstanding.' The M.A. hood, even in its present mutilated form, still presents survivals of the time when it was a real head covering, survivals which should prevent those who wear it from putting it on upside down, as many often do. The B.A. hood was already in the fifteenth century lined with lamb's wool or rabbit's fur, and the use of miniver by other than M.A.s and persons of birth or wealth[27]was strictly forbidden by a statute of 1432.

(4) The Cap.

The last and not the least important part of mediaeval academic dress still remains to be spoken of, the cap. The conferring of this with the ring and the kiss of peace has been already mentioned (p.27), these being the marks of the admission of new Masters and Doctors. As under the Roman Law the slave was manumitted by being allowed to put on a cap, so the 'pileus' of the M.A. was the sign of his independence; hence he was bound to wear it at all University ceremonies. The cap was sometimes square (biretta), sometimes round (pileus); Gascoigne(writing in 1456) tells us that in his day the round cap was worn by Doctors of Divinity and Canon Law, and that it had always been so since the days of King Alfred; not content with this antiquity, he also affirms that the round cap was given by God Himself to the doctors of the Mosaic Law. He adds the more commonplace but more trustworthy information that the cap was in those days fastened by a string behind, to prevent its falling off.

The modern stiff corners of the cap are an addition, which is not an improvement; the old cap drooped gracefully from its tuft in the centre, as can still be seen in the portraits of seventeenth-century divines, e.g. in Vandyck's 'Archbishop Laud', so familiar from its many replicas and copies. Later usage has specialized the round cap of velvet as belonging to the Doctors of Law and Medicine, and a most beautiful head-gear it is; it is preserved, in a less elaborate form, at the degree ceremony in the round caps of the Bedels.

After the Reformation the cap began to be worn by B.A.s and undergraduates, but originally without the tuft; the eighteenth century, careless of the old traditions, replaced the tuft by the modern commonplace tassel, and extended this to all caps exceptthose of servitors. With the disappearance of social distinctions in dress, the tassel has been extended to all, except to choir-boys, and so the coveted badge of the mediaeval Master is now the property of all University ranks, and is undervalued and neglected in the same proportion as it has been rendered meaningless.

Before leaving the subject of head-gear, it may be noted that the old University custom of giving the son of a nobleman a gold tassel for his cap has left a permanent mark in the familiar phrase 'tuft-hunting'; the right of wearing this distinctive badge still exists for peers and for their eldest sons[28], but they are at liberty not to avail themselves of it, and it is practically never used. Academic dress has sadly lost its picturesqueness, especially for the undergraduate; his gown no longer reaches to his heels, as the statute still requires it to do, and the injunction against 'novi et insoliti habitus' is surely a dead letter in these days when Norfolk jackets and knickerbocker suits penetrate even to University and college lecture-rooms. But what can the University expect when M.A.s, in evasion of the statutes, come to Congregation without gowns, andborrow them from each other in order to vote, and when the University itself knows nothing of the 'exemplaria' (models) which are supposed to be 'in archivis reposita'? Whether there ever were these models of proper University dress, e.g. a doll in D.D. habit, &c., is uncertain; what is certain is that there are none now. At the present time the scanty relics of mediaeval usage are at the mercy of the tailors; and though it must be said for their representatives in Oxford that they do their best to maintain old traditions, yet there is no doubt that innovations are slowly but steadily introduced, e.g. the M.A. hood is losing in length, and is altering in colour.

The recent attempt on the part of the University to devise new gowns and habits for the 'Research' Doctors is, it may be hoped, the beginning of a better state of things; whatever may be thought of the aesthetic success in this case, the subject was treated with seriousness and expert evidence was taken. Perhaps in the near future Oxford may bestir itself in this matter, and see that nothing more is lost of its mediaeval survivals; restoration of what is actually gone is probably hopeless. Such pious conservatism would be in accordance with the spirit of the present age; for even the modern Radical,unlike his predecessor of half a century back, cares, or at any rate professes to care, for the external traces of the past.

Oxford Hoods and Gowns.

The following list makes no attempt to distinguish between the full dress and the undress of Doctors; it is only intended as a help in identifying the various functionaries who take part in the degree ceremony.

Doctors.

Divinity (D.D.[29]).—Scarlet hood and habit; the gown has black velvet sleeves.

Civil Law (D.C.L.)Scarlet hood and habit; the gownMedicine (D.M.)has sleeves of crimson silk.

The Master of Surgery (M.Ch.) wears the same hood, gown, and habit as an M.D., and ranks next after him.

Science (D.Sc.)Scarlet hood and habit;Letters (D.Litt.)the gown has sleeves of French grey.

The habits of these Doctors, though in the main similar, have different facings, that ofthe D.D. being black, of the D.M. and D.C.L. crimson, and of the D.Litt. and D.Sc. French grey.

Doctor of Music (Mus.Doc.).—Gown of crimson and cream brocade. The hood is of the same colours. This gorgeous dress goes back for nearly 300 years. The gown is made of that rich kind of brocade which is popularly said to be able to stand up by itself, and tradition (not very well authenticated) has it that the identically same gown was worn by Richter on his admission as Doctor in 1885, which had been worn by Haydn in the preceding century. The Doctor of Music, however, unlike all other Doctors, ranks after an M.A.; the reason is that musical graduates need not take the ordinary Arts course, but the degrees in Music are open to all who have passed Responsions, or an equivalent examination.

The undress gowns of all Doctors but those of Divinity have the sleeves trimmed with lace; D.D.s wear also a scarf (fastened by a loop behind), and a cassock under their habit or their gown.

All Doctorates are given, or at any rate are supposed to be given, for original work that is a contribution to knowledge; but in the case of the D.D. the theses have quite lost this character.

The Proctors.

The Proctors, as the representatives of the M.A.s, wear their old full-dress gown, which has otherwise disappeared from use. The sleeves are of black velvet; the hoods are of miniver, and are passed on from Proctor to Proctor. On the back of the gown is a curious triangular tassel, called a 'tippet'; this is a survival of a bag or purse, which was once used for collecting fees; the appropriateness of its retention by Proctors will still be easily understood by undergraduates. They used also to receive all fees for examinations, till about 1891.

Master of Arts(M.A.)

Crimson hood and black gown, with the sleeves cut short and fitting above the elbows, and hanging in a long bag, cut at the end into crescent shape.

Bachelors.

Divinity (B.D.).—The hood is black. A scarf is worn, and a cassock also is worn under the gown.

The Bachelor of Divinity is placed here for convenience of reference; but the degree is really higher than that of an M.A. and can only be taken three years after a man has 'incepted' as M.A.

Civil Law (B.C.L.)Medicine (B.M.)The hoods are blue,Surgery (B.Ch.)trimmed with lamb's wool.Music (B.Mus.)

The gown of all the above Bachelors has laced sleeves fitting to the arm, like those of the M.A.s, but slit; the bag is straight and also trimmed with lace.

Arts (B.A.).—The hood is trimmed with lamb's wool; the gown has full sleeves, with strings to fasten back.

interior

FOOTNOTES:[23]When a candidate had passed Responsions, he was called a 'sophista generalis'. The title has now died out in the English Universities, but survives in the form 'sophomore' in America.[24]This adornment seems to have survived in Oxford till within the last half-century; at all examinations subsequent to 'Responsions' a candidate, when going in for Viva Voce, had a little black hood placed round his neck; this arrangement has now disappeared.[25]The old statutes as to the dress of graduates are still in force, and partially observed at conferment of degrees, examinations, &c., but there is consideredable slackness as to them. It is only too common to see a Dean 'presenting' in a coloured tie, although his undergraduates are all compelled to don a white one.[26]This is delightfully commemorated in the old custom of Queen's College, by which, at the Gaudy dinner on Jan. 1st, each guest receives a needle with a silk thread of the colour of his faculty—Theologians black, Lawyers blue, Arts students red—and is bidden 'Take this and be thrifty'. The mending of the hood was a duty which must have often devolved on the poor mediaeval student. The custom dates from the time of the Founder (1340). It is sad that so few colleges have been careful, as Queen's has been, to preserve their old customs.[27]Those of royal blood, the sons of peers and members of Parliament, and those who could prove an income of 60 marks a year, were allowed the privilege of Masters.[28]i.e. if they are admitted by a college as 'noblemen', and are entered on the books as such.[29]The initials S.T.P. (Sanctae Theologiae Professor), so commonly used for Doctors of Divinity on monuments, are simply a survival of the old usage according to which, in the Middle Ages, Doctor, Professor, and Master were synonymous terms for the highest degree. It was only later that 'professor' came to be especially applied to a paid teacher in any subject.

[23]When a candidate had passed Responsions, he was called a 'sophista generalis'. The title has now died out in the English Universities, but survives in the form 'sophomore' in America.

[24]This adornment seems to have survived in Oxford till within the last half-century; at all examinations subsequent to 'Responsions' a candidate, when going in for Viva Voce, had a little black hood placed round his neck; this arrangement has now disappeared.

[25]The old statutes as to the dress of graduates are still in force, and partially observed at conferment of degrees, examinations, &c., but there is consideredable slackness as to them. It is only too common to see a Dean 'presenting' in a coloured tie, although his undergraduates are all compelled to don a white one.

[26]This is delightfully commemorated in the old custom of Queen's College, by which, at the Gaudy dinner on Jan. 1st, each guest receives a needle with a silk thread of the colour of his faculty—Theologians black, Lawyers blue, Arts students red—and is bidden 'Take this and be thrifty'. The mending of the hood was a duty which must have often devolved on the poor mediaeval student. The custom dates from the time of the Founder (1340). It is sad that so few colleges have been careful, as Queen's has been, to preserve their old customs.

[27]Those of royal blood, the sons of peers and members of Parliament, and those who could prove an income of 60 marks a year, were allowed the privilege of Masters.

[28]i.e. if they are admitted by a college as 'noblemen', and are entered on the books as such.

[29]The initials S.T.P. (Sanctae Theologiae Professor), so commonly used for Doctors of Divinity on monuments, are simply a survival of the old usage according to which, in the Middle Ages, Doctor, Professor, and Master were synonymous terms for the highest degree. It was only later that 'professor' came to be especially applied to a paid teacher in any subject.

THE PLACES OF THE DEGREE CEREMONY

The University of Oxford confers its degrees in three rooms, the Sheldonian Theatre, the Divinity School, and the Convocation House; the choice rests with the Vice-Chancellor, and now that, in the last year or so, degree-days have been made less frequent, and there are consequently more candidates on each occasion, the place is often the Sheldonian. This is a great improvement on old custom, for it is the only one of the three buildings which was designed for the purpose, and it is also the only one which gives room for the proper conduct of the ceremony, when the number of candidates is large.

The Sheldonian.

The Sheldonian, therefore, commonly known in Oxford as 'The Theatre', will be spoken of first, although it is the last in date of construction. It is a memorial at once of the munificence of one of the greatest among Oxford's many episcopal benefactors,and also of the architectural skill of her most eminent architect, Sir Christopher Wren. Down to the time of the Civil War, the ceremony of the 'Act' (cf. p. 27 seq.) at which degrees were conferred, had taken place in St. Mary's; but the influence of the Puritans was beginning to affect all parties, and was causing the growth of a feeling that religious buildings should not be used for secular purposes. John Evelyn, who gives us our fullest account of the opening ceremony at the Sheldonian, notes that it might be thought 'indecent' that the Act should be held in a 'building set apart for the immediate worship of God'[30], and this was 'the inducement for building this noble pile'. Wren had shown his design to the Royal Society in 1663, and it had been much commended; he was only a little more than thirty years of age, and it was his first public building, but he was already known as that 'miracle of a youth' and that 'prodigious young scholar', and he fully justified the Archbishop's confidence in him. So great was this that Sheldon told Evelyn that he had never seen the building and that henever intended to do so. Wren showed his boldness alike in the style he chose—he broke once for all with the Gothic tradition in Oxford—and in the skill with which he designed a roof which was (and is) one of the largest unsupported roofs in England. The construction of it was a marvel of ingenious design.

Its Dedication.

The cost of the whole building was £25,000, as Wren told Evelyn, and architects, even the greatest of them, do not usually over-estimate the cost of their designs; but other authorities place it at £16,000, or even at a little over £12,000. At any rate, it was felt to be, as Evelyn writes, 'comparable to any of this kind of former ages, and doubtless exceeding any of the present, as this University does for colleges, libraries, schools, students and order, all the universities in the world.' We may pardon the enthusiasm of one who was himself an Oxford man, after a day on which 'a world of strangers and other company from all parts of the nation' had been gathered for the Dedication. The ceremonies lasted two days (July 9 and 10, 1669), and on the first day extended 'from eleven in the morning till seven at night'; we are not told how long they lasted on the second day. They consisted of speeches, poems,disputations, and all the other forms of learned gaiety wherein our academic predecessors took such unwearying delight; there was 'music too, vocal and instrumental, in the balustrade corridor opposite to the Vice-Chancellor's seat'. And those who took part had among them some who bore famous names; the great preacher, South, was Public Orator; among the D.D.s incepting were Tillotson, afterwards Archbishop of Canterbury, one of the first to introduce Modern English into the style of the pulpit, and Compton, who, as Bishop of London, took so prominent a part in the Revolution.

The Roof Paintings.

Not the least conspicuous feature in the new building was the paintings by Robert Streater, which had been especially executed for it. In accordance with the idea of Wren, who wished to imitate the uncovered roofs of Greek and Roman theatres, the building, 'by the painting of the flat roof within, is represented as open.' Pepys, who went to see everything, records how he went to see these pictures in Streater's studio, and how the 'virtuosos' who were looking at them, thought 'them better than those of Rubens at Whitehall'; 'but,' Pepys has taste enough to add, 'I do not fully think so.' This unmeasured admiration was, however, outdone by the contemporary poetaster, Whitehall, who ends his verses on the paintings,

That future ages must confess they oweTo Streater more than Michael Angelo,

lines in which the grammar and the connoisseurship are about on an equality. The paintings are on canvas fixed on stretchers, and hence have been removed for cleaning purposes more than once; this was last done only a few years ago (1899-1901). There are thirty-two sections, and the whole painting measures 72 feet by 64. Unfortunately the subject is rendered difficult to understand, because the most important section, which is the key of the whole, representing 'The Expulsion of Ignorance', is practically concealed by the organ; the present instrument was erected in 1877.

The Sheldonian Press.

Sheldon's building was designed for a double use. It was to be at once the University Theatre and the University Printing Press, and it was used for the latter purpose till 1714, when the Oxford Press was moved across the quadrangle to the Clarendon Building, designed by Sir John Vanbrugh. The actual printing was done in the roof, on the floor above the painted ceiling. The Theatre is for this reason the mark on all Oxford books printed duringthe first half-century of its existence. In one respect Archbishop Sheldon was so unlike most Oxford benefactors that his merit must be especially mentioned. Men are often willing enough to give a handsome sum of money down to be spent on buildings; they too often leave to others the charge of maintaining these; but Sheldon definitely informed the University that he did not wish his benefaction to be a burden to it, and invested £2,000 in lands, out of the rents of which his Theatre might be kept in repair. The Sheldonian, thanks to its original donor and to the ever liberal Dr. Wills of Wadham, who supplemented the endowment a century later, has never been a charge on the University revenues.

The Restoration of the Sheldonian.

Unfortunately these repairs have been carried out with more zeal than discretion. Even in Wren's lifetime the alarm was raised that the roof was dangerous (1720), but the Vice-Chancellor of the time was wise enough not to consult a rival architect but to take the practical opinion of working masons and carpenters, who reported it safe. Nearly 100 years later the same alarm was raised, whether with reason or not we do not know, for no records were left; all we do know is that the 'restorers' of the day took Wren's roof off, removed his beautifulwindows, inserted a new and larger cupola, and generally did their best to spoil his work. It is only necessary to compare the old pictures of the Sheldonian with its present state to see how in this case, as in so many others, Oxford's architectural glories have suffered from our insane unwillingness to let well alone.

The History of the Sheldonian.

The Sheldonian was not in existence during the period when University history was most picturesque. Its associations therefore are nearly all academic, and academic functions, however interesting to those who take part in them, do not appeal to the great world. Perhaps the most romantic scene that the Sheldonian has witnessed was the Installation of the Duke of Wellington as Chancellor in 1833, when the whole theatre went mad with enthusiasm as the writer of the Newdigate, Joseph Arnould of Wadham, declaimed his lines on Napoleon,—

And the dark soul a world could scarce subdueBent to thy genius, chief of Waterloo.

The subject of the poem was 'The Monks of St. Bernard'.

But the enthusiasm was almost as great, and the poetry far superior, when Heberrecited the best lines of the best Newdigate on record:—

No hammer fell, no ponderous axes swung;Like some tall palm the mystic fabric sprung.Majestic silence.

This happy reference to the manner of building of Solomon's Temple was suggested by Sir Walter Scott.

Another almost historic occasion in the Sheldonian was when, at a Diocesan Conference, the late Lord Beaconsfield made his well-known declaration, 'I for my part prefer to be on the side of the angels.' But these scenes only indirectly touch Oxford. More intimately connected with her history are the famous Proctorial Veto of 1845, when Dean Church and his colleague saved Tract No. 90 from academic condemnation, and the stormy debates of twenty years ago, when the permission to use Vivisection in the University Physiological Laboratory was only carried after a struggle in which the Odium Scientificum showed itself capable of an unruliness and an unfairness to opponents which has left all displays, previous or subsequent, of Odium Theologicum far behind.

Commemoration Scenes.

There is no doubt that the organized medical vote on that occasion holds the record for noise in the Theatre. And thecompetition for the record has been and is still severe; every year at Commemoration, we have a scene of academic disorder, which can only be called 'most unbecoming of the gravity of the University', to use John Evelyn's words of the performance of the Terrae Filius at the opening of the Sheldonian. It is true that the proceedings of the Encaenia have been always able to be completed, since the device was hit on of seating ladies freely among the undergraduates in the upper gallery; this change was introduced in 1876. The disorder of the undergraduates' gallery had culminated in 1874, and in 1875 the ceremony was held in the Divinity School. But the noise is as prevalent as ever, and it must be confessed that undergraduates' wit has suffered severely from the feminine infusion. However, our visitors, distinguished and undistinguished alike, appreciate the disorder, and it certainly has plenty of precedent for it in all stages of University history.

But the Sheldonian has more harmonious associations. Music was from the first a regular feature of the Encaenia, and compositions were written for it. The most famous occasion of this kind was in July, 1733, when Handel came to Oxford, at the invitation of the Vice-Chancellor, to conduct the performance of some of his works; among these was the OratorioAthaliah, especially written for the occasion. Handel was offered the degree of Doctor of Music, but (unlike Haydn) declined it, because he disliked 'throwing away his money for dat de blockhead wish'.

Convocation House.

Till quite recently the degree ceremony was usually held in the Convocation House, which lies just in front of the Sheldonian, under the northern end of the Bodleian Library (the so-called Selden Wing). This plain and unpretentious building, which was largely due to the munificence of Archbishop Laud, was begun in 1635 and finished two years later. It cost, with the buildings above, about £4,200. Its dreary late-Gothic windows and heavy tracery, and the Spartan severity of its unbacked benches, are characteristic of the time of transition, alike architectural and religious, to which it belongs. It has been from that time to this the Parliament House of the University, where all matters are first discussed by the Congregation of resident Doctors and Masters; it is only on the rare occasions when some great principle is at stake, and when the country is roused, that matters, whether legislative or administrative, are discussed anywhere else; a Sheldonian debate is fortunately very rare.

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